《Ten Lives Nine Deaths》


 1.001 Arrival

    I become ¡°aware¡± although I open my eyes to darkness. A solid flat construct supports the flesh and bone body my spirit is trying to acclimatise to. An unexpected uneasiness rolls over the attempt, like forcing a square peg into a round hole. I don¡¯t want this! I shake the feeling off. There is a more immediate mystery that needs to be solved. Is the body, this alien flesh bag, laying down? Helpless? On a bed?


    My thinking is dull, my intellect suffers confinement. The brain capacity, the mind of this non-human flesh ¡­ is ¡­. primitive. How could this be? My mission flesh bag should be pristine, a technological marvel grown specifically to succeed. The ideal vessel attuned to accommodate my spirit ¡­ yet the heart, other muscles, and nervous system, to name some, are ¡­ sub-standard.


    I decide upon survival first, answers later. Motor functions. Where are they? Where! Are! They! Moments like years squeeze by ¡­ stop, calm, be methodical. This brain can¡¯t process confusion. Assume human-like and work outwards from there. I must start a physical movement as I have a hunch. A razor-thin glimmer of hope and, if not true, I refuse to accept those consequences. With indomitable I cannot fail mental effort, I command the left-hand side of this repulsive flesh bag, forcing an imperceptible rock towards the right.


    Caustic smoke. My sense of smell returns.


    With this success, hope returns, and I rally my strength of will for another effort. Right-hand side, an imperceptible rock towards the left. The flesh bag¡¯s brain jolts, lightning, thunder, impaling, strangling and then a piercing sound. Did I scream? Am I screaming? Yet within that moment, I realise this flesh bag¡¯s mind grows. With that growth, my intellect expands.


    I am certain now the body jostling is the trigger. The proof? All over this body, my sense of touch returns. I don¡¯t lay on a bed. My fingertips scrape a hard surface. My palms drag along a flat surface.


    Searing heat.


    I can feel my chest ache. This body can suffer pain now. No heartbeat. Then a triple razor-sharp stabbing. Not a heart attack. Three broken ribs reform. As they finish joining, I feel a click in my chest. A clean repair instead of a clean break. Why do I occupy a damaged flesh bag?


    I ease off the clenching my teeth. I didn¡¯t realise I had clamped them together until now. The pressure on my lungs reduces to nothing and instinctively I take my first breath. I draw in acrid smoke through my nostrils. The molten heatwave cauterises my airways.


    Can I scream? I refuse to scream. An eighteen-mission veteran doesn¡¯t panic when facing the unknown or the different. They get on with surviving and then completing the mission! Foolish bravado, is that all I have now?


    How close am I to flesh death after spirit insertion? I need to assess. Search for ways to live and not wait for one of the many ways failures can steal my future, even if dire. First step; as revolting as I can¡¯t imagine, I cease my resistance. In a moment, my spirit completes ownership of this disgusting flesh bag. There isn¡¯t another option.


    My first sense is that this fit is like a hexagon peg descending into a round hole. An incomplete fit. My spirit feels dirty forever. Shortly after, this flesh bag¡¯s heart muscle repairs. A thump in my chest, the first heartbeat. The nerves of this body reverberate with pain, spreading out like an echo. This signalling activates what can only be a previously dormant chemical and nanorobot cocktail.


    I grit my teeth and refuse to scream. Another heartbeat, and the pain ceases. Left in the dark, I lay prone upon this flat surface, arms by my sides as my hearing returns.


    Crackling and snapping.


    The heat intensifies. On command, my fingers curl. My toes curl. Strong and quick motor-muscular response. A positive sign, I tell myself. I refuse to take a deep breath as this body demands as the heart continues pumping. Instead, I roll to one side and immediately roll back. The radiating heat is an impenetrable wall. I crunch my abdominal muscles and sit upright. Folds of a heavy covering cloth now rest upon my otherwise naked lap. My eyes are thankfully clear.


    Several sharp screeches, a long scream, and the thump of falling bodies punctuate the roar of the blazing fire. The arid smell, burning taste and my stinging eyes register the devouring of the cut and dressed timber beneath me. Through the smoke, I spy several of what must be the natives. Hands on mouths or arms waving, others prone, several running, in short bedlam.


    Radiating heat prickles my skin. I pick out the first vacant spot beyond the flames and climb to my feet. I know I must jump and drape the length of white cloth around my shoulders instead of my loins. Taking one stumbling step back, I fling an arm out to recover, then tense and release my thigh muscles to test my chances. Blistering heat reaches through the thinning platform, teasing my feet. With three rapid paces, I leap off the end of the plank, a combination of long jump and high jump.


    The flames roar and flick towards my fleeing body as the wooden planks of the platform fall inwards, kicking up bright embers. Mid jump, my hands claw back to me for any modicum of extra distance. My legs kick outwards in support, attempting ungainly flight to clear the inferno surrounding me. Upon landing, my arms and legs tangle as my bodily control is imperfect.


    Behind me, the flames engulf my former wooden bed. The conflagration rises high in protest, venting its displeasure because of my escape. I half stumble, cursing my mission¡¯s primitive flesh bag as I do.


    Sucking in a shallow breath, I rest on my haunches, laying my hands upon the ground to keep balance. This pause allows me time to collect myself, the flames enough to separate me from the inquisitive, I hope. I eye the remains of the bonfire. Stacked logs, cut into lengths, support the platform on high.


    The white cloth is now a toga about my body, previously draped over the length of my future body. I blink and spit at the flames. Dribble runs down my chin instead. I curse this flesh bag, yet I can¡¯t deny the evidence. Before me is this flesh bag¡¯s funeral pyre. The white cloth a shroud and therefore, my flesh bag, was once a corpse.


    Pouring a Spirit into a corpse ¡­ I cough, unable to drag in enough of this fresh cool air because of shock. I fall back, quickly adjusting my hands to steady myself ¡­ I shake my head ¡­ a corpse. As I think about this, terror momentarily grips my mind. This possibility is beyond my comprehension, yet explains this singular, impossible truth. A rationale for the sub-human mind and spirit to body ill-fit.


    I must accept I am a corpse returned to life. The funeral pyre audience bearing witness to the occurrence. This result is not only scientifically improbable but against all the Galactic Planet Agency rules. My eyes attempt to search beyond the sky, into the black of space while I internally vent.


    ¡°Against the rules!¡± I bellow. The body¡¯s voice is a deep, harsh growl. The first agreeable function of this flesh bag, I decide.


    This is wrong. Yet I am the truth this can happen. Moisture gathers in my eyes, and I swallow, knowing the consequences. The red-raw throat lights up in pain, instantly breaking my descent into self-pity. I must try to come to terms and accept this truth I find myself in.


    Fact¡ªsomeone didn¡¯t engineer this flesh bag for me or even another agent. This leaves the only remaining possibility that it is a native inhabitant¡¯s corpse. There is no spin, pretence, or alternative explanation. My spirit now inhabits once dead flesh ¡­ how is this possible? Did the GPA transport the corpse off-world, complete modifications, and then return? When did Spirit insertion occur? Does that matter?


    If an Agent¡¯s spirit inserts sufficiently, then one of the first things any would try to do is move. Not showing such a basic sign of life would strongly suggest failure. Here, they would dispose of the flesh bag in the pyre and therefore destroy all evidence. Nobody would know. They could then try again when another suitable corpse becomes available, a convenient rinse and repeat.


    The burning of the dead must be cultural for the GPA to depend upon the ritual. My mind turns over the questions to test my analysis. The activation of the chemical and nanorobot cocktail at the first sign of life, for example. They planned such as trigger to lock in as much enhancement as possible into the primitive flesh bag. Conclusion? My mission isn¡¯t official. There is no sanction and no committee oversight¡ªworse than a covert grey op.


    No clean flesh bag is the real clue. The GPA registers all the grown flesh containers. The GPA then assigns them to an Agent and associates it to a Mission. I am alone and singularly dependent upon my mystery agent provocateur. Hopefully, this generous benefactor will keep the promises made to me. Why me? I don¡¯t ask out of self-pity. I ask because somehow, I became the Agent of choice ¡­


    Turning my eyes away from the roaring flames and climbing to my feet, I realise no one has approached me. There is a total lack of concern, not even an offer of basic aid, such as food, water, or clothing. A strong breeze feeds oxygen to the flames, causing my blazing bed to rise and radiate heat over me. On instinct, I retreat a couple of stumbling steps. The pyre collapses shortly after. A last gasp.


    A hand slams down upon my shoulder, and somehow, I don¡¯t collapse. The strike is a test I suspect. The prevailing breeze turns the trailing smoke away in my favour. I draw in a deep breath of fresh air. Oxygen floods my bloodstream, and my mind can focus. I decide at that moment to grow a spine. I will find those responsible and wipe their Spirits. My Spirit animates a corpse, a flesh bag previously alive. This insult cannot go unpunished. I no longer care why they chose me.


    A grunt. ¡°Alive then, back to three Hobs. Good ¡­ good.¡±


    He continues marching away from me, leaning on the support of a walking stick, not even breaking his stride. A Hob? Masculine voice, bald, dark green skin, large ears which end flat and wide at the top, with heavy-set barrel body type. He marches away from me, and I don¡¯t need a mirror to know I must look similar; I must also be Hob.


    I don¡¯t call out; he would talk to me if I were of any interest to him.


    I scan my surrounds. Rustic cottages, slapdash stone, and wooden walls with tree bark tiles upon the peaked roofs. Only the best of rudimentary living then.


    Standing to one side of the pyre are three short, thin, light-green skinned humanoids. These, I regret to identify, belong to the base humanoid race of this planet, goblin. All ugly females by any measure, angular faces with large, long noses, the tips of which curl down to almost touch their top lips. A notable feature of my cursory assessment.


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    I sigh. As certain as the sun rises on any habitable planet, they pre-program the designer flesh bag. The native population will romantically and sexually attract the occupant. The time to fully succumb is a function of time and association, but necessary. Otherwise, making romantic or long-lasting attachments to a non-human species would become problematic for mission success.


    My only question is, will this happen sooner than otherwise, given my flesh bag is an actual native? I will never know, of course, unless no attraction develops for this very reason. I swallow, without pain I note. A possible deeper problem awaits, going native. The boffins suggest that there is a rare possibility of an Agent developing deep romantic feelings for a local inhabitant because their way of life captivates them.


    An Agent loses their true selves and the mission objectives, because of this almost unbreakable infatuation. They choose to live out their flesh bag¡¯s natural life, planet bound. In effect, beyond their control, they muster out of the Agency. The more missions completed by an Agent, the more susceptible they are, and this is apparently incurable.


    Going native results from some spark of the primordial need for natural physical attraction is the best explanation the GPA scientists can arrive at. They swear, of course, they can¡¯t correct this condition and yet somehow, I believe this impossible problem is an artificial control. They don¡¯t want to find a fix because of convenience. Worse, they have orchestrated a conspiracy. They know everything and manipulate the native attraction level in a designer flesh bag. The boffins are in full control. They influence or worse case force an Agent to go native.


    I recall one from my graduating class, double zero five, for example, who skipped every third leave life, taking another mission instead. They were one such agent who went native. Double zero five is an Agent I can¡¯t forget. I thought our time spent as a married couple throughout one leave life something special ¡­ I feel the tug on my heart; her smiling face, our sincere words promising forever.


    Yet inexplicably she found true love with an alien during a mission and thereby mustered out, conveniently saving the Agency the liability of her future life pensions. My memory is still bitter, the sting of lost love echoing across each mission and leave life since. This one as well. I wipe some smoke irritant out of my eyes using a piece of cloth from my toga.


    Agent relationships are genuine because agents spend quality time together. Agents, being able to live their leave lives in designer flesh bags, aren¡¯t bound by the impost of physical attraction as both can design their own perfect bodies. The long-haul attractions such as personality, emotional maturity, and intellectual development carry the joy and burden of the relationship. Time is immaterial.


    I thought double zero five, and I held such a deep connection. A bond which easily transcended missions. Because we could spend every leave life together in new twenty-year-old bodies which would age gracefully multiple times.


    A sharp urine scent assaults my nostrils and smashes aside my idle thoughts and lingering reminiscing. The damp ground around their bare green splayed feet catches my attention. Two of them tremble under my gaze while the third one remains frozen, with her head down.


    Hobs are near five feet tall, Gobs according to the nanorobot implanted Planet profile, in the main are four feet tall. These are shorter, which puts the rest of the Gob crowd into perspective. They are a similar height. In conclusion, the goblin race is degenerating. Crud. How am I to grow a civilisation from such pitiful seed?


    Wrapping my shroud around the naked lower half of my body takes several fumbling attempts. I flick my hand at the three during my mid-third attempt and shout, ¡°Home.¡± The frozen one urinates. The other two scamper away. Holding my shroud by the hand, I growl, approaching the last. The head of the frozen one darts about, a sudden body jolt and then she is away sprinting after the first two.


    I look down. My body took a blow to the chest. The force required to break three ribs didn¡¯t come from any of these three. The shock of me returning from the dead to terrorise their lives once again was obviously too much and instantly emptied their bladders. Is it the fact I am a Hob or was my former flesh bag self not kind to or perhaps care for these goblins? Whatever the rules of this primitive society, these three goblins are bound to me. No other goblins offered them alternative shelter after my death or rebirth.


    I tie off my shroud. I deliberately don¡¯t remember what attempt number this is.


    There is also the quandary of where I live and who I am. The first resolving before my eyes as I stumble, jog after my goblin property. I doubt anyone has treated them as individuals their entire lives. Three Hobs in this cesspit of a village and we are the undisputed masters of every creature weaker than us, specifically goblins. Given the low number of Hobs, where do we occasionally come from? Questions without answers aren¡¯t helpful, I need to find some answers and quick.


    My pyre is on the southern side of the village, it would seem. My scampering goblins lead me north-easterly on a soil packed path which weaves between occasional cottages. We shortly after reach the extreme eastern edge of the village. My feet splash through shallow river water flowing over a ford and, once across, I discover a touch of civilisation.


    The trail beneath our running feet is narrow, yet the base is timber providing a firm surface. I glance back at the water, and I am drawn back. I lower my mouth into the river against the current and drink until my stomach bloats. Yet this corpse, now my body, demands more. With effort, my force of will overcomes instinct. Jogging out of the river, I am back on the wooden path. Each step I take is more certain, stronger.


    Picking up my pace, I was in time to sight my three goblins disappear over a rise. Reaching the rise shortly after myself, I take in the view. Twenty goblins? More? Like lightning, the muddle of skinny green bodies dart into action, sneaking an occasional glance in my direction. Given their reaction, they must be mine as well. Perhaps they didn¡¯t think I would return either.


    I chuckle at their reverse of fortune, my self-amusement priceless and a notable moment. My first hint of happiness. A fit of inner anger attempts to obliterate my joy. I blink. I must be mistaken ¡­


    I jog to the middle of them. ¡°Where are the rest?¡± An assumption, of course, but when the boss is away and all that.


    Skinny arms point in a few directions, although the majority favour at least three. A light forest. A field with tall grass. The third, somewhere over there, which isn¡¯t the low grass field in that direction but perhaps beyond it.


    ¡°Fetch them. Now,¡± I command.


    They look at each other, so I step forward, real close, so as not to miss. I pick out volunteers with a slap behind their heads, three for each direction. Another mystery, my female property pauses down the trail taking an interest or simply taking this time to gulp down several breaths and try to recuperate. While waiting, I want to scratch at my flesh bag, rough and primitive. My spirit grinds against this inadequate host and my impatience grows rapidly.


    The light forest, the closer hiding place, disgorges at least ten naked goblins, an equal number of males and females, sprinting for their lives. Instead of scratching my flesh bag, I release my frustration by slapping each goblin as they return. I aim for across the face, some strikes are near enough, so shoulders, necks and tops of heads also count as intended targets, I decide. No matter where I strike, there is enough force to dump each of them on their bony arses. When they try to stand, I growl.


    Growling works like perfection¡ªa Hob ¡®thing¡¯?


    Twenty or more emerge, with clothes on, from the field and I treat them to the same reception, my aim improving with practice I note. Most satisfying. The naked goblins utilise the disturbance of new arrivals to clothe themselves.


    A large goblin leads the last group to return, his clothes at least cut and sewn, not a piece of cloth front and back, a hole for the head and another two holes opposite for the arms like his brethren. His escort, all females and I note in the distance his jaw drops and his swagger vanishes as he now hurries. The rumours of my demise ¡­ now proven false with his own eyes. A frightening confirmation.


    Upon reaching me, he drops to a grovel. ¡°Great Hob, we work hard always for you.¡±


    The creature at my feet would reach four feet in height when standing. Of sixty-plus goblins, one is the racial height, the rest, male, and females are runts. What chance do I have for success? Generations of improvement will be required, yet most designer flesh bags endure for fifty earth years in optimal condition before a rapid decline. The boffins say this is a limit within the technology. The suspicion of most Agents is the limitation is by design. For me, this is mute. How many years do I have? My flesh bag was once a corpse.


    I reach down, grab him by his throat, and drag him to his feet. He gasps for breath as I intend. Like growling, this seems like another Hob ¡®thing¡¯, which I agree with because my aim is true and the result effective. This raises a question. Did the Hob corpse I live in trigger this, or did I exercise my free will? If Hob, then why no help with the slapping? I shake my head. I am overthinking this ¡­ the easiest explanation would be muscle memory. My corpse remembers Hob actions and apparently throat strangling of goblins, one favourite.


    ¡°When will you finish my road?¡±


    Gasping and spluttering half words, issue forth. A slight release of my hold, which I note I need to exercise my willpower to achieve. My Hob corpse resists. I think, why? There isn¡¯t an answer. There is an almost overwhelming impulse within to crush the neck in my grasp.


    ¡°Ten days Great One ¡­¡± he gasps.


    I close off his throat and raise what I hope is an eyebrow. His eyes bulge as he tries to speak again, and I release my hold until he can form words. Each action elicits an impulse from my Hob corpse, supporting one action, not supporting the other.


    ¡°Eight days, Great One ¡­ yes Eight, mighty, will we work for you.¡±


    I shake my head and squeeze. This hand¡¯s fine motor control is now a test. This corpse is mine. I intend to exercise control as I see fit, denying all interference.


    ¡°Five,¡± he yells, with a rasping breath.


    I nod and release him. ¡°Today is day one.¡±


    Striding off under a mid-morning sun, my gaze fixing on my three goblin ladies who blink and scamper away. I hear his platitudes and reaffirmation of his promise. I ignore him. There is much to do and the previous me probably relied upon this Goblin Overseer too much.


    It is a mistake I can¡¯t afford to repeat. I don¡¯t wish to remain here a single day longer than is necessary. Every creature under my command or yet to be will toil and sweat to within an inch of their lives or beyond, without exception. I sense my Hob corpse agrees, although the strongest emotional feedback aligns with ¡°to within an inch of their lives¡±. Odd.


    My three goblin darlings, I realise, upon reaching the top of the hill, stand at the end of the wooden trail. Beyond is a mush of drying mud, the sort where you take a step and upon lifting your foot mud clings underneath. I try the long mile grass on each side of the trail, a mistake as lacerations from the long grass crisscross over the naked skin on my legs. Nasty.


    Late afternoon, almost dusk, and each step forward now brings my holdings clearer into view. Several buildings, all log construction, walls, and roofs. Maybe I undervalued the former me. The farm was his to manage. The work crews answered to the Overseer. This lack of awareness makes learning about the former me more imperative. Fortunately, I have three handy witnesses. Although their loud panting and abundant sweating signals, I may have pushed them beyond their limits to reach our home before nightfall.


    Ignoring their condition, my thoughts wander off to consider several possible methods to best extract the truth. Then a sharp pain skewers my heart, which I grab at. My body warms. Something is wrong ¡­ excess chemical and nanorobot release ¡­ spirit injection complication ¡­ body or should I say corpse rejection?


    I force myself to walk. One step taken; I force another. Beads of sweat springs from my skin. My three exhausted ladies line up as best they can, forming an honour guard of sorts on one side of the open cabin door. The silent shadow within beckons me. I try to cover up my critical condition by leaning against the doorjamb. A pretence. I take a moment to assess the interior.


    I slide in and grab for the door, slamming it shut. A staggering shuffle across, then I slide to the floor, my body a backstop to the only entrance to the cabin. Well, the one I know about. Despite my efforts, my head lolls about. I notice, despite out-of-focus eyes, beads of black tar popping out of the pores of my dark green skin. As I lose consciousness, my brain flashes an odd memory.


    {Mission Parameters: Planet Name: Restricted. Race Name: Hobgoblin Body Name: Klug the Tenderer


    Synopsis: Goblin races are the primary sentient race on the planet. They are transitioning from Earth equivalent cultures of Primitive hunter/gatherer to Nomadic and/or Barbarian cultures.


    Mission: You must guide the Goblin race to the Earth''s equivalent culture of Civilised. Avoid technology, promote religion and magic use.}

 1.002 The Farm

    I open my eyes and naturally try to reposition my chin off my chest. I stop before I start as a sharp pain shoots through my stiff bent over neck. How long have I been here? Checking my predicament ¨C except for my head I have slid lengthwise down the door to rest in a thin pool of black sludge. Lifting an arm black liquid slides off. What the ¡­


    Slowly leaning over, my thigh and buttocks slide out allowing an easy shift of my body to one side. Able to control the stretch now my neck gains some relief and movement while homing in on my next goal, to get out of this muck. Gritting my teeth, I skid and slide as I scramble up on my hands and knees. Taking a deep breath to vent my frustration I then slither through the muck until I reach dry floor. Dust clings to every contact point, knees, tops of my feet, and the palms of my hands as I crawl out and climb to my feet. My one piece of clothing, the white cloth, now swims dark in the pool of ichor. I am naked. Drops of black on my skin join others to bead and roll to the floor forming two pools of ichor around my feet while leaving behind a dark wet sheen, camouflaging my dark green skin.


    What has become of me? My previous mission an outstanding success. Spirit separation from the pristine, designer native flesh bag process perfect, upon death. With my spirit held in an artificial ethereal containment, I anticipate my long-awaited return to an enhanced human body grown to match my specific predilections. My just and well-earnt reward after living as an alien for forty years. I spit some foul-tasting ichor from my mouth and quickly return to my pleasant reminiscing. The design selection absolute fun and almost a bonus in and of itself. Based upon the immersive virtual reality of the twenty-first century yet in reverse. Instead of a body lying in a pod and creating a virtual avatar, my spirit connects to a pod and selects from the available options to determine the physical characteristics of my future self. What is not to like about this? My flesh bag is supposed to be human, matching my reimagining, dark brown hair, piercing green eyes and subtle muscle with roguish good looks. Instead, I am this hideous black tar covered Hob humanoid. I raise a hand, a symbolic rejection of this thought pollution into my memory of what should have been. Pleasant thoughts, nothing but pleasant thoughts ¡­ then when my perfect flesh bag is grown to my specifications, I effortlessly slip my spirit into the flawless residence and take ownership.


    Not this time, my spirit must make do, with primitive. My leave-life cancelled; the years owed to me to heal from losing zero-zero-five denied to me. The self-therapy I specified selfish of course, to spend my due leave-life chasing the current time period females of the human species ... wish fulfilment of sorts in fact. Is my current predicament punishment for my hedonistic coping strategy?


    I sigh and gaze up at the high peak roof of the cabin judging there is enough clearance and stretch out my entire body going through the standard GPA test exercise routine for a humanoid body type. I start slow, with stretches and then intensify with shadow boxing and other martial arts. The stiffness in my neck is no more when I finish. I also award my Hob body high marks for fitness. There are many variations of these routines. I inwardly groan, don¡¯t ever try the Ant exoskeleton stretches when a Spider based sentient creature ¨C painful broken limb and with eight you wouldn¡¯t think the loss of one important ... Agent double zero five doing exactly that flashes across my mind and I need to unleash a single cleansing grunt to wash away the heavy memory of her retelling.


    My eyes rest upon the sludge and I can only hope the mess a by-product of the chemical and nanorobot cocktail administered to this corpse of mine before my spirit injection. The performance enhancement as the fitness test suggests, confirming the cocktail something more than mundane anti-viral and/or anti-bacterial immunisations and therefore my first flesh bag positive. What of my mental faculties? I drop to a cross-legged position on the edge of the ooze. To start, some quick calculations ¡­ a one-yard jogging step ¡­ a one thousand, seven hundred, and sixty-yard mile ¡­.


    I finally agree with myself on my jogging speed; a casual four miles an hour on the wooden trail for a couple of hours into a morning rising sun, therefore East. Two to three miles an hour jogging through the mud on a worn-out trail for six hours roughly North of East as the afternoon setting sun hits my left shoulder more than my back. During the journey, several short rest breaks, one river fording, one tallish hill near the village, one medium hill overlooking the farm, conquered. Therefore, from the pyre to cabin about twenty-three or twenty-four miles give or take. The calculation quick, my memory of the trail travelled exacting, and the significant surroundings observed along the way sharp and clear. Good, I nod and crack a grin as a reward. This brief joy fades just as quickly after the intrusion of a single thought ¡­ I am a living corpse. A sense of entrapment overwhelms me. My stomach rumbles to free me, or more probably a simple body function informing me I am hungry.


    Calling in my three goblin ladies and witnessing them go arse up in the slick enters my mind. I sigh instead, stepping to one side of the oil and flinging the door open. Brilliant sunlight streams into the cabin from the East and therefore the morning of the next day greets me after the all-night blackout. I can¡¯t have been wallowing in the black sludge for more than a day, could I?


    Three bald bobbing green heads greet me.


    ¡°Food Great Hob?¡± says one, extending her hand reaching for mine, ignoring the thin ooze coating I now wear.


    The one beside her slaps the hand away and bends back, her hands reaching for her feminine parts as she does.


    The third runs off.


    Only two choices then. While I still retain a great deal of my humanity, sex is out of the question. I doubt given her poor condition she could fall pregnant for a start. If by some miracle she did, the chances of her carrying to full term unlikely, only to produce another runt if she did. I know I will have to do the deed at some stage, I just need better cattle before I consider bedding ¡®skin and bone ugly¡¯. Their noses! I can¡¯t get past my innate loathing, they remind me of a mosquito¡¯s proboscis ¨C at the end long thin and drooping, although not quite curling into their mouths.


    My stomach rumbles again and the one offering food smiles and pokes her long black tongue at the other before extending her hand again.


    I point at the lewd one. ¡°Clean up the mess.¡± Then flick my thumb back at the cabin. She begins to open her mouth and quicker than I thought I could, my hand is around her throat. Accurate lunge, firm grip and I am dragging her forward. Eyes bulging, I lift her clear off the ground, legs dangling and flailing to deposit her in the cabin doorway. Her hands go to her throat massaging the hurt, eyes downcast. The smell of urine hastens my departure. Do I need to be so frightening? Ruling by fear is faster than trying to inspire loyalty and time is critical ¨C they must do as I say when I say. The eternal questions spring to mind. Is this right? Do the ends justify the means? These three goblins accept my ruthless actions or is the truth, they are powerless to resist?


    The food one claps her hands and skips childlike while leading me to a larger cabin, a short distance North of mine. Almost at the door, another voice squeaks, ¡°Bath Great Hob?¡±


    The food goblin halts in her tracks, a quick smile to me and then snap, she charges at the bath one trying to slap her. Bath goblin dodges and waves me to follow as she runs off, again. The ichor and dust are my clothes. The warmth of the sun thickens the mix although not enough for the crud to dry and flake off, therefore my hope of gradually becoming clean without help a faint one. I take one step away from the cabin doorway and feel a hand grab one of my fingers.


    Staring down my nose, the food goblin releases my finger and steps back shivering.


    ¡°Follow, you can help,¡± I say.


    She nods, displaying a wicked mouthful of yellow pointed teeth, which I assume is a smile, goblin style.


    A bronze or copper cauldron awaits swinging over a log fire, the bath goblin claps her hands in triumphant at my appearance until she spies food goblin behind me and launches herself fists leading. Before they meet, I grab each by the throat and shake them. They go limp, their eyes searching for sympathy in mine.


    I choose cruel and snarl, ¡°Both wash me and then feed me.¡±


    Lowering them both, the moment their feet touch the ground they each rush for a bucket and stool.


    Some slapping and growls from me are required to enforce separation, each washing different parts of my body until my genitals remain. Eyes gleaming, with the instincts of a lion they are ready to pounce, only waiting for my permission. Don¡¯t they understand I won¡¯t tolerate fighting?


    ¡°Go ready the food and fetch clothes for me.¡± I point at each in turn, so they are clear who needs to do what.


    Finishing my wash, I overhear giggling. Several younger female goblins approach the cauldron with buckets of water and cast furtive glances my way. They empty the buckets into the cauldron and with their load reduced concentrate on swaying their bottoms and blowing me kisses. I growl and they run off. Young or old, their hideous noses are a barrier, and my pecker agrees, staying at rest. They do draw my attention to a fast-flowing river further North, a natural barrier and therefore border of the Farm.


    My breakfast is a gruel of some kind and my clothes which my goblin ladies insist on dressing me in are basic. Loincloth for the genitals, long straight-leg pants, which they struggle to put on me, slightly tight, which confuses them. Why? They are tight, get over it. Long-sleeved shirt and cured leather boots. All are a dark uneven brown, remarkably like the colour of the farm soil. I suspect they were subject to disposal given my demise and hastily recovered upon my return.


    Next, I follow a simple plan, I order food goblin to stay in the kitchen cabin, take bath goblin with me, meet lewd goblin just as she finishes cleaning away the oil, ordering her to bathe and wait by my cabin. I then command bath goblin to show me around the farm. Once we finish, I park her in the kitchen cabin and repeat with food goblin and finally lewd goblin. They provide independent and thankfully similar explanations, emphasising different points and places between them providing a more than adequate overview of the farm.


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    One other thing I learn is their names, Zata the lewd one, Kexo the food one and Jora the bath one. Each spoke at great lengths how the other two wives were inadequate in one way or the other while emphasising where they of course excelled. I believe names hold a certain magic about them. Not knowing the names of insignificant degenerative beings of a race for example means they can be stereotyped as lesser beings and maltreated. After eighteen missions I have learnt the strength of naming any creature, they become humanised regardless of creature type. Unable to prevent yourself you individualise them inevitably becoming species blind, colour blind, immune to difference and if they are interesting enough you find yourself going deeper than skin deep to explore their personality. This seems to be the human way and I haven¡¯t yet found a cure or even avoidance strategy. My self-awareness of this condition no help.


    I learn from my wives I am a Great Hob because I farm, the oats provide a steady food supply for the village with underground storage for the cold months. During the cold months, the farm grows another crop, a root vegetable and from their description, reminds me of potatoes. I command the most goblins of the three Hobs, the other two don¡¯t care. One hunts game with his hunter goblins, while the other Hob is like the Head Hob of the Village. He meets and greets any visitors, which are far and few between, settles any disputes between the goblins and many believe he is lazy, although none say this to his face.


    On the farm, my word is law and goblin death at my hands my right as the strongest rules. The last goblin I caught in my cabin I strangled to death. The larger cabin north of mine is the kitchen cabin, this is where my food is prepared and where the three goblin wives sleep. They named themselves my wives and I don¡¯t have any memory to contradict them, so allow my marriages to stand for now. Along the river are rows of one-room cabins for the multitude of goblins I command. Half work the farm and the other half build cabins and roads for any in the village. The farm has no domesticated animals, and the fields are dug up with sticks and then planted. Water is plentiful as the Northern swift-flowing river has a slower stream partner on the Southern side. The land, being in a valley gently slopes for good drainage. A huge mountain range rises in the West, two mountainous spurs a Northern arm and Southern arm gradually dimmish until the valley opens into a vast plain, which remains a great mystery.


    I am busy over the next few weeks, I introduce the hand-drawn plough to the farm, the explanation to craft the implement takes time but once the goblin builders get the idea, reproduction flows easy. The other builders fill in the space between each one-room cabin with another cabin, which I instruct on how to convert to double story. The plan is to use the upper floor for grain storage. The trees are cleared using copper bladed axes, so progress is slow although I command the goblins to select trees to clear more farmland instead of from anywhere and the stumps are burnt out, including some aged ones. The ashes are spread across the fields while the black and charred wood they collect and stack. Once I have enough ploughs I demonstrate and instruct until the farm goblins can operate them. I rescue the best grain from the stores to be planted and there is much angst and weeping over this until I growl and smack a few goblins about. This is nothing though compared to the song and dance when I order a quarter of the farmland to remain fallow. I come close to strangling to death a couple of the loudest protesters. When the road builders finish, I order them to lay a duplicate path back to the village an equidistance from the existing path. Next season we will use goblin drawn wagons to cart the grain to the village.


    With the farm busy, I decide the time right to visit my fellow Hobgoblins. I order my ladies to stay awake during the night and wake me before the predawn, food to break my fast ready and a full water skin for the trip. That done, I need an escort and start kicking in some barrack doors dragging the goblin occupants out until I count fifteen. I order them to line up in the predawn, the two females I snag out amongst the fifteen especially ugly. Skinny, frail things one and all with one sneaking along the line trying to play some sort of shell game avoiding any direct inspection. Up early, a decent hike to reach the village before dusk, I haven¡¯t the patience.


    ¡°If you continue to avoid me, I will slaughter those standing in line until you are the only one. Stop your crap and stand before me. Now!¡± I scream the last word. The goblins in line cast their fearful eyes towards one of their number.


    Head down, a tentative step forward separates the delinquent from the line-up. I approach baggy clothes.


    ¡°Head up,¡± I order.


    Firstly, the face isn¡¯t male but female, secondly, the nose size is tolerable and her cheeks full, a hint she isn¡¯t skin and bone. My heart begins to race as my pecker reacts. I reach forward, hold the long-sleeved shirt at the shoulder with one hand while I grab and rip the sleeve at the cuff. The green arm is fleshy, and I can¡¯t help but stare, words catching in my throat.


    ¡°Great Hob ¡­¡± A squeaky voice hails me.


    I drag my eyes from the feast before me in the direction of the, I assume, defender of her virtue. He approaches, wringing his hands, head bowed low. I recognise him. Like there is a four-foot-tall Head Goblin of the Builders, this one is the Head Goblin of the Farmers. With the changes to their farming practice and the grumbling protests he eventually presented himself. My ordering of him to carry out proper farm practice as described by myself short-circuited the bullshit.


    I raise my eyebrows.


    ¡°She is my daughter ¡­¡±


    Nice to know I think to myself, and so?


    ¡°She is too young and won¡¯t survive childbirth ¡­¡±


    The predawn breaks and many goblins are now out and about, the males licking their lips their peckers tenting their pants. Somehow the father has hidden her ¡­


    Grabbing her father by his shirt front I lift him off the ground until we are face to face, our noses a finger width apart.


    I slide my head forward until beside his and whisper in his ear, ¡°I will declare her mine to protect her virtue from the others. While you obey me in everything, I won¡¯t claim her. You understand?¡±


    ¡°Y, yes Great Hob.¡± Relief and caution lace his reply.


    I shake him and then address the gathering crowd of goblins. ¡°She is mine and when I decide she is plump enough I will declare her my wife.¡±


    The daughter collapses to her knees, sobbing. Many of the male goblins are cursing under their breaths, but really what did the little runts expect ¡­ As for me, the fact one such as her exists is enough. My threat to claim her will ensure obedience from her father while protecting her from others. A classic win-win outcome. I lower him and point to the remaining goblins to follow me. Her father can remain behind with his daughter to explain and offer comfort.


    ---


    I jog to make up time. Steady breathing, halting occasionally to drink and I arrive at the village early afternoon, a six-hour journey with the wooden path underfoot. My goblins instantly drop to the ground, their chests rising and falling sucking in air.


    ¡°Stay here,¡± I order them. None respond and I stifle a chuckle.


    A Village goblin spies me, glances at the immobile pile of goblins and tries to duck away.


    ¡°If I catch you prepare yourself for a beating,¡± I call out.


    The goblin retraces his steps, backwards. My lips break out into a smile, is the creature thinking he is reversing time or something? As the goblin looks up, my smile vanishes greeting him with a growl.


    ¡°Where is the Hunter Hobgoblin?¡±


    His hand scratches his head and then points towards the cliff face beyond the village. ¡°Gathering above the waterfall, yes he will be there ¡­¡±


    I grab him by the scruff of the neck. ¡°Show me.¡±


    Releasing him, he scampers off and in an easy jog, I follow. A short trip West through the village leads to a set of stone steps carved into the cliff face beside a waterfall. The water spray and worn edges of the steps cause me to slow. Death by steps I will never be able to live down.


    The goblin waits for me and points. In the distance the Hunter Hobgoblin is easy to recognise, he is at least one, more likely two feet taller than the ten or so goblins which follow him. My eyes return to my guide just in time for my arm to reach out and grab him by his scrawny neck. He shrieks.


    ¡°Fetch my goblins and tell them I will meet them here.¡±


    My guide nods slowly and the moment I release him he bolts. I try to remember his face in case he fails, alas I fail, they all look alike!


    In moments I am jogging along a well-worn packed dirt trail, knee-high healthy green grass on either side. In the distance, numerous rivulets or streams combine into one, which tumbles over the cliff and flows through the village. Before following the trail into the forest, I catch glimpses of smoke further up the valley and I stare long enough to confirm the grey-black tendrils are from houses. Another village further West then and not too far away.


    Later I decide, for now, I need to catch a Hobgoblin Hunter and his band of goblins. I jog into the setting afternoon sun.


    ---


    After jogging a short distance into the forest, I slow, several paths branch off, none really a continuation of the one I have been following. Cursing under my breath, the thick tree trunks and their full canopies laugh at me as shadow and sunlight shift about depending upon the vagaries of the valley wind.


    A death squeal calls to me and quick as I sprint down one path for all I am worth. Goblins shouting and a deep Hobgoblin voice issuing orders confirm I am on the correct path or close enough. My legs weaken as I come across the hunting scene. Black goblin blood paints much of the ground, splashes of red blood from the wild boar and the green-brown ground cover offering contrasts to the canvas. Rips and tears decorate three bodies with enough remaining skin and muscle to hold the corpses together, while a fourth is a headless torso. Three spears of varying success stick out of the wild boar, which lies twitching on the ground. A fourth spear impales the animal¡¯s head as I try to comprehend the waste of life.


    Goblins are runts, yes, and while their future is doubtful this is simply slaughter, for one Hobgoblin¡¯s sport. The surviving goblins swarm over the boar carcass and begin the task of harvesting the fur and meat. I stare at my fellow Hobgoblin trying to school my face and hold back my judgement of disgust. Instead, I examine what I must look like. Dark green skin, ears flat at the top, a matching pair of protruding tusk-like teeth and wiry muscle gracing arms and legs. His torso is slimmer than that of the Hobgoblin who presided over my pyre.


    ¡°Did you return broken?¡±


    His question breaks me from my analysis and at my questioning look, he obliges with an explanation.


    ¡°You look like you want to sex me instead of the goblins,¡± he finishes with a boisterous laugh, one blood-free hand on his belly, while the other on his bloody spear steadying him.


    ¡°What? No ¡­¡± I stammer like a green recruit.


    ¡°Good. You are the farmer. You grow food and new goblins ¨C your job.¡±


    My mouth remains open, ¡®new goblins¡¯?


    He grunts at the goblins and smacks one with his spear. His eyes down he adds, ¡°The hunt will need twenty goblins this season, so you better start planting your seed. The goblins whisper you haven¡¯t started yet.¡±


    Don¡¯t goblins breed amongst themselves? ¡°I will leave the goblins to breed this season my pecker is broken and needs some time to recover.¡±


    Silence, except for the rustling of leaves as every set of eyes, goblin and more importantly the Hobgoblin¡¯s turn upon me. The next moment he advances upon me placing an arm around my shoulder and leading me off a distance.


    Whispering in my ear he says, ¡°Where did you get that idea? They only practise relieving their lust, shooting blanks otherwise.¡± He withdraws his head slightly and raps his knuckles upon my head. ¡°Did you wake from the dead head scrambled? You only suffered bruising on the chest when dragged from the stream, no head injury ¡­¡±


    Well, crap. With effort, I close my mouth.

 1.003 Farming

    Childlike squeals and whines break our one on one.


    Shoat boars scamper about the massacre site, slipping in the entrails and sliding in the black blood of the fallen goblins. The goblins rush for their spears, a couple end up on their behind skating through the mess, all give chase, howling as they follow the small prey into the underbrush. I imagine the thought of hunting something smaller than themselves appealing and I suspect the mother sow not too far away ¡­ I am unable to caution them ¡­


    A goblin sails into the air, the broken body arching awkwardly through the lower canopy of the forest until crashing to the ground out of sight. The goblins to a one, cease their hooting, terror screaming instead.


    ¡°The sow,¡± he says.


    I nod, ¡°Yes.¡± My thoughts turn to boar farming in this moment of crisis, the capture of a sow and her shoats would provide a good start, although I suspect this isn¡¯t the time or the place. I reach for a discarded spear. Stout wooden shaft, topped with a copper or bronze pointed head, simple and functional, although unsuitable for boar hunting, or any large animal hunting where the prey tends to charge.


    Abrupt, sharp shouts of panic and howls of pain lead me to a new battleground of trampled undergrowth and flesh. Flecks of black goblin blood from bludgeoned bodies paint the green and browns of the forest floor as the sow rages, grunting. The tusks of a sow are generally smaller than the male although more than enough to grind down on fleshless goblin limbs, while her weight ample to knock over and then trample the newly fallen.


    I ensure a thick tree trunk is between me and her. Her size though, large enough for three goblins to ride, dominates the bloody arena and she snorts in defiance as broken goblins crawl or limp from her presence. Streaks of crimson blood ooze from multiple wounds, a heat haze emanates from her fine brown hair while her barrel chest expands and contracts to suck in air. Her dark eyes survey her new domain and fix upon me. A front trotter strikes the ground cover. My hands grip the spear shaft in response.


    She doesn¡¯t charge, instead, dances one way and then the other to counter my shielding movement around the tree trunk. Two goblins remain, their caved-in chests declaring them dead, their companions, long gone and the Hunter Hobgoblin long absent, never entering the fray in fact. She grunts defiant and then like an unstoppable force bulldozes into the undergrowth. The moment after is always the most dangerous ¨C when you think yourself safe. With my back now to the tree trunk, I stay alert, scanning the forest and listening as the cracking of branches and thrashing of leaves fade away. Only when I confirm a gentle breeze is responsible for disturbing the upper branches of the trees and soft birdsong agrees with my assessment does my breathing settle. Given a moment of reflection, I quickly realise the danger to myself minimal in truth, a classic Mexican stand-off, the sow reaching the same conclusion long before me.


    I push off from the tree trunk and backtrack to the first hunting site. The carcass of the boar lays half prepared, bugs and flies crawling over the feast. I assume the hunt ended in haste and I am now alone. The sun of this world is now high in the sky and shafts of light find their way through to the forest floor, the beauty of the moment not lost upon me. A slight change in wind direction and the stink of death assails my nostrils breaking the magic. Yes, time to go.


    First, one of my goblins and then others jump and point in my direction as I stride along the trail and out from under the forest eaves and into the clear bright sunlight of the day. They herd before me, their long nose faces looking up expectant, several step around me, nodding to the rest.


    ¡°What?¡± I ask.


    Their green faces lower, several glancing sideways, some shuffling their soft boots until a fit of bravery strikes one.


    ¡°Boss, the hunters said you dead again, for good this time,¡± he whispers.


    ¡°Well perhaps they hope, but no. We have work to do. Any been to the village up the valley?¡± I fling an arm out pointing further up the valley.


    Lots of slow side to side shaking of heads. Their expressions not what I would call full of enthusiasm.


    Before I lead them off, I grab a water skin from the nearest and drink my fill before handing it back. ¡°Follow.¡±


    As I stride out through the grass, spear in one hand, a biscuit-scone is placed in the other. I nod to my goblin benefactor and take a bite. Plain yet I suspect filling with little or no nutritional value.


    The distance to the village is deceiving and we camp overnight in the long grass beside the dirt packed trail. I note my goblin companions are comfortable with the situation, gathering firewood and sharing out our modest trail rations, allowing me to select first. I wave away the offer, which surprises them. The memory of the blood and gore is still fresh.


    ---


    The goblins decamp at dusk and our journey resumes. The trail crosses numerous streams, depths and widths varying and require caution to cross safely. The goblins are wary of the water, and I surprise them once again by assisting them to cross when and where needed. I suspect my past Hob self would¡¯ve simply marched on ¡­ survival of the fittest, losing any goblins along the way acceptable.


    The setting sun leads us to the village, although a stream running down the centre of the valley does just as well. Several brooks and creeks feed this stream from North and South, drainage for the entire valley which then accumulates to form a river which falls over the cliff face above our village. This river then continues South Easterly to define the Southern boundary of the farm. I would need to follow to make sure, of course, yet I don''t doubt my analysis.


    An acrid smell hits my nostrils on a warm breeze. Smelting. I expect the ringing of metal on metal, the necessary hammering when blacksmithing and weapon crafting and instead there is none. The hubbub of village life greets us with fetching and carrying and the smells of cooking well underway from preparing the evening meal.


    I wonder if an overnight stay would be possible when several village goblins stop in their tracks, eyes focusing upon me, arms slowly rising and fingers pointing in my direction. As if an invisible signal is sent to them all, buckets drop, and goblins flee as fast as their legs will carry them finding nearby cottages and slamming the doors shut once safely through.


    My goblins begin to snicker.


    ¡°What?¡± I ask no one in particular.


    ¡°Boss they think you die and come back for them ¡­¡±


    I pause on the cusp of asking if they insulted me or not before my death but perhaps there is another reason. I could always say my ¡®death¡¯ caused loss of memory although that would be suggesting weakness. The reaction of the village is enough to suggest they could owe the former me something ¡­ I simply need to tease out the exact nature of their debt.


    Their collection of cottages rest on either side of a climbing meandering main path through the centre of the village while the headwaters of the stream leading to the village rush down the northern side. As we enter the village proper, I notice another Hobgoblin, like a shepherd although his flock of goblins crowd behind him, march with haste down the path. I also note the wringing of his hands, a good sign.


    He is a smith then, the stains upon his full-length leather apron plain. I wait as he approaches not wanting to fully invade his village uninvited.


    ¡°Klug, I welcome you. We thought you ¡­ argh ¡­ well dead?¡± he stammers, while nodding his head the once.


    He is the first to call me by name, interesting and useful. Names have power and he uses mine to form or reform a bond or at very least a closeness.


    ¡°I am, as you can see, not dead and arrive to claim what you owe.¡±


    He looks back over his flock and some unknown message is given as several goblins run off in response. Not an insult then, a payment owed.


    ¡°The copper seams have almost run dry, and we need them to seek others, surely you understand ¡­¡±


    ¡°I am due what I am owed, otherwise how can I keep the farm running? No food means we all starve.¡± My train of thought a guess although I feel reasonably confident there must exist some sort of bartering system between villages. The evidence? This village clearly smelts ore and with nothing but long grass instead of crops surrounding the inhabitants, Klug¡¯s farm would need to supply their food. So, what would Klug earn in exchange?


    He nods a fatal acceptance and waves me forward. His goblins shuffle aside as we stroll side by side up the rising path until we reach a flat. The ground almost smooth, except for the occasional shallow divot from either pick or shovel. On the far side, an absolute cliff face hewed out from the rising ground. Seven female goblins stand in a line before the cliff face, their noses exceptionally long, all with a covering of dirt and grime, enough to blot out their natural green skin colour. While difficult to discern, their clothing nothing but a filthy leather loincloth, their breasts dirt-encrusted bumps. The filth didn¡¯t hide one additional fact, the healthy quantity of flesh on their body and limbs. That single fact alone illustrating their worth to this village.


    ¡°Can we offer ¡­ anything else? They are needed to sniff for the copper, perhaps they remain until another vein is discovered and we ¡­ want else do you need?¡±


    The heavy breathing of my goblins distracts me, and I spare them a glance. They have tents in their pants and even slobber on their lips, eyes transfixed upon the seven. So not the no nose then, perhaps the healthy flesh? The Hunter Hobgoblin told me of my duty and the fact the male goblins are only practising, do these same goblins believe a healthy female will ensure they conceive? If factual, there would be no pressure on me to farm ¡­


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    I place a finger upon my chin, tapping. In truth, I do have a need but can¡¯t appear to be too eager.


    ¡°What other females do you have? These won¡¯t be instead, just until you find another copper seam,¡± I stress.


    His face brightens, the tusks on either side of his mouth on display. ¡°Fetch others,¡± he shouts and waves his arms about. A village goblin offers me a stool, which I accept and plant my bottom on. Shortly after the village Hobgoblin and I sit before a makeshift table eating quality valley gruel, prepared I suspect with the best of the grain. My goblins sit cross-legged upon the ground nursing their bowls eating a lumpy coarse version of valley gruel. The sun sets and night begins before another line-up shuffles into view, the original seven long gone, fleeing in fact from the ¡®stage¡¯.


    These are skinny, yet clean wearing several rough furs poorly stitched together trying to maintain their modesty. Nose length ranges from slight to just bearable. I shake my head from side to side and slide my almost empty bowl away.


    ¡°You can feed them, and they still make goblins ¡­¡± His voice a sick bleating.


    ¡°But ugly ¡­¡±


    ¡°Two for each and you keep them all. When the copper is found then also keep the seven.¡±


    The torch light casts shadows about his poker face, his voice though betrays his desperation.


    ¡°Three for each.¡± His eyes go wide, perhaps I have overstepped, never mind time to return to reasonable. ¡°Or ¡­ spear points?¡±


    ¡°Spear points?¡± he asks. ¡°Does the Hunter send you to do his bidding?¡±


    ¡°No, not exactly. I want to test a different spear point for him.¡±


    He grabs the wooden cup before him and drains the water before slamming it down. ¡°You doubt my skill?¡±


    I smile and wait for his angst to ebb. ¡°I am relying upon your skill.¡±


    ¡°Explain.¡± He releases his crushing grip on the cup.


    ¡°The spear point needs a crossbar,¡± I answer while bringing my spear between us sliding the edge of my hand crossways about where I want the cross piece behind the spear point.


    ¡°Why?¡± His voice calm, questioning to understand.


    ¡°When the Hunter hunts boar, the animal, even if dead runs up the shaft of the spear usually crushing or if still alive goring the wielder.¡±


    His eyes cast about him while smiling. ¡°Goblins have always died in hunts, why change? You care for them now or something?¡±


    ¡°The more that die, the more I have to farm, and the more spears you need to craft as the Hunter Hob doesn¡¯t retrieve any from the dead for the next hunt.¡± The deadpan delivery of my words perfect, the inference, this is to your benefit as well.


    ¡°Two for each, you keep, three spear points way you want and when copper found only four.¡±


    ¡°One, two or three for each doesn¡¯t matter, more mouths to feed before they can breed, six spear points and when copper found only three,¡± I counter, then take a sip of water. Alcohol would be better, perhaps I need to find some bees and ferment mead from their honey.


    He ponders my offer in silence. I notice his eyes counting his number of goblins and I suspect in the back of his mind weighing up the cost of feeding them and their worth. The males he needs to mine the copper. The seven, perhaps he has more, probably not, are needed to find new copper veins. The other females though how many does he really need to cook, fetch, and carry to keep him in the lifestyle he desires and the male goblins working full time?


    ¡°As you say, three for each as some may die or not birth, ten spear points and when copper found only two.¡±


    So, his offer is three other females and two spear points for one of the seven. Excellent. I intend to trade him back some of the farm¡¯s more well-endowed female goblins for the same exchange rate.


    My hands rub my face while I murmur, ¡°So many to feed ¡­¡±


    ¡°I will work through the night to finish the spear points so you can be away at first light.¡±


    Also, I suspect so I can¡¯t change my mind in the clear light of day, my dithering perhaps a worry for him and the unexpected prospect of keeping five of his long nose females too good to give up.


    Pushing back the stool as I stand, I hold out my hand. He climbs to his feet and clasps my hand in both of his and we shake, the deal done.


    He gives up a shout and all the village break out into celebration; instruments playing, coarse singing and wild dance. He ushers me away until I need no further direction, the arid smell of copper smelting my guide. The smithing area has no walls, open to all, enhancing airflow to benefit the smith as well as the stone and clay forge. My sightseeing falls well short of the actual forge instead we stand before a workbench where he hands me a hardened glazed clay replica of the spear point currently affixed to my spear.


    I turn the artefact over in my hands and shortly before I question his reason, he hands me a palmful of soft clay.


    ¡°Add your crosspiece.¡±


    I smile and roll a portion of the clay into a cylinder shape and place it across the wooden shaft of my spear, a healthy arm length below the fixing place of spear point socket to the wood shaft. I need the spear to sink deep into the flesh of the animal and yet stop well short of the wielder.


    ¡°I will meet you halfway, I will lengthen the spear socket and add the side wings directly, so the spear point is still one piece.¡± As I am about to open my mouth, he holds up his hand to stay my words. ¡°Each shaft thickness isn¡¯t the same and you would need to beat the loop of the separate wings if the shaft too small or find another shaft if too large. By adding to the spear socket, the shaft is already being tapered to fit and as one piece the wings shouldn¡¯t slip or fail after multiple uses.¡±


    I nod and slap him friendly like on his shoulder.


    ¡°Go. I will need to modify a mould, but once done the casting won¡¯t take long and I have trained my goblins to finish anything once cast.¡±


    I stroll out of his workshop and into the night. The warmth from his forge still wisps about me while flickering torch light provides enough illumination so I don¡¯t stumble and fall flat on my face on the slope of the path. Instead of returning to the village meeting place I stare up and observe the multitude of stars. If I survive this planet what awaits me upon my return? True death or promises kept and a chance for revenge?


    ¡°Lord Farmer Hob? ¡­ Lord Farmer Hob ¡­¡±


    A sweet voice breaks me from my false hope and as I lower my eyes, I glimpse the outline of a retreating face perfectly framed in a nearby cottage window. I imagine a perfect beauty, although knowing in truth nothing like that exists on this planet. Still, I am drawn as I know I am sinking, the first sign, my concern for the slaughter of the Hunter¡¯s goblins, the second ¡®inventing¡¯ the hunting spear for them and future generations my rationalisation thin, this valley needing more, not fewer inhabitants. Yet hunter-gatherers require vastly more area to support themselves than farming. Farming will expand villages to towns, towns to cities. Civilisation.


    My steps are heavy, the doorway in shadow, yet visible, findable. I am crossing a line ¡­ maybe the owner of the voice wishes to chat to get to know the real me, who I am, I try to presume ¡­


    I stand in the doorway peering into the darkness, a short dark shape closing in, swaying before me ¡­


    ¡°Do you farm away from your Farm, Lord?¡± The voice non-goblin like, smooth as silk, the invitation plain.


    The scent of copper ore reaches my nose. Confirmation enough. One of the seven ¡­


    ¡°Lord, do you wish light to examine me first? I assure you I am of good stock and planting your seed in me will not be wasted.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I yelp, with a fraction too much haste. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to know who in case your Lord Hobgoblin is offended by my planting.¡±


    Tinkling laughter her response. How can this creature be an ugly long nosed goblin?


    ¡°You are the Farmer are you not? He is the Smith.¡±


    The Hunter hunts, the Village Head administrates ¡­ this would make for a thin gene pool ¡­ a soft hand in mine interrupts my idle thought drawing me into the cottage proper. This same hand then transfers my hand to rest upon a handful of soft nubile breast and firm nipple.


    I don¡¯t wish to bump noses, to do so would break more than the illusion so I spin her around and bend her over.


    ---


    After ¡­ I grab her discarded loincloth, a course cloth instead of leather, to clean up. She did offer, but again the nose and I shudder.


    ¡°Wait here Lord, I will fetch the next.¡±


    Her retreating bare feet slap upon the stone cottage floor. The outline of the open doorway visible under the faint torch light as I stare upon her disappearing shape bereft of a response. Six more then? My pecker is once again keen so who I am to deny while the illusion lasts.


    ---


    ¡°Wake, your spears are ready, and the day has broken.¡±


    Rubbing my eyes, the Hobgoblin Smith is gone before I can answer. This is becoming a habit ¡­


    Morning sunlight streams into the one-room cottage, the lingering smell of sex remains and as I sniff for the source I only need to look down. The bottom half of my body is naked, and my pecker stands to attention due I suspect to morning wood, which refuses to unfurl regardless of my urging. A clay chamber pot is calling to me and I wide step stagger over to the doorway for relief. When I am certain my stream is hitting the mark, I sigh and look through the doorway noticing the gathering crowd, the female goblins chatting, their pointing fingers confirming I or my member the topic of their discussion. None are attractive to either me or my pecker, so I finish and then with a lazy push close the door.


    A squeak and immediately after a clatter.


    A skinny female goblin is caught between the closing door and door jam, her face fallen. My breakfast bowl upturned upon the doorway threshold.


    She drops to the ground turning the bowl over trying to scrape the contents back in. ¡°Please Lord I will fetch another, don¡¯t leave me behind as punishment, beat me instead I beg you ¡­¡± Tears roll down her cheeks, either side of her smallish nose and my brain finally catches up.


    I can hear the chat outside, ¡®useless¡¯, ¡®ugly one¡¯, ¡®waste of food¡¯ and my need to leave rises to the top of my priorities. ¡°Fetch my goblins first I can eat later,¡± I growl.


    The bowl firmly in her two hands she scrambles to her feet. ¡°I am not to be trusted with messages Lord, I ¡­ I am stupid.¡±


    I need a moment to regain my composure and reach for a jug inspecting the contents. I take a mouthful, swill, and spit. ¡°You are one of the females, now mine?¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes Lord although I thought ¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need you to think this moment, I need you to do.¡± I slam the jug back down and my eyes laser-like find hers. ¡°Go fetch my goblins. Now!¡±


    I feel a pang of tiny guilt as she jumps, grasping the bowl all the closer to her modest chest and then rabbit-like bolting from the cottage, peals of laughter serenading her exit.


    My emotions are under control I tell myself and yet the outburst ¡­ natural. The body I inhabit an unexpected influence, how or why I don¡¯t understand. Does my corpse retain any memories or past prejudices? I am certain vat-grown GPA flesh bags have no such baggage ¡­ The evidence is building, this a Hobgoblin racial thing, might is right, lessor beings their fodder and I am now being influenced.


    Searching turns up a loincloth, mine I believe, clean of sex at the very least. My pants are next, and I pour myself into them, shrugging when I decide to agree with my ¡®wives¡¯, they are tighter than they need to be. Giving myself a once over inspection I open the cottage door and step out. Ignoring the onlookers, I spy the spears leaning up against the cottage and begin my examination of each one.


    ¡°Scram bitches, can¡¯t you see the Lord Farmer Hob has completed his planting this visit and is now busy preparing to leave.¡±


    I resist the urge to turn around and confirm, I am certain the voice belongs to one of the seven, the first? To look though would reveal their faces and of all things, I ardently retain my revulsion for a certain goblin facial feature. Something is messing with me ¨C I am the agent who acclimates and accepts the mating rituals of sentient spiders amongst other abominations and yet I am fixated upon a single absolute, to reject female goblins with long noses. Is this really me? I lean forward, each hand grasping a spear to steady myself as I shake my head. The action futile, changing nothing, a useless gesture and no more. This body, incorrect, this former corpse and possibly the cocktail of drugs utilised to revive and rejuvenate responsible, the sole explanation, I am certain. Anything else and I doubt myself, to doubt myself is to tiptoe upon the edge of ¡®going native¡¯ and I swear at that moment to never lose myself here. I lose myself and they win.

 1.004 Hunting

    Care for them or not, I have a purpose; raise these pitiful creatures to the greater heights of civilisation and they will make the journey willingly or kicking and screaming, makes no difference to me. I relax my grip on the spear to hand, dark green skin tone returning to my white knuckles as air whistles over my sharp angular teeth. I can do this.


    Their trampling feet have been accumulating behind me while taking my moment. A drumbeat of doom or does their assembly herald the first mob of goblins who will reach beyond themselves and begin the rise.


    ¡°Grab a spear and follow.¡± I march off without looking behind. My ears though drown in the desperation which shortly after erupts. Ten spears and fifteen of my goblins and in truth, I didn¡¯t expect such a vicious contest from skinny farmers.


    The stream escorts me and those goblins who choose to follow my lead immediately, instead of competing in the village. How do I judge these followers? They know their place. They follow their leader first and foremost? The twenty-one female goblins from this village certainly, although I refrain from conducting any inspection or count.


    Mid-morning and I raise a fist. ¡°Rest.¡±


    The long grass surrounding us ideal and as the level of chat behind my back rises, I decide the time is right to inform my goblins of their next task. Swivelling about, a quiet descends upon them and their eager, no not all, questioning eyes look up at me, one or two of my goblins and not all the female village goblins ¡­ surprising.


    ¡°I need a net made,¡± I declare.


    They look to each other, the struggle to understand evident in their frowns and vacant glances.


    I demonstrate to the group the weave required using the long grasses, the fibre within natural and strong requiring the use of the few knives within the group to harvest. Before a length of fibre is completely utilised another length is overlaid to extend and therefore continue the weave. The whole growing by joining multiple figures of eight, the loops lengthwise top and bottom a continuous weave, while the ends are ¡°arm in arm¡± with another continuous weave. By mid-afternoon, the group reaches a rhythm, harvesting and weaving and the net grows as does their sense of accomplishment. They finish several smaller nets as well due to various mishaps, tying them off early instead of wasting the effort.


    Late afternoon ten goblins with ten spears join us, cuts, bruises, and the odd bandage. Shortly thereafter, three stragglers reach us, two first and well behind a limping third. No losses therefore not a fight to the death. Either the ten clearly stronger or the challengers not willing to put their lives on the line. The three without spears I order to assist with weaving. I stare at the limping one as she struggles to lower herself to the ground, trying to imagine her without facial bruises and a cut lip, recognition eludes me.


    The ten with spears I begin practice stances with. Of particular focus is planting the spear to take a charge. None are to throw their spear, ever, I drill into them. I intend them to slay boar not melee other spear carriers. Before dusk, we role-play a charging boar and then practice setting the net to entrap a sow. I play both roles to great effect, dismaying yet not demoralising my goblins by rewarding them with success as their level of cooperation increases until dusk calls a halt.


    Twenty of the twenty-one prepare a fine meal of gruel over a low fire breaking out the necessary cooking goods and chattels to do so. The Twenty-first abstaining clenching her spear, eyes darting about. The night passes and in the morning, we break our fast on more gruel and tromp off to reach the outskirts of the Northern Forest after crossing the village stream first. I deliberately choose the forest on the opposite side of the valley, trying to avoid any chance of meeting with the Hunter Hob. The other reason, any goblin loss in my party can be buried and forgotten. Do goblins bury their dead?


    I order more practice, this time utilising real trees for cover and to set the net. Game trails within the forest are numerous and I suspect the Hunter Hob has never ventured North and given the Southern Forest is closer by at least a day if not longer to our village it makes sense. Time to try our first hunt.


    The first boar I lure into anger by throwing a rock and bolting. As I sprint between two trees, two goblins from behind each tree trunk spring into action and set their spears. The boar is impaled, while four other goblins attack the flanks to finish off the beast seeking the heart. The two ¡®spare¡¯ goblins with spears scan the forest for surprises. Standing around the slain animal, the goblins remain silent until one of them hoots shaking his spear in defiance. The others join him, and they dance around the boar.


    Leaving the ten to their celebration I fetch several of the village goblins to haul the kill out of the forest intent on hunting again. Instead, the Ten Spears meet us, the boar swinging upon a spear the hooves bound together somehow marching triumphant and unwilling to release their prize. I could order them of course ¡­ I didn¡¯t, building esprit de corps begins with baby steps and this could be one. Once out of the forest the village goblins take over, preparing the carcass and shortly after, all eating their fill of seared wild pork as do I. The excess they dry out as trail rations. The villagers also prepare the hide for tanning. A process requiring sun drying after scrapping and rubbing with brains, then hanging over a smoke fire until late in the evening. My second hunt over before starting, the Ten Spears incapable of moving after their protein overload, a self-infliction upon their subsistence bodies.


    I continue to lead my troop East towards the cliff face and discover the forest extends to the absolute precipice. My frustration is double as many of the goblins needed away moments resulting in the journey taking longer than anticipated. Staring at the eaves of the thick forest I need to change my original plan. After the first trial hunt, I didn¡¯t plan to do another until closer to the farm, in a forest nearby. I wanted to capture a sow and the shorter the journey into captivity the better. I also didn''t fancy walking a sow down the cliff steps above the village, fortunately, further North, the cliff, at the limit of my vision appears to taper off. There is also a second river, which bisects the natural barrier and possibly offers another way into the lower reaches of the valley. Without any obvious alternative, I lead the troop and plunge into the forest. By following the game trails, we slay another couple of boars and skirting the cliff edge the goblins manage to butcher and dry the meat while tanning the hide of each. The feasting is more sedate this time I note, and I can¡¯t help smiling to myself. They leave out an abundance of meat for drying.


    We leave our makeshift, cliff edge camp unguarded as I require all the goblins to try and capture a sow. The slaying of the boars allowing me to search more thoroughly for the sow in this territory. Shoat boars are the clues and after chasing them the sow charges out of cover at me. I dash back to where my goblins lay in wait, jumping a dugout shallow hole filled with leaves and the net. At the right moment, the goblins in the trees pull the net up while the shallow hole full of leaves causes the sow¡¯s front legs to drop down suddenly her head sliding into the ground and eventually catching in the net. Her struggles exhaust her, while her bleating calls to the shoats, which the goblins capture in the small nets and then tie a lead around their neck. I hobble both legs of the sow, a fine balance between allowing her to walk and yet not permitting enough freedom to work up into a charge. We restrain her further by deploying loops of fibre rope around her thick neck at the end of two opposite poles, each pole held by three goblins. Manoeuvring the sow safely out of the forest along the narrow game trails a frustrating and time-consuming challenge.


    The river before us starts high in the mountains, late afternoon sunlight reflecting off the running water. The fast-flowing turbulent water rushes down a narrow channel and on either side are wide pebble-strewn banks. Depending upon the season I suspect the volume of snowmelt the cause. For now, the wide banks, cutting through the cliff face provide a gently sloping path down from the valley plateau. The goblins, the sow, her shoats, and I take advantage of the easy passage, camping for the night at the bottom of the cliff, fresh running water conveniently close by.


    The goblins take shifts guarding and restraining the sow and we break our fast to a brilliant sunlit morning under a clear blue sky. All the goblins benefit from the boar meat diet, their skin and bone look fading, bodies preparing to put on weight for the first time in their entire lives perhaps. Following the river East towards the farm the chat is lively and the banter between the goblins healthy and inwardly I celebrate. More boar hunting and sow capturing, and domesticated boars will be a welcome addition to the farm, especially their meat while not forgetting their leather.


    My mind deep in thought developing a grand design returns to reality with a snap as my eyes catch a strangely familiar sight. In the middle of the river is a low island, with no vegetation and at times the river threatens to flow over instead of around. My memory screams at me, this isn¡¯t the first time I have spied this island. A corpse aberration and yet ¡­ I am drawn. An irritation I must resolve. The site provides an opportunity to cross the river, the fast-flowing water smashing against the island losing momentum and reluctantly spilling around. My corpse must have crossed here. For what though?


    ¡°Halt,¡± I call.


    All chatter ceases and to a goblin they face me.


    ¡°The Ten Spears lead the others to the farm and ensure the sow and her young are penned securely and a shelter is built against sun and rain at one end. None are to be slain while I am absent.¡±


    I hear them draw in a breath, waiting upon my next words.


    ¡°I am going to explore across the river.¡± I look around at their faces. ¡°I will return, so go now and do as I say.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    I wait and watch. They slink off, almost silent except for quiet mutterings with several looking back. Spear, water skin and dried pork and I wade into the river. The water laps my chin and then I scramble onto the island. Quickly across this high ground, I then continue, again chin deep and then I stroll out onto the opposite bank as if I belong. The river is a dividing line, the farm side is light forest, grasses and where the goblins have toiled, tiled soil. On this side of the river stands old-growth forest, lower in the valley and I suspect the soil rich from years of rotting vegetation. Where I stand a natural clearing of pebbles spreads out before me as if a giant scoped them out of the river and spread them behind him regardless of the trees and bush. This crossing unique and marked. I shiver, obviously due to my wet clothes, what else?


    Following a nearby game trail, I enter the forest. An eerily half-light peeks through while I tread softly, trying to avoid any missteps and noise making. I encounter several cross trails and ignore them. Night hits suddenly, reminding me of a light switch being turned off in a room. The last glimmers of light allow me to hunker down off the game trail into the surface roots of a gigantic old tree. I drag some dead leaves and foliage about my legs to break up my shape. Dinner is water and dried meat. Then I am asleep.


    ---


    A sting on my neck wakes me and my hand immediately slaps the location. Between my fingers is something approximating an overgrown mosquito. The soft squishy body once full of my blood now a mess, which I wipe off my hand by dragging it across the root of the tree. The final clean up requires a splash of water from my waterskin. Soft pre-dawn sunlight filters through the upper canopy of the forest providing enough illumination. I take a swig of water and as I am about to rise, I hear snorting. I slowly sink back down.


    Rooting and digging are nearby sounds, too nearby. I chance a glance in the direction of the activity and spy a huge boar, black fur bristling. Then the undeniable thunk of an arrow and scream of pain an instant after. Shouts rise, taunting the wild beast as the boar¡¯s hooves strike the ground in response. A snap as the arrow shaft breaks off is clear as a bell. The thundering hooves of the charging boar soon fade down the trail. I wait.


    A distant grunt scream and then silence returns.


    I lay there until dawn and waken to the sounds of the forest which surround me. Bow and arrow hunters. I roll the implications over in my mind. Spears are hand to hand, and you usually require many hunters together to be effective, especially if you throw your spears and not set versus charge. The hunt, therefore, a tribal endeavour. The bow and arrow weapon enables a single hunter to wound and kill from distance. You may hunt with one or two others for safety or to help haul the kills home but no more. Bow and arrow hunters are more far-ranging and with smaller kills still make the hunt worthwhile. I consider my spear and know my chances are low if I don¡¯t surprise them, whoever they are, first.


    Abandoning the game trails, I ease my way through the undergrowth, my bulk an issue requiring many false starts and a great deal of backtracking. The going is slow, especially since I need to work my way back to the game trail occasionally to ensure I am travelling in the same direction. At dusk I am still in no man¡¯s land, deep forest roughly paralleling a major game trail. My hope still high, to arrive at the hunter¡¯s camp achieving total surprise.


    I spend another night in the forest hiding amongst the undergrowth for concealment and sleep.


    At first light, I sip from my waterskin and chew on dried meat. I have about another two days of supplies, therefore today is my last day exploring. I can always return I convince myself while trying to ignore an inner voice.


    Around the middle of the day, I smell smoke.


    Before dusk, I spy upon a village. Several huts on stilts, wooden posts, and beams with walls of woven reeds or long grass. The inhabitants, goblins. These are the picture-postcard type you would find in the tourist books if this planet had such a publication. Adults four feet tall, green skin, long ears, noses of varying lengths although none as gross as the civilised goblins, well-nourished, good muscle definition walking with a confident swagger. The athletic body shape of the females marginally smaller, although the mutual respect between the sexes obvious. Bow, a quiver of arrows and a couple of stone flint knives the weapons of choice for each adult and some of the adolescents.


    I recall the ¡®civilised¡¯ goblins of the Head Village and the Farm, runts with a few exceptions, no governance except obeying Hobs and worst of all no community because they don¡¯t have hope of more than what they are now ¨C themselves. Therefore, beyond this self-centred view, like neighbours, their village or their race, they are blind. The Hobs have beaten them down ¨C civilisation in name, yet more like the results of a successful experiment in domesticating the noble savage.


    When you spy, you need to look up occasionally; left and right, straight ahead, all common viewpoints. Looking at the ground as much as looking up though takes practice before becoming second nature. The twang my sole warning and I didn¡¯t hesitate to throw myself to one side, the crashing through the brush beside me ear-shattering loud given the spying context. I curse under my breath, couldn¡¯t be helped. The feathering on the arrow vibrating marking my prone position only moments before.


    The sounding of a horn obliterating any pretext I could maintain any chance of secrecy. Goblins in the village scrambling in moments to react to the summon. An almost musical follow up, I assume a signal to indicate exactly which side of the village, the intruder, me could be found. Crashing through the brush, my first objective is the game trail. My Hobgoblin legs and endurance should ensure I outrun them if they can¡¯t gain line of sight and release arrows possibly wounding me.


    So certain of my plan I still couldn¡¯t accept I now lay sprawling upon the trail. A trip-rope! Quickly to my feet, I couldn¡¯t prevent my natural need to look behind me. Have they caught up? How many? Were any about to release an arrow? Instead, the end of a huge swinging tree trunk engulfs my vision. My reflexes allow me to jump back and grab the end of the log with a grunt. I now realise where my corpse broke his ribs. Oh, and died.


    ---


    As I fade to blacking out, I wonder if this body will survive a second time. This once corpse far from being the pristine flesh bag my spirit expected, no deserved, when I accepted the mission. Instead of smooth flesh integration and assimilation, my spirit darted from side to side within the confining bumpers of the harsh skin layer of a repulsive flesh bag trying to avoid the inevitable. The flesh coarse, resistant and I remember my confusion turning to silent screaming as my mind suffered scrapes and received gouges as the insert process continued to bludgeon my rebellious spirit in! The biggest shock yet to manifest, my mind detected and sampled artefacts, fragments of memory, personal and racial ¡­ then I knew, the flesh bag wasn¡¯t new and clean ¡­ This travesty beyond improper and yet as much as I tried to resist, like a child on a greasy slide I slipped inexorably further along the injection process. After a gut-wrenching free fall, the sudden awareness of uncomfortable completion struck me. Like an ancient television set trying to tune in a poor signal to eliminate picture distortions and jagged lines ¨C my Spirit to Flesh-bag fit forced, ill-fitting and miserable.


    I recall silently asking, why me? Why dirty my pristine spirit like this? I tried running through various possibilities. Did this flesh bag belong to another Agent first and I am Plan B? This guess struck at my pride. How can an ¡°A¡± designated Agent be assigned to a Plan B? Next, I mulled over the ramifications; each designer flesh bag, the engineering effort to ensure a perfect match with your spirit also included your GPA identity markers of course. You weren¡¯t just another example of the native population; you were a specific Agent and any others in the Galactic Planet Agency would be able to discern that fact. I thought my ill-fitting hand me down designer flesh bag contained microcode designating me as another Agent thereby wiping my real designation and identity. That revelation put me into a tailspin, yet worse was to come.


    My emerald-yellow Spirit once inserted, sloshed about like heavy syrup in the stale flesh bag, trying to grow familiar, accustom and attempting to shrug off the discomfort. Yet something was still wrong, the flesh bag¡¯s mind was primitive, not enough synapses ¡­ the excess from my Spirit formed a feedback loop, a waiting queue with finite patience before ¡°permanent loss¡±. I silent screamed due to the probable loss of knowledge, skills, long term memory, and especially short-term memory too much. Bad turned horrific when I recalled something else; primitive mind, this single fact undeniable proof, the flesh bag wasn¡¯t engineered. All the advantages of a designer flesh bag, gone. Not just another example of the native population, the tailoring technology ensured a superior example of the species was grown. This included body enhancements; seamless tech augmentation and the Agent usually awakened within close reach of the best examples of the culture¡¯s available technology and equipment. None of that for me.


    My spirit was inserted into a corpse, the chemical and nanorobot supplements no substitute for the real thing so I ask myself the question again as I lose consciousness. Would this body survive a second time?


    ---


    ¡°This is the second in months after years of no intruders are you sure we should return him?¡±


    I didn¡¯t struggle while regaining consciousness, my tied arms and legs through a pole providing enough warning.


    ¡°The elders have spoken their wisdom, if he disappears others will investigate, returning a dead body puts an end to the curious.¡±


    Both voices deep, although feminine and short of opening my eyes to confirm, I feel confident in my assessment. The two female goblins capable of carrying my suspended weight, impressive. Did I die though and the nanorobots revive me? No, I decide. More likely I was close to death and the nanorobots placed me into a coma. A coma deep enough to fool hunters into believing I was once again a corpse. I would count on this deception while in a designer flesh bag ¡­  in this corpse flesh bag though, a welcome surprise. The sound of turbulent water grows stronger, and I know I am soon to be thrown into the river and released. Somehow, I need to return, taming these noble savages will kick start goblin civilisation.


    The cool river water hits my flesh and I hope I don¡¯t shiver or goosebump. Fortunately, the goblins are otherwise busy.


    ¡°He is heavier than the last one!¡± She coughs then a deep breath follows.


    ¡°You had me fooled, I thought you not at the end of your strength.¡± A deep merry laugh breaks out.


    ¡°We need to untie him and then roll him further into the river yet, I will recover soon, I promise.¡±


    The long pole slips away and then hands fumble at my feet and they separate.


    ¡°I will get the ropes and then you can help roll.¡±


    Hands then reach for the rope around my wrists, and they fall away. I lay on my back and while water eddies around my body I manage to subtly position my mouth above water yet allowing higher micro-waves to flow down my throat.


    ¡°When you are ready ¡­¡±


    I wait in silence, unable to open my eyes wondering what is going on?


    ¡°Leave him be!¡± A scream erupts from across the river.


    Laughter. A bow butt hits the ground and then a grunt. ¡°Is your bow ready sister?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°The closest to the heart wins, alright?¡±


    ¡°What of the body?¡±


    ¡°That scrawny thing will be dirt in less than a month and our skinny cousins never venture this way usually. I suspect the kill at our feet the reason so once he floats back to them no others will come looking.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know who calls to them and yet I can¡¯t allow her to be slain while I do nothing. Dammit, yes, I can, my chest still smarts, and I am close to freedom ¡­ I don¡¯t care a wit about them, one less who cares?


    The bows creak, drawing taut. My goblins wouldn¡¯t recognise a bow ¡­ sitting ducks. Did I just claim them? My goblins, are they really?

 1.005 Camping

    I decide they are my goblins and without further thought, river stone in hand I leap up with a yell, water spray falling from me as my body launches at the nearest. My muscle and body weight along with complete surprise overwhelms her as she hits the ground winded. As the other lowers her bow towards me I throw the river stone at her head. She ducks spoiling her release, the stone glancing off her head.


    I rabbit punch the winded goblin in her throat and then leap to my feet charging the second. Her eyes open wide and only in the last few moments does she regain her senses as I crash into her. Picking myself up I grab her leg and drag her body alongside the other within reach of the ropes. I roll the first on her stomach.


    ¡°You resist and I will kill your sister,¡± I hiss.


    I tie her hands behind her back.


    The other is starting to move, and I jump on her and whisper, ¡°You resist, and I will kill your sister.¡±


    I roll her over on her stomach and tie her hands behind her back.


    The pain in my chest reminds me I should rest. I look across the river and the stray village female frantically finger points behind me. I follow the direction and three, no four male goblins are sprinting towards me. For a moment I wonder why they don¡¯t use their bows and then realise I have hostages.


    I pick up the bow and nock an arrow, stone flint point, interesting and release. While the first arrow is in flight, I release a second arrow. The third about to release and the first strikes an upper thigh, rusty I thought when I release again. The second arrow strikes another in an arm. They stop and look at each other presenting perfect targets, my first chest hit. As he collapses the two still standing look, and an arrow strikes an upper leg. Wounded arm bolts. I need to release a further three times before I stop him running with an arrow in his back.


    What to do now? Their weapons would be an obvious good addition ¡­ the females, their knowledge and skills special in their own way and therefore valuable. I remove the only strip of leather easily obtainable, the loincloth from one of the females. I roll their bodies until they are face to face and thread a leather figure eight around their necks, I tie them tightly together until their faces are side by side. If nothing else another knot to untie.


    I then jog to the four males in turn using their own knives to deal the coup de grace ignoring their protests. Only afterwards do I note the ease with which I dispatched them, they are the noble savages, and their blood is on my hands. The heat of battle? I dash to the furthest first, strip him of his weapons and then drag him by his ankle to join the others, glancing occasionally at the female hostages. Leaving the males in a pile I grab the four bows, quivers, and eight flint knives they will no longer need and return to my captives.


    ¡°Stop your struggling.¡± I then reach down and test each binding with a tug and decide to retie their ropes. Expecting pain from my chest only a dull ache reminds me of my log encounter. I suspect busy nanorobots, although I spare several moments to lower my mouth to the river and drink my fill. Apparently, corpses don¡¯t need water while being held until disposal.


    I drag the bound females to the river edge, my feet splashing in the water. I have a hold of the loincloth around their necks, that way I can hold their heads above water as I cross. I don¡¯t think there will be much of a choking effect. Their bodies tense, as the water laps against them.


    ¡°Where are you taking us?¡± the older one asks. Her eyes are skywards while her sister¡¯s eyes are river facing.


    ¡°The RIVER sister ¡­¡± Her words squeeze out between clenched teeth.


    ¡°We can¡¯t cross the river. Our spirits will die and with no spirit when our body dies, we won¡¯t join our ancestors ¡­¡±


    The pure superstitious terror in her voice made me pause for a moment, only a moment. I continue to pull them into the river proper.


    ¡°Return us to the forest and we swear upon our ancestors we will be your slaves, our lives to protect yours, none in our village will raise a hand against you ¡­¡± she pleads, her sincerity convincing me of the promise.


    ¡°Sister, the water, we are crossing save us ¡­¡± The voice of the younger sister willowing and thin.


    Time for me to take advantage of their primitive superstitious culture or at least try.


    ¡°I drag you through the river to capture your fleeing spirits, I will command the waters to cleanse your bodies separating body from spirit so I may swallow them both ¡­¡± I dunk both their heads into the water. They struggle against the terror; the water is at chin height on me, so I have firm footing and they are flailing in deep enough water to feel helpless. They splutter as I raise them, gasping for breath. I dunk them again, their mouths wide open.


    When I raise them again, they cough several times, the green draining from their faces gaining a bluish tinge. Their eyes are rolling around in their heads barely conscious. I dunk them again until I feel no resistance. Hurrying I gain the island and haul their bodies up. I untie the binding around their necks and begin CPR on one and then the other until eventually both revive. I ensure I am breathing air into their lungs the moment both recover.


    Both stare at me, their eyes following my every movement as I release the ropes around their wrists. I stand back, my hands on my hips.


    ¡°You have drowned in the river and upon death, your spirit captured in its waters, but I have claimed them and now hold them within me. Using your spirit within me I breathed life back into your bodies. If you serve me in all things, I vow, upon your deaths to breathe your spirit into your bodies so your spirit can join your ancestors. If I die your spirits will perish with me. What say you both?¡±


    Their mouths drop open, and they share a glance.


    ¡°I fell into ... great darkness ¡­ you say my death? When we join our ancestors, the days will be endless and the hunting forever ¡­ and yet I felt your breath within me, drawing me back from the darkness ¡­ how can you do this without the command of our spirits. Promise to return our spirits to our bodies as you say, and we will serve you, we don¡¯t wish to pass over into the dark ...¡±


    The older sister speaks for both siblings I believe, as the younger sister bobs her head at every word, tears streaming down her face.


    I pick up the rope and loincloth handing the loincloth back to the older sister. Her green face glows slightly as she affixes the loincloth in place.


    I bend my knees. ¡°Wrap your arms around my neck and I will carry you to the other bank.¡±


    They glance at each other, lips trembling. I wait, they need to decide to trust me. I shrug and begin to stand. Two bodies leap upon mine and wrap their arms around my neck. Their feet clear the island and I plod forward and carefully into the river. I lower myself into the water, chin height again and both of my passengers¡¯ heads are well clear. I wade-walk through the deepest water my two passenger¡¯s arms reaching for the top of my head to keep their own above water.


    As I reach shallow water, I bend my knees and then duck under the water. I briefly hear them both scream and as they release and flail about, I grab each of them by the arm and sprint for the bank. They both roll over on their backs gasping for breath. A brief swallow of water no more and yet they are terrified. I perform CPR on them both in turn, unnecessary of course but they don¡¯t know that.


    ¡°The river tried to claim you, I hauled your bodies out quickly and checked with your spirits to make sure you were alive and not walking corpses never to join your ancestors.¡±


    This speech total mumbo jumbo and yet the grateful look in their eyes speaks volumes.


    ¡°Rest with my servant.¡± I wave a hand in the direction of the female village goblin who stands speechless, hands on her mouth.


    I stroll back towards the river.


    ¡°No Master you can¡¯t leave us, if the river takes you, it will take our spirits.¡±


    I look over my shoulder and they both cry rivers of tears, arms wrapped around themselves. I smile.


    ¡°I will return shortly.¡±


    The weapons are next, held high above the water while I cross. I gift the female goblins their weapons back. The village goblin takes several steps away from them, her eyes darting about.


    ¡°They need their weapons to protect me. If they die in my service, I have promised to return their spirits to them.¡± The goblin huntresses briefly hug me while the village goblin still stands confused.


    Next, I gather and then tether the four male goblin Hunters together by their ankles using the rope. With some effort, I heave their bodies into the water and drag-float them across. I almost lose them twice when the water is up to my chin, recovering both times although their second bid for escape sorely tempts me to let them float away.


    Reaching the bank, I collapse, and with a final effort roll on my back. A water skin touches my lips and I take a drink. An offering of dried meat follows which I take and begin to chew on. Then a huntress appears on each side of me taking a hand, petting it. Their eyes staring into mine.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Bury the four hunters,¡± I whisper and then close my eyes.


    ---


    The enticing aroma of sizzling flesh wakes me. I open my eyes, above me stars blink and twinkle in the night sky, camp firelight dances off to my right, East I think if I remain where I collapsed.


    ¡°Is this how you serve?¡±


    I recognise the voice of the older sister.


    ¡°Y ¡­ yes although our Lord Hob has been busy ¡­¡±


    ¡°Does any female claim his male-hood?¡±


    The clatter of copper on copper reaches my ears.


    ¡°Well ¡­¡± asks the older sister.


    ¡°He arrived in our village with fifteen of his farmers and negotiated with our ¡­ erm the Smith Hob to take twenty-one females from the village as payment and apart from cooking and using a net to trap boar he hasn¡¯t demanded any other service.¡±


    ¡°Good, we are bound to his service for he has our spirits, and we will serve him in every way to ensure he keeps his oath and without competition, this will be easier.¡±


    ¡°Sister, every ¡­ way? You mean rutting?¡± The new voice light and timid, the younger sister.


    ¡°The Great Shaman tells us our bodies are vessels, through which our spirits sample life and rutting is part of that. You didn¡¯t favour your chosen in any case, did you?¡±


    ¡°No, there was only one meeting our mothers introducing us ¡­ umm what about you?¡±


    ¡°Our new Master slew him his body now buried this side of the river ¡­ I ¡­ I will miss him.¡± A sniffle. ¡°He ran ¡­ an arrow in the back ¡­¡±


    Should I be concerned? A female and a feeling of loss, not a trifle to ignore, at the very least I decide upon caution. As for rutting, certainly, a long-term goal, for now, I need archers to accompany my spear carriers. The Smith¡¯s goblins once fattened up would allow me to meet my rutting quota and if not, I will demand more.


    ¡°The one you insisted upon burying ¡­?¡±


    ¡°Leave well enough alone sister, you are young and must heed your older sister, our spirits are the only thing which matters and this ¡­ Hob ¡­ has them.¡± Her soft words at the beginning giving way to a desperate harshness.


    ¡°The Hob chooses ¡­¡± A squeak of voice protests.


    Snickering laughter answers her. ¡°What? Do you think he will choose your skin and bones over us?¡±


    ¡°Probably not ¡­¡± the quiet response. Then with more energy she adds, ¡°He is the Farmer Hob, you will not be the only ones he ruts with, he needs to plant his seed in many to ensure the Head Hob and the Hunter Hob have enough for their duties ¡­ and death during childbirth, common for children and their mothers.¡±


    A smacking slap echoes around the camp. ¡°You lie. No, I now know the reason for your words, your weak skinny bodies, but my sister and I are strong, we will survive as our mother did and her mother ¡­¡±


    I hear a sobbing laugh. ¡°Striking me won¡¯t change the fact Hobs can plant large babies in a goblin and no matter how far you spread your legs the head won¡¯t come out and many a mother and their child have been buried when their strength fails.¡±


    ¡°Sister I don¡¯t wish to die in childbirth ¡­¡±


    I can imagine the older sister wrapping her arms around the younger ¡­ ¡°He would be close and able to breathe our Spirits into us at least.¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± is the harsh reply.


    ¡°A Hob cares little for the goblins they command, and I doubt this Farmer Hob any different, he will seed and leave like any crop, leaving the harvesting to others.¡±


    Strangled sobbing permeates the night and while I believe this is the younger sister, I am not entirely certain she does so alone.


    With the conversation exhausted I decide the time is right for me to ¡°wake¡±. A moment before the soft pattering of feet approaches my dirt bed. With a sniff, a female lay beside me, an arm upon my chest and a leg over mine. Now what? Do I throw her off? Why am I considering her at all in this? They are goblins, they expect Hobs to not give a rat¡¯s arse ¡­


    ¡°What are you doing you skinny piece of dung?¡± screams the older sister. ¡°I console my sister and you assume rights you don¡¯t have. You are nothing but a servant. My sister and I are bound to him, we should be the ones laying with him.¡±


    Slapping. The sister is attempting to physically remove the village goblin.


    I whisper a curse under my breath. Both goblins freeze. Humph, exceptional hearing, noted. My hands'' dart forward, to strangle the neck of the village goblin who squeals in response. The Huntress takes a step back, checks the distance and takes another.


    ¡°Why do you lay beside me?¡± I growl.


    As she gasps for breath, I release my hold slightly. ¡°To keep you warm Lord Hob, I would presume no more. There is cooked meat which I can fetch for you ¡­¡±


    I climb to my feet, not releasing my grip and as I stand her feet dangle, remaining limp. She blinks her eyes once and swallows. At my leisure, I lower her. ¡°Fetch me food.¡± Releasing her she scampers off towards the campfire.


    ¡°You!¡± My index finger curls back towards me several times. The older sister glances back to the younger and shuffles forward head down.


    ¡°Why would you remove my blanket?¡±


    Her head flies up, eyes wide. ¡°Blanket?¡±


    My hand darts out quicker than a snake and my fingers wrap themselves around her neck. I notice her reach for and then just as quick, stop ¨C a hand hovers over her dagger.


    ¡°You would stab me?¡± I kink my head to one side.


    ¡°No Lord Hob, instinct only ¡­ of a huntress, my life and spirit are bound to you.¡±


    I drag her face forward; we meet eye to eye. ¡°You don¡¯t touch my property unless I order you to.¡±


    The young sister stands beside her now, eyes full of worry, arms shadow motioning to free her from my grip and yet withdrawing.


    She gasps trying to answer and I take several moments to ease my grip.


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob. My sister and I won¡¯t make the same mistake again.¡±


    My left hand reaches out, wrapping fingers around the younger sister¡¯s neck. She yelps in surprise.


    ¡°This is the last time your sister speaks for you.¡± Her eyes try to escape mine and I draw her face closer and squeeze. Her eyes open and unable to speak she attempts to nod. The older sister shifts under my grip, I sense she wishes to interfere and yet what if she does? What can she do? No, now is the time the one pair of sisters become two sisters. I release my grip enough to allow her to speak.


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob I will only touch your property upon your orders, I swear.¡±


    ¡°Good! Now we have cleared up that misunderstanding, I smell food,¡± I say, releasing both to stroll between them and access the campfire. Arriving just in time to receive a portion of rabbit and quickly devour the tasty morsel. As I finish my servant offers another which I accept.


    ¡°Lord Hob I would request my ¡­ would request I am permitted to lay with you tonight ¡­ to keep you warm.¡±


    The older sister.


    Without facing her, I ask, ¡°What is your name?¡±


    ¡°I have no name Lord, you possess my spirit you own my name, which you should ¡­¡±


    ¡°Know ¡­¡± I finish. I remain at ease, not even turning to face her. ¡°Your spirit is strong and while I am its keeper it refuses to reveal any of your secrets. Unique and perhaps some of my recent displeasure a result ¡­¡±


    My admission returning to both sisters some of their spiritual strength, a feint inkling they are still in control. Hopelessness is only a downward spiral and I need both huntresses all in and committed to helping and supporting their Lord.


    ¡°I would have you know me as Koria, Lord Hob.¡±


    ¡°Such a name seems ¡­ quiet, considering you and your sister were given the task, or perhaps the honour of disposing of the intruder. I would think such a thing only for a great huntress with a magnificent name ¡­¡±


    She takes a few heartbeats to respond, so I look forward to the story ¡­


    ¡°You flatter me Lord to think so highly of my prowess when you haven¡¯t yet been a witness to judge.¡±


    ¡°And what of you?¡± I didn¡¯t need to point or stare; I am certain the younger sister would respond and if not perhaps one less sister would work out better.


    ¡°Lord Hob, my name is Luda, and I am honoured to serve one such as yourself.¡±


    A lot of primitive cultures add to their names based upon the feats completed or even the signs upon birth. I find their names ordinary ¡­


    ¡°I expect nothing but your best performance when executing your duties. If I believe that isn¡¯t the case, then your sister will suffer or if total failure ¡­ slain in your stead.¡±


    There is a brief scuffle behind me. Perhaps one sister restrains the other? I casually swivel around to face them and hold out both of my hands as an invitation for their necks. To their credit they don¡¯t hesitate long at all, more satisfying is one sister doesn¡¯t check with the other as they step forward into the embrace of my fingers.


    ¡°Your spirits are mine and yet I don¡¯t wish to make you suffer while in my service as you have much to offer if done so willingly. But ¡­ if you prove troublesome, I am resolved to slay you and venture into your tribe¡¯s forest again and capture others.¡± Both slightly shift under my grasp.


    Knowing the answer, I ask anyway. ¡°Have you both eaten?¡± The older bites the inside of her cheek while the younger swallows and then both answer in unison, ¡°Yes, Lord Hob.¡±


    ¡°Good, I will need both of you to keep me warm.¡± I catch the village goblin in my line of sight, ¡°You, your name?¡±


    ¡°Dega, Lord Hob.¡± She nods and smiles.


    ¡°Tidy the camp and ensure you awake at first light and prepare a meal to break our fast.¡±


    With restrained excitement, the two sisters lead me to a bedroll, possibly theirs, certainly not mine. I lay dead centre and each sister takes up a position on either side cuddling into me. The tidying of the camp isn¡¯t a quiet undertaking until I believe Dega finally runs out of items to clang together.


    ¡°Dega?¡±


    A quiet pause, then her timid voice answers, ¡°Yes Lord?¡±


    ¡°Hurry and finish, I need another for warmth.¡±


    A sharp squeak of joy and then a reply, ¡°Yes Lord Hob.¡±


    I stare into the clear night sky, identify the various stars, wishing I roamed amongst them. I also wonder what my mysterious benefactors are doing. I must accept I am here on their mission now, the circumstances though ¡­ I kink and stretch my neck trying to swallow the blackmail of an offer too good to refuse. First, the obligatory cryptic message, of course, offering the illusion of choice:


    {Leave-Life override, Galactic Planet Agent 01-007A to be offered redirect mission. Top Secret. Bonus Offered: Triple Mission Credit if successful. Do you accept? Y/N}


    Triple mission credit ¨C at the time, the hackles on my non-existent neck automatically went up, shouting bait. The Triple credit significant to me because I would then be Final Ride qualified. I could hang up on this ¡°job¡± and live an eternal quiet life. Twenty-one Spirit Returns to Flesh Bag designs of my choice savouring all of what human galactic civilisation has to offer, roughly eight hundred years of indulgent living. The bait perfect therefore too good to be true and so equally too good to refuse. I am certain beyond doubt now, as then, a refusal would¡¯ve led to a failure of some sort in my Spirit Return, in essence, ¡°poof¡±, me gone, as in ceasing to exist. So, I willed Y, ensuring my thought response was as genuine as possible, laced with feelings of excitement and enthusiasm. I didn¡¯t doubt the entire process was subject to monitoring and therefore I needed to play my inevitable eager part. My only opportunity to escape this trap would rely upon the brains behind this manipulation to believe in their foolproof plan. They would have plotted out every stage as if everything proceeds as predicted, therefore until I learn more, I will ensure they continue to believe in their infallibility. Do they watch me now, laying between these goblin sisters? I am certain the goblins are my tools to use, the Hobgoblin is the apex being on this world and the strong rule the weak. As such I can choose how to use them ¡­


    Now flesh, I accept I am also a tool of stronger beings, my benefactors and will always be such while planet bound regardless of any optimism to the contrary. Yet I am an Agent with a high mission success rate, hence the bloody A in my designation you cretins whomever you are, wherever you are, as my eyes continue to scan the night sky. Oh, and how can we forget compliance with every new key performance measure the Galactic Planet Agency decided to create and impose from one mission life to the next, to thwart me obtaining Final Ride mustering out. I know them all and have met or exceeded them. I am from the first graduating class, hence the zero one in my designation. After eighteen missions and therefore nominally over seven hundred years old, I plan on leveraging every year of my hard-won experience. Body heat rises within me as my passion overrides the stark facts of my situation. All manner of swearing comes to mind, ultimately futile and a waste of energy, worse, a distraction. My swearing is reserved for an oath, I swear upon my continued life to maintain a laser beam sharp focus to escape this doom and nothing less. First things first, mission success. I close my eyes and dream plan as Dega settles upon my chest.

 1.006 Fishing

    My chest is in pain. The crushing bruise from the log, not the source, that hurt almost gone. The pain is sharp, like a cut. My eyes flash open into the pre-dawn of the next day. Both sisters no longer at my side and Dega¡¯s body limp upon my chest, two arrows impaling her back. I spare Dega a silent prayer of thanks.


    ¡°Go Milga Stone Blood, he has our spirits, and his death will ensure they never return to us.¡±


    ¡°I have slain him?¡±


    ¡°No, one of the skinny goblins slept upon his chest, you have slain her.¡±


    The younger sister spies upon my awakening as I shift Dega¡¯s corpse to one side and climb to my feet and she knows my doom is upon them. ¡°Hold Milga, I command you both or you forfeit your sister¡¯s spirit.¡±


    With a great deal of satisfaction, I witness the stunned look on Milga¡¯s face when her tribeswomen hold her as I advance to inspect my newest recruit. She spits at me, and I smile as I wipe away the insult and Dega¡¯s black blood from my chest.


    ¡°How many are with you?¡±


    She shakes her head, ¡°None¡±.


    My hand reaches out and the fingers wrap around her throat. ¡°You crossed the river alone? Risked your spirit alone?¡± I throw my head back chuckling, exaggerating my disbelief.


    Words spit like venom from her mouth, ¡°I am the Stone Blood, when I hunt my stone arrows always return bloodied from striking what I hunt ¡­ I need no others to keep me! Others ask me to keep them safe on a hunt.¡±


    ¡°Koria, scout the river and lure more of your tribe to me, anything else will be a failure.¡±


    She glances once at her sister, good she understands and then she leaves crouching with a bow, quiver, and stone knives at the ready. There is a momentary flash of fear in Milga¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Why do they heed your orders?¡±


    ¡°They tried to explain to you if I overheard correctly, I have their spirits, I die, and they will never die with their spirits and never join their ancestors.¡±


    She struggles under my grip, ¡°You lie, none has such a power. You are false, only upon death does a spirit leave the body.¡±


    ¡°You can soon judge for yourself. We only await Koria¡¯s return.¡±


    I drag her to a nearby tree and bind her. Standing up I place a hand on Luda¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Watch her, if she escapes for any reason, your sister will forfeit her life, spiritless.¡±


    With that, I gather some weapons and follow Koria¡¯s tracks. Once certain of the direction, I swing wide sprinting to make up time, I plan to approach the river with the rising morning sun behind me. Panting, I crawl into position, the pebble riverbank in view and the sight before me I must acknowledge wonderous.


    Koria is talking, perhaps shouting is a better description, at one of her tribesmen on the South or Farm side bank of the river. Behind him, a rope stretches across the river to the low island with another anchoring that end. In the river are two more hanging on for grim death, the fear obvious on their near-white faces and I am not sure why. On the North bank, tribesmen of all ages and sex gather sharing a quiet chant.


    I creep closer along the bank, taking cover to ensure those in the river or on the North shore will have difficulty spotting me and given the show Koria is putting on I doubt their attention wanders. I draw back the string on my bow and I am certain Koria spies me through the light brush, the best I can conceal myself from her direction. She captures her tribesmen knowing full well I have witnessed her betrayal yet trying with her final act to save her sister¡¯s life. My arrow releases and arcs nicely taking the island goblin in the throat. His body falls away from me and into the river. The current taking hold of new flotsam and sweeping him back towards me.


    The next goblin in the water is frantic. His hands at his waist and as he begins to follow the island goblin, he throws up an end of the rope. Short ropes, which explains the others in the river. Those on the North bank surge forward and yet at water¡¯s edge they are helpless. I charge up the riverbank, those in the river are attempting to make the shore and I notice a knife in Koria¡¯s hand. Does she slice the rope and leave them to their fate in the river or does she allow them to come ashore, so I can steal their spirits? I take the choice away, yelling, ¡°Don¡¯t cut the rope.¡± The knife is still in her hand yet at ease. Her prisoner is busy anchoring the rope trying to save his tribesmen.


    Both come ashore, they try to rise at my approach and fail. Limbs of jelly from the long stay in the river and then the strain of saving themselves. I untie the rope around their waists and secure their necks instead, pulling them along at my own pace, a female, and a male until I reunite with Koria and her captive.


    ¡°I have captured him, Lord Hob, as tasked.¡±


    I stare at her and only her, my eyes trying to burn down the lying bitch. Her eyes tear and she roughly ties her captive, trussing hands, and feet, moving on to each other prisoner in turn. The tribal audience across the river howls insults at her for the betrayal then turn their backs. She crumples to the ground, and I believe welcomes the jabs of pain from the riverbank pebbles as some sort of penance. I kick her, with all my strength in the ribs and she flies into the river screaming.


    ¡°Names?¡±


    When none answer I approach the shore male first. Although difficult for me to be certain, I believe he is the oldest. I drop to my haunches and grab his throat until his face is level with mine, his body bends, his face contorts.


    ¡°Name?¡±


    ¡°Zeb Stone Grim.¡±


    ¡°Father and husband to whom?¡±


    ¡°Father to Koria Keen Eye and Luda, Husband to Suda the Faithful.¡±


    I drop my grasp and move to the next male, who has managed to roll on his side, so I roll him back over on his other side and stand over him, my shadow moving to and fro, now able to flash morning sunlight into his eyes.


    ¡°Name and relationships?¡±


    He crushes his eyes shut. ¡°Duz promised to Luda.¡±


    My gaze turns upon the final captive, a female. ¡°Name and relationships?¡±


    Her tired eyes open. ¡°Duzsia who is looking for her name fails.¡± Her eyes slowly close shut.


    Coughing, alerts me to the return of Koria, crawling to shore. Standing I take enough steps towards her, so my shadow bathes her.


    ¡°Why does Milga Stone Blood join your family to rescue you and your sister?¡±


    Another cough and I step forward feigning to swing my leg back. Her hands weakly rise. ¡°Payment ¡­¡±


    I return to Zeb. ¡°What is your promised payment to Milga Stone Blood?¡±


    He shakes his head, the green of his face brightening. ¡°If you hold onto your silence, I will slay both of your daughters.¡±


    ¡°Who are you? Why do you torture us so?¡±


    I stroll towards his daughter, flint in my hand.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Wait ¡­¡±


    I pause, looking under my eyebrows in his direction. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°I ¡­ we have promised I will mate with her until she gives birth to a daughter.¡±


    Alright, I didn¡¯t expect that answer and I take a moment to try and digest the implications.


    ¡°What about your wife, Suda the Faithful, won¡¯t she be upset with you sharing your seed?¡±


    With an unassuming calmness, he replies, ¡°She has only two children and can bear no more, better I give my seed instead of us losing our daughters.¡±


    ¡°What of Milga Stone Blood?¡±


    ¡°She desires a daughter to pass on her legacy and I am the one father in the tribe who only conceives female children ¡­¡±


    This is bullocks I think to myself. ¡°What two daughters and you are the chosen one?¡±


    ¡°Five ¡­¡± Emotion hits his eyes, moisture gathering. ¡°Three have been lost to the hunt.¡±


    I leave the father and advance upon the loner, sparing a look at Koria. ¡°Koria fetch your sister and Milga.¡±


    ¡°Are you ¡­ my failure.¡± Sobbing, her chest hitches. ¡°She ¡­ I ¡­¡±


    I storm over, grab her around the neck and hoist the now limp body of my sworn servant up, my face level with hers. ¡°Fetch your sister and Milga.¡± I grind out each word and then throw her to the ground. She slowly picks herself up and slinks away. I am trying to recruit utterly loyal, almost fanatical followers and the spirit taking ruse is only as good as the mystic I create. A ruthless unforgiving Hob is expected, so when I show kindness the change my lure them into absolute belief.


    The smell of urine hits me as I approach Duzsia, her eyes staring at the pebbles beneath her. ¡°I will lead you from your shame,¡± I declare, as I hoist her up by the neck. The fear in her eyes doesn¡¯t fade and as the river water splashes against her legs, she begins to struggle.


    ¡°Calm yourself, I will lead you from your shame ¡­¡±


    I hold her under, pulling her up to snatch a breath and then back down again. In between, I listen to her fear of losing her spirit and I am now satisfied the tribe shares the same superstition. Finally, her body goes limp no longer desperate for air, lifeless and I drag her to shore and administer CPR. The resuscitating takes some effort, eventually though, while coughing profusely her airways are clear of water and she sucks in a huge breath while my lips are upon hers.


    Eyes wide, she splutters, ¡°The darkness, the cold ¡­¡±


    ¡°The river claimed your life taking your spirit upon your death and I have stolen your spirit back from the river and using it returned life to your body. I am now the guardian of your spirit. When you die, if you have served me faithfully, I will breathe your spirit back into you so in death you can join your ancestors, this is my solemn oath.¡±


    She opens and closes her mouth several times ¡­ ¡°I understand now, you have Koria¡¯s spirit, don¡¯t you?¡±


    I lean down and untie her ropes.


    ¡°You are freeing me?¡±


    ¡°If you slay me, both Koria, Luda and your spirit will be destroyed and none of you will ever join your ancestors in death,¡± I reply, coolly.


    I leave her to her thoughts and approach Duz.


    ¡°I curse you. I pray to our ancestors they seek revenge and snatch your spirit and deliver forever torture,¡± he screams.


    I silence him by dunking him in the river. Luda arrives as he takes a final breath, and their eyes meet. One betrothal meeting my arse unless love at first sight. Lifeless I drag his body from the river and begin CPR. No matter my effort he refuses to revive. Luda drops to her knees, hand on her mouth.


    ¡°He chose darkness,¡± I declare and move along to the father.


    I drag Zeb Stone Grim into the river, Koria and Luda stand at the water¡¯s edge, while Duzsia stands suspiciously close to Milga.


    I return my attention to Zeb, ¡°Are you going to decide on darkness or servitude?¡±


    ¡°Death in darkness, or returning to my ancestors will not save my daughters, Koria has failed you, so Luda is forfeit her life is she not?¡±


    I dunk him again and then drag him back up spluttering.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I will never betray you if I can live near both my daughters. I will tell Koria I have taken on her debt and any failing big or small will mean my spiritless death.¡±


    I dunk him again. Can I trust him? He doesn¡¯t call for his ancestors or bemoan the possible loss of his spirit. Before he is lifeless, I pull him up for air.


    ¡°Like Duz, I believe you don¡¯t fear the darkness and an after-life of never seeing your ancestors, but I will take your spirit and hold you to your oath. If either daughter transgresses again though, the other will forfeit their life.¡±


    I dunk him for a final time and drag his lifeless body from the water. I perform CPR and make a show of stealing his spirit by drawing in his breath. Then I free him. He embraces his daughters, both waiting, fearing to act without my consent.


    Waving to Duzsia, she escorts Milga to me as I wait beside the river.


    I drag her into the river without complaint or struggle. A quiet determination exudes from every fibre of her being, yes, she is different and therefore extremely dangerous.


    ¡°I am not going to steal your spirit. I will pretend to of course but your death serves me better.¡± I dunk her before she can answer and of all the goblins, she holds her breath and floats sedately beneath the water. I inwardly smile and punch her in the stomach. Shortly after bubbles of air erupt from her mouth and for a moment her eyes are ablaze with shock. She recovers, although her face is passing from green to blue-green.


    I drag her up to gasp for air and then slowly submerge her again. I hold her until the air in her lungs exhaust and once again her face changes colour. She nods, not in desperation or panic, a signal. I lift her out once again.


    ¡°You must allow me access to Zeb Stone Grim¡¯s seed. Once I birth a daughter, I will solely be responsible for her upbringing. If I chose afterwards to return to the tribe you will allow me to, holding my daughter hostage if you believe my oath to return not strong enough. Finally, I wish to hunt beyond this valley when my daughter is of age, and you will swear to let me do so.¡±


    All her demands return to having a daughter. Never being a mother, I wonder if she realises once children begin to think for themselves, they don¡¯t always follow the wisdom of their parents and the plans they envision.


    ¡°You hold no allegiance to your tribe?¡±


    ¡°They are my tribe and nurtured me into adulthood, which I have repaid countless times. I am now ready to spread my wings as does a bird, the valley is too small for me ¡­¡±


    ¡°And they wish you to remain, and I assume the promise of Zeb Stone Grim¡¯s seed their final bargain, which I now own, yes?¡±


    She nods. I think I understand her as much as I can anyone.


    ¡°I will not take your spirit. While not debilitating, you would not be as strong or as skilful as you could be which I cannot permit to be inflicted upon one as accomplished as yourself.¡±


    She nods.


    ¡°While you await the birth of your child, you will assess all the goblins living on my farm and if any have potential to be an archer, select and train them to within a hairsbreadth of their lives. They eat, sleep and train ¡­ nothing else. Once your daughter can suckle at your teat, you can either leave her in the care of others you trust or take her with you as you teach those archers you have trained to hunt. Once your daughter can draw a bow and hit a target dead centre at fifty paces you can select any three you have trained to be your personal followers and no one else, except perhaps myself and only in an emergency will anyone else be able to command them.¡±


    The water swirls about us, my skin beginning to wrinkle and those on the shore now bored with our meeting, not understanding the import.


    ¡°You trust me to hold to my oath?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Perhaps we disagree, and you attempt to slay me. You will need to succeed on your first attempt, you won¡¯t survive a second and as you have witnessed, I am at times lucky ¡­¡±


    She chuckles, clear crisp joyful. ¡°You can¡¯t sleep with a goblin on your chest every night, can you?¡±


    ¡°Is that a challenge?¡±


    ¡°No Lord Hob, that is what they call you do they not?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but we have an understanding, so Lord Klug is more appropriate.¡±


    She nods, ¡°Lord Klug, I swear to serve you as your faithful servant, protecting you as I would expect you to protect me.¡±


    I consider her words and agree although my protection has certain limits.


    ¡°My protection will extend as far as possible, even if you are in the wrong and haven¡¯t wronged me by your actions. Still, I council you to be wary of the Hunter Hob and Head Hob in this valley, they would see you first as a primitive goblin, something worthless. Such opinion will not change for a long time, perhaps your daughter¡¯s daughter will live in such a time ¡­¡±


    ¡°Surely you talk of a possible future only, how would you really know?¡±


    ¡°I profess a quiet wisdom, perhaps if you stay as my servant long enough, I will share more ¡­ For now, I need to get both of us out of the river before I shrivel up.¡± I purposefully look down at my groin.


    Quick as a whippet she understands the reference and chuckles once again, even though I have her arms and legs bound behind her back. I reach behind her and cut her bonds away, if, at all possible, she should walk out of the river as a sworn servant instead of bound servant or slave.


    She leans on me, on occasion, although in the main travels under her own efforts over the pebble bank and back to my modest camp. Father and his two daughters make their way back, keeping their distance from me, with Koria flashing me uncertain looks. Duzsia though is my new best friend.


    ¡°What did you and Milga discuss?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Escape plans Lord Hob,¡± she quips.


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°When are you two leaving?¡±


    ¡°Well, she told me she plans to stay. Anyone who can survive being hit by a log and recover as if never struck and then have the luck to survive two of her arrows meant for their heart is special in some way and she means to walk in your footsteps and hunt down her share.¡±


    I mull over her words and recall Milga and my conversations and resulting negotiations. Perhaps I am special and yet these are early days and for all my efforts so far change is still slow to come by.


    ¡°What of you then?¡±


    ¡°You may have my spirit, you may not, either way, I want you to farm my loins and fill my womb with the arms and legs of a future champion. I think Milga a fool to want Zeb when your seed could father a giant amongst goblins, male or female.¡±


    I come to a dead stop. A few paces ahead of me she turns to face me a sly grin on her face.


    ¡°You are too young, and a giant of a goblin baby would tear you apart during birthing ¡­¡±


    Her hands rest on her hips. ¡°I am of age, if from a proper family my parents would be organising betrothal meetings, I will have you know. As for birthing, I need to fall pregnant first, one step at a time Lord Hob.¡±

 1.007 Triumphant Return

    We reach the makeshift camp and in the light of day, a slain corpse, bedrolls strewn about and a cold campfire doesn¡¯t suggest the temporary abode of a great Lord Hob.


    ¡°Milga Stone Blood, given you slew my cook you can bury her and then prepare the middle of the day meal.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Klug.¡±


    ¡°Koria scout East.¡± I point towards the still-rising sun. ¡°Hunt and return with something to eat.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob.¡±


    ¡°Luda, to me.¡±


    Koria pauses in her preparations casting me a look. I wave her off.


    ¡°Lord Hob?¡±


    ¡°Your father has accepted your fate. Did he explain this to you?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob, when we are away from the river all temptation will be removed, I am certain.¡±


    ¡°Scout the perimeter of the camp.¡± I wave her away, she briefly joins her sister, placing a hand upon the other¡¯s shoulder before leaving.


    ¡°Zeb Stone Grim assist Milga Stone Blood to dig the grave, mutual company will perhaps ease your seeding duty later.¡±


    He nods and walks towards the diggings.


    ¡°Lord Hob, what can I do?¡± asks Duzsia an unmistakable eagerness in her voice.


    ¡°Pack up the camp except for one bedroll and some utensils to cook and eat our next meal and then grab your weapons, you can be my bodyguard for the day.¡±


    She catches sight of Dega¡¯s body. ¡°Didn¡¯t your last bodyguard die with two arrows in her back?¡±


    ¡°You will be the daytime bodyguard, completely different and I can assure you I haven¡¯t lost one of them as yet.¡±


    She nods slowly, I sense some doubt, so wave her off with a smirk.


    Left alone I return to my own thoughts. Back to the farm by dusk, ensure the sow is settled and plan for more to be captured when hunting boar. Meat and furs from the boars, which should help feed everyone up until the crop is harvested, although I still need a bean crop of some type for the fallow field, so perhaps searching for that is next. And if I am searching anyway, several beehives wouldn¡¯t go astray, honey for mead and bees for crop pollination. Perhaps I need to swap them around, prioritise.


    My bodyguard is busy around the camp, her tight leather pants, the leg bottoms tucked into the tops of shin-high leather boots alluring when she bends over ¡­ I curse under my breath, shaking my head and making the effort to look elsewhere spotting Koria returning. There isn¡¯t any elegant grace in the walk of a goblin, yet she strides towards me exuding confidence, her leather jacket or shirt a perfect fit ¡­ I imagine her trapped smallish breasts ¡­ my loins stir. I briefly close my eyes and fill my mind with imagines of the Hunter Hob and Smith Hob and wonder why they aren¡¯t busy responding to their urges. Do they have urges?


    I reason there is a control in place upon the planet, the Hobgoblins have specific roles, and they exercise them, no more and no less. If all the Hobgoblins bred with the goblins, then perhaps with childbirth mortality rates the depopulation would reach some critical point, yet with only one Hobgoblin ¡®farming¡¯ means a slowing of that ¡­ not even prevention or curative, at best a play for time. Manipulation of planet development, a game the GPA likes to play, could this be them behind the scenes? Assume goblins are the primitive natives of the planet, going nowhere, doing nothing great except living their simple, although happy lives. Ignorance is bliss sometimes.


    You introduce a bigger race, in this case, Hobgoblin and yet you forget to include females? The flesh bags the GPA prepares, except for human replicas are sterile, as an agent, I know this to be true. The Hobgoblin as a race would leverage the goblin DNA and be grown in a vat. The next step would be to inject a spirit into the flesh bag ¡­ which race would despise goblins more than any other once granted lordship over them? I suspect goblins. Using goblins though has stifled development, they are or were more interested in ruling as dictators instead of developing, hence the need for my arrival. Then again, my ruminations could all be a giant pile of crap ¡­


    ¡°Lord Hob?¡±


    Koria stands before me, a hand on a hip and ¡­ and is her leather jacket not laced as high as yesterday?


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°The meal is ready.¡±


    The sweet aroma of rabbit sizzling over the campfire invades my nostrils and instantly my mouth waters. I nod and make my way over to the campfire, struggling, trying to extinguish my curiosity about Koria¡¯s modest breasts. Milga hands me a piece of rabbit which I accept and chew. After all, they would be small flesh mounds on well-developed pectoral muscles, would they not, underdeveloped nipples, human male like?


    ¡°Lord Hob?¡±


    ¡°Lord Hob!¡±


    I focus my eyes and stare downwards meeting Koria¡¯s. ¡°Yes, Koria?¡±


    ¡°Your meal is going cold in your hands and we are ready to leave.¡±


    I survey around me and all is as she says, bedrolls and backpacks on backs, bows to hand, quivers, and knives set. The portion of rabbit in my hand I throw onto the dirt smothering the last heat of the campfire and stride off towards the East. I hurry, in part from need but mostly due to an inner embarrassment. Do I blame this corpse I am walking in for these stray thoughts and feelings? The nanorobots?


    ---


    The light forest West of the farm doesn¡¯t conceal the buildings from the primitive goblins, which I realise are all of them, as they start chatting a long way out. They are more substantial given the log walls, yet the construction skill required for the farm buildings isn¡¯t a huge leap forward compared to the tribal huts.


    Goblin children playing on the forest edge fall silent as we approach and as they spot me, yipping and cheering spreads amongst them like wildfire. Half bolt, running back towards the farm while the other half, with sheepish looks and tentative steps, approach me. I am known to them yet have never met any of them, skinny, naked with a generous covering of dirt they don¡¯t present a great advertisement for civilisation when compared to the well cared for young and adolescents I briefly spied upon in Koria¡¯s village.


    I shoo them away. ¡°Go back to your play.¡±


    Most do and those who don¡¯t just stare as we pass them by. There is a huge range of age between youngest and oldest and only one or two of similar size, which I assume roughly equates to age given their poor diet. If these children are the total of the next few generations, there is not going to be enough adults at some point ... another problem which will darken the more I ignore it. Back in the days before space travel the easiest way to fill a gap in population, usually able-bodied men, was to steal them or entice them. Perhaps I need to search other valleys for starving civilised goblins, kidnapping primitives may result in reprisals as I doubt all we encounter will conveniently fear crossing a river.


    ¡°The young are the future Lord Hob, these goblins are little better than vermin,¡± speaks Zeb Stone Grim, his voice lacking any emotion, plain grim fact.


    I halt. ¡°Perhaps a strong lead from yourself is required?¡±


    He hurries to join my side. ¡°You jest?¡±


    Placing a hand on each of his shoulders I reply, ¡°I don¡¯t jest. If you want the task it is yours.¡±


    ¡°You accept I will guide them in the ways I know, which may not be yours?¡±


    I remove my hands and continue our march towards the farm. ¡°They are as you say vermin, anything more is better so I will announce you, Master of Children, do you accept?¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob, girls and boys to teach the lessons of life and survival, I accept with all my heart.¡±


    Koria and Luda laugh and slap their father¡¯s back. Luda the first to speak, ¡°You won¡¯t forget your daughters will you father?¡±


    I glance back to see their father wrap an arm around each of their shoulders. ¡°You brats have already stopped listening to the wisdom of your father yet be assured I will never forget you or fail to love you to my dying day.¡±


    While doubting they will admit to anything both Milga Stone Blood and Duzsia pay a great deal of attention to the family antics of Zeb and his daughters. Milga, I suspect confirming her choice of father to her future daughter, while Duzsia wishing Zeb could be her father.


    Not much further on and several blinks of firelight breakthrough between multitudes of goblin shapes dancing and jumping in a circle oblivious to our approach. Who did the children tell of our arrival? Almost to the back of the crowd, I recognise the cauldron against the night sky, stacks of wood blazing beneath.


    A procession winds its way towards the cauldron from the direction of the farm proper. The excitement of those circling the cauldron reaches a frenzy almost drowning out the approaching squealing pig-like sounds.


    ¡°Ready your bows,¡± I whisper to those behind and beside me.


    Zata and Kexo, smile and wave while others follow, ropes around the sow¡¯s neck leading her to the ¡®pot¡¯.


    ¡°Milga the goblin on the left, Koria the goblin on the right, in the heart, steady and release.¡±


    The strain on the bows reaches my ears and then whoosh and thunk, Zata and Kexo flip back from the force and crash down prone, arrows sprouting from their chests. Goblins wave their arms, bolt, and scream in most directions although the majority favour the most direct route to their houses. As the crowd clears four male goblins, who I don¡¯t recognise maintain enough of their wits to keep hold of their ropes. The sow is silent while the wood around the cauldron crackles and the water within the cauldron bubbles away. Several thrown down torches remain lit casting patches of waving light in the night dark, although the fire under the cauldron dominates now.


    Reaching the four, enough firelight touches them to reveal shaking arms and legs and eyes wide with fear.


    ¡°Where are you taking my sow?¡±


    I wait long enough and then stab the lead goblin in the chest, plunging my stone flint knife deep, withdrawing with a twist. The eyes of the remaining three follow his fall to the ground.


    ¡°Where are you taking my sow?¡±


    They answer all at once and I hold up a hand and point to the remaining lead goblin.


    ¡°Lord Hob we ¡­¡± His eyes dart towards the bodies of Zata and Kexo and return to mine. ¡°Your wives decided upon a feast, a few disagreed, many didn¡¯t, some, like us, did what we were told ¡­¡±


    ¡°Return my sow to her pen, she does have a pen?¡±


    Bopping he replies, ¡°Yes, Lord Hob the builders quick to finish they were.¡±


    As they wrangle the sow to leave, I ask three more questions. ¡°Where is Jora, the village females and my Ten Spears?¡±


    He swallows, the flicking torchlight enough to catch the tell. ¡°Lord Hob they left the farm shortly after arriving to hunt.¡±


    ¡°And Jora?¡± I doubt she would ever go hunting.


    ¡°She is in the silo ¡­ with the few who disagreed.¡±


    ¡°The other two can lead the sow to her pen and stay on as guards, you can lead me to the silo. Zeb, Koria and Luda keep an eye out and your bows ready. Duzsia, walk in my footsteps, Milga Stone Blood at my side, your bow ready.¡±


    ¡°Lord it is night, I am the daylight bodyguard am I not?¡±


    ¡°Consider this a promotion, dear Duzsia.¡±


    ¡°Lord Hob ¡­¡± There is a whine in her voice and yet from behind, her hands rest on my hips as we move once again, following our guide.


    Upon reaching the silo I discover the lock is a huge stone resting in front of the door. Bending my knees, my arms are long enough or the rock small enough for me to gain a grip. My thighs bulge as I heave the rock aside. The eyes of our guide nearly pop out of his head and under my gaze he drops to his knees. I take in several deep breaths and then flick up the cross beam baring the door. The door falls open, Jora¡¯s limp body spilling out, which I catch. One of my companions lifts a torch and flickering light reveals several lifeless goblin bodies lying upon the remaining store of grain.


    ¡°Rouse those hiding, some to fetch water others to run here to help. Remember the faces of any who ignore your call, I will deal with them after. Now go!¡±


    I hear the pitta patter of his feet as he runs off as I pass Jora¡¯s body back to Duzsia, ¡°Water for her.¡± Looking in the doorway, it is too narrow for me and pushing off the sides of the silo I decide we can¡¯t wait for help.


    ¡°Koria and Luda inside and pass out the bodies. Zeb at the doorway to take them. Duzsia, gather our waterskins and offer them water, those who aren¡¯t responding drop water into their mouths. Milga Stone Blood with me and bring an extra quiver of arrows.¡±


    Torch in hand I make for my cabin first. The bar is across the door, which I lift and place to one side. Pushing the door open I wave the torch in the room. At a glance, everything seems to remain in place. I withdraw and bar the door once again. Next is the kitchen and the door is wide open, a coppery smell assaults my nose as I enter leading with the torch. There are at least three shoat heads and endless entrails, red blood painting the floor and I don¡¯t step any further inside, retreating in fact, my open hand slapping the door on my way out.


    Passing within sight of the cauldron on my way to the barrack houses several goblins are throwing lumps of something onto the fire. I turn away from the barracks and stride directly to the cauldron. One looks and taps the shoulder of another, they stare at each other for a moment.


    ¡°Stay there,¡± I shout.


    They do the exact opposite of course. ¡°Wound if you can, kill otherwise.¡± An arrow whooshes past my ear and the furthest goblin takes a tumble. The next goblin slows and swivels about, hands out front, palms up. Two more make a break from the blind side of the cauldron. Both take arrows to the head.


    I turn to Milga, raising my eyebrows.


    She replies, ¡°Only one is needed to tell their story and you know they can¡¯t live beyond this night otherwise why ask to bring an extra quiver of arrows.¡±


    She has me there ¡­


    By the time we reach him the remaining goblin is snivelling and on his knees. The roasting smell of pork surrounds us causing my mouth to water despite myself and the situation.


    ¡°You are cooking what doesn¡¯t belong to you.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t kill me, you shouldn¡¯t have killed them, we are servants of the Great Head Hob charged with bringing him an offering of meat. We are guests of your wives!¡± He screams the last sentence as if somehow this will make all the difference.


    ¡°Does your Great Head Hob allow you to barter off any of his pottery?¡±


    His head lolls to one side as he waves his hands about, I assume trying to grasp for a clever response.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± I reply before he can lie, following through with a sweeping arc of my knife taking off his head.


    ¡°Have you released your anger now, Lord Klug?¡±


    ¡°Possibly.¡± I lean down and wipe my knife on the grass at my feet. His clothes are valuable I decide as are those worn by his dead companions.


    Milga hands me a burnt chunk of pork. I hesitate and she forces the offer, which I take and chew into.


    ¡°We have another piece each to eat if you are still hungry, a hunt always makes me hungry ¡­¡±


    The way her eyes catch the firelight in that moment, I assume she means food hunger, not the other although not entirely certain as she smiles at my doubt. I call her to follow me to break the moment. Next destination the barracks.


    We arrive as my messenger is about to knock on the final door in the long row of house barracks. He doesn¡¯t notice our approach and I place a hand upon Milga¡¯s shoulder to hold her beside me.


    ¡°The Lord Hob orders all to the silo to rescue those imprisoned there,¡± he says.


    A shout comes from within. ¡°Who are you to order us about in his name, we have already been told lies by his wives. We stay here and wait until morning.¡±


    ¡°Lord Hob offers death to all who don¡¯t heed my call.¡±


    We hear a prelude of mumbling and an odd shout before a definite reply, ¡°Would he slay his own child we raise on his behalf? I don¡¯t believe so, but I will come while my wife stays.¡±


    The door of the cottage opens, and a long-eared, short-nosed goblin sticks his head out. A moment later he exits and someone else closes the door behind him. My messenger and the new helper approach Milga and I initially without noticing and then jump when I wave my torch to get their attention.


    My messenger hurries to present himself before me, dropping to one knee. ¡°Lord Hob, I have asked at every door, those who have ignored me I have cursed them in your name and blacken their door with my torch.¡±


    ¡°Thank you for your service, join the others at the silo and do what you can to help.¡±


    As we pass, the new helper nods and slinks off to stand nearer to my messenger. Neither moves though until we pass the last cottage. Approaching each cottage, knocking, and refusing to answer questions about who is visiting results in most doors opening eventually, curiosity the key. I then enter, bar the door and slam a knife into the stout wood above the bar to prevent lifting. I perform most of the executions by strangulation, all males and females if present. The first cottage containing a child I baulk. This is my humanity questioning my actions. Can I blame a child for the parent¡¯s betrayal? I order the child to approach me and then tell them to find Zeb, Master of Children as he will be taking care of them from now on. Those who don¡¯t open their doors usually require me to batter them down and use my knife, their resistance resulting in blood being spilt. The sole exception, if only one or two are inside as the cottages are small and my arms long.


    I must carry out my threats, anything less and there will always be schemers and malcontents springing up when I least need them. These are the types who, when I am weak due to other causes or plain misfortune will act in the exact moment when I need the opposite, reliable help. Some plead well for their lives, yet I can¡¯t allow exceptions and need to accept some of the slain were more innocent than guilty and still paid in full with their lives.


    When I stagger out of the last cottage, this one bloody, there is a huge bonfire on the bank of the nearby river and Milga exits a cottage I have previously visited, dragging one of the slain in the direction of the bonfire. She is cleaning up under the cover of night, for me. I re-enter the last cottage and go to work, cleaning up my own mess.


    ---


    The last corpse is thrown on the bonfire and Milga turns to me, silent until to this moment and asks, ¡°Have you released your anger now, Lord Klug?¡±


    My tired eyes rest upon her. ¡°I believe so.¡± I knew very few of the slain, no names, some faces possibly, except you know, I can¡¯t be sure as they still all look the same and I can only assume this anonymity eased the task as I feel little remorse or perhaps this is a Hobgoblin thing. The Head Hob will be my gauge in this, will he or won¡¯t he require some form of payment for his emissaries?


    ¡°Good!¡± She stares at me then shakes her head. ¡°You need to visit the silo ¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course.¡±


    With heavy steps I allow Milga to lead the way.

 1.008 Aftermath

    Duzsia hurries to greet us. ¡°They will live Lord Hob, we gave them water just in time, their skinny bodies can¡¯t endure long without food and water, especially water.¡±


    ¡°Did the help we send help?¡±


    ¡°Once they overcame our presence. Zeb explained our allegiance to you and then proceeded to order them about and organise just about everything.¡±


    ¡°Why would they allow Zeb to order them after being duped by my wives?¡±


    ¡°He informed them you appointed him Master of Children and as such, now an official and while children were his priority, helping everyone and anyone who answers to the Lord Hob his sworn duty.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± I reply, not entirely happy.


    ¡°Plus, we were rescuing goblins from within the silo, including one of your wives, not slaying anyone and obviously needing help and they were sent to help at the silo.¡±


    I inwardly smile, so many words to say so little¡­


    The scene opens before us, torches providing light, a carer beside every patient, all of whom lie out under the night sky. Koria and Luda join us.


    ¡°Our father is in his element Lord,¡± explains Koria.


    I decide my presence isn¡¯t required and begin to slip away from them. ¡°Good, I leave the task to him while I retreat to the safety of my cabin and a long sleep.¡±


    Milga quips, ¡°Do you need any warmth Lord? I am sure Koria, Luda and Duzsia will offer their bodies for such a purpose.¡±


    I pause, bow my head resigned to my fate, and then wave them on without looking. I reach my cabin with three buzzing bees about me, lift the crossbar and push the door open. They file in, inspect the spartan interior and share a lost look.


    ¡°The bunk is mine, you three can have a piece of floor.¡± With that said I fall like felled timber onto the bunk.


    I catch a brief review while the bed closes in.


    ¡°This is how a Lord Hob lives ¡­¡±


    I am asleep I believe before my body lands.


    ---


    A dull banging wakes me. I roll over trying to ignore the attempt to disturb, failing when a body prevents me. I open my eyes upon a naked body, much to my shock, which quickly turns to wonder. As I inspect further, purely to identify the owner I confirm female goblins grow pubic hair and no other, their breasts rest upon pigeon chest like pectoral muscles, modest yet attractive in their own way with distinctly feminine nipples while the light to medium shades of green of their skin enhances the various curves and shapes.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t stare Lord Hob,¡± says Koria and as my eyes fall upon her, she smiles exposing pointed teeth. ¡°You should partake and claim what is yours.¡±


    Koria for her part is topless, leather boots and long pants, yet to finish. Another voice calls my eyes away from Koria.


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob, we took turns in your bed, after all as sworn servants, we needed to ensure we performed as ordered,¡± added Duzsia, thankfully not naked, strolling to answer the door it would seem.


    Whoever waits outside knocks again, this time waking Luda who stretches her arms providing me with another view of her incredible athletic body.


    ¡°Morning Lord,¡± she whispers and drapes her naked body over mine.


    The door opens and before Koria can react a skinny female goblin darts inside like a bent-over chicken launching herself upon me. Skinny arms wrap around my neck and we lay as one, cheek to cheek.


    ¡°Lord, you return in time to rescue your loyal wife. They doubted, believing in our deaths, yet not I.¡±


    With Luda laying on one arm, I am out of options. Unless I use a chokehold on Jora I won¡¯t be able to dislodge her. My pleading eyes fall upon a fully dressed Koria.


    ¡°Come, goblin wife, allow your Lord to ready for the day,¡± suggests Koria.


    Realisation spreads across Jora¡¯s face. Her eyes registering the presence of and in turn studying each other female goblin in my cabin. An air of anticipation builds as her face turns back to mine.


    ¡°You have married others, Lord? Have Zata and Kexo met them yet?¡±


    I chance a look at Koria, who shrugs.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t Zata and Kexo lock you in the silo?¡±


    Furrows develop on Jora¡¯s brow. ¡°A misunderstanding Lord I am sure they left your sow and little boars alone, I told them you would be displeased.¡±


    I lay my free hand upon her back. ¡°They didn¡¯t Jora, they locked you and others in the silo and ate several of the little boars and were about to boil the sow when I returned.¡±


    ¡°They wouldn¡¯t have ¡­ goblins from Head Hob visited, they said you hadn¡¯t come back from the plateau.¡± With her dark eyes drilling deep into mine, she adds, ¡°They must have believed you dead again Lord, it is the only reason. You and I will talk to them and clear this up once and for all.¡±


    I rub her back. ¡°They are dead Jora, I ordered them slain the moment I saw ¡­¡±


    She sits up screaming, which continues while her hands scratch at her own shaking head. A quiet thump and bump. A shape darts past my eyes and after I blink a stone knife sticks out of Jora¡¯s eye socket and quiet returns to my cabin. I swallow as a set of arms catch Jora¡¯s falling body and lifts her away, my eyes follow and after blinking I realise Milga Stone Blood is exiting my cabin.


    Koria and Duzsia rush to my side and join Luda in embracing me as best they can. After an immeasurable time, another enters my cabin and not until Koria and Duzsia give way do I recognise the visitor.


    ¡°I am sorry for killing your third wife Lord, but madness cannot be allowed to survive. Zeb is burying her now so she can rest in the peace and release of death.¡±


    I should feel something and yet I don¡¯t. She did defend my authority against all odds, being jailed for her defiance and yet her mind or perhaps dehydration addled her sanity. Would she have recovered? Is this world so unforgiving? The faces of those I strangled give me my answer.


    ¡°Those bound to your service are unable to act unless ordered, I am sworn to protect you and therefore claim the liberty of acting upon my own judgement in your name.¡±


    I hold up a hand. ¡°What if your judgement is poor?¡±


    ¡°Then I expect you to punish me. In this case though regardless if you admit to yourself it is true or not, you cared little for your third wife, admiring her briefly for her stand yet if there was more, she would be big-bellied by now and as far as I can tell since your return from death you haven¡¯t ploughed, let alone sown a single female with your seed.¡±


    I struggle to sit, Luda falling behind me into the now vacant space on the bed. ¡°You have been busy and learnt much.¡±


    ¡°We are a partnership greater than a married male and female for we can¡¯t afford a great deal of forgiveness, each must do what they promise without exception, to maintain the bona fide faith between us. A deal is a deal and part of that is a secure place to give birth to and raise my daughter.¡±


    Her poise and confidence are remarkable and yet if I get my hands upon her, she will die like any other goblin such is my strength. This single fact probably explains why she wishes to be in partnership with me.


    ¡°Your tribe couldn¡¯t provide that security?¡±


    ¡°Family is important in the tribe, you see how Zeb Stone Grim, Koria Keen Eye and Luda are as one, protective of each other, supportive. Their father took on his daughter¡¯s life debt to you. No more need be said. I have no family, Duzsia and I have that one thing in common, although I have earnt my name. She hopes in your service to gain hers, in the tribe to gain mine I needed to do more than others until I couldn¡¯t be denied, despite further political interference.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t realise the importance of your tribal name,¡± I mumble. Koria, Luda and Duzsia are paying undivided attention, being schooled in fact by this bitter erudite master of tribal politics.


    ¡°The tribe elders barter between themselves names, betrothals, banishments and tribal kidnappings and probably other things I¡¯m not aware of. I am well rid of them, because joining you I only have one to answer to and the more your pitiful villagers tell me, the more certain I am of my choice.¡±


    I chuckle, unable to help myself. ¡°Why do you wish to bed Zeb Stone Grim instead of your partner if you are so certain of me?¡±


    She places her hands on my shoulders, we are face to face. ¡°He is a goblin and whatever our union produces should slide out between my legs and I know I can train a goblin of good breeding to be my equal and that is enough. With you as partner whatever we conceive will probably rip me apart killing me, the newborn or both of us. I will leave that to the other three in this room as they have their own reasons to take on the risk.¡±


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    Milga straightens, smiling. I wonder why then quickly close my wide-open mouth. I try to recover my poise by slapping Luda on her naked buttocks and quipping, ¡°You hear that girls Milga Stone Blood considers you are of good stock.¡±


    ¡°Of course, only you hesitate, look at them and one is still unashamedly naked in your presence. Ask Koria about her name Lord, what you think may not be accurate.¡± She chuckles after.


    My eyes land upon Koria in askance.


    ¡°I am Keen Eye, yes my arrow flies true but more importantly I notice the hidden, mark the different or the difference. You for example Lord. The ''you'' before and the ''you'' now are different although the same, which I tried to explain to the elders. They refused to believe a corpse could return to life and yet if your villagers are to be believed you have done exactly that, which is why capturing our spirits doesn¡¯t seem so impossible for you.¡± She grabs my hand and kisses it. Luda¡¯s hand strays across my back.


    Milga saunters to the door. ¡°Bar the door after I leave Duzsia, consider yourselves the Lord¡¯s new wives and don¡¯t let him out until he performs the duty of a husband. The hunting party is due back at dusk, so you have until then.¡±


    I attempt to chase after the cheeky huntresses when Luda jumps upon my back, while her sister pushes against my chest and I end up back on the bed. In these few moments, Duzsia closes the door and lowers the crossbar. Except I believe I hear the bar land twice. Milga! She has dropped the outside crossbar as well! My attention needs to return to more immediate concerns as three pairs of hands are removing clothing, theirs, and mine ¡­


    ---


    Someone removes the outside crossbar to the door¡¯s cabin with a large thump. There is no knocking or banging upon the door only silence and occasional snorts from the three asleep atop or beside me. A Hobgoblin or perhaps a Farmer Hobgoblin has an amazing libido and stamina to match, once decided upon such a course. I slap Koria on her bottom first and she wakes with a start, eyes wide open and then a smile after kissing my naked chest.


    ¡°Up and get ready I suspect the hunting party is about to return.¡±


    She kisses my chest once more and rolls off the bed landing upon her feet. Standing naked she makes a show of scoping water from a bucket and washing her loins while running a tongue over her sharp teeth. I tear my eyes away from the temptation, the need to procreate is a genie now out of the bottle. Duzsia, I wake next, and like the innocent girl she is, turns bright green, her nakedness, mine, the other two, all of us, plenty of reasons. She skips off me bumping into a still naked Koria who catches her and offers the bucket of water. A moment of hesitation and Koria obliges by splashes water between the thighs of her sister-wife. The unfolding scene doesn¡¯t encourage restraint within me, and I quickly lift Luda off me while sitting up myself. I then embrace her until she wakes shortly after.


    ¡°Hurry and get ready, the hunting party is due to return.¡± I lean forward to kiss her on a cheek, but she is quicker and turns her head and our lips meet instead.


    She breaks our kiss. ¡°I go only because you order me to.¡±


    Due to their amorous attentions, I am the cleanest of us all and I hurry into my long leg pants before they tempt me to drag them down again. Shirt, belt and knife and I rush to the door and lift off the crossbar and without hesitation slip outside. I suck in deep breathes while leaning against an outside wall of my cabin, thankful the outside crossbar lies harmlessly to one side.


    ¡°Did you survive them Lord or did they survive you?¡±


    ¡°How long have you been lurking about Milga Stone Blood?¡±


    She chuckles and slaps my shoulder. ¡°I have been listening in case I needed some tips, my Lord.¡±


    I feel a slight warmth upon my face and shake my head to try and dismiss the reaction. ¡°Where is the hunting party?¡±


    ¡°Walk with me a few steps and we will be ideally placed to greet them,¡± she says.


    The sun sets in the West and we are scanning the horizon to the South, none from the village join us.


    ¡°Know Lord your villagers fear you, although respect your strength. Those who were elsewhere, like the builders for example are suitably respectful based upon rumour alone, which has grown taller than the truth. One of those rescued from the silo claims to be a Head Goblin, his daughter your promised wife, I chose to believe him. He seems eager to meet and discuss certain things with you.¡±


    A breeze rustles the saplings and their leaves in the light forest that border the farm.


    ¡°Did you plough any virgin ground, today Lord?¡±


    I stare down at her. She chuckles and then breaks out into full-on laughter bending over and waving a hand at me. I wait for her to recover and reply in the best deadpan voice I can muster, ¡°Yes, three times over, do you wish to be the fourth?¡±


    Her mouth snaps shut. ¡°No Lord, I have my consort. If I can ask a favour?¡±


    I raise my eyebrows. ¡°A favour?¡±


    ¡°Yes, it appears Zeb Stone Grim will not welcome my company unless his Lord commands him ¡­¡±


    Ah-ha! The penny drops, he doesn¡¯t wish to take any chance and accidentally commit an offence against his Lord.


    I cross my arms upon my chest and nod sagely. ¡°I will need time to think, recent procreation has addled my mind ¡­¡±


    A humph and then she folds her arms. I chuckle.


    ¡°I will let him know tomorrow.¡±


    Two arms wrap around my waist and a head nestles below my shoulder blades, two more limbs wrap around my left bicep and a final two wrap around my right bicep.


    Squealing announces their arrival well before their appearance. Some of the distant saplings shake, an occasional one falls. There is an almost imperceptible shaking of the ground and I can¡¯t help but shuffle my feet. The final forest bush obscuring the new arrivals falls away and two female goblins lead the way each holding a portion of the net. Behind the net trots a sow, behind the sow runs her squeakers then another sow and juveniles and so on. In all, four sows and young at various ages with nine female goblins cooperating to hold up the net. The Ten Spears skirt the perimeter, each hauling a full backpack, the resting female goblins trailing behind them.


    When they see me stand before them, they hesitate for a moment only. Two of the Ten Spears peel off from escort duty and swing their packs down off their backs and bend a knee before me.


    ¡°We followed your example Lord and were successful beyond our wildest expectations. It was as if the boars didn¡¯t acknowledge us as hunters, simply another animal in the forest thereby allowing us to control when and where to trap and slay.¡±


    I place a hand on each of their shoulders. ¡°Much has happened here as well, whatever you are told don¡¯t dwell upon the stories and wonder, ask me directly and I promise to tell you the truth. Now rise and celebrate with your companions.¡±


    They nod and leave their backpacks behind, the crafting rough and crude from fresh leather yet sufficient. I lift one to judge the weight and then hand it to Koria, the other I order Luda and Duzsia to share the burden.


    ¡°Take them to the kitchen cabin, perhaps a feast can be prepared?¡±


    They nod and leave struggling with their loads.


    ¡°Milga with me, we will visit the boar pen.¡±


    ---


    ¡°Prepare to receive your Head Goblin, Lord, on your left. It seems our journey to the boar pen is to be interrupted,¡± whispers Milga.


    True to her word, the Head Goblin of the Farmers with several escorts are making a beeline for me. I decide to wait, the position perfect, away from everywhere my cabin the closest building.


    He nods. ¡°Lord I wish to petition you for a favour.¡±


    I reach out and grab his hand. ¡°I heard of you and others equally loyal suffering in the silo. I am certain such a thing won¡¯t ever happen again.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Lord.¡±


    I don¡¯t release his hand as he expects, and he side glances to one of those with him before forcing a cough while I smile.


    ¡°Your petition?¡±


    His eyes dart to my hand surrounding his before he speaks, ¡°As you know two of your wives grew a rumour into a truth proclaiming you dead once again. During any absence, you need to appoint a second in command, one who has the respect of those on the farm and used to command. Able to make important decisions in your absence. Possibly one who can offer you a new wife, immediately?¡±


    I release his hand and smile kindly at him and each of his escorts.


    ¡°I have someone in mind who matches each of your suggestions and be assured I will make an announcement shortly.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Lord.¡± He bobs and bows several times as Milga and I walk off.


    ---


    ¡°How will he handle the disappointment?¡±


    ¡°I think he has his sphere of influence. The Head Goblin of the Builders of course has his own and Zeb Stone Grim will be able to manage both and the rest of the farm.¡±


    ---


    We approach the boar pens from the fields, with fewer torches, and even fewer goblins. Just enough shadow. Most present are dancing and cavorting around an impromptu bonfire with generous portions of meat on offer.


    I step forward out of the shadows and quietly approach the bonfire. All present stop what they are doing, some stare, several nod and others drop to one knee, nod and then rise.


    ¡°Enjoy your success, those returning from the hunt approach me in the next few days and ask for a favour or a boon to reward your success.¡±


    A cheer erupts from the crowd and several goblins still in the barracks poke their heads through windows and sprint to join the party. I allow the cheering to subside of its own accord, allowing time for others to join.


    ¡°You may have noticed some new additions with me, they are my new friends, although the only one with an official title and duties to match is Zeb Stone Grim, Master of Children. He will ensure they attend lessons and not run wild appointing helpers as he sees fit.¡±


    I pause waiting to see if any will speak, when none do or are brave enough to try, I continue.


    ¡°I have three new wives, their names are Koria Keen Eye, Luda and Duzsia. They have no authority to command or instruct anyone. I would expect you to assist them if they are in trouble or danger, otherwise, they can do their own fetching and carrying.¡±


    Some murmuring hovers over the crowd.


    ¡°Speak if you have questions, I am only angry when I have been betrayed.¡±


    A hand rises and when I nod in his direction he tries to speak. ¡°L ¡­Lord will you be taking any more wives and when will the seeding take place, there are many additional females with no partners.¡±


    ¡°My friends are from a tribe across the river and the male goblins there have no troubles seeding their wives to bear fruit. So, Zeb Stone Grim is Master of Children in more ways than one and he will service any females who wish to give birth.¡±


    The same hand rises again, and I nod again. ¡°Lord you don¡¯t wish to farm them yourself. How will you make an heir?¡±


    ¡°I have three wives.¡± I finish with a wide smile.


    His hand rises again. ¡°Lord after seeding the entire village, while some bore your heir none survived how do you expect three to succeed where countless others failed?¡±


    ¡°They carry flesh upon their bones and are fit and healthy as will you all be soon enough. This meat is only a start, by planting our best seed I expect the harvest to be one of our best also. Enough grain to supply the Head Hob, with more than enough left over to ensure you can eat your fill every day instead of meagre portions.¡±


    The crowd cheers up a storm. This time I calm them by waving them quiet.


    ¡°I also wish to announce, as a reward for his loyalty when my wives betrayed me and at the Head Goblin of Farmers Jotor¡¯s request ¡­ I accept his daughter as my full wife.¡±


    There is a knot of goblins moving about towards one goblin, I suspect others are congratulating the Head Goblin.


    ¡°Bring her forth so I may show her off!¡±


    Female goblins deliberately surround another and shortly escort her to me. Any resistance taken as playful reluctance and as I hold out my hand, she realises her future now depends upon my goodwill. She takes the offer of my hand and even forces a cheery smile. I twirl her around and then placing a hand on each hip I lift her high for all to see. I end the show by lowering her to stand beside me and then bend down to give her a welcoming hug.


    I whisper in her ear, ¡°Any misbehaviour will result in a fatal punishment, either you or your father I don¡¯t mind who.¡±


    I straighten and address the crowd again. ¡°It goes without saying, but I will anyway, Jotor remains my loyal and dependable Head Goblin of Farmers, while Redagar continues as my Head Goblin of Builders.¡± I pause a moment. ¡°Further, in my absence, since I won¡¯t bestow any authority, official or implied upon my wives I announce Zeb Stone Grim as my Speaker of Law.¡±


    There is a modest amount of cheering in response ¨C the silo survivors I suspect. The others I expect will take time to accept the unusual appointment. I could have waited until his teaching and seeding bore fruit but Jotor forces my hand. He would work behind the scenes to push his claim if the position remained vacant and when I found out, his death would be the next logical step. Then who will order the goblin farmers about?


    I raise my hands high. ¡°Dance, eat your fill, congratulate the hunters and enjoy this special night, the first of many I hope!¡±

 1.009 Favours

    I ask Milga to find me a log and then mind my new wife while I fetch it. I place it on the edge of the crowd, yet still near enough to the bonfire to bask in warm firelight. My display of strength impressing many who bear witness. Their cheers genuine and boisterous in contrast to those given for my speech making. Lounging upon my new log bench I insist my newest wife sits upon my knee, an arm securing her. My three wives join me soon enough, and I introduce them to Rexa. The meeting ¡­ polite. Tribal wives meeting a civilised wife. Those bound to me by the river ceremony meeting another simply claimed.


    I can¡¯t afford to be tied down to the log simply watching, I must mingle as I need to ask questions and further pursue my aims.


    ¡°Please watch over my new wife, she isn¡¯t permitted to leave the log unaccompanied, you understand what I am saying, wives?¡±


    They smile and nod, one either side sliding along the log to be close, another standing before her as I leave.


    Many Farm goblins dance around the bonfire, including Ten Spears hunters. Around and around, they cavort until I synchronise with the rhythm and wave a hand directly in front of one. Confusion clears from his face as if waking up ¡­ eyes wide when he realises the Farmer Hob requires his attention. The drying sweat from dancing reappearing due to another reason all of a sudden.


    ¡°When do the Ten Spears plan to hunt again?¡± I ask.


    His eyes focus ¡­ ¡°There has been no talk as yet Lord Hob.¡±


    ¡°I need to find beans and bees. Do you understand what I am looking for?¡± I reply.


    He smiles so wide his black sharp teeth show. ¡°You are in luck for one of those Lord. The river to the South can be forded at several places, further downstream the best and we left a pile of stones to mark our achievement. Cross there and over a low rise you will discover as we did, a vast field of yellow flowers and as you approach the buzzing of the bees will fill your ears.¡±


    I grab him by his shoulders and hug him to me. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Lord ¡­ Lord ¡­ some air,¡± he gasps.


    I release him and lightly pat him down by way of apology. ¡°Well done, exceptional.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t help with beans Lord because I don¡¯t know what they are ¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course, but for future reference, they are green tubes growing on ground running vines.¡±


    He shrugs and with that gesture, we are done. I grab his shoulder before he returns to the dance.


    ¡°When you hunt next, I will accompany you,¡± I say.


    He nods and then joins the others circling the bonfire.


    The possibility of beehives! I search my memory; do I capture a Queen or a Queen and hive? Do I feed a drone royal jelly and make a Queen? Quicker to feed both yet how to transport them without being stung multiple times? Large Jar? Lid closed, lid open, all in the back of a wagon and some smoke to calm them?


    ¡°Lord Hob?¡±


    The hail, hopefully, the first, jolts my mind into the present and away from bees, plus I probably look odd staring into nowhere while on the edge of the bonfire. My eyes focus upon the owner of the voice, her body on the skinny side so most likely one of the Smith Hob¡¯s goblins.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Would you dance with me?¡± Her green face glows.


    ¡°Can I ask why?¡± Having taken a new wife, I don¡¯t need another, and her invitation suggests courtship? There could always be a first, but goblins and especially Hobgoblins don¡¯t seem to be particular in that regard.


    She crumples slightly, hands wiping over her face, bent knees briefly touching each other. ¡°Mmm ¡­ well ¡­. I don¡¯t wish to be seeded by your Speaker of Law.¡±


    My eyes drown in her large dark brown ones as she gazes up.


    ¡°You know I ask this so no more die, mother or child in childbirth.¡± There is flesh upon her bones and muscle beginning to take shape, yet five days of meat diet doesn¡¯t absolve years of poor subsistence eating. Further, nestling at the back of my mind is the fact she could be the actual genetic daughter of this body by the former "me". If true, does that mean she is my daughter now because I now occupy the Hob body? Ugh! I need to draw a line in the sand, the before me and the after me. Therefore, I arbitrarily decide she isn¡¯t my daughter. An echo of silent laughter bounces around in my head ¡­


    ¡°Yet Lord you seeded those big nose princesses and while they may return to you after they discover seams of copper, we, I ¡­ am yours until the end of my days. I am strong my Lord winning a spear and fearless, always at the front setting against the charge.¡± Her large wide eyes entrancing, enhancing every word of her plea.


    ¡°Do you wish to claim my seeding of you as your owed favour?¡±


    She chews a lip. ¡°That and a cottage of my own, to raise your baby Lord.¡±


    ¡°Done, although I have a condition. Wait until my wives have given birth or die trying so you can fully appreciate the risk you so willingly wish for ¡­ yes?¡±


    Nodding, ¡°Yes, as you say, six months will go by in a blink.¡±


    There isn¡¯t any hesitation, I thought mentioning ¡®given birth or die trying¡¯ would¡¯ve given her reason to pause and reconsider ¡­ not so. I try to end on a positive.


    ¡°And you will be fitter and stronger with each hunt,¡± I add.


    She hugs me and runs off skipping.


    Left alone once again, I stretch and edge away from the bonfire. Several pairs of inquisitive eyes make busy looking elsewhere. Their goblin ears I am certain picking up every word of our conversation over the noise of celebration. I will need to check with my Speaker of Law and ask if he has done any ¡®farming¡¯ so far, because this traditional duty of the Hob seems entrenched, at least for the Civilised goblins in this valley. The non-dancing crowd around the bonfire clears before me and I arrive back at my log seat ¡­ to find my newest wife alone and shivering, yet there is warmth aplenty from the bonfire ...


    From behind me, a whispering silky voice says, ¡°Lord Klug your wives¡¯ loins grow cold, and they wish to retire with you for mutual warmth.¡±


    I spin around and I know who I will find, Milga Stone Blood. ¡°They have been kept warm most of the! ¡­ Day.¡± I hush the last word, not that those around me spare my feelings, chuckling at my overreaction.


    ¡°You are the one who ordered them not to leave your new wife unattended.¡± She raises her eyebrows. ¡°I am but the replacement guardian for her and their messenger. In some ways, I am more a herald, an interpreter of their many words of affection which for your benefit I summarise for clarity and succinctness.¡±


    ¡°You continue to display your worth ¡­¡± I reply dryly. I suspect Milga threatened my newest wife with all sorts of pain since she now is as close to me as possible while still sitting upon the log.


    ¡°The bold female goblin, one of your Ten Spears I believe probably the push they needed Lord to reclaim their privilege, you played upon their jealousy well.¡±


    Briefly closing my eyes, I stretch my neck. ¡°Now you are teasing. As punishment find the Head Goblin of the Builders, I need to speak with him in the morning.¡±


    ¡°Early or late morning Lord, you may still be attending to your sweets and I wouldn¡¯t wish to waste his time as I am sure he is otherwise toiling away on your behalf.¡±


    ¡°Dawn and bring me food ¡­ no bring us all food to break our fast.¡±


    Milga¡¯s hands go to her hips. ¡°You know messengers won¡¯t want to deliver to you if as a reward only punishment awaits.¡±


    I sweep my hand in the direction of her bottom, yet she either reads my mind or expects such a reaction and dances away laughing.


    ---


    With my newest wife firm and snug under my arm, I throw open the door to my cabin. My three other wives, parade before me returning smug looks, their hands waving me in. Crossing the threshold, I take a single step and stop. Various pieces of furniture, broken or not are gone. On one side, a small table and chair. Along the same wall a trunk, for clothes I presume. Hanging from the wall on pegs a bow and quiver containing five or six arrows. A huge bed dominates the rest of the cabin along with three other trunks. The ¡®bed¡¯ I discover is made up of four small beds, leather throngs tying them together with furs and linen sheets for coverings.


    Giggling erupts from behind me as words fail me ¡­


    ¡°While you gave us no warning, your fourth wife will fit also,¡± says Koria.


    I look upon my latest wife, the shivering lamb embracing one side of the doorway, her face the palest of green. ¡°I didn¡¯t intend to bed you for several years as I originally agreed with your father ¡­ circumstances though have forced you to at least keep company with me, but I will demand no more.¡±


    Her pinpoint eyes slowly crane up to mine. ¡°Y ¡­ you must, my father brags of the favours he will claim now. The others he tells not privy to his false bravado and mask as I am, who must listen to his victories and defeats at the end of each day. He knows you outmanoeuvred him and now seeks to make the best of the situation. Lord.¡±


    I grunt. Time for a test. ¡°I did consider killing him, an accident of some sort most likely ¡­¡±


    She shrugs as best she can while hugging the door. ¡°He wondered why you didn¡¯t, being a Hob and all as that is how he rose, which is why he feels he is on firm ground now, emboldened even. Don¡¯t you see, I need my belly to swell otherwise he will try himself as I am not his daughter ¡­ my father is the Head Hob when he was Farmer Hob. My mother died giving birth to a goblin baby, most unfortunate as they say. Worse, they also say the Head Hob when Farmer Hob angered quickly when I was found howling beside my dead mother.¡±


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    As much as I wanted to, craving the need to know, I don¡¯t ask the question I most desire an answer to. How, where from and why did I come into existence! You would be expected to know your past, although perhaps I could lean on my return from death by claiming memory loss? Not with this wife though and while I suspect she has no affection for her stepfather I can¡¯t be sure and after slaying so many to ensure no goblin would betray me again, I don¡¯t want to pay in instalments with more death for these reasons and then another for that transgression.  No, I say to myself, definitely a one-time sale only.


    ¡°My seeding of you will most likely end in your death ¡­¡±


    Her pleading eyes moist, she sobs in reply, ¡°I have been well fed all my life, not unlike one of the fat sows out there in your pen. The Head Hob groomed my mother with food and my goblin father knows this, so perhaps he hatches a plan of many years, his daughter succeeds breeding an heir to a Hob where the mother didn¡¯t.¡±


    She rushes by me while I try to come to terms with what she tells me. Waking from my deep thought I examine the faces of each of my other wives seeking some sort of guidance and find nothing except blank faces. They are tribal and family always protects their own. They can¡¯t comprehend her situation ¡­


    The eyes of my wives open wide while looking past me. I swivel about to discover my fourth wife laying on the bed, naked, legs open wide.


    ¡°If I die in childbirth my goblin father will curse his bad luck and regret the food wasted on me, but if I give birth to your heir, he will come calling for many favours. Promise me if he does you will slay him as I risk everything, and I know he has another two daughters he thinks I am unaware of fatting them up as I lay here simply his first chance. If I give birth to a goblin child, I fear I will live a miserable life, neither rewarded nor cursed. So, begin Lord Hob, from what those on the farm say your other wives are one seeding ahead of me and I can allow them no more advantage.¡±


    ---


    ¡°Redagar, I need you to build me a wagon, two wheels with sides and a tray able to cart six large pots.¡±


    For a builder who orders others, I suspect some muscle under the budding layers of fat. He is the fortunate one, typically away from the farm when death stalks those who must stay. I draw a wheel in the dirt between us.


    ¡°Like the Pottery Stone of the Head Hob, but made of wood?¡±


    ¡°Mmm, possibly. Find a roughly round tree and cut through the trunk three times and the two wheels should be remarkably similar. Then find a stout narrow tree trunk and cut it to width ¡­¡±


    I continue to drone on about the requirements and answer his questions until I am reasonably certain he knows what I need. If successful, a water wheel with milling stone is next with possibly a dual purpose of driving a large saw. Baby steps first.


    Milga returns to my side as my Head Goblin of Builders ambles away.


    ¡°His needs are simple, females to practice with. I have one who, for a night with Lord Hob, is willing to spy upon him. Do I confirm your acceptance?¡±


    I sway my body back to take a meaningful look at my partner before replying, ¡°You seem eager to barter me off.¡±


    ¡°You are the only valuable currency, for now. The females believe they will be the one regardless of the evidence from the majority that most die in childbirth and those who carry an heir to term certain to do so ¡­ and yet they dream.¡±


    ¡°I need to visit the Head Hob and will only be taking Rexa.¡±


    ¡°As you wish Lord Klug.¡±


    Quick as, I reply, ¡°No argument?¡±


    She shrugs.


    ¡°Are you certain you don¡¯t wish to express yourself?¡±


    She places her hand upon my shoulder. ¡°Do you need the protection of a small harmless female goblin, like me? You are big enough and ugly enough to venture out alone if you want, although I assume you will stay on the path to the village, conclude your business with the Head Hob and return. No detours.¡±


    That¡¯s better and I am sure she feels all the better as well.


    ¡°While I am away start testing to see if any goblins could, with training make passable archers. Start with the children, perhaps the Master of Children can assist and be sure to recruit my wives to the task. When we aren¡¯t farming, we will be hunting instead of watching the crops grow and hand watering. When I return, and with some assistance, I will introduce irrigation.¡±


    ¡°Irrigation?¡±


    ¡°Easier to show than explain, trust me.¡±


    ¡°I always trust in our partnership Lord, never doubt.¡±


    Not quite what I meant but I will let that one pass by. My newest wife saunters towards me as if she can command the sun. A wide happy smile upon her lips, arms swinging, and head held high.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you seed her last night? I suspect you went too easy on the virgin ground for her to be so full of energy ¡­¡±


    I ignore my partner for once, instead, gazing upon my fourth wife.


    ¡°You have chatted to your father?¡±


    ¡°Husband he is most pleased, your vigorous attention last night leaving satisfactory bruises upon my loins and so I am ready, my sister wives preparing my backpack and water skin while I bid my father goodbye.¡±


    ¡°Did you have to show him?¡±


    Her lips drawback, ¡°I explained my goblin stepfather to you last night. Of course, he demanded proof. Let me fetch my pack and we can be away.¡±


    ---


    I test her with long strides and a quick pace and not a single complaint. At each rest, she flops down, drinks deeply and chews on dried meat offering no conversation, my first silent companion and a wife no less. The Head Goblin of Builders and his crews aren¡¯t on the trail or nearby, perhaps I should take a greater interest in his activities or keep him so busy I don¡¯t need to.


    Over another rise and the Head Hob¡¯s village lays quiet and sleepy before us. We cover the final distance in haste, Rexa smiling and giggling. Strolling between the houses none greet us, although the burnt remains of my pyre have been cleaned away and new grass shoots push up through the black. I find the largest house and knock on the door.


    ¡°Will he see us, Lord?¡±


    I knock on the door again, using the handle of my knife.


    The familiar scrape of a cross beam being removed reaches my ears. A goblin¡¯s face peers through the narrow opening he allows. I push on the door and let myself in.


    ¡°Lord, the Head Hobgoblin will be most upset,¡± he screams.


    ¡°Fetch him and he will decide for himself and not rely upon a snivelling messenger.¡±


    The goblin rushes through a door directly opposite the front door.


    My wife grabs at my arm and I feel her questioning eyes upon me. I decide to begin arrogant, a true Hob. I have a knife to back me and an attitude to use it if necessary. My last memory of him, dismissive and overweight. Any contest between us would only end in one result.


    A grunting laugh announces his arrival. The front room is central to the house, with doors in every wall, including the front door and he ambles, a walking stick aiding him through the door the goblin took.


    ¡°You have gained some wisdom, yes ¡­ your eyes project certainty and purpose now. Well done. As you can most certainly tell I am of less vigour, regardless of my prodigious wisdom.¡± He cough-laughs at his self-praise.


    ¡°A second chance of life tends to sharpen your purpose.¡±


    His goblin servant hurries in with a large stool, four legs, no backrest and the Head Hob carefully slides his bottom onto the seat while the goblin holds on, only releasing when his Lord gives him a nod.


    ¡°I recognise your wife, the clinging in particular like she wants to climb up your arm and disappear, she is her mother¡¯s daughter that one.¡± He spits.


    ¡°Some on the farm talk about her mother but no details ¡­¡± I try to leave the question open.


    ¡°The previous Head Hob advised me to groom several of the goblins with food, healthy and strong his suggestion, only then would you have the possibility of an heir. So, I did. Simple as that. Like you, well not entirely, as you have done so twice, I woke up as a young adult Hobgoblin. No memory of my past, I simply came to exist from nowhere. The former Head Hob the same.¡± He waves his hand over his shoulder. ¡°Hunter Hob, Smith Hob, same, same. We are strong though and with few exceptions smart, certainly smarter than these snots.¡± He flaps his hand in Rexa¡¯s direction. ¡°Well, the underfed ones in any case.¡±


    ¡°Her mother?¡± I interject.


    ¡°She was my last attempt, the Head Hob on his death bed had already summoned me from the farm. I gave excuse after excuse waiting, wondering, and willing for this attempt to be the one.¡± He spits again, this time the goblin servant cleans up both with a wet cloth.


    ¡°And you know my reward, she clings to your arm, a goblin. I slammed her mother against the wall and left, journeying with haste to the village. The Head Hob derided my choice and eventually me with his dying breath. How did I think the last try would succeed when the previous hundred and something, I lost count, didn¡¯t? He tried to pass on as much knowledge about the Head Hob position as he could and yet I still curse my folly as sometimes I have to make things up when I am certain the Laws cover everything.¡± He shakes his head.


    ¡°Did you simply walk into the village then, well made?¡±


    This question a risk, of course, I should remember for myself, shouldn¡¯t I?  Unless of course, I say my second life cleared the memories of my previous one if he questions me.


    He chuckles long and hard; he coughs and then spits out a wad of saliva or such. ¡°You did lose your memory when you came back the second time, that would have been strange, your goblins knowing you and you without a clue.¡± He enjoys another laugh, a softer version this time.


    ¡°I needed to kill a few to put them back in line.¡± Not entirely true but serves as an explanation for the recent deaths, including his goblins ¡­


    ¡°I have lost four, you didn¡¯t include them, did you? Given your loss of memory, you wouldn¡¯t know who was who. I will be able to have a chuckle on you for some time to come. I can¡¯t imagine ¡­¡±


    ¡°Probably, lost my temper more than a little with the snots.¡±


    ¡°No great loss, I sent them to check to see if you still lived, no one reported you coming back down the steps, yet the Smith Hob sent a delivery swearing you left his mining village. A mystery, which falls to me to investigate. Your appearance before me lets me close that one.¡±


    I lean back against the wall. ¡°I found another way down, to the North a river doesn¡¯t flow over the cliff, the water over the years has worn through the cliff, making a nice, although stony gentle path down.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t go that way when the snow melts, we can hear the thundering water from here, but good to know.¡±


    His words slurring at the end, a warning to hurry along. ¡°Can I grab a few pots or jars preferably with lids? I am going to try and capture some bees and collect their honey nearer to the farm.¡±


    ¡°Hehe, honey. You share and you can take what you need. There is a field South East of the farm, yellow flowers, beehive upon beehive to be found there when I was younger. I would spend a day or two getting stung and devouring honey ¡­¡± His eyes drifting off high to his right suggesting him trying to remember.


    I decide to push my luck.


    ¡°In your days as Farmer Hob, you didn¡¯t find a plant which grew along the ground and would grow a finger length green tube-like fruit or vegetable?¡±


    ¡°Mmmm.¡± His fingers tap his mouth several times. ¡°East at the bottom of the valley a great many different things grow, great herd beasts migrate through there and wherever they come from and wherever they go to their thick fur gathers all sorts of seeds and flowers which they drop along the way. If anywhere I would search there first. Send some goblins, that way if they don¡¯t come back no great loss. There are things down that way which can kill a Hob and I am taking a liking to you, so would hate to lose you, well before I taste honey again that is.¡± A light chuckle ends his reply.


    ¡°Thank you, where are the jars?¡±


    ¡°Fub!¡± he calls out.


    I push myself from the wall and approach him, ¡°That is a wild goblin name, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Clever, you are clever. Yep, simple birth name, they want to earn their true name.¡±


    Fub enters and pauses, eyes darting between his Head Hob and me, and back again.


    The Head Hob continues, ¡°Hey Fub, you still looking to earn your true name?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob, but time running out ¡­¡±


    ¡°You and me both you little snot, you and me both.¡± The Head Hob turns his head my way. ¡°I could grant him a true name of course but not of a mind to. His tribe is no more, their tribal lands once West of the yellow flowers.¡±


    Fub¡¯s head drops.


    Head Hob smirks. ¡°Fub explained his tribe came to blows after some internal bickering of some sort and now weak, the tribes nearby kidnapped or slaughtered them, probably both. Running for his life Fub bumped into me while on the trail and sort of fell under my protection. Been with me ever since, counting his lucky stars for sure as he knows those chasing him watched until they were certain I would let him stay with me. Hey Fub?¡±


    ¡°As you say, Lord Hob, Fub lucky that day.¡±


    The Head Hob continues, ¡°I see your mind ticking over and the answer is no, Fub stays with me, he knows my ways and will ease my final years.¡±


    I smile and shrug. He isn¡¯t old, but certainly not young, the chances of him remembering his old tribal lands probably slim, still ¡­ well no chance for now.


    The Head Hob runs his palm over Fub¡¯s bare head, much like a human would pat a dog is my first thought and then orders him to assist. ¡°Fub show them to the pottery, record what they want and work out payment, at least one jar of honey. Now go and hurry back.¡±


    The Head Hob slides off the stool, Fub assisting and in that instant, I realise I didn¡¯t ask his name and he didn¡¯t ask mine. For Hobgoblins, the position is important the name meaningless and I guess without a childhood, parents, and the usual upbringing you know nothing else. This also explains the Head Hob¡¯s attitude to Fub and his true name, such a thing not important to a Hobgoblin and double true because a goblin is in need, a snot. Interesting though as a Hobgoblin I can grant a tribal goblin a name. Milga did mention Duzsia wanted to earn her name in my service, and I thought afterwards she would need to ask her tribal elders, but not so.

 1.010 Goods, Chattels and Services

    Fub holds the door as Rexa, and I leave the Head Hob¡¯s house. He then points out the direction we need to take and darts back behind me, following. Before the next choice of direction, his arm extends from behind me just enough to notice to confirm the next turn. The village is small, and I have a sense of where we are going and yet this is still silly. I pull his arm forward until his entire body is in front of me ignoring his howls of protest.


    I growl, ¡°Stay in front and lead us there, why don¡¯t you?¡±


    He quietens, head down. Fingers fidgeting, he says ¡°Head Hob always needs to lead. Without me, he loses his way sometimes but only last few years ¡­¡±


    ¡°Go ahead, I don¡¯t care who leads.¡±


    Several goblins notice us approach the cliff face; they point out Fub who wilts under the scrutiny.


    ¡°Well done, Fub, excellent directing,¡± I announce.


    Like chickens, the other goblins raise their heads to look at me, look at Fub and then get back to their tasks. The site is perfect as far as I can tell, there is a kiln furnace in the cliff face, some stone naturally in position then more stone added to complete the structure. The river extracts clay from the plateau above and tumbles over the cliff face forming a waterfall that ends in a wide deep pool. The loss of flow allows the sediment to accumulate on the banks while the pool overflows to continue the river. The pottery wheel is water driven by the waterfall.


    ¡°Lord Farmer Hob this way,¡± calls Fub.


    I break from my inspection and inside a nearby house, probably more a warehouse Fub shows off a stack of pottery, jars of different sizes, small things like cups and plates, most gathering dust.


    ¡°Why does it stay here gathering dust?¡±


    ¡°Head Hob values the pottery high, copper-smithing low, food in between. We make pottery faster than Smith Hob and you of course Farmer Hob can afford to buy. So, Head Hob saves it all here until he needs to sell.¡±


    I spy what I want. ¡°Six of the tall jars with lids, price?¡±


    ¡°Will you ask Head Hob for Fub again?¡±


    While I would like to lead him on with false promises, I doubt asking again will change Head Hob¡¯s mind, as far as he is concerned the goblin is required to guide him through his old age.


    ¡°I promise to ask, but Head Hob will only get angry and say no again. In a few years, I will be Head Hob most likely.¡± I shrug my shoulders.


    ¡°Not certain you will be, the Head Hob summons a candidate, can be any of the Hobs.¡±


    Does that bother me? Probably not if the Head Hob doesn¡¯t interfere. ¡°I am not looking to be Head Hob and the fact I may not be, suits for now.¡±


    His body loses all poise squeezing down, his knuckles near enough dragging along the ground.


    ¡°I will still ask him though, I promise.¡±


    His nod is a floppy one. Probably not a good time to ask for a price but I can¡¯t wait around until he gets happy again, so here I go. ¡°Price Fub?¡±


    ¡°Jar of honey, fifteen jars of grain.¡± He waves a floppy hand and drags his feet leaving the warehouse. Rexa and I follow, I am trying not to laugh, cruel perhaps but nothing can be done.


    ¡°How long have you served the Head Hob?¡¯


    A sniff and his dropping eyes look back at me, ¡°Fub ten seasons old when escape, now thirty-eight seasons.¡±


    I shake his hand in front of as many goblins working on the pottery as I can and thank him for his help in as loud a voice as possible without overselling the charade. Not certain my gesture helped there and then, but you never know. We don¡¯t follow Fub, instead, I follow the banks of the river turning towards the trail when I reach the burnt-out spot of my pyre.


    ¡°Farmer Hob you live then, against all the odds and rumours.¡±


    I recognise the voice, Hunter Hob. Shouldn¡¯t he be killing goblins in useless hunts this time of day? I turn around to face him, my hope of a quick getaway in doubt. He sits, back against the wall of a House under shade whittling a stick with a copper knife.


    ¡°I survived as you can see, on my way back to the farm this very moment in fact.¡±


    He climbs to his feet, throwing the stick away and sheathing the knife. ¡°Have you started seeding yet?¡± He looks sideways at me squinting one eye, the sun I wonder.


    ¡°I know my duty,¡± I reply with a slight growl in my voice.


    ¡°So that is a yes then?¡±


    I try to resist the urge to advance upon him and place my fingers around his throat, squeezing and shaking ¡­ Rexa squeezes my arm. I cough to settle myself and buy time.


    ¡°Certainly.¡± I flash a fake smile, wide, showing teeth.


    ¡°Will they be tougher next time? This season they died too easy, but you know, fewer mouths to feed and I have some time to kill.¡± He starts laughing and I look on scrunching my face up. ¡°Did you see what I did there, they die, I have time to kill ¡­ funny.¡±


    This explains why furs aren¡¯t abundant, let alone meat and of course, Fub didn¡¯t mention any price comparison for Hunter Hob, confirmation if ever there was, there wouldn''t be a need to.


    I wave and turn away, heading for the trail.


    ¡°Do you need any help on the farm?¡±


    I don¡¯t look back, shaking my head and hurrying with fresh urgency. To her credit, Rexa keeps pace with me. I swear if he follows me, he will have an accident, alternatively, I could ask him to scout out some new forest and perhaps nature will claim him. I shake my head at the thought. Nope. When the tide turned in his hunt, he left first before anyone else, leaving the goblins to slow down the sow with their lives. I wonder if he ever retrieved their spears. If he didn¡¯t then what? How does he acquire replacement weapons?


    We are descending the other side of the rise now, out of sight of the village. I fist pump and declare a successful escape, although I push on, dragging Rexa until she moans in pain and allowing her to finally rest. I close my eyes for a moment and drift off, blinking awake with a start as I hear moaning again. I check Rexa and she sleeps still. Rexa lays on her side in some tall grass so I take chance and leave her to locate the moaning.


    There is a sparse forest, more light brush and bush, the occasional sapling, in short plenty of cover, which I use every step of the way, taking care with each footfall. The more cautious time-consuming approach of course, although with my bow ready and an arrow nocked, I consider I should have the drop on whatever is calling. I round a dense shrub. Tied to a stake in the ground is a small furry animal, bleating but otherwise uninjured. The bleating sound baring a remarkable similarity to a goblin moaning.


    I sprint back to Rexa, my heart sinking as I know in my bones I have been tricked, lured away from the prize. She is gone of course, and I fruitlessly look about, why, I don¡¯t know. Trampled grass is my only lead and without hesitation, I follow a new path leading into our small patch of flattened grass. The path heads directly away from the lure, I am certain this can¡¯t be their preferred direction as we are heading West and back to the Head Hob¡¯s village; more or less. Just as I begin to doubt, the path turns smartly South and into a grove of mature trees. They probably thought with dusk coming anyone following would continue running straight ¡­ otherwise, it makes no sense. Fortunately, I still have daylight left thanks to my long stepping sprint.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    I crouch low, sucking in deep breaths and I know although heavier than a goblin my speed and endurance is greater than this planet¡¯s Hobgoblins thanks to the cocktail of drugs and nanorobots planted into my flesh bag corpse. They must be close by. I repeat the same level of caution when duped previously, hopeful of a better result.


    ¡°¡­ this time.¡±


    I catch two words and they are enough; I freeze and listen.


    ¡°This valley seems the best of them all for wild goblins, we should stay longer.¡± The voice deep, almost a conversational growl.


    ¡°We can¡¯t, we have too many captives now to keep secure, although four Hobs in this one valley alone is exceptional, fortunately, the one we should fear most, the Hunter Hob, is useless.¡±


    Some quiet chortling follows.


    ¡°Do we feed them again or need them only half in a daze, I don¡¯t want to carry any do you?¡± says growler.


    ¡°Yep, let them ride out what they have, by the time we pack up they should be capable of walking and yet still delirious out of their heads, we should be near the gap before they start to regain some sense and struggle.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, through the gap and gone!¡± cheers growler.


    Did I hear hands clapping? Do I rescue now or follow, the gap whatever it is could be important in so many ways, no need to exit the bottom of the valley to the herd plain below, immediate access to another valley. I will need to kill them; they have another home to go to and they must fail to arrive. I feel the need to pick a fight.


    Eavesdropping for familiar sounds, I catch the occasional metal on metal, flapping of cloth or leather and rolling. Straps being tied. All typical of packing up a camp. Almost right on queue some murmurings and mumbling of questions, a nonsensical jumble of words, not any sentences.


    ¡°There, there, now, put this on, feel the tug and follow, home isn¡¯t far away.¡±


    The two repeat this several times, ten or twelve? They can¡¯t have that many, can they?


    ¡°You are doing well to carry your load ¡­¡± There is a snicker and a humph as if trying to stifle a laugh.


    Underway the chat stops, and I need to listen for the shuffling of boots, I don¡¯t dare try to glimpse my quarry, keeping my distance. As dusk approaches there is more questioning from the captives, which is harshly beaten down.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that a glorious sight?¡±


    There isn¡¯t a reply, probably a nod or a wave in confirmation. If they can see it from here, I should be able to also.


    I wait for another uprising and verbal protest, creeping forward during the ruckus. I catch a brief flash, taller than a goblin, probably a Hob then and an arm wearing hard leather armour.


    ¡°Husband!¡±


    ¡°Shut her up, she¡¯ll stir up the others,¡± hisses growler.


    Her cry tugs at the human in me, my Hob nature sears the weakness, burning out all thought of rushing in, hero-like. Instead, I continue my stealth forward.


    As I round a bush, I come face to face with a Hob. His mouth open, I grab the loose arrow from the bowstring, fumbling and then drive the shaft up through the soft flesh of his jaw and tongue as it sets for a yell. His eyes fly wide open, and my knife is next to hand as he raises his hands in defence while trying to turn and bolt at the same time. I plunge my knife into the back of his neck.


    ¡°Husb ¡­ d!¡±


    His momentum or will continues his escape, my flint knife blade exiting the wound. Hard leather covers his back another knife thrust probably useless so instead I launch a boot at his legs trying to kick one into the other.


    His yelp fades away as he falls to the ground in a tangle of legs, smacking his face on the forest floor my flint arrowhead protruding from the back of his head. I sheath my dagger, pick up and sling my bow over a shoulder and then bend down again to relieve him of the two axes in his belt, test griping one in each hand.


    ¡°Hus ¡­ ugh.¡±


    The string line of prisoners are on a game trail and yet more than a game trail due to the uncommon width. I creep down the line, thankfully my target a goblin, her back to me yet armour hardened leather like the Hob. Incredibly I stumble, recovering quickly I note her head jerk about. My wife now quiet, slumping to the limits of her rope, the prisoner next in line holding her head off the ground, slowly choking her.


    I backhand the axe into the prisoner¡¯s leg as I pass by rushing towards a goblin drawing twin knives as she turns to face me. I don¡¯t swing a weapon, accelerating instead to increase the force behind my charge. Her hands now full of knives rise, intending to slice at my flesh. Before she can swing them into position, I crash into her, my momentum due to my weight and speed slams her back, off her feet. Hands and arms flailing while falling.


    I stare into closing eyes as my target comprehends the probable ruination the sudden stop will inflict upon her. The crushing of her smaller body under my charging bulk yielding a crack, then a cut-off scream of pain ¡­ air rushes from her lungs past my left side ear. As she gasps, I roll off and gain my feet. She strives to recover by repeating my effort, her injuries though reduce her to writhing in pain, unable to stand. I grab her leather boots and flip her stomach side down, mouth wide although lacking air to sound out another scream, the glimpse I have of her contorted face proof enough of her pain.


    Dragging my prisoner to the string line of captives I drop upon her buttocks while using a knife to cut my wife free. The next in line statue still, black blood drenching her hands trying to stem the flow from a thigh wound gash the voluminous puddle of blood in such a short time suggesting a cut artery. A rasping breath draws my attention. In this carefree moment of celebration, I lift my goblin wife to sit upon my lap and kiss her.


    Setting my wife upon her feet I remove her bindings. Utilising those ropes, I truss the arms and legs of the goblin kidnapper behind her back leaving the body to flop about upon the ground.


    In the passing moments, she finds her breath to screech, ¡°Did you slay my Hob you creep?¡±


    I ignore her and cast my eyes over the string of captives, ropes around their necks, arms tied behind backs and rope hobbles around their ankles. They sink to their haunches one after the other, the rope around their necks forcing them all to a common height. Sobbing. Snivelling. One gritting her teeth. Their reactions a curious mix. There is no assumption I am their rescuer, for example, the wariness in their eyes the proof.


    How much time do I have? Do the kidnappers meet others on this side of the gap? At the gap? Are they expected and if late will others come looking? Only one will know the answer.


    I approach my special captive to remove her armour, hard leather greaves and vambraces first, she swears and curses of course. Next, I roll her onto her belly and am surprised by her silence. Untying the leather thongs securing the front and back of her hard leather breastplate the silent treatment continues. I stretch her bound arms away from her back, which allows me to slide the back of her breastplate free. Quiet growls leak from between her clenching teeth as I do. She refuses otherwise to acknowledge the pain I must''ve surely inflicted by my actions, aggravating her broken rib. I roll her on her back, the front of the breastplate remains behind. A soft leather long sleeve jacket and long leg pants remain on her body. I remove her knee height leather boots, throwing them to my wife receiving a bright smile as a reward. Her eyes focus upon the armour now lying about and I nod.


    ¡°It is my armour creep ¡­ I earnt it you have no right to gift it ¡­¡±


    ¡°Spoils of battle,¡± I reply, as I contemplate my next move.


    ¡°How did you defeat the Ranger Hob?¡±


    Is that a step up from Hunter Hob or a new line of responsibility altogether?


    ¡°I don¡¯t trust you and while I should slit your throat, I won¡¯t. Instead, you will hang upside down under a tree where your friends can find you the next time they come by. Fair enough?¡±


    She wiggles upon the ground in protest, and I assume pain. ¡°I will free myself and seek revenge creep ¡­¡±


    I take a knee and press the point of her well-crafted knife into the soft part of her throat. The body instantly ceases to move. ¡°Then better to slay you now no point in letting a sworn enemy take me unawares like I did your Ranger Hob.¡±


    Black blood oozes out around the tip of the knife.


    ¡°No ¡­ stop. I misspoke ¡­ I ¡­¡±


    I suspect at this point she is searching for something of value to trade for her life. I don¡¯t suggest anything, because I would reveal what is valuable to me, therefore I need her to volunteer information first. I withdraw the point and place the blade against her throat. ¡°Death I believe appropriate for a cutthroat such as yourself.¡± I begin to draw the blade across her flesh.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to die ¡­ The fourth in line is one of us.¡±


    A reply full of venom retorts, ¡°You spineless bitch, we all swore an oath, death before betrayal!¡±


    That explains my stumble, I guess. At the time, more of a foot and less of a rock or proud tree root and I couldn¡¯t understand why one of the captives would deliberately trip me.


    ¡°He has a knife at my throat ¡­¡± she whimpers.


    ¡°What part of death before betrayal don¡¯t you understand?¡± hisses her accomplice.


    My tough captive sobs while facing death revealing her need to live. The game of kidnapping no longer fun alone, her Ranger Hob protector slain, and now she is at the mercy of another, acting the bully role she usually plays. I wonder about death also, yet mine isn''t usually permanent ...


    I drag my captive along the trail until she is close to number four, depositing her on her belly, my body separating one from the other.


    ¡°We will play a game. The first to answer avoids being cut ¡­ let¡¯s begin, the first in line where did you kidnap her from?¡±


    ¡°Wild goblin, this valley,¡± shouts number four.


    My captive curses as I slice her forearm.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Young fit, no name yet,¡± shouts my captive.


    ¡°No, don¡¯t,¡± Number four¡¯s head shakes. ¡°I know where they were taken, she knows why because she has the list.¡±


    I turn the head of my captive towards me needing to drag her face through the trail dirt and leaves.


    ¡°Explain?¡±


    She shakes her head. I flash her knife before her face, the point targeting an eye.


    ¡°I only want one eye, if you keep moving your head, I could end up with much more ¡­¡±


    She closes them both. ¡°They will name me ¡®The One-eye¡¯, I would rather die than be named so.¡±


    ¡°Your choice.¡± I shift the knife to her throat and press.


    ¡°The Chief Hob wants breeding stock, young childbearing goblins with no name and little or no family.¡±


    I allow the knife to trail lightly over her throat. ¡°Who else?¡±


    ¡°Any with civilised skills, male or female, we thought your goblin such a find since she kept your company, alone. Why would a Hob value a single female goblin otherwise?¡±


    ¡°Who else?¡± The knife is pressing into the back of her neck.


    ¡°Any showing pregnancy ¡­¡±


    ¡°Who else?¡±


    She sobs. Blood pools in the nape of her neck, which overflows and oozes down each side to reunite underneath to drip from her throat.


    ¡°Who else?¡±


    ¡°Any young or newborn Hobs ¡­ we have never seen any and yet if we do all other captives are to be slain to ensure we devote our entire attention to this one task.¡±

 1.011 Spoils of Battle

    So, the Chief Hob believes Hob young can be successfully birthed and possibly the kidnapping of young, healthy female goblins the main requirement. Yet wouldn¡¯t his own tribe or village produce such females? Perhaps my initial conclusion, the Ranger Hob must be a superior Hunter Hob is wrong, could the name change align with the culture instead? This raises another question, is the culture of the Chief Hob civilised or tribal? Chief Hob is to Head Hob as Ranger Hob is to Hunter Hob. The names or titles seem mixed, surely a Chief Hob should be served by the more primitive sounding Hunter Hob, while the Head Hob should be served by the more sophisticated-sounding Ranger Hob. As for Smith Hob, probably a singular cross over between both cultures except the well-made leather armour of the kidnappers would suggest a leather crafting Hob. There must be an answer to this mess.


    The real mystery, of course, the Farmer Hob. Responsible for breeding with goblins in a civilised culture, what is the equivalent in the tribal culture? Wouldn¡¯t the food provider, the Ranger Hob perform that duty?


    With my left hand around the back of her neck, I lift the kidnapper to her knees; tight bindings on her feet and hands prevent her from standing. Brutally dragging her down the line of captives I stop in front of number four, who is also on her knees.


    I adjust my grip on the knife waving the weapon before their eyes to emphasise the implied threat. ¡°One of you will die.¡± I look into the eyes of one and then the other. ¡°Before then you will bleed.¡± In turn, I trail the knifepoint between their modest breasts leaving a trail of beading blobs of black blood. ¡°Answering my questions will keep you alive.¡±


    The goblins on either side of four shuffles away until the rope around their necks grows taut, while the kidnapper squirms under my steel-like grip.


    ¡°Name your Hobs.¡±


    Four trembles, her bottom lip quivering, ¡°C ¡­ Chief Hob.¡±


    The kidnapper quickly adds, ¡°Ranger Hob.¡±


    I release an audible breath of frustration and snick the tips of their noses, their screams and cursing music to my ears. The dripping black blood a reminder to not tell me what I already know.


    The kidnapper¡¯s eyes cross attempting to inspect her wound. ¡°Creep, you have scarred me!¡±


    I grin mischievously and move the knife towards her nose, her face tries to retreat, failing.


    ¡°Armour Hob,¡± she splutters.


    My eyes turn towards number four. ¡°And you?¡± The knife point travels up her nasal passage. ¡°If you move, I fear an accident.¡±


    ¡°Th ¡­ There are no other Hobs,¡± she says, her eyes staring down her nose at the knife.


    ¡°Which Hob seeds the goblin females?¡±


    The kidnapper giggles and then sobers up. ¡°What Hob are you? No Hob seeds goblins ¡­¡± Her mouth stays open.


    Oh crud, is Farmer Hob particular to the civilised culture? Why kidnap healthy young female goblins?


    Number four gasps, ¡°That is the secret ¡­ not two well-fed goblins, a Hob and female goblin.¡± Her eyes zero in on Rexa. ¡°She is your mate, not a skilled goblin and that is why you chased us ¡­ what crappy luck, we didn¡¯t think a Hob would bother.¡± Her eyes drift to my loins, simply leaning forward would ¡­


    I flinch and take a step back. She releases a throaty laugh.


    ¡°How big is it? Since your mate is still walking around it must fit ¡­¡±


    Kidnapper spits upon her. ¡°You slut. Do you believe after threatening to kill us he will seed you?¡± She struggles to face me, and I relax the grip on her neck. ¡°None survive, do they? Tell the stupid bitch, tell her,¡± she screams.


    ¡°What she says is the truth, no goblin carrying a Hob child, or the child have survived childbirth,¡± I reply.


    ¡°Then why is your mate making with the doe eyes and willing to take the risk of certain death?¡± asks number four.


    ¡°What Hob are you?¡± asks the kidnapper, much to the annoyance of number four.


    ¡°I ask the questions. How long before the meeting?¡±


    ¡°We haven¡¯t signalled yet ¡­¡± answers number four.


    ¡°Stupid bitch or is this you betraying to earn his seed?¡±


    A humph from number four. She then bites her lower lip, sneaking a flutter of her eyelids in my direction as the kidnapper shakes her head. I return a salacious smirk, licking my lips.


    ¡°Did you just slut yourself?¡± yells the kidnapper.


    ¡°Of course, not ¡­¡±


    Time to leave. I drag the kidnapper to the end of the line and while she kneels rope her by the neck to the end of the line of captives. Number six in line, replacing the goblin who bled out, her motives dying with her.


    I find my mate curled up and place my hands on Rexa¡¯s cheeks, my lamb shivers. ¡°We will head home after I fetch the armour from the Hob I slew. Watch them, but don¡¯t prevent them escaping and risking your life, just call out to me.¡±


    She nods slowly. Her trust in me and recent rescue I am certain the sole reasons holding her, instead of simply fleeing in panic.


    I stride down the line and face them. ¡°I have a little errand to run, if you try to escape my mate won¡¯t prevent you but will call out and upon my return, I will slay any who aren¡¯t kneeling where they are now.¡±


    With that said, once out of their sight I dash into the bushland and find his corpse. While the greater effort I decide to drag him back to the line of captives and return to find everyone where I left them. At first, thinking only to remove his armour I decide to take his clothes also. His shirt and long pants made of extremely soft leather, well-crafted and at some stage I intend to wear both. For now, I wear his armour and feel safer although the bulk will take getting used to. His hatchets I sheath in the loops on his belt, now around my waist. I wear her belt as well to sheath her knives the leathercrafting skill superb. Taking a step back to observe I am content to leave behind a loincloth clad, but otherwise naked Hob corpse with a flint arrowhead protruding from its skull. Then a mischievous smile forms on my lips and for effect I lean the body up against the trunk of a mature tree, setting up a scene; the dead Hob watching the trail and wondering how many will pause and second look.


    The shadows are long signalling dusk when I return. I wave them to stand, kicking any who dally. Number four and number six first on their feet. I shuffle down the line and pour water into each of their mouths from a waterskin and following behind me Rexa breaks off stale bread and shoves the piece into their mouths. I lift the leather pack off the dead bloodless goblin and hitch it upon number six¡¯s back, she winces in pain but doesn¡¯t protest.


    Then in a shuffle run, I lead them down the trail and away from the gap. At first not understanding their good fortune they soon co-operate, realising I am not going to kidnap them out of their valley giving them the hope of rescue by their own tribe or loved ones. Our progress is good, I suspect number four and number six co-operate due to the threat of death hanging over them, still waiting to see which dies, after all, I did make a promise.


    Beyond my expectations before final light, we reach our destination. A shallow running stream crossing the game trail. I take each in turn out of the line and let them drink from the stream and pull their pants down to do any business. When they return to the line Rexa feeds them a portion of stale bread. Number four and number six don¡¯t protest or struggle, both meekly going along with the routine and I immediately become suspicious.


    I shepherd Rexa to one side out of their earshot, not underestimating the hearing range of goblins this time.


    ¡°Did any move while in line when I left?¡± I whisper.


    Her hands grab my upper arm, her eyes moist. ¡°Are we safe?¡±


    I wrap my arms around her, cooing, ¡°We will be alright, I need to know though, did any of them move and then before my return go back into their proper position.¡±


    ¡°Y ¡­yes, number four tried to stretch out, crying in pain when she did. Only after a time did she return to her proper position.¡±


    I kiss Rexa on her forehead and arm in arm we approach the line of captives. Leaving her side, I approach number four. Her head darts about and while the darkness of night hides her eyes, I am certain they are full of fear.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°How did you signal the watch at the gap?¡± I whisper, trying to put as much venom and threat into my voice as possible.


    She shakes her head in denial. My knife taps her wounded nose. She yelps and squeezes her eyelids shut.


    ¡°I won¡¯t ask again. Whatever rescue you think you have organised won¡¯t benefit you as I will cut your throat, after all I did promise one of you would die ¡­¡± I hiss.


    ¡°T ¡­ the heel of her sandal ¡­ m ¡­ moves aside, and underneath silver to reflect sunlight ¡­¡±


    Inspecting the skulduggery in the dark worthless and I resist the urge to even try. Such elaborate preparation, the spy in the line of captives, a signal system if all else fails and certain hope of rescue once the signal is given. Their previous dislike for each other a pantomime. This would seem to suggest their rescuers would need to chase in the night otherwise I don¡¯t see how they would catch up before we return to safety even with the line hobbled.


    I return to Rexa¡¯s side and whisper, ¡°I am going to lead us up the stream and I need you to hang back and see if any, perhaps, number four or number six leave anything behind or take any unusual actions. Once all are beyond the trail hurry to catch us up. Can you do this?¡±


    ¡°Yes, my husband.¡±


    Her voice frail and willowy and yet her grip on my arm like steel. I nod and then rouse the line. Once they are awake and standing, I decide to share with them.


    ¡°Number four and number six have signalled to your previous captors and I suspect they are now running in the dark by torch light trying to overtake us. If you hurry without betrayal, I promise to free you when I and my wife are safe. If you can watch the two who betrayed us, that would be most helpful.¡±


    I lead them into the stream, number six first and note with some satisfaction, to the limit of their restraints the others hassle and bustle number four and number six. Our progress isn¡¯t as quiet as I thought, random splashing to regain balance, shifting of loose rocks underfoot clacking and I suspect some deliberate clumsiness from number four and number six. Rexa though reports no obvious efforts from either number four or number six to leave any sort of trail upon entering the stream so I must be satisfied with that.


    My hope is by travelling up the stream, those coming to the rescue jog or sprint past the stream crossing assuming we are still on the trail. By morning they will realise we must have turned off the trail at some point and need to begin a slow searching backtrack wasting valuable time. With this time, I hope to leave the stream and make a dash for the farm.


    I deem we have gone as far as we can go up the stream in the dark. I imagine any number of bruises and scrapes and all sigh in agreement to rest on the side of the stream. My eyesight is poor in the dark, although the goblins managed better than I would have expected, so perhaps they have limited vision, enhancing starlight. For me though, I must needs rely on my hearing and that is what I do waiting for the dawn.


    While knowing I need sleep, I resist the urge, my eyes welcoming the first rays of morning sunlight through the light tree canopy surrounding the stream. I suspect nanorobots or perhaps Hob will power, probably both. I kiss my wife on her lips to wake her and after a brief start, she leans into the kiss with an unbridled passion. I touch her forehead with mine as I break off our kiss.


    ¡°Morning and we must be away. Keep watch and listen out while I wake them.¡±


    She kisses my nose and wraps her arms around my waist briefly before releasing me.


    I creep down the line, using the back of my hand upon their cheeks, gently rubbing, ready to clamp their mouths with that same hand if they try to shout or yell in surprise. I leave number four and number six to last, and they behave. Number six especially quiet and I suspect her rib the cause.


    We continue following the stream. To push through the brush and bush folly given the hobbles about their ankles. I did for a moment think to unbind them, but the chance of number four doing something foolish too high I decide. Animals will always find their way to water to drink and in so doing push trails through any forest or similar, so I need to be patient.


    Rexa clasps my arm pulling me to a halt. I swivel my head about and she places her finger across her lips. I wave the line to a halt, the gurgling of the stream the only noise I can hear and yet I trust my wife. Shortly after the faces of the other goblins wilt, a gentle shaking of their head¡¯s, eyes downcast.


    ¡°Crawl into the bush nearby and hide, I will lead the line up the stream a little further and then hide in ambush.¡± She shakes her head side to side, eyes pleading. ¡°You must,¡± I add. ¡°I can¡¯t fight them if I am worried about you. They are after the line, they don¡¯t know about you, now go.¡±


    My wife slinks off into the undergrowth as I tug at and lead the line further up the stream at a jog until I reach a subtle bend and make the line perch on the high bank carved by the flow of the stream.


    I ensure four and six are around the slight bend and unable to see exactly where I go, the best they can say is I backtracked down the stream unable to confirm if or where I left the water. I don¡¯t go far, I suspect I don¡¯t have the time and need to be content to back into some brush, arrow nocked waiting for those who follow us.


    ---


    ¡°Should we wait for the others?¡±


    Spoken within earshot, the words, the first hint of the enemy.


    ¡°No, the signal was two, although one a Hob and arrows will kill them just as well as they kill a goblin.¡±


    They advance up the stream in an arrowhead formation, all trying to be in the lead although constrained by the width of the stream. Their hardened leather armour like a uniform and none wear anything to distinguish any one of them as the leader or a superior. All have axes in leather loops on a belt at their waist advancing with arrows nocked in bows like mine.


    I release and then dive back. There isn¡¯t a yelp or swearing ¨C did I miss? I try to listen and all I can hear is the gurgling of the stream, I suspect the goblins wait in silence. Yet I can¡¯t stay still waiting for my death and possibly others.


    Moving forward, wincing at every twig snaping and leaf scrapping I have eyes on the stream and then a movement to my right catches my eye. I fling myself prone and an arrow shatters the brush above me.


    ¡°Here,¡± my foe shouts.


    In an instant they know which side of the stream I am on; worse they can hurry to a rallying point.


    I raise my head, peeking towards the stream, two goblins are rushing towards my location, their legs splashing through the stream. My foe is closer and pulls back on his bow taking the strain, smiling instead of releasing. The bank I am on slopes away from the stream, my body lying on the incline, therefore any in the stream can¡¯t target any part of my body except what I offer above the lip of the bank. My initial instinct is to duck and yet he remains with a slim chance of hitting his target and doesn¡¯t take the opportunity. What am I missing?


    Rolling on my back to scan behind me, nothing. From the stream, a great hue and cry rise, probably from the two charging through the stream, but loud, too loud ¡­ this is a distraction! I need to find out ¡­ I must change position. As I crunch my abdominals to sit up a shape launches towards me, an axe in each hand.


    Instinct takes over and I release my nocked arrow. The release is without a great deal of pull strain, although proving accurate taking the charging goblin in the eye. His body continues forward crashing into mine and as I lift the corpse off me three arrows sprout from it, the combined force knocking the corpse from my grip to land on the bank sliding a further arm¡¯s length down the slope.


    I roll scramble down to his body and then crossing my arms before my face I charge through the brush relying on the leather vambraces to prevent serious harm.


    ¡°He¡¯s running,¡± shouts one.


    I decide to push my way towards the line, better to draw my pursuers away from my wife. I tsk, this decision an easy acceptance between Hobgoblin possession and basic Humanity. Their hearing I am certain follows my blundering destruction of branch and twigs and then nothing, the ground beneath my feet is no more. Flailing arms and legs and then a splash. Landing heavily in the shallows of the stream my legs buckle and give way and instead of flinging my arms out, I wrap them about my head and strain to roll. My half attempt is enough as I lay on my side, my body a small dam and the cool water invading every dry patch on my body.


    Climbing to my feet, my first instinct is to shake, instead, I catch the wide eye stares of number four, five and six. From behind them, two goblins draw arrows while my bow floats towards them, flung away during my improvised leap. I shift to a crouch preparing to dash for the bank and possibly a blind given the curve of the stream when the goblins¡¯ throats sprout arrows. The line of bound goblins screech, scream or remain silent depending upon the sight and change of circumstance. I straighten, trying to regain my air of superiority.


    ¡°Late for that husband,¡± says Rexa dryly from the bank of the stream, standing with room to move on the trail I bullocked through the undergrowth.


    Taking sloshing steps towards her, I reply. ¡°I thought I commanded you to hide, wife.¡±


    She points to a location behind me and smiles. Swivelling about I catch my other wives bounding through the stream, water droplets catching the morning sunlight while their smiles are ear to ear. As they close upon me, Milga Stone Blood stands like a statue in the middle of the stream, shaking her head from side to side. Then the four are pawing at me, possibly checking for wounds and yet their hands manage to worm into questionable places.


    ¡°How?¡± I manage to ask.


    None answer, instead, hanging off my arms they drag me towards Milga.


    ¡°You were late?¡± She cocks an eyebrow.


    ¡°A detour to ¡­¡±


    She waves my explanation away.


    ¡°You are fortunate to have jealous wives, they thought your latest was evening the count and therefore keen to accompany me ¡­¡±


    ¡°That isn¡¯t true ¡­ husband we thought you injured ¡­¡± retorts Koria, while Luda and Duzsia pout in support.


    ¡°What will be the first thing you four do when safe?¡± asks Milga.


    Apparently immune to water they nuzzle their heads into my body and remain silent.


    ¡°I found your rest spot and the trail in the long grass. Following we overheard swearing and cursing, I immediately assumed you the cause ¡­¡±


    I free my arms and raise them, challenging her unfair assessment.


    ¡°We followed them, which was easier than I thought as they seemed intent on backtracking. As they separated into twos, I assume so they could all sprint up the trail and inspect a section each at the same time we ambushed them as they bent over the trail looking for your footprints I assume. Once they charged down the stream we followed and continued to pick them off, until the final two. You make a great piece of bait, partner.¡±


    She slaps her thigh and belly laughs at my expense, while the six goblins in the rope line shift about, especially four and six.


    I reach over to Koria and guide her head closer, kissing her forehead. ¡°Run to the farm and tell your father to send twenty farmers to us, we have a booty to haul home.¡±


    ¡°Only because my husband commands me,¡± she replies while untangling herself from me and running back down the stream.


    ¡°Luda go with your sister and be careful.¡± I wouldn¡¯t think others from the gap would be about, but I don¡¯t want to take the chance.


    ¡°Yes, husband.¡±


    There is a reluctance, yet she obeys.


    Pushing free and towards the two dead goblins, I cast my eyes over them and bark orders, ¡°Start collecting. Armour and clothes to the line of captives to carry, while Rexa can hold the weapons.¡±


    Before I finish, Milga adds over her shoulder, ¡°And I will stand watch ¡­¡± while splashing through the stream.


    I raise an eyebrow, which she can¡¯t now observe having left the scene.


    ¡°At least one is smart enough to ignore you and think for herself ¡­¡±


    Number six. I amble towards her, wearing a wide fake smile. When an arm''s length away my hand darts towards her neck and squeezes. ¡°Looks like I found a winner ¡­¡±


    Her eyes bulge ¡­

 1.012 The Victors Return

    Knife in my free hand I cut her loose from the line and drag the diminutive humanoid to the middle of the stream. The initial shock of my action wears off and she strives to speak. Under my unrelenting grip, her open mouth face plunges into the cool flowing water of the stream, bound arms and legs struggle against the bindings with no chance of freedom or prospect of changing her fate. I am exercising my strength without restraint and feel a heady sense of domination bordering on pleasure without consequence ¨C this life under my control is mine to judge. All the captives take a sharp intake of breath. Their response, applause to my performance, and endorsement confirming I am Hobgoblin.


    I wanted a rebellious one. A justification for my planned brutality. My humanness wouldn¡¯t allow viciousness without a good reason due to a haunting inner voice advocating measured response. The word good in my last thought seems out of place when I intend to do a bad or simply uncivilised thing, odd really. She provides the opportunity, unaware I am waiting to pounce, reconciling my human criteria to act and thereby unleash a purely Hobgoblin display of short sharp violence as punishment for a borderline example of insubordination ¨C a petty disrespectful quip.


    Staring at the line of captives, my pointed teeth show behind my smiling lips as the bundle of legs and arms cease any movement, a signal her struggle is over, and ruthlessness complete I stand, releasing my grip as I do. The water washes over, around and about the limp corpse shifting and nudging her limbs. In turn, my eyes focus upon each in the line, and they surrender to my intimidation and the implied threat of death I hold over each one becomes real in that locked moment. I am Hobgoblin, their worthless lives are at my disposal and the water flow eddying around their loins is unable to wash away the stinking flood of body temperature urine.


    With a sense of satisfaction, I crouch down, slice the wet binding ropes, and grabbing the corpse by an arm drag the body to the bank of the stream in one fluid motion. I begin my illusion of spirit stealing by laying her body on the side to ensure any water can dribble free and then tip her over on her back and begin the kissing and chest pressing ritual. My delay for show possibly fatal as I continue the procedure longer than any of my other successes. The rib injury a limiting factor, the delay after drowning another and her own fight to live all considerations in this gamble.


    The line observes without tears, they believe her dead and are more curious about my actions and what I am now doing to the corpse. Why? Could this be a further terror I perform after death?


    A cough. I roll her on her side. A wet cough and dribble of water. Eyes in a daze until the realisation I hover above her like a bird of prey, then her head snaps back trying to escape. Climbing to my feet, I use my foot to push her down. Arms and legs free and yet she lay still like a corpse of stone, unable to move under my gaze.


    ¡°She lives ¡­¡±


    Each in the line murmurs those words or similar, I don¡¯t catch them all. My eyes are trying to see through her, burn into number six¡¯s soul.


    ¡°When the stream slew you by drowning, I captured your spirit fleeing your body while trying to escape into the water desiring to join your ancestors. I then breathed life back into your corpse using your spirit.¡± I enjoy the struggle of comprehension on her face. ¡°Know your spirit remains within me and upon my death, your spirit will be destroyed. Now go.¡±


    My words elicit a frowning response.


    ¡°Run Zoria,¡± shouts number four.


    ¡°Zoria is it? Follow your friend¡¯s advice, you are free as long as you don¡¯t harm any of my wives as you leave.¡±


    Wincing, she crawls further up the bank and then using a sapling as support, hand over hand, stands. Her head is slow to turn upstream and then downstream.


    ¡°A darkness then nothing ¡­¡± she croaks.


    ¡°Your death, release of your spirit,¡± I answer while wadding back and grabbing the rope tethering the line of captives to lead them after my busy wives.


    Staying on the bank Zoria shadows our progress upstream. Duzsia visits now and again to deposit armour and clothes with the line, while Rexa drapes multiple belts with sheathed weapons across her own body, strung bows over a left shoulder.


    ¡°Why do you free me,¡± Zoria shouts, after a time.


    Duzsia, quicker than me replies, ¡°To slay him is to slay yourself, so you offer him no threat unless you wish to die.¡±


    ¡°I will return with many others and they will slay him ¡­¡±


    Duzsia bellows in laughter almost doubling up.


    ¡°Why do you laugh?¡±


    ¡°Upon his death, you fool, no matter the cause. You forget he also holds our spirits, and we would sacrifice our lives to save his as he has promised upon our deaths to return our spirits so we can join our ancestors.¡±


    A pleasing development, my wife speaks with such utter conviction and authority she silences any further response from Zoria. My wife a true believer and therefore happy to play the advocate proclaiming a falsehood as truth. How can the many saying the same thing be wrong ¨C a few more wives declaring the same and I will be able to state the fantastic and all will believe.


    We near the trail and hereabouts the forest is heavier, so the stream narrows and the rushing water carves out steep banks on both sides. To continue with us Zoria steps closer than ever before. I grab a bow and a knife belt from Duzsia, approach Zoria and offer the weapons. She falls back and I leave them hanging in a tree by the stream shaking my head.


    Once upon the trail, a gaggle of farmer goblins and my wives sent to fetch them greet us.


    ¡°We politely asked some of them to strip the bodies of the goblins we found and carry their belongings to the Farm and then return husband,¡± declares Koria in a report like way.


    I wrap both Koria and Luda in an embrace and while still in my arms I address the farmers. ¡°Take the weapons, armour and clothes and carry them to the Farm. Also, there are four corpses along the stream, four of you retrieve them and carry them to the farm as well, we will feed our enemies to the sows and the young boarlings.¡±


    Both my wives shift under my embrace, the farmers begin a plea, waving their arms while the words they wish to speak fly before they can.


    ¡°They don¡¯t deserve burial or a pyre, they will waste out here or feed wild animals, better their corpses benefit us, now go!¡± My last two words a definite command and the farmers scramble into action.


    ¡°Twelve bodies, sets of armour, clothes, eleven bows and eleven belts,¡± Milga calls out after them, a reminder of the tally.


    With two wives hanging off each arm and Milga dragging the line of captives behind we must look an odd parade sauntering in triumph down the game trail. The long grass greets us as the sun sets low in the West.


    ¡°The stupid reject still follows,¡± states Milga.


    ¡°I am not so distracted by my wives I didn¡¯t notice,¡± I retort, finishing with a smirk. ¡°I set her free, gave her weapons what more can I do?¡±


    ¡°Do you mind if I chat to her?¡±


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    I chuckle and reach to grab the lead rope Milga offers me. Second thoughts I wave the offer away. The eyes of all, my wives and those tethered to the line follow as I leave their company to confront our shadow.


    Bearing an eerie resemblance to a skittish animal, Zoria backpedals in response to my advance.


    ¡°Talk. If I wanted to slay you it would be done by now,¡± I shout.


    Zoria holds her ground allowing me to close the distance until the former number six holds up a palm. Shrugging, I face off with the unsuccessful kidnapper.


    ¡°You are free, why do you follow?¡±


    ¡°Why do they follow a bestial Hob such as you?¡±


    Our conversation is clear, I am certain our words carry well on a light breeze to an audience now in total silence, hanging on every word. ¡®Bestial Hob¡¯ though, can I defend my reputation? Do I want to, or is my preference to grow into the beast of all beasts? Can I compete with the Hunter Hob¡¯s discarding of goblins during his hunts for example? Does my slaughter of the betrayers on the Farm measure up or would that fall under justified response? My human self I don¡¯t believe could assess my action as a measured response, yet my Hobgoblin nature dismisses any such reservations. Conceivably the hurt of betrayal the catalyst, lowering my human standard and permitting the atrocity. The one before me knows none of that, she judges only on current events.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t all Hobs bestial? You followed or partnered with a Ranger Hob did you not?¡±


    Zoria takes a few moments before replying, ¡°Assignment ¡­ the Chief Hob visits the goblin tribes and offers payments for assistance. I have been requested several times ¡­¡±


    ¡°What payments?¡±


    I hunt for information with questions, I need to learn more of those and their arrangements beyond this valley.


    ¡°My armour, my knives ¡­ which I don¡¯t have, you return to me the knives and a bow of others and your wife wears my armour.¡± The bitter twang to her voice as she speaks unrelenting like listing her grievances.


    ¡°If I return your armour, knives, and bow, will you leave?¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t ¡­¡±


    Waving away her assumption, I swivel about and stride back to my wives.


    ¡°Rexa, remove the armour and find the best quality pair of knives and bow.¡±


    There is a pause as my wife obediently removes the superb armour and Duzsia shuffles through the weapons.


    ¡°I will escort you, Lord,¡± announces Milga.


    There is a determination in her words and visage. I shrug, armour and weapons in hand I about-face and now in the company of Milga return to the meeting spot, soon offering the cuir-bouilli leather armour, a pair of sheathed knives and strung bow to Zoria taking back the weapons I originally gifted. As Zoria straps on her armour, I turn away leaving Milga to watch. Her insistence to escort me, odd, probably due to suspicions, something only goblins understand I reason.


    ¡°Wait,¡± calls Zoria.


    My inner laughter almost surfaces. Collecting myself, a look over my shoulder reveals a deep frown dominating the former kidnapper¡¯s face.


    ¡°We are done, you have what you asked for. You can leave.¡±


    Milga adds, ¡°Your life is now his, walk, run and hunt knowing your spirit will never return to your ancestors upon death.¡±


    I slowly turnabout and witness Zoria¡¯s eyes fall upon my escort.


    ¡°You seek to scare me off, are you afraid I am too much competition for you? Is that why you want me gone? His reaction expected, uncaring as Hobs are.¡± A snap of leather punctuates her words as a greave now covers her shin.


    Milga takes several steps forward until standing over Zoria, still on one knee tying on her second greave.


    ¡°I am Milga Stone Blood. I fear no competition. My Lord Hob wishes you gone, so much so he made his wife return your armour.¡±


    Climbing to her feet Zoria meets Milga face to face, their almost human length green noses a couple of finger widths apart.


    ¡°Did he grant you your name and now you are beholden to him,¡± sneers Zoria.


    I witness Milga¡¯s shoulders gather lifting her frame until able to look down upon Zoria. I suspect Zoria unable to counter due to her rib injury.


    ¡°My tribe¡¯s elders granted my name. I serve him for other reasons. He can take your spirit because he has been slain and returned to life. He is powerful because he doesn¡¯t mistreat goblins like other Hobs yet deals with enemies and betrayal swiftly. Half of the goblins on his farm he slew upon discovering their betrayal. Your allegiance would always be in doubt, you would always be the first blamed, guilty, guilty, guilty.¡± Milga¡¯s fingers stab Zoria¡¯s chest three times. ¡°Go back to your tribe, this valley holds no future for you.¡±


    ¡°Name or no name you can¡¯t decide.¡± She flicks her head towards me. ¡°Only he can.¡±


    With that said she steps around Milga or attempts to. Milga bumps the other with her body, checking any forward progress.


    ¡°Out of my way, bitch.¡±


    Milga sneers, ¡°I am not the one with the sore rib.¡± A quick on target rabbit punch and armour or not Zoria¡¯s face grimaces while sucking in a breath to endure the pain.


    Through grating teeth, Zoria asks, ¡°Why do you stand in my way?¡±


    Milga¡¯s retort quick, to the point and demeaning. ¡°You have lost your spirit to him, so can only be his wife and his bed is full of better.¡±


    To me, they could be twins, same height, same length noses, the hue of green skin, identical ¡­ more though, their confronting natures an impasse of wills. And yet I need to school my face from surprise as Zoria takes a step back. Retreat?


    Her eyes seek mine.


    ¡°Return my spirit so I am no longer wife fodder. I wish to serve as she serves, under any oath or binding you require, and I will prove my loyalty and worth.¡±


    I join Milga and place a hand on her shoulder. ¡°Milga and I have an understanding, which breeds absolute trust between us. You, unfortunately, have nothing beyond the loss of your spirit to bargain and would forever fall under suspicion.¡±


    My hand grabs at Milga¡¯s shoulder and I guide her away as we return to my wives and the line.


    ¡°I know I will need to prove my loyalty. Ask anything of me.¡±


    I laugh false and loud and without looking back I then ask, ¡°Kill yourself, I would be more impressed with a knife in the gut, long and slow, but I am sympathetic to your offer, therefore the heart is acceptable.¡±


    She screams, ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I am not partial to stupid servants, so I am already reconsidering my offer ¡­¡± I shake my head, the exaggeration of which isn¡¯t lost upon my wives who giggle in response.


    Her armour flops to the ground, the long, lush grass cushioning the fall.


    The fingers of my wives point to a location behind me, their eyes wide.


    A chilling scream of pain emanates from behind me as I grab the rope tethering the line. Milga tries to speak and doesn¡¯t. Simple as that. My wives sneak glances, yet I am certain there is nothing to see, the long grass would conceal the target of their curiosity. I decide I am not drawn to theatrics.


    As we crest a low rolling hill the Farm buildings come into view, the surrounding fields yet to sprout into green, although early shoots rise proud and with them the promise of future life.


    ¡°You grow food?¡±


    Number four speaks and attracts my notice, yet her eyes betray the gaff, wide, full of fear. All afternoon none from the line of captives have spoken. I hand off the line to Milga and drop back until in line with number four. Under my casual gaze, I notice a bead of sweat breaking out upon her brow.


    ¡°Yes, we hunt for now and eat from modest stores from last season, this season though should be bountiful.¡±


    Her release of breath amuses me.


    ¡°Am I permitted to speak Lord Hob?¡±


    I chuckle and cast my eyes forward. ¡°You have done so twice already ¡­ no point stopping now.¡±


    ¡°What do you intend to do with us?¡±


    I walk on in silence for a time, humming. Her nervous question causing the others in the line to wake from their imagined dooms, eager to learn if death awaits or worse, slow death. How soon they have forgotten my promise to them on the trail ... isn¡¯t my Hobgoblin¡¯s word to be trusted?


    ¡°All must earn their keep on the farm, what do you have to offer in exchange for living another day?¡±


    ¡°I can act, play any role, ask those in the line, none knew.¡±


    I try a predatory smile, a show of teeth certainly. ¡°Perhaps you are doing so now? Meek and inoffensive and when the time is right and you are granted a whiff of trust, you spring forth like an assassin.¡±


    ¡°No, no Lord Hob, Zoria, what you speak of is Zoria¡¯s role. Killer, punisher and accomplished hunter of runaways, her tracking skills the best in our valley, acknowledged by all. I am not a fighter ¡­ there is ¡­¡± She bites her lips.


    ¡°There is?¡±


    ¡°A ransom ¡­ a generous ransom Lord Hob for my safe return.¡±


    I humph. ¡°What you may think is generous may not agree with my expectation and how would the exchange happen and me or my agent escape with our lives. Ridiculous.¡±


    ¡°No Lord Hob, the exchange is time-honoured, each tribe swears to a truce during a ransom as life is more important than wealth.¡±


    Honour among bandits then? ¡°What of the Ranger Hob, did he carry a ransom?¡±


    No immediate answer so I glance sideways catching sight of her head shaking side to side.


    ¡°Why not him? Didn¡¯t he think he would ever face defeat?¡±


    ¡°The Hobs in our valley stay together, they believe our ways foolish ¡­ the saving of goblin life ¡­ pointless.¡±


    The tribes, in this valley and it would seem beyond, hold on to the importance of life in total contrast to the Hobgoblins. This explains why my behaviour is unusual, although a begrudging acceptance I can treat enemies and betrayers any way, well let¡¯s be honest, any Hobgoblin way I want to, without diminishing their loyalty to me. They gain an assurance I won¡¯t just decide in the spur of a moment to slay them, doing so only if I have a reason, which seems to be my unique difference, my humanness factor.


    ¡°You would not try and escape if I agreed to accept your ransom and my agent who delivers you wouldn¡¯t, in turn, be slain or captured?¡±


    ¡°No Lord. Often the goblin being ransomed isn¡¯t bound, because once the ransom is agreed the life protection of the one to be ransomed becomes the responsibility of the escort and this is easier if both can run.¡±


    I have doubts ¨C human-level doubts, let alone Hobgoblin level doubts. The captor and captive cooperating? There must be conditions I suppose otherwise tribes would be forever kidnapping ransom targets.

 1.013 Knowledge is Power

    The number of goblins dashing about the Farm increases as I, my wives and the captives draw ever closer. I suspect a welcome home celebration and glance towards the sisters who beam a return smile ¨C confirmation for sure.


    At the farm fence line, a committee of three goblins meets us.


    ¡°Welcome home Lord Hob, preparations have been made,¡± announces Zeb Stone Grim.


    Behind him stand Redagar and Jotor, their faces complete opposites, the first bright and open ¡­ welcoming, the second functionary, a discrete peering behind me seeking confirmation. I assume not out of familial concern he seeks to determine if Rexa is alive.


    A slight wind change and my nostrils fill with the sizzling scent of a roasting boar and I lick the drool from my lips.


    Zeb chuckles. ¡°The Ten Spears hunted down a boar especially, none daring to touch the Sows or their young ¡­¡±


    I grunt and nod, marching towards the source of the delicious aroma.


    ¡°Lord Hob release the lead ¡­¡± calls Milga, laughter following her words.


    Mid-stride I absently release the lead rope, eager for the destination. My Hob nature impatient of any delay.


    The rotating boar over the cooking spit fills my vision as goblins on either side back away until one goblin female remains. Bracing her feet, arms straining, the boar shifts and then settles back.


    My left-hand grasps a golden-brown rump, while the right takes a firm grip on the leg hock and I tear the leg away from the body with a grunt of exertion, my arm and shoulder muscles collaborating.


    Through the last of the flesh in quick time, my sharp teeth hit the leg bone with a crunch, the jolt returning me to the present. The crackling of the fire under the cooking spit the solitary noise. Goblins, mouths agape surround me. A Hob roar settles within, mocking my return and urging a resumption to gluttony. The boar has three legs left, the dripping fat and crisping flesh tugs at my senses. Then my stomach rumbles, the build-up needs release. With a belch I find relief.


    The goblins jump and cavort, dancing in a circle around me and the boar roasting on the cooking spit. Their cheering infectious as a fat smile rests upon my lips while I pat my stomach. One goblin though doesn¡¯t join in, she strains and succeeds in turning the cooking spit and at my approach squeals as I wrap an arm around her waist lifting her until we are face to face.


    ¡°Your name?¡±


    ¡°Zoxa ¡­ Lord Hob,¡± she whispers.


    ¡°Thank you Zoxa.¡± I lower her and once steady, hand her the remains of my boar leg with more than enough flesh remaining to satisfy one goblin.


    My eyes search for Zeb, he either sensing I need to speak to him or more likely waiting for me to finish my feasting to seek me out first.


    I rip away the other leg and hoist the bounty upon my shoulder. ¡°The rest to be shared,¡± I announce to Zeb who nods in response. Goblins with drooling faces flow around me as I stomp towards my cabin.


    The human in me trying to comprehend, while the Hobgoblin in me cherishing the act of raw savagery, not only the taking and devouring of the boar flesh, the total disregard for the lesser beings around me ¨C me strong, me first, me claim greater portion. Is this really the thought processes of Hobgoblins? Or just me? Is my Hobgoblin instinct trying to eliminate my human civility or content to occasionally dominate? The corpse I inhabit has racial memories at the very least, recalling the means of its death suggests partial life memories and now this insanity ¨C hungering for boar flesh, displaying dominance ¨C how am I to reconcile my two parts? Am I going ¡®native¡¯? A shiver rolls over me.


    Their pawing hands wake me. I clear my frown.


    ¡°Better Lord? See wives, we cheer our husband with our welcome,¡± shouts Koria.


    Swinging the boar leg down, I plunk the still hot succulent feast upon a table set out before my cabin.


    ¡°You were prepared then?¡±


    Rexa snuggles her head into my chest. ¡°Yes Lord, we knew you would feed your wives.¡±


    ¡°What of your partner and these miserable wretches?¡±


    Milga. How could I forget her and my guests? I untangle myself from Rexa and place a hand upon Koria¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Share with all.¡± My head tills in the direction of Milga and the captives.


    ¡°As you wish husband,¡± she replies, then pops a sliver of grease-covered boar flesh into her mouth.


    I take the prisoner coffle lead from Milga and bending over, knot the rope low around a cabin post forcing those in line to scramble to the ground.


    One though recovers, hissing, ¡°You promised us freedom ¡­¡± Number three can speak.


    I stand, gazing at each of them. ¡°All in good time.¡±


    They shift and squirm.


    As Koria approaches the captives I reach over and drag her face to meet mine. I devour her lips in a sumptuous kiss tapping the back of her hand gaining her attention for my true purpose. Breaking our lip lock, my hand opens and with a sharp tooth smile she drops the portions of boar meat into my grasp.


    I squat before the last prisoner and chew on one serving, my eyes wide in delight, drool escaping my mouth on purpose. Number five licks her lips in response.


    ¡°Tell me about yourself and your tribe ¡­ how you were taken.¡±


    She swallows, eyes staring off, avoiding mine. My hand poises, ready to drop another taste of boar into my mouth, I bring her attention back to me.


    Number one speaks first. ¡°Lazsia, yet to earn her name, my tribe claims the valley below the field of yellow flowers to the edges of the plain. I was bathing when they came and thought of modesty before freedom as those with me chose to flee naked.¡±


    I don¡¯t play a game with the food. Without hesitation, I push the boar flesh into her open mouth and when certain, my fingers thread the rest to ensure she captures every morsel. She is careful not to bite the hand which feeds her, warm tongue slipping over and about my fingers. They all start calling out, reminding me of newborn hatchlings, mouths open wide, chirping to gain the attention of their mother to be fed first. Just like the low branch bird nest double zero five and I found while hiking during our married leave-lives together, the memory quickly rising ¡­ I toss each of the goblins in the coffle boar flesh and turn away, hurrying into the dark shaking my head.


    Ignoring the calls of my wives I reach the Farm¡¯s fence line before I am aware of the journey, my heart throbbing, my stomach hollow even though I know boar flesh sits within to almost overflowing. Leaning on a fence paling, I sob. How can such a small thing throw me back to a fleeting moment amongst so many lives, leave or otherwise? How? My eyes reach for the night sky searching for an explanation and the stars twinkle back in silence. I wipe my nose and eyes with my shirt sleeve. Is this my Human side rebelling, rejecting the Hobgoblin side by reaching back into my memories and reminding me of who I really am?


    A heavy sigh, ¡°Help ¡­?¡±


    I peer over the rail. Lying on her back, number six¡¯s moist pleading eyes stare back. One hand holds a piece of cloth around the base of the knife sticking out of her lower torso, while the other grabs at the ground.


    Do I offer sustenance to this little hatchling as well? Her promise to die in my service all but fulfilled and yet even now not beyond hope. Being a killer, she would know the locations of vital organs and arteries and I am certain the knife sticking out of her now missed every single one. Does she deserve credit for the placement, for dragging herself to the farm in the slim hope I would accept her attempt as proof? The Hob inside tries to force me to sneer and twist the knife, the human in me wishes to save the hatchling, like double zero five and I did several lives ago for a different bird.


    Jumping the fence, I notice Zoria hold her breath. She is still uncertain ¡­ is this death or rescue? I scoop her body up into my arms, her face scrunches for a moment, a blink and I would have missed it. She refuses to acknowledge any pain, believing her audition isn¡¯t yet over.


    The glow of the campfire reflects the green completions of my wives¡¯ faces, bright and happy devouring the boar meat. In a row closer to the ground the prisoners look on licking their lips without hope, I didn¡¯t leave any orders for them to be fed beyond the portions I granted them. Reaching the edge of the dancing firelight my wives notice me and my burden. Before I can speak another does.


    ¡°She is condemned to death, partner. Why do you offer her false hope?¡±


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    The Hob in me instantly agrees. I smile flashing my teeth and the weak hatchling in my arms attempts to struggle.


    ¡°This is a game,¡± says Milga. ¡°You are going to use her death to motivate the others ¡­ I apologise for my doubt.¡±


    Fully within the light of the campfire, my wives stare at me while the captives look on in morbid curiosity.


    ¡°Luda, fetch a stick or a wad of leather. Duzsia, fetch a narrow-bladed knife and Koria stoke the campfire, we need strong leaping flames.¡±


    My hatchling struggles while Milga tries to smile. She hopes this is some sort of torture and yet I spy a glimmer of doubt in her eyes. My partner knows I am not typical, one of the reasons we are partners, but also a reason why I can frustrate Milga with my decision making.


    Bending my knees l lower my wounded bird. ¡°You move and you die,¡± I whisper, certain only she can hear. I place Zoria beside the campfire and stand, hands on my hips, Lord of all I survey.


    ¡°Rexa, remove her armour.¡± I point to Zoria. ¡°Especially any near the wound.¡±


    Koria adds the firewood she fetches to the fire and the flames leap to consume the new fuel. Duzsia hands off the knife she returns with, hesitating, eyelids fluttering. I reward her begging with a passionate kiss after which she dances away. I place the knife in the flames and as I stand Luda presents a wad of leather to me, hanging by my side, frowning.


    I raise an eyebrow as Rexa rather enthusiastically removes Zoria¡¯s armour and underclothes, the bottom curves of her breasts are in plain view, while the carpet of her upper loins reflects well in the firelight, the dark green ringlets a contrast against her light green skin. All through this ordeal, Zoria remains motionless, her hand still gripping the cloth around the knife.


    Attempting to place the wad of leather in Zoria¡¯s mouth, she closes her lips down tight.


    ¡°Punching you in the stomach is an option or you can just open your mouth,¡± I state.


    Her jaw opens slowly as I push the wad forward.


    ¡°Bite down.¡±


    Her eyes ask why, yet she complies.


    I remove her hand from around the cloth, resistance brief after I stare and ball my fist. Pulling the cloth away, I feel the tug of congealed blood and while her eyes fly wide open, lips trembling in support Zoria doesn¡¯t protest knowing full well I will beat her if I must. As I finally fling the cloth away blood oozes anew from the wound. Now is the time. I reach for the knife resting in the fire, the copper blade red hot, glowing and as I draw the weapon closer to my patient, her body tries to edge away from the heat, while her eyes close tight. I am ready, the glowing blade now hovers over her belly, the radiating heat will be hers to endure and with no escape she claws at the ground, fingers digging into the soil while biting down of the wad of leather.


    ¡°Rexa, use some of her armour to prop her body up, head and upper torso.¡±


    With the distraction going on, I ease the knife from her wound. She takes a deep breath ¨C a blade sliding out of your own flesh, not a pleasant sensation. With the folds of her skin knit close together because of the abdominal crunch of her raised torso I dart in with the glowing blade, laying the flat across the cut. The sizzle and stink of burning flesh and black goblin blood fill my nostrils and I almost fall back collecting my balance just in time. I know of human flesh and blood, unprepared for the other. I look up and her razor-sharp teeth tear into the wad of leather. I note for future, leather preferable, goblin jaws will smash any wooden stick able to fit in their mouths. I remove the blade, some of the glow gone.


    Tears flow from Zoria¡¯s eyes while she continues to chew down on the leather.


    I inspect my handiwork, the searing of flesh a neat affair, not certain if the result a feature of their skin and flesh, my skill, or a combination of both.


    ¡°You will need to clean the wound location with cool, recently boiled water and nothing else at least twice a day and use bandages which have been boiled and dried. You can nominate one or two of the captives to attend to you.¡± I spare a glance towards the captives. ¡°While you live, they live.¡±


    As I stand, a hand rests on my forearm. Milga. She tilts her head away from the campfire and my cottage. I nod and follow her.


    At the Farm fence, she swivels about. ¡°I am your sworn partner. You need no other.¡±


    I reach out for her shoulders and she twists her body free, having none of the placating gesture. Hands-on hips I examine her. Proud, defiant, and loyal; betrayed herself by the games of her tribe¡¯s Elders she refuses to accept anything less now.


    ¡°Who should I send to fetch back the ransom for number four?¡±


    ¡°I will see the task done. You don¡¯t need her ¡­¡±


    The raw emotion and passion in her voice a surprise to me. She isn¡¯t thinking logically driven by another need. Never will she be my wife, happy with Zeb fathering her future daughter. Surely, she can¡¯t believe I would never add another to my retinue.


    ¡°You will always be my most trusted, most loyal partner regardless of who comes next ¡­¡±


    She spits, interrupting my earnest speech. ¡°Such a big hairless dumbass. Of course, I will be all those things, but none of that matters if you are dead ¡­ after one little test you believe her loyal, sworn to you?¡±


    She did stab herself, although granted not immediately life-threatening ¡­ still, I refuse to accept I set her a little test, I inwardly decide.


    Milga continues, her words in full flight ignoring any self-reflection on my part. ¡°She is a goblin, a killer one at that who kidnaps on orders. Job then payment. What convinces you her loyalty can¡¯t be bought for a big enough payment?¡±


    She turns away and slams both of her hands upon the top railing of the Farm fence. I take that as a speech finished signal.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want you to fetch the ransom.¡± She turns around in an instant her mouth open to speak. ¡°My turn,¡± I growl. She closes her mouth slowly, realising, as a Hob and her being trapped against the Farm fence I would be able to grab and tear her body in half.


    ¡°Why would I risk you, when I can send number six to collect the ransom on number four? She fails, I don¡¯t care. She succeeds, the ransom is mine and perhaps some doubt over her loyalty is removed.¡±


    Milga leans against the fence rail, her arms stretching out along the rail on either side. I notice, much to my shame her twin mounds pop slightly, breasts pressing for release against the restraint of her leather armour, more inviting than usual, my Hob loins stirring. Perhaps she notices as she folds her arms across her chest.


    ¡°At times I think you¡¯re not Hob and then at others, like now, lust-filled eyes and all.¡± She glances at my loins. ¡°And you clear away any doubt.¡±


    Well, ¡®perhaps¡¯ is not the reality of the situation and even with her reveal my pecker is keen. I can¡¯t say another word as lust would lace each one.


    ¡°One thing your addled mind hasn¡¯t thought about is if she spills all she knows and returns with a job to slay you, or perhaps another team is sent to capture you? What then?¡±


    I nod.


    ¡°Speak ¡­¡± She shakes her head and then stops to shout. ¡°Duzsia attend to your husband.¡±


    I try to speak, fail, and then shake my head from side to side. Somehow, I imagine Milga with a leather whip. Not helping!


    Duzsia arrives glances at Milga and then stares at me or more precisely my loins.


    ¡°Pants down, hands on the lower rail wife of a Hob,¡± commands Milga.


    With a gleeful smile, Duzsia hurries to comply.


    I stare at the bare wiggling buttocks of Duzsia, an inviting leer cast over her shoulder.


    A slap on my shoulder. ¡°Well satisfy yourself and we¡¯ll talk later when you are in a better state of mind. I will send your wives over in turn, I think you will need them all.¡±


    All I have is a dumb stare as Milga trots off back to my cottage.


    ¡°Husband please satisfy your needs. Milga is being so unfair because it isn¡¯t your fault, you are called to duty beyond your control. This is the time of sowing ¡­¡±


    I advance. The lustful Hob within me shutting down all possible protest. I am a slave to a ritual of procreation.


    ¡°¡­ oh husband ¡­¡±


    ---


    I hear bird twitter. I am certain I lay in a bed, the soft embrace of mattress and sheets comforting, no unforgiving bed of dirt that is for certain.


    My eyes open to a hush of conversation, the exposed timber roof of my cabin a welcome sight. Odd, I feel cool air across most of my body. I crane my head down, yep naked, more important though my pecker is half-mast. This triggers a vague memory, last night a haze of lustful debauchery, the details struggling to surface.


    I try to work my mouth, dry as desert sand. I close my eyes to work up some salvia. ¡°Water ¡­¡± I croak.


    In an instant water rolls down my throat from a cup conveniently held to my lips. I open my eyes after draining the source of my sustenance. Milga stands over me, the look of a disappointed mother on her face.


    ¡°What?¡± I ask. My empty stomach growls.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you wonder about the boar, the gathering of goblins around the fire, the dancing ¡­¡±


    I shake my head real slow from side to side. Wasn¡¯t I meant to share?


    Milga kneels her lips a finger¡¯s width from my ears. ¡°The previous you would request a boar from the Hunter Hob I am told, consuming its flesh over several days and between those fierce bouts of devouring, sow his seed. While your wives are well satisfied there are many on the Farm yet to be and expect to be.¡± She stands, hands locking around the back of her neck. ¡°I didn¡¯t know of this ¡­ tradition ¡­ on your Farm so I fetched your wives to erm cure you.¡±


    Her hands drop as a gnawing hunger squatting within my stomach commands my attention, an entire leg of boar flesh consumed, and the subsequent energy expended to sustain the sowing of my wives. The scent of roasting boar flesh reaches my nostrils. My eyes creep down the length of my body to confirm the revival of my pecker.


    ¡°No ¡­¡± My eyes are wide in surprise. Milga shakes her head and with urgency grabs the coffle of prisoners. I didn¡¯t notice their presence until now, and I throw a questioning look at Milga as dark leering clouds gather within my mind.


    ¡°In case your wives failed to exhaust you, they would¡¯ve been next not me ¡­ I didn¡¯t know until this morning there was no need to worry,¡± she smirks, ¡°there is a line-up waiting for you outside. As your partner, I feel it is my duty to rescue your captives from your unrestrained loins so you can keep your promise to those waiting outside ¡­¡±


    The haze in my mind solidifies with purpose as the last of the prisoners leave my sight. Food first and then sowing. I maintain a vague awareness of my surroundings, enough to feel a cool breeze upon my skin as I plod through the door of my cabin. Feet apart, hands-on naked hips I am a purposeful beast on display. My nose guides my arm as I reach for a leg of boar resting upon the table nearby and rip into the flesh for my first bite to break my fast. Rest time is over. The sharp intake of breath I hear is a welcome and an acknowledgement of my intent from those waiting in line outside my cabin. As my gaze flies over them, some gulp, others sigh, more twitter to those next to them in excitement. Most are ugly, yet the Hob in me dismisses my quibble.


    My human voice is small, enough remains though to acknowledge I have not yet gone ¡®native¡¯, although this is my closest brush with the state. The unstrained freedom is intoxicating, I can act how I am expected to act, I can join and function as expected within this native population and ultimately be accepted within this community for my actions. That is the seduction for Agents who otherwise live many lives and yet know, even when human, they are visiting and the impossibility of a family line, father and mother, grandfather and grandmother and so on reaching back or forward in time. Yet here, occupying an inhabitant¡¯s flesh bag I can procreate and start a family line that will live through the history of this planet. This implies does it not, the sterile flesh bags provided by the GPA are considered to have gone native when they can somehow procreate. A question, therefore, needs to be answered. Is this ability to procreate due to an unintentional trigger like a design flaw perhaps, or premeditated at design time or event dependent trigger, or a controlled trigger. All have various implications, although the last few particularly sinister as the GPA can have some or an absolute control when Agents go native.


    As my human side contemplates, my Hobgoblin side, the naked and engorged Farmer Hob Lord Klug the Tenderer throws the fleshless boar leg bone to the ground and advances with lustful purpose towards the first female goblin in the line ¡­

 1.014 All About Me

    A sleep-induced heavy daze doesn¡¯t obliterate from my memory every salacious moment of the past day and night. I still vividly recall tucking female goblin after female goblin under an arm and carrying each in turn into my cabin and servicing them. Their squeals of delight soothing my feeble internal human-side protests even though in the cold light of day I would need to own the ramifications of these repulsive done deeds, at the time beyond my control and the truly scary part. After this event, I get that the female goblins on the Farm belong to a culture that expects this service from their tyrant Lord Hob. In fact, any objections from the male goblins are either held back due to fear or they accept the current state as they are inadequate ¨C no male goblin Farm resident can service a female goblin to give birth. The simple solution to all this I decide is I must accept without guilt my role as Farmer Hob, forget ramifications as I wasn''t fully aware - plausible deniability. Even so, the outcome perfection, of course, the Hunter Hob will have a new gaggle of goblins to sacrifice on his next incompetent hunt for a start. The Smith Hob will acquire more miners and ¡°sniffers¡± to seek out ore seams, the Head Hob will acquire additional civic helpers and the remaining creatures will tend the Farm. The natural order of things ¡­ a well-developed plan?


    I feel used.


    A mix of emotions grab me and in protest, I push against the tangle of female goblin flesh on top and around my sleeping position and haul myself upright. They murmur in subtle protest and their bodies tumble to fill the void I create with my change of position and I don¡¯t care. Swinging my legs out, pushing against several sets of goblin legs I use my hands upon the bed frame to steady my current posture, planting both feet firmly on the cabin floor. The wooden planks under my feet provide further reassurance I am at least in my own bed and therefore in my cabin. My eyes enhance the struggling final flickering firelight from the dying fireplace as night is still upon the Farm revealing a multitude of female goblins carpeting the cabin floor, their smiles leaking drool as a final testament to my inhuman act.


    This display of sated flesh initially repels me and yet as I glance from one body to another an overwhelming level of satisfaction creeps over me, my flesh goosebumps with the pleasure of a job well done assailing my humanity, conquering my revulsion. In fact, despite myself, I savour the rewarding affirmation and in so doing lap up a deeper hidden bubbling smugness, the taste of which ¨C sours my naive celebration. I know now. My hands squeeze the frame of the bed, the creaking wood calls upon me to stop. This body contains latent behaviours, raw, primitive, and deep ¨C of Hob nature in fact. The smugness is from conquering me or to be more exact my humanity. At that moment, a deeper truth becomes apparent. My throat runs dry throttling my attempt to scream leaving me impotent to decry this treachery. I resort to nursing my face in my hands theorising instead, trying to logic myself out of this pit of despair because I realise, I am no longer in control, my self-determination can be highjacked by Hob instinct or worse, latent intent at any time.


    Hobs aren¡¯t native to this planet. The fact there are no female Hobs is evidence enough and something obvious to any Agent of several missions, yet I was so caught up in the situation, the mission, I didn¡¯t take a subjective look, ignoring suspicions not seriously considered until now.


    Hobs are flesh vessels and readily accept Spirits. Human Spirits, not a designed fit to be sure, although the flesh provides enough compatibility if nanorobots encourage the outcome. If true, then what Spirits are they designed for?


    Hobs are pre-programmed to conform to roles ¨C deep within their being, down to the instinct level. Once specific criteria are met a Hob¡¯s role will change which leads me to conclude within this one flesh vessel is the potential for all the roles, otherwise, I would never be able to become Head Hob. The reasoning? To design, develop and deploy multiple versions expensive, error-prone and time-consuming, much simpler to start with a common flesh vessel base and then engineer in trigger-based directives dependent upon external stimuli.


    Hobs are an addition to the natural inhabitants to ensure a specific outcome ¡­ I whisper these words to myself trying to confirm if such interference can happen ¨C there are rules and governance yet none of that matters on this planet. Then there is me ¡­


    For this to work, each role must be formulated, ingrained to override any transplanted Spirit¡¯s personality or morals to ensure the completion of specific functions. Like myself these past days, out of control and deep in a frenzy of inter-racial breeding against my free will.


    I drag in a deep calm breath and my Hob nature withdraws, a ¡­ a tangible ¡®thing¡¯ and most unexpected. Did it grin? How can that be? Yet I can¡¯t deny the comfort upon me, the return of self-control the instant after my humanity re-surfaces. Still, my stomach churns due to the flashes of memory recounting the bestial like functional application of what should be a consensual intimate union, in other words, I think I am about to puke.


    Heaving myself upright my large bare feet edge away from the bed needing to shuffle in between and under limp green limbs as I take step after step towards the cabin¡¯s secured door laying in shadow. I am certain several of my steps aren¡¯t ¡®clean¡¯ and yet such is their state my victims moan a feeble complaint and are content after I reposition. I consider the quick exit, applying my strength and dragging the door open against the tide of flesh. Instead, without significant effort, I lift several bodies away trying to place them between others instead of stacking. With their change in diet, I expected healthy filled out bodies, instead, I am disappointed, at best they exhibit a lack of skin and bone. It will take months to restore them to some semblance of health if this is a truism for all the goblins on the Farm. ¡®Grr ¡­ forget about goblins for now ¡­¡¯ I berate myself, remembering I don¡¯t care.


    Fresh night air hits my naked body and I breathe in long and deep stretching my arms high until my hands grab the cross beam holding up the patio of my cabin. I lean in, arching my back for a moment. The Farm sleeps, my inspecting gaze revealing nothing untoward until I spy upon several tents erected near the Farm''s gate. My wives and the prisoners are nowhere to be seen so a possible location ¡­ also, where my wives are, I have no doubt with them I will find my clothing and gear. Yet, returning to my wives is somehow ¡­ my priority, my stomach goes from wanting to puke to fluffy butterflies in an instant. Human relationships take many forms, one to one, one to many and many to many with the mix of male and female completely organic. While double zero five and I cherished our one-on-one relationship, her succumbing to temptation by going native frees me to explore other relationships ¡­ accept the notion of many wives. I don¡¯t know for certain if this is under the influence of my Hob nature or not. I think not, Hob doesn¡¯t value goblin.


    As I approach the impromptu accommodation my thoughts turn to warm embraces, simple cuddling, and skin contact without any further expectation; I yearn for genuine affection. Construction of the tents though, in a word superb, nearby flickering torchlight reveals cured hides sewn together with pegs and rope holding them in shape over a beam ¡­ then a large crack sounds in the still night air as first one twig then another twig breaks underfoot. I inspect the ground underfoot to discover a haphazard line of twigs surrounding the three or four tents.


    A multitude of goblins in varying states of dress boil out of the tents, spears in hand pointing in my direction.


    I show them the palms of my hands while slowly raising my arms. ¡°My wives aren¡¯t sleeping here then,¡± I whisper.


    Four of the many goblin males step forward and I can¡¯t help noticing them assessing my loins, in particular, the swinging appendage between my legs; one gulps, another stutters to silence, and the other two go wide-eyed in response. I get the sense I need to speak, crossing my arms before I start, hoping the movement will attract and redirect their eyes.


    ¡°Who would you be to camp on my Farm?¡±


    ¡°I ¡­ we.¡± The bravest of the four waves his arms towards the others. ¡°We are the hunters sent to free our taken, eventually tracking them here. Your Speaker of Law permitted us to camp and await ¡­ erm the completion of your sowing.¡±


    His eyes hold mine, chin up, possibly enjoying a slight advantage, spear in hand and at least his loins covered by a cured hide lap-lap, whereas I challenge naked and without a single weapon.


    I scratch my head to delay. ¡°Well, right. My Speaker of Law is wise, so upon sunrise, we will discuss this further.¡± I swivel and stroll back to my cabin. None call out and shortly after I hear the shuffle and fuss of my welcome committee returning to their tents. The butterflies in my stomach flit about for another reason, where are my wives?


    At the cabin door, I pause. No point in trying to sleep in there, which means ¡­ the kitchen cabin, the former abode of my first three wives, there is no warmth in my heart for them I only hope to find my current wives.


    I semi sleepwalk towards my last possible refuge, my mind trying to remember any cruel and unforgivable deeds of fornication, ponder how to take advantage of the visitors and wonder about the whereabouts of my wives and gear, all the while contemplating the promise of sleep. My arms and legs are heavy, I blink my eyes, somehow my physical and mental energy drains from me with each step.


    ¡°Did you disturb our visitors?¡±


    The half-curious, half-mocking tone of those words clear in a voice I recognise even with my tired mind on other things. Opening my mouth to speak I fail to say a word before Milga Stone Blood continues.


    ¡°Was it your huge presence or wonders of wonders your huge weapon which disturbed them from their sleep?¡±


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    Ears assisting, my eyes locate my cheeky partner swinging in a hammock strung between the furthest two of the four poles holding up the sturdy wooden awning out front of the kitchen cabin.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be asleep?¡± Dammit, I need to improve my pathetic responses ¡­ at least try to match her wit. Wake up brain!


    She swings her legs over the side of the hammock and leaps out in one smooth confident motion, preserving the night¡¯s silence. ¡°You disturb not only our guests but also light sleepers like myself, and anyway partner, at times like these I thought you would appreciate my help.¡±


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Clothes where? Wives where? Prisoners where?¡±


    She thumbs in the direction of the kitchen cabin door. ¡°All in there, which is why I am out here.¡±


    ¡°What if the prisoners free themselves?¡±


    A soft laugh and shake of her head. ¡°They are tied to a bench and I let them know if any one of them misbehaves they will all be punished and since four think they are about to be returned to their tribes I believe everyone is safe.¡±


    I grunt and lurch towards the doorway of the kitchen cabin. Instead of resistance, the leather throng bound wooden door opens by itself. Why did Milga say think? From the shadows within two female goblins leap upon me and like air from a stomach blow the question I asked myself flies from my brain.


    ¡°Husband,¡± they whisper, each claiming an ear to fan their hot breath into as they speak. They giggle as my body shudders in delight.


    I wrap an arm around Koria and Luda and step over the threshold and into the cabin proper. The gentle firelight from the fireplace illuminates the bedding situation, my wives are in a cleared centre of the dining area while benches line the walls, a prisoner tided down to each. I accept my wives¡¯ invitations and lay amongst the various furs making up their shared bed without disturbing Duzsia. Before my wives can take the initiative, I embrace both, forcing them to lay beside me. With their warmth settling over me I fall into a night of safe sleep.


    ---


    My hearing picks up on Duzsia¡¯s tone of disappointment as she asks, ¡°Is it broken husband?¡±


    My eyes blink open. With the other two sleeping wives acting as dead weights upon my arms, I lift my head slightly to appreciate a naked third wife straddling my lower thighs, her small green hands feverish in their efforts to bring my ¡®weapon¡¯ to life.


    ¡°Fetch my clothes wife,¡± I order.


    If Duzsia is awake, then I assume morning has broken and I am certain at least some of the prisoners are awake yet feigning sleep. My inspection of the prisoners distracts me from ogling Duzsia¡¯s nakedness as well as Koria and Luda¡¯s for that matter ensuring my pecker doesn¡¯t spring to life.


    ¡°We are naked husband.¡± She pouts. ¡°It seems a waste dressing you?¡±


    I pause in thought, is my attraction to female goblins Hob base instinct? I am permitted to favour certain characteristics ¨C smaller noses for example, yet scant other features seem distasteful ¡­ my jaw drops.


    Curious now, purely as an experiment, of course, I scan Duzsia¡¯s pert youthful body, seeking out a discrepancy, an undesirable feature ...


    I lick my lips and recover my jaw. If I excuse my recent debauchery as a Hob trance, beyond that ¡®programming¡¯ I am allowed choice and my humanity celebrates this tiny victory because I must face the fact when the Hob instinct kicks in, I am unable to offer any resistance or recall all the detail ¡­ then again is the fact I am permitted to favour goblins with small noses really a noteworthy demonstration of my independence?


    I roll my arms, rocking Koria and Luda awake. ¡°We have guests, so I must bargain with them.¡±


    Crunching my abdomen to raise the arm pillows they lay upon force my two waking wives into an upright position and once satisfied they will stay; I climb to my feet and allow Duzsia to begin dressing me. My limbs position to assist while my eyes lock upon her naked flesh, hips swivelling, firm young breasts jutting out, nipples stone-hard ¡­  a haze of lust gathers within me. Her face is straight, doing her husband¡¯s bidding yet her lips curl at the ends.


    My three wives bend over in front of me taking considerable time to fetch the rest of my clothes, armour, and weapons. Three smooth firm posteriors wiggle. I take a deep breath; fortunate my loincloth restrains my awakening below and alerting me at the same time. I shake my head and fling my lustful haze away with an ease I have never experienced before now ¨C a hang-over from Hob fornication?


    Their eager lips draw thin and the hope in their eyes dim as they turn ready to finish the task of dressing me, not expecting to after their seductive display.


    ¡°Hurry.¡± The one word escapes my lips, sharp and crisp with my eyes shut. Not to resist further temptation, trying instead to comprehend how, after a full night of rest I am able to calm my libido.


    Three sets of hands and naked bodies labour across my physique taking every sensual opportunity to stoke my lust. Each layer of clothing and armour they dress me in isolates my flesh from their temptations although in my sated condition their efforts are a waste, my pecker sleeps while my flesh trembles and eyes appreciate.


    Finally, ready and with great effort, my lustful eyes seek each wife in turn before I speak. ¡°Armour and weapons and then escort each of the four prisoners out, placing one in the care of Milga when you do.¡±


    I swivel about immediately and with haste exit the kitchen cabin eager for cool air fighting off an inkling in the back of my mind; my pecker might be done and done.


    ---


    The early morning rays of sunlight glisten off the dew upon the green shoots of the farm¡¯s growing crop and my attempt to sneak up on Milga fruitless, her hammock, empty.


    ¡°Do you need to break your fast Lord?¡± asks Zeb as he and Milga stride towards me from the Silo.


    My sluggish mind registers his words. An overnight rest and yet my thinking strays still, an effort to sort through and organise my thoughts, lust which should translate, a nothing, impotent?


    Milga slams a water skin into my midriff. ¡°Expending so much seed can be a very dehydrating activity partner, so drink.¡±


    I catch the edge of a smirk, her lips quick to transform into a friendly helpful smile. I drain half the water skin and then splash my face, feeling better afterwards. I take Milga¡¯s offer of bread and meat devouring both in quick time and without asking she offers another portion of each. This second portion disappears into my mouth slow enough for me to savour the offering.


    I rest a hand upon each of their shoulders and smile. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go meet our guests.¡±


    Dropping my arms, I turn and stride out towards the Farm''s gate.


    ¡°Lord?¡± whispers Zeb. There is a quiver, timidness to his voice.


    Both he and her, partners in some plot I am sure, have held their ground and I need to turn about to face them.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t we just going to present the prisoners back to them and earn some goodwill, perhaps arrange for some trade ¡­¡±


    Milga¡¯s hands make a fist each and her eyes glance skywards before levelling, while Zeb opens his arms, palms up wearing a sympathetic face.


    ¡°We should seek more advantage, Lord ¡­¡± he half whispers.


    I fold my arms across my chest and deliberately snarl. ¡°Go on.¡±


    Milga steps forward, waving her hands at me. I suspect a great deal of restraint as I didn¡¯t receive the slap which her piercing eyes fervently thought I needed.


    ¡°You must perform your life thing with one or more of them. Impress the hunters with your magic.¡±


    Zeb quickly adds, ¡°You must be more than Farmer Hob to win the tribal goblins loyalty. One is a chief and the other three are sons of chiefs or tribal heirs. The four females you have rescued aren¡¯t ordinary in the eyes of their tribe, Lord.¡±


    They work in tandem, two hungry birds in a nest tweeting for food or in this case to achieve an outcome. I drink the last of the water skin and with that, the final tendrils of fog, which I wasn¡¯t aware of, lift from my mind. I quirk an eyebrow at Milga. Perhaps sowing seed more thirsty work than hungry work.


    The four females could or could not be important and yet I can¡¯t help feeling this is all about a bigger picture.


    ¡°How about this,¡± I offer to them. ¡°The kidnappers take a prized female to be almost certain of luring significant members of their tribe out to try a rescue, the four tribes fight amongst themselves and are weak by the time they reach the pass and are easily taken or if the tribes don¡¯t fight, they are ambushed once through the pass?¡±


    Milga and Zeb steal a dubious look at each other, with Zeb umming while Milga replies.


    ¡°Before, on the trail, didn¡¯t you suspect the Hobs in the valley over simply wanted the females for breeding? Why make their capture more, I don¡¯t know ¡­ just more of a big deal than it needs to be?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t confess to a hunch based solely upon one anomaly, the Ranger Hob, so I shrug instead.


    ¡°You need to take them as wives Lord Hob.¡± Zeb swallows as he finishes speaking. He is a brave goblin to suggest a course of action to a Hob ¡­ I suspect he is becoming more comfortable in his position, with me.


    I rock back on my heels. ¡°Do I now ¡­?¡±


    ¡°Yes, you do,¡± replies Milga. ¡°But don¡¯t appear eager to do so.¡± Fingers play across her chin. ¡°How much grain do you think your cropping will provide?¡±


    Casting my eyes over the crop, assessing the strike rate ¡­ ¡°We will probably need to build another Silo as I haven¡¯t yet added Boar slops or tested goblin droppings yet. Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°Tribes hunt, sometimes they have enough for the snow months and sometimes they don¡¯t. When they don¡¯t, the weakest are usually the first to starve, such as the elderly or newborns. You could perhaps offer them grain for such times, the arrangement sealed with a marriage?¡±


    My wives march the prisoner coffle out of the kitchen cabin disturbing our conversation. All are present and I feel a scowl fall over my face as I need to settle this mini-revolt without countless witnesses.


    ¡°Lord,¡± pleads Koria. ¡°We thought it best they remain together upon seeing Milga with father and yourself.¡±


    I accept the interruption by breaking off my frown as I need to attend to a promise and stroll along the coffle line with purpose, stopping at Zoria, my hand firmly cupping her chin. ¡°Are you ready to prove your loyalty?¡± I release my grip.


    ¡°Yes, Lord. I will fetch the ransom and return.¡±


    I glance along the line to number four, her eyes cast down, her body still, although not tense, expectant?


    ¡°Duzsia return her weapons and armour. Provide food and water for three days for two and send them on their way.¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband.¡±


    Duzsia cuts number four from the line and ties her to the nearest kitchen cabin post. Once done she releases Zoria and escorts her into the kitchen cabin. My remaining wives hold the coffle of prisoners in good order while Zeb and Milga observe offering no comment. So far so good then, I have their approval, wanted or not or they also don¡¯t wish to air any disagreement in front of our guests.


    As I look across to the farm gate, four groups of goblins gather and I must assume observing us while waiting, possibly the real reason Milga and Zeb didn¡¯t show any dissent after giving their initial advice. Advancing to the head of the coffle, level with Koria I take a water skin from her and guzzle down more water.


    ¡°Right, follow.¡± I step out first, Koria leading the coffle a pace behind me, Milga keeps pace on my left, Zeb following back further. I don¡¯t spare a glance to check I assume Luda follows behind the last of the coffle. My head twitches, Rexa, where is Jotor¡¯s daughter?


    ¡°Rexa?¡±


    ¡°With her father, Lord Hob,¡± whispers Koria. ¡°She is being inspected.¡±


    ---


    There are some filthy looks upon the faces of my guests, a few restraining others. My guess is they don¡¯t appreciate how I present my prisoners, yet I am a Hob and more than a match for them. I almost inwardly chuckle as I observe the Ten Spears running practice drills nearby, I assume pre-arranged by Zeb as extra intimidation.


    Four armoured goblins of importance step away from their respective groups, spears and shields left behind. The chief is fond of bones, a throng of them around his neck, his waist and one piercing each ear. I am certain the display offers a genuine hint of his name.

 1.015 Visitors Part One

    ¡°I am Chief Bor Bone Eye of the Blood Bones tribe and we request the return of our goblin sister.¡±


    The sight of this demanding four-foot-high, generous bellied goblin, arms crossed upon his chest and feet apart in a word, ridiculous. I short circuit my Hob nature with dismissive humour ¨C huh. Adding to this display of righteousness another of his tribe stands behind him pointing at the coffle. My gaze moves along to the next emissary, a leather-encased creature from leather cap upon its head to soft leather boots upon its feet, barely a patch of green skin visible.


    Most likely observing my indifference to Chief Bor¡¯s display of authority the next in line shifts his feet slightly while doffing his leather cap. As my eyes fall upon him his head bobs about, longish ears laying back. ¡°Mighty Hob, your generosity is well known as is your swift disposal of enemies and traitors, the Sharp Fangs tribe will swear fealty to you upon return of our goblin sister.¡±


    Fealty is good I muse, but why are these goblin sisters so important?


    I leave him without an answer and absently nod to the next in line catching him in a sideways glance, adroitly erasing the look of disgust across his face before addressing me.


    He takes a knee. ¡°Lord Hob I, Meb Sharp Eye wishes to reclaim my mate. Those who follow me in this task are my loyal followers such is my influence within the Laughing Tusks tribe.¡± Climbing to his feet, he declares, ¡°I will pay a generous ransom for her return.¡±


    Upon this cue, a couple of his followers stagger forward dragging a sack each. I wave them away noting they don¡¯t wear leather armour, instead they make use of sections of tree bark and bound sticks of wood like you bind when building a make-shift raft, only smaller to fit shins and forearms. Meb¡¯s true armour the same except a thin leather wrap over disguises the fact unless looked for.


    I am almost positive I fail to conceal my shock about his armour while taking a step towards the last visitor in line. With Meb surprising me, I inspect this leader twice and discover another anomaly, a female goblin Leader stands before me. Even more disconcerting she wears an annoyed expression on her face while looking around me to examine the coffle line. The voluminous robes swathing her body probably a clue for everyone else, not registering with me until I study her chest, which protrudes beyond what is reasonable for a male.


    ¡°Do you wish to fornicate with the Hob or return to your tribe?¡± she asks.


    I stand aside trying to follow her eyes and identify who she addresses. It turns out this is simple, the one in the coffle licking her lips. I also conclude the Matriarch isn¡¯t an heir or lessor functionary but the Tribal Leader, there is no hesitation in her negotiating.


    ¡°Stay and fornicate with the Hob, my Matriarch.¡±


    Confirmation then, ¡°my Matriarch¡±. A disrespectful tapping upon my forearm draws my attention.


    ¡°She is willing to fornicate with you and has been well fed for the task this hunting season therefore one in every two younglings born by her will be returned to the tribe. We will supply meat in exchange. Do you agree?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I answer, not for any other reason but to wait for her next play, since I am convinced, she is the Tribal Leader and able to raise the reward.


    ¡°Why not?¡± Her response quick and immediate, sweeping the cowl of her robes back to reveal a face of feminine displeasure.


    My Hob nature rises, urging me to smash this display of disrespect, instead, with a steady calm I reply, ¡°She is ugly.¡±


    ¡°Rut from behind,¡± she shrugs.


    ¡°I am not ugly!¡± yells a voice from the coffle. ¡°I even have meat on my bones unlike the miserable hussies you mated with these past two days and I will bear healthy babes!¡±


    I swivel and stare her down. ¡°You have born babes before? Were they strong and healthy?¡±


    The other goblin sisters in the coffle shift about while the visitors take to murmuring amongst themselves breaking their passive silence. The other Goblin Leaders previously captivated I presume by the horse-trading between myself and the female Goblin Leader but now drawn in given my suggestion I needed proof.


    ¡°That ¡­ is the gamble, those you have captured are virgins,¡± admits the Matriarch. ¡°They are from strong bloodlines, their mothers once virgins and the hope of their tribe, like these, are now.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t accept the folly of placing all their hope in one bloodline, what foolishness ¡­ Throwing my hands in the air I about-face and march upon the Matriarch who backpedals in response, gathering her robes and trying not to trip over. The comical sight allowing me to come to my senses and I halt, just as quickly as I charged.


    ¡°You all depend upon one bloodline for your tribe¡¯s future? What stupidity is that?¡± I stare at each, in turn, ending up back at the Matriarch my larger body frame hulking over the diminutive female goblin.


    Biting her bottom lip and then swallowing the Matriarch finds more than a few words. ¡°This is not by choice. Our fatted virgins are taken year after year until we are now down to our last. We have rescued some in the past ¡­ usually though they are just taken and lost to us while past fatted virgins still of bearing age have ¡­ accidents.¡±


    I grunt in thought. It would seem these goblin tribes have a tradition of controlled breeding so the tribes grow stronger, probably due to inter-tribal wars and yet there is an active campaign to sabotage this to keep them weaker than they otherwise could be. Wandering a fair distance away from my visitors I call over Milga and Zeb to join me.


    ¡°What if I kept them all and told the tribes they would be under my protection and in exchange for meat they can claim any babes?¡±


    Milga wears a polite agreeable smile even nodding her head and I pick up on the ruse, a show for those observing. ¡°Sometimes those in charge don¡¯t always appreciate a great outcome if commanded to participate. I would suggest negotiating to aim for such an outcome and accept any imperfections as fate.¡±


    Zeb clears his throat. ¡°Lord, I support Milga¡¯s council. If you take, at some point if not immediately, one or more of the tribes will war against you. Given they have met in a similar circumstance I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if they ally at some future time against their common enemy instead of their real enemy.¡±


    ¡°I value you both ¡­¡± I say while considering their advice and yes, the real enemy, that is what I need to direct them towards, and this negotiation is the path to that outcome. I deliberately draw both to me, an arm wrapping around each holding for a significant time and then releasing.


    My visitors remain apart as they wait for my return. This suggests their presence is due to a common cause and they remain separate tribes for a reason and even if they decide I am an enemy I doubt they would ally; this could be problematic for any of my future designs ¡­ Smiling, arms open wide I stroll back to resume our discussions, Milga on my right and Zeb on my left.


    ¡°Matriarch, my advisors have convinced me to accept your original proposal if it is still on offer,¡± I announce.


    Her eyes narrow. ¡°Why the change?¡±


    ¡°I will take her as my wife and ensure she is bountiful until her childbearing days are done.¡±


    The Matriarch shrugs. ¡°Wife, concubine, breeder ¨C no difference to me as long as my tribe gains one of every two newborns ¡­¡±


    She smiles and signals to her camp turning away.


    ¡°One more thing,¡± I call out, raising a finger.


    Her about-face is slow, a half-turn ¡­


    ¡°I need your tribe to scout and watch a certain mountain pass.¡± I raise my hand pointing in the general direction of the mountain pass.


    ¡°Such a request would be my tribe¡¯s honour, except I am certain other tribes, in particular, Laughing Tusks and Sharp Fangs wouldn¡¯t welcome my Spears upon their lands, even if travelling through on behalf of yourself.¡± She finishes with a wide smile, one which has got the cream and the cat, more than willing to comply, but regrettably beyond her control to do so.


    ¡°How did you travel to my Farm?¡±


    ¡°By paying tribute, first to Sharp Fangs when the kidnappers tracks led into their lands and then Laughing Tusks who all must pay. Over the years the tribute has been well settled at one beast payable every dusk, yet this still delays the pursuit.¡±


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    ¡°Why must all pay Laughing Tusks?¡±


    Sighing, her hands rise to wave about to assist in the explaining. ¡°Simple, they can be negotiated with and the kidnappers avoid travelling through Blood Suns and Flint Arrows the other choices, for obvious reasons.¡±


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°For obvious reasons?¡±


    Taking a moment to stare at me her hands rest on her hips. ¡°The Blood Suns are mindless berserk drunks, while the Flint Arrows are deadly and territorial. Surely you know this. I count three, possibly four amongst your most trusted. Don¡¯t you know who you keep company with?¡±


    I don¡¯t avert my gaze from the Matriarch and don¡¯t respond either, instead, I decide to add another to the discussion.


    ¡°Meb Sharp Eye, what bargain can I strike with you to allow Spears from Grim Weavers to trespass upon your lands safely and free of tribute while on my business?¡± I am guessing Meb is no Master Hunter or heir but the actual authoritative leader of his tribe as he is in pursuit of his mate and the Matriarch has already spoken of bloodlines.


    The Matriarch smirks while listening to my question, to her mind I request the impossible.


    He laughs. His sharp eyes turning to examine me, instead of beyond me. ¡°I notice your Spears wield metal-tipped spears. The Laughing Tusks would accept ten such spears to grant free trespass to your trusted friends the Grim Weavers.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± protests Chief Bor. ¡°There is a balance, those tribes bordering the plains hunt the great beasts at great cost, hunters die. The beasts provide bone for bows, arrows, and spears. Meat for trade. Laughing Tusks'' craft wood, the arrow shafts, the spear shafts amongst other items in exchange. With metal-tipped spears, they would hunt their own beasts or raid us.¡±


    ¡°So, the metal tip spears would be of vast value to the Laughing Tusks ¡­¡± I tap a finger on my chin, feigning deep thought. ¡°In that case any tribe on my business can safely trespass, free of tribute through your lands Meb Sharp Eye and you have a deal, although I would take a wife from your tribe to bind us. What say you?¡±


    Meb hoots at the top of his lungs punching his fist skywards. ¡°Agreed!¡±


    ¡°The Sharp Fangs have already offered an alliance with Lord Farmer Hob. We will seal this by marriage also, to our goblin sister you have captive, so swears Chief Grol Shatter Eye.¡±


    So, you also are a Chief no less, my reply quick. ¡°I agree to help defend your tribe if you come to my aid if attacked and also agree to patrol the mountain pass.¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡±


    ¡°This is madness,¡± hollers Chief Bor.


    Chief Grol turns to Chief Bor and snaps back, ¡°No. If Laughing Tusks attack us with their metal-tipped spears Lord Farmer Hob is obligated to come to our aid and since Laughing Tusks'' lands are nearby, retribution will be swift.¡±


    Meb Sharp Eye joins the two chiefs forming an impromptu discussion circle ¨C do I see three tribal leaders in discussion and not at each other?


    ¡°Don¡¯t assume our use of the spears. Many a season the three tribes nearest the plains don¡¯t have enough meat to spare. With these spears, we can hunt for ourselves and fend off mead induced raids from the Blood Suns.¡±


    Chief Bor goes quiet and then looks directly at me.


    ¡°If the Blood Bones tribe entered into an Alliance with Lord Farmer Hob, would you come to our aid if the Flint Arrows tribe attack us?¡±


    I smile, this is a trap of sorts. ¡°I would, although I would inform the Flint Arrows tribe of our alliance and the consequences, but also allow them to bring any grievances to me if for example an ally of mine raided or otherwise provoked them without cause.¡±


    Chief Bor¡¯s face loses colour, although he quickly recovers. ¡°I would still offer an alliance as we have no intention of butting heads with the Flint Arrows tribe.¡±


    ¡°Sealed by marriage and including patrol of the mountain pass?¡± I confirm.


    ¡°Yes, although how many to watch the pass?¡±


    His question, like a magnet, draws the interest of the other three.


    ¡°It depends upon what you would like to accomplish.¡± I allow the words to hang in the air, they all glance about trying to determine if someone has the answer to my question and I suppose, wonder why they have the choice.


    I continue. ¡°To observe and report back, probably two well-concealed hunters with at least two escape paths back to my Farm. To rescue any prisoners and capture or slay any guards probably many more. Your hunters will be able to take the guards superior armour and weapons but as time passes, they will be more careful and difficult to surprise so you will still need numbers to win the day.¡±


    In a deadpan voice, Meb Sharp Eye replies, ¡°Fewer hunters even two will mean less meat, Laughing Tusks can only commit to two hunters Lord Hob.¡±


    ¡°You fools!¡± gasps the Matriarch. ¡°They raid from the plains and flee through the mountain pass. All you are accomplishing is witnessing them take their prizes.¡±


    Chief Grol retorts, ¡°We can¡¯t commit more, our tribes would starve.¡±


    I sweep an arm towards the growing fields. ¡°Food will be in abundance once the crop matures and is harvested and baring any calamity, I will guarantee none of those tribes allied to me will starve.¡±


    Silence. The four leaders stare at me and as obvious as the noses on their faces, I read the machinations going on behind their eyes as they try to calculate how I will gain or possibly take advantage of them at a future time.


    The Matriarch straightens and in doing so snaps her robes in place. ¡°How can we trust you as your words talk about a future promise?¡±


    ¡°I am accepting the same risk, what if my brides are all barren or beget sickly babes ¡­?¡±


    Chief Bor shakes his head. ¡°They shouldn¡¯t, all are from strong bloodlines, yet if you can supply food, perhaps after delivery on this promise we can set a different trap for our kidnappers.¡±


    ¡°I am listening.¡±


    ¡°When we hunt upon the plains a great deal of time is taken to choose the right beast, not large enough to defeat the hunting party, not sickly of course, while wounded is welcome but unfortunately rare. Ideally a lonely animal off from the main herd. During this wait, the kidnappers raid our villages. They must watch from afar to pick the right time to strike.¡±


    ¡°Makes sense,¡± I prod.


    ¡°What if we send out our females with a couple of hunters as guides to pretend to hunt. The hunters remaining behind will be able to ambush the raiders, many to one on tribal land well known to us.¡±


    Two of the three leaders laugh with intent. Chief Grol adds, ¡°The food you supply must be delivered secretly because any change to our ways could alert the raiders and of course they don¡¯t always strike during the first hunt of the season.¡±


    ¡°They strike us last,¡± states Meb Sharp Eye. He glances about, checking to ensure he has their attention. ¡°If you trust in our alliance, I will offer Spears to assist in this plan, after all, if they are defeated in your lands, they won¡¯t be able to steal from ours.¡±


    I swallow and with effort maintain a neutral face. The shock of the offer plain on the faces of the others present, including Milga and Zeb. The offer is significant, co-operation between the goblin tribes and if accepted then this world has been changed at last.


    ¡°I ¡­ we ¡­ why?¡± stutters Chief Grol.


    ¡°By helping you, my tribe is protected. With this threat gone our numbers should increase and we can finally deal with the Blood Suns ¡­¡± states Meb with complete confidence.


    The Matriarch steps forward, face to face with Meb. ¡°We won¡¯t stand by and let you conquer the Blood Suns and claim their lands.¡±


    ¡°I thought a better arrangement would be to attack together and split their lands amongst us ¡­¡± retorts Meb hands on his hips, rocking back on his heels.


    ¡°No!¡± Both Chief Grol and Chief Bor protest at the same time.


    Meb faces off both Chiefs. ¡°You can take some of our lands if you want, our tribe is there because we can¡¯t be where you or any of the other tribes are, no other reason. Once I believe we are strong enough I would prefer to claim the lands near the mountain pass. You contribute by guarding the plains, the Laughing Tusks will contribute by guarding the mountain pass and any food shortage will be covered by Lord Farmer Hob. I have absolute faith in him because I must. Laughing Tusks are the weakest of the four tribes and if nothing changes, we will eventually fade away. When has a Hob shown interest in any goblin tribe?¡± He points at me. ¡°Never in my tribe¡¯s living memory so Laughing Tusks are going to gamble our future on this Hob, who doesn¡¯t act like a Hob.¡±


    One of those awkward moments manifests and I break the silence.


    ¡°First I need four brides ¡­¡±


    The Matriarch picks up her robes and shuffles forward, pointing towards the coffle. ¡°Take Lazsia first she is in heat.¡±


    Milga steps forward taking the coffle and marches them towards the river. I did consider just consummating the marriage and done, yet with no way to discuss this privately, my partner has decided for me. This isn¡¯t a bad thing, although my new goblin allies may reconsider when they witness their virgins drowning and then remarkably survive death ¨C possibly.


    Meb rushes towards the coffle line to be blocked by Zeb. He then turns to me. ¡°Marriage, but not my mate!¡±


    ¡°The Hob demands bloodline virgins from three of us, why not the fourth,¡± answers the Matriarch.


    His pleading eyes fall upon me, searching for sympathy, permit an exception and yet I can¡¯t grant what he pleads for and in silence, I follow my future wives. Chief Grol and Chief Bor encourage him to follow the impromptu procession.


    My wives, including Rexa, need to hold down the three waiting promised wives as I drown Lazsia before their eyes. I am certain the Matriarch, although quiet, especially after her advice to Meb, nevertheless stews re-evaluating the situation and by extension the alliance as does the other leaders. I hear the buzz of their discussions growing louder and then in an instant silenced as Lazsia rises and survives her apparent death. The remaining three goblin sisters witness the same miracle as everyone else, yet for each, I must manhandle them into the river screaming fully understanding their reluctance. To solve any hesitancy within me I call upon my Hob nature to proceed without sympathy.


    Meb¡¯s eyes don¡¯t leave his mate throughout the entire process and I can discern his amazement upon witnessing the promised wives going from resisting to resigned, his mate no exception. He approaches her, arms wide, face apologetic.


    ¡°I am no longer yours. I belong to him. You have won your alliance now, so enjoy its bounty with another for I am now beyond your reach,¡± she says and then joins her sister-wives leaving him on his knees, alone.


    The two Chiefs flank him while I fetch another promised wife and I overhear their sage advice; ¡®the price of leadership is often personal sacrifice and only you can judge if the price is worth the benefit¡¯.


    ---


    At deed end, the visitors and those invited from my Farm by Zeb gather around a wild boar sizzling upon a spit devouring portions of meat according to importance and appetite. This gathering caps off a world-shattering day amongst the goblin tribes and I just need to steer and guide them now to ensure what has started here becomes a legacy, not something that withers over time as each leader dies.


    A giggle. ¡°Lord Hob?¡±


    My wife Duzsia, full of energy and body bobbing up and down wears a delightful grin across her lips winning my undivided attention.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Your brides are ready.¡±


    I climb to my feet, nodding to each leader in turn before I follow my wife to my cabin. Meb seems to have reconciled the cost.


    ¡°One at a time wife, I would welcome them with my full and undivided attention.¡±


    A giggle. ¡°Yes, husband.¡±


    ---


    The glow of the fireplace casts a warm light upon eight naked and content female goblin bodies which I can untangle and escape without disturbing their sleep. Once the four new wives were serviced the night became a free for all, until they all tired from my attentions. The co-operation and participation from the new wives varied from absolute commitment with Lazsia, acceptance from Bekto and Zuxa to begrudging reluctance from Meb¡¯s former mate, Ligia.


    Pushing the cabin door open I welcome the cooling breeze, waiting for Milga to report or comment as is her way, instead, another approaches my cabin.

 1.016 Visitors Part Two

    ¡°Matriarch, an odd time of the night, erm ¡­ morning to visit.¡±


    ¡°I wish to bargain some more, and would do so without others listening if you are agreeable?¡±


    I secure my loincloth and take a seat at my porch table, waving an open hand at my visitor to join me. She hesitates and then settles down upon the chair opposite, her voluminous robes flowing around and about.


    Her eyes wander across my bare flesh and then fix upon the table taking a moment to tame her breathing. I wait.


    ¡°What would be your fee to service the five females in my present company? One has a mate, but he has accepted the need.¡±


    ¡°Why did you bring female goblins with you? It seems a great risk to take.¡±


    She lifts her eyes from the table, to look past me for a moment and then snaps back to make eye contact. ¡°We thought to trade them if you must know, all if necessary, for the one you have, had ¡­ captive, appealing to your Farmer Hob lust as it is sowing season. I do wonder the outcome if we presented our requests before you serviced the females on your Farm, yet it seems your lust is never-ending.¡±


    Would be, and could be I am trying to ignore, wasted effort, we are here now, and the past can¡¯t be changed including the slightly ajar cabin door allowing her to peek inside the cabin and spy upon lolling tongues and other such signs of lustful satisfaction.


    ¡°In the hunting party?¡± I ask.


    ¡°They are all accomplished huntresses, their skill and bravery proven many times on the plains although I do accept males fit more easily into the role of hunter.¡± She takes a deep breath. ¡°Even so I will not deny the chance to grow ability regardless of where it first takes hold.¡±


    The pause, gathering herself to push through speaking about her bold way with the second statement, perhaps challenging to a male, let alone a Hob who should think goblins are nothings, the females to be serviced. Does she test me, trying to gauge the level of my non-Hobness, if such a thing exists? I decide to gift words of vindication.


    ¡°You are wise to leverage your tribespeople to align with best fit, encourage thinking beyond the assumed.¡±


    ¡°Then what say you to my proposal, I am trying to gather the fruits of your seed into my tribe many times over and I need to know the price to determine if there is value.¡±


    I false smile, trying to conceal the delicious intent I only now decide upon, but the Matriarch shifts back in her chair in response. She suspects ¨C something.


    ¡°Send your male hunters to the mountain pass.¡± As she opens her mouth to protest, I wave her down. ¡°They are searching for two I sent yesterday, one the prisoner of the other, supposedly collecting a ransom. They only need to observe, ideally without being seen although you need to warn them the guard is an extremely skilled huntress, usually one of the kidnappers in fact.¡±


    A deep green rolls up her neck and then face, while her petite hands, white knuckle while gripping the table.


    ¡°Usually. One. Of. The. Kidnappers!¡±


    I wipe away her spittle from my face and smile while doing so.


    As she stands to storm off, I growl, my smile gone. She sits back down, hands steadying her trembling body.


    ¡°Why do you think I would reveal that to you instead of keeping quiet? And lose the emotion. On any scale Hobs win on that score and presently I must make deliberate effort to restrain certain violent passionate instincts boiling within me ¡­¡±


    One arm ending in a hand with fingers curling set to grip reaches across the table. A shivering Matriarch awaits my will. Instead of strangling with fingers, the back of my hand caresses her cheek and withdraws.


    ¡°B ¡­ because I need to know?¡± she whimpers.


    ¡°Yes, and there is more to tell.¡±


    ¡°A kidnapper,¡± she whines.


    ¡°My opinion of you is misjudged. Our meeting is over and if I hear of this secret from any others, I will know the source and not be pleased.¡± I make a slow closing fist with my hand.


    ¡°I promise, no more emotion and my hunters will need to know who they track to ensure they succeed ¡­¡±


    Lounging back in my chair I scrutinise her face. After some intense moments and with a green flush to her face, she mouths the words, ¡®I apologise¡¯.


    ¡°The two should travel through the pass, your hunters will need to wait. In one or two days the huntress should return by herself and make for the Farm. I need to know of any interactions, I doubt your hunters will be able to overhear conversations, but body language, swearing, emotions, new faces met, and the like would be useful observations. Is this possible?¡±


    Upon her face, an instant of realisation appears. ¡°This is a test, you suspect treachery?¡±


    ¡°I hope for loyalty, I wish to confirm there is no treachery ¡­¡±


    She nods. ¡°Is there something else?¡±


    ¡°Only know the kidnapper is important to me, either as an ally to extract information from or a spy to report back false information and any who endanger either outcome will not be spared my wrath.¡±


    ¡°Understood Lord Farmer Hob.¡±


    A part of me considers abandoning this next condition given our misunderstanding but that would be me allowing emotion to interfere. The Matriarch presents me with a unique opportunity, and I mean to stay the course until I know the outcome.


    I nod, certain we have an understanding. ¡°Once the hunters leave, I will service your huntresses on one condition. If I service their Matriarch first.¡±


    Her mouth opens, closes, while her hands grip the table edge. I wait for the excuses.


    ¡°I am beyond, I can¡¯t any longer ¡­¡±


    I know my question will go straight for the jugular, given the goblin sisters uniqueness and an educated guess about my guest. ¡°Do you have any heirs of your bloodline?¡±


    In an instant several tears squeeze out, my question cutting deep as I suspect, and perhaps emotional baggage still lingers from our earlier confrontation. She turns her head aside quickly wiping her eyes with cloth from her robe. ¡°They have fallen, the last too weak to waste food on during a poor season and I haven¡¯t tried since.¡± She straightens. ¡°I am too old now to waste your seed.¡±


    ¡°How many of your maturity have decided they are too old?¡±


    ¡°There is no point, the weak, young and old are the first to go when food is scarce.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t promise that won¡¯t happen again until the next crop is harvested, yet if you were pregnant your child will have no greater chance of survival than now.¡±


    ¡°And the next year?¡± Her eyes fill with tears.


    ¡°I expect to have more farming land by then ¡­¡±


    ¡°You are cruel to promise this hope ¡­ cruel and mean, I prefer the brutal threat of your strangling hand, without guile, instant and without wait if you so choose.¡± Tears fall upon the tabletop.


    ¡°You can wait a season, to be certain the crop is harvested. Consider this an offer, not a condition ¡­¡±


    ¡°Stupid Hob!¡± Her petite fist smashes my arm. ¡°Every year my chances reduce ¡­¡±


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    I push back my chair while standing and offer the Matriarch an open hand. She stares at the invitation and then places her hand in mine. When both of us are clear of the table I draw her to me, then use my free hand to gently wipe the tears from her eyes.


    About to mouth some words I place my finger across her lips. Bending my knees, I sweep her into my arms and in silence carry her to the kitchen cabin.


    ---


    ¡°You were gentle, almost caring?¡±


    The surprise in her voice welcome, quelling my fear the threat of strangling her would leave an emotional scar. Apparently, for goblins, surviving violent death or the threat is reward enough not requiring any further worry or soul searching. I smile down upon her naked body, one which has mothered before ¨C generous hanging breasts, belly pudding and love handles around the hips and yet the joyful smile upon her lips eclipses the hurt and sadness residing in her eyes, years in the making. Given her demonstrated resilience to threats of death, and due to the moment, we find ourselves in, the cause is more likely something like maternal loss which she now hopes I am the cure for.


    ¡°Have you tried to stand?¡± I quip.


    ¡°Why? Are you going to push me down again?¡±


    There is an invitation there which I shrug off.


    ¡°No, for soon we must be discrete as my wives will arrive shortly to prepare my breakfast ¡­¡±


    She snorts, holding her arms out in invitation. I raise an eyebrow.


    ¡°You are a strange Hob if you believe I am anything but proud of my conquest, taking your Hob seed.¡± She smirks. ¡°Many times, in fact, if I remember rightly and if I give birth my bloodline will be restored carrying Hob blood. So, will you ride me again ¡­¡±


    ¡°No, he can¡¯t.¡±


    The Matriarch needs to look, I don¡¯t.


    ¡°Explain Milga,¡± I ask while holding out a hand to the Matriarch.


    The Matriarch reaches up with her hand. ¡°You are Hob and yet a Gob female commands you? Did the world turn upside down overnight?¡± As I assist her to stand, she groans, her eyes squeezing shut trying to ignore the impossible.


    ¡°Do you want me to carry you back to your camp?¡±


    Her eyes open while she tries to keep her legs, upper thighs especially still. I notice bruising ¡­


    ¡°Yes,¡± she squeezes out in reply.


    ¡°No, he can¡¯t. A messenger from the Head Hob is waiting to see him. Now, immediately.¡±


    I scoop up the Matriarch and place her on one of the long benches and wrap her robes around her.


    ¡°I must go.¡±


    Milga throws me a shirt while she ties off my loincloth. The fact she voluntarily chooses to do this speaks to the degree of urgency. Next is my long leather pants, tight fit. I need a new pair. Then I step into my boots, I tie one while Milga ties the other and we are out the door. Milga leads me to the cold embers of the spit in time to witness the Head Hob¡¯s messenger picking at the remains of the boar still hanging there from last night¡¯s feast.


    ¡°Report,¡± I growl. I am still a Hob after all, regardless.


    He flinches as he turns to meet us. ¡°The Hunter Hob is gone.¡±


    My first thought is, and so? Milga enlightens me indirectly.


    ¡°No, body?¡± she asks.


    The goblin messenger remains facing me when he replies, ¡°No, it seems he has left, deserted the valley in fact. While largely ineffective in providing meat, he nevertheless was a Hob, and one fewer worries the Head Hob. He has entrusted me with these orders for you because his health is failing. His order states, ¡®Farmer Hob given his interest in spears is to hunt and cull tribal goblins, six tribes must become four or you can take from each in whatever portion you decide. This needs to be done now, because when you are promoted to Head Hob there won¡¯t be a Hob to manage the farm.¡¯ He has ordered Smith Hob to supply you with additional spears.¡±


    My mouth hangs open while I listen to each sentence and as he finishes, I need to work up saliva to counter the drying effects.


    ¡°When will the spears arrive?¡±


    ¡°They are arriving later today with the females you bargained from the Smith Hob. I am done so I journey back to the Head Hob before you begin your rampage. The Head Hob is depending upon you.¡±


    The messenger walks away awkwardly, in haste yet trying to do so while maintaining a certain amount of decorum. The Farm begins to awake around him and when the goblin tribesmen and tribeswomen wake from their tents, he sprints through the Farm entrance and is away. Milga and I observe him leave, each struggling to comprehend the long-term ramifications of the message from our own respective point of views, I suspect. Is our partnership in jeopardy?


    ¡°Are you going to cull?¡± Her words are empty of feeling, a statement. She expects the truth given we are partners.


    ¡°I need to at least appear to ¡­ the Head Hob is special, knowing in some mystical way although the Hunter Hob¡¯s desertion despite his influence can only be due to his failing health. Gather the Goblin Leaders, probably in the kitchen cabin is best since one is already housebound there.¡±


    Milga doesn¡¯t throw a quip back, instead hurrying off to the tribal camps. I can only deduce a ¡®goblin culling¡¯ is a thing and yet I have been trying to do everything but. I find a fence post and lean against the solid support to take the time to observe the Farm and the working goblins who go about their business in peace, all the while thinking upon a plan of violence. Redagar leading out a work crew to only he knows where. Jotor rounding up other goblins to tend the fields and muck out the sow pens. The muck will be utilised to dress the fields today now the seeds are striking. I note the three goblin leaders following Milga and push off from my post to head towards the kitchen cabin. Halfway there the Ten Spears jog around me, chuckling, I assume to resume their hunting or capturing for the day since yesterday¡¯s display of force won¡¯t be needed today ¨C I hope.


    The kitchen cabin is clear of wives when I enter, probably Milga¡¯s doing. The Matriarch now dressed remains where I left her. The other leaders gravitate towards her, perching upon a table or lounging in a chair close by. Milga rests her elbows on the serving table fixture separating the kitchen proper from the eating area.


    ¡°The Head Hob has just declared a tribal goblin culling and I am to perform this as soon as certain supplies arrive.¡±


    Their jaws drop of course and then they look about, expecting a killing blow I suspect. They don¡¯t protest or accuse yet are reeling and I decide to lay out the entire situation and plan at once.


    ¡°I will assume the display of calm means you trust me. The order is to reduce six tribes to four or I can take portions from every tribe. We will cull one tribe as an initial show of good faith. Once the weapons arrive, Laughing Tusks and Grim Weavers will leave the Farm and assemble at the common border they share with Blood Suns and begin a methodical eradication the next dawn. Sharp Fangs will sweep behind them, half a day later, searching for any who hid from the initial attack. Any objections?¡±


    Chief Bor Bone Eye stands. ¡°What are the Blood Bones tribe to do during this time? If we don¡¯t join in, we will miss out on a share of female and young ¡­¡±


    I did wonder how far a culling went and given my ignorance, I didn¡¯t want to declare upon a guess. While I was prepared for annihilation, I hoped for less.


    ¡°The Blood Bones tribe will join with the Sharp Fangs, for every Spear which shows from Blood Bones a Spear from Sharp Fangs can remain behind and protect their land. Is that acceptable?¡±


    Grol reaches over and grips Bor¡¯s forearm, the Chief returning the grip and them shaking. Before they return to their seats another speaks.


    ¡°That takes care of one tribe, but the culling requires two, so what next?¡± asks the Matriarch.


    ¡°When I call the Head Hob¡¯s messenger to witness the heads of the slain, I will request a rest before attacking the next tribe. He will either say yes or no. It will then depend upon the health of the Head Hob. For now, let us provide an initial success.¡±


    After obligatory agreeable nodding, I continue. ¡°The Blood Bones and Sharp Fangs tribes need to break camp and leave immediately. The fewer tribes camping on the Farm the better when my next visitor arrives. I suspect the Smith Hob will be a guest before day end.¡±


    ¡°As you command Lord Hob,¡± answers Chief Bor, while Grol nods. As they get up to leave, I wave them back to stay.


    ¡°Wait one moment, I need you to be aware of what I need Laughing Tusks and Grim Weavers to do.¡± I look to Meb. ¡°Laughing Tusks will need to camp beyond the bottom field, under camouflage if possible. As soon as we can supply you the promised weapons you must then hurry to your start position to begin the cull.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob.¡±


    His response is without passion, I hope I don¡¯t need to cure his heartache with a spear thrust.


    ¡°The Grim Weavers have a different mission, hunters will track down a couple of my followers who are heading towards the mountain pass, while the Matriarch and most others return to their lands and prepare for the culling. Those that remain will follow them in good time escorted by my Ten Spears. I need the Ten Spears exposed to combat, but I need to ensure they all survive. I trust they will.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob.¡± I detect the faintest of smirks upon the Matriarch¡¯s lips.


    ¡°If you have no questions then go, otherwise ask now.¡±


    Chief Bor and Grol continue their exit. Meb nods and follows in their wake.


    ¡°Can Lord Farmer Hob attend to my huntresses between now and before the Smith Hob arrives?¡±


    I nod.


    ¡°Can Milga fetch all who accompanied me and lead them to the kitchen cabin?¡± asks the Matriarch.


    ¡°Will they believe me?¡± asks my partner.


    ¡°Have no doubt, either you or the other from Flint Arrows are the Farmer Hob¡¯s seconds, there is no question amongst the tribes about this fact.¡±


    Milga leaves immediately.


    ¡°I will need some assistance, although not as much as I thought. I intend to meet my tribe outside the kitchen cabin while relaxing in one of those hammocks, issue the required orders and send in another huntress as each one finishes. Once done, except for a couple of hunters chasing down your followers we will make good speed back to our lands and prepare for the cull. Don¡¯t send your Ten Spears with us, send them with the Laughing Tusks that way they won¡¯t have to travel so far, and they will be on the farm when your visitors arrive, which would be expected I would think.¡± She quirks an eyebrow.


    I descend upon her. ¡°Agreed. A Gob giving Hob instructions, how can that be possible?¡± I lift her in my arms and out the kitchen cabin door, her laughter wild and free during her transfer, only stopping when I pretend to drop her. A brief yelp and then the hammock catches her. I earn a smack on my arm for that ruse, and I chuckle while returning to the kitchen cabin. I find my breakfast and chew down on roots, berries, and a small portion of a cold spit roast.


    Milga pokes her head in. Nods and then enters closing the door behind her.


    ¡°Two tribes have already left Lord, the third, Laughing Tusks not far behind. I instructed the Grim Weavers to pack as well.¡± She smirks. ¡°Apparently when their Matriarch doesn¡¯t return to sleep with them, they prepare for a quick decamping, so they are ready for any circumstance. I suspect your new subject knew that when you started issuing orders.¡±


    ¡°I suspect the first huntress will be waiting then ¡­¡±


    She nods. ¡°Your wives and I will stake out the trail and give you as much warning as possible about the Smith Hob¡¯s arrival.¡±


    She is out the door as I finish the last of my breakfast. Then there is a knock.


    ¡°Enter.¡±

 1.017 Delivery Part One

    The final huntress leans up against the kitchen cabin door, leather armour still on and I am certain time is running out, second to my patience.


    ¡°Your Matriarch has commanded you, hasn¡¯t she? Your mate agreed did he not?¡±


    A real slow nod of her head the reply. This is the umpteenth confirmation, while I perch naked upon a long bench waiting. I hold out a hand to her. ¡°Now or never. Either you approach or you leave, which will it be?¡±


    Shoving off from the door, fists clench either side of her waist she takes cautious sliding steps towards me.


    The kitchen cabin door bursts open, the huntress far enough away to avoid being struck, as Milga Stone Blood rushes over the threshold passing her by.


    ¡°I have told the Matriarch to leave with who she has, the Smith Hob is making good time and keeps plenty of company, you will need to get dressed Lord.¡± Milga grabs for her knees, sucking in deep breaths.


    ¡°I must leave also ¡­¡± the huntress protests.


    Milga straightens, facing her with a devilish smile.


    ¡°No, you stay now. When you took so long, your Matriarch assumed great reluctance and moved to where the Laughing Tusks are hiding. The time it took for me to find that out and go there to hurry her on, now lost to you and Lord Hob. In fact, get to dressing him now as there is a commotion at the Farm entrance, which I will attend to.¡±


    The huntress looks lost, hesitating, then hurrying to follow Milga until a clunk sound, the outside crossbeam slamming down, locking the kitchen cabin door in place.


    Probably a question I should have asked at the start, but hey the others didn¡¯t seem to think it essential. ¡°What is your name?¡±


    Her hands lay flat against the door, gentle hopeless slaps. My question turns her around to face me once again.


    ¡°Your name?¡±


    Almost too quiet to discern she whispers, ¡°Zebia.¡±


    ¡°My Law Speaker has the male form of your name, so I know it well. I promise you are safe. You need to start dressing me though, the Smith Hob must catch you attending to me. Do you understand?¡±


    She nods and edges closer finding my loincloth, dangling it away from herself at arm¡¯s length, although almost in position to wrap.


    There is a clunk, I surmise the crossbeam. Zebia is concentrating so hard or is so horrified by the task before her, the noise doesn¡¯t register, and she continues attempting to tie off the loincloth using a fingertip grip on the edges of the cloth. Almost done and the kitchen cabin door is flung open with a bang and the huntress freezes in place. The Smith Hob thunders into the eating area and Zebia breaks screaming in a panic seeking refuge behind the serving table fixture flinging my loincloth over her shoulder in the process.


    ¡°A shy one! I didn¡¯t think such a goblin still existed in all of civilisation,¡± he bellows.


    I shrug. I am still naked and yet it seems to make no difference to my fellow Hob so why should my nudity bother me.


    ¡°Zana and Gato inside now. There is work to be done,¡± he shouts through the kitchen cabin doorway.


    He places his thumbs in his worn leather belt while rocking back on his heels and examining my face. There is a surprise coming ¡­


    Their large noses dominate their faces, their heads, their entire bodies. Yet their bellies save me from displaying total abject disgust, perfect round bumps indicating both are with child. I glance at the Smith Hob.


    ¡°The deal was two and here they are. I thought you may get two or three pregnant, not the entire seven. The Head Hob sends his congratulations and compliments you on the potency of your farming!¡±


    The penny drops, with only two or three pregnant he could keep them and send any two who weren¡¯t, with all seven pregnant there is no need for the ruse, which explains his jovial attitude and why he insisted on visiting, he expects no harsh words between us.


    Hands begin crawling over my naked flesh while making a half-hearted attempt to dress me.


    The Smith Hob bellows out once again. ¡°They crave your tool even when full of arms and legs, is it a magic wand?¡± He snickers this time at his own joke.


    I slap them both on the back of their heads. ¡°Dress me,¡± I growl.


    ¡°That¡¯s the way, one of yours tried to waylay my arrival and I soon put him in his place.¡±


    I drop my head, pretending to inspect the two attending to me as I didn¡¯t think I could school my face well enough to conceal my concern.


    ¡°Wait a moment, care to indulge me?¡± he asks, a sly undertone to his voice, yet to deny him probably a gamble.


    ¡°You are my guest ¡­¡±


    ¡°Zana, Gato round up the shy one, if she struggles let me know. A couple of slaps will soon sort her.¡±


    The wait isn¡¯t long, Zebia recognises a callous threat when she hears one.


    ¡°Get her naked I want to see Farmer Hob in action ¡­¡±


    Enough of this! Why am I acceding to this lump? I step up to the Smith Hob, he is wider, but I am slightly taller. ¡°No.¡± My voice firm, not loud or demanding. ¡°I don¡¯t tell you how to smith and you don¡¯t tell me how to farm. Look at her ¡­ terrified. Not worth wasting seed on as she won¡¯t fall pregnant. Ask Zana and Gato for proof, they were relaxed, welcomed me inside them and like the other five, pregnant.¡±


    ¡°Suppose so ¡­¡± he whimpers.


    Is the big lug truly crestfallen and chastised? Each Hob is the master of their area and within those meets and bounds can¡¯t be opposed and therefore the Smith Hob must defer to the Farm Hob when farming women is concerned. Is that truly the way of this world? His acquiescence further proof of this unbreakable rule ¡­


    ¡°Zebia stay and observe how Zana and Gato dress me.¡±


    She has enough sense to stare at my body and nowhere else, silent until I am fully clothed.


    ¡°The Head Hob¡¯s messenger said you would bring additional spears? How many?¡±


    He rubs his hands together, ¡°Many. More than he asked for because I propose a trade.¡±


    ¡°Can we discuss now, or do you need me to inspect the goods ¨C not necessary I know, like I said I don¡¯t tell you how to smith ¡­¡±


    His beaming smile, the answer. ¡°Astute, Lord Klug. I have many small noses with me and if you would accept two instead of three and two spears for one big nose, I will explain why shortly. You see, not only can I supply you with the fifteen spears the Head Hob asked me to, but a further twenty spears. The reason only two is because not all big noses are good sniffers, whereas my original seven were proven champions. Fair?¡±


    ¡°The twenty will most likely be pregnant, so if any give birth you must send the babes back to me?¡±


    He extricates a thumb out of his belt and scratches his head with the now free hand.


    ¡°Yes, I see, given your ploughing success more true than less true. How about ten females and I keep the babes, you also throw in five teenagers, preferably from the same family otherwise they will howl, and big noses tend to stick, mother to daughter.¡±


    Stamping my boots to push home my feet I return to considering his proposal. ¡°Maybe yes, inspect what I have on the Farm first, I recently needed to end many to keep the others in line ¡­ so I may not have enough.¡±


    ¡°Right, lead the way,¡± he prompts.


    I call over my shoulder, ¡°Zana and Gato introduce Zebia as to what is expected when being seeded, maybe the mystery scares her.¡±


    I lead Smith Hob outside the kitchen cabin; Zeb is waiting, and I need to ignore the backhand, shaped bruise across his cheek. ¡°Fetch all the big nose females and girl teenagers, have them assemble in front of the Silo.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob, immediately.¡± He runs off and Smith Hob leads me towards the Farm entrance and the forty small nose females he brought with him. They all squat down in the dirt, their clothes rags. At least Zana and Gato¡¯s clothes are functional and in good condition. Spotting Rexa I wave her over.


    ¡°Provide water to these ¡­¡± I wave my hand over the forty.


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob.¡± Rexa jogs off to obey.


    Beside each, well almost each, is a spear. He made them carry one each but no food or water?


    ¡°Are you sure they will all survive, some look done for?¡± I whisper.


    He sidles up beside me and I am certain he is feigning interest.


    ¡°Need some food maybe, Farm has plenty of food, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    I point to the closest field. ¡°It depends upon how well that field grows or not, still many sunrises away yet.¡±


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    Before I notice he leaves my side in a hurry, making a beeline for the sow pen.


    ¡°You have boar!¡± He licks his lips. ¡°Surely you will slaughter one to feed your guest?¡±


    ¡°None of these, they are sows, breeding stock. But let me say I may have made some arrangements.¡±


    The Smith Hob launches his lumbering form into a parody of dancing, nearby goblins run away. I take the opportunity to head over to the Silo. Once I arrive Zeb updates me on the female goblins he has assembled, and I provide him with another instruction.


    ¡°Warn everyone there will be a boar on the spit tonight for our guest and unless any are absolutely required, they are ordered to stay away.¡±


    He nods and hurries off yet again to organise the attendance of essential goblins only. Smith Hob stops mid-dance looking about. I wave him over to the Silo. Zeb has found enough who I believe fit the criteria, now it is up to my guest to accept or decline as I wait for him to arrive.


    Apart from the goblins working the fields and those in front of the Silo everyone else has found something to do elsewhere. It seems either Zeb or Milga have spread the word.


    ¡°Do any of these meet your requirements?¡±


    There is one line, the available teenage girls stand in front of their mothers, all wrapping their daughters in their arms. I know sending them to Copper Village will expose them to a less than ideal life but there is nothing to be done for now. For the fifteen that leave, the forty arrivals now have a chance and that is the only silver lining on offer. The rest is up to genetics, if they prove themselves to be champion sniffers their lot should improve if Zana and Gato are examples of Smith Hob¡¯s cast-offs.


    He progresses down the line, with a hand on their chins he studies the facial profiles of each trying to identify what I think he believes are his best prospects. He doesn¡¯t perform a happy dance while conducting his examination, instead, the tip of his tongue pokes out of his mouth while he concentrates, this is serious business.


    As he taps out his choices there is fatal acceptance on their faces. He needs to work the line again to reach the agreed number, which means these second choices are probably making up the numbers. I hope to see them returned.


    ¡°I will take these and leave now,¡± he states.


    I am taken aback. ¡°You don¡¯t wish to stay for the boar feast?¡±


    ¡°No. Thank-you for the offer though, it is just I am keen to try these sniffers as the copper sorely tests me it does ¡­ so I must be going. Sorry and all. Best of luck with the forty.¡±


    He waves his arm at his selection and off they march before him.


    ¡°If any don¡¯t match your expectation, I will want them returned,¡± I call out.


    Calling over his shoulder he shouts back, ¡°Certainly, a mine doesn¡¯t have spare food!¡± With that last reply, he and his chosen are through the Farm entrance. I note they all shoulder waterskins and hug small bundles of food.


    ¡°How is your cheek?¡±


    ¡°How did you know ¡­¡±


    ¡°You always stand in the exact same place, slightly behind and beside me, you are like a second shadow. No one else stands there.¡±


    A half chuckle terminates. ¡°My cheek has learnt a lesson Lord Hob and that is only you are non-Hob like.¡±


    ¡°The food and water they carried away with them, is that my non-Hob generosity?¡±


    ¡°As you sense my presence and call me your second shadow, I at times sense your will and we should both wish for some of those to survive and be rejected as a couple of the teenagers I recognise from attending archery training with my daughters.¡±


    Movement returns to the Farm as more goblins go about their business now the Smith Hob has taken his leave.


    ¡°Let the Farm know all are invited tonight, a shame for the boar to be wasted. Also ask the unlucky goblins still waiting in front of the Silo to show the new females around, dropping off the spears they carry to my cabin. Feed them next and then the allocation of rooms, explain they will need to share. Also, find out if any males have lost their mates and possibly children, they have forty new faces to choose from.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob.¡± And with that reply, Zeb hurries off.


    ¡°Glad to see you return to my side, partner.¡±


    ¡°I never left. You warned me about other Hobs, so I chose to organise from hiding, not needing to learn the lesson like Zeb. I did warn him, but he said you would need the time his obstinance could provide.¡±


    Zeb deliberately placed himself in harm¡¯s way, his choice of bulky Hob probably not the ideal opponent.


    ¡°Make sure the kitchen cabin door is barred from the outside, that will keep three of our latest guests together and out of the way for now. Wait for the forty to deliver the thirty-five spears to my cabin and find help to transport them to the Laughing Tusks in hiding.¡±


    ¡°All of them? You promised ten, fifteen would be more than generous ¡­¡±


    Maybe there is guilt in me from taking Meb¡¯s mate ¡­ regardless Milga is right, fifteen is more than enough.


    ¡°You are right, there is generous and then there is stupid. Deliver fifteen. I will ensure the remaining twenty are stacked inside my cabin. Have I given you any free time to spot and train some archers?¡±


    ¡°Me no, fortunately for you I delegated to three of your wives. Every time you put a boar on a spit, they harvest the sinews before any cooking starts and now that I know the Laughing Tusks are good with wood, I will request some bows and arrows in exchange for the extra spears ¨C with your approval of course.¡±


    ¡°You have my approval, but do we have any future archers?¡±


    ¡°Ask your wives, Lord Klug.¡±


    Milga heads for the kitchen cabin and I decide to return to my cabin, there are four faces I haven¡¯t seen all day.


    ---


    Flinging the cabin door open, four voices belonging to my latest wives assault my ears with complaints, requests and demands. Ignoring their screeching, I fake smile and approach my bed. As I draw nearer their tactics change, the four seductively writhe between the furs, their vivacious smiles and pouting lips working to entice me to attend them first. Using eye to eye contact I select two wives with my come-hither hand movements drawing them to me, they take a moment to shoot looks of triumphant at the other two and then favour me with a full-body visage promising much. When my prey is within arm¡¯s reach I strike. Each hand wraps around a throat, squeezing until their screaming mouths are silent and all the while neither wife able to erase the frozen look of surprise on their face. The other two wives still on my bed scream until I growl a warning. Firmly in hand, I deposit the first two wives outside of my cabin. The last two wives due to wisdom or shock meekly submit to their throttling and join the first two.


    Failing to maintain their modesty with their hands and subject to leering comments and invitational calls from Farm goblins passing by, they squat on the landing and face the cabin wall. I observe their discomfort through the open cabin door while taking a moment to savour the quiet. Once satisfied I begin preparing an area in the cabin to store twenty spears. As I lift and dump, shove and pull I determine the real source of my irritation ¨C my four new wives. They need to demonstrate their worth, to me, more especially to the Farm. If I demand all work and contribute, so must they. They must come to realise without a shred of doubt their former lifestyle is no more, I and only I dictate their future.


    ¡°Lord Hob,¡± the meekest of voices calls to me.


    ¡°Yes?¡± I reply without looking.


    ¡°My name is Bekto of tribe Sharp Fangs, Lord Hob and I am skilled in leatherworking, I could adjust your pants if you permit me to enter the cabin.¡±


    ¡°Enter, clothe yourself and ask for my pants when ready.¡±


    The soft patter of her footfalls is almost ghost-like, I expect them and that is the only reason I hear them.


    Chattering and chirping to the level of gossip draws me to the cabin doorway. The forty Copper Village females in the company of the survivors of the Silo selection are visiting. I show the first twenty with spears into the cabin and indicate where they can lodge their burden. While the clothed Bekto is saved any scrutiny the other three naked sister wives are the butt of much enquiry and ridicule, their green complexions deepening due to shame and/or embarrassment.


    ¡°Ligia, Zuxa and Lazsia stand and face away from the wall.¡±


    They waver, eventually stand, baulk to turn around. After watching long enough I position myself behind them.


    ¡°What makes you believe you can ignore my commands?¡±


    Silence.


    I unleash my hand on the first naked buttock in line. The slap echoes against the cabin¡¯s wall. My three wives immediately turnabout facing away from the wall. Hand in the air, my pointer finger does a circling motion in front of the second and third in line. Their tears join Ligia¡¯s while hesitating to face the wall. I wait patiently. The large audience sucks in an audible breath as I shift behind Zuxa. I slap one buttocks cheek and just as she relaxes, slap her other buttock cheek, crying renews from the pain this time.


    ¡°Zuxa, when I issue a command when do you need to comply?¡±


    Hitching her chest, she whimpers, ¡°Immediately Lord Hob.¡±


    ¡°Zuxa, face away from the wall, hands by your sides.¡±


    Like lightning she swivels around, eyes avoiding me, hands down by her sides, fingers digging into trembling thigh flesh. The background crying of Lazsia draws my attention to her, catching this wife sneaking a glance over her shoulder. I again circle motion with my pointer finger. Lazsia decides to turn completely around, facing away from the cabin wall like Ligia and Zuxa.


    I smile at her and she returns my smile until my hand wraps around her throat. Unable to make a squeak and with everyone present as a witness including her two sister wives, she is across my knees, slap, slap, slap, slap, and slap. Before she can gather herself, I stand her up against the cabin wall, her feet dangling, struggling to breathe. When she decides to hang limp, realising her protests mean nothing, I release her. So, she is smart ¡­ at least enough to think about self-survival during a crisis.


    ¡°Lazsia, when I issue a command when do you need to comply?¡±


    Hands wiping away tears, she whispers, ¡°Immediately Lord Hob.¡±


    ¡°Lazsia, do I appreciate any avoidance of punishment?¡±


    ¡°No Lord Hob.¡±


    Without turning around, I say, ¡°Those with the fifteen spears please hand them off to my wives until they hold five each.¡±


    A stampede of movement results, which I need to regulate with some light direction. The audience moves on, while my three wives stand facing away from the cabin wall each nursing five spears, manoeuvring them to cover their nudity.


    ¡°Lord Hob, I am ready for your pants now,¡± says Bekto.


    I leave the three blubbering messes and re-enter my cabin. ¡°Wife, take off my pants and adjust them.¡±


    Bekto¡¯s delicate hands grab at the leather throng around my waist, loosen and then peel down my pants. She takes in a deep breath, not for the reason I think though. She drops to the floor to remove my boots; I lift one foot then the other to assist and then step out of my pants.


    ¡°Lord Hob?¡± I don¡¯t recognise the voice; the sobbing distorts any far-fetched attempt.


    ¡°Yes, wife?¡±


    ¡°If I am provided with a flint knife I can whittle and shape spear shafts like these I hold, arrows and bows from suitable wood.¡±


    ¡°Can you identify the wood required in a forest?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Sniff. ¡°Lord Hob.¡±


    ¡°Pass your five spears to Lazsia and enter the cabin.¡±


    An immediate clatter and then my wife Ligia hurries to me, dropping to both knees, legs tucked underneath her glowing buttocks.


    ¡°Dress. Find Zeb and ask him to introduce you to Redagar the Head Goblin of the Builders. You will show him the tree you require, and they will be harvested. Ask him to stack them beside my cabin. Now go.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob.¡±


    She dives into a chest or lidded box and draws out her clothes and boots, quickly dressing and dashing out of my sight.


    ¡°I like your guards although can they use all the spears they hold at once,¡± says Milga before bursting into laughter.


    ¡°Given they have stood there long enough and not thought how they can be useful, perhaps they can tote and carry for you?¡±


    Milga leans against the doorway, tapping the heel of her boot. She stops and then asks, ¡°Where are your pants?¡±


    ¡°My wife Bekto is adjusting them ¡­¡±


    ¡°Mmm ¡­ Can I discipline the two outside, if they are being dumb or evasive in following my directions?¡±


    ¡°Within boundaries, although if upon return you explain a particularly grievous breach, I will ensure they are punished.¡±


    ¡°One in, both in. Ideal,¡± replies Milga.


    ¡°Zuxa pass your five spears to Lazsia and enter the cabin.¡± There isn''t a need to shout, goblin hearing and all.


    Some rattling, a yelp and then Zuxa is at my feet, legs tucking beneath her glowing buttocks.


    ¡°Dress then go hold the spears and inform Lazsia she can dress and between you both carry the spears for Milga. Explain to Lazsia if one of you fail to follow Milga¡¯s instructions, both of you will be punished. Now go.¡±


    Watching her leave, I sigh, ¡°I will need to visit the kitchen cabin, soon, won¡¯t I?¡±


    My partner cackles and nods enthusiastically. ¡°Lunch time approaches ¡­ not forgetting preparations for the feast.¡±


    Zuxa hurries past me and after a reasonable amount of time, Lazsia, head down shuffles past me. Dressing quickly Lazsia seeks to leave when I grab her arm. She trembles and doesn¡¯t take another step.


    ¡°What did Zuxa tell you about your next duty?¡±


    ¡°Lord Hob ¡­¡± She glances at Milga. ¡°Carry spears for Milga and if one of us fails we are both to be punished.¡±


    ¡°Good. Grab eight of the spears from Zuxa and wait outside for Milga.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob.¡±


    She darts away and we hear the spears rattle again.


    ¡°You have your assistants, your spear carriers ¡­¡±


    Milga curtsies and flutters her eyelids. ¡°Thank you, Lord Klug.¡±


    I shake my head as she leaves.

 1.018 Delivery Part Two

    Facing the kitchen cabin door, I recall Milga¡¯s antics and shake my head while removing the cross beam. Pausing, I overhear no movement within and push upon the door, which creaks open.


    On the floor, amongst a bed of furs, Zana and Gato lay either side of Zebia, pregnant bellies confining the huntress. Their content long nose faces almost too precious to disturb but disturb them I must.


    I gently grasp Zana¡¯s shoulders and rock her away from Zebia until the pregnant goblin lays on her back. Repeating this with Gato, she also continues to sleep, I surmise they are both catching up, the Smith Hob waking them before dawn to leave the Head Village early to account for the poor condition of the forty. Next, my meaty hand covers Zebia¡¯ mouth and nose, moving her head slowly from one side to the other. Two shakes and she is alert and awake. I whisper to her to be quiet. Releasing my hand, I then extend my arm to assist her to stand.


    As the furs covering her body slip, a loincloth, and a breast wrap are all which preserve her modesty. She realises and before she can make a sound my hand goes over her mouth once again and I shake my head. Her eyes go wide, yet she nods her understanding. Upon releasing her she dashes off to fetch her armour.


    ¡°Before you dress, are you now ready to fulfil your obligation to your Matriarch?¡±


    She turns to face me, nursing a bundle of leather armour at her waist. ¡°They both tried to convince me of the wonders of letting you between my legs ¡­ I just can¡¯t. My mate and I plan to have our babies ¡­¡±


    ¡°What will happen to you and possibly your mate when you return to your Matriarch without my seed in you?¡±


    Her head drops while the bundle of leather armour rises to meet her chin.


    ¡°Do or don¡¯t ¨C makes no difference to me, but this is your last opportunity as I have many things to do and can¡¯t wait any longer.¡±


    Tears, she sheds tears ¡­


    ¡°Return to your mate, invite him between your legs and hope for a babe, your Matriarch may not find out.¡±


    Tearful eyes look up at me, she wipes them. ¡°The Matriarch sent him to the mountain pass ¡­¡± she blubbers.


    ¡°I am leaving if you don¡¯t stop me. If you do stop me you will need to open your legs, no more hesitation.¡± I move faster than walking pace towards the door, at this stage, I would be better off not wasting my time.


    As I reach out to pull the door open, I feel her tug at my arm and stop, releasing a heavy sigh. There is no preparation, no soothing words as I simply spin her about and bend her over, cradling her stomach with one arm, loosen off her loincloth and my leather pants with the other hand, and then rut from behind as her Matriarch once suggested I do to another of her tribe. My effort being purely clinical and to my dismay requiring twice the usual amount of time to plant my seed.


    ¡°I apologise for the undue haste, talk to the other huntresses for a description of how planting my seed in you could have been ¡­ better.¡±


    I pull up my pants and leave the kitchen cabin not registering until later her total silence throughout and after the deed.


    ---


    Zeb appears like magic when I need him although on second thoughts, he is trying to organise the feast and the kitchen cabin is a necessary building to make this happen.


    ¡°Finished Lord?¡±


    ¡°Not quite, describe the goblin birthing process ¡­¡±


    His jaw drops. He scratches his head next and then asks me to follow him. We arrive before the many goblin barrack houses lining the river. Halting before the one he nominates I knock on the door. We overhear someone shuffling within.


    A spry elderly goblin answers the door, who then bows deeply upon sighting me, saying, ¡°Lord Hob you honour me with your visit, how can this pitiful goblin assist you?¡±


    ¡°Zeb believes you can assist explaining the goblin birthing process to me ¡­¡±


    She grabs for the door jamb to steady herself as I reach out also.


    ¡°Lord Hob, while not my place to tell you what interests you or not, goblin birthing concerns only the mother and her child ¡­¡±


    ¡°None help?¡± I ask.


    She twists her face, glances at Zeb and then back to me. ¡°Help? This is a special time between mother and child.¡±


    This explains quite a deal about mother and child birthing mortality. How does a goblin mother give birth and care for both lives while alone? Are goblins animal-like, primitive in this exercise?


    ¡°Explain this special time, enlighten your Lord Hob,¡± I say, my voice earnest.


    ¡°Come in then, no point letting those walking by to eavesdrop, neighbours either side bad enough.¡±


    ¡°Lord, I have duties elsewhere ¡­ Zoxa please meet me at the Boar Spit when done.¡±


    I smile at his cowardice. ¡°You attend to them. I feel more than safe in Zoxa¡¯s capable company.¡±


    He nods and then sprints away! I shuffle past the mature age goblin and decide to sit on the floor, elbows resting upon the knees of crossed legs.


    ¡°Lord, there is a chair ¡­¡±


    ¡°I am sure I can cope, enlighten me.¡±


    High in a chair, I would intimidate her without even trying, on the floor our eyes are level with each other, even though she nests upon high on a well-worn chair. To my surprise, no small talk, immediately into explanation and I can only assume she wishes this done as soon as possible.


    ¡°The mother feels the pangs of birth developing and knows she needs to find her private place. Most mothers have found this place many days beforehand, so any rush depends upon the distance they need to travel. Depending upon the work they have been assigned a mother may delay until the utmost moment, childbirth is no reason to neglect your duties.¡± She shakes her head side to side fervently after this statement.


    I try to remain passive, digesting the fact she truly means this and simply waves her on to continue.


    ¡°Once she has found her place her body will tell her when to push. The babe will either slide out or be stuck. Most hope for the former, because the latter means they must keep trying until exhaustion and usually the death of mother and child. Assuming the baby slides out, the mother will twist the belly tube attached to the baby. If the twist is good the baby won¡¯t bleed from there and live. Sometimes though bleeding can happen immediately or even days later, which usually means the child will die. The mother needs to put her baby to one side because she needs to follow the baby¡¯s belly tube back to her own innards and carefully pull out the baby sack. Once done the baby is usually fed from the mother¡¯s teats next. The mother can stand not long after and if her duties allow, she can inspect the baby sack to make sure it is complete. Anything incomplete means her body held onto sections of it and she will have days to adopt her child out while she waits to die.¡±


    A tumultuous rage builds within me, not Hob, which in fact is sedate and accepting of the goblin childbirth mortality, the disgust is of Human origin and yet I must stay the course ¡­


    ¡°How many children have you given birth to Zoxa?¡±


    ¡°There have been many tries with past Farmer Hobs either not taking or the pangs of birth coming too early. One of mine died when the cord twist came loose, a girl. The other two, both males and useless, died on a hunt and then the Farmer Hob declared me too old for his seed.¡±


    Stolen novel; please report.


    I need to escape the barracks, somehow the air in the room isn¡¯t enough any longer. I lurch towards the door, Zoxa asks about me, I forget her exact words. Then fresh air hits my face, I pause at the doorway to collect myself and before I dash off, I manage a quick thank-you to Zoxa. The Hob in me laughs; these are just goblins, while my humanity suffers from this truth ... I have been many creatures and yet for all their different shapes, sizes, sophistication, and level of civilisation all value mother and child.


    The loss of life over the years massive, not only newborns of course, what of the mothers ¡­ This also explains the reason why every female goblin is impregnated and the stronger than expected lust which pervades the goblin community in general. Without this motivation why would any female run the risk of becoming pregnant? Such a crazy ecosystem ¡­ to confirm this absolutely you would need to find a goblin society that existed without Hobs. This would provide a pure tribe to study procreation and childbirth like any other beast on the planet. Perhaps the tribal goblins are closest to this ideal.


    The cool water of the river flowing over my feet and the splashes upon my face from cupping water in my own hands return me to normal, whatever normal is now after listening to Zoxa. There is something broken, either the reality of goblin childbirth or her recollections, possibly a combination of both as the mortality rate from what Zoxa¡¯s believes is the childbirth process would ensure the goblin race¡¯s extinction, yet it survives even when slaughtered by Hob overlords without reason. The Farm doesn¡¯t have domesticated animals for the goblins to learn from, they only had themselves; Zana and Gato would be the first under my watchful eye. Months away, give or take most of the female goblins of child baring age within the Farm will go into labour because I couldn¡¯t contain a primal urge within the Farmer Hob me ¡­ all within two days. Perhaps this rush is why mothers must care for themselves and then rush back to servitude. The few goblin children on the Farm proof of poor yields from past harvest seasons ¡­


    I feel about for my boots. Where I left them and how I ended up sitting on the riverbank, both lost memories. They aren¡¯t nearby, yet once on my feet and wandering back up the riverbank I find them and put them on. The barracks stare down at me ¡­ since the night of slaughter, I haven¡¯t returned ¡­ I can¡¯t say I have deliberately avoided them yet my visit to Zoxa is my first since then. A shiver begins to travel down my back which is snuffed out instantly by my Hob self. My cringing posture corrects, which I am unaware of until the Hob within straightens my spine. A guttural rumble from deep within challenges the barracks and celebrates the massacre as a victory without reservation or sympathy. I strut past the rest of the barracks with confident ease and goblins who spot me either bow in respect or close their doors before I pass their barrack.


    The feast preparations carry on around me as I stride in a direct line to my cabin. I know they are only goblins ¡­ why should I care?


    Once inside, piece by piece I equip my armour. Each leather throng I snap tight. The face of the Hunter Hob mocks me. He treats goblins as hunt fodder ¡­ boar bait, smug and dismissive of their deaths. Expects replacements ¡­


    With spear in hand, I head out of my cabin, slamming the door shut behind me. This world needs more goblins. My mission needs more goblins. Goblins need Lord Farmer Hob Klug to guide them, nurture them and dictate their future. They need me, but first ¡­


    I need ¡­ to kill, a Hob solution for my Human feelings of disgust. Several bodies stand in my way, Koria is one, I barely acknowledge her as I barge past. The grip on my spear tightens as the Farm entrance comes into view and not long after is behind me. The Hob in me celebrates this freedom, I lift my spear above my head and roar. The Human in me reaches back to a primeval past and howls for blood. I sense both sides align into a terrible alliance and this becomes my last conscious thought.


    ---


    I thrust again, the flesh of the beast doesn¡¯t flinch and perhaps this lack of response brings me back. The slain boar is huge, and I don¡¯t remember a single moment since raising my spear above my head outside the farm gate. Red blood drenches the forest floor, our martial contest trampling a generous circle, brush, and saplings swept away by the fury of our clash. Exhaustion hits driving my upper body down to lay upon the forest floor, my hands sliding down the blood-drenched spear shaft yet refusing to release. The dead eyes of the boar continue to stare from a shaggy head resting upon my lower body, the hot furry torso trapping my legs. I inspect my current state. Several gashes ooze black blood, others have congealed. A slab of flesh on my outer thigh flaps back and I grit my teeth as I push it back into place. The Hob within me is sated, quiet. What now? My eyes roll back ¡­


    ---


    Blinking my eyes, they resist opening. I don¡¯t smell blood or forest, yet I am warm ¡­ I drift off to sleep.


    ---


    I dimly recall water dripping into my mouth on previous occasions, yet in this instance, I am aware and able to open my mouth in welcome. In response, the drip bloats into a steady stream and for the first time in a long time, I drink my fill. The nanorobots celebrate by accelerating their work.


    ---


    The drag of a cool damp cloth over my face competes with sharp screeching orders to wake me.


    ¡°Slap him, he isn¡¯t dead and owes us a protector!¡±


    A quiet reply. ¡°Yes, mother.¡±


    I catch the arm on the downswing, my assailant¡¯s lack of determination the main reason.


    ¡°I am awake, speak.¡±


    ¡°You slew our beast. Therefore, you must protect us until another beast is grown.¡± The screech is no longer a scream, the irritation to my hearing nevertheless remaining.


    ¡°What tribe are you from?¡± I ask, while my eyes try to focus and inspect my surroundings.


    ¡°Tribe? Foolish Hob, we hide from them all, once safe behind our guardian from a long line of guardians.¡±


    Did the huge boar protect them? A pet of sorts?


    ¡°Your boar attacked me, not the other way around ¡­¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you run like all those before you have? Are you stupid Hobgoblin?¡±


    My eyes find her, weather-beaten leathery skin, fading green, a dark maw full of broken teeth spitting out each spiteful word, the false bravado of age. I grunt to sit up. A loud crack upon my forehead from the crone¡¯s walking stick lays into me and I am back amongst the furs of the bed.


    ¡°You are still weak and at our mercy stupid Hobgoblin and before you regain your strength you must swear to protect us or die instead.¡±


    I groan and loll my head about attempting to meet her expectations of frailty. The old goblin crone, a self-proclaimed expert of my injuries has judged my recovery to be days away, perhaps many days, so I feign weakness ¡­


    ¡°Mother, is he dying?¡±


    Ha! My acting convinces the younger one ¡­


    ¡°The moment we are born we are dying girl, stupid though tends to make that come sooner rather than later. Come. Leave him to recover from the blow and we will negotiate with him again tomorrow.¡±


    I wait for their bent over shuffling and chat to fade and lean over hopeful. A wooden bucket of water and a cup hanging from it reward my inquisitive gaze. With every effort left to me, I guzzle the entire bucket of water and lay back content.


    ---


    ¡°Come girl, today we demand terms so watch and learn.¡±


    Her screech is like an alarm bell, yet worse. Unnecessary though as I have been awake since pre-dawn waiting in silence and ready to pounce.


    The tap of her walking stick proceeds her entry into my domain. Upon the first searching footfall, I roll over on my side towards her until my eyes look back over my head into hers. The wide surprise almost rewarding enough. Before she can react, my hand is around her throat, while the other prepares.


    The swing of her walking stick expected and yet I forgo blocking her weapon of choice, instead, grabbing the wielding arm.


    ¡°Surrender or I break your neck like a twig.¡± I loosen my grip enough for her to reply.


    ¡°How did you recover so quickly? From near-death ¡­¡± There is awe in her voice.


    I shake her. ¡°Surrender or death?¡±


    ¡°S ¡­ surrender ¡­¡± Her walking stick drops with a clatter.


    Weak daylight reveals the low ceiling above me, my hunch is correct. The elder would be bent over from age, the daughter though needed another reason. I release my grip upon the elder and roll onto my stomach. She waits, body shaking in place.


    ¡°Climb down and I will follow.¡± I search her face for any sign of betrayal, resistance, but shockingly, find none.


    As her head sinks below the floor level of my recovery room I roll back to my bed and gripping the ledge swing my legs over and after a moment of hang, drop to the true floor of the cave. The three female goblins with spears behind the ladder recover from my arrival as I advance upon them. I am inside the reach of the spears one shaft managing to slap against my upper arm as I push one female into the other two causing a tangle of arms, legs, and spears. Reaching around the ladder I grab the elder by the neck and pick her off the ladder. She doesn¡¯t protest, her eyes closing. Her daughter clings to the ladder, awaiting my judgement.


    The reducing sunlight draws my attention towards the single doorway, several goblins, in the main adolescent females crowd around gasping and pointing, an occasional shout and name-calling.


    A hand grabs at my leg. ¡°Release mother, please.¡± I glance down into tearful eyes and withdraw my strike, relaxing my fist.


    I look down upon the females trying to untangle themselves. ¡°You three stand, take her with you.¡± My head nods towards the daughter. ¡°Walk slowly towards the doorway.¡±


    Leaning close to the elder I whisper directly into her sagging ears, ¡°How many live with you?¡±


    There is a spark of defiance in her eyes now. ¡°Many, even you can¡¯t slay them all ¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see that I have to.¡± I shake her slightly while bending down to pick up one of the three spears, all fire-hardened tipped with thin shafts. I shatter one striking the wall of the cave, flaking off an already loose rock which I pick up while grabbing a replacement spear.


    She hisses, ¡°We will slay you in your sleep ¡­¡±


    ¡°Where are my armour and spear?¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t need either when dead ¡­¡±


    I heft my spear within view of her peripheral vision. ¡°How many will this spear pierce if thrown towards the crowded entrance?¡±


    She tries to glance back at me, my grip upon her neck prevents her.


    ¡°You can¡¯t ¡­¡±


    ¡°Where are my armour and spear?¡±


    Her head bows down. ¡°Your spear is still in our guardian as we didn¡¯t have the strength to pull it out. Your armour is with others in our tribe trying to study the crafting ¡­¡±


    ¡°Forward.¡±


    Approaching the entrance, the general hum of cursing and protesting rises. The growing crowd backs off though given my threat, forming a semi-circle as I stand upon the threshold. There is the odd adolescent male, most are females from every age toddler to teenager and young adults.


    ¡°Where are the adult males?¡±


    ¡°They stay and enjoy our company until deciding to try and return to their tribe or rule us. They always fail.¡±


    I chuckle. ¡°Do you rescue some from your guardian or distract your guardian when runaways come your way perhaps?¡±


    ¡°Yes, although we can¡¯t always rescue everyone, the males especially unless fear dwells in their eyes.¡±

 1.019 Additions

    Her reply confirms the obvious, preferring males who doubt their bravery, and therefore easier to control, the lesser menace. I survey the crowd who cast their eyes down when subject to my gaze, without a doubt my Hobgoblin presence intimidating. A rewarding tingle skips down my spine ¨C I relish this sense of absolute power over them and more, their acceptance that this is the pre-ordained natural way of things upon sighting me.


    Under the grasp of my fingers the elder¡¯s neck trembles. I savour the sensation for a moment.


    My observations note the almost uniform hue of their green complexions and yet they must have spawned from different tribes, the symmetry of their faces or lack of, the clue. Each tribe identifies feminine beauty differently, starting with the face, although there are other bodily exceptions.


    ¡°If you were once Grim Weavers move to my right.¡± My left arm points right. They spare a look towards the elder and I feel her head nod under my grip. Three slim, abnormally tall goblin females push through the crowd. Their askance of the elder bothers me on some level. Don¡¯t they accept their lives are mine ¡­ there is a quiet squeak. I release my tense grip on the elder¡¯s neck hearing an audible release of her breath as I do.


    ¡°If you were once Sharp Fangs move to my left.¡± I wave my left arm pointing left and four females comply before I lower my arm. Similar in appearance to Grim Weavers, both tribes border the plains needing fast runners or food gathering is some sort of challenge or ¡­ neither of those explanations I inwardly chuckle acutely aware I don¡¯t know for certain.


    ¡°If you weren¡¯t once Laughing Tusks step back.¡±


    Over half, twenty or so shuffle to the back of the crowd. They carry weight, rounder overall and plumpness in the face. The three brothers must enjoy a lasting peace for their folk to benefit in such an obvious way from the fruits of their labours.


    ¡°If you were born here raise your hand.¡±


    Eventually, all seven goblin children present, raise their hands. Their heads are larger than right for their bodies, sinewy arms and legs. The oldest, a male child around ten years, an uncertain guess on my part, yet alike, building muscle mass, the weight of the Laughing Tusks honed by athletic activities like the Grim Weavers or Sharp Fangs. An impressive micro-community, perhaps grounds for a larger experiment in the future.


    ¡°Blood Suns?¡±


    Most of the rest, a mix of shapes and sizes, some blending. Can I assume the raiding of other tribes results in this pot puree of goblin kind? I also conclude the female goblin body shapes are more a result of their environment instead of male goblin preference, especially where life and death are about survival skills. Only the most physically and possibly mentally suitable survive as they undergo this testing daily. The Laughing Tusks in contrast can look forward to at least one meal, if not more every day.


    ¡°Who in this group hasn¡¯t raised their hand?¡±


    Two female goblins, half extend their arms. I wriggle a finger at them to come hither. They shake their heads.


    The elder growls, ¡°Both stupid. If he meant to kill you, he would have done so by now.¡±


    The first is a mature female, her stalking grace present yet undercover given a bent-over posture and rounding her shoulders. Her timid hesitation a disarming ruse of some sort for sure. Face to face her eyes try to relax under my gaze, not to foil nervousness though ¡­ I grin at her attempt to conceal stone-cold death. Someone I know quickly comes to mine, although this one considers herself better than everyone else here, has killed, animal and goblin Kind, and will kill again if needed. Yet she knows to try and hide her true self while standing before a prey more powerful than herself, yet calculating, always calculating how to slay such a prize, the infinitesimal crease lines scrunching upon her forehead her tell or sign.


    ¡°I was taken by Blood Suns from the Farm and after a season, escaped.¡±


    Being the Farm Hob I should know her then, but alas I conclude I am not the same Hob. My left hand grabs for her right, calluses. Wielding a shovel or a spear I wonder. She pulls her hand away to be free, while stepping back, a silent indignant snarl gracing her face. I release my hold to humour her.


    ¡°If you tell me the truth, I promise to set you free,¡± I state.


    She stares at me from a blank face, wondering like many before her, can this Hob be trusted to keep his word. I return a friendly smile.


    ¡°I am a huntress from Flint Arrows and wish to return, immediately.¡± Her chin juts out, resolute.


    The elder chuckles. ¡°So not lucky then, she has slain two males trying to claim rulership over us, one death a sudden spear thrust in the eye, the other a spear throw through the neck.¡±


    I say to the huntress, ¡°This camp will pack and then I will escort you back to your tribe.¡±


    She chews her lip.


    The elder breaks the silence. ¡°How will we survive the Blood Suns?¡±


    ¡°Trust me. If you can safely lead me back to the battle site, I can guide you past the Blood Suns.¡± I am certain they will be busy fighting others before we break camp otherwise how did I make it this far.


    The second female rushes towards me, dropping to her knees. ¡°I claim ransom. I am from another valley and if you return me my ransom is yours, I swear.¡±


    A shadow falling across me gives a warning. Under normal circumstances, I doubt any sign would be given, but emotion sometimes gets to the best of us. I release the elder and fling out my right arm lifting the Flint Arrow huntress up by her neck. The strangling yelp alerts the other bowing at my feet, her fearful eyes darting between the huntress and me. The elder, back bent rubs her neck, while her eyes study me.


    ¡°It seems you have an enemy, fresh as of this moment? So, please explain huntress before I snap your neck.¡±


    Her attempt to swallow fails until I loosen my grip. ¡°While not her, others like her kidnapped me ¡­¡±


    I flash a grin. ¡°You lie, mere goblins could not succeed in such an endeavour against one of your tribe.¡±


    She struggles in my grip, a futile protest.


    ¡°A Hob commanded them ¡­¡±


    ¡°Now I believe you more. Still, the one at my feet belongs to me now and I forbid you to slay her. If she dies by any means my promise to you will be forfeit.¡±


    Her fists swat at the dark green muscular arm holding her, while her face screws up in frustration. All the while I smile. ¡°You done?¡± My voice calm and even. She nods and I release her. A small drop. Catlike she lands on her feet as natural as I would expect.


    ¡°I am aware of these ransoms and accept. We must escape Blood Suns lands first, so I will do my best to protect you as will the huntress.¡±


    The face of the huntress swivels to meet mine sharp teeth grinding and the knuckles of her fists a pale green.


    ¡°You done being indignant?¡±


    A pause, then a curt nod follows, the green returning to her knuckles.


    The elder stands beside me, like any second in command would and I am curious why. Putting this aside for now I address the crowd because now their lives are in my hands and I will dictate their future. The might is right of Hob nature tempered by humanity my gift to them.


    ¡°Pack up everything you wish to take, although the heavier the burden the longer the journey and if you fall behind, especially if all are being chased you will need to randomly drop your goods, better to take what you cherish and need, to travel light. Now go.¡±


    With a sense of urgency, they all run about, even ransom and huntress.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you fight or disagree with me?¡± I ask the elder.


    ¡°I am old and surrender to your strength, many would be hurt or die resisting you and I doubt we would win because we would need to slay you.¡± Her feet shift upon the ground. There is more she is trying to say ¡­ ¡°I have lived a long life and no other Hob in my living memory can recover from the wounds you suffered in under a day. Several days of care should have been required and you sitting up should have warned me ¡­¡± Her voice deepens with those final words ... perhaps regret or folly, in any event, admission, failure to protect her makeshift tribe and now subject to the powerful will of another and return to her way of life before a distant prospect.


    I bend a knee in front of her, so our eyes meet. ¡°Well, I hope to provide all who join me with a better life, more so a safe life.¡±


    ¡°That is a big ¡­  erm, what is your title?¡±


    I scratch the back of my head while smiling. ¡°I have several, but Lord Hob will do for now.¡±


    She nods slowly. I am certain she is conversant with all the ¡®titles¡¯, like Farmer, Smith and Head and wonders what I am. Squealing pigs draw my attention and I climb to my feet.


    ¡°We grew our guardians, a more certain process than nature,¡± she explains. After a smirk, she adds, ¡°They are good eating also.¡±


    ---


    By dusk, we reach the battleground and with effort, I recover my hunting spear. The beast is still intact, and I order my new goblin friends to prepare a feast. The cooking smells spread across the camp as the flesh sizzles and fat drips from the carcass. Any misgivings about advertising our presence ¡®to outsiders¡¯ reduces from open protests to mumbles between bites of boar flesh. Full mouths rarely shout, while those with full stomachs rarely complain.


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    The huntress, spear in hand sprints from the surrounding forest towards me. I hold her shoulders. ¡°Catch your breath, swig some water.¡±


    She shakes her head from side to side. ¡°A party of twelve approaches, spears and armour, two scouts following your trail. We must douse the campfire and lay in ambush.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps I am expecting them, the two scouts, female?¡±


    She nods.


    ¡°One of the remaining ten spear carriers, female?¡±


    She shakes her head.


    ¡°Erm ¡­ I will stand guard while you feast with the others. If I am wrong and you hear the sounds of battle gather as many as you can with you and either help me or flee.¡± The Ten Spears should be elsewhere, not free to chase after their absent Lord Hob. The sole explanation, these are a second squad of Ten Spears for show if nothing else. Zeb would organise their creation if he thought they would be needed, and we did have spare spears ¡­


    Her head snaps back. ¡°Flee? Flint Arrows do not flee when someone pledges them a service. I will stand with you.¡±


    ¡°As you wish.¡± Leaving her somewhat flummoxed I stroll towards the solitary game trail leading into the battle clearing. Moments later the huntress darts about me, crouching, advancing in quick bursts then taking cover. Along the trail, she leans into the brush lining the sides and then I find what I am searching for, a narrow section. Perfect, as I can stand astride the path.


    ¡°Lord Hob, will I hide in ambush?¡±


    ¡°No, guard my back, if they are hostile, they will soon work through the vegetation and try to outflank me.¡±


    ¡°As you wish Lord.¡±


    Within shadow cast by fading light, a voice calls out. ¡°Who are you to stand across this path?¡±


    ¡°Your Lord Hob!¡± I shout. ¡°Come forth and greet me as you should.¡±


    The huntress, presenting her spear slips around my body to face them. ¡°You are certain they are yours, Lord?¡±


    ¡°I recognise the voice, so don¡¯t stab anyone.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    Do I detect sulking in her reply?


    ¡°Lord Hob, husband!¡± Koria sings out, charging down the path.


    Another close behind, although silent follows. Not a wife then, must be my partner. Behind the first two, the Ten Spears jog into view, shadow shapes in the late dusk light.


    Koria leaps upon me her arms about my neck, laying multiple kisses upon my lips and face, while her legs wrap around my torso gaining purchase to grind her loins upon me. I hear the huntress suck in a deep breath.


    ¡°We meet again Vuzsia Dead Eye,¡± says Milga Stone Blood in a predatory calm voice.


    Koria releases me from her attentions joining my partner in a staring competition, their twin gazes fix upon my new friend.


    I step to one side of the game trail fully revealing my present company. ¡°I see you share a past, for now, follow me back to camp and remain silent.¡±


    ---


    The Ten Spears feast alongside my new friends, there is suspicion although my presence quells any open dissent except for the three who surround me. There is an unspoken understanding it seems, the others gathering away from us four, maintaining a respectable distance or providing enough space for any sudden slaying. Koria insists upon perching on my lap, while Milga casts wary looks at Vuzsia. I demand they eat first.


    With bright innocence, I ask, ¡°Three of the Flint Arrows tribe reunited far from tribal lands, who is willing to share first?¡±


    Milga clears her throat. ¡°She is from a favoured family Lord Hob, who earnt her name quicker than most ¡­¡±


    ¡°You still doubt.¡± Vuzsia shakes her head, her words even. ¡°I earnt my name like all others, you were simply denied beyond all reason and none know why, the Council didn¡¯t explain ¡­¡±


    Milga spits. ¡°Politics.¡±


    Almost a whisper, Koria joins the conversation. ¡°You must admit Vuzsia you earnt your name the fastest amongst the female huntress¡¯ ¡­¡±


    ¡°What Dead Eye? My name is easily proven, how did you earn Keen Eye? I assume accuracy yet there must be more ¡­¡± She eyes Koria briefly. ¡°Stone Blood of course is as easily proven as mine, many witnessed your bravery Milga again and again, never flinching and ever resolute in the face of charging prey ¡­¡± She saves sad eyes for Milga. ¡°I can¡¯t control which family I am born into although I can apologise for my family name, while none question the decisions of the Council.¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course, you are right Keen Eye is more than accuracy, although now I serve my husband Lord Hob and am beyond tribal politics. When you reunite with your family, I am sure there will be a huge celebration ¡­ I know they miss you.¡± Her last words questioning ¡­ near enough to teasing.


    ¡°We are not a family Koria Keen Eye, we are a dynasty, how could you fail to see that!¡± There is a heat in her words. ¡°My return won¡¯t be welcomed after two years absence. The plans and counter plans of those years will require much catching up.¡± She throws an immaculate flesh clean leg bone far over her shoulder with a grunt. ¡°All the while I must tread carefully not to be ensnared by other families or spoiling my own families¡¯ machinations.¡±


    Her final words full of frustration and I can¡¯t hold back a chuckle, drawing looks from the three of them. ¡°The Farm is simpler. I am Lord Hob, and everyone answers to me.¡±


    ¡°Vuzsia, now! With me,¡± says Milga, trying to hold back a burst of laughter, her head nodding in the direction of Koria.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    A hand reaches between my legs, unknown to me the same hand responsible for loosening the leather throng binding my pants in preparation.


    ¡°A wife is about to demand servicing from her husband ¡­¡± Milga offers a hand to Vuzsia to help her up.


    ¡°Oh!¡± The surprise of the situation startling Vuzsia into accepting.


    Vuzsia and Milga leave me with Koria ¡­ Vuzsia finding some words as she retreats, ¡°It¡¯s not Farming season ¡­¡±


    ---


    We could trek West along the mountain foothills to leave the Blood Suns Tribal lands as quickly as possible, except we would cross the trail which leads to the pass into the next valley. Some would possibly spot the pass and ask questions. My ransom may decide to act foolishly. Instead, we leave the valley heading West, yet each step also distances us from the mountain foothills, in a roughly northwest direction.


    A general silence looms over our march, all perhaps acutely aware of the possible danger we face while within Blood Suns Tribal lands. Knowing the culling is underway I do or say nothing to quiet the situation as I prefer the threat of discovery to keep everyone in line. We skirt around a few villages not far from the mountains and then once upon rolling hills and then plainlands come across no more. We ford the lower reaches of a familiar stream and once across the volume of chatter increases. I suspect the stream is the Western border of the Blood Suns Tribal lands and this fact is common knowledge to all except me and perhaps the children born in the valley. The Ten Spears pick up the pace, they know as do I the Southern River isn¡¯t far away. Beyond, running between two hills a wooden road exists, East leads to the Farm, West leads to the Head Village.


    My rage carried me far, almost directly South from the Farm, straying slightly East ¡­ Did I trespass Meb¡¯s tribal lands, or did I follow Redagar¡¯s wooden road and then southeast until the valley? With the culling underway, I doubt any would¡¯ve had the energy or desire to interrupt an angry Hobgoblin ¡­ or did any who witnessed my passing believe a Warrior Hob rampage could be upon them ¡­


    ¡°You do that when not in planting lust Lord Farmer Hob?¡±


    The high pitch voice pierces my deliberating. I eye the questioner, the elder of course. She must have subtly worked her way along the line to march by my side. Koria, Milga and Vuzsia insisting they scout ahead, while the Ten Spears lead from the front.


    ¡°I service my wives when I have the time and they have the inclination.¡±


    ¡°Wives?¡± she screeches.


    ¡°An experiment of sorts I admit, yet I hope to be bountiful.¡±


    ¡°There is no such covenant, Hobs use and dispose of ¡­ of all things.¡±


    My memory flashes back to Zata, Kexo and Jora, didn¡¯t they claim to be my wives ¡­


    ¡°When was the last time you talked to a Hob?¡±


    She didn¡¯t answer and instead falls back along the line and out of my sight. What I did notice after a short while, an increase in chatter.


    ---


    Slices of cold roasted boar broke our fast, the meat lasting to provide lunch while marching and overall allowing us to make up time otherwise lost due to a slow march such that at dusk, leaning on the Farm''s gate Zeb Stone Grim waits for us.


    ¡°Lord Hob welcome back and I see you haven¡¯t returned to us empty-handed, there could be some crowding in the barracks though.¡±


    ¡°Make do and see that Redagar has in his plans to build more barracks, he would be busy now I wager so no immediate need to annoy him.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob, is there one amongst our new guests they answer to?¡±


    ¡°That would be me!¡±


    Zeb¡¯s eyes don¡¯t stray off me while the elder hustles forward ensuring she invades his personal space.


    ¡°There is an elder amongst them, who to her credit reared a guardian boar to protect her settlement of runaways until I slew the beast, hence their need for alternative protection.¡±


    The elder puffs up her chest, laying hand on hand over her heart upon hearing my words.


    ¡°Law Speaker Zeb Stone Grim I present the elder I speak of.¡± I place a hand upon her shoulder.


    Zeb nods in her direction wearing a polite smile. He waves a welcoming arm towards the Farm. ¡°Follow me and we will soon have you settled for the night and we can make adjustments as needs be in the morning.¡±


    A stream of goblins flow around me to follow Zeb and the elder, with more than one female goblin making their presence known with flirtatious giggles, lingering touches, or daring hand holding with words of thanks. Enjoying their simple attentions brings pure joy to my heart and then resolution. None, pregnant by my loins will die during childbirth if I can help.


    The clearing of a throat breaks my moment and while I want to yell, I don¡¯t as the procession is almost done.


    ¡°Yes, Milga Stone Blood.¡±


    ¡°Lord Hob, Vuzsia Dead Eye requests permission to leave for her tribe at first light.¡±


    I swivel about to face my partner, to her left stands Vuzsia and to her right stands the ransom goblin.


    ¡°How do you intend to reach your Tribal lands Vuzsia Dead Eye?¡±


    ¡°Travel East to towards the plains until I find a shallow river crossing ¨C I know one exists. The kidnappers carried me across one. Then travel back West on the other side of the river until I reach my lands.¡±


    I spare a look at Milga. ¡°Did you explain the perils of such a journey, Laughing Tusks on this side of the river and Blood Bones on the other ¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob. Vuzsia is convinced, travelling alone she will be able to avoid all others.¡±


    I nod. ¡°See that she carries as much food and water as she needs. She can take, as a gift, one of the spears from our new friends to protect herself as a last resort.¡± To Vuzsia I say, ¡°I wish you the best of luck if your skill fails you.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, I did ¡­ didn¡¯t think you would ¡­¡±


    I place my hands upon her shoulders. ¡°You will always be welcome here if things prove too difficult. As for letting you go, I have enough lives to be concerned with without trying to keep another with me, especially one which doesn¡¯t want to be.¡± I nod and withdraw my hands. ¡°So, go with Milga now and prepare for tomorrow morning.¡±


    Milga smiling, slaps Vuzsia¡¯s back and together they turn away. Did Milga rescuing Vuzsia from my fornicating make them friends or is she trying to hustle away potential competition for her position?


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Karo, Lord Hob. When will you return me to claim my ransom?¡±


    I lean on my spear. ¡°One of mine is already on a mission to claim a ransom, so when she returns ¨C a few days yet and not before. In the meanwhile, make yourself comfortable. I am certain Milga, if not Zeb as well, has informed the entire Farm of your offer and I believe my acceptance means you won¡¯t run in any case, is that true?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob.¡±


    I wave her away and she hurries off to catch up to Milga and Vuzsia or at least follow in their footsteps.


    For me, I dream of my own bed and turn towards my cabin.


    ¡°Lord Hob?¡±


    I try not to sigh and fail. Several female goblins from the elder¡¯s camp hurry towards me. Once they stand in front of me, no one speaks until several prods one of them forward.


    ¡°We, we overheard Vuzsia Dead Eye is going to return to her Tribal lands, we would like to return to ours ¡­ Laughing Tusks.¡±


    I nod and wave them to continue.


    ¡°We could offer her passage through our lands in exchange for her protecting us.¡±


    Several sets of hopeful eyes find mine, waiting for me to decide their fate.


    ¡°You can take that risk of course or I could meet with Meb Sharp Eye and organise your return.¡±


    Between them, they exchange nervous glances, the speaker rubbing her hands, stalling, until others nudge her.


    ¡°Most generous Lord, except we are from his brother¡¯s villages, so Brother Meb wouldn¡¯t be helpful ¡­¡±


    Seven goblins stand in front of me from over twenty or so Laughing Tusks. The others are either content to wait for me to decide their fate or will possibly request their return to Meb in the morning. Being from different sub-tribes there doesn¡¯t seem to be any animosity, either now or in the past, interesting. Perhaps they felt in constant danger when with the elder? Now, with being on the Farm, another unfamiliar place they consider their circumstances still tenuous, therefore keeping a lid on any sub-Tribal grievances. Could I use them as political pawns, are any important enough for others to care?


    Studying their faces, none appear to be hunters or otherwise dangerous and yet to hold them would require watching and possibly imprisonment, distractions not worth the trouble I decide. Meb of course may expect me to hold them ¡­ fortunately he is busy.


    ¡°If Vuzsia agrees then I won¡¯t object, you are free to leave with her. But! If she says no, I must insist you stay on the Farm until other arrangements can be made. Agreed?¡±


    They all grab at me jumping and smiling. ¡°Thank you, Lord Hob, thank you!¡±


    ¡°Away now, I need sleep.¡±


    As a group, they watch until I am safely inside my cabin. For what reason, I don¡¯t know.

 1.020 Departures

    I wake up alone in my cabin, the same as I fell asleep the night before I recall. Not even Milga or Zeb rouse me. Strange. The interior of the cabin is neat and tidy, my clothes, armour, and spear on display ready for me to gear up for the day and yet no wives ¡­ How do I feel about that?


    ---


    Stomping each foot in turn into my sturdy leather boots I am finally ready to greet the day. Opening the cabin door sunlight streams in, a glance left confirms no one waits for me seated at the porch table and scanning the Farm beyond my cabin reveals a normal day with goblins going about their business, I would hope on my behalf.


    As I stride towards the kitchen cabin many a goblin tips their head in salute or acknowledgement and then hurry on. Reaching the kitchen cabin, I push the door open, and a couple of welcoming faces greet me with smiles, Zana and Gato. In fact, Gato waddles towards me and seats me at the kitchen bench while Zana presents a plate of cold slices of boar, some boiled root vegetables and the ultimate prize, a wild apple.


    ¡°Where are my wives?¡± I ask before taking a single bite.


    Gato and Zana exchange glances. By some unknown agreement, Zana speaks.


    ¡°Your four new wives took to heart their punishment and are determined to ensure they contribute to your glory Lord ¡­¡±


    Gato interrupts, ¡°Plus they don¡¯t wish to be beaten again in front of the entire Farm ¡­¡±


    Zana huffs and continues, ¡°That may have been a factor also, in any case, they are with any who will enhance their usefulness, your other wives, Milga, Zeb, Redagar or Jotor. Anyone really ¡­¡±


    I pick at my food. ¡°And you two?¡±


    ¡°Lord?¡± they answer in unison.


    ¡°How do you both contribute to my glory?¡±


    ¡°We prepare meals for you and your wives by gathering root vegetables, saving cuts of boar meat, and occasionally finding treasure, like wild apples. Making sure all waterskins are full.¡±


    I grunt as I devour more from my plate to break my fast.


    ¡°You are not pleased with us Lord Hob?¡±


    ¡°Smith Hob named you both champion sniffers and I wonder if in all your hunting for root vegetables and wild apples you haven¡¯t found copper ore?¡±


    Zana backs away from the kitchen bench, out of my immediate reach, while Gato feigns an ache in her belly and slides along the kitchen bench to support herself and by coincidence I am sure, edge further away.


    I slap the bench with my open hand and with desperate looks they acknowledge their master.


    ¡°What command did Smith Hob give you both?¡±


    ¡°We weren¡¯t to sniff for copper ore ever again ¡­¡± They burst into tears.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need you to.¡±


    They sniff and wipe away their tears making a remarkable emotional recovery. I place a stone shard on the kitchen bench and wave them forward. This is the one I chipped off when escaping from the elder¡¯s cavern prison, unusually the form near pure which also infers there wouldn¡¯t be a vein with more.


    ¡°Can you sniff this?¡±


    Exchanging long looks they approach the bench and lean forward, their noses hovering over the stone.


    Zana looks up first. ¡°We can, we have sniffed a little of this ore before ¡­ displeasing the Smith Hob when we did Lord Hob.¡±


    ¡°Good, good,¡± I reply, the back of my hands caressing a bright green cheek of each.


    Their eyes brighten.


    ¡°I need you to sniff for this ore when you are searching for food, can you do this?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob, of course,¡± they reply in turn.


    ---


    As days drift by I conclude waiting is not a strength of mine ¡­ although I do spend a great deal of time thinking.


    Something the Head Hob¡¯s messenger said haunts me still, ¡®the Hunter Hob didn¡¯t provide much meat but at least he was another Hob¡¯. The Hunter Hob, as an essential function of his role, would need to supply butchered game to Copper Village, Head Village, and the Farm. While goblins can benefit from meat like an omnivore, perhaps a regular supply of protein is essential for Hobs with their greater body mass.


    The Head Hob acted and appeared old, yet his daughter Rexa, sixteen years of age if not more would exactly match the number of years he has been Head Hob and before then Farmer Hob. The key is, when did the Hunter Hob take up his role. If within the last sixteen years, then his failure to supply meat could be a reason for the Head Hob¡¯s failing health as disease or another body aliment would most likely see him dead by now, not in slow torturous decline.


    Then there was Fub¡¯s comment about the Head Hob needing him more and more, over the last few years to guide him around, what could be argued to be, a small village.


    I admit the theory a weak one, yet no tribe has reported back yet, and I need to do something.


    In the false light of the morning the next day, I dress, including armour and weapons determined to visit the Head Hob. Placing my hand over Koria Keen Eye¡¯s mouth I startle her awake.


    ¡°Dress for danger, fetch a knapsack of dried meat from the kitchen cabin and meet me at the Farm''s gate.¡±


    Her head nods under my hand and I release my grip. Her lithe naked form skips out of bed to do my bidding. I need to choose another. I don¡¯t wish to send the Head Hob into a fit of reminiscing, so Rexa can remain asleep. My four new wives are unproven and best left on the Farm. If something goes wrong, however unlikely, I don¡¯t wish to leave Zeb daughterless, and therefore must choose Duzsia.


    I expect screams of delight and a wriggling worm when I place my hand over her mouth, instead, serious eyes study my face and when I release my hand a whisper I didn¡¯t expect.


    ¡°Thank you, Lord Hob, for choosing me, I will strive to perform at my best.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what I ask of you yet?¡±


    Her goblin-size hands try to enclose mine, the one previously over her mouth. ¡°You have been restless waiting for news and when you are restless you are more Hob like ¡­ this, whatever this is will be good.¡±


    ¡°Ready yourself for danger and ensure we have water and food for three days for two goblins and one Hob. Wait for me at the Farm''s gate.¡±


    She jumps up and steals a kiss on my cheek on her way to getting ready. Koria ready and gone before I wake Duzsia.


    I don¡¯t need to wait long while seated at the cabin porch table.


    ¡°Do you want me to fetch Zeb?¡± asks Milga.


    ¡°You can tell him, there isn¡¯t much to say. I need to do something, so I am going to test a theory and feed the Head Hob meat. Don¡¯t ask about the reasons, they are flimsy at best, a wrong guess at worst. At most I will be away three days, it depends on how he feels about eating meat or not.¡±


    ¡°Doing the Hunter Hob¡¯s job will be tedious ¡­¡± she reminds me.


    ¡°Culling another tribe will be ¡­ more difficult,¡± I retort, throwing out a hint of sadness in the words.


    ¡°I wish you every success, Lord Klug.¡±


    My head lifts. ¡°Why now?¡±


    ¡°To remind you we are partners and propose possible alternatives, so you don¡¯t lose all hope.¡±


    She flashes her teeth in a generous smile, and I can¡¯t help myself returning the same.


    She continues, ¡°Our allies are Chief Grol, Chief Bor, the Matriarch and Meb. Who is the odd one out?¡±


    I decide not to be sexist, assuming Matriarch is similar in authority to Chief, which means ¡­ ¡°Meb,¡± I answer.


    ¡°As you know Meb has two brothers. The Laughing Tusks aren¡¯t a united tribe in the same way as the other tribes. Each brother wants to be acknowledged Chief yet while Meb is the strongest, in terms of followers and territory he is constantly attacked by the Blood Suns, neither brother has a hostile border content it seems with the present arrangement.¡±


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    What is Milga proposing here? ¡°Continue,¡± I allow the single word to slide out of my mouth, wondering about this partner of mine and what she has been thinking about.


    ¡°We have a number of options, firstly the easiest I believe, is to assist Meb to conquer his two brothers, the heads of the dead can be staked as proof for the Head Hob.¡±


    I lean back in my chair, surrendering the table. Gruesome, yet doable and wakening my inner Hob with thoughts of blood and gore.


    ¡°The second option is each brother chooses one of the other tribes to join and the Tribal name Laughing Tusks falls from memory.¡±


    ¡°Would they consider that option? Especially Meb who has a dream of being Chief.¡±


    ¡°You would have to threaten Meb and his brothers with annihilation, but yes. Meb is sworn to you, he either honours that or not and then it is up to you to try and punish him ¡­ or not.¡±


    ¡°The third, we let Meb follow his own plan which will be to attack his brothers, although our control of the outcome will be less certain. The advantage though is no one will hate you. If he allows the wrong few to live, they will hate him and probably plan an assassination in the days after.¡±


    I flash my partner a false smile and stand. ¡°My bodyguards are ready.¡±


    ¡°Safe travels, partner.¡±


    ---


    Each of us carries our own supplies, while the addition of the meat knapsack upon my back is inconsequential. Perhaps I should have asked for two. We proceed at a steady jog upon the well-maintained wooden path, which I must praise Redagar for when I talk to him next.


    ¡°Top of this rise we will rest long enough to drink and then continue,¡± I shout to my two companions. There is a nostalgic twinge as I close in on this rise, from here I took in my first apprising view of the Farm after surviving the funeral pyre.


    Duzsia laughs and then sprints ahead, Koria doesn¡¯t take the bait staying in step with me. Mid celebratory jump Duzsia crashes to the ground as would a puppet with its strings cut. I sprint.


    Glancing down at Duzsia her hands nurse her head and then Koria wraps her arms around the shivering body. Duzsia is in a state of shock and scanning the wide gulley which spreads out before us I know why. I take a knee and push her hands away with mine to cradle her face and kiss her forehead.


    ¡°There would always be a need for prove wife ¡­ I don¡¯t say this is right, it just is.¡± Consoling my wife distracts the Hob within me, a deep regret boils within, the feeling of missing out and the urge now to double down and unleash the deeply contained Hobgoblin savagery upon all things goblin and bathe in their blood. A shiver shoots down my spine and I attempt to stand, my body jerking upright, my self-control slipping as my hands fall away from Duzsia¡¯s face.


    I hear a distant echoing scream and then a sting upon my cheek. Growling I snap my face in the direction of my assailant. A loud slap and then a warm throbbing burn manifests on the other cheek. My nostrils flare drawing in the scent of grisly bloody death ¡­ and then like a switch my nose is wet, yet warm and I breathe in another altogether different smell, not smell I decide, a fragrance, familiar, loving, and lustful. My limp hands are guided to explore warm flesh pressing against me, the contours, depressions, and curves which I appreciate, familiar possessions, all of them including their owner; mine. I grin from ear to ear as my tongue licks up scented fluid off my lips and the Farmer Hob in me diverts to another priority ¡­


    A background hum gradually increases in volume or does my awareness improve as I come to my senses. Blinking my eyes open, goblins surrounded me; a moment of concern washes away as Koria and Duzsia wrap themselves around each of my arms.


    A large goblin, his hands twisting his cap within his grasp bows before me. ¡°We came running when we heard the screams ¡­ Lord Hob.¡± His face blushes a deep green. ¡°Your wives though seemed to have the situation erm ¡­ good.¡±


    I nod, this is Redagar. Why is he here?


    I tried to look beyond the circle of goblins, and they deliberately shift to block my gaze. A movement catches my eye. It is Redagar who takes a knee in front of me and while sitting his head is level with mine the wooden road underneath both of us. The wooden road ¡­ yes, Duzsia ¡­ I remember rushing to her.


    ¡°You can¡¯t look upon the field of dead Lord, for Hobgoblins there is always a killing frenzy and usually goblins are your targets of choice. You mustn¡¯t smell their blood on the wind.¡± Again, a flush of deep green washes over his face. ¡°Your wives assure us they have a solution.¡±


    He begins to climb to his feet, pauses and drops back down again. ¡°Farmer Hobs can be cruel, spiteful but usually to single goblins or several, only Warrior Hobs and sometimes Ranger Hobs can descend into a Death Frenzy, which doesn¡¯t end until they have spilt much blood.¡±


    His head drops and his fingers fidget. He is wondering if he should say more and before I can think of words to encourage him his head rises until our eyes meet.


    ¡°Most of the Farm goblins, except perhaps Jotor have decided you aren¡¯t a Farmer Hob, in fact, some believe you aren¡¯t a real Hob, your return after death you see, confirmed by your peculiar behaviour. The visit by the Smith Hob a recent example, goblins hide until he leaves, goblins enjoy the feast after he leaves. Such visits usually leave many goblins injured or dead as two Hobs at once compete to be cruel. We continue to observe you and while you have many names, some prefer a new one, Lord Protector of Goblins.¡± He looks about him. ¡°Although moments like these we goblins realise even with your best intentions there is still a true Hob deep down inside, perhaps even a Warrior Hob.¡±


    I release a breath. How could my evaluation of Redagar upon first meeting him been so wrong, or perhaps correct, a goblin taking advantage of the freedoms possible, conforming quickly when the ruler returns? He bends with the wind ¡­


    ¡°You don¡¯t mourn the great number of goblin dead?¡±


    He climbs to his feet and shrugs, ¡°Better them than us and the Head Hob ordered a cull. There is no escaping such an edict from a Hob, even for a non-Hob such as yourself.¡±


    I climb to my feet, taking care to look away from the field of goblin heads, blood dripping from their necks while perching upon their spikes. The memory flashes quickly and with a grunt, I throw it away.


    Redagar and his goblins stroll back to the field, yet he pauses one more time. ¡°Lord if you wish to view the fields do so from the opposite hillock, the breeze is behind your back to blow the smell of blood and death away from you and the field should be far enough away to blur any detail, such as final death stares and dripping blood.¡±


    His macabre detail amusing in some way yet I wave over my head without sighting him in case I glimpse the killing field.


    My arms gather my wives in a firm embrace. ¡°Time for us to continue.¡±


    ¡°One moment Lord.¡± Koria fiddles and drops her leather pants, ripping free her loincloth which she promptly folds into a triangle and reaches for my head which I block by flailing my hand.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    She quirks her head. ¡°Blocking your nose with a better fragrance of course ¡­¡±


    In the middle of the rage, I recall wet moist and warm ¡­


    ¡°Now he understands sister-wife what we needed to do,¡± quips Duzsia.


    I take the loincloth from Koria, remove the ¡®used¡¯ one not questioning before now, and quickly perform the swap over. Hanging the used one between two fingers like a flag I offer the prize to Koria and then Duzsia. Duzsia plucks the cloth back and ties the piece of clothing back in place after a minimum of fuss.


    We resume our jog in silence, my eyes studying the wooden path beneath my feet as we descend one side of the hillock, travel level for a while and then ascend the side of another higher, hillock. Each step takes me further away from the field ¨C I want to sprint towards the slaughter ¡­ instead I take a deep breath through my nose.


    Upon the crest of the hill, I remove and return the loincloth to Koria and with caution turn about to survey the field of dead. Stake upon stake displays a goblin head, the now cleared thicket providing the stout wood. My goblins must venture further afield to secure more stakes, which they set up yet don¡¯t mount the heads. They must provision ahead of the slaughter. I estimate two hundred, perhaps two hundred and fifty heads with at least another fifty stakes waiting. They would probably be all Blood Suns; the other tribes would reclaim their dead surely and bury them on their own land.


    Without the smell of blood and death, no exacting details of the vanquished to examine the Hob rage doesn¡¯t surface. I grunt an acceptance.


    ¡°Come,¡± I say as I turn away from the site and continue jogging towards the Head Village, a final downhill journey.


    ---


    I wash my face in the stream flowing beside the village before visiting the Head Hob, my determination to remove their special fragrance amusing to my wives. Fub proves troublesome, and I need to demand an audience with the Head Hob who, I suspect upon hearing my yelling, waddles out of his backroom leaning on a walking stick to investigate the uproar. I put my wives in charge of preparing us both a meal. Fub of course screaming and protesting about the use of his kitchen utensils and stove, leaving me alone with the Head Hob. I chuckle to myself as I overhear them threaten and order Fub to fetch more wood.


    ¡°Good of you to visit.¡± He pauses, a thin smile draws across his lips and I wonder about the joke. ¡°Fuss and bother in the kitchen, a sweet noise ¡­ and what brings you here?¡±


    ¡°The cull. Blood Suns tribe goblin heads stand upon stakes, over two hundred at last count although we are still discovering more,¡± I announce with a sense of pride in my voice.


    ¡°That isn¡¯t many, they breed like rabbits do the tribal goblins or they can when the game is plentiful. I can¡¯t believe only one hundred or so males were in the tribe ¡­ keep looking young Hob, they may have taken to caves or the like.¡±


    As he speaks my gut twists, the Hobgoblin culling of goblins means annihilation of male, females and young ¡­ how do I temper this interpretation? Also, I suspect the Tribal Leaders of testing me and my expectations. Upon hearing the Head Hob, I am certain both sides of the cull are fully aware of the traditional outcome. I will need to address this with them of course, for now I need to be in this moment.


    ¡°I apologise Head Hob, the two hundred are the males. The females and the young I thought to put to work on the farm. Have I erred?¡±


    His nose sniffs and drifts off towards the kitchen cabin.


    ¡°Those two with you are tribal goblins are they not?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I have been able to civilise them somewhat in basic things but especially cooking ¡­ they seem to use many wild growing herbs and vegetables.¡±


    He drifts off for several moments and after a grunt and a nod he says, ¡°Perhaps they can be made useful, the males are the bigger problem of course and you have dealt with them, I didn¡¯t think they could muster two hundred males.¡±


    A plate slides in front of the Head Hob, steam wafts up carrying the scents of a couple of basic condiments, salt, and a pepper-like leaf. Saliva drips from his lips. He tests with a chunk of meat. Tough going and yet he savours the contest and the flavours. Our conversation dies as he concentrates on eating. Fub for his part fidgets, darting from kitchen to meeting room his face souring in defeat every time the Head Hob moans with gourmet pleasure.


    The Head Hob holds up his plate. ¡°More,¡± he yells.


    Duzsia is quick to comply and another plate slides under the Head Hob¡¯s eager eyes and salivating lips.


    After four plates, the Head Hob belches long and loud while patting his stomach.


    With a sigh, he closes his eyes and falls into a snoring sleep.


    ¡°See, see what you do, asleep in his chair not his bed, he will fall crack his skull open and blame Fub!¡±


    My hand shoots out and I grab Fub around his neck. ¡°Show me to his room.¡± I then fling the creature free. Once on his feet, he skulks into a room opposite the entry doorway. Not a big surprise, the same room the Head Hob hobbled out from to greet me. A large bed, eight supporting legs with a featherdown mattress on top awaits the Head Hob. Nice.


    Returning to the Meeting Room, and with a grunt I heft the Head Hob up into my arms and careful step after careful step make my way back to his room and lay the Head Hob upon his bed, even drawing furs over him.


    Turning to Fub I ask, ¡°Where can we sleep?¡±


    He points to the front door. ¡°You leave!¡±

 1.021 Wheeling and Dealing

    ¡°Koria Keen Eye and Duzsia find a suitable room for us, we are staying the night.¡± I know Koria''s earnt name will niggle Fub, petty of me and I blame my tiredness.


    Fub¡¯s eyes narrow as his gaze bores into Koria¡¯s back. Incomprehensible words accompanied by spit escapes from his lips.


    ¡°You don¡¯t earn a name by being jealous of another, I am Keen Eye for many reasons pathetic creature,¡± she states, otherwise ignoring him while approaching the only unknown door off the Meeting Room.


    Fub scampers ahead of her and throws his body against the door, sneering. Koria looks over her shoulder at me. I see her dilemma; Fub belongs to the Head Hob.


    Advancing on Fub I reach out and grab his neck. ¡°We are staying the night,¡± I growl, my face a finger width from his.


    Opening the door and peering in, Koria is quick to report. ¡°This room will do Lord. There is another door, I imagine it leads to a room beside the Head Hob¡¯s room. The house is like six separate square block rooms with doors where needed.¡±


    ¡°Thank you Fub, you may go,¡± I command in a way only a Hob can. He slinks off towards the kitchen.


    We settle in the room laying out a fur we brought with us, finding several more in the room beyond ours to add and make a more than a passable bed.


    ¡°Sleep Lord, Duzsia and I will stand watch, the goblin servant didn¡¯t seem pleased we cooked the Head Hob a meal ¡­¡±


    I look from one to the other, the clear determination on their faces would make arguing futile, my good wives have decided for me. Smiling at me due to my resignation they approach and remove my armour, then clothing leaving me in my loincloth. I settle into the furs and fall asleep after several heartbeats.


    ---


    I dream of food ¡­ my nose fills with scents, reminding my tongue of delicious tastes. I hear a giggle. Did I dream that? I flick my eyes open and blink at least twice. Duzsia, hoovering over my chest on her haunches provides me with a clear view of her naked loins.


    ¡°Breakfast Lord, the desert is ¡­ after.¡± She scoots away. As I rise, I catch sight of her tying off her loincloth and drawing on her long leather pants. I need to relieve myself in the chamber pot first or face embarrassment.


    Duzsia returns to assist me to dress and shortly after I once again sit opposite a silent Head Hob eating his way through his second plate of breakfast, while I start my first. Fub is nowhere to be seen or heard.


    ¡°How long do you we need for the heads to be displayed?¡± I ask.


    He shakes his head, a pained expression on his face while pointing at the breakfast plate. Oh, not while he is eating, I guess.


    Halfway through my plate, he shifts his to one side and signals for another.


    ¡°Bury them, burn them, the stink will be too much shortly, what made you display them in the first place?¡± he replies.


    I¡¯m not at all sure why, but I don¡¯t dare say that. ¡°A lesson ¡­¡±


    ¡°Well lesson over.¡± He then digs into his third plate and our conversation once again ceases.


    I finish my plate and study the Head Hob. Is he starving or being gluttonous? Is the taste driving him to eat and if so, what food did Fub feed him? My previous encounter with Fub certainly more amicable although even now his burning desire to earn his name seems to overrule everything else and perhaps, he sees me as his saviour if only the Head Hob died. I decide I will make the Head Hob an offer ¨C as soon as he finishes breakfast.


    His blench brings me out of my thoughts, three servings enough this time.


    ¡°Excellent once again, you certain they are Tribal?¡±


    I nod deciding to recant making any offers for the moment, possibly he will ask, and I will be able to gain favour for my efforts instead of trying to force some new help upon him.


    Koria and Duzsia gather and pack our gear once the cooking is done with, the Head Hob sneaking glances at both between our polite small talk.


    ¡°Will any of the female Blood Suns be sent here?¡±


    The question innocent enough, yet somehow it slides into our passing chatter.


    ¡°The Smith Hob left me forty females from his village, so once they are fattened up a bit, I could send you one or two of the best of them.¡±


    His head nods up and down several times, murmuring agreement.


    ¡°Would you prefer males?¡± I didn¡¯t really have many to spare due to my night of slaughter as males took to following my mad wives and their boar boiling more than females.


    ¡°No ¡­ no ¡­ no,¡± he mouths, half mumbling. ¡°Instead of the skinnies what about twenty or so of the Blood Suns?¡±


    He is fixed upon tribal goblins it would seem. I rock back in my chair and chuckle loud and long until a budding scowl matures upon his face. ¡°Would you be able to chase them about, be able to feel safe in your bed at night? If they are like others, they start wild, and I wouldn¡¯t want you exposed to the possible risk ¡­¡±


    I didn¡¯t have any idea if this would be the case of course but being wives and partners to drunks all their lives can¡¯t have been a pleasant existence for a start. Given the insanity of their raiding I could imagine, regardless of success or failure, any homecoming would be rough on those waiting for the raiders to return. A wild abusive party to celebrate or vicious bashing to recover their pride.


    ¡°Oh, yes. Fub would be useless and me with my cane ¡­ I have to admit, not as strong as I once was ¡­¡±


    I push my chair back. ¡°Well, the business with the cull done, my Spears will need time to rest and recover before we attack another tribe. I am sure you will understand.¡±


    ¡°I do, I do, binding of wounds and such although if a goblin lives, they recover quickly from the most horrendous wounds, which allows us to beat them within a finger width of their lives of course.¡± His head suddenly jerks up, eyes clear. ¡°You will have some free time then?¡±


    ¡°Possibly, depending upon what you need.¡±


    I try to hold any excitement from my voice; is he going to ask, are we going to make a deal?


    ¡°Fub needs some help, or I should simply be rid of him, but he owes me his life.¡± His eyes dry, flint-like. ¡°I mean to ensure he pays full price, which leaves me with a problem.¡± A pretend smile reaches his lips. ¡°I doubt he could learn how to cook differently at his age.¡±


    ¡°Yes, like the saying, ¡®you can¡¯t teach an old goblin new tricks¡¯ and so true,¡± I offer.


    ¡°Never heard of that saying,¡± he mumbles and then his eyes sharpen as if suddenly, he realises he needs to get back to the point of our conversation. He raises his eyebrows. ¡°Would you have any more like these two or be able to train more?¡±


    ¡°Possibly. It depends on what you want, Cook? Bodyguard? Your own small army?¡± I chortle loudly after the last suggestion of course, but unless I offer the possibility, I won¡¯t know the limit of his ambition in this regard.


    He shakes his head sharpish, ¡°An army? Of female goblins? Surely you joke?¡±


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Yes and no, although I have wondered.¡± I wave a casual hand at Koria and Duzsia. ¡°These two for example are accomplished archers, the meat you have eaten was speared by a third female goblin brave enough to face the charge of a rampaging boar.¡± I take a deep breath. ¡°I am not saying they are common, just they respond better than a male, to male authority and belonging to a Hob is a special honour for them. You don¡¯t have to be nice all the time of course, but occasional kindness surprises them and wins them over, which allows me at least to sleep safely.¡±


    ¡°But one on one a male goblin will usually defeat a female goblin?¡± he pushes.


    ¡°Most likely, depending upon the circumstances of course but that just means you need two females.¡± I smile.


    He laughs loud and long in response and I join him of course. He gathers himself while waving a finger at me. Koria and Duzsia wait with infinite patience by the front door in silence and I notice his eyes fall upon them again. This ends his laughter in a heartbeat.


    ¡°They wait.¡± He throws his head in their direction.


    ¡°I am their Lord Hob.¡± I deliberately offer no further explanation. My explanation needs to be seen by him as self-evident, the natural order of things. The current natural order is where goblins are afraid of Hobs and the Head Hob knows well that type of overlord authority, this type of obedience though, intriguing and could he also have it? I hope upon hope this is the question he asks himself. Fub is his only live-in goblin because of the debt he owes his master ¡­ no others have been permitted under his roof overnight, simply due to very real trust issues.


    ¡°What would you want for one like those two?¡±


    Finally, we are at the bargaining table!


    ¡°You forget Fub and the rule two females for every male to ensure victory ¡­¡±


    He nods his head, murmuring agreement. ¡°One cook and one bodyguard?¡±


    The price must be affordable but also a challenge to maintain and set the market value. ¡°The cook should be the easiest, one spear?¡±


    He nods, a crack in the form of the tiniest of smiles appears in his serious face tells me he expected higher ¡­


    ¡°The bodyguard, the skills a challenge but more so the right temperament and no false loyalty during the night when you are asleep ¡­ ten spears.¡±


    His face drops and I hold a finger up in response. ¡°I won¡¯t send you any female, only one I would trust with my own life.¡±


    ¡°The price is steep, but, yes agreeable after all they know how to kill ¡­ what would one of those two, cost?¡±


    ¡°Nothing ¡­¡± His face twists in confusion. ¡°Everything!¡±


    ¡°Interesting, so you are saying they can¡¯t be purchased, a pity ¡­ well then I hope my bodyguard can be equally trusted.¡±


    We shake hands sealing the deal.


    ¡°I should be able to send a cook in a few days, the bodyguard will take longer.¡±


    He points to Koria and Duzsia. ¡°You and you, go to the room connected to the one you slept in and bring back eleven spears.¡±


    He pushes back his chair with force, and I notice him wince in pain, yet I doubt my wives do, as far as they are concerned the Head Hob is about to kill them.


    ¡°Now!¡± he screams, deep green flushes his face.


    ¡°Koria and Duzsia fetch your Lord¡¯s payment,¡± I say.


    He waits until both leave the Meeting Room.


    ¡°Would they have just let me bash them, possibly to death?¡± he asks, his voice hollow.


    ¡°Truthfully, I don¡¯t know.¡± Beyond my control, I feel my head tilt to one side. ¡°I do know, as my part of our trust arrangement they expect me to protect them from what they can¡¯t protect themselves from.¡±


    ¡°I am beginning to understand.¡± He nods a couple of times and almost as an afterthought, he says, ¡°I am glad you didn¡¯t stay dead.¡±


    At that moment two things happen. Koria and Duzsia enter the Meeting Room, each carrying a bundle of spears and Fub enters the Meeting Room through the front door proudly carrying several pots.


    ¡°It was difficult Lord Hob but as you can see, I have found five pots which fit,¡± Fub¡¯s words slow as his eyes look about the room, ¡°inside ¡­ each ¡­ other.¡±


    Without missing a beat Head Hob instructs his hesitant servant.


    ¡°Well done, Fub, you have performed admirably. Please accept these as a gift Lord Farmer Hob.¡±


    Fub¡¯s head cranes slowly towards me and then back to Head Hob, mouth open trying to speak. Koria and Duzsia stall mid-step, landing a half-step to regain their balance. I instantly went with the idea Head Hob sent Fub on an important errand so he wouldn¡¯t be privy to any of our conversation and Fub exceeding all expectations in haste and result, returns near the end of our unspoken conspiracy, ¡®catching¡¯ us all.


    ¡°Fub! Handoff the gift!¡± yells Head Hob.


    The sharp order jolts me out of my ¡®guilt¡¯ paralysis as well as my wives and as simple as that ¡®the scene keeps rolling¡¯.


    ¡°Thank you, Lord Head Hob. Be helpful Fub and place the pots beside the door so Koria can pack them. I also think that concludes our visit. We will return when I have another update regarding the culling.¡±


    I reach across with my hand and Head Hob returns my handshake, I smartly turn towards the door picking up two of our three kits, Koria carries the third with pots secured within and Duzsia carries the eleven spears as two tied bundles, one upon each shoulder. The door slamming shut behind us music to our ears. As we stroll out of the Head Village, I take the six-spear bundle from Duzsia, much to her relief and wonder why the feelings of one old and sour goblin were important to preserve with the farce we just participated in.


    Trudging up the first hillock after leaving Head Village I pause, dropping the spears, butt first to the ground to assess the travellers hurrying towards us.


    ¡°What do they pull or perhaps hold back Lord Hob?¡± asks Koria.


    ¡°That,¡± I lean into the bundle of spears for support, ¡°is called a cart.¡±


    A crew of ten and Redagar pilot my cart and as they close the distance their faces sour, then draw back in fear until they finally manage to pull up a mere goblin body length in front of me.


    ¡°Lord, given your travels and the fact we have now completed erecting the stakes we thought the time right to pick up your jars.¡±


    I glance at Koria and Duzsia and note the green fade from their faces. I smile.


    ¡°Perfect timing Redagar, follow me.¡±


    My wives and I hoist our baggage and spears into the wagon before we allow Redagar and his crew to continue. During the wait to load, I notice him look back over his shoulder several times.


    ¡°Tell me Redagar and I won¡¯t punish the messenger.¡±


    He smacks the side of the wagon with an open hand, the sting probably motivation for him.


    ¡°The Field of Dead, a large majority of the heads and bodies are mutilated Lord, many beyond recognition, a few in pieces. Only hate can drive such things, initially, ones and twos and those guilty stayed nearby, female goblins of the Blood Suns Lord. Now there is a procession of Blood Suns females, escorted by one of the four tribes ¡­¡±


    Regardless of the sins of the once-living, this macabre situation can¡¯t continue.


    ¡°Take several crews in secret and start digging a large hole and once done take down the bodies and stakes and backfill the hole. Keep doing this until the field is cleared. Then dig a hole in the Field of Dead and any new bodies can be thrown in immediately.¡±


    If I knew where lime existed in this land, I would have ordered that thrown on as well, possibly burning an option.


    ¡°Yes Lord, do we have permission to burn the bodies? To quiet the smell and keep wild creatures from digging them up you understand?¡±


    I nod, and then add, ¡°The crews which do this, think of an appropriate reward for them and if within my power I will try to grant it.¡±


    His eyes grow wide and without looking I am certain his crew reacts in the same way.


    ¡°Thank you, Lord of Goblins, we will see it done.¡±


    We trek back to the Head Village, avoiding Head Hob and Fub with ease given their hermit lifestyle. Locating my six jars though a bit of an adventure as I didn¡¯t want to start from the Head Hob¡¯s house, eventually, I remember the correct storehouse. None of the Village goblins interrupts our loading of the jars, with lids, into the cart and most don¡¯t even watch as we wheel them away. By dusk, we return to where we first met except this time sharing a camp beside the wooden trail.


    The Head Hob¡¯s gluttony consumed our food stocks, fortunately, Redagar and his crew provide suitable rations supplemented by a couple of skinny rabbits Koria and Duzsia managed to hunt, now sizzling over a modest campfire.


    Watching the campfire flames dance about, beyond them a greater inferno grows behind the rise of the hillock. I stand up immediately trying to confirm the source.


    ¡°The first fire Lord, I sent one of the crew back to tell the rest your will in this matter,¡± states Redagar.


    ¡°You acted quickly ¡­¡±


    ¡°When the Warrior Hob rampaged through the valley, he left the dead where he slaughtered them. The Farm, Head Village, and Copper Village were once tribal goblin lands. Like the stings of a thousand bees the goblins he destroyed eventually weakened him so much the next tribe he attacked slew him. None tended to the dead, burial or pyre and the stink hung over the valley for many days. At least your cull gathered the dead in one place, so the burial and burning can be done quickly.¡±


    So many questions ¡­ I arrange my thoughts and begin.


    ¡°How did the Warrior Hob come to the valley?¡±


    He prods the glowing embers of the campfire with a stick. ¡°Although long ago, that fact survived the many retellings.¡± He peers deep into my eyes. ¡°No goblin knew then, and none knows now.¡± He chuckles and I join him.


    Our mirth dies down, and the crackling of the campfire takes over as the sole noise between us.


    After a while, I ask, ¡°When did the villages get established?¡±


    ¡°A long time after the Warrior Hob¡¯s culling and a long time ago now.¡±


    ¡°The tribes in the valley now, were they the tribes which survived the Warrior Hob¡¯s culling?¡±


    ¡°Yes, even the now, annihilated Blood Suns.¡±


    There wasn¡¯t any life in his answers except for the humour in the first, a simple question and answer exercise. Did the previous me ask these questions or does his family hold the oral history of goblin kind in this valley and he replies to questions when asked? Or was the task of disposing of so many dead weighing him down?


    ¡°Which tribe then finally slew the Warrior Hob?¡±


    ¡°The only one which could, the Flint Arrows. I am certain they have an accurate retelling of their victory ¡­ perhaps your wives know more?¡± The last words, spoken louder drawing looks from both Koria and Duzsia while busy preparing my bed.


    ¡°Maybe better to question my Speaker of Law ¡­¡± I offer.


    ¡°Perhaps. Time for sleep Lord, I know hard toil awaits your servants in the morning ¡­¡± He grins, lies down, and curls up beside the warmth of the campfire.


    I wander over to my bed of furs and sink into them. My wives share watch duties and I know not to argue, falling asleep instead.

 1.022 Unexpected Guest

    Her flesh feels so real upon my face ¡­ my dream indulges my lust; all my wives are in attendance ¡­


    ¡°Lord!¡±


    ¡°Mm ¡­ yeah,¡± I slur, lust thick upon my tongue.


    ¡°Lord?¡±


    Why would a wife question their Lord? This is my dream ¡­ I blink and the dark of night surrounds me.


    ¡°Lord Hob, we have a visitor,¡± Duzsia says, her high voice now able to penetrate my dream haze.


    I jump to my feet and look about. The slapping of my spear into one of my hands an opportune delay as I look about. A gaggle of goblins assemble near the dying embers of the campfire, at their feet another goblin, slumping forward on their knees.


    As I approach in my loincloth, Redagar says, ¡°She claims to be ¡­ another of your wives Lord so my crew thought best to bring her to you.¡±


    The spoken word ¡®Lord¡¯ is a trigger, and the face of the kneeling goblin slowly cranes up until her eyes, staring out from a bloody face meets mine.


    ¡°Lord Hob,¡± she gasps.


    Duzsia, damp cloth in hand, wipes black blood back. ¡°Zoria, Lord,¡± she says.


    I sigh, of course, it¡¯s her. ¡°Food and water and after rest, I will chat with her in the morning.¡±


    ¡°Lord Hob ¡­¡± Zoria pleads.


    ¡°A wife of mine would know her place and do as ordered ¡­¡± To Duzsia I say, ¡°Ensure any bandages are boiled in water and dried before use as is any water used to cleanse her wounds.¡±


    ¡°We know Lord Hob,¡± replies Duzsia, her words fading to a whisper.


    I stride back to my bed of furs ¡­


    I overhear Redagar¡¯s question. ¡°She isn¡¯t a wife of Lord Hob?¡±


    ¡°No. It is a different arrangement,¡± mumbles Duzsia.


    I toss and turn until dawn, perhaps I should have asked Zoria questions last night ¡­ I didn¡¯t want to hear the excuses, then the inevitable pleading during her tale of woe while half asleep or any time really. Of course, there is also the other nagging issue ¨C how do I trust her? My capture of her spirit no guarantee, she is Tribal, yet I sense she doubts the mumbo jumbo, which is most unfortunate. I know for a fact she doesn¡¯t return in triumph, otherwise the knife would have been offered up immediately, therefore nothing but bad news ¡­


    ---


    Breaking our fast, none wake Zoria, and I call Redagar to me. Predicting my need he brings another with him.


    ¡°This is Kexog Lord Hob. He led the work gang who captured your not-wife staggering towards one of the burning pits ¡­¡±


    ¡°Welcome Kexog and tell me all you know.¡±


    Wringing his hands, he begins. ¡°After we start burning, we keep an eye on the fire and re-light in any places it seems to be dying.  I guess the light of the flames drew her to us ¡­ mumbling, we didn¡¯t clearly hear her, Lord. We may have been a little too rough in our greeting, the crazy Blood Suns females you understand ¡­¡± He darts a look towards Redagar and then at his nod continues. ¡°One of us heard the words ''Lord'' and ''wife'' and we got her here.¡±


    I pelt my spent apple core into the fire instead of finishing the entire piece of fruit. Redagar, wiser than his escort takes half a step back.


    ¡°Koria!¡± I hiss. ¡°Is she still alive?¡± If what the Head Hob believes about goblin robustness is true, then I am certain she is ¡­ my feelings on the matter are mixed though and part of me hoped she didn¡¯t live to see morning. She is a complication, trust, not trust and while I thought I could wring some value from her, I suspect overconfidence on my part. To survive wounding from others proves her physically tough while dragging herself towards an unknown light with the slim hope of rescue despite pain suggests a strength of will. I sigh, this all means she must be willing to speak, any attempt to coerce information from her a messy challenge at least ¡­


    ¡°Yes, Lord. Duzsia and I have tended to her all night. She sleeps safe and sound.¡±


    I nod. A gesture to delay and yet I must speak as Lord Hob. Zoria isn¡¯t mine, yet she should expect assistance from any goblin who answers to me. I am trying to make allowance for Kexog¡¯s thin excuse, trying to accept his story crazy female Blood Suns roam around at night, alone and are a threat to a work gang?


    ¡°Kexog, go!¡± I growl.


    A brief pause and then Redagar shoots him a look. He sprints out of my sight.


    ¡°Tell Kexog to avoid my gaze for an exceptionally long time. I respect the task he and his work gang are doing, and I have given him the benefit of some doubt, yet I can¡¯t except their treatment of one who was, is helpless ¡­ you understand this?¡± My eyes, full of askance fall upon Redagar.


    ¡°Yes, Lord of Goblins, if you can treat goblins kindly then goblins should be able to treat other goblins kindly.¡±


    I muse over his reply in my head, trying to determine if he is just saying what he expects I want to hear or if he is genuine. I err on the side of genuine.


    ¡°Exactly.¡± Turning to Koria, I command, ¡°Fetch Zoria, Duzsia can assist.¡±


    Redagar begins to open his mouth, thinking again he holds back as my wives jump to do my bidding. I suspect Zoria still suffers, yet my wives will know if she is or isn¡¯t fit enough to be woken and questioned.


    Zoria staggers towards me, her arms pushing away offers of help from either of my wives, Redagar for his part withdraws his wide-eyed look.


    ¡°My appearance is much worse than it is Lord Hob.¡± She slips me a weak smile while the back of a hand brushes her forehead, a bandage weeping blood covers the wound, the other hand nursing her stomach, leather armour concealing bandaging, nothing hides the gash in the armour. Her forearms, show dark green splotches ¨C bruising, defensive in nature so where else? The doubt I afforded Kexog seeming less earnt, my hand strangles the hilt of my sheathed dagger. My inner Hob urges for blood ¡­


    ¡°Split scalp Lord, deep. Lower torso an existing wound healing and a recent wound,¡± adds Koria.


    Zoria¡¯s face twists and wilts, she would be screaming at Koria now except for her injuries. Head low, her eyes must spot my white-knuckle fist as her bottom lip trembles. I relax my grip.


    ¡°How did the ransom exchange go?¡± I ask, trying to grab her focus in case her misunderstanding suddenly ends our conversation.


    Voice feeble and thin she says, ¡°The ransom was honoured, Lord Hob.¡± Her eyes remain downcast. ¡°In exchange for her ¡­ um Zoga, the family gifted a small knife.¡±


    I shake my head.


    Her head snaps up, grimaces, eyes upon mine. ¡°No Lord, the metal proven before my eyes to be stronger than copper, they called the metal bronze.¡± Her eyes leave mine finding refuge examining the wooden road at her feet.


    ¡°The knife no longer in your possession ¡­?¡±


    ¡°No Lord.¡± She hitches her chest. A sniff. Silence.


    Does she wait for me to slay her? Does she expect me to beat her?


    Zoria¡¯s eyes sneak a glance at me. Closing her eyes, she continues, ¡°Once I left the pass, I felt eyes upon me ¡­ I can¡¯t explain, instinct perhaps. In a desperate hurry to return to the Farm and close I choose speed over caution. A group of goblins crossed my path, both running we ended up on the ground and those of their group I didn¡¯t knock down jumped on me. I slew one with the knife, which enraged another who stabbed me in the stomach. Trying to staunch the wound with one hand he wrestled the knife from my other.¡± She swallows and takes a deep breath. ¡°Instead ¡­ instead of killing me he drew a cut across my forehead and then together they left as the howls of others following them grew louder. I crawled into nearby brush, but I shouldn¡¯t have bothered as those following took another path to try and head off my attackers.¡±


    I nod towards Koria who lifts a water skin to Zoria¡¯s lips. She resists until Koria smiles, only choosing then to drink deep.


    ¡°Continue.¡±


    Zoria winces and I almost suggest she rests until behind and out of Zoria¡¯s direct sight Duzsia shakes her head.


    ¡°I bandaged as best I could the stomach wound, while I tried to wrap the head wound. I eat and drink wondering about what to do next. The Farm will be days away with my wounds and then I see the bonfire and during the night crawl and sometimes stumble towards my last hope.¡±


    Redagar shifts in his sitting position, eyes fixed upon Zoria.


    ¡°Reaching them, it takes much effort to tell them I am one your wives Lord ¡­ although I know not the exact truth.¡± Her eyes drift up and then reconsider. ¡°Yet wounded and given up for dead I didn¡¯t know what else to say and shortly after they delivered me back to you.¡±


    Koria steps forward disturbing my thoughts, saving me from saying something foolish or sympathetic or both.


    ¡°Lord we must hunt down the thieves and recover your knife, this slight cannot be allowed to stand!¡±


    In my mind I am about to downplay the loss, bronze knife, yes significant but ¡­


    ¡°Yes, Lord. Koria and I will hunt them down and slay their black hearts,¡± says Duzsia, a fist striking an open palm and then wrapping an arm around Koria.


    ¡°The thieves would be the last of any Blood Suns, Lord Hob. They would be desperate, your wives need to know they would offer them a desperate fight, no mercy ¡­¡± offers Redagar.


    ¡°How many?¡± I ask Zoria.


    Her eyes dart towards Koria and Duzsia and then back to me trying to stand tall and step forward until Koria¡¯s hand presses on her shoulder. She doesn¡¯t try to shrug, ribs in pain no doubt. After swearing, she says, ¡°No Lord I must recover the knife. I will heal quickly they were heading West and will soon be held up by the cliff. Those who followed would have the first opportunity and then I will swoop in and surprise both. I can do this Lord, my chance to prove myself ¡­¡± Her voice full of desperate pleading and pain ¡­ clear to everyone her wounds too grievous. Neither of my wives speaks against her, though. There is no need.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡°Koria and Duzsia trackback to where Zoria was wounded and then follow the runaways.¡±


    They both beam back smiles, while Zoria rocks her head and groans in anguish.


    ¡°Redagar, send a work gang with them. I don¡¯t expect the work gang to fight, but my wives will need the appearance of numbers and if the worst happens, I will value the news.¡±


    He nods. His Lord Hob has spoken.


    The faces of my wives don¡¯t flinch, not expecting the worst to happen; confident or overconfident?


    ¡°We will not fail you, Lord.¡± My wives speak as one and with that they scurry off to fetch their gear.


    ¡°Redagar, load my bedding into the wagon and then gently lift Zoria upon the furs, we leave as soon as we can break camp.¡±


    Zoria tries protesting while Redagar hurries to do my bidding. I stand, stretch and two wives crash into my embrace. I kiss both on their foreheads. Redagar clears his throat, drawing my attention.


    ¡°Lord, I offer your wives this token, shown to any of the work gangs they will follow your orders. Ensure to tell them to take plenty of supplies otherwise they will simply drop tools and follow you ¡­¡± He shrugs, passing them a wood carving.


    ¡°Good hunting,¡± I say as they turn away and sprint towards the fire pits.


    They are goblins, I should feel nothing and yet a certain part of me worries for them ¡­ my eyes fix upon them as they diminish in the distance.


    ¡°I hope to be in your heart like them Lord ¡­¡±


    Zoria hopes and wishes, her small whisper sounding heartfelt. Yet, I don¡¯t know everything about her journey, the time she spent, what promises were made to her ¡­ Once healed though she will have another opportunity to prove herself.


    My wives are two specks in the distance when Redagar calls to me. We are ready to continue our journey home.


    ---


    ¡°How did they go?¡±


    Zeb, smirks, his hand reaching for his mouth then unable to resist bursts out laughing.


    ¡°Plenty of stings Lord, not enough smoke as you warned them. After a retreat though their second attempt more rewarding and once they learnt the technique the other five beehives were captured into the pots without as much fun.¡±


    ¡°Did they knock an opening in the bottom so the bees could fly in and out ¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord and they are positioned around the crops as you instructed ¡­ will you reveal their purpose?¡±


    My turn to smile and hold back a mystery. He shrugs. Acceptance. Worry works into his eyes as our discussion ends and he like I wonder. The beehive hunt being a distraction for us both. While Luda and Rexa entertain me to divert my worry, I also know Milga took advantage of Zeb providing him close patient company, assuring him with kind words his eldest daughter would return until he accepted more intimate physical reassurance.


    ¡°Not nearly enough time has passed ¡­¡± I pat his shoulder.


    He nods and marches off to check up on one of the many other things he needs to be concerned with. I await Koria¡¯s safe return before I ask more about the mysteries of the Flint Arrows tribe, I figure his joy will match mine when that happens and provide an opportune moment.


    ¡°Perhaps releasing Vuzsia so soon not a good idea now?¡±


    ¡°Second-guessing, what if, why did we, why didn¡¯t we ¡­ all useless, I call ¡®em as I see ¡®em.¡±


    Milga Stone Blood leans up against her favourite awning post of my cabin, while I remain at my table.


    ¡°I could follow with Rexa and several of the new archers if you wish?¡±


    I raise an eyebrow ¡°Not Luda?¡±


    ¡°I am afraid your Speaker of Law would be lost for words if both daughters left his side at once ¡­ as you well know.¡±


    I lean forward, elbows on the table. ¡°What, of the other matter?¡±


    ¡°The competition has been fierce Lord, such an important decision can¡¯t be rushed, many tests were required, and these take time.¡± She swings around the post, holding on with one hand, joy dancing across her lips. This display of happiness hasn¡¯t been derived from this competition alone, she thinks I don¡¯t know of her conquering my Speaker of Law.


    ¡°Did anyone die? Become sick?¡±


    She shakes her head laughing. ¡°By vote, the field was reduced from eight hopefuls to three finalists. All thought you being a Hob would be the most suitable as the final judge ¡­ such timing, look the samples approach ¡­ how I wonder did that happen?¡± She places a finger upon her chin, mouth open in false surprise.


    ¡°Three? What have you gotten me into?¡±


    ---


    The first giggles as she places her sample upon my table and the second does a juggle as she lands her plate before me. The third though takes a deep sniff of her creation before deftly delivering the meal under my eyes, needing to shift aside the other two using subtle and deft movements, wrong yet so quick and done before any can protest.


    I recognise the third, one from the farm, the other two are new, probably part of the elder¡¯s camp. I begin my taste testing with the first, the cook trying to resist clapping her hands in excitement. An excitable goblin if ever there was one, she would entertain or annoy the Head Hob in equal measure most likely.


    ¡°They are all stews Lord, we thought the same dish from each would better show any qualities,¡± offers Milga.


    I swill and spit out water and then taste the second, my wooden spoon dipping into the warm bowl of delicious, the aroma forewarning me, which in fact proves true much to my delight. My nodding head as I eat, encouragement for the second cook, her eyes bright, hands on her heart. Not just a cook then, passionate about the vocation.


    Grabbing the water skin, I sneak a peek at the third cook. Silent, respectful, and confident. Interesting. Final swill and spit and I begin spooning the third stew into my mouth. I take another full spoonful to be certain and then I curl a finger in the direction of the third cook beckoning her closer.


    ¡°Yes, Lord?¡±


    ¡°I know this taste well. What have you got to say for yourself?¡±


    ¡°When I learnt you would be the final judge, I made friends with the two sniffers and while assisting them to prepare your stew I may have learnt enough to recreate the dish ¡­¡±


    Shouts and screams from the other two cooks choke in their throats as Milga casts them a warning look. Behind this sternness, the tiniest of smirks escape and I catch her amusement and perhaps appreciation for the third cook.


    ¡°What if I didn¡¯t like the stew Zana and Gato prepared, simply tolerating their efforts?¡±


    A smile grows across her lips until I growl. ¡°You could command any on the Farm to be your cook ¡­ you don¡¯t need to tolerate anything. So ¡­ do I win?¡±


    My original plan simple, find a half-decent cook, send them to the Head Hob. If he wasn¡¯t happy send another and so on. Between Zeb and Milga they hatched the ¡®contest¡¯, why not send the best cook, impress the Lord Hob their argument ¡­ This third cook though, thinks, sly or clever I am not certain and perhaps she would be useful beyond cooking while in the Head Hob¡¯s household.


    ¡°Number one and two, you haven¡¯t lost yet as I am reserving judgement until number three explains herself more fully. You are both dismissed, for now, Milga will find you when I have made a final decision.¡±


    They both bow and leave, their dishes remaining on the table. Milga swoops in, sniffing one and then the other and begins finishing the second first, nodding, smiling, and moaning in appreciation between each spoonful. The third cook, standing beside a sitting Milga squirms. Does my partner make her feel uneasy?


    I raise my voice. ¡°Should I smack you to within a finger width of your life for cheating?¡±


    She jumps although recovers immediately after. ¡°Forgive me, Lord Hob, I thought to please you and win, gaining your notice. Hoping you would keep me and send one of the others ¡­¡± She hitches her chest and sobs.


    Smack!


    I spot Milga¡¯s hand returning. The cook¡¯s chest rushes forward, her hands reaching out towards the table to keep balance.


    ¡°She can pretend well Lord,¡± says Milga.


    After an awkward smile and a courtesy, she tries to explain. ¡°My life is at your whim Lord and I don¡¯t wish to die. Sympathy works with goblins and rumours are you aren¡¯t a mean Hob and I thought ¡­¡±


    ¡°Milga, am I a mean Hob?¡±


    She lifts her head out of the nearly finished second bowl, a dob of stew on the tip of her nose. ¡°You are mean when lying, cheating goblins try to deceive you is what I have heard.¡± Another spoonful down her throat and she discards the empty bowl with a clatter and grabs a second, which is the first ...


    ¡°I beg your forgiveness, Lord. I wish only to please you, willing to follow any command.¡±


    Milga¡¯s head surfaces a second time in a flash, and I nod. A dagger clatters upon the table. The cook edges away, eyes darting between the dagger, Milga, her head now back in the bowl and myself.


    ¡°Pick up the dagger.¡±


    The cook frowns at me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you understand the command? It can¡¯t be because you refuse, especially after what you¡¯ve promised.¡±


    She slowly nods, reaches for the dagger, and holds the weapon as if she is going to slice a vegetable. Not an assassin then or at least smart enough to not give away an obvious tell.


    ¡°Stab yourself.¡±


    Her eyes open wide, wider than I thought possible.


    ¡°Did you not hear your Lord¡¯s command? Surely a loyal servant such as yourself isn¡¯t refusing to obey?¡±


    ¡°I ¡­ I ¡­¡± She places the point to her heart and then reconsiders choosing the palm of her other hand. Conflict dances across her face and then resolve. I didn¡¯t ask her to slay herself ¡­ yet a cook shouldn¡¯t injure a hand.


    In one fluid motion she users one hand to tear back the cloth of her shirt exposing a breast and thrusts Milga¡¯s dagger towards the soft smooth mound with the other until piercing her left breast. She bites her lip to prevent screaming, not immediately withdrawing the dagger looking around instead. Milga hands her a cloth. She places the cloth over the wound site while withdrawing the dagger. A minimum of blood escapes in the operation and holding the cloth on the wound she returns the dagger to Milga.


    ¡°Another test?¡± There is a sheer undercurrent of cheeky delight in her question. The hand holding the make-do bandage on her breast wound somehow points her erect nipple directly at me. Milga recognising the flagrant disregard for any modesty almost breaks into laughter herself.


    ¡°Your name?¡±


    She almost squeals in delight when answering, ¡°Seka, my Lord Hob.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps I want to know the name of the cheeky female goblin standing in front of me before I ask Milga to slay her.¡± I crook an eyebrow.


    Wrenching back a chair to sit in at the table her head falls into her hands. I score her seven out of ten, a touch overdramatic I believe. Then the bandage tumbles away revealing her full and firm breast ¡­ the congealing beads of blood along the stab line, black pearls and I have no doubt this isn¡¯t the first time she reaches for theatrics, the wound and naked breast adding to the performance.


    ¡°No Lord, I wish to serve you ¡­ please.¡±


    Milga grabs the third bowl and pipes up, ¡°That could almost be her first genuine plea ¡­¡±


    I remain unconvinced also, although appreciating her talent. ¡°Look up.¡± Her eyes find mine. ¡°You will be appointed Head Cook, the other two will be under your charge and do the most if not all the cooking.¡±


    She swallows. ¡°If they cook then ¡­¡±


    ¡°You will order them about for appearance¡¯s sake, your main task will be to find out things, about the Head Hob, his loyal goblin and any deals done. Make yourself known to the village goblins. In short, you are to be my eyes and ears. I plan to drop off honey to the Head Hob regularly, you must remember and report to whoever does the delivery.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Lord I could write notes and pass them ¡­¡±


    Milga and I break out into laughter, where has this goblin been hiding? I sober up and decide that is a good question.


    ¡°Seka, who are you really?¡± I grab her hands and pull. My eyes are a hands width away from hers. Milga has a dagger point on the back of her neck.


    She struggles to catch her breath; her chest is hard up against the edge of the table and Milga¡¯s body leans against the back of Seka¡¯s chair. Drips of blood ooze around her neck and begin to pool between her breasts.


    ¡°Lord,¡± she gasps.


    I release until she takes a deep breath and then I pull her forward enough to allow shallow breathing.


    ¡°Speak, you will only have this one chance.¡±


    ¡°I am a spy for Meb, I thought being your cook I would be able to get closer to you ¡­¡±


    I release her, Milga sheaths her dagger and goes back to eating.


    ¡°Well, good to know.¡±


    Her mouth dry, I notice her trying to work saliva and offer her the waterskin. Wiping her lips with the back of a hand after drinking she hands it back. Her breast wound oozes blood anew joining two other, now dry trails and yet she shows no concern.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t going to slay me, hold me for ransom or favour ¡­¡± She bites her bottom lip. ¡°Have your way with me ¡­¡±


    A half-empty bowl scraps across the table. ¡°You could have any cook on the Farm and yet you accept that stew,¡± says Milga. Seka, if that is her name and I look at my partner.


    With the opportunity now available, Milga grabs Seka¡¯s chin and turns her face left and then right. ¡°You are his half-sister by another mother I suspect. Am I right?¡±


    I lounge back in my chair. Spies are fickle creatures, as easy to double or even triple cross as not, except if they are family or blood relatives. Either they are already your declared enemy, possibly a rival or if not, looking for power from within. If ambitious, appearing as loyal as any spy can while waiting to rise and be in charge, typically by seizing an opportunity from either a leader¡¯s failure or a moment of weakness. Their true loyalty only tested upon capture.


    ¡°Yes, and my name isn¡¯t Seka, it is ¡­¡±


    I place a hand across her mouth. ¡°We don¡¯t want to know in case we accidentally let it slip. To us, you are and will ever be Seka, Head Cook to the Head Hob.¡±


    ¡°You, you still trust me?¡±


    ¡°You are perfectly qualified, for the most part, you will be away from the Farm so unable to spy for your half-brother and with good reason, your plan to be closer to me backfired and you will now be elsewhere, close to the Head Hob instead.¡±


    She chews a nail. ¡°What of the information I have passed to my half-brother already ¡­ you don¡¯t wish to punish me?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I have too many secrets, enlighten me.¡±


    ¡°He knows how many spears you received from the Smith Hob,¡± she squeaks.


    I shrug. ¡°He was gifted what I promised. What else?¡±


    She blushes green. ¡°Your unusual interest in goblin birthing ¡­¡±


    I chuckle. ¡°Anything more revealing?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°No Lord Hob.¡± As if a lightbulb goes off, she adds, ¡°The sniffers need to speak with you, they have a surprise ¡­ they asked me to tell you, put you in a good mood it would they said ¡­¡±

 1.023 Reports from the Front

    The cooling waters of the river gurgle a protest as they flow over my bootless feet. My last memory of this activity not my most noble moment while existing amongst these creatures and on this planet. The Hob inside me is emotionally quiet and only now I realise ¡®his¡¯ background presence is gone as well. My humanity sits in the sole judgement of my past deeds; the good, the bad and the unavoidable and as I balance my behaviour along moral lines, I question the way I am making a difference. Is this right? Wouldn¡¯t the goblins be their best if left alone and Hobs left this planet ¡­


    Clearing my mind, I search for answers in the sky above observing a large formation of dark fluffy clouds. They cast shade upon the Farm and me, yet they don¡¯t seem rain-bearing. The crops could do with a good drenching about now I muse. I savour these quiet moments ¡­


    ¡°She insists, Lord.¡±


    She does have a gentle screech then ¡­ I glance over my shoulder and the elder assists Zoria, somehow content to lean against the old goblin whereas before she fought to prove herself fit. The clouds may not be rain-bearing but they did carry portent of a dark arrival ¡­ a disturbance to my hard-won serenity.


    ¡°What can she add to ¡®I conducted the ransom swap, and I lost the knife. I beg forgiveness for my incompetence¡¯ ¡­?¡±


    The crunch of river stone announces my visitor¡¯s choice to push through my ¡®unwelcome¡¯ and sit beside me ¡­ how does she not take the hint, now is not the time or place. I have another two on my mind ¡­ Koria and Duzsia ¡­ why didn¡¯t I restrain them, no, as Lord Hob order them to remain with me. I have even avoided Zana and Gato ¡­ yet this ¡­ this, I don¡¯t know what she is, insists to take time from me! The Hob within begins to stir and I welcome his return.


    ¡°¡­ the tribal goblins through the pass welcomed the return of the ransom and they quickly secreted Zoga and me from the eyes of others ¡­¡±


    The words of her story float by ¡­ and then my inner Hob awakens me, I fish out something of worth.


    ¡°How did you sneak through the pass?¡± My Hob tells me to not worry about my wives, pfft only goblins, this is a waste of my energy he urges. Yet I can¡¯t deny the feelings I have for them ... confusing. The Hob inside me chuckles in response, deriding my emotional dilemma. I automatically refute his judgement of course and therefore grow my feelings into a passion. Doesn¡¯t he understand they are mine and I can¡¯t lose them ¡­


    ¡°Zoga and I pretended we survived and needed to lay low for a time before trying to cross the mountains. Fortunately, the different goblin tribes take turns guarding the pass and since you slew the Ranger Hob there are none to replace him, so he doesn¡¯t stand there any longer ¡­ the questioning is less thorough now.¡±


    I wave for her to continue, my eyes more intent on the school of fish fighting against the current of the rushing river. The water is so clear and without the sun reflecting off the surface the silver slithers are easy to spot. The dismissive Hob inside fades away ¡­ from my immediate concern. I reconcile with the worry I have for my wives; I need to go forth, take actions that ensure they never have to leave my side again. They are mine and I can¡¯t lose them.


    ¡°Zoga¡¯s tribe were the tribal goblins coming to relieve the current tribe on the pass, so they quickly secreted us away,¡± she continues.


    ¡°Where, who is your tribe?¡±


    There is silence and I need to turn my head. ¡°The truth please,¡± I ask with kindness I don¡¯t believe I hold for this goblin, yet the gurgling river, cool water upon my feet, school of fish and clouding sky all conspire to disarm my frustration with her.


    She turns a river rock over in her hand. ¡°I don¡¯t have a tribe,¡± her voice a hush. ¡°The Ranger Hob was my tribe for most of my life and I don¡¯t remember much before ¡­¡±


    This explains a lot, her reluctance to return, her need to ally with another Hob. Perhaps the Ranger Hob was a substitute father ¡­ one which I killed. Does she intend to get close to me and take revenge?


    ¡°The Chief Hob would joke that my tribe left me behind because they knew as a child, I wouldn¡¯t grow up to be anything ¡­¡±


    She throws her rock, and it lands in the river with a loud splash. Her lazy aim perfect, scattering the school of fish previously contributing to my calm ¡­


    ¡°But I proved that beast wrong ¡­¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, left behind?¡±


    ¡°The Head Hob and Smith Hob would joke between them ¨C a goblin tribe wandered the plains, dodging the herds and even riding some of the beasts. They reckon I fell off one of the beasts and the fall damaged my head, so they left me behind when passing by the valley and the Ranger Hob took me in as a pet. This also explains why I can¡¯t remember ¡­¡±


    There is a pain in her eyes, which I try to dismiss because of her wounds ... I decide otherwise.


    She is emotionally down, on the verge of tears, now is the time ¡­ I reach around and grasp her by the throat. Her eyes bug out and even the elder waves and shapes her arms to intervene somehow, yet my eyes warn her off.


    ¡°So, you plan to get close and slay me for slaying your Ranger Hob!¡± I growl.


    She struggles to speak, and I release my hold ¨C enough.


    ¡°I know no other master but Hob, I know no other tribe but Hob ¡­ I was the Ranger¡¯s pet alright! He would throw me scraps and I would crawl on hands and knees, eat from the dirt without using my hands, warm his feet, be his footrest ¡­ I became jealous the moment I saw how you treated the prisoners, mere goblins, let alone your wives ¡­¡± She sniffs yet doesn¡¯t cry. ¡°I hated being his pet, yet I didn¡¯t know there was better ¡­ there existed a Lord Farmer Hob ¡­¡±


    I throw her back. She clenches her teeth; I suppose suppressing the pain of her injuries.


    ¡°I see a wretch grasping at whatever better situation she can find. Another Hob first, then when I reject you, one of the Chiefs?¡±


    Her eyes become slits as I am certain pain lances through her body while crawling in jerking motions towards me. One hand stretching out. ¡°Never. I have known no other ¡­ Master ¡­¡± She exhales and sinks to the ground ignoring the river stone beneath her.


    The elder rushes to her side. ¡°Fainted from pain, you proud of yourself?¡±


    ¡°I am Hob, and you best remember your place,¡± I snarl.


    ¡°I ¡­ I apologise Lord. She is lost, that is all.¡± Her eyes flutter away. ¡°Can you carry her ¡­?¡±


    I grunt and throw my head back, swearing to the sky.


    ---


    I stretch out at my table observing the hive of farm activity before me. A cough draws my attention. Redagar approaches my table from the kitchen cabin side of my cabin, although not directly. His hands hold and twist his cap as he bobs his head.


    Throwing a hand towards the table, he takes the hint to draw up and sit in a chair beside mine. His bottom is half-on, half-off as if he is preparing to bolt at a moment¡¯s notice.


    ¡°Do not worry Redagar you have proven your loyalty to me and have toiled to enhance the livelihoods of your fellow goblins. Speak freely.¡±


    ¡°Kexog wished to apologise, Lord,¡± his immediate response. ¡°I persuaded him against such a thing. He ¡­ he is aware of his misdeed Lord and wishes to ask how he can make up for his lapse of judgement to you?¡±


    Tapping the table with my forefinger I study my Head Goblin. He is willing to be the messenger of one he knows irritates me.


    ¡°Tell him he can receive my forgiveness as his reward for the burning of the dead he and his gang perform on my behalf.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob, he will be pleased, erm ¡­ another matter¡­¡± He takes in a deep breath. ¡°Your wives sent the work gang back Lord. They did council against the idea ¡­¡±


    I rise from my seat and step away from the table until I find and lean on a post, trying to relax. ¡®Their choice¡¯ I repeat to myself. ¡®Don¡¯t punish the messenger¡¯ I follow up with.


    ¡°Continue, if there is blame it lay with them, tell me what you can.¡±


    ¡°Jozox, Lord. The name of the Gang Leader, they ran after your wives as fast as they could, your wives didn¡¯t rest ¡­ his gang are all hardy and strong workers Lord, yet they tire from running, used to carrying loads and hacking ¡­ things. Your wives insisted he and his gang return, to tell they were following a strong trail and would be two, possibly three days at most.¡±


    ¡°Confident?¡± I raise an eyebrow.


    ¡°Jozox asked who they were Lord. He then knew who they escorted and their importance to you. While he did protest, they claimed they knew what they were doing, assure Lord Hob they said, they would play one group off against the other and swoop in at the end. They needed to be there in time for the battle though ¡­¡±


    I¡¯ve heard of that strategy before, of course. Koria and Duzsia ¡­ sounds more like Koria Keen Eye with Duzsia following without protest ¡­ her name, establishing her superiority between the two, I am sure.


    ¡°They are accomplished, yet they need my protection,¡± I murmur to myself. ¡°Anything else to report Head Goblin?¡±


    I return to the table and notice him shift more fully onto his chair.


    ¡°The corpses are burnt and buried Lord. Several work gangs have asked to be farmhands ¡­ the blood, the faces you understand ¡­ they wish to see things grow.¡±


    I nod and wave him to continue.


    ¡°This will mean a shortage of workers, so with your permission the building of the new birthing barracks will be our main task.¡±


    ¡°Understandable, ask Jotor if some of his farmhands wish to try a different trade.¡±


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Pfft. I will ask ¡­¡±


    I stretch back in my chair again. ¡°He doesn¡¯t like to share?¡±


    ¡°No Lord.¡±


    ¡°Give him a couple of days to share and then return to me.¡±


    He chews and grinds his teeth, looks up and then stares down at the table ¡­ I whisper encouragement.


    ¡°I am but a Head Goblin in your service, I know nothing of your plans and courting of the tribal goblins, yet Lord, I must warn you of my suspicions. I value silence and getting on with the job, yet several of my Gang Leaders reported the dead being delivered naked after the initial onslaught, armour and weapons gone. Early on we kept such ourselves and maybe the tribes realised the value.¡±


    I get his worry; he feels some guilt in giving away this idea. ¡°They realised themselves, initially they cleared the battlefield of the dead as quickly as possible and then they had time to claim the armour and weapons from the dead, don¡¯t concern yourself. Continue.¡±


    He bobs his head. ¡°Lord, the Laughing Tusks especially, the other three tribes rarely so, would boast of their great conquest as they left the Blood Suns dead with us. At times Lord ¡­ the gangs felt they would be next ¡®on their list¡¯. I spent time with my gangs to overhear this ¡®talk¡¯ for myself and I am convinced the Laughing Tusks plan against you.¡±


    ¡°Thank you Redagar, I will be cautious around my allies when next we meet. If the culling is over, I expect them to return and discuss a fair division of the spoils.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. I return to service.¡±


    Shifting back his chair, he bows and places his cap upon his head. Turning away he scurries around the corner of my cabin and leaves my sight.


    On cue, a procession of sorts approaches the Farm ¡­ I also note my new wives taking an interest.


    ---


    Meb paces. I observe his deliberate, forceful steps yet the walls of the kitchen cabin constrain him against his will, and I inwardly smile. In contrast, the Matriarch favours me with doe eyes, content. Of her escort, one huntress in particular stares right through me. Chief Grol seats himself upon a bench, waiting, expectant. Chief Bor stands beside him, legs apart ¨C a display of confidence? The one common thing lacking in all of them is a degree of respectable fear. My Hob boils away underneath ¡­ and on principle, my human nature joins in.


    They arrived together, each with an armed escort, yet in a blatant sign of disrespect none with any Blood Suns captives to offer. While doubtful of their appreciation of me, I decided to invite them into a private meeting before airing any of my discontent before their followers and the Farm. The Matriarch, leaning on our previous liaison pleaded with me to allow three of her Huntresses to escort her, obviously trusting them to keep any discussions secret while I otherwise wonder why they are here. Meb and the two chiefs didn¡¯t seem to mind, which brings us here.


    ¡°You all consider the cull complete and yet I see no sign of gratitude ¡­¡± I offer.


    Meb snaps, ¡°Gratitude! Our tribesmen and tribeswomen died, shed blood and you expect a share?¡±


    I ignore him and address the two chiefs. ¡°Do you both feel the same way? Does he speak for all?¡±


    Chief Bor splutters, ¡°His words are stronger than we would use yet ¡­¡±


    ¡°Much stronger ¡­ still the fact remains none of yours shed blood Lord Hob,¡± says the Matriarch. I sense our brief liaison secondary to the business at hand now. Her responsibility to her tribe awakens before me, my initial assessment of her eyes wrong ¡­ diner looking down upon a delicious meal would be a better description upon reflection.


    ¡°I expect the Blood Suns females and children to be taken to the pits and slain to complete the cull to ensure my report to the Head Hob is true and correct. Then of course there is the issue of the second tribe to be decided upon.¡± I eye each in turn. They freeze upon instinct and then recover after several heartbeats. I appear to have done the impossible, unite four goblin tribes. Worse, they feel confident enough in their alliance to brush off my implied threat.


    ¡°Lord Hob, we can¡¯t comply,¡± says Chief Grol, shaking his head. ¡°You see the women and children, upon seeing their male loved ones slaughtered in battle choose to die by their own hand.¡± He looks about the room, receiving solemn nods of confirmation. ¡°After every battle, in every village we carried the unfortunates into a single cottage and fired the building to burn the bodies, to quench the smell you understand.¡±


    Meb halts his pacing beside a now standing Chief Grol while the Matriarch shifts to join the three. A defiant wall of tribal leadership, standing against the big mean horrible me?


    ¡°We would of course welcome your support to cull a second tribe. The Flint Arrows need to be swept aside, their superiority a stink for too long in this valley.¡± Chief Bor announcing our next objective, smooth, as if a done deal.


    The Hob in me boils over. I wish to release him and jump the kitchen bench to slaughter the four ungrateful goblin parasites. They only consider the present. United, even if I defeated them, they would be able to destroy the growing crop and all my plans would be for naught. I have erred, I see that now. I have demonstrated to them they can cooperate to achieve immediate discrete goals, but I haven¡¯t extrapolated into the future and described the benefits for all. Even the Matriarch played me on a micro-level by securing my bloodline if she and her newborn survive childbirth.


    I change tact and smile, throwing my arms wide. ¡°The Flint Arrows, invade their land, the dense old-growth forest they call theirs? I ventured twice into their lands and have a few of their tribe serving me.¡± I shake my head. ¡°No. You still have the scent of an easy victory in your noses, slaughtering drunks wouldn¡¯t even be a warmup to the battle you would face to cull the Flint Arrows.¡±


    I place my hands flat upon the bench to anchor them from my wrath, forcing a chuckle instead.


    Meb plunges forward. I need to hold my eager arms back; this close to his throat presents an inviting target. Yet I placate my violent urge by celebrating a small success, my taunt drawing him out.


    ¡°We have made plans Lord Hob. With or without you it matters not!¡±


    The two Chiefs let their sighs escape before they can retrieve them. Yes, Lord Klug, you have done extremely well, theirs is a strong alliance, yet while their tribes war instead of hunt, they will need food during the snow months ¡­ and perhaps that is why I probably have until harvest before they come raiding or worse.


    ¡°All that remains is the return of the five spears I gifted you Meb and to wish you all luck.¡± I eye each of them, returning to Meb.


    His fists clench, teeth grind and then a hand falls upon his shoulder, the Matriarch. His head nods while releasing a deep breath.


    ¡°I propose I return all fifteen spears, recover my tribute and dissolve our agreement.¡±


    I should refuse, to protect him. There is no doubt in my mind the other three knew of his intent, probably encouraging him to make the rash move before this meeting. The supportive touch from the Matriarch calming him and bringing him back on task. I suspect his sub-tribe will be much easier to cull than any Flint Arrows and I don¡¯t believe his two brothers are safe from the same treatment regardless of what words have been spoken to beguile them. And it is annoying to discover the unseen hand of the Matriarch in all this, does she guide us from the sidelines, or does she play all of us, as she sees fit?


    ¡°Do you others wish the return of your tributes and the sundering our arrangement?¡±


    The Matriarch sidles up to the bench, batting her eyelids. ¡°We know without passage through Laughing Skulls Tribal lands our part will be a challenge but whatever the future difficulty I am sure we can come to an agreeable arrangement.¡± Her voice purrs, a sultry plea.


    I caress her cheeks with my thumbs as I cup my hands around the sides of her head. I resist the urge to crush her skull and lean in, to tease for a kiss instead. No further. Our lips don''t touch. Her alluring smile confirms my loving responses have her believing I am hers to manipulate. My coy reaction allows me to cast a fleeting glance at the two chiefs. Both Chiefs reveal the same tell at the same time, their lips parting enough to view their teeth, apprehension, anticipation; they appreciate a prior promise from her, the Matriarch can control the Hob they imagine.


    I stare at Meb. ¡°What if your tribute refuses to join you?¡±


    ¡°Once you breathe her spirit back into her, she will come to her senses ¡­¡± he retorts.


    ¡°Such as simple cure. Show me the spears and we can get this done.¡± A petty quip, which I regret. I need to show utmost restraint in this game of words, they need to remain certain, superior ¡­ their overconfidence is my only ally.


    Meb for the first time has a bounce in his step as he leads the Chiefs and the Matriarch from the kitchen cabin. Outside he signals to his escort and two goblins carry a bundle of spears each, upon their shoulders towards him. Waiting for my exit beside the doorway are Milga and Zeb who escort me as I step out of the kitchen cabin.


    ¡°Please deliver the spears to my loyal advisors, while I fetch Ligia.¡±


    I don¡¯t wait for his agreement or a response, marching off to my cabin. My four new wives having gathered upon the landing during the arrival of their former tribes now linger beside a porch roof post each, grasping them in fact upon my approach.


    ¡°Ligia, we must speak.¡± The other three relax, slinging their bodies around their post towards her, a hug and release in turn.


    Did these wives know one of them would be forfeit? How? On some level, I feel betrayed.


    ¡°Lord Hob?¡±


    The chubbiness of her cheeks less so now, underneath the remaining fat of her arms and legs muscle definition is on display from her relentless work crafting weapons. She demonstrates her commitment every day and now I must cast her back.


    ¡°Brother Meb has cancelled our agreement. He has returned the spears and so I must return you to him ¡­¡±


    Tears spring from her eyes ¡­ ¡°M ¡­ my spirit ¡­¡±


    I reach for her cheeks with my hands cupping them. ¡°I will breathe your spirit back into you, here, now,¡± I reply, my words soothing, trying to allay her fear.


    ¡°But I am your wife, would you give me up so easily?¡± Her eyes reach into mine. Searching for truth. Trying to cast away the thought I would commit such a betrayal.


    Keeping one palm on her cheek, my other reaches across her belly. The slight bump not entirely fat.


    ¡°You carry my child so somehow, someway I will fetch you back.¡± I bend down to kiss her, she steps back.


    ¡°If I am still yours, you will not return my Spirit.¡± A shake of her head, final.


    ¡°What if you die ¡­ while away I would not want a wife of mine to wander lost in the darkness between life and death, you must accept the return of your Spirit. I promise to fetch you back.¡±


    Lazsia wipes a tear from an eye. Bekto tries to hide her sad green face behind a post, while Zuxa dashes back into the cabin and shortly after we hear her blubbering.


    She nods. ¡°I nod for show. They are all looking, so kiss me for show and don¡¯t return my spirit. I am yours and will birth your child. You will be present when I do like all your other wives, like all the others you have planted your seed in. I know why Redagar builds those rooms ¡­¡±


    ¡°Lazsia, fetch a bucket of water,¡± I shout. ¡°You are certain of this foolish risk?¡± I lay her down upon the ground, tufts of grass and rich black soil become her bed.


    ¡°Husband.¡± Lazsia places the bucket beside me. I decide if water is present to take a spirit away, then water must be present to return a spirit as I perpetuate this hoodoo farce.


    ¡°When I pour the water over your head, I need loud coughing as if you are gasping for breath ¡­¡±


    She blinks her eyes and I begin to pour, I aim more generally at her eyes, which she closes and like a star performer she coughs loud and often, convulsing her body for extra effect. When the water is near spent my lips find hers. The kiss is long and thorough. As our lips part, I whisper, ¡°Shake your body and when I offer you a hand to stand, turn and run.¡±


    She squeezes her eyes shut, the tears blend with the water upon her face as I climb to my feet and offer a hand.


    Shaking her head, she spider-craws half a body length away from me and then turns over and dashes away making a beeline directly to Meb. He wraps his arms around her and over her shoulder his triumphant smile radiates towards me.


    I shout, ¡°All who don¡¯t belong to the Farm go, leave now!¡± I swivel about and escape into my cabin. Luda, Rexa and Zuxa wait for me on my bed, while Bekto and Lazsia join us closing and baring the cabin door behind them.


    ¡°Why are you happy?¡± asks Zuxa.


    I am certain my wives are pregnant. They haven¡¯t told me, and I don¡¯t know why not, but Ligia is proof.


    ¡°My wives are pregnant,¡± I declare.


    They share conspiratorial glances before Luda speaks, ¡°This is women¡¯s business husband, we are expected to continue with our duties until the day and then return to you with babe in arms.¡±


    Ligia working with Redagar felling trees most likely asked about his business and uncovered the mystery reason for the additional construction, above and beyond what was required when the Copper Village forty joined the Farm, yet she kept the secret to herself, not even sharing with her sister-wives and if not with them then no-one.


    ¡°Not for my wives. I will be present when you give birth.¡±


    They immediately try to explain to me why I shouldn¡¯t, tradition, how I couldn¡¯t possibly be helpful and on and on. A knock on the door rescues me as I climb off the bed to remove the crossbeam. Glancing over my shoulder, I whisper ¡°I will be with you, that is final.¡±


    I open the door. Instead of Milga, the Matriarch¡¯s huntress stands before me. My brain tries to understand why she is still here, I am certain all would have left before dusk ¡­ cold metal slices through my flesh searching for my heart, wakening me in an instant. My hand wraps around hers and the dagger she holds. I reverse the thrust and break her wrist as I turn the blade back on her, sweeping across and destroying her throat. Her head lolls back, a wet thump, landing between her shoulder blades. The dead body before me collapses with a thud as I sink to my knees, black blood leaking out of and oozing down my chest from her fatal wounding of me.


    Before my eyes close, I catch a glimpse of a figure darting away in the low light of dusk. Having seen her naked, I recognise her body shape. Her voluminous robes disguise the fact her breasts are disproportionately large for a goblin female, a rare anomaly. The Matriarch! Why I ask myself? Then I can think no more.

 1.024 Death can be a Release

    I regain consciousness. Irrefutable confirmation I am still flesh bound. My heart sinks, death is the gateway to spirit release. Until this moment I underestimated my willingness to embrace spirit return and accept possible destruction, to bring an end to this accursed Hob existence. Unfortunately, I am certain, leaving this planet now will have consequences, probable mission failure one of them and if particularly annoyed, my benefactor could waive the destruction option and strand my spirit within the void to wander forever. With my mission barely begun Agent influence this early on is difficult to measure ¡­ while who can predict long-lasting change ¡­ therefore easier to declare failure. This was certainly the Galactic Planet Agency way.


    While I deliberate over my efforts while in this flesh bag, I dream. I imagine this mission away and instead revel in the afterglow of my previous mission¡¯s utter success. Spirit return, transitioning through the ether, a sensation not unlike freefall without the disappointment of a dead stop. Emerald-yellow streaks surround me, are me, filling the void like splashes of high gloss paint hanging in a two-colour rainbow-like suspension twisting and curling inwards while maintaining discrete colour separation. Forever moving, alive in a sense instead of becoming fixed by adhering to a canvas. After eighteen times in the ether of the void, the colour of my transition has always been the same, my spirit signature, unfortunately not again, not this time.


    Your state in the void is conjecture of course, are you the colour, or to be more exacting, is your insubstantial Spirit the colour? Are you glimpsing yourself inside out or is the colour just window dressing? After all, to view yourself is impossible - maybe your imagination tries to account for the situation, but without any explanation? Yet the state between spirit release and occupation of a body is a memorable transition of state. Not instant regardless of GPA boffin theory. We, Agents, know they are wrong, there is enough time to consider the situation but not enough time to complete an analysis and reach a conclusion. The vibrant memory of the entire transition a blink and alas no more as the descent begins. The same each time, the emerald-yellow of my spirit gathers into a descending spiral like water down a drain, my consciousness following to claim the waiting pristine flesh bag of impeccable design, a technological masterpiece. Unfortunately for me, not this time. A memory flash becomes a nightmare ¡­


    The uncalled-for recollection of my spirit descent into this Hob corpse picks at the scab of my scarred consciousness throwing me out of my dream. I scream within, my anguish raw as I suffer again.


    I blink my eyes open seeking respite.


    Her screeching words penetrate my dull mind, confirming I am alive. Her piercing voice would exist nowhere else.


    ¡°See I told them, he is tough, a whisper from death and he recovers ¡­¡± shouts the elder in triumph, while her frail body does a slow twirl ¡­  with swaying hips.


    As I stare up at the exposed wooden beams of the roof above me, I confirm I am in my cabin. An odd sense of relief rolls over me from the nape of my neck to the tips of my toes. As I attempt to rise on my elbows, I hear a warning.


    ¡°Roll on your side stupid.¡±


    The elder.


    As I roll, I scan the cabin, my eyes finally resting upon her.


    ¡°I chased them away, too many tears and not enough patience. Or too much advice and strange concoctions but we know what you need don¡¯t we?¡± Her eyes open wide, eyebrows high. Then a sloshing sound.


    My dry throat demands water, and my lips move to speak without success until a water skin is brought to bear upon them and I guzzle with abandon, taking a second after I drain the first.


    ¡°This and the water to wash your bandages boiled first, apparently you insist on this and to my mind, it gave them something to do. I would reckon half the river has been boiled by now.¡± She chuckles, slapping a knee.


    I lay back, stare at the ceiling for a few heartbeats and then close my eyes. Blood circulates near my eardrums and in the silence, I eavesdrop on the nanorobots clicking about their business ¡­ and I remember ¡­


    My assassin, Zebia, the Grim Weavers huntress ¡­ the reluctant fifth one who clung to her dream of a family with her mate. The one I took from behind, quickly, methodically ¡­ silent throughout. The same one who stared through me at the Chief¡¯s meeting in the kitchen cabin. She would¡¯ve known her mission suicidal ¡­ yet her Matriarch certainly encouraged the attack, her witness of the huntress¡¯ strike confirms involvement. Did the Matriarch manipulate the huntress and if so, why?


    Why would the huntress consider her life forfeit? What would force this final act of sacrifice?


    The simplest of reasons of course. Loss of future hope, nothing more to live for ¡­ her mate has been slain ¡­


    My heart aches. My brain hurts. I blackout.


    ---


    A slap on my face wakes me and I raise an arm to prevent another.


    ¡°What?¡± I growl.


    ¡°Don¡¯t blame me, you have a visitor, and she won¡¯t heed my words any longer. Quite the feisty one she is!¡± shrieks the elder.


    I swing my legs about and tumble out of bed, the elder dancing back, dodging my falling bulk, although ¡­ my eyes scan my body.


    ¡°Yes, the leaner, meaner you, a fresh boar or two and you will be chunky again Lord Hob.¡±


    I climb to my feet from the floor, securing my loincloth after feeling a draft. The elder chuckles, turning her head from side to side while waving her hands at me. You didn¡¯t look is your confession then?


    My clothes and armour slip on too easily, yet my frame still holds them well enough. I grab my spear and this time after I lift the crossbeam I stand back as I open the door. Milga stands before me, foot-tapping, arms crossed. She opens her mouth to speak, and nothing. Instead, she charges me and slams the fleshy undersides of her fists into my chest again and again. I envelop her in my arms and lift her into me.


    Time passes and I don¡¯t release my embrace until she hints to struggle, which I interpret as a signal to be free. Once upon her feet, she straightens her armour and fixes her daggers. The face of Milga Stone Blood is emotionless, all business. The dark green around her moist eyes betrays her.


    ¡°Lord Hob know that I have been impersonating you these past ten days. I have pretended to take orders from you daily as you recover from your wound. If I have erred in any way, I beg your forgiveness.¡± Her moist eyes never leave mine.


    I share a warm smile with her. ¡°We will work it out, partner.¡± Before she can speak, I continue. ¡°What of the goblin tribes? I would like to start with them unless you have something else in mind.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I do. You need to inspect the Farm with me. There is a ¡­ concern, demand to hear orders directly from you while on your healing bed or there would be consequences ¡­¡±


    ¡°Jotor ¡­?¡±


    She nods. While I would like to grab and throttle him, his acceptance, pretence or otherwise of my farming techniques have made agricultural change easier.


    ¡°I know he is necessary, but as soon as I find another equally capable, I will suggest them to you,¡± she replies matching my exact thoughts.


    ¡°Let us step out together, I could do with some sunlight.¡± While dressing I took note of the fact my flesh didn¡¯t sport a scar. The nanorobots being extremely exacting in their repair. I also confirmed with the elder she force-fed me water as often as my body would accept, occasionally supplementing with a soup or slurry after the wound closed. Ten days gone, what will that mean, the fate of Koria and Duzsia decided, the loyalty of Zoria proven and probably many other things. I will allow my partner to guide and provide me with the answers for now.


    ---


    Taking our first step away from my cabin, Zeb greets us both.


    ¡°Arrange for all the Farm¡¯s leaders to meet me in the kitchen cabin, middle of the day and I will explain our plans,¡± I say to him.


    He nods and runs off.


    I turn to Milga. ¡°You have until then to tell me everything.¡±


    She swallows and nods.


    ¡°The goblin tribes have been quiet, none have been spotted anywhere near the Farm, which means they are busy doing something else or their scouts are better than ours. I, ¡®on your orders¡¯ gave some of Jotor¡¯s farmhands to Redagar so he could build boar pens just beyond the fields.¡±


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°No wonder he hates you, but boar pens?¡±


    ¡°They are particularly strong, no gaps between planks facing away from us and of course perfect for holding our male boars. This wall of wood will also protect our archers and spear carriers from attack if we decide to defend the crop fields.¡± She smiles a devil of a smile. ¡°Oddly, they stretch from the riverbank to around our Southern flank or thereabouts.¡±


    ¡°In ten days?¡± I query.


    ¡°Every adult and child now work, either tending the farm under Jotor¡¯s direction or building under Redagar¡¯s supervision, even your pregnant wives. The pens aren¡¯t complete yet, but the marking out is and the ones which are complete are those closest to the fields.¡±


    I climb onto a fence rail bordering the fields, appreciating the quality and quantity of the crop. ¡°The tribes will know we build a wall ¡­¡±


    ¡°Probably, although they will convince themselves the wild boars are our defence since we lack warriors and dismiss our effort as folly. They left overflowing with confidence.¡±


    I glance over my shoulder in time to appreciate her devious smile.


    She continues, ¡°Also, upon your orders, the Ten Spears have trained three additional troops, all of which hunt boar. They range towards the Head Village, although have been pleading to be allowed to hunt in the Northern forest above the cliff. I have been telling them you won¡¯t permit it as it means an overnight stay at the very least.¡±


    Jumping down from the rail she looks over her eyes at me, waiting for my judgement.


    ¡°Who is filling the ranks of the Ten Spears? We don¡¯t have that many males ¡­¡±


    We stroll from the fields, with plenty of eyes upon us.


    ¡°Some males from Redagar¡¯s work gangs, those needing a change from the pits and the balance from the Copper Village females keen to eat meat every day. We haven¡¯t lost a hunter yet, although they were shy to spill the details of their hunts when in the beginning, they failed more than they succeeded.¡±


    I slap the side of the silo and there is grain above my height.


    ¡°We have been feasting upon meat almost daily, we have more bowstring than bows at the moment, your wives insist on harvesting the sinew.¡± There is sadness in her voice.


    ¡°Koria and Duzsia?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Neither has returned yet and Zoria has been annoying, keen to talk up a rescue attempt and trying to convince others until Zeb intervened. He declared his daughter would be alive or dead depending upon her skill and when she can return, she will. He reasons surviving ten days on a death bed is only a thing Lord Klug can do and I think as each day goes by, he accepts she is lost.¡±


    ¡°Has Zoria fully recovered?¡±


    ¡°I have her building boar pens.¡± Milga chuckles. ¡°I did send her to make a delivery of honey and meat to the Head Hob and she returned with a clay pot, completely sealed, no lid. So, I guess there is a message inside when you care to break the pot and read it.¡±


    Our conversation pauses as multiple passers-by bob their heads or tug their caps until we leave them and the centre of the Farm approaching my cabin from the West strolling around tree stumps. I asked Redagar to harvest trees from the forest here many weeks ago, with the intent to make another field and once cleared and planted another until eventually the Farm and the Head Village join.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    I don¡¯t need to warn my partner as we both tense for the briefest of moments before sauntering towards the same tree stump. There we rest a foot and swing water skins around from our backs to our lips.


    ¡°You will need to trust me,¡± I call to the remaining forest.


    Low and on all fours the skinniest goblin I have seen since awakening on this planet crawls forth, from tree stump to tree stump, eyes darting about and body freezing at the slightest noise. She reaches our tree stump; her eyes are large almost bulbous sticking out of a head too large for her skin and bones body.


    ¡°Lord Hob, we are, were, Blood Suns and seek refuge or death.¡±


    ¡°Who are we?¡±


    ¡°Some males, the sober ones, mostly females and a few of the children still live ¡­¡±


    Milga holds the water skin to her lips, she sips and then shakes her head. There are rivers nearby full of water, what she needs is food.


    ¡°Sober? All male Blood Suns are drunks and beat their family I am told.¡±


    She shakes her head; before I can stop myself, I shape my hands to reach out in case her neck fails and her head rolls free.


    ¡°Like every tribe, Blood Suns weren¡¯t all this or all that, other tribes only met and fought the drunken berserks when they raided so they knew of no others. Villages like mine banned the drinking of mead ¡­ rejected the madness but trapped by our Chief¡¯s demands and ancient boundaries we couldn¡¯t leave our lands, not that others would welcome Blood Suns to live near them.¡± She coughs and convulses.


    I don¡¯t know how to immediately help although I begin to understand their predicament, stereotyping, civilised and tribal, each has its constraints, and this new information makes Meb¡¯s plan to move his tribe a bold one in the extreme. I wonder how his people feel about the move, do they know?


    ¡°If I send some of my people to meet you here at dusk and lead you to shelter, food and water how many would they have to house?¡±


    ¡°I have twenty with me ¡­ there are more Lord Hob they ¡­ we are all desperate.¡± She swallows. ¡°There would be more than twenty if you led us now ¡­¡±


    I can only believe the difference is due to imminent death from starvation.


    Milga circles behind the wretch and gazes into the forest. ¡°Why did you think Lord Hob would help instead of slaying?¡±


    ¡°She said she was your wife ¡­ none knew a goblin could be the wife of a Hob, but many believed regardless, all other hope lost ¡­¡±


    Milga stares hard and cold into her eyes. ¡°You lie!¡± Her hand is upon the handle of her sheathed dagger.


    ¡°No ¡­ no ¡­ um name ¡­¡± She bashes her head with a flimsy arm. ¡°Kora ¡­ no not that, Koria, yes Koria is her name.¡±


    I push from the trunk stump with my foot and advance upon our guest. ¡°Was there another?¡± I manage to contain my urge to shout in excitement.


    ¡°No ¡­ no Lord Hob, only one.¡±


    Milga grabs my shoulder. ¡°Lord Hob, middle of the day we need to go.¡±


    I nod. ¡°Some of my people will meet you here at dusk. It is important that your arrival is a secret for as long as possible, you understand. Take this food and water and try to keep those close to death, alive until then.¡±


    She nods enthusiastically and I fear a broken neck and then she stops. We stride away without looking back.


    ---


    I pause as the kitchen cabin is within sight. ¡°How do I look?¡±


    Milga, hand on a hip blows me a raspberry.


    I grab my head as pain slices through my brain ¡­ groaning I drop to my knees.


    ¡°Lord?¡± Milga¡¯s voice a distant thing.


    Reaching out for my partner, another hand guides mine to land perfectly upon her shoulder to support me as I climb to my feet. Once standing I sway, my head lolls about and in that instant I know I must sit before I fall. I drag Milga down to the ground with me.


    ¡°Will I get the elder, Lord?¡± Her voice is stronger. That must be ¡­ reassuring, surely.


    I think I wave my hand, ¡°No, it is going ¡­ a few more moments ¡­¡±


    ¡°I will tell Zeb to cancel the meeting Lord, you can¡¯t ¡­ like this.¡±


    Do I detect weeping? Am I that helpless looking? Does she fret for me or her poor gamble, betting her future on me? I would settle for both concerns being her motivation.


    I draw in a deep breath. Think of cool running water ¡­ my head explodes in pain and my hands reach for my face, yet I am helpless, and I know Milga is beside me, but uncertain ¡­ none can see me like this, yet she needs to help me ¡­


    There is a flash of the Head Hob¡¯s face ¡­ then the pain recedes.


    I blink my eyes, uncertain of the passing time yet Milga now paces nearby, biting her fingernails, taking steps first in one direction, changing her mind and stepping in another.


    ¡°Calm yourself, partner. I know the cause.¡±


    Turning towards me she falls upon her knees, hands wiping across her face. ¡°You do?¡± The high pitch of her voice revealing her surprise.


    ¡°Tell Zeb a couple of emissaries from the Head Hob called me to him and we must postpone the Meeting. I had to leave immediately.¡± I climb to my feet, my head clear and my posture certain.


    ¡°But partner, you have only this morning shown yourself ¡­ and I am the last to be seen with you and now you are not even on the Farm as proof ¡­¡±


    ¡°I must go, I believe the pain won¡¯t stop ¡­ until I do.¡± I try to cast a kind face her way. She worries those wishing to replace her will take the opportunity. Me in my cabin, the elder a constant witness different compared to the situation now and yet there is no escape. She doesn''t mention my display of weakness, or does she dismiss this, her trust in me so absolute to believe me when I stated I knew the cause?


    She nods and for the first time, I glimpse fear, or perhaps vulnerability in her eyes which stabs deep into my heart. I am helpless and without a choice. I must heed the Head Hob''s call and can only offer feeble advice.


    ¡°Keep Zoria with you. If she wishes to prove her loyalty to me, now is her chance.¡±


    I turn away and sprint, anything less and I would be tempted to stay a short while longer. Then this would repeat ¡­ I am certain and others would certainly see me weak and be more direct and bolder in their actions.


    ¡°What of food and water?¡±


    Her last words to care for me, yet I know she wouldn¡¯t mention her concern unless real.


    ---


    I collapse upon the low hill near the Farm. Ten days of bed rest and poor conditioning demand a reckoning.


    Gurgling draws me from my rest, and I find the source, a spring. How many times have we trodden this wooden road to miss such a treasure?  I sip and need to clear the water some, muddy. Maybe not such a treasure ¡­ yet my body doesn¡¯t protest yearning for more.


    A buzz grows in my head, until I jump up and obey, this time at a steady jog. It¡¯s as if something knows I am moving towards the Head Hob because the buzz diminishes ¡­


    This entire situation is due to the Head Hob. A call for help? A summoning?


    I lift my pace, less than a run, more than a jog.


    I cough as I pause for breath upon the high hill overlooking the Head Village, dusk has fallen, and I need to depend upon the occasional firelight from within village cottages to guide me. With the wooden road underfoot, I charge through the last of the distance to the Head Village.


    One hand on the wall beside the doorway, breathing heavily, I push on the door with the other. Resistance. I suck in another deep breath and then knock on the door. The door opens and light swamps me, through the glow the shape of the Head Hob approaches wrapping me in a deep embrace. Did I hear him sniff?


    ¡°Well done Farmer Hob! Here.¡± He points to a chair. I shuffle towards the humble perch and plonk myself down.


    A table appears before me by hands unknown and then a drink and plate of food are set under my tired eyes. I sniff at the food and down the water, holding out the cup for more. After the third cup, I begin to spoon in the stew, are yes, cook number two. I can¡¯t hold the smile from my face.


    ¡°She is a wonderful cook that one, your smile is exactly the same as mine when she presented her stew to me.¡±


    I nod and finish a second serving.


    ¡°Why? ¡­ What? ¡­ I don¡¯t understand the need for such pain ¡­¡± I manage as a third helping arrives. This time I notice the goblin serving me. Fub!


    ¡°This is a sign of course! Head Hob summoning. Been years since I was able to and yet since you sent your cooks ¡­ and you probably haven¡¯t noticed ¡­ look, no walking stick!¡±


    I lift half-closed eyes and resist the urge to shut them as he paces around and about like a drunken dancer ¡­


    ¡°The pain chased me all the way here and I am glad I didn¡¯t need to do more than sit and eat ¡­ anything else and I would be found wanting.¡±


    He folds his arms across his chest. ¡°Yes, that is a problem. You won though as Smith Hob is nowhere to be seen, yet ¡­¡± I detect a slight grumpiness in his voice.


    I grunt. ¡°I suppose he will run through the night?¡±


    The Head Hub rubs his chin. ¡°I don¡¯t know, I only called three times ¡­ yet you are here, so perhaps.¡±


    ¡°I thought, well I thought ¡­ wrongly it turns out.¡±


    ¡°I was dead or in danger? Yes, the summoning could be used to call for help, yet in the time it takes to reach me ¡­¡± He shrugs.


    I shift the chair back. ¡°Show me where the cooks sleep, and they can keep me warm.¡± He grins. I shake my head. ¡°To sleep, I haven¡¯t the energy ¡­¡±


    ¡°But you have the urge ¡­¡± He nods towards me with a salacious smile.


    ¡°Where?¡±


    He points to the room my wives and I occupied the last visit and I stumble towards the door.


    ---


    I roll over in my sleep to a thump and general ruckus. Voices penetrate my sleep haze, although they could have easily been from a dream.


    ---


    ¡°Lord Hob,¡± she says, a direct whisper into my ear.


    I open my mouth, dry and then a waterskin is upon my lips and I swallow.


    ¡°It¡¯s Seka, wake quickly Lord.¡± She rubs her hands over my face, well I hope they are her hands.


    Sitting up, the room is clear of everyone else except Seka and me. Rubbing my eyes the details of the room and my company become clear. Seka is naked?


    She casts her eyes down. ¡°His idea Lord Hob, you can relieve yourself upon me if you wish ¡­¡±


    ¡°What of the other two?¡±


    She opens her arms and then cups her breasts to better display them ¡­


    Did Head Hob order her or not? I shake my head. ¡°What of the other two?¡±


    ¡°They are already up preparing breakfast. As near as I can tell Smith Hob arrived extremely late last night, almost morning in fact. He kind of ¡­ well cheated ¡­¡±


    I sigh. ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°He ordered his goblins to carry him, they worked in turns and I think some are dead or near dead from exhaustion ¡­¡±


    ¡°Any being fed and watered?¡±


    ¡°I will sneak some food out to them instead of entertaining you, shall I?¡±


    I ignore her ¡®attitude¡¯. ¡°Yes, a very good idea.¡± I smile a sweet smile.


    She stomps away naked, slamming the door behind her as she heads towards the kitchen cabin. My brief view of the Meeting Room reveals the prone form of the Smith Hob sleeping, curled up in furs upon the floor.


    This will be a tedious morning ¡­ I lay back down and grab more rest, trying for sleep.


    ---


    ¡°Why are we in your room Head Hob?¡± asks the Smith Hob.


    The Head Hob flaps his hands down and whispers, ¡°Big little ears.¡±


    ¡°Why are we summoned?¡± I ask in my quiet voice.


    ¡°Hob business,¡± he whispers.


    The Smith Hob and I exchange looks, both silently agreeing we know at least that much.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I reply, trying to encourage our summoner.


    ¡°I have been sick for a long time awaiting the darkness of death and now I am much improved thanks to Farmer Hob¡¯s goblin cooks. With that I have recovered a few Head Hob privileges, the first being the summoning power. I have also been pondering the Hunter Hob and his departure. I think a Chief Hob must have called to him. He was never a fit with a Head Hob, I know that now ¡­ I have been reading.¡± His eyes cast downwards.


    ¡°If you have found more to tell, then we would rather hear that than judge you in any way, none of us are perfect ¡­¡± I offer.


    He looks up, eyes moist. I try to contain my shock.


    ¡°Thank you, I know my start in the role less than ideal and then this illness ¡­ but I am back and determined to do better! The equal to a Hunter Hob who answers to a Head Hob is a Ranger Hob, yet I don¡¯t remember such a Hob in this valley. When the Hunter Hob appeared, he must have just stayed here ¡­ now a Chief Hob has called him, I am certain because a variation on the summoning is to call for a specific Hob and Hunter isn¡¯t an option for me.¡±


    I shuffle forward. ¡°Can you call for a Ranger Hob?¡±


    ¡°The Ranger Hob must be within range of my summoning. I can¡¯t just call for one out of thin air!¡± He chuckles at the absurdity.


    ¡°Why not?¡± I challenge.


    ¡°Well ¡­ well it just doesn¡¯t work that way ¡­¡±


    ¡°Read your books more.¡±


    ¡°Now listen here young Farmer Hob, I won''t tell you how to farm and I won¡¯t tell Smith Hob how to smith, therefore I will decide upon my role!¡± He shouts the last word and then covers his mouth.


    ¡°You have been ill you don¡¯t know what you should know. How else do new Hobs ¡®arrive¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Mmm ¡­ good point,¡± he mumbles.


    ¡°If there is a Chief Hob in a nearby valley and he can summon a Hunter Hob, what other Hobs would he have?¡±


    ¡°He would have at least one crafter, perhaps Armour or Smith Hob, they can be attached to a Head Hob or a Chief Hob.¡± He chuckles. ¡°The Hunter Hob would be a sight to see, he has the role of planting under a Chief Hob but different to you.¡± He smirks. ¡°Whereas you can plant a whole field of female goblins he has to gather a pack of favourites ¡­¡±


    The Smith Hob bellows out in laughter, bringing tears to his eyes. We wait for him to settle. ¡°The Hunter Hob needs to get wives and our Farmer Hob beats him again! He would chat my ear off about the odd Farmer Hob we had in this valley. Wearisome, he talked about his urges and yet when he tried, nothing.¡±


    That would be frustrating come to think about it, probably the source of his dislike for me, that and many other reasons undoubtedly.


    ¡°Have your books mentioned if Hobs from different valleys go to war against each other?¡±


    The kidnappings seem a deliberate attempt to weaken the tribal goblins in the valley and perhaps our Chief Hob thinks the tribal goblins are allied with the Hobs or as Zoria thinks they search for breeding stock and nothing more sinister than that.


    ¡°Nothing specific, like a warning or the like ¡­ but I have much to read.¡±


    ¡°Where did you find these books?¡±


    His face darkens green and turns slightly sheepish. ¡°I didn¡¯t, your cooks needed room for cooking supplies and the like and there is a room off the kitchen cabin full of many things. They sorted through, either throwing, keeping and giving to me to decide. They gave me all the books, some useful others not ¡­¡±


    ¡°Would I be right in saying, my gifting of two extra cooks enabled you to rediscover your Head Hob knowledge?¡±


    The Smith Hob laughs. ¡°He has you there ¡­¡±


    The Head Hob smiles wide, looking at the Smith Hob. ¡°You can take twenty spears from my stores and the Smith Hob who believes so much in your contribution can also provide twenty spears ¡­¡±


    ¡°Whoa ¡­ what, this isn¡¯t just ¡­¡± he splutters.


    ¡°Would I be able to take forty spears from your stores and the Smith Hob repay you? I have another tribe to cull and all the spears I can get now would be a boon.¡±


    ¡°Most agreeable, I know the Smith Hob will work, day and night to repay me ¡­¡±


    Shaking his head, the Smith Hob says, ¡°You can¡¯t carry that many.¡±


    ¡°I was thinking of borrowing the goblins you brought with you to help carry them ¡­¡±


    He stands, initially to lean over me and then sways back, scratching his head. ¡°For three sniffers?¡±


    ¡°What goblins did you bring with you?¡±


    ¡°Any I didn¡¯t really need ¡­ a few of yours, the second-choice sniffers.¡±


    ¡°Deal.¡±


    Smith Hob leans over and while shaking my hand pulls me forward into a standing position, clapping me on my back.


    ¡°I must be off, twenty spears to make, I believe.¡±


    As the Smith Hob leaves and closes the door behind him, I catch a glimpse of Fub going from idle to busy after he spots my interest in him.


    ¡°Head Hob, perhaps a building effort is required in the village ¡­ a few more cottages and perhaps the start of a modest wall. The culling of the Blood Suns resulted in several runaways and desperate goblins do desperate things, and they may raid your village for example.¡±


    ¡°I will need some guards then as well ¡­¡±


    I smile. ¡°Yes, and uniforms, I would want them to stand out, so when I send reinforcements friends will recognise each other ¡­ perhaps instead of making pottery you make bricks, fired rectangles of clay, with them you build ¡­ well whatever you want really when you decide to.¡±


    ¡°I do have far too much pottery, which sits there. Been a long time since a new cottage has been built. A wall you say. Uniforms? What are your uniforms?¡±


    I wave my open palms at the Head Hob. ¡°That isn¡¯t my decision, it is yours. When you come up with something my goblins will adopt it as well. Perhaps something simple to start, solid colour or symbol on their shields?¡±


    ¡°Yes, much to keep me busy. What of your search for a bodyguard for me?¡±


    ¡°I hoped to sort through the many Blood Suns I would capture, but alas they chose death beside their warriors, so the pickings are slim. I am afraid to say the search goes on.¡±


    ¡°Pity, I would like to walk the village and eventually Copper Village and your Farm and be seen with at least one, perhaps two?¡± He raises an eyebrow towards me. ¡°Of the finest, most loyal bodyguards a Hob could have ¡­¡±


    I nod, I have spent enough time here.


    ¡°We done Head Hob. I need to return to the Farm to possibly solve another revolt.¡±


    ¡°Farm culling?¡± asks the Head Hob. Are his eyes gleaming?

 1.025 Farm Business Part One

    I inspect Smith Hob¡¯s rejects. They have been worked hard and not fed enough to keep their condition. Several of the twenty seem familiar or so I think, yet I still have doubts.


    ¡°How many died?¡±


    ¡°None which we fed Lord Hob,¡± replies Seka.


    I lean forward, my lips brushing her ears. ¡°I would lay with you my dear in an instant except you are too important to me here and now to become pregnant.¡±


    A deep green colour swallows her face, neck and shoulders. In front of the Smith Hob¡¯s wretches, she sneaks a kiss upon my cheek. ¡°When done, I will hold you to your promise Lord Farmer Hob.¡± She swivels smartly and retreats into the Head Hob¡¯s villa.


    I cast my eyes over the exhausted lot. They have been fed and I notice they each carry a hand-sized pot and a couple of spears while several also carry a water skin. A few goblins smile at me through their exhaustion, and I recognise them. I recognise them! Goblin features are becoming distinct ¡­


    ¡°Follow,¡± I order, and the trudging begins.


    The wooden path starts on the other side of the river, until then there is a scatter of pebbles and river stone embedded in the ground around the village cottages. Their shoes are soft leather or plain worn out and several hobble along without protest. I hold position downstream as the troop crosses the ford, a generous naming of a shallow, goblin knee-deep, part of the river with a stone base.


    Along the wooden path, they are more comfortable, yet I sense they wish to be elsewhere. Before the wooden path takes us too far from the river, I halt the march and turnabout.


    ¡°If you wish to rest do so. If you wish to swim do so. I will call when we march again.¡±


    They stare mouths agape at me. Those from the Farm lead out, some resting under shade, others taking the opportunity to bathe. Shortly after there is chatter and occasional laughter ¡­


    ---


    Upon dusk the Farm spreads out before us, two boars are on spits at least, the firelight illuminating the centre of the Farm, including the Silo. A glorious sight and as the breeze changes direction, a delicious aroma. I didn¡¯t push my recruits, yet Head Village to Farm taking one long day a good result. I suspect my former goblins of encouraging the others with promises of a new life, one with meat, instead of gruel ¡­ as well as hard work. Perhaps the relaxation and conversation at the beginning a factor also.


    Approaching the Farm''s gate, I wave my recruits to kneel. In the firelight, Milga with Zoria to one side face several goblins led by Jotor and behind them a tumultuous mob. My wives are nowhere to be seen and Zeb is surrounded, not held but the intent is clear, don¡¯t interfere.


    Milga draws her daggers and Zoria follows suit. Time for me to return and I start to rise when an arrow shaft appears between Jotor¡¯s legs. All eyes turn to the source and after recognition, most take a deep gasp.


    Milga and Zoria don¡¯t look, they are intent on facing any who are still showing interest in them, reasoning I believe if the archer wanted them dead, they would be.


    ¡°Since you accuse Milga Stone Blood of usurping Lord Hob, as his only wife present, I make the first claim upon her. She will answer to me first.¡±


    ¡°You will only hear her side ¡­ this isn¡¯t right, you must hear others. We venerate Lord Farmer Hob and the life he grants us and will not stand by and see his authority usurped,¡± shouts Jotor.


    ¡°All will have a fair hearing, now return to the feasting as is our way. There is no need for this.¡±


    The mob drifts apart in ones and twos and as Jotor realises he is standing more and more in the open he steps back.


    ¡°Where are Lord Hob¡¯s wives Jotor, including your daughter?¡±


    I can see him swallow from here and my heart almost leaps out of my chest waiting for his answer.


    ¡°Safe. Where they should be when important matters are being discussed. In his cabin. He said after his three wives led to slaughter no other wife would have any authority and yet you claim you have some. How? By what right?¡±


    ¡°I will defer to the Speaker of Law if you allow him to assume his authority.¡±


    ¡°Pfft, he wouldn¡¯t question her, they are in this together ¡­¡±


    Jotor is on the verge of being retired by my hand yet I need him for a while longer ¡­


    ¡°Follow me,¡± I call to those with me.


    I stride through the Farm''s gate without saying a word. The mob spots me first and gathers closer around the feast.


    ¡°Lord Hob welcome back to the Farm!¡± shouts Jotor, holding his ground. He doesn¡¯t have another option really, does he I conclude. ¡°We were concerned about your sudden absence.¡±


    I look back. ¡°If you carry spears, please place them before my cabin.¡± I point in the right direction. ¡°All are invited to the feast, don¡¯t eat like this is your last meal. Too much meat and your next morning will be extremely uncomfortable. Now go!¡±


    Like locusts they swarm around me, most breaking off to deliver their spears, all eventually rushing the boar spits, making a special effort to avoid Jotor and breaking our line of sight.


    I continue to stride forward, none run to me. ¡°Jotor, there will be a meeting tomorrow, which will discuss many things, you can raise any concerns then. For now, I am tired and wish for only sleep.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob, until tomorrow.¡± He swivels and rushes from my sight.


    ¡°Welcome home Husband,¡± says Koria Keen Eye.


    I grab her and smash my lips into hers thoroughly exploiting my rights as a husband until she smacks my shoulder.


    ¡°I need to breathe Husband and well perhaps your cabin is a better place for the type of reunion you desire ¡­¡±


    I tuck her under an arm. ¡°You best greet your father.¡±


    ¡°Yes Husband,¡± she replies, swinging her hips while walking away.


    ¡°Great timing Lord Hob.¡± Milga wears a wry smile.


    I face Zoria. ¡°You were prepared to kill?¡±


    Zoria throws Milga a look receiving nothing back. ¡°I decided to follow Milga¡¯s lead, she drew weapons, I drew weapons. If she slew some fools, then I would also.¡±


    ¡°Looks like you had a great backup partner ¡­¡±


    ¡°You have wife duties ¡­ we will speak more, later.¡±


    Koria wraps her arms around my waist, her head between my shoulder blades. I bend my knees and hoist her up on my back heading towards my cabin with her giggles ringing in my ears.


    ¡°I am surprised the Speaker of Law released his daughter to me so easily?¡±


    ¡°He knows I am yours now, a husband¡¯s claim stronger than a father¡¯s as you will live the longest.¡±


    ---


    Odd, I muse, for a meeting restricted to the important citizens of the Farm the kitchen cabin is overflowing with goblins. The confrontation of yesterday probably a draw and Zeb and I should have arrived early to welcome those invited. I nod to Zeb who lowers the crossbeam across the door, no more can enter and none can leave. Standing behind the kitchen serving bench I confirm the elder, Jotor and Redagar are present while Milga or none of my wives are as per my instructions. I chuckle to myself upon spotting Zoxa of all goblins!


    ¡°I welcome you, one and all and apologise you have had to accept my orders indirectly from Milga these past days. I assure you I am fully recovered.¡±


    Stolen story; please report.


    Pausing for effect to allow the murmuring to settle I set my eyes upon those not yet content, to silence them.


    ¡°As to yesterday I received an urgent summons from the Head Hob, hence my sudden departure. In my absence the Speaker of Law adjudicates and appoints, there is no questioning this and as such his authority is absolute. I will explain to the Ten Spears they are his to command in my absence as well. If he is found to be wanting in his duty, upon my return bring your complaints and evidence to me. Yesterday will never happen again.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t complain to anyone if you are dead, Lord. What is stopping him killing any who disagree?¡±


    ¡°Good question! The only one able to kill on this Farm is me. The Speaker of Law will hold any in a cabin so they may speak to me upon my return. If he doesn¡¯t then that is a breach of his duty. Acceptable?¡±


    There is nodding and general agreement.


    My armour is loose upon my body for this next moment, so pulling up my shirt and shifting aside my armour I reveal my healed chest. The oohs and ahs mean a great deal. The nervous faces and slumping posture of the attendees disappear, nods and smiles grace most green faces and goblins stand tall facing me.


    ¡°I thank the elder for my recovery from near death.¡± I point her out in the crowd and the old battle-axe of a woman blushes bright green to my great delight and the gathering chuckles confirming the sight unusual.


    As the room quietens, I search their faces and once certain I have their attention I speak again.


    ¡°The tribes will return after the harvest and I believe they will need to take from our Silo to survive as they are on a path of more killing, so they won¡¯t have time to hunt.¡± I pause to allow my words to sink in.


    ¡°We are in danger and need to flee to the Head Village while we can before the savages slaughter us,¡± shouts Jotor.


    With satisfaction I note the goblins beside him step away slightly and no others voice any support.


    ¡°Or we can prepare and defend our Farm,¡± I reply.


    ¡°Lord of Goblins, Lord of Goblins, Lord of Goblins¡± the shout goes up and the way Redagar is smiling I assume a stacked crowd. Jotor tries to edge away towards the door during the chant and encounters Zeb.


    I wave them to silence.


    ¡°Our situation is this. The Flint Arrows are across the river to the North and their tribal land extends beyond the extent of our fields where our boar wall begins at a convenient location, a steep riverbank. The wall, which I acknowledge is yet to be finished extends across to a Southern Stream, which unfortunately is neither wide nor fast-flowing, yet still an obstacle. This stream is also the border between the Farm and the Laughing Tusks, which present the greatest immediate threat. They could simply avoid the stream opposite the Farm and travel South and cross the stream closer to the hills.¡±


    There is a call from the crowd. ¡°Are we lost, Lord Hob?¡±


    ¡°No. We have an additional forty spears to push our enemies back into the stream as they climb out or to defend our hill while we need to make certain enough archers are along the boar wall to deter direct attack.¡±


    ¡°Meb only fronts a portion of our border, surely we can contain him,¡± asks another.


    ¡°I suspect the Laughing Tusks tribe to be culled by the three other tribes long before we begin our harvest.¡±


    A dead silence descends upon the room. If Meb¡¯s brothers have spies in the room, I hope they take this theory back to seed some doubt into whatever arrangements or agreements they have made. While Seka is absent she shared her contact method, so at least Meb will receive some frightening news.


    ¡°After harvest, we will need to face down three tribes, Grim Weavers, Sharp Fangs and Blood Bones. All of whom suffered losses culling the Blood Suns and who will suffer more losses culling the Laughing Tusks. For our part, we must welcome in any survivors from either of those tribes ¡­¡±


    ¡°Savages Lord.¡± ¡°How can we trust them?¡± ¡°Blood Suns are wild drunks and wife beaters.¡± ¡°Laughing Tusks will be a beaten lot, not ready for another fight.¡±


    I wait for the shouts to finish. ¡°Possibly all of what you say is true, yet I believe as you can, since my wives are Flint Arrows, all tribal goblins aren¡¯t savages and if we throw out a helping hand instead of a spear point who knows what will happen.¡± Mumbles and grumbles reach my ears. ¡°We need their help as much as they need ours if we are to survive the assault of three tribes, most importantly we must defend our harvest. Our future rests there.¡±


    Redagar steps forward. ¡°Our Hob survives a fatal strike, make no mistake it was anything else ¡­ a dagger to the heart, the wielder a huntress so she would know where it is, and such a big heart would be difficult to miss in any case.¡± Polite laughter breaks out. ¡°What are our alternatives? Starve when they take our grain, run now and let them try to harvest our grain and destroy most when they do.¡± His arm extends in the direction of Jotor. ¡°Our Head Farmer will ensure every possible grain is harvested and the crops remain standing for next season. I am so certain of this I will need to build not one, but two additional silos.¡± He takes a deep breath as his eyes fill with sorrow. ¡°My work crews tended the staking and the fire pits, over two hundred Blood Suns dead. They wouldn¡¯t have died without a fight while in their savage drunken berserk haze, their mead-soaked bodies burnt well. But Lord Hob is right we need more help and if we welcome starving and homeless tribal goblins then we can civilise them well enough with hard work I reckon.¡±


    Not a sound. Silence. Then a single clap, a solitary hoarse cheer and soon several of both add to the first and in a final uproar, the whole room adds stamping feet. The words not the surprise, the speaker ¡­


    ¡°Work as if your lives depend upon it because it does! Now to your duties!¡± I bellow.


    Redagar slows allowing others to leave before him, Zeb still waits by the door possibly out of earshot, although with goblins ears nothing is certain.


    ¡°The felling and shaping of trees with copper tools Lord Hob is our handicap. When your wives sent back the work gang which escorted them, they asked me to talk to Zoria about the bronze knife. I met her on the road to the Head Village and she swore the weapon cut through armour as if nothing and I wonder if we had saws and other tools made of this metal how much faster we could work ¡­¡±


    I nod. ¡°The knife is small, so I believe the metal is rare, very precious and unfortunately only found in the next valley. We still have to send a ransom back though ¡­ let me see what I can do.¡±


    A smile spreads across his face.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a promise ¡­¡± I pat him on the shoulder, and he leaves the kitchen cabin.


    ¡°Zeb, where are Zana and Gato?¡±


    ¡°I will fetch them.¡±


    I search the kitchen cabin for food scraps and find some cured meat to chew on. My wives file in and apart from some blown kisses, they ignore me while preparing baskets of food from a pantry, which in my search I failed to find. I didn¡¯t expect them to greet and care for the Blood Suns, yet this made sense, who else could Milga trust to keep silent if I failed to convince those of the Farm that we needed all the help we could get. I needed their hearts to say yes, not just their mouths.


    Milga enters after they leave.


    ¡°The birthing rooms are accommodating our Blood Suns'' guests, your wives leave food and ensure they don¡¯t gorge themselves on starved stomachs and the female Copper Village recruits are with them now. The males are in the original barracks, while females evicted from there have been relocated to keep company with our Blood Suns'' guests.¡±


    I grunt in acknowledgement because Redagar¡¯s words are true ¡­ he needs tools, otherwise the shuffle which Milga just described will be happening again until all barracks are full.


    ¡°Do we send Zoria back to the valley with number four for the ransom?¡±


    Milga shakes her head. ¡°Her name is Zoga and has somewhat settled in ¡­¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s unfortunate ¡­¡±


    ¡°Not that settled in, we just need to make sure she wants to return and Zoria can escort her when she makes another delivery to the Head Hob.¡±


    I nod. ¡°Can you fetch the clay pot?¡±


    Milga shoves a note into my hands. I look up.


    ¡°Have you read the note?¡±


    ¡°A Hunter.¡± She shakes the bow across her back. ¡°Not wise woman,¡± she replies.


    I mumble my way through the scrawl, ¡°They needed to gang up on Fub, to establish boundaries. Seka sleeps by the door, although on the floor in the Head Hob¡¯s room. The two sent with her are following her orders. His health isn¡¯t declining although too early to tell if he is on the mend,¡± I finish and throw the note onto the embers of the fireplace, watching the dry thin leather burn away. My recent visit confirms the Head Hob¡¯s health has greatly improved since the writing of the note.


    A commotion at the door draws my attention. Zana and Gato, clothes wet through, waddle into the kitchen cabin. Their bellies protruding further than their noses. They approach me and I back away thinking they wish to hug, instead they squat in front of the fireplace, laying back, their arms propping their torsos up to allow their bellies comfortable room to rest.


    They exchange glances and sigh, rolling to stand up I assume.


    ¡°Stay. What do you need?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Food,¡± they call out together.


    I present a portion of dried meat and they accept my offer.


    ¡°You have something to tell me?¡±


    They nod and smile. ¡°We sniffed out the rock you wanted Lord Hob. Yes, we did. In fact, we have been gathering the ore. We are wet because the ore lays at the bottom of a marsh, the water reddish with an icky thin layer of some sort which catches the light.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you ask for help?¡±


    ¡°Everyone is busy, and this is our Glory husband ¡­¡±


    Their glowing cheeks frame their pouting mouths, and I can almost ignore their long noses ¡­ how is this possible?


    ¡°Truly your glory and now you must rest and let others gather the ore, your bellies look ready to burst,¡± I joke.


    They hug each other. ¡°We will burst?¡±


    ¡°No. Joke ¡­ never mind. I and others will help you give birth.¡±


    Their heads turn slowly towards me, while still embracing each other. ¡°Help us give birth Lord? This is a woman¡¯s business ¡­ don¡¯t you believe we can do this? Think us weak?¡± They burst into tears.


    ¡°Crying tells me you are weak. Stop!¡±


    They sniff and hitch their chests.


    ¡°I and others will be there to help. If you hide away to give birth and don¡¯t die, I will throttle you. When you feel the signs, you order anyone to fetch me, understand?¡±


    ¡°Yes, mean untrusting husband,¡± they whimper.


    ¡°Where is this marsh? Where is the stack of ore you have recovered?¡±


    I can see their thoughts ticking over, thinking they can somehow black mail me into changing my mind about the birthing. I pre-empt them by standing over them.


    ¡°Mean husband. The marsh is East, follow the river, a bank gives way and water slushes onto the land, stinky place. When Zeb found us returning to the Farm, he took our ore and added it to our pile behind the kitchen cabin.¡±


    Right on time, Zeb joins us in the kitchen cabin.


    ¡°Gather a work gang, show them the ore my wives have collected and then search for a marsh off the North River, heading downstream, East. They need to sift through the mud and extract the pebbles of ore. This is important Zeb. They must work as fast as they can and depending upon their progress, we may need to add another work gang.¡±


    My pregnant ones, Zana and Gato clap their hands. ¡°We added to your glory husband?¡±


    ¡°You have both done very well, but now you need to prepare for childbirth, no more marsh and mud.¡±


    They nod while I leave them to the kitchen cabin, Milga content to follow me and remain silent. Should I be worried, I wonder.

 1.026 Interlude: Koria Keen Eye (1/2)

    Lord Hob blessed our hunt, and I will not let him down. I glance at Duzsia and she wears a permanent grin like me as we race downhill towards the firepit to begin our mission. Duzsia, my sister-wife and the one who laughs and enjoys her new position in life. She is no longer the stray or the one without family in the tribe and I am happy for her.


    The flames of the first firepit grow as each of our long, running steps carries us closer. The wooden token from Redagar turns in my hand as I try to work off my excitement.


    We slow up and ten sets of eyes from the first gang we reach simply stare at us, after pausing in their work. Each pair treating our arrival differently depending upon their place in the production line. They don¡¯t pick up another bloody body to toss when standing in front of the pile of twisted headless torsos and tangled limbs. Another pair simply drops the corpse they carry, while others returning to the pile halt in place. A pair mid toss at the edge of the firepit completes their task. One doesn¡¯t seem any more in charge than another yet before our arrival each pair participating in the task in an even unnerving rhythm. I flash the wooden token at them, and a glimmering light of life returns to their eyes. They rush towards us and line up in twos, except for one who stands off to one side. There is no hint by dress or demeaner he is in charge; the only indication, he stands separate.


    ¡°We honour the token Mistress, Redagar calls us to service on your behalf.¡±


    His words aren¡¯t resentful, there is almost a sense of eagerness in his voice in fact. My eyes glance at the immediate surroundings and understanding grows within me. The ground is black with blood, viscera, limbs, heads, fingers, and toes litter their work area ¡­ then a stench reaches my nose at the turn of a breeze.


    ¡°We have been here many days Mistress and you don¡¯t get used to the smell ¡­¡± he offers.


    I take a step back and I need to curse the wind as the smell follows. I swallow and keep my stomach down yet can¡¯t hold my face straight.


    A weak nod. ¡°He warned me that I must ensure you take three days of food and water for twelve. So please fetch the required stores and return.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mistress,¡± he replies. He false starts, lingers, while the rest of the work gang scatters. ¡°Are you a wife of Lord Hob?¡±


    I feel the warmth rise across my face; I can¡¯t withhold my pride and blush. ¡°Koria Keen Eye, first wife of Lord Farmer Hob Klug.¡±


    He bows. He definitely, utterly, certainly bows before me! ¡°I am Jozox at your service, Gang Leader in the service of Redagar.¡± He then runs off.


    I tap Duzsia on her shoulder. Despite the stink, her mouth remains open, eyes wide. A gentle elbow to the ribs and she closes her mouth and follows my lead. I retreat from the firepit trying to escape ¨C everything.


    The wait isn¡¯t long.


    ¡°Do any of you know where Zoria first hid?¡±


    ¡°No Mistress, she stumbled towards the gang working the pits that night, none knows from where.¡±


    ¡°Line up in front of me, we are going to spread out and walk towards the mountains, we know she spent some time in that direction so a good place to start. What you are looking for is a trail, not two feet, someone dragging their body along. Jozox, can you demonstrate how?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡± He drops to the ground and then drags himself along as if one leg is useless.


    I blink, wondering if he would have done the same closer to the firepit where blood soaks the dirt.


    ¡°That is enough, study the trail he has left behind, that is the track we are looking for ¡­¡± I eye each in turn and receive a knowing nod. They fan out almost evenly, Duzsia and I stay on the far left and far right respectfully so we can corral in any who stray. As the morning sun, rises, one puts up his hand and we gather to him.


    ¡°Well done, let my sister-wife and I lead for now. Stay close and don¡¯t forget to look about and warn us if any others approach.¡± They nod in reply and my sister-wife and I jog off, the trail easy to follow.


    We reach the bush, find traces of blood and multiple footprints leading off in a roughly southwest direction and continue our chase. Again, the trail is easy to follow, more so when others and their careless footprints join the chase. Early morning and a lazy wide South River is our first obstacle, yet those running from us lead the way. They found or knew of a shallow and we wade, walk across ¨C the current slow and the depth shallow. What I assumed would be a delay, a pleasant cooling respite instead. Glancing back to ensure they follow; I notice many of the gang, drop and wash several times. I am tempted to allow them to enjoy this luxury until thoroughly clean, yet my Lord¡¯s honour denies me, delay is my enemy.


    To my surprise the tracks continue southwest, there is no attempt to wade either East or West along the river to discourage tracking, confidence, or foolishness? The mountain range to the South an impenetrable barrier, the cliffs to the West their sole hope. Duzsia and I jog on, the smell of the hunt replacing the smell of grizzly death in our nostrils. This chase is exhilarating, and my sister-wife agrees with a giggle when I glance towards her on more than one occasion.


    ¡°Mistress ¡­¡± There is stress in his voice. I call to Duzsia and we halt and look back. The ten goblins of the gang who follow are bent over sucking in deep breaths. I am confused, then I realise we have been jogging for over half the day without rest and yet my legs know they have worked but aren¡¯t tired. As we approach, Jozox wheezers and straightens.


    ¡°You both run like the wind, Mistress. We are used to hard work and long hours, but jogging isn¡¯t what we do. Let us catch our breath and we will follow once again.¡±


    I can¡¯t explain either, I do know if we can outrun Redagar¡¯s gang then our chances of running down exhausted runaways and their chasers is better than good, even if they have a lead.


    ¡°Jozox, hand me rations and water for four days, enough for two. Report back to Redagar we ordered you and your gang to return, and we are certain we will return in four days.¡±


    He looks back to his gang, most slow nod in agreement. ¡°You are Mistress, first wife and we obey.¡± He hands off food and water to Duzsia and me and we bid them farewell as they turn about and trudge back. I look at Duzsia and we follow the trail once again at a jog.


    At dusk, we think we spot someone or something in the distance, some movement at least. The land around us now consists of rolling hills, the looming mountain range to the South close while the cliffs to the West beginning to reveal jagged detail. The danger with rolling hills, simple, we could easily jog over a rise and find a great number of goblins in the dip. Choosing a position below the crest of the next hill, so our silhouettes aren¡¯t easily seen against the setting sun we scoff down food and water. Once sated we resume our pursuit, creeping up the rises, looking over, and then scrambling down the lows, occasionally listening. We need to be in a hurry yet can¡¯t afford to be ambushed or face superior numbers by accidentally running into them.


    On the verge of night, a quick whisper to Duzsia and we agree to sleep, taking watch, in turn, my sister-wife first.


    In the still pre-dawn, words whisper across the hills ¡­ I wake Duzsia and we crawl to the top of the next rise. The slopes of the Southern mountain range reflect the morning sun from the East indicating steep treeless stone, confirming a barrier none would attempt to cross. Even if it seems we can just reach out and touch the peaks and slopes they are still a half a day travel away at least. The cliff face more directly West is closer and the eerie feeling of being boxed in travels up my spine. The tall forests I grew up in and hunted always seemed endless ¡­


    My sister-wife grabs my arm. Her smile reassuring, her youth more daring and spirit freer, perhaps I am over-reacting as we return to eavesdropping.


    ¡°¡­ be too far now,¡± says one.


    ¡°We shouldn¡¯t have rested, we almost had them.¡±


    ¡°¡­ need to be able to fight ¡­¡±


    I smile at my sister-wife and she nods confirming she heard the words also. We scan the horizon ¡­ a group of five, possibly six hurry over a rise and then disappear. We wait for them to rise again and as they disappear; we crest the rise under us and sprint down the dip and up the other side, diving to the ground.


    The group of six hurry over a rise and then disappear. I pat Duzsia on her shoulder and she returns a grin, we are faster, fresher, and fitter than those we chase and pace ourselves to match their progress. We recover condition while our prey tires, perfect exhaustion hunting. Chase until they drop, although this is usually best on four-legged animals, not a herd of your own kind ¡­


    Middle of the day and they pause, with one standing proud on a rise, his gaze fixed in one direction, towards the cliff. I tap Duzsia on her shoulder and we slip down the slope of the rise until out of sight.


    ¡°Do we sprint to the cliff and come upon both groups from the North?¡± I ask.


    I notice her grip tighten on her bow while brandishing the weapon. ¡°We can lay in wait while they battle and then choose our moment.¡±


    ¡°We will need to do more than jog to circle wide enough ¡­¡±


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    Her free hand cups against my cheek. ¡°Lord Hob is depending upon us, he believes he needs to protect us at all times, his precious wives, his fragile females. This is our chance to prove ourselves.¡± I notice her eyes moisten. ¡°When he woke me for his trip, I couldn¡¯t believe he believed in me ¡­¡± Her eyes blink and she looks away. ¡°I thought he chose me first ¡­ then I worked the same calculation he must have ¡­¡± She looks into my eyes again. ¡°The new wives unproven, Rexa inexperienced, Koria a certainty, which means Luda would need to stay.¡±


    ¡°Why did Luda need to stay?¡±


    As the words leave my lips, I realise the selfishness of my question. My sister-wife is trying to tell me she is here only because Lord Hob came to a logical conclusion, not because he thought her best for the task. Her hand leaves my cheek, the warmth swept away by a cooling breeze.


    ¡°Speaker of Law Zeb wouldn¡¯t survive the loss of both daughters ¡­ he thought of your father ¡­¡±


    I reach out and cup my hands on both of her cheeks. She is hurting, the playful child has come face to face with her true worth according to Lord Hob, yet the big buffoon probably has no idea what he has done. Lucky for him his first wife will accept the responsibility.


    ¡°You put yourself in his boots then, would you have made a different choice?¡±


    I feel her face shake slightly under my hands. ¡°No, possibly Rexa, yet she and the Head Hob would make for an awkward meeting and I think Lord Hob saves her for when he needs ¡®the awkward¡¯.¡±


    I strong-hand her face to look at mine. ¡°There is also another thing you are forgetting, he didn¡¯t expect to release us to chase his honour, he thought he would be able to protect us while returning to the Farm like any other trip. He said yes to setting you and I free from his protection ¡­ think on that.¡±


    She mumbles her reply. ¡°He didn¡¯t plan on that happening and yet he said yes ¡­¡± Her eyes open wide and her entire body shakes for a moment with excitement.


    ¡°Welcome to the world of Lord Hob, sister-wife, he likes to plan, and we have stepped outside of that now, and I am certain he worries about us.¡±


    Duzsia frowns. ¡°Worries about us?¡±


    How could she not think he wouldn¡¯t worry about us ¡­ does she think so little of herself to assume he thinks even less?


    ¡°Duzsia!¡± I call and regain her attention. ¡°He is working towards some sort of plan and he continually adjusts his plan as new problems and advantages arise ¡­ I have been trying to keep track ¡­¡± My confession time now, I guess. I so wanted to keep this to myself, my foolishness, believing I can think ahead like him ¡­ for him. ¡°I want to help him with his plans ¡­ not just as he does them but ahead of time, do you understand?¡±


    She smiles. ¡°You wish to be like Milga?¡±


    It ¡­ didn¡¯t occur to me, but yes, exactly, like Milga, to be trusted and not only allowed, encouraged to further his plans because of that trust ¡­ my sister-wife has seen right through me and nailed my deepest desire ¡­ first wife yes, but I want more, I want to be Lord Hob¡¯s partner and equal. Actively work towards his goals ¡­


    My hands edge around her head and pull her towards me in an awkward embrace. ¡°Yes, sister-wife, I admit only to you, like Milga.¡±


    I hear her muffled reply. ¡°A simple kiss would have been enough gratitude, please release me.¡±


    I release her and add, ¡°Never forget, he didn¡¯t need to agree to allow us to chase down his ransom, yet he did. If he thought you frail or me for that matter, we would be at the Farm now instead of on this chase.¡±


    She blushes. ¡°I don¡¯t think he had much choice once we declared his honour at stake with Redagar and his work gang as witnesses.¡±


    I laugh and place my hand over my mouth to stifle the noise. ¡°I don¡¯t think that is a tactic we should employ often. While not a true Hob, I think when backed into a corner he will revert to his true nature.¡±


    Duzsia leans forward. ¡°I remember his bloodlust on the road, and we were lucky his little head can overrule his big head when in the grip of his true Hob nature, otherwise I fear we would be dead and in pieces now ¡­¡±


    I shudder as does she.


    ¡°Come sister-wife, regardless of how or why we are here, this is our opportunity to prove to him we are partner wives not simply frail incubators for his future children.¡± We both caress the curve of our stomachs and share a look. After a couple of heartbeats, we reach out to pat each other¡¯s shoulder.


    ---


    ¡°They are climbing?¡±


    Duzsia¡¯s voice squeaks in surprise. They are desperate enough to climb while tired!


    The six arrive when their prey is a quarter of the way up the cliff face. Smiling, hands-on-hips they nudge each other and point while staring up at them.


    ¡°Do you think you won¡¯t fall Blood Suns fools?¡± shouts the tallest.


    One flings a spear, which falls short and clatters back down. They sigh almost as one. Only now do I notice they don¡¯t have a bow between them. I suspect the Blood Suns know as well now as they try to rest in place, a couple needing to move up the cliff face slightly further until they find a comfortable perch. Six chasing three. The three should have run along the cliff face to choose a better climbing point, the one they are climbing now is a dead-end, a smooth outward curve extends out ahead of them, impossible.


    ¡°Koria cast your keen eyes behind us, could we climb up above spear throw distance and rain down arrows on the six and the three?¡±


    ¡°That is a good plan until we run out of arrows, therefore we must slay them all before we do ¡­¡±


    On my back, I carefully slide to the far side of the bush we hide under. The giant rock beside us will prevent the eyes of the six from spotting me, the three others though, an idle look in my direction could be my undoing. I scan the cliff face; the only possibility is a medium climb and witnessing a spear cast already the possible ledge would be in range. They would need to move to be directly underneath us, and this glimmer of hope might fool them into remaining instead of retreating while still being able to watch the three.


    Heavy shade bathes us all as the cliff face blocks sunlight from the setting sun. This could be our moment. Firelight over my shoulder draws me back under the bush.


    ¡°Are they going to cook over the fire?¡± I ask Duzsia.


    ¡°I think this is a tactic, their prey must be hungry.¡±


    ¡°Chief! It is Chief OuzOuz the Blood Drinker is it not?¡± shouts one of the six while the others chuckle loud enough for all to catch the derision and disrespect in their voices.


    Another calls, ¡°Yes we have fresh meat, we will only sear it so there is blood for you.¡±


    A howl of rousing laughter follows, then the aroma of sizzling meat reaches my nose and I almost sigh in appreciation.


    ¡°Duzsia, we leave now before we can¡¯t see our hands.¡±


    Quietly sliding from under the bush, ensuring the boulder hides us from the six we dash for the cliff face. I doubt the three will raise the alarm if they spot us, why would they warn the six? We climb while behind us the jeering by the six continues. I cut our climb short, while lower there is an ideal ledge providing us with a line of sight on the six and the three with ample room to pull full strength on our bows. We catch sleep while the six celebrate and I assume the three try to console themselves.


    The morning sunlight strikes those perching on the cliff face earlier than the six at its feet. One of the three looks our way, another throws a pebble at him and shakes his head. I assume that must be the Chief, along the lines of; ¡®an enemy of our enemy may be our friend, so we need to make sure we don¡¯t crap on their ambush.¡¯


    The dawn watch, stretching and greeting the rising sun takes a private moment to release his water after a short climb from the camp proper, which rests in a hollow at the base of the cliff. I nod to Duzsia and she releases. Standing prey, silhouetted by the rising sun, medium-range and my sister-wife places her arrow through his neck, probably missing his neck bone. He grabs at the arrow shaft of course as he drops gurgling to the ground.


    A tent flap closes behind another as he emerges and looks about. Opening his mouth to raise the alarm he swallows my arrow shaft and drops down dead. I need to ensure we bring a tent next time ¡­


    The other four sleep soundly in their blankets. Duzsia taps my shoulder. The three are making their move, climbing down, one eye on the camp another where they need to step.


    ¡°If one of the three falls, release upon the close sleeping one before the falling one hits the ground. I assume he will be silent as he falls to his death ¡­¡±


    No sooner did I speak, did Duzsia and I need to release. The remaining two waste time trying to wake the dead beside them, providing my sister-wife, and me ample time to draw, aim and release. The Chief and his companion abandon all caution and with risky haste climb down the cliff face. Duzsia and I place an arrow each into the Chief¡¯s companion.


    The Chief immediately stops and stares at us. ¡°Duzsia, remain and release if he moves.¡± I climb down. His eyes are frantic, trying to spot an out, and yet, in the open, hanging from a cliff face, an arrow is certain to find him given our demonstration. One which I am certain he was cheering on before he became the target.


    I inspect each of the six.


    ¡°We are Laughing Tusks. We hunt Blood Suns ¡­¡± The arrow through his stomach a lingering death as black blood dribbles from between his lips, brows knitting.


    ¡°I will relieve you of your confusion, you are in the way.¡± I slice his throat with my flint dagger and reclaim my arrow as I do for each of them, can¡¯t have any feigning death and live to tell tales.


    I find the first one of the three Blood Suns who fell from the cliff face. Broken leg for sure, unconscious, nasty head gash. I slice his throat. I locate the other, reclaim both arrows and draw my arrow nocked bow upon the chief.


    ¡°Duzsia climb down and join me.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± calls out the Chief.


    ¡°I am in search of a ransom, a special knife. Your life in exchange.¡±


    He studies me for a time while checking on Duzsia¡¯s progress. He doesn¡¯t have the knife, if he did, he would try to gain assurances from me not to kill him once he gave it up. Once down Duzsia gets to work, searching each, then grabbing the corpse by the heels and stacking them near the tent.


    ¡°The knife?¡±


    He leans against the cliff and raises his hands, a deliberate balancing act. ¡°I don¡¯t have the knife.¡±


    I pull back on my bow, the ache in the wood and sinew music to my ears ¨C gathering strength to launch death upon whom I target.


    ¡°Wait! Wait! I know who does, I swear!¡± The high pitch of his voice confirming his panic and another fact.


    ¡°I have left them as I found them sister-wife.¡± She looks up at the non-chief. ¡°Do I wait on the burning to add him?¡±


    I almost congratulate her for her initiative, the implied threat. I try to Hob growl. ¡°No, we are thinking.¡±


    His face relaxes and shortly after the fire begins to crackle and flames rise. Smoke will draw others so we must decide.


    ¡°Climb down, dropping your weapons first.¡±


    A dagger, an axe, both copper weapons. He must have traded with the Smith Hob or taken them from a dead goblin who did. His bodyguards were only equipped with fire-hardened tipped spears. Interesting, Lord Hob provides or leaves us with the best weapons; he values our skills to protect him and trusts us not to betray him, although capturing our Spirits makes the second trust a small ask. Duzsia has his weapons before he jumps the short remaining distance, favouring me with a pleasant smile after his smooth landing. I wonder If I am now meant to fall into his arms ¡­


    ¡°Explain. I don¡¯t believe it would be too late to add you to the fire ¡­¡±


    ¡°We started as a party of twenty ¡­¡±


    ¡°Not the long story, the part where you and the knife parted ways,¡± I demand.


    ¡°The night we took the knife, we split up, my two bodyguards following me, another three hiding behind us until sure the Laughing Tusks you have slain stayed with us. The other three were going to circle back and ambush those chasing us. Maybe they did and died or maybe they didn¡¯t and simply ran away with the knife.¡±


    Duzsia standing well back at the ideal short bow range scoffs! ¡°You, the Chief gave up the knife!¡±


    I hear her bow draw ¡­ he throws his hands up, he did also.


    ¡°I needed to give them something to prove I would find and join them later ¡­ believe me, I speak the truth.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    An arrow, whistles by to impale the Chief through an eye.


    ¡°Your father always says if someone has to tell you their statement is true, more chance than not it is false. The truth of a statement doesn¡¯t need to be proclaimed if it is, in fact true,¡± says Duzsia from behind me.


    ¡°He isn¡¯t the Chief,¡± I reply. ¡°The fear in his eyes, he never drew the copper weapons ¡­ we could have tossed a spear at him to see how he caught it and then threatened him to check his stance, but I grew tired of the game once I knew he didn¡¯t have the knife.¡±


    When Duzsia doesn¡¯t reply I look behind me.


    Without looking she says, ¡°You can search and drag him to the fire. I will gather more wood.¡±


    I smile and nod. My sister-wife is tired of this game as well. The glorious end of our Quest snatched from us in a blink of an eye.

 1.027 Interlude: Koria Keen Eye (2/2)

    Scanning the surrounds, the clumps of bush and brush, the odd corpse of trees upon the plain provide a respite from studying the partial remains of the boot prints we follow. There is no mystery here, we know our destination. Each step we jog or run laughs at me due to the waste of time spent backtracking, each drop of sweat, judgement. To console myself I extract two simple joys from this toil. First, I cut the return distance by taking a more direct line to our objective, a cheat to save time and sweat. The other is from slaying the fools who thought they could go unpunished for their deception. The sun sets behind us as we reach the point on the trail where the Laughing Tusks group, the six, joined the Blood Suns group, the three in the pursuit.


    ¡°Did we rely on speed to avoid any danger sister-wife? The risk of ambush,¡± asks Duzsia.


    Her question matter of fact, one of interest or perhaps learning from the first wife.


    ¡°Hardly,¡± I reply. ¡°The hills and dales perhaps, although any would need to crest the hills themselves and if they spotted us first, be able to skulk about without being seen to position themselves, which is why we ran. The bush and brush dotted plains would require an ambush waiting on the oft chance travellers would pass by their specific hiding place ¡­ what travellers? And no permanent paths.¡±


    Our mission depends upon a single truth from the false Chief, another three, two escorting the real Chief and the ransom hid while the chase passed them by. They needed to go somewhere and to do so leave the trail, either on the left side or the right side. The right side would take them closer to Head Village so perhaps the least likely direction.


    ¡°We eat and rest, our quarry would most likely run to the mountains so we will try to pick up their trail in the morning light.¡±


    Duzsia takes in a deep breath, stretching up tall, the setting sun outlining her athletic body and the petite roundness of her baby bump. Lord Hob would be envious of my view right about now I am certain. My hand slides across my stomach, once pregnant Lord Hob in his ignorance kept bedding all his first wives, myself included of course. None revealed to him our condition, especially so after the new wives joined as each of his original wives claimed our respective turn. The order of importance must be maintained, how else will tradition grow.


    ---


    Waking at dawn and after a brief meal, we commence our search. By early morning I make out a swept area. I step back and try to imagine a strong wind sweeping aside the loose grit, twigs and leaves and yet ¡­ I stay searching for another clue. This is what I am looking for; a short, close to the trunk stub of a broken-off branch, which I find on a nearby bush. My step quickens as I search for a second and give Duzsia a shout when I make the find. Sending Duzsia back to stand at the first clearing I picture the Chief and his two companions creeping between the two points, working around obstacles until I am satisfied. I believe I know their general direction of travel and hug Duzsia in celebration. She holds me to her, a full wet kiss on my cheek and we dance in circles giggling. For an instant, I see Luda¡¯s smiling face instead. The cool drying of the moisture from the kiss ¡­ this was her way of celebrating ¡­ I need to finish this; she is alone and vulnerable without her big sister.


    The occasional broken off branch keeps us on their brushed trail until they finally give away the effort upon entering the thicker forest leading towards the mountains. We continue following their trail searching and finding sign, our reward a full bounty. Boot scuffs on proud tree roots, an odd break at the end of a leafy branch and the best tell, bark chaffing, which means this upward climb by them needed handholds on trees. They are tired.


    Their tells lead us to a familiar trail, South is the mountain pass while to the North lies wild fields, beyond them, Redagar¡¯s wooden road, running North East to the Farm and West to Head Village. I tap Duzsia on her shoulder and flick my head. We sink back into the forest proper.


    I whisper, ¡°They are tired, pushing themselves, would they stay on the trail?¡±


    Duzsia jumps and faces me. ¡°I ¡­ I didn¡¯t expect ¡­ never mind, yes, I agree, also this isn¡¯t their tribal lands or any others for that matter. We can assume they, like other Blood Suns, fled before the culling and I don¡¯t think they had any destination in mind ¡­¡±


    Duzsia grabs my chin tapping finger, giggling. ¡°I am thinking with that!¡± I prove this to her. ¡°Running away, now returning, the Chief believes his stolen special knife can make a difference. How?¡±


    ¡°Fix it to a spear shaft first, for reach. One on one combat challenge?¡±


    ¡°Why would any of the three tribal leaders or Meb accept? What do they have to gain, with the cull almost done ¡­?¡±


    Duzsia leans against a tree, shoulders down. Is she tired? Doubtful. Even after today¡¯s efforts, I have already recovered and over these past few days, she has done so as well. Is she sulking?


    ¡°Your idea of one-on-one combat is a good one sister-wife, especially for a Chief without a tribe. Please accept my mumbling as thinking out loud since you took my finger tapping away.¡± She returns my bright smile. ¡°I am trying to figure out how he could still win ¡­¡±


    She stands tall. She did sulk, does everyone discard her council or just me? Perhaps I am guilty this one time while on this task which we now share equally? I did lead us here, yet her tracking skills would have accomplished the same, would have been up for the challenge without a doubt ¡­


    ¡°He is going to call on long-forgotten tradition, he has nothing else,¡± she offers.


    ¡°You¡¯re right about forgotten,¡± I quip. Then bite the inside of a cheek. ¡°Continue.¡±


    ¡°The ancient tradition preserved life, two Chiefs, their armies, drawn up ready for slaughter would choose a one-on-one challenge, winner takes all instead. He would need to sneak into the enemies¡¯ camp and make the challenge, although why would another leader accept?¡±


    She says nothing I didn¡¯t know, but I am being supportive and allow her to finish. Although finishing with an answer would¡¯ve been better than a question though. I bite the inside of my cheek again. My turn to lean against a tree since I can¡¯t tap my chin. I imagine him sneaking successfully into the tents of either Meb, Grol or Bor. Issue the challenge, they laugh at him, their bodyguards slaughter and dispose of him as if he were never there. Maybe he gets lucky and has a knife at their throats, you challenge me, or I cut your throat he declares. They agree of course to save their immediate lives, challenge starts, their bodyguards take care of him.


    ¡°He challenges the Matriarch!¡± Duzsia shouts and then places her hand over her mouth.


    ¡°She wouldn¡¯t have left her lands ¡­¡± I muse.


    Duzsia grabs my shoulders and shakes me. ¡°He sneaks in threatening her with death, she accepts his challenge by nominating a champion. His bodyguards hold her, knife to her throat while the challenge is being decided. But he doesn¡¯t challenge to win the tribe! He challenges for betrothal!¡±


    She stares at me, eyes wide, while I try to comprehend how this works for him ¡­


    One, time-honoured method of securing a bride is to kidnap one, although not usually done when the target is close to the leadership, especially not to a Matriarch. Not usually done, doesn¡¯t mean never, ¡­ what does he offer? Legitimate claim upon Blood Suns Tribal lands, perhaps the gathering of the survivors of his tribe to add to hers ¡­


    ¡°He wants to unite the two tribes as a final last grasp to hang onto leadership!¡± I blurt out.


    ¡°Yes, sister-wife!¡± She looks coy. ¡°Took your time ¡­¡±


    I punch her playfully on her upper arm and she smiles.


    ¡°What do we do about this? We need to return to Lord Hob and advise him for a start ¡­¡±


    Duzsia places a finger across my lips, shaking her head. ¡°Running there, preparations, running back, two days. We could have Chief OuzOuz dead by then.¡±


    ¡°And Lord Hob¡¯s ransom recovered,¡± I add.


    ¡°How do we find him and slay him in two days?¡±


    ¡°Why do we only have two days?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Because even hiding and skulking, in two days he will be on Grim Weavers¡¯ land and I am uncertain about their welcome. The chaos of Blood Suns¡¯ land the better to find and slay him.¡±


    ¡°They should welcome us, but you are right, they will do whatever their Matriarch commands ¡­ do we separate to cover more ground?¡± I look under my eyebrows trying to hold back any sign of concern.


    ¡°Yes. The real choice is who will stay close to the mountains and who will stay close to the river?¡±


    The mountains must be the safer path, the terrain rough, plenty of places to hide in and therefore cautious going ¡­ ¡°I will take the river.¡±


    ¡°No discussion ¨C you trying to protect me?¡± She raises her eyebrows.


    ¡°No ¡­¡± I toss my head. ¡°No way.¡± I pfft. ¡°There are the caves of the elder, a more perfect sanctuary for fleeing goblins there never was. Hurry there and I am certain you will have many ears to put the word out for you and perhaps they will spread to the river and ease my task.¡±


    ¡°You know exactly where the caves are and could be there well before me ¡­¡±


    ¡°No. I only know where the campfire is, where we met Lord Hob, anyone you meet would be able to tell you where that is, or you could follow others. I also think once you have done this you will be best placed to hunt for OuzOuz, the mountains are his best choice, fewer warriors or hunters from the three tribes because of the difficult ground for a start.¡±


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Her eyes stare into mine. ¡°You are giving me this honour?¡±


    ¡°Maybe or possibly the more dangerous task. Plus, I am trying to read the mind and intentions of someone I have never met, odds are he thinks different to you and me!¡±


    ¡°We eat and camp?¡±


    ¡°No, you need to take this trail to get into the mountains easier. I suspect he would have also and if we find any proof we will stay together. Also, this trail is an ambushers¡¯ dream, you will proceed slowly as I will be trying to stay ahead of you following in the forest proper. Anyone with ranged weapons sighting the trail will be West, the setting sun behind them, so favour the West side of the trail and the shadows cast by the eaves of the trees should shield you.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± she replies, in a deadpan voice as she climbs back onto the trail.


    ¡°Argh!¡± I growl at myself internally, of course, she does. I hurry to follow and position myself.


    Early on she tests me, I suspect some anger drives her as her pace isn¡¯t, the amble I imagined. I made the issue; I need to accept the consequences and do better.


    ---


    A distinct bird tweet sounds across the forest. I hurry and shortly after splash into flowing water. The stream. No urgency, probably letting me know where she is ¡­


    I climb up to the trail, hiding amongst green leaf brush. She is on her haunches sipping from the stream. A ruse, her head turns slowly, she searches for traces of trespass.


    ¡°Anything,¡± I whisper.


    As she bobs her head down to take another sip and whispers back, ¡°Nothing in the water. There are other boot prints in the soft soil by the stream ¡­¡± She doesn¡¯t drink, the water slips between her fingers and then she climbs to her feet. My signal to descend and follow once again.


    ---


    The trail opens where I follow now, the trees close in are sparse and I am therefore further away from Duzsia than is ideal. Late afternoon ¡­ almost dusk. Those sighting the trail will lose a lot of their advantage as long shadows now provide substantial cover.


    Birdcall. I dart from tree to tree and rounding one, squelch. I step in something and instinctively look down. I lift my sticky boot away, not a something, a someone and by the size of erm, him, it can only be him, a Hobgoblin. Naked, dead many days, head missing, body facing the trail with a decent line of sight. Should scare the casual traveller, I chuckle. An enemy defeated by Lord Hob; therefore, I should be able to sight the mountain pass from hereabouts, yet my sister-wife calls to me. I hurry following the trail back to her keeping to the western side.


    ¡°Down!¡± Duzsia hisses and I dive. An arrow quivers in a tree trunk above me. I huff, judging the aim poor, a miss and no need to eat dirt and leaves. From the West, arrow feathers up ¡­ the hunter high above us all.


    A distant sound of crashing through branches and leaves ends with a heavy thunk.


    ¡°Stay down sister-wife in case there are more ¡­¡± she whispers.


    On the cusp of dusk, more crashing through the forest to the West, from branches and leaves again the sound diminishing.


    ¡°Out of the dirt sister-wife, the chase begins!¡± There is a hint of mirth in her speech, which I don¡¯t begrudge her, climbing to my feet and shortly after on her heels as she must blaze a trail through the undergrowth.


    We pause after a time, listening. Nothing.


    Duzsia taps my arm and points. A tall peak reaches up into the sky above us.


    ¡°My kill somehow climbed up there.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s search for his body while keeping an ear out. I don¡¯t think the Chief would leave behind his bodyguard, it doesn¡¯t fit with the plan we imagined for him at least.¡±


    ---


    We study the body, flat, many broken bones, bathing in a pool of black blood, the arrow point pushed through his mangled body marking his grave.


    ¡°Not Laughing Tusks, no bones stuck anywhere, although to be sure I would need to touch it,¡± says Duzsia, lacking any enthusiasm.


    ¡°Not Blood Suns.¡± I sniff. ¡°No smell of mead.¡±


    Duzsia finds his head a little away from the body. ¡°Argh.¡± She stands. ¡°Mystery solved.¡± Between two fingers trying to avoid contact, a necklace of bone, no, a necklace of different size teeth swings.


    ¡°More likely Grim Weavers then.¡± I kink my head to one side. ¡°This side of the valley?¡±


    She nods and asks the same question I have. ¡°Why would Grim Weavers watch the trail to and from the mountains?¡±


    I chuckle. ¡°If I didn¡¯t know otherwise, I would immediately guess Lord Hob is somehow involved, after all, Grim Weavers watching here, highly unlikely, almost impossible except there is dead proof at our feet ¡­¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s camp elsewhere and in the morning, we go our own ways?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I say.


    ---


    We hug without words to exchange. Duzsia breaks our embrace first, turning away crashing through the foliage, her form diminishing until leaves and branches steal her away from me.


    I shove through the foliage, forcing a trail, heading North, well downhill at least and I wonder why I dismissed following the trail back to the plains. Surely no one would be using the convenient, easy-going pathway since yesterday? Perhaps I am overcautious.


    Reaching the stream takes twice as long, now late afternoon, the first day. I refill my waterskin and spear a couple of fish of modest size forgoing a fire to eat them raw while following the stream. Muffled crying mixes with the water bubbling sounds of the stream and I crouch down, shifting into foliage away from the streambank.


    ¡°There isn¡¯t any food ¡­¡± pleads a young voice.


    ¡°There must be fish, grab a stick and try to stab one.¡±  The weariness in the reply plain.


    Edging closer, I spy an early age teenager scouting beside the stream. In the stream, a mother tries to cup water into the mouth of a young child twisting and turning their head away while trying to pull away.


    ¡°I mean no harm,¡± I say while leaning on my spear attempting to conceal the point in the ground, trying to suggest I have a walking stick instead.


    The mother wraps her child in her arms and bolts along the stream calling to the teenager.


    ¡°I have food to share.¡±


    One child on her hip, the other under her arm she stops, turns about, the shallow stream water rushing by.


    ¡°You mean us no harm, but we are Blood Suns all seek us and we can only run ¡­¡±


    I daggle my second fish and then walk along the stream bank until level with them. The mother turns as necessary to follow my progress. Gathering dead leaves and twigs I strike my flint to spark a fire, leaning over and blowing upon the feeble flames to grow them. As they take hold I add more, including a small dead branch.


    ¡°Boy, fetch me a long live branch from the tree there.¡± I point out one nearby.


    His eyes look up, and after receiving his mother nodding consent runs to obey. She edges to shore, the other child still on her hip.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Information,¡± I reply. The boy returns with a choice of several and I choose one, poking the branch lengthways from mouth to tail in the still fresh fish. I then hand the end of the stick to the boy.


    ¡°Hold it over the fire, rotate often and don¡¯t let the stick burn otherwise you could drop the fish into the fire.¡±


    He nods while wearing a serious expression on his face, eyes coming alive.


    I know her eyes are upon me fretting over her child and yet allowing me to be this close due to desperation.


    I wave her to shore. ¡°Have you seen three, maybe less, maybe more Blood Suns warriors in your travels? They would be tired yet determined, one would be in command and none would rebuke him.¡±


    ¡°N ¡­ no, sorry.¡± She cries, tears flowing. ¡°Do my children still get to eat?¡±


    ¡°The fish is yours.¡± I climb to my feet and glance sideways. ¡°That¡¯s enough boy, take a bite and share with your sister and mother.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she says, her eyes flush with tears.


    ¡°I will spear a few more fish and then be on my way. You don¡¯t mind eating raw fish, do you?¡±


    Her mouth drops open as she shakes her head.


    ---


    Three fish should be enough, two for the family and one for me and time is passing me by.


    Spear in one hand, a green stick piercing the tails of the three fish in the other I work my way back to the mother utilising the afternoon tree shadows for cover.


    ¡°How many are you now?¡± asks a gruff voice.


    I crouch and lay aside my string of fish and then return my spear to a sheath across my back retrieving my bow and nocking an arrow from the quiver on my hip. The transition smooth from years of habit. Taking to cover behind trees further away from the stream I circle wide trying to spot the voice¡¯s owner.


    ¡°Three turns,¡± the reply.


    The mother, her children elsewhere, although I hear a familiar whining not far away, is being held beside several other females. The one holding her arms licks his lips while another male goblin approaches ¡­ I have witnessed enough. Lord Hob agreed to the cull expecting a portion of females and young, none need to be mistreated before delivery.


    I resist the temptation for justice as I need a sure kill, I aim high trying to target this goblin¡¯s, small heart. His body flips back as the arrow strikes true. His friend looks about peering into the forest, good instincts. My second release impales his cheek, and I am certain the flint tip scraps along the bone of his skull to scramble his brain. He falls back dead. The screams of the captives add to the confusion and will cover the sound of my next move.


    Dashing deeper into the surrounding forest I circle wide of the slain and the captives. Five goblins, their armour made from lengths of wood, identifying them as Laughing Tusks hold various poses over their slain. I release an arrow upon the one closest. My second arrow is in flight when the remaining four notice and begin to stand. The second arrow finds its mark as they begin looking about, the third arrow in flight. When they point and gesture at me the third arrow finds its mark and the fourth is in flight. The remaining two dive for the ground and the fourth arrow strikes the tree behind them with a thunk.


    My fifth arrow ready, I charge as they dive. As they begin to peer above the prone bodies of the slain and captives, I release my fifth arrow. The strike is unusual, along the length of the throat due to the angle. His companion screams while crawling backwards and into the shadows of the forest. I resume my charge, reaching the edges of the trees as the last finishes standing, thinking he has time to look back. Staring at me, my sixth arrow strikes his abdomen under the bottom edge of his wood armour.


    I place my flint knife in the hands of the mother. ¡°Slit all their throats, alive or dead, free the captives and gather all the dead together and I will need my knife back when done.¡±


    She swallows and nods.


    I chase down the hunter-warrior in the forest. His wound not sufficient to prevent him from dragging himself deeper, hoping for a lucky escape. Standing over him I wiggle my arrow, he screams.


    ¡°Quick death or long depending upon your answers ¡­¡±


    Black blood spills out between his clenching teeth, otherwise silence.


    ¡°Have you seen any Blood Suns warriors recently? Did you capture, avoid or slay them if you did?¡±


    His head turns slowly one way and then the other.


    ¡°You certain?¡±


    His head responds quickly, nodding up and down.


    I remove my arrow, he screams. Plunging the same arrow through his eye, he screams for a heartbeat and then silence. Retrieving and cleaning the arrow I return it to my quiver and then grab his ankles and drag him back to the stream bank and add him to the end of a neat line-up.


    The mother and other captives, women and older males approach me, halting immediately as my eyes greet them.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± from more than one tired mouth.


    ¡°Search these for food and whatever else you think you may need. Have any seen three, maybe fewer, maybe more Blood Suns warriors in your travels? They would be tired yet determined, one would be in command and none would rebuke him.¡±


    They look to each other, with hope on their faces willing someone to answer and none do. I sigh.


    ¡°There is a brace of fish further along.¡± I point to them. ¡°They are yours and some free advice if you want it, which you can pass on to others if females or children are present.¡±


    ¡°Y ¡­ yes,¡± answers the mother.


    I read the dread on her face; she is near breaking point. ¡°Travel North, make sure your shadow falls on your left in the morning and the right in the afternoon. You will discover a river, wide and slow. Follow the river West, up the valley until you find a branch turning away to the North. Cross the river anyway you can and continue North until you find a wooden road, follow this until you find the Farm of Lord Farmer Hob and ask for sanctuary.¡±


    ¡°A ¡­a Hob, sanctuary?¡±


    ¡°Tell whoever challenges you when you reach the Farm, Koria Keen-eye, first wife of Lord Hob Klug sent you.¡±


    ¡°Hobs don¡¯t marry they take and throw away ¡­¡±


    ¡°This one is different, and do you really have a choice?¡±


    The mother shakes her head slowly, while others mumble behind her.


    Her son presents me with five clean arrows, which I take and return to my quiver. I place a hand on his shoulder and then jog off, ducking into the shadows of the forest.

 1.028 Farm Business Part Two

    I sidle up to the outside corner of the kitchen cabin, trying to spy upon the Forest as dusk falls, will there be another group? How often will they arrive? Am I that desperate for more goblins?


    ¡°What are your thoughts?¡± asks Milga.


    I glance over my shoulder and find her comfortably swinging in the porch hammock chewing on dried meat.


    ¡°What?¡± she asks.


    ¡°I need to ask the Head Hob for a complete pottery crew I didn¡¯t know I needed until now. I had my chance and took spears instead. What I have planned will proceed much faster if I have skilled workers, yet I doubt he will grant me a second favour ¡­¡±


    In a deadpan voice, my partner replies, ¡°Return the forty Spears? Or supply him with two bodyguards, forgo the cost of the ten spears returning those he gave you ¡­¡±


    I nod. Although I made things worse by suggesting a different need for his potters. The encroaching darkness of night competes with a bonfire near the original boar pen. My occupation of the kitchen cabin didn¡¯t prevent the preparation of tonight¡¯s boar feast, apparently. The feast organisers making do somehow. Good, my absence has bred some initiative in my goblins it seems.


    ¡°Husband ¡­¡± I turn to face the caller. ¡°The arrivals from yesterday are settled, and they know not to venture out until told to,¡± adds Luda.


    ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°Fifteen females, five males and five children of various ages. They will need time to recover yet goblins do this better than most creatures.¡± She leans against a post, settling in somewhat. So, I know there is more. ¡°I needed to warn the one you first met to stay. She wanted to follow the trail back and lead in others. She talked of caves guarded by a boar, I thought immediately of the elder¡¯s camp, perhaps we should send someone to check?¡±


    Would goblins run to a known place with a huge ferocious guardian ¡­ how desperate would they need to be to ignore such a reputation?


    ¡°If somehow there they would be in good condition,¡± I muse. Am I talking about livestock or sentient beings? ¡°The elder left a quantity of food behind, too much to carry.¡± I approach my wife, placing my hand behind her head securing eye to eye contact. ¡°Assure her we will fetch them, although any hints to ensure they don¡¯t fight who we send would be good. Can you send Bekto to me when you return?¡±


    She nods and I kiss her forehead. With a broad smile upon her lips, she ventures over to the sizzling boar and claims a portion before disappearing into the night in the direction of the birthing barracks and our Blood Suns guests.


    ¡°You won¡¯t leave again to visit the Head Hob, will you?¡± asks Milga. There is a slight tremor in her voice yet with me laying down the law in the meeting she shouldn¡¯t have any worries.


    ¡°Can you nominate two who would be loyal guards?¡± I ask, turning my head to face her and then cocking an eyebrow.


    ¡°Two of your wives.¡± A nervous cackle, until the meat in her mouth, becomes a swallowing challenge forcing her into a coughing fit.


    I rush to her and receive a lump of meat spat at me. Wiping off the boar, I kink my head to one side.


    ¡°Sorry partner, on the plus side I know you care about me ¡­¡±


    ¡°Maybe not as much as before you spat upon me.¡±


    Returning to slump against the outside wall of the kitchen cabin I watch Milga recover by chewing on another portion and then return to my thoughts. Perhaps the Head Hob¡¯s appreciation of the three cooks can be stretched further, willing to offer a pottery crew on temporary loan, he can¡¯t have them all making bricks already. I won¡¯t know until I ask, which I must as the alternative is to try and teach some Farm goblins about making charcoal and smelting in a clay furnace. Time! Time is against me and a round trip to the Head Hob with an uncertain outcome adds to the toll. Giving back the forty spears is another option, but if I don¡¯t take them with me on the slight chance he agrees, I must cart them back in a second trip ¡­ more time.


    ¡°Can you see if we have some spare goblins to learn to hunt, ask the Copper Village recruits and Blood Suns? We have forty spears. Also, some from Copper Village wretches were once our apprentice archers so get them back into practice. I don¡¯t have anything else ¡­¡± I am tired again; I need to exercise more delegation.


    ¡°No trading back the spears then?¡±


    Without looking, I reply, ¡°No, we need them here if we have pairs of hands who can wield them and the more time we have, the better they will be.¡±


    ¡°Your wife approaches ¡­¡± Milga jumps from the hammock and ducks around a corner of the kitchen cabin, venturing into the night. Why does she leave?


    ¡°Husband!¡± Her voice happy, with a sharp tooth smile beaming towards me. Probably the smartest of my new wives picking up quickly on the fact I expect all my wives to contribute and not merely sit naked upon my bed as trophies.


    ¡°I have a task for you.¡±


    With that leading statement, I explain to her what a bellows does and how to make the vital piece of equipment explaining the same thing several different ways until I am certain she comprehends the task. I return her hug and kiss and my new wife skips away determined to at least collect the leather tonight to make an early start at first light.


    Alone.


    The Farm is quiet under a night sky, all the residents are no longer moving about, although I do wonder if there is a watch. I should probably know the answer to that question I ask myself upon reflection! As for my wives, I am certain they are busy earning my glory by watching over our new guests. How am I earning glory?


    Her voice pierces the night air. ¡°You sad for yourself, tough at the top, is it?¡±


    ¡°Not tough. A problem with a thin solution and time is running out ¡­¡± I don¡¯t know why I semi-confess to an almost stranger, what does the elder owe to me? I destroyed her quiet hideaway and removed her from a position of authority. From behind, the light from the embers of the cooking pit shrouds her face in shadow, yet I feel the piercing examination of her eyes.


    ¡°Whatever the solution I would advise against leaving the Farm, you have only just appeared and shared words of confidence. The ruckus after your quick summon to the Head Hob is a warning. You need to be seen here, send others.¡±


    My dismissive face while listening to the first sentence must have given me away, the last sentence is spoken almost as an order. Seriously, I ask myself, would the Head Hob gift me the use of a pottery gang?


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I say and then stroll off towards my cabin.


    ---


    My wives wait for me, yet Koria seems to have me all to herself. After a respectable aftercare cuddle time, my other wives begin to invade and demand in turn, until I exhaust them all, or at least satisfy them.


    The first to clean up from the wash bucket, Koria¡¯s naked body glistens with water droplets as she ambles back to the bed wiping herself down.


    ¡°Koria, I am glad you have returned.¡±


    She throws the wiping cloth over her shoulder and hands-on-hips, replies ¡°Ask your question, Lord Hob.¡±


    My other wives go still, settling into a comfortable stop, washing or drying. Whispering dies as they take a temporary vow of silence.


    ¡°Do you have any news of Duzsia?¡±


    Koria saunters towards the bed, I notice Lazsia scramble off allowing my messenger to snuggle into a close sitting position beside me. My need to know growing since her dramatic return ¡­ yet this is our first quiet moment if I ignore the presence of my other wives. I don''t know if they have enquired yet, I suspect not, given their silence.


    ¡°We decided to search for the knife separately to cover more ground, she stayed in the mountains while I travelled to the lowlands near the South River. Many a village there burnt out, food scarce. I told any Blood Suns I could approach the way to the Farm to seek food and shelter, with the friendliest Hob I know.¡± She smiles, her eyes a blaze of adoration.


    ¡°Were there many?¡±


    ¡°There were two hundred heads on stakes, yet I believe that many still live because very few corpses littered the ground. Also, I could only find the occasional fresh burial place and not a single pyre.¡±


    I place her head upon my chest, while I draw in my other wives around me.


    ¡°Chief Grol suggested the wives and children chose suicide when their husbands died. In fact, he says each of the invading tribes needed to gather the corpses of the women and children and place them inside one or more cottages and fire them, to burn the bodies.¡±


    A tear rolls down her cheek and my other wives aren¡¯t much better.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°Sad if true husband. I didn¡¯t venture into any villages, but from a reasonable distance, I can tell you many cottages lacked rooves, probably burnt out. You would need to check up close for bones to confirm or deny his story,¡± offers Koria.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough for now, we can¡¯t change anything which has happened ¡­¡±


    Koria touches my arm and I look into her eyes.


    ¡°Husband, as I made my way back, I skirted along the mountains in the hope of finding Duzsia and heard a strange rumour instead while eavesdropping. Scouting patrol camps, more than one and from different tribes, the campfire talk was about a great warrior, he bested Chief OuzOuz Blood drinker and his two berserk bodyguards single-handed. All they know is he has a serious slash wound to his foot and uses Flint Arrows in his bow. Oddly, while they all search for him, none know what they will do when they find him.¡± She cackles. ¡°They can¡¯t believe he escaped the search of the village where the battle took place. Could this be another Hob?¡±


    Why would a Hob be involved in a war between tribal goblins, but if unattached perhaps he is looking for his place? I inwardly chuckle ¨C my own storming across the lands couldn¡¯t have been mistaken by onlookers ¡­ A cold shiver runs through me ¨C perhaps my display has been joined to this event to start the rumour, my arrival confirming a rampaging Hob, the result being the slaying of Chief OuzOuz? How far has this grown? The last thing the valley needs is the rebirth, even if rumour, of a Berserk Warrior Hob in bloodthirsty rage.


    A tap on my forearm draws me from my thoughts. ¡°Husband?¡± asks Koria.


    My words slow. ¡°Possible wife, quite possible.¡± I blink and inwardly shake my mind back to the present, and go to the age-old diversion, ask a question to force the other speaker to change their own thoughts. ¡°Are you ready to teach Archery again?¡±


    ¡°Of course, husband, especially since you return to me some of my former students ¡­¡±


    Before sleep, I kiss each of my wives in turn as I say their name. In my mind I roll through each of their assignments, Luda harvests sinew and makes bows, Rexa takes care of the Blood Suns arrivals with assistance from Zuxa and Lazsia, while Bekto is busy making bellows. And now Koria will train more archers. My wives contribute to my glory and I must do as much if not more.


    ---


    The next morning, I untangle myself from Koria. My other wives have long ago woken and started their day it would seem. I kiss her forehead and whisper, ¡°Have this day, tomorrow I need you to work ¡­¡±


    Spear ready and armour secure, I open the door to my cabin and welcome the morning sun. The first stop is the kitchen cabin and halfway there ¡­


    ¡°Lord Hob, a moment,¡± calls Zeb Stone Grim.


    I halt my quest to break my fast and wait for him. Instead of an explanation, he tosses a river stone to me.


    ¡°Do you know of a weapon which can throw those? The children like skimming them across the river and thrown from a short distance at a foe they would at least suffer a headache. Better would be something with the range of a bow ¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if the weapon I am thinking of will have the range of a bow but would throw a stone a good distance across an open field. It is called a sling. Made from leather.¡±


    ¡°Wait Lord, I will fetch Bekto, I know she works on something else for you, but if you describe it to her, and the crafting simple, she will be able to teach others ¡­¡±


    ¡°Lead and I will follow.¡± My stomach growls in protest, but I tell it this is important.


    Under a rough and ready extension to the back of my cabin, a roof of sorts held up by two poles, we find Bekto shaping leather. I hesitate to disturb her, while Zeb has no such qualms.


    ¡°Yes, Speaker of Law? Oh, husband ¡­¡±


    ¡°I need to describe to you a weapon, fairly simple and of leather ¡­ could you teach others while continuing your work for me?¡±


    ¡°Possibly, describe what you need ¡­¡±


    I explain the basics of a sling, a pouch for the stone and two long strands.


    ¡°Easy, I will make one before you send some volunteers my way and then demonstrate to them.¡±


    I kiss her sweaty forehead and leave with Zeb.


    ¡°Who did you have in mind?¡±


    ¡°I thought some of the older children under the guidance of two or three responsible adults?¡± offers Zeb.


    ¡°Won¡¯t these children try out what they have just made?¡±


    He smiles his knowing smile. ¡°I plan on it. The children are too short and weak to pull a bow but swirling a sling around and letting the stone fly sounds perfect mischief for a child.¡±


    ¡°What if they kill themselves or each other?¡± I grab his arm. ¡°An adult?¡±


    ¡°They can practice hitting river water first ¡­¡±


    I nod.


    ¡°¡­ plus, the ammunition is at their feet there,¡± he adds, finishing with riotous laughter.


    Does he laugh because his daughter is back from presumed death, the thought of children causing havoc or both reasons? Does it matter I ask myself? Laughter is its own reward, and my bonded servant deserves as much as this world can bestow upon him.


    ---


    I finally break my fast, alone ¨C hot stew and I can¡¯t help but smile at the taste. I don¡¯t count Zana and Gato as wives, both I consider more as accidental companions regardless of their misconceptions and yet once they served me, both politely announced their intentions. While they couldn¡¯t fish for ore, they could help weave baskets and promptly left the kitchen cabin to do so.


    Pushing my empty bowl away I head for the kitchen cabin door to begin my search for Milga or Zeb. My shadows are no longer conveniently at my disposal, Zeb¡¯s interruption brief this morning and then onto other business. Wait, I school myself as I exit the kitchen cabin. Didn¡¯t I order everyone to work as if their lives depended upon it? Therefore, didn¡¯t I bring this, whatever this is, upon myself? Gazing upon the fields, boar muck is being spread down each row of the nearest field. A gang of Redagar curses and swears while using their copper saws to cut planks, I assume for the boar pen wall. Children are delivering full water skins and taking empty ones. A Ten Spear returns with a boar strung upside-down along a log two goblins holding each end. As they lower the boar to the ground Luda and Zoxa are upon the beast. I assume to skin and harvest sinew and after, Zoxa will prepare the carcass for tonight¡¯s feast.


    As I approach, one then another and then the rest of the Ten Spears notice. Most have a varying amount of red blood splatter upon them and instead of cleaning the mess down, they beam with pride holding their spears upright in an almost salute. Ten sets of eyes follow my every step. Half of these are Copper Village skinnies, although not so skinny after I suspect, ten days gorging on protein. Those not carrying the boar providing two skins and several strands of sinew. Luda not impressed so they must have failed in some way to meet her expectations. Although this confirms they do slaughter in the field and help themselves. The others are from the Farm, I identify them by their good body condition not by recognition. I need to be able to do that more, see them as individuals ¡­


    ¡°Where do you hunt?¡± I ask.


    One steps forward, and I recognise her, one of the original twenty from Copper Village, although her name escapes me.


    ¡°Lord if it pleases you, I will answer, this Ten Spears is under my care.¡± She bows low and straightens slowly.


    Hands behind my back I stride around them, no eyes follow me, yet some blush green, some white knuckle their spears and others try to stand perfectly still. When I return to my start spot, I notice the leader must have followed me around and yet I didn¡¯t notice. I am uncertain if that is good or bad!


    ¡°Line up, a rank of five at the back, a rank of four at the front offset so I can see all your faces.¡±


    With a minimum of fuss, they sort into formation.


    ¡°I have an important mission for you." I inspect each goblin face, ensuring I have their attention. "You are to escort the elder back to her valley cave. We suspect Blood Suns'' survivors have fled there and you are to lead them back to the Farm. If you encounter Laughing Tusks on the way there, tell them you are hunting. If you encounter Laughing Suns on the way back while escorting Blood Suns tell them they are your prisoners of war to face my judgement.¡±


    ¡°Lord,¡± she whispers.


    I swivel around to face their leader.


    ¡°We have been hunting in the Blood Suns Tribal Lands for these past five days, the Laughing Tusks are nowhere to be found, yet there are others ¡­ they skulk about, stay out of sight ¡­ we have been leaving them portions of boar meat. We¡¯ve been showing them kindness ¡­¡±


    I can¡¯t speak. Her bottom lip quivers, my silence is being interpreted as anger or disfavour ¡­ I cough. Then quick as a snake I reach for and embrace her. She blinks as I release her.


    ¡°Well done. When you return from the elder¡¯s camp with those hiding there try to entice any strays to join you. Yes?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord, as you wish, we leave as soon as we find the elder.¡±


    I smirk. ¡°She may not know of the plan so if she resists tell her Lord Hob needed to send another.¡±


    She quirks her head, but other than that she orders her troop to spread out and ask about the elder.


    ¡°Two gangs of pregnant goblins harvest your pebbles, Lord,¡± announces Zeb when he finds me staring at the sow pen.


    Turning to face him I raise an eyebrow.


    ¡°They can float in the water, carrying buckets of swill is getting to be beyond them.¡±


    I nod. ¡°Do we have any of the original twenty from Copper Village still nearby?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps five,¡± he replies.


    I appreciate he doesn¡¯t ask why; Zeb obeys until he believes he can offer useful comment.


    ¡°I need those five to start teaching others how to weave grass into baskets instead of nets.¡±


    He chuckles. ¡°No need Lord we have a gang weaving nets for the Ten Spears, I will instruct them to weave baskets instead and stack them near the kitchen cabin, close to the swamp pebbles?¡±


    I nod and return a smile.


    As he swivels to leave ¡­ ¡°Can you ask Milga to meet me?¡±


    His turn to nod.


    ¡°Lord Hob,¡± calls Zoxa.


    As I approach, I notice the butchered boar. The beast has been dissected into each leg, head and body, each piece laying upon a cured skin, which explains why the kitchen cabin is no longer required.


    ¡°Can I offer you ¡­¡±


    Her words attract my attention away from the beast preparation in time to see her sweep back a skin.


    ¡°A little something, I have been saving Lord, you look slightly skinner than I remember ¡­¡±


    Grinning, I hoist the roasted boar leg upon my shoulder and shortly after find myself nestling on a chair feasting at my cabin table.


    ¡°Is all that for you?¡±


    Milga.


    ¡°I will share with those who work for my glory ¡­¡±


    She reaches for and slices off a good portion. I stare at her, eyes wide open and about to swear!


    While flapping her stolen portion at me she asks, ¡°What do you hold mead in once you have fermented the honey?¡±


    Now I know she doesn''t know how mead could be made before now, so she has been her usual inquisitive self ¡­


    ¡°Barrels, wooden bowls or pottery from the Head Hob?¡± I suggest. Then chuckle, realising the Blood Suns must have done something given the volumes they supposedly consumed.


    ¡°Yes and no. What you do is capture some Head Village Potters." She waves away my look of concern, again waggling her portion of boar in my face. "Don¡¯t fret this act was many generations ago. With teachers, however reluctant, you learn how to create pots, shape clay, fire clay and so on. I believe you were after some pottery skills?¡±


    I slide the rest of the leg towards her. She waves the offer back of course, but I have clearly demonstrated my appreciation. Her mouth is now stuffed full of boar while trying to smile.


    ¡°Where are my potters?¡±


    She flicks a thumb towards the new birthing barracks.


    ¡°Where do they collect the clay from?¡±


    She mumbles not making any sense.


    I sigh and she gets the message, gulping down the dregs of her gluttony.


    ¡°The same River as Head Village yet further East. They needed to gather the clay at night to avoid any confrontation with the tribes¡¯ Berserks. Once done, then cart it back to their villages which were generally placed closer to the mountain range.¡± She sneezes and I dodge the spray. Without apology, she continues. ¡°The drunks would demand jugs in exchange for being left alone, a time-honoured tradition apparently. I haven¡¯t been able to find any who actually brew the mead yet.¡±


    ¡°Given the Blood Suns berserk reputation I have gone off the idea of mead as I suspect the goblin body can¡¯t handle drinking to excess and I don¡¯t need drunks on the Farm so let¡¯s hope we never find any.¡±


    She nods, with a solution grin across her lips. I suspect any Blood Suns who do hold such knowledge won¡¯t survive long enough to pollute the Farm with mead. But I am only guessing of course, based upon my partner¡¯s solution for my third original wife. And on that happy note, an unpleasant question for her ¡­


    ¡°Would you accept returning to the Flint Arrows Tribal Lands on a diplomacy mission?¡±


    She spits out a small amount of boar meat, having the good sense to turn her head away from me this time.


    She sighs and waves a come-hither hand at me.

 1.029 Diplomancy Part One

    ¡°Would they slay you upon sight?¡±


    She rubs her chin. The fact she needs to consider this possibility is a concern!


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so, they would be curious ¡­¡±


    I tear off a portion of the boar. ¡°About?¡±


    She grins flopping her head from side to side. ¡°You mostly, your survival. How Zeb and his family are doing, why they are still here? Who are they loyal to? Remember they will be trying to plot, balance risk against reward. See if they can manipulate this new situation to their advantage ¡­¡±


    ¡°Seems a mission fraught with much danger and intrigue, perhaps I should have enlisted Vuzsia, she ¡­¡±


    Milga slams her open hand upon the table, and I hold up a hand to stay her wrath. My partner¡¯s open mouth closes before she utters anything she may regret.


    ¡°As I was about to say, she would have been expendable.¡±


    I get a humph as she settles her bottom back into the chair and chews down hard on the meat in her mouth.


    ¡°Would Zeb be a good choice to send as an envoy?¡±


    ¡°I will go,¡± she says, with a hard edge to her voice.


    I grab her hands, the move surprises her of course. ¡°You. Are. Not. Expendable. If you go you must promise me to return or stay alive, whatever it takes, until I come to rescue you. Promise!¡± My eyes bore into hers and I am unrelenting, my grip on her arms tighten a fraction so she knows I am deadly serious.


    Tears. One from the left eye, three from the right eye dribble down her cheeks. My holding her hands prevent any wiping and from the trembling lips, I can tell this annoys her. I wait.


    ¡°I promise,¡± she whispers. I almost miss the word.


    ¡°Promise what?¡±


    ¡°To return or stay alive until you rescue me ¡­¡± She sniffs.


    ¡°Stay alive how?¡±


    She releases a long breath. ¡°Whatever it takes ¡­¡±


    I grab both of her hands in one of mine and with the free hand wipe her tears and only then release my grip freeing her to settle back into her chair.


    ¡°You are my emissary. They harm you in any way and they have attacked me.¡±


    She nods. I am uncertain if she can speak, her chest is sucking in air and releasing ¡­ I hope due to the emotion of the moment and the clear certainty I value her.


    ¡°Tell them the Blood Bones, Sharp Fangs and Grim Weavers are intending to raid our grain silos once we harvest. The Flint Arrows have two choices, either to attack us at the same time or just before or preferably for us, attack the Blood Bones when they leave their Tribal Lands to attack. Depending upon their actions we may or may not be more cooperative in the future.¡±


    ¡°Such a gamble Lord Hob ¡­¡±


    I know this bothers her because she doesn¡¯t pick another portion to eat.


    ¡°While you are in their company, I need you to find out if they have an ancient set of Warrior Hob Armour and Weapon, I suspect they will be on display in a holy shrine or venerated place. I will need to visit the place sometime in the future so make sure you know how to find your way there.¡±


    The colour drains from her face as I speak each word, I am almost distracted by the sight ¡­


    ¡°You ask the impossible ¡­ um Lord. None but the Council know the location, although many know the legend as the telling is a source of pride amongst Flint Arrows. This single act many generations ago set the Flint Arrows apart from all other tribes ¡­¡±


    ¡°It has also ensured they haven¡¯t changed their way of life from those times either and being unable to change and adapt is a weakness, one which I hope, given enough time, to exploit. If they suggest an emissary should be sent to the Farm, essentially a spy for them.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°Make sure you utterly reject, even before they suggest any names, Vuzsia Dead Eye.¡± I see her face contort slightly and hold up a hand. ¡°I am getting tired of calming your passion before I finish, I will just slap you from now on, agreed?¡±


    She slow nods, is that her sulking? Why this cautious passion, now? Milga¡¯s greatest strength, her callous logic seems to have fled her.


    ¡°If they ask why then say she rejected my advances and invitation to be my wife.¡±


    Milga giggles, I am glad my suggestion improves her mood. ¡°She will deny the offer and rejection ¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, she will, but it won¡¯t make any difference, wouldn¡¯t anyone of Flint Arrows deny such a brazen offer? Except of course those who fall prey to me by choosing to survive river drowning ¡­¡±


    ¡°Why is she ideal?¡±


    ¡°A number of reasons. I am hoping her time away from the tribe has broadened her view of the world. So, after returning she becomes quickly sick of the intrigue having lived a different life without it.¡±


    Air whistles through Milga¡¯s teeth. ¡°That was a reason, which ¡­ um ¡­ continue.¡±


    I show off a wide smile. ¡°Also, while with us and enjoying her freedom I hope to win her over or at least make her report favourably given time.¡±


    Milga¡¯s hands play together. ¡°You wish to make her your wife then?¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°No, not as a particular objective, I have enough wives. More along the lines, I trust you and Koria to know her and therefore be able to gauge where her loyalty is.¡± I say Koria¡¯s name quietly, as I am still missing one wife. There is no news of Duzsia whom I am certain is pregnant.


    ¡°What do I say about the river drowning, you could grab Vuzsia, steal her spirit and make her yours ¡­¡± She blinks. ¡°For example.¡±


    I suspect this question burns within her, if I don¡¯t take Vuzsia as a wife, perhaps I force her loyalty and, in some way, this challenges our arrangement. She needs an answer, giving up on slapping the table and interrupting she controls her emotion, although the minute way her lips quiver waiting for my answer ¡­ this takes effort. This is not the partner, I know. Is sending her a mistake ¡­ she seems too emotional. Did my reveal, my declaration she isn¡¯t simply another goblin to me affect her more than I first realised.


    Her wide eyes study mine as I delay my response, with my thinking.


    ¡°Explain the subject needs to be willing to survive the revival. They need to choose their loyalty, either their Tribal Ancestors or my Devotee. I can¡¯t influence that, which is why at least one, the bravest of the brave, chose his Ancestors. Make sure you lavish praise here ¡­ bravest of the brave, indomitable courage for example. They need to know he won on their behalf. He preserved the tribe¡¯s honour and reputation.¡±


    Milga Stone Blood nods and I believe is more than satisfied. ¡°This will mark Zeb¡¯s family as cowards.¡±


    ¡°Most likely, which means they will never want them back. They survived the drowning they made their choice.¡±


    She thinks upon that for a while and I give her the time, chewing on the few remaining portions of boar leg. I don¡¯t believe Zeb was under any delusions about the choice at the time, his daughters being his reason for living. He accepted, once they declared loyalty to me, he would never return to the tribe.


    Milga abandons the leg bone and looks into my eyes. ¡°My mission then is to either set the Flint Arrows upon the Blood Bones or add a fourth tribe to our woes.¡± I nod. ¡°See if they offer an emissary and if they do try to influence who that will be by opposing the choice we want and try to assure them the stealing of spirits is a loyalty and bravery test and if I get a chance, find out where the tribe hides their most secret of secret holy artifacts. That about sum up my mission.¡±


    I shake my head from side to side. ¡°More important than all of that, return to me.¡±


    She jeers. ¡°I am the Stone Blood, my name actually means unwavering bravery in the face of certain death, so my survival and return to you is a given partner.¡±


    Her finishing half-smile, half convincing. She is trying to live up to her name and unfortunately, she isn¡¯t facing a wild beast, but her own tribal society which lives and breathes intrigue. Surviving past Council clashes, I am hoping will provide the resilience to see her through this time as well.


    ¡°Can you leave now?¡± I ask.


    ¡°For the Flint Arrows?¡±


    I nod, ¡°Before you have a chance to dwell on the dangers ¡­¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    I smirk. ¡°You must know as well as I do, they would keep a permanent watch on the river island, after all, they don¡¯t want lessor goblins invading their Tribal Lands again.¡±


    ¡°I will meet you there,¡± she says.


    ¡°I will meet you there,¡± I reply. What preparation does she need to do?


    ---


    I wade across with Milga upon my shoulders and deposit her upon the island and then smartly turn around and wade back to the Farm side shore. She nocks and releasing one arrow into the clearing on the Flint Arrows side of the river and waits.


    The wait isn¡¯t short, dusk isn¡¯t far away when a committee of five, one important looking goblin by his swagger and confidence and four others, maybe bodyguards march to the bank of the river.


    ¡°What do you want outcast?¡±


    Mmm, perhaps I underestimated their level of hate. Maybe Vuzsia spoke against Milga upon her return.


    ¡°I am not an outcast, only the full Council can declare me such and to my face, as I have earnt my name and therefore don¡¯t need to suffer any disrespect.¡±


    I can see now why the Council wanted to resist giving her a name, in this tribe at least there are certain benefits and given Milga¡¯s response certain protections.


    ¡°Not officially, but you know the sentiment is strong and against you.¡±


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    ¡°Since when have the Flint Arrows descended to sentiment instead of rules? If this is the case, perhaps I was wise to leave such a weak lawless tribe and go my own way. I swear to hold to our traditions so at least one true Flint Arrows walks this valley.¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± One of the bodyguards calls out. The other four genuflect and give him a significant amount of personal space.


    Milga whispers something under her breath, which I have no chance of hearing. She bows though like the others, so whoever this is commands a great deal of respect or at least obedience.


    He continues once satisfied. ¡°Why do you shout at us from the river island Milga Stone Blood?¡±


    Milga straightens after holding her bow longer than the others, only rising once addressed. ¡°I am an emissary of Lord Farmer Hob Klug, and he wishes amicable discussion between Flint Arrows and the Farm.¡±


    ¡°Wade across, if you survive, we will entreat with you as his emissary.¡±


    ¡°I have a better plan. I will release an arrow with a rope attached and I trust you will haul me across the river before I drown.¡±


    ¡°Agreed!¡± he shouts.


    They don¡¯t move out of the way, they expect Milga¡¯s arrow to fly true and aren¡¯t disappointed. Once the other four have hold Milga dives into the river and they fulfil their side of the agreement, rapidly pulling on the rope with all their strength and Milga, although wet is across and alive. They wrap a fur around her shoulders and without looking back she marches towards her fate with an escort, and I assume one of the Council.


    ---


    I stroll East along the riverbank, my thoughts with Milga, questioning this plan until the lights of the Farm proper interrupt with their welcome. I note the evening feast is underway, two glistening boars are on a spit each. We will shortly need three, how long until we need four? I help myself to a small portion and retire to my cabin table. Several of the Ten Spears move about the feast yet those I sent with the elder aren¡¯t one of them, therefore perhaps tomorrow. Once I eat my full, instead of sleep, I visit the Birthing Huts. I arrive in time to witness a starving family of five emerge from the night and join the other Blood Suns. Rexa in the company of other Blood Suns greets them, although their cautiousness proves while they are of the same tribe, they are strangers.


    ¡°They dribble in husband,¡± answers Rexa to my unasked question.


    ¡°Will we have enough space?¡± A question for myself and I don¡¯t expect an answer.


    ¡°They will stay out under the night sky if they must, food is their priority.¡±


    I flick my head towards the nearest door, and she takes the hint to follow me outside the Huts.


    ¡°Have all the others left this task to you,¡± I whisper.


    ¡°I am more than capable husband, many times have I been witness to Jotor organising his farmhands for the day, they require food and water, tasks to be completed and discipline if warranted. Luda and Zeb support me if needed but more and more they praise me and leave this task to me. You can be proud of me husband ¡­¡±


    Does she fear I will remove her? Absurd, if Zeb believes she is capable I will not think otherwise.


    ¡°Be assured wife, Zeb praises your efforts and I thought to visit and praise you also.¡± I sweep her off her feet into a long warm embrace, her blushing face ample reward.


    ¡°Husband! Put me down please, I have work to do on your behalf ¡­¡±


    I kiss and release her. She skips back into the Huts, taking a quick look over her shoulder to ensure I watch her every step of the way.


    ¡°Husband,¡± whispers Zuxa, as she hurries by to deliver a leg of roasted boar.


    I wait and catch Lazsia before she can dart by with a simple greeting.


    ¡°Husband, we are assisting fourth wife Rexa, obeying her every order I assure you ¡­¡±


    Fourth wife? What does that mean? ¡°Who is fifth wife and so on?¡±


    ¡°Bekto is fifth wife husband, Ligia is sixth wife, Zuxa is seventh wife, and I am ¡­ I am eighth wife.¡±


    I try not to laugh. This amuses me as I considered all my wives somewhat equal, or do I? That isn¡¯t completely true I self-confess, my first wives I consider most capable and devoted, the four tributes of variable worth, while Zana and Gato are, well I am not certain.


    ¡°Ligia has left the Farm, why is she still sixth wife?¡±


    ¡°Only in death do we leave your side Husband, your first wives beat that understanding into us within the first day.¡± Her eyes moisten. The memory recall is enough ¡­ to stir inner emotion, did they physically beat her? I remember our first night, each tribute wife accepting their situation to a different degree. This I accepted, what I didn¡¯t accept was the assumption they could laze about.


    ¡°While your returning of Ligia¡¯s Spirit fooled Meb, him supposedly ¡®Sharp Eye¡¯ ¡­¡± The mocking tone in her voice unmistakable. ¡°He only saw what he wanted to, more fool him. I beg your leave to go husband. Sister-wife Rexa is likely to punish me if I dally.¡±


    ¡°Even if talking to me at my request?¡±


    Her eyes cast downwards. ¡°Your fourth wife is a harsh mistress husband but fair with the likes of me your lowly eighth wife.¡±


    ¡°Off you go.¡±


    She releases a long breath and scampers away. Thinking back to more playful nights and early mornings I thought all my wives were civil towards each other, none fighting for anything but a fair share of my time. I see now there was and still is a pecking order, I assume Koria is first wife, Luda is second wife, Duzsia is third wife and I have no idea about Zana and Gato ¡­ How could I not see this?


    ¡°Lord Hob, food ¡­¡±


    I don¡¯t recognise the voice immediately although once her face comes into view, I wonder why she attends to me.


    ¡°You eat, you need to recover.¡±


    Zoria¡¯s shoulders slump and then her eyes rise to stare into mine. ¡°What must I do to prove my loyalty? I have stabbed myself, been stabbed by others and I bear the scars ¡­ stood by Milga.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± I leave her gobsmacked, returning to my cabin and an early night. I lay awake and as my wives return to my cabin I observe while feigning sleep. There is a dance of deferring, Koria takes up her position beside me before any others, she spoons on the inside and I recall like a punch to head, none slept there during her absence. Then the others in wife pecking order, but not as a line up taking turns, they know with precision where and how to lay with me while respecting the order. Wife diplomacy at work.


    ---


    I wake, my clean and polished armour is set out and my spear is hanging along a support beam ready for me to pick off. All my wives have risen and left to perform their duties I assume. I begin my day in the kitchen cabin, Zana serves me while Gato weaves a basket from tall grass lengths, her belly fitting in the basket opening as she works. I come to a decision.


    ¡°Zana and Gato once you have given birth, I will offer to make you my wives if you are willing to survive the ceremony.¡±


    They giggle.


    Gato answers my dumbfounded look. ¡°We are already your wives, Smith Hob proclaimed us as such when he gave us to you. Being proper civilised goblins, we understand our duty from the start and our loyalty is absolute. The Smith Hob explained how things were changing and how the Farmer Hob wanted dedicated female goblins in case of the need to rut out of season occurred and the tribal goblins, while they survived the drowning ceremony, weren¡¯t your true wives because it was just hocus-pocus stuff, a ruse to tame the primitives. We do accept though that Rexa is first wife.¡± Zana and Gato nod in sync. ¡°As such we must obey her, but the tribal wives are um ¡­ like favourite obedient playthings, not wives though husband, no not wives.¡±


    I don¡¯t have an answer to their absolute belief in their worldview. I push my plate away and wordless, I walk to the door to escape the innocent mind-bending of Zana and Gato. How come the husband isn¡¯t told about this addition of wives? Can any Hob gift wives to the Farmer Hob? Did my offer to the Smith Hob for spears and so forth commit me to this arrangement and I didn¡¯t understand the agreement fully? Rexa could be the key, she is accepted by the Tribal wives and acknowledged by my two Copper Village wives ¡­ yes, I need to speak with her!


    With purpose, I stride towards the Pregnancy Huts. As I round behind the kitchen cabin, I hear a whimpering noise from nearby. My hearing isn¡¯t as acute as a goblin, good enough though as I zero in on the source. Backing away trying to hide further, a large belly goblin is amongst the grass weave baskets, her eyes wide as I kneel in front of her.


    ¡°Quiet and quit wiggling,¡± I growl. Her pants are already off laying nearby, only her loincloth remains.


    I caress her belly, feeling for baby movement. After a time, the baby turns, and I smile upon my unwilling patient. Her face begins to contort.


    ¡°Don¡¯t push yet, resist the urge.¡±


    She bites her lip and then opens her mouth wide when I wrestle off her loincloth.


    ¡°Quiet.¡±


    I part her legs and observe, she is yet to fully dilate her cervix. Given Zoxa¡¯s description of childbirth, I am certain my patient is trying to comprehend my presence and in doing so, rests instead of trying to push a large baby head through too small an opening.


    ¡°Breathe.¡± I demonstrate this by breathing deep in myself and then breathing out, trying to set her to a slow rhythm.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Piba,¡± she whispers, her face screwing up in pain.


    ¡°You must breathe instead of pushing ¡­ alright? I will let you know when you can push and when you can rest, understand? The pain is from contractions, they force your body to make a way for your baby.¡±


    A frantic nod of her head isn¡¯t convincing but at least it isn¡¯t rejection or panic.


    On my knees, perfectly in position, I check again, the dilation of her cervix is near enough to seventy or eighty percent the size of the mother¡¯s head and I observe for the first time there is no difference from the previous check. Her last pain must have been the final contraction.


    ¡°Push Piba ¡­¡±


    Her eyes blink, she is aware of my presence and what she must do while I am present and shakes her head from side to side.


    ¡°Push Piba,¡± I growl. ¡°I am not leaving, so unless you wish to burst wide open, push now.¡±


    She squeaks and under my hand, I detect taut muscles, the push is on! As I see her eyes semi-close and breathing become haggard, I decide it is time for a brief rest and call to her. She sighs, while occasionally wincing. Pain is a given during childbirth and I try soothing words and encourage her to breathe in rhythm. These are pretence, she knows, and I know and yet her brain welcomes them, clinging on to them for a modicum of relief.


    Time to push again. This cycle continues until an amazing change.


    ¡°PIba, one last push, I can see your baby¡¯s head ¡­¡±


    ¡°Urgh,¡± she yelps, her hands now fists as she forces her pelvic region to bare down.


    A small green head pops out between her legs, which I cradle and then in a rush, the rest of the body wriggles and slips out. I juggle and recover. She tries to sit upright.


    ¡°Lay down,¡± I command.


    ¡°I must do ¡­ things and then return to my duties ¡­¡±


    I grab the baby, slime and all and place the newborn life upon her chest, umbilical cord still attached. I then take her arms and wrap them around the baby. Instinct takes over and the baby mouths for milk.  I take a bold liberty and undo the leather bindings of her shirt revealing one engorged breast. I shift the baby until I am certain erm she? Yes, she latches on. There is worry in the eyes of the mother.


    ¡°I am Lord Hob. On this Farm, you do as I say. Now, I tell you to suckle your newborn, rest and worry about nothing else.¡±


    The lines around her eyes relax, until her face is near enough smooth once again ¡­ glowing. This ¡®look¡¯ I have seen before ¡­ where? When?


    After one breast is dry, I shift her daughter to the other. This breast though is comfort, not nourishment. Somewhere over the course of feeding the umbilical cord detaches from the newborn, shrinking and withdrawing. The mother asleep startles awake and grunts. Next moment her body expels the afterbirth.


    She looks to me, eyes like saucers.


    ¡°This happens naturally upon feeding, whatever you have been told about the birthing process is more wrong than right. I will inspect the afterbirth to allay any fears you may have, but I don¡¯t expect anything bad.¡±


    She hasn¡¯t any fight left, accepting my words because they present the easy way, right or wrong not a concern for the moment. I don¡¯t recognise her, and giving birth now confirms she belongs to another, so I can only assume Blood Suns tribe. While not skin and bones, very few meals have been eaten by her for several days.


    I muck about in the afterbirth checking for any missing portions or abnormalities. The abnormalities aren¡¯t something I can go, ¡®look there¡¯, I am not the expert by any means, yet something jarring even I can detect. I don¡¯t know what to do when I do find one, but I will cross that bridge when I come to it.


    A clearing of a throat alerts me to the presence of another and I face my inquisitor.


    ¡°Husband ¡­ erm what are you doing? She was to birth and then return, being one of the healthier guests there are tasks waiting for her and you allow her to rest!¡± chides Rexa.


    I raise my hands, black dripping from them and push them out towards her.


    My wife takes a step back, eyes narrowing. ¡°Husband!¡±


    ¡°Mother and daughter are doing well wife, leave them be, find another to do her duties today. Tomorrow if well enough she can resume her duties.¡±


    My wife puffs out her cheeks, cute I think ¡­ she stomps off and then returns. ¡°I am in charge of the newcomers am I not?¡±


    ¡°Yes, my wife, you are.¡± I pile the afterbirth and umbilical cord away from mother and daughter.


    ¡°Well?¡±


    ¡°See that growing baby inside of you, wife.¡± Her hands immediately slide over her budding belly. ¡°I intend to be there when you give birth also and I will treat you in the same way or perhaps even more doting than I am now because I wish with all my heart for mother and child to survive.¡±


    Rexa sniffs. ¡°Well don¡¯t spoil them too much, they will never return to work claiming they need to mother their child or something stupid.¡±


    She turns yet doesn¡¯t escape, my hand, blood drying on skin grabs around her waist. ¡°If you and my child survive, you will be mothering our child until I say different.¡±


    Rexa wilts under my gaze. ¡°But husband, who will look after you ¡­?¡±


    ¡°I think I am doing better than well now, so let¡¯s wait. In the meanwhile, I will follow you, can you lead me to a bed, and I will set mother and child down to rest.¡±


    Her smooth reply part sulk and part coy. ¡°I lose a worker and a room, your care for the newcomer extreme husband. You make your wife jealous ¡­ coddling a stranger as you do.¡±


    Many a frail goblin stares, as I stride into the long Hut, none question or challenge. Settling them in, I turn and address the impromptu gathering.


    ¡°Pregnant women will not run away to a quiet place to have their child and then return success or failure to work afterwards. You will tell my wife Rexa when you feel you are ready, and she will send someone to fetch me. Then together we will deliver your baby. This is the only way for childbirth to happen on my Farm.¡±


    I grab my wife around the shoulders and kiss her upon the lips. As I break from the kiss, I whisper, ¡°Be certain to fetch me.¡± My eyes are hard and cold, her skin goosebumps slightly, so I release her from my embrace.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she croaks, a single word and no more.


    A rising crescendo of chatter erupts after I leave.

 1.030 Diplomancy Part Two

    While observing the herd of new goblins file through the farm gate I remembered I needed to discuss my wives and their pecking order, with my wife, Rexa. I curse under my breath.


    Another approaches on soft footfalls, yet not as silent as I am certain she can. Zoria. She positions herself on my right-hand side, slightly behind me. I take a deep breath, how dare she.


    ¡°Remove yourself from that position before I break you in half!¡± I growl.


    Her feet scrape as she takes a sidestep, relinquishing Milga¡¯s customary position.


    ¡°Lord Hob, how can I prove my loyalty to you?¡±


    I continue to watch the long line, so many, yet there were over two hundred heads ¡­ how many females and young did the other goblin tribes capture?


    ¡°There is another ransom, she accompanied the elder. Bring her to me, although I suspect I will be sending you with her to claim another ransom.¡±


    ¡°Lord Hob ¡­? I ¡­¡±


    I hear no more, except for the screeching return of the elder.


    ¡°Lord Hob, look-see at our haul! Some in poor condition, but those who pilfered my stores and there were many, they cleaned them out they did and now follow us ¡­ also I have news!¡±


    ¡°Apologies Lord,¡± huffs Zeb. ¡°Their arrival I expected, the numbers though ¡­ Redagar will be ¡­¡±


    ¡°Redagar,¡± I finish. ¡°Question this lot, I need potters and those with the skill to fire the pots they make. Any fit and healthy, female or male, assign to Redagar they can assist with building their own shelters.¡±


    ¡°As you command.¡± Zeb charges forward to organise the rabble, shouting orders to them and the Ten Spears equally.


    ¡°Elder, please ¡­¡± I wave an open hand in the direction of my cabin¡¯s table.


    As we settle around the table, I notice the elder nibbling on her fingernails, before I can ask, she speaks.


    ¡°Duzsia is alive Lord Hob. They say she sneaks around Blood Suns lands telling any survivors to either make for my caves or directly to the farm. The latest ones still mention her, so two, possibly three days ago they assure me she spoke to them.¡± Her frail hands flap about smacking mine and I think she is about to jump out of her chair.


    I should be ecstatic. Instead, I shove the feeling down, I need her before me, and nothing less will do.


    ¡°How big was the Blood Suns tribe?¡±


    ¡°Bigger than the three tribes thought or dreamt of Lord Hob. I know over two hundred heads tell everyone that number were slain, yet what everyone doesn¡¯t know is two hundred warrior males is the most each of the three tribes can field, although most are really hunters. They scoured the land yet didn¡¯t stay and search in detail because they couldn¡¯t or didn¡¯t want to believe the Blood Suns tribe could be bigger than theirs.¡± Her eyes blaze with excitement, recognising the mistake the other tribes made. To not search the land in detail for every living member of the Blood Suns tribe, sheer folly.


    I lean forward upon the table, nodding in agreement, which encourages her to continue.


    ¡°My caves the key Lord Hob! The threat of the boar protectors keeping the already reluctant invaders away from the mountains providing survivors with a perfect sanctuary. There are many Blood Suns villages at the foot of the mountain ranges because the Blood Suns couldn¡¯t expand in any other direction and any near the middle of their lands subject to the drunks. The berserk ones would attract many to them, lured by mead, plunder and debauchery. Most of their female camp followers were kidnapped from other tribes which is why they hated them so much.¡±


    Her face now leers at me. ¡°No tribe breeds, well now I guess bred like the Blood Suns.¡±


    My head is full of questions, yet one dominates.


    ¡°Their pregnant women go off alone and returned with a child or not as the case may be?¡±


    ¡°That is the proper way, why would Blood Suns be different?¡±


    Are Blood Suns women hardy or have unusual genetics which ensures survival? Can a Blood Suns woman during childbirth call for help? There must be an explanation and I have made the perfect friend to find out. Although ¡­ as I observe my Speaker of Law wrangle the gaggle of newcomers, many of the woman nurse a jar, holding the plain thing close as if all or nothing depended upon that single possession.


    ¡°What is in the jars they carry?¡± I idly ask.


    ¡°Honey, Lord Hob. The berserks ferment mead the others consume a portion daily ¡­ why do you ask?¡±


    I have an ah-ha moment. Honey has a reputation as an antibacterial with healing properties amongst other more outlandish claims, but in essence, in moderation and not as mead, honey is one of the better foods. I rise from my chair and zombie-like march towards Zeb, I need to find out.


    ¡°Lord Hob?¡± he calls.


    I wave him away and find a goblin female with a jar, not difficult, yet a goblin seeing a Hobgoblin make a beeline towards you is intimidating and I make no allowance ¡­


    ¡°You, why do you cradle that jar so? Give it to me,¡± I growl.


    She turns and bends her body away protecting the jar. Several children surround her while others, with jars, also back away trying to conceal as well as protect their treasure. As a test, this proves much, while probably damaging my reputation.


    Zeb catches up to me. ¡°Lord Hob? Do you need anything?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I place a hand on the cringing shoulder of the female I accosted, her children try to interfere, yet their feeble attempts are no contest against my size and strength.


    ¡°Please Lord Hob, we seek refuge, we were told you were a Hob, who wasn¡¯t a Hob and would welcome us, our jars are all the value we could take with us before fleeing ¡­¡± She slowly turns about choosing to face the Hob threat, clutching the jar to her waist, her eyes searching for mine. Dropping to one knee, bowing her head, she says, ¡°Lord of Goblins.¡±


    As if in solidarity they all copy her actions male, female and children, extolling my new title, ¡®Lord of Goblins¡¯.


    ¡°Rise, now, all of you. I am not interested in stealing your jars, I simply wish to know why you place such a high value on the contents?¡±


    ¡°Honey, Lord our jars contain honey. The drunks make mead from our treasure, we though know in its natural form our golden treasure protects a mother during childbirth and our warriors after a battle. It is a lifetime devotion though Lord, a dollop each day.¡±


    I count five children around her and ask the obvious. ¡°How many children have you given birth to?¡±


    ¡°Seven Lord.¡± Her face blushes a deeper green.


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t know what causes it,¡± shouts one.


    ¡°Yes, she does, she enjoys the trying, any season,¡± yells another.


    She turns away from me as the green blush spreads to her neck and shoulders.


    With my hands on her waist, I pick her up, lifting her high. Without a doubt, all can see her, and she can see them. I can only imagine the look on her face, although her initial struggling settles soon enough.


    I bellow, ¡°Behold the Champion of Mothers until another does better all show her the respect, she is due. So speaks the Lord of Goblins.¡± They are all in enthralled silence. ¡°From now on any Mother who can give birth to at least seven children surviving through their first year will be acknowledged as Champion of Mothers.¡± I scan the crowd and most hold their mouths open. ¡°As such, they will always be next to take a portion of boar during the feast after the Lord of Goblins. Their jars of honey will always be the first to be filled to ensure their daughters receive the golden treasure and able to birth many. Finally, a Champion of Mothers will always be able to gain an audience with the Lord of Goblins.¡± I smile wide and long. ¡°I promise to listen only though, my actions will be based upon what is good for the Farm.¡±


    Civilisation needs population and if Blood Suns and their ways can assist in this then I endorse their methods.


    ¡°Lord of Goblins, Champion of Mothers.¡±


    ¡°Lord of Goblins, Champion of Mothers.¡±


    ¡°Lord of Goblins, Champion of Mothers.¡±


    ¡°Lord of Goblins, Champion of Mothers.¡±


    The chant goes up! Our guests are not the only ones, many from the Farm made their way here also after the initial shouting, gathering behind me. I lower the Champion of Mothers, her blushing not done. Her children crowd around her. She speaks softly to them and then manoeuvres herself around to face me once again.


    ¡°Lord our source of honey is lost to us, how will our jars forever be full?¡± she whispers, yet many goblin ears prick up upon hearing her question.


    ¡°I assume the field of gold flowers is where you collected your honey?¡±


    ¡°There are other places Lord, yet the honey from there is particularly cherished ¡­¡± Her faces flushes deep green again.


    ¡°What aren¡¯t you telling me, Champion of Mothers?¡±


    Hands covering her face she mumbles, ¡°If added to a meal, your mate will oft times want you ¡­¡± She nods in a weird way, downwards.


    Her embarrassment, the eavesdropping of others about us, I can¡¯t hold back, and my belly laugh is deep and joyful. The laughter of her tribespeople ripples out from us enjoying the first celebration of life since running from death. My laughter I realise, an impossibility for a Hob. I appreciate at that moment they accept the truth, which Koria or possibly Duzsia spoke of, they would be made welcome if they found the Farm.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I grip her shoulders, capturing her eyes in mine. ¡°We have some beehives from near the gold flowers, yet I suspect the flowers are key to your purpose.¡± She yields a slight nod. ¡°Still, know honey is available and if all else permits we will try to obtain more hives.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. Lord of Goblins.¡±


    Squealing erupts from near my cabin and as the crowd turns towards the source, the Ten Spears to a hunter flush deep green. The attention of so many a shock and as one of the juvenile boars makes a run a couple of the Spears fall about themselves trying to recover the escapee. Their frustration complete when the huge Sow snorts and the juvenile escapes the pursuers to return to the mother. A chuckle rises from the crowd, while the Ten Spears retreat behind my cabin and herd the two Sows and their young around the crowd and to the pens. The strung-up boar they haul holds their hungry interest longer ¡­


    A hand lunges at my arm, I catch the movement in my peripheral vision and expecting the worst, take a step back. The heavily pregnant goblin stumbles forward, yet before she ploughs into the ground, I catch her.


    ¡°Lord your wife Rexa sent me to find you, I am ready. My waters have broken.¡±


    The Mother of Champions is at my side. ¡°Lord, childbirth is between a mother and her child, this has always been the way ¡­¡±


    I smile. Kind and full of charity. ¡°Listen all,¡± I shout out across the crowd. ¡°I am the Hob who isn¡¯t always Hob-like, otherwise why would I generously welcome the survivors of the Blood Suns to the Farm, possibly at risk of retaliation of the other three tribes.¡± I pause to allow my captive audience to consider my words.


    ¡°Why do I share, helping where I can? I do this because I want more for everyone in this valley and everyone includes those in childbirth. They should not be alone. They should be helped. They should not be put back to work immediately after. In fact, these Mothers to be will have two days¡¯ rest, regardless of whether the child survives or not. My Speaker of Law will see this is enforced.¡±


    ¡°No Lord!¡± comes a shout from the back. Jotor. He is brave now his daughter is well pregnant, and he thinks I owe, whereas I agree with Milga we tolerate him. Milga ¡­ she is on my mind, yet I need to focus on this moment. I almost turn my gaze away from my petty petitioner and instead, towards the forest of the Flint Arrows. This would¡¯ve cost me momentum. She is smart and in any case one more day and I either meet her again or begin a vengeful rescue.


    I raise my hand high pointing towards the Head Goblin of Farmers. ¡°Behold the Head Goblin of Farmers, an exulted overseer of the Farm who tends to the crops, preparing to harvest the biggest crop in his life I would reckon. Is that not so, Jotor?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. And we need all the farmhands we can, toiling every day. Two days off, after every birth when you have seeded most of the females on the Farm will make this challenging task more difficult ¡­¡±


    The collective gasp of the new arrivals drowns out the salacious giggling of everyone else.


    ¡°Most believe those I have seeded will die in childbirth, certainly you are one of those are you not?¡±


    Many look upon him and he shrinks, taking half a step back. Then his shoulders shape. ¡°No Lord, my daughter, your wife is seeded by you, I cherish her and wish nothing more than her to survive childbirth.¡±


    ¡°Well then Jotor I say to you as I say to everyone here, the more mothers and newborns who survive childbirth will see those mothers return to work after two days rest than otherwise and once those newborns grow, they will provide you with more farmhands than even you can manage Jotor, Head Goblin of Farmers.¡±


    ¡°You are my Lord Hob. I am your obedient subject. I appreciate you listening instead of simply slaughtering me when I wish to ¡­ discuss things. I look forward to an excess of farmhands, Lord.¡±


    That settled I have a mother about to give birth hanging on to me. Apart from creating an open space, I guide the expectant mother in front of all. I ensure she listens to my words and her eyes are always upon me. When the pain of childbirth begins her concerns otherwise drift away upon her screams. When the baby emerges and I tap the boy child on the bottom to make it take its first long breath and holler in response I know I have won over the crowd, most of them mothers in any case. After inspecting the afterbirth, I stand, wiping a trace of sweat from my brow thinking perhaps I should have done the same for the mother ¡­


    ¡°Help her and the child to a bed, two days¡¯ rest. That is the Law.¡±


    As I make my way through the crowd, I listen to the chatter behind me, mothers comparing notes, reflecting how they could have used help with one of their births and so on until my hearing fails me. The Ten Spears are finishing the penning of the two sows, somehow Redagar has managed to build more pigpens, or at least enough. His efforts thin the woods and forests about us, and I thought he strived to conserve old-growth, but perhaps the explanation a simpler one. The trees still standing are hardwoods and due to his copper tools, the felling of them would be difficult work and waste time he doesn¡¯t have.


    These Ten I recognise, not by name, but by boar hunt scars. These are my original Ten Spears.


    ¡°Lord we apologise for failing to hold our catch and accept your judgement willingly ¡­¡± offers one, a male.


    ¡°Your name?¡±


    ¡°Rotaz, Lord of Goblins.¡±


    ¡°The timing of your return was perfect, the chase of the young boar a great moment in the context of my meeting with our new guests. And no harm done, all boars are now safe and sound.¡±


    He releases a breath. ¡°You are generous Lord.¡±


    Once standoffish I notice the others move closer to their speaker, previously wondering about their fate I suspect ¡­ They like others must be wondering when the real Hob in me will emerge, after generations of knowing Hobs, my difference is unsettling to them in a different way, and they continually expect the worse and express surprise when I treat them as fairly as I can. My internal Hob and I are, in the main, in an uneasy alliance, his breaking point, of course, being childbirth ¨C female business, none of a Hob¡¯s concern and he hides away instead of celebrating new life. It is obvious to me now, the Farmer Hobs before did their duty and the result none of their business.


    ¡°You are my originals and learnt your lessons well, yet I need ask you about your time spent with the Laughing Tusks and the culling of the Blood Suns.¡±


    They hold their silence ¡­


    ¡°There will be no punishment.¡± I open my hands before them. ¡°We could be fighting the Laughing Tusks in the days ahead and I need to know what you know about them.¡±


    They creep forward and gather in a circle about me. A good sign.


    ¡°Lord, we know we were sent to learn battle, Meb though kept us to the rear, he told us countless times he promised you, Lord, none of us would be slain and he would keep his word,¡± says Rotaz.


    ¡°Yes, Lord,¡± says another in support.


    I hold up a hand. ¡°I have no reason not to believe what you say, so speak freely please.¡±


    ¡°We guarded the prisoners, females and children, very few males and those elderly. Nearby Meb¡¯s battle wounded were treated. Not many Lord. We befriended them, water, meat from any animals we hunted, and they told us things, horrible things Lord, without us prompting. It was like they needed to share their nightmare ¡­¡±


    I place a hand gently upon his shoulder. He nods in return.


    ¡°The Blood Suns cared nothing for their own lives Lord. Always they would slay one Laughing Tusks, often two, three or more not uncommon. They ignored their wounds until blood loss defeated them. As the days went on, we saw more Grim Weavers and Sharp Fangs help the Laughing Tusks and with their arrival a change of tactics. One of the wounded describing how the Grim Weavers would double team one of the berserks, one jeering while holding a shield with two hands protecting both from the berserkers¡¯ rage, while the other tried to shatter the knee. Some failed of course but once the berserkers¡¯ knee was shattered, usually with a club, the one-legged berserk can be slaughtered with arrows, which the Grim Weavers and Sharp Fangs loosed with close-range accuracy.¡±


    ¡°Meb suffered many dead Lord,¡± another adds.


    ¡°Enough that his brothers would consider him easy pickings?¡± I ask.


    Several, return shrugs.


    ¡°The other tribes, including the Blood Bones didn¡¯t mix with their allies, unless in battle. We never saw any of their dead or wounded, they cleaned up their own,¡± offers a new voice.


    Another adds, ¡°W ¡­ we also ¡­¡±


    Several sets of eyes are upon him, they fear what he has to say.


    ¡°Continue,¡± I say.


    ¡°We also took pity on the other Blood Suns, Lord. Away from the borders and deeper into their lands, the Blood Suns were more like, um more like other tribal goblins I guess Lord. Quiet villages, some hunters, mothers and daughters gathering from the wild. The Laughing Tusks finding an easy enemy spilt their blood, part vengeance, part cruelty and word spread from survivors and as the days went by, we found empty villages which the Laughing Tusks and the other tribes burnt. You could tell each tribes progress by the smoke reaching for the sky.¡±


    The sole female speaks up. ¡°What he is trying to tell you is we felt these Blood Suns were different and took pity on them, secreting food, leaving caches about to avoid being seen together. When we did meet, we told them about the Farm, but the giving of directions difficult, most in all their lives never left their villages or nearby surrounds. The few that did we never met.¡±


    I nod. ¡°You did well, goblins must show kindness to other goblins if they deserve such grace because if goblins don¡¯t Hobgoblins never will.¡±


    They exchange glances.


    I smile wide and long. ¡°Except me of course.¡±


    They chuckle. A nervous chuckle. I wave them to continue.


    Rotaz continues, ¡°Once the mountain foothills were reached the call came that over two hundred Blood Suns heads were on stakes and apparently that number of warriors or hunters is greater than any of the other tribes, so they declared the cull complete. Yet none questioned the lack of pure Blood Suns females and young captured. Most prisoners clearly once Laughing Tusks, some from other tribes and instead of freeing them they allowed them to vent their rage on their former masters and then treated them as worthless wretches and possibly slaves. We don¡¯t know what became of them, Lord.¡±


    The holding of the captives from me makes sense now, too few and too confusing. The conclusion of my former allies being the Blood Suns wasn¡¯t a pure tribe, they captured females from other tribes to birth their young. The numbers didn¡¯t add up though, even my Ten Spears could calculate that fact and how does that explain the abandoned villages. If you slay over two hundred males there needed to be at least two hundred childbearing age females if the ratio between the sexes is fifty-fifty, at most a few percentage points on one side or the other.


    ¡°Where do you hunt now?¡±


    ¡°The Blood Suns lands are unfriendly now, many Grim Weavers hunters, they act friendly yet many a time they stumble upon us, and then apologise for their clumsiness, after chasing away our prey. We would ask permission to hunt in the forest between the Farm and the Head Village Lord.¡±


    I furrow my brow despite my efforts not to. I didn¡¯t think that area was forbidden ¡­


    ¡°And once cleared we would need to camp above the cliff and return to the North Forest ¡­ begging your permission Lord.¡±


    I grin. Their reasoning obvious, clear the last place of boars which is nearby and then they have no other choice.


    ¡°We won¡¯t capture or slay all the boars, Lord, we thin the herd, they need enough survivors to rebuild their numbers while we wait for our captive Sows and young to grow fat. We have many mouths to feed now ¡­ until the crop is harvested and then there are stores to be collected for the snow months ¡­¡±


    Holding up a hand and chuckling I gather myself and say, ¡°Enough Rotaz, as my First Ten Spears you will always have the honour of hunting new ranges first. So, go with my approval where you want, to the West. If you find any Blood Suns stragglers between the Farm and Head Village, guide them to the Farm is all I ask.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    Ten toothy smiling faces nod in approval and as one they go and prepare for another hunt. A huge mother sow snorts at me as I observe the pigpen. The stench strong yet not overpowering I decide, although the direction of the breeze a significant assist.


    ¡°L ¡­ Lord.¡±


    The frail weak voice a surprise from her.


    ¡°Yes, Zoria.¡±


    ¡°I have Karo with me, she wishes to speak.¡±


    I turn away from the pigpen rail and face them. ¡°Speak.¡±


    ¡°Lord of Goblins, I wish to remain, I wish to go through the trail to become your wife. I can add to your glory, my acting is as good as Zoria¡¯s tracking skills and I would offer to be a spy for you.¡± She drops to the ground, her hands about my ankle.


    ¡°Stand. You accept I will own your Spirit?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord, you own Zoria¡¯s, and she is none the worse from such a thing. Also, I believe me being captured by one of Meb¡¯s brothers would be advantageous to you.¡±


    It seems the groups sent out to capture the healthy female goblins of the valley follow a similar group make up. I guess if it works, why would you change anything until it doesn¡¯t.


    ¡°What of the goblins in the elder¡¯s camp who will recognise you? Some have now returned to the Laughing Tusks.¡±


    She smirks. ¡°They know my fate until then not after. I will grab onto one of their better guesses when we meet as people like to be right, although if they are slow, I will have another prepared.¡±


    Knowing the answer, I still ask. ¡°And how will you safely arrive in one of his brothers¡¯ camps?¡±


    Without batting an eyelid, she declares, ¡°Zoria will guide me, observe for a while to ensure I am not in any immediate danger and then report back to you where I am Lord.¡±


    ¡°I would never have guessed ¡­¡± I muse.


    They wait in silence and I raise an eyebrow when Zoria says nothing. ¡°What, nothing to say, Zoria? No pleading about how you will prove your loyalty?¡±


    Crossing her hands in front of her, she says, ¡°After much thought, I believe you will be the best judge of my loyalty and when you know, I am certain you will tell me.¡±


    ¡°Fetch my Speaker of Law to the river Zoria, Karo and I will meet you both there.¡±


    She opens her mouth to question and quick as shakes off the urge and runs to do my bidding.


    ¡°You will be last on a long list of wives, you understand,¡± I say as we amble towards the northern river.


    ¡°Is it true you seeded all the females on the Farm over two days?¡±


    I nod and we walk on in silence.

 1.031 Building a Better World

    Zeb leans over and whispers, ¡°Your latest wife can read Lord. She insisted on witnessing me write her name down at the bottom of the list.¡±


    Inwardly I smile, outwardly I nod, she is more than an actress, she is the spy she claims to be.


    Standing before Zeb and me, hands wringing, feet shuffling are the lucky thirteen former Blood Suns potters, all males.


    ¡°Can you, given time, reconstruct a kiln and fire clay into jars and so forth?¡±


    They exchange glances and share nods. Three try to speak at once, so I assume they¡¯re at least three foreman or masters in the group, the others therefore underlings.


    ¡°Do I slay two of you so only one speaks or can you agree on taking turns perhaps?¡±


    They all instantly shut their mouths and gulp. Briefly sharing furtive eye contact they gather in a huddle and exchange several harsh words. I wait. The other ten potters stand off to one side kicking at the ground, engaging in idle chatter. They have been trained to wait upon their betters without sufferance I am almost certain.


    One of the three steps forward. ¡°I am Vuz, Head Goblin of the Potters, on my left is Ut, Master Potter and on my right is Lud, Master Potter. For food, shelter and safety we are happy to serve the Lord of Goblins.¡±


    ¡°Can you answer my question, Vuz, Head Goblin of the Potters?¡± My saying his name and title confirmation of his title, in fact, he flashes a celebratory grin as Speaker of Law Zeb scribes his name into the Farm¡¯s leather scroll. The scroll, an invention or replication of Flint Arrows tribal practice instigated by Zeb, almost certainly behind my back, figuratively and physically. The goblins, especially of tribal origin recognise the purpose and embrace the addition of their names to the Farm¡¯s ledger.


    ¡°Yes Lord, depending upon size, number and how many goblins assist in the task.¡±


    ¡°Explain some of the challenges?¡±


    ¡°The clay is first and foremost, we need to gather from the river, the Head Village for all their skill, don¡¯t trap all the clay. We will need protection when we do, previously our berserk cousins would get drunk and use us for warrior practice, now I think others roam about, equally deadly. Wood is next for the firing. We make the bricks first and then fashion them into a kiln.¡±


    ¡°Ut and Lud, take six of your helpers and scout out a location for the kiln. Don¡¯t choose the East side of the Farm, we expect an attack from that direction. The road to the Head Village leads out South, the river isn¡¯t that far further South, roughly in the same direction. It also has the benefit of not bordering on your former lands, so I don¡¯t expect you to meet strangers, more likely my hunters.¡±


    They nod, select six of those standing by and leave.


    ¡°Now Vuz I have a different purpose in mind than pottery.¡± I wave in the other lessor potters and begin my explanation. He isn¡¯t supportive, to begin with until I explain the modifications needed in the design of the kiln, the addition of the bellows to raise the temperature of the fire. Then I order him to create clay furnaces to burn wood and under the right conditions transform the wood into charcoal so the temperature within the kiln will be higher again. His eyes almost glaze over with the possibilities. Before he dreams too much, I explain he needs to use his kiln, now blast furnace to smelt iron and only once this is done can he return to pottery. The fact all our lives depend upon this assures his motivation.


    I inspect the four potter goblins with him and then ask my question. ¡°Who wishes to become the Head Goblin of the Smiths?¡±


    They swallow as one, fidget, scuff their shoes and avoid looking at me. ¡°None then?¡±


    Vuz steps forward. ¡°Lord we know of the Smith Hob, this title you ask is a direct challenge to him and as such any goblin will be simply fated to die ¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, I suppose except he will need to slay me first, but I could never promise I will always be there when you need me. Let me think upon this some more ¡­ you are all dismissed, you have much to do. If you need more help, ask my Speaker of Law, many of your tribe joined us today.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately, most of them are female Lord ¡­¡± mutters Vuz.


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°I don¡¯t see the problem, if you need strength use two females where you would otherwise use one male ¡­¡± I turn about and leave him with that thought, my Speaker of Law following half a step behind on my left-hand side. My destination the kitchen cabin and two goblins who know the Smith Hob best.


    ---


    Dusk is upon the Farm and this night¡¯s feast is underway. I claim a haunch from one of the two spit boars and pause to ensure the Champion of Mothers are next. Three Mothers step forward, all honey pot nursing Blood Suns.


    My wives wait for me at my cabin, and I place the leg upon the table ripping off a couple of portions, leaving the rest as I stride towards the kitchen cabin.


    My two special wives are together under furs upon the floor of the kitchen cabin, snoring. They must be close to dropping, given their early night. I wave the seared boar flesh over their prodigious noses ¡­ their mouths try to chow down on the imaginary food they half-dream of. I complete their dream by lowering the flesh and upon the taste they wake, with sharp tooth smiles, while continuing to shred the morsels of food.


    ¡°I need some advice wives ¡­ I plan to smelt the balls of ore you sniffed out into strong weapons and tools, stronger than copper like the Smith Hob moulds and I need a title for the goblin who leads this work for me ¡­¡±


    With too much information and shocking revelations at once, they stop chewing, eyes almost out of their heads.


    ¡°Smith Hob hates that ore husband, he would whip any of us who ¡®found it¡¯, so we needed to hide the ore away whenever we found deposits,¡± offers Zana.


    Gato adds, ¡°The title will make little difference once he discovers a goblin is smelting an ore he can¡¯t. You will need to kill him, husband, there is no other way.¡±


    ¡°What if I worked the ore?¡±


    ¡°He would need to challenge you ¡­ he doesn¡¯t have a choice,¡± says Gato. A tear springs from an eye. Is that for me or him I wonder?


    Gato struggles to her feet embracing me as best she can, given the size of her belly now. ¡°We would weep endlessly husband if he ¡­ he, well, you know. We are happy being your wives, we are happy when we see you command and plot. We know you are truly the Lord of Goblins as they say ¡­¡± She bursts into tears. Zana begins to sob.


    A splash of fluid falls upon my boots. Gato looks up at me and swallows.


    ¡°My time has come husband ¡­¡± There is paralysing fear in her eyes. ¡°You must ¡­¡±


    I place a finger across her lips. ¡°Your husband is staying ¡­ there is no argument in this, lay down.¡± I carry most of her weight and lay her upon one fur in particular. Somehow, I know this is her favourite, how I ask myself?


    I glide my hands over her belly, the baby hasn¡¯t turned yet and while we can I remove all her clothes, she doesn¡¯t protest happy to hold any part of me within reach as I do so.


    ¡°What ¡­ can I do husband?¡± asks Zana.


    ¡°Prepare your own bed as I fear your time isn¡¯t far away either, the night I took you and your sisters short. You and Gato have done most things together, so I don¡¯t see this being any different.¡±


    She nods slowly and carefully manoeuvres herself to prepare her birthing bed.


    I rush to gather some cloth and a bucket of water from behind the kitchen bench, knowing both have been boiled beforehand, checking with Gato to be certain. I part her legs, the cervix isn¡¯t dilated at all, not even a finger width. Placing my hands upon her belly I hope for better news. Nothing. I suspect the baby too large, certainly larger than goblin size given my previous two deliveries as a midwife.


    ¡°Your baby isn¡¯t turning my wife and I must try and encourage him or her ¡­¡±


    I hope to simply coach the natural process and after much effort fail. She reads her doom in my face and I need to escape her gaze, choosing to inspect her cervix. Dilation, goblin fist size, nowhere near enough.


    ¡°Husband I must push ¡­¡±


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    ¡°No, there is ¡­ there is no way clear for our baby ¡­¡±


    ¡°The urges husband, they grip my loins heavily ¡­¡±


    Where are her contractions? I inspect her cervix, two fists, progress. Is she confusing her urge to push with contraction pain? Yet her baby will be born, and if upside down, almost an impossibility with no birthing tools like forceps or suction apparatus. I will have to do a Caesarean birth to deliver this child. I reconcile my decision by convincing myself of a simple truth. As it stands both mother and child will die, whereas there is a chance the child will survive¡­ with a Caesarean.


    ¡°Gato your baby is too big to be born between your legs ¡­¡±


    She nods slowly. ¡°I know husband ¡­ I have come to accept I must die for our child to live ¡­ I know the Smith Hob intends to cut out the babies of our sisters after they have died ¡­ he carries a sharp knife on him at all times and saves it for this one purpose ¡­ you must do the same husband ¡­¡±


    My chest aches, why do I care? My Hob within is quiet ¡­ now he runs ¡­ this is women¡¯s business the dull reply.


    ¡°Zana can you still move?¡±


    ¡°I can crawl husband ¡­¡±


    ¡°Have you lost your water?¡±


    ¡°No, husband.¡±


    A glance across to her, she lies. I catch her sopping the last dregs up. She is running out of time also.


    ¡°See if you can yell for help at the door, Zeb should be there, we need sinew, bone needles and honey ¡­ try your best.¡±


    I remember the last time Zeb and I were asking questions about women¡¯s business, just the threat of talking about the subject and he couldn¡¯t wait to leave. He needs to be there ¡­


    Gato¡¯s contractions taper off she is fully dilated, yet I know her success will make no difference.


    ¡°Husband.¡±


    She gasps the word ¡­ Zana is lying halfway to the doorway, is she returning, or didn¡¯t she make it?


    ¡°Go to my sister-wife husband there is nothing you can do for me ¡­¡±


    I race away from Gato and scope up Zana, quickly returning to her bed of furs and gently lay her down. Next, I get busy removing her clothes. Her belly is larger than Gato¡¯s yet upon slipping my hands over I am certain the baby has miraculously turned. Zana screams as another contraction hits her cervix. Shouldn¡¯t someone come running to check on the noise? Then I remember the feast and the newcomers ¡­


    ¡°Gato, on your hands and knees, crawl as far as you can ¡­¡± I don¡¯t believe this will work, pure coincidence but I need to try something.


    ¡°Zana, did you manage to call someone? Zana?¡±


    ¡°I think so Lord ¡­ someone ran off at least ¡­¡±


    ¡°Husband ¡­¡±


    Gato is on her side, gritting her teeth and I sprint to her, kneeling to scope her up also and return her.


    My hands, urgent, trying to feel for change to convince me her baby has turned ¡­ nothing. I spare some time for Zana; her dilation is progressing, and her baby has dropped and yet the size of her stomach suggests failure ¡­ I turn back to Gato. I am helpless. I climb to my feet, I must call for help, why didn¡¯t I do this sooner ¡­ I thought I could do anything, that is why. Overconfident and underqualified. Two successful deliveries and I believe myself an expert.


    A hand grabs my arm. ¡°Husband, cut my baby out, with my last breath I would like to see him and place him upon my breast ¡­ I could die happy ¡­ please ¡­¡± She values her own life so low ¡­ Her eyes flutter to the back of her head, she is going, the stress, the baby¡¯s weight upon her spine for so long, why?


    I grab my knife; I hover over her belly and then slice. A weak yelp is her only reaction. Her chest falls ¡­ I slice through her abdomen and then womb, blood spreads yet not the volume I thought. I dig a hand in and as light a touch as possible behind the baby¡¯s head I drag the child forth. Resistance. What? Light! I need light! Where is the help? I plunge my hand deeper, along the length of the baby and grip the shoulders until half the head is clear. Gato doesn¡¯t make a sound. Then I understand. The baby¡¯s face is blue-green, the umbilical cord is wrapped around the baby¡¯s neck. I delicately slice the cord and once done the baby comes away. Arms and legs dangle over the sides of my hand. I carry the dead child to the breast of the mother; the light has gone from her eyes. I weep.


    ¡°Hus ¡­ band.¡± Her rasping voice calls me back from my sorrow, there is another.


    Zana Is fully dilated, for a goblin mother. The baby is in position.


    ¡°Push wife ¡­¡± I wipe away my tears. I know she will not be able to birth naturally ¡­


    I need help. ¡°Wife I will return ¡­¡± I close my ears to her desperate plea for me to stay beside her, she fears being alone, dying slowly alone.


    I wrench the kitchen cabin door open, or I try. The crossbeam must be across on the outside. Someone ¨C the help Zana called upon has locked us in. I crash into the door several times, ignoring any pain due to desperation. I burst through and stare out. There is dancing, yelling and shouting. A celebration in full swing.


    ¡°Zeb!¡± I scream at the top of my lungs.


    All fall silent in an instant. The firelight bright enough to permit any to see the black blood dripping from my hands.


    ¡°Bring sinew, bone needles and honey. Now!¡± I bellow and swivel about and return to my wife and her screaming, which I am sure all nearby can now hear.


    I wipe the sweat from her brow, and she tries to smile, it is stolen by pain as she pushes again. I inspect. ¡°The head of your baby is crowning wife ¡­¡± I am certain now the baby¡¯s head is too big. The dark green complexion confirmation both of my wives carried Hobgoblin babes to term.


    There is noise at the door and several goblins trample into the kitchen cabin.


    The Mother of Children holds out her pot of honey. Luda confirms she has sinew and Bekto hands me several sizes of bone needles. I place them about my labouring wife.


    ¡°Zana, you have done amazingly well and yet your Hobgoblin baby is too big and healthy to be born between your legs.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Gato and I knew husband. Take your heir, his mother is resigned to death.¡±


    ¡°No, I have a plan ¡­¡±


    ¡°Can I hold Gato¡¯s hand or is she now lifeless husband?¡±


    ¡°To cut the baby from your belly will be the last option ¡­ I am going to try something else since you have done so well.¡± I try to offer encouragement and yet her face is dull, the green of her complexion fading ¡­


    ¡°This will hurt wife ¡­¡±


    There is no response ¡­ except the clenching of her teeth.


    Knife in hand I slice first one side and then the other of her opening, the baby¡¯s head shifts forward after a push and yet this is not enough! Blood oozes from the twin wounds as I try to think of something else. All are silent around me except for my wife¡¯s screams as she tries to push out a baby too large for her.


    ¡°I must cut your belly wife ¡­¡± Again, no response, her eyes are shut tight.


    I slice as near to her abdomen as I can, the skin and then the womb. Shifting the bloody cut flesh aside I grab at the baby¡¯s body, a light tug. Nothing. My wife pushes. I try to pull with more strength. ¡°Push the head back inside,¡± I call out. I can¡¯t apply any more strength; I feel as even now the baby¡¯s body is too fragile. My hands feel the moment of loss. My wife first, blood stops flowing, her chest rises no more and eyes remain shut. Our baby next, there is no movement.


    I rock back onto my bottom, wrapping my arms around my knees hugging them into my chest ignoring the blood on my hands. A splash of water and then a damp cloth is wiping away the blood. Luda tends me.


    Words float into my head. I¡¯m not aware of my surroundings ¡­


    ¡°Husband, we will clean up ¡­¡± says a voice I am certain I know.


    Don¡¯t they see, don¡¯t they understand this is their fate also unless something can be done ¡­ The hobgoblin baby is too large to be birthed naturally by a goblin mother. Common sense would have told me that if I listened instead of just wishing away the impossibility. Caesarean is the only choice, yet the mother is ¡­ certain to die.


    I raise my voice. ¡°Leave everything,¡±


    All the clean-up and fussing stops. As I look upon those around me, they return pity. I don¡¯t need pity I need to learn from this waste of life. Not to mention my bravado, which stops now.


    ¡°Luda, Bekto and you.¡± I nod towards the Mother of Children. ¡°Stay, all others leave.¡±


    The remaining three stare at me, wondering if I am going to rage and slaughter them or if not, something else given my present state, a male suffering from woman¡¯s business.


    ¡°Your name?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°Rora, Lord. Mother of Children you named me.¡±


    ¡°Seven births you have survived alone?¡±


    Her head drops slightly. ¡°Eleven births I have survived, from them seven living children Lord.¡±


    ¡°You will therefore know and understand the rhythm of childbirth, you know first this usually and then that, read the signs in others as you have experienced them so many times in your own body. Yes?¡±


    Her hands fidget. She wonders where this question will take her. Therefore, I must reassure her.


    ¡°I am wondering Mother of Children if you would accept the position of Head Goblin of Childbirth?¡±


    She drops to her knees, sighing. ¡°Lord ¡­ I am sorry ¡­ I thought, I thought bad thoughts, never anything like the honour you offer me, and I have only arrived on your Farm. What about others who may covet the title?¡±


    I manage a smile through my sorrow. ¡°I only created it several heartbeats ago so only us four know it exists.¡±


    She blinks, her hands squirming over her heart. ¡°When will others know?¡±


    ¡°After you accept, and my Speaker of Law writes your name into the role and announces you to the Farm.¡±


    ¡°Then yes Lord, I accept with gratitude the title, Head Goblin of Childbirth. What must I do to keep the title?¡±


    I take her hands in my now clean ones. Her eyes naturally find mine. ¡°You must train others in all the secrets and tells you know about childbirth. You must be available to assist any giving birth when no one else can. You must provide answers to any questions from others about childbirth, that sort of thing.¡±


    ¡°I ¡­ I can do that Lord.¡±


    ¡°One last thing.¡± I raise a finger. ¡°You must review as many childbirths as you can with others, share wisdom and knowledge, just in case someone knows a portion of knowledge you don¡¯t. Then you can share this knowledge. You will know you are successful when most babies and their mothers survive childbirth and I expect to bury fewer babies with you as the Head of Childbirth.¡± My eyes look away from the dead babies nearby and return to stare into hers¡¯.


    ¡°Yes, Lord I will ensure childbirth is a glorious experience, a time of joy, not heartbreak.¡±


    I release her hands. ¡°Bekto, I need your skill. I need you to sew up the bellies of both Zana and Gato as if their lives depended upon your skill. I need you to be familiar with sewing flesh back together, the womb and the outer skin. The stitches must be close enough to heal, yet not so tight as to easily tear even if the patient takes care when they feel well enough to move about. You must also practice sewing Zana¡¯s entrance. You must teach others about what you find works best. When others cut or slice themselves due to other mishaps, practice your sewing on them.¡±


    Biting her bottom lip, she jumps to attention, to answer. ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    ¡°Luda as my second wife, you must ensure both women have the tools, goods and assistants they need, their success is your success. In fact, your very survival during childbirth could depend upon them both. I will not surrender another wife to childbirth death.¡±


    ¡°Lord, how will I stitch myself up after childbirth?¡± Bekto¡¯s eyes go wide with the realisation.


    ¡°You must teach others and select a talented one who you will eventually trust with your own life because you are correct, you won¡¯t be able to sew yourself up during childbirth. Nor can you sew others when you are in childbirth or recovering.¡±


    She audibly gulps. I hug her to offer reassurance.


    ¡°Bekto start practice, Luda go fetch more sinew and Rora please organise others to clean up the kitchen cabin ¡­ first find my Speaker of Law and inform him of your new title so you have some authority to act as I ask.¡±


    I rush from their sides without further explanation, my Hob side breathes a reliving sigh instead of erupting. For my part, I need to place the tragedy in the kitchen cabin behind me as I dive into the ink-black of night.

 1.032 Acquaintances, Friends and Emissaries

    I rest my back against the outside rear wall of my cabin under Bekto¡¯s awning listening to the chatter of my wives. Unintentional of course, I am where I am, trying to hide, to be alone and if being truly honest with myself, to recover. I thought my inner Hob would burn away the pathetic remorse consuming me and yet childbirth makes the otherwise belligerent presence within me timid.


    All my wives express concern about my absence, Luda and Bekto describing the events in the kitchen cabin and after a lengthy period of silence, they decide upon sleep. I believe the reason for their silence simple, a sudden realisation. The consequences of mating with a Hob finally stark obvious before them and their fate all too real. I contemplate the loss of each of my wives, given Zana and Gato bore Hobgoblin babes, would that mean they all would? Both babes¡¯ male, will a natural female hobgoblin be born?


    Thoughts of Zana and Gato lead me to wonder about their sisters under the care and compassion of the Smith Hob ¡­ maybe his callousness will have success where I with my concern and kindness have failed. That would be this world kicking me in the teeth! I accept the harsh lesson and swear to learn from my folly. For now, I miss Milga, she would have something to say, not being afraid to say it ¡­ a small thing and yet for someone like me who everyone fears on some level, welcome.


    As I drift off to sleep, I recall a loose end. Yes, I can¡¯t let that go ¡­ the soreness in my shoulder a reminder.


    ---


    ¡°Lord?¡±


    I open my eyes, the shade of my cabin prevents the morning sun from waking me at dawn, although another has decided to do the dawn¡¯s work. I don¡¯t recognise him though.


    ¡°Does anyone else know I am here?¡±


    ¡°Doubtful, although many ask your whereabouts ¡­¡±


    ¡°There is no panic or alarm?¡±


    He coughs. ¡°I am sorry to say none are especially concerned, they explain away your absence due to your suffering ¡­¡±


    I cock an eyebrow. ¡°Suffering?¡±


    His eyes cast down to the ground. ¡°You are male Lord ¡­ childbirth ¡­ I mean it is difficult and women erm, women know all about ¡­ such a thing.¡±


    I spontaneously chuckle. Surprising myself with my reaction and startling my visitor who takes a step back. They all are allowing me time to recover, a male exposed to a female duty, the shock a given and therefore understandable. I wipe my hands over my face. Time to reset. Zana and Gato are lost, yet their deaths must serve to educate, and I have begun that ¡­


    ¡°Be assured, I don¡¯t punish the messenger who delivers bad news to me ¡­ if you¡¯re concerned by that type of thing.¡±


    He rocks back on his heels, wiping his forehead. ¡°Good to know Lord. Erm, I must away Head Goblin Redagar needs my experienced eyes to mark suitable trees for him. Not hardwood but suitable for cabins. The recent arrivals have him jumping about Lord, I can tell you!¡± Hehe.


    ¡°You take delight in your master¡¯s discomfort?¡±


    His head snaps back. ¡°No Lord! Certainly not. It is not often though a father can take joy in his son¡¯s endeavours. He revels in the challenge¡¯s you send his way Lord ¡­ plus I think he considers you a friend.¡±


    ¡°That is good to hear, as I have witnessed him in subtle ways assist me and you can tell him I appreciate his help ¡­ and consider him a friend.¡±


    He scratches his head. ¡°Friends are probably best to hear they are friends from their friend firsthand I would reckon Lord. My son was our third child, perhaps you will have the same luck.¡±


    With that said he ambles off towards the West and the forest which awaits, one old wobbling goblin, all alone doing his son¡¯s bidding. Did he father his son or did a Hob? Hearing the pride in his voice though I don¡¯t think it mattered, then or now.


    I pick myself up.


    The old goblin is now a small spec in the distance, working around a great many tree stumps and the true forest still a distance away. Not dissuaded from his goal, the father of Redagar plods on, taking step after step. I need to take my next step. I set my face and march around the outside of my cabin and push my way inside. The cabin is empty except for my armour and spear. Given I could need to rescue Milga I add a bow and quiver of arrows and of course a decent length of woven leather rope to my preparation.


    Stepping outside my cabin¡¯s front door, Zeb is there to greet me.


    ¡°Please Lord Hob, at least tell me your whereabouts so we can avoid any undue ¡­ erm concern.¡±


    ¡°An oversight just this once,¡± I reply. ¡°To make up for this, know that I am going to meet Milga or worse case storm the Flint Arrows tribe by myself and rescue her.¡±


    ¡°Argh Lord, restraint, no foolish ¡­¡±


    I wave him to silence. ¡°A test Speaker of Law, I will return and carefully plan and plot the rescue of my partner, never fear.¡±


    He sighs and, at that moment, I take off. I know he will never ¡°hurry¡± to catch me, so my long strides soon leave him behind. I will follow the river, passing the kitchen cabin and then the ashes of the bonfire set by my mad wives. As I reach the bonfire site a voice calls out to me. A familiar voice.


    ¡°Lord I wish to thank you for your help in birthing my baby.¡± She flashes her head to one side, showing her babe swaddled and tied to her back. ¡°I didn¡¯t know your wives but considering the care you gave a stranger, Blood Suns at that, I am certain you did all you could for them and their Spirits. They will be well satisfied when they sit beside their ancestors.¡±


    I am taken aback and stutter, my tongue thick for a moment. ¡°They didn¡¯t worship their ancestors, but I must believe wherever they went they know I tried my best.¡±


    ¡°Lord Hob you must make a place for those you love. They must go somewhere. It is a comfort to the living to know they will be with those they knew in life. Do you mind if I walk with you?¡±


    Her question a surprise and she took my mumbled response as a ¡®yes¡¯ and now as I approach the stream island I am escorted by a newborn and his mother, a truly fierce and threatening force. There is already an assembly across the river, and I am early, which makes them well ahead of the appointed time. Milga is yet to be revealed to me, nevertheless, I must at least gain the island if I am to storm the shore and take my vengeance.


    ¡°Would you be helpful and hold tight to this rope?¡± I ask my new friend.


    She nods and as she goes to tie it off on a tree, I call to her to stop. ¡°I don¡¯t know what length I will need and don¡¯t know if they are going to throw a rope from their side. So, the end needs to stay lose until I know more.¡±


    Smiling she returns to my side. I then begin wading across the river holding my quiver and bow out of the water. I climb up and onto the island the rope around my waist. While they point and chat none take any action, subversive or aggressive. I sit cross-legged upon the island and wait, the warmth of the morning sun upon me.


    Middle of the day arrives and a party of ten, including Milga saunter out of the forest, much chat, smiling and friendly waving of arms exchanges between them. For a moment I curse the wasted worry I expended on my partner. I quickly take that back. I have suffered too much loss recently and perhaps my worry made the difference ¡­ have I gone superstitious like a native now? I shake my head to clear out my stupidity and then study the group as step by step they approach the riverbank ¡­


    On the shore, Milga waves at me ¡­ the cheeky so and so! Oh no, my mistake, she requires the rope. I wave to my new friend to release the rope and gather it, to me. Once upon the island, an end is shortly after flying to Milga tied to an arrow shaft.


    The end is tied around another, not Milga. At Milga¡¯s signal, I haul away as fast as possible.


    Vuzsia¡¯s face greets me and before she can speak, I jerk her up by the rope to land on her feet upon the island.


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    She stands and waits. This is a game. I stare into her eyes and untie the rope.


    Whispering into my ear, she says, ¡°There is a rumour I refused the drowning ceremony and therefore the honour of being your wife. I don¡¯t recall that at all ¡­ Lord Hob.¡±


    Coiling the rope, I reply, ¡°You should deny the rumour.¡±


    The rope is once again shore-bound, this time Milga ropes herself and I repeat the process needing to restrain my welcome with so many eyes upon us, yet any who harm her would need to slay me to prevent me wreaking my vengeance upon them.


    ¡°You need to cast the rope once again, there is a third.¡±


    ¡°What have you committed me to?¡±


    ¡°After I explained the drowning ceremony, Zeb¡¯s wife Suda was banished from the tribe along with Zeb, Koria and Luda. They threw in Duzsia as well given she hasn¡¯t any noteworthy family to protest.¡±


    We take in Blood Suns, have claimed Flint Arrows before, so what is one more ¡­ the arrow flies again. One steps forward while those around her step back. With slow deliberate actions, she ties the rope to her waist. Once she is in the water I haul on the rope, her eyes don¡¯t leave mine. At halfway the shining light of life leaves her eyes and her body falls to one side. The rope goes slack. I throw my end to Milga and dive into the river, swimming for all I am worth. My swim strokes would be completely and utterly new to all who now watch me, possibly to everyone on the planet. I did hope to keep this skill a secret, but impulse and the threat of loss force my hand. I couldn¡¯t put Zeb through the pain of loss, I know this cruel pain.


    I reach her, there isn¡¯t a struggle and I hold aloft a wet, possibly drowned goblin. I carry her to shore and start CPR. She comes back quickly and empties her lungs of water after a coughing fit. There is dread across her face and then she swings a hand at me, which I catch, using my grip to swing her into my arms, tucking her under one arm as I jog back to my new friend. I shout to Milga, and a rope end is soon at my feet. I use this to tie Zeb¡¯s wife, arms and legs. I wade into the river.


    Reaching the island, I look up at both of my potential passengers. ¡°Carry my bow out of the water and sit your arses upon a shoulder each.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± says Vuzsia as Milga settles upon my right shoulder, my meaty hand upon her firm thigh.


    ¡°I am not coming back ¡­¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t leave the emissary of the Flint Arrows on an island, there will be ramifications! I am important don¡¯t you understand?¡±


    I glance over my shoulder. ¡°You are expendable Vuzsia. If, as an emissary, you learn something useful then good, if you don¡¯t or you die then no great loss, as simple as that. In fact, if I could¡¯ve listened in at the time your family was told of your new position, I am certain they would have protested enough to gain advantage and thought no more about you after that. After all, finally trading you for gain instead of wondering what to do with you and second guess the loyalty of a family member gone for two years. My offer solved a problem for them, and I mean to collect on that debt.¡±


    All the way through my speech she puffs up, chest and cheeks until final release ¡­


    ¡°Why you ¡­ you fiend! You know nothing of Flint Arrow Tribal politics, nothing!¡± she screeches.


    ¡°Coming or staying makes no difference to me.¡±


    Her foot tests my shoulder and then a second joins while her hand rests upon my head for balance. She then bends at the knees and extends one leg, one bum cheek on my shoulder and soon after the second. I clamp my meaty hand upon her thigh, kneading it slightly, to ensure I have a secure hold of course.


    ¡°You like what you feel, fiend?¡±


    I chuckle and then begin wading back across the river. Milga laughs swinging her arms about, dragging her fingers through the water and occasionally splashing up water towards Vuzsia.


    ¡°Milga! I am an Emissary now and am due some respect. And stop playing around, what if he stumbles due to your childish behaviour!¡± Milga blows the emissary a raspberry and then laughs. ¡°Milga Stone Blood!¡± Luckily, her protesting is above my head and directed at my partner.


    Once ashore I release Milga, and she slides/jumps off my shoulder. I restrain Vuzsia until she stops trying.


    ¡°You are mine now Vuzsia, you report to your tribe what I tell you to, no more and no less. You understand?¡±


    She tries to wiggle her bum free. Giving up she replies, ¡°I am an emissary of my tribe I will report what I chose to.¡±


    ¡°Why did you think we chose you?¡± I ask.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t, my tribe did. Milga must have gone against your orders because she protested and then protested some more, and my tribe still chose me ¡­¡± Her bum wiggled upon my shoulder as if she alone sat the best seat.


    ¡°Yes, exactly ¡­¡± I let my response sink in. I realise now why her family was well rid of her, if she once had political sense, two years away didn¡¯t help her retain any of it.


    ¡°They did choose me ¡­¡± Tears. Many tears.


    Zeb¡¯s wife on the ground breaks out into a massive bout of laughter.


    ¡°Shut up banished one! What do you know?¡±


    ¡°I was their problem until Milga protested about you. You as emissary would be a thorn in the Hob¡¯s side, and I banished as well as my family would mean our modest wealth could be redistributed to a more worthy tribal family. What about that doesn¡¯t sound and reek of Council stench!¡±


    ¡°Put me down Lord Hob, I agree to be your loyal traitorous emissary. Tell me what to report and I will deliver.¡±


    I raise her off my shoulder and swing her around for a moment, long enough to glimpse a wry smile lift the corners of her lips. She did have an inner child then.


    ¡°Can we speak freely in front of Zeb¡¯s wife, or should you relate in private what you have discovered partner?¡±


    ¡°I have a name, Suda, you brute.¡±


    Milga chuckles. ¡°In private. Suda tried for death, she has no loyalty to give.¡±


    Suda struggles in her bindings in protest. ¡°Aren¡¯t I now, well ¡­ his wife since he brought me back from drowning?¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°No Zeb¡¯s wife, that isn¡¯t surviving the ceremony, that is saving someone from their folly. Now, if I release you so you can walk to the Farm on your own two feet and perhaps run into the arms of your husband will you attempt to run away and force me to ask my emissary, as a test of loyalty, to put an arrow in your back?¡±


    Vuzsia is about to protest from behind Suda when Milga shoves an elbow into her ribs.


    ¡°You would have me slain? How would you explain this to Zeb?


    I bend over so my face is a finger width from hers. ¡°I would tell him that his wife released the rope around her waist and chose to drown in the river!¡±


    ¡°You ¡­ you ¡­ you brute!¡±


    Again, Milga laughs and Vuzsia chuckles once or twice as well. This seems to be the last straw for Suda.


    ¡°Release me, on my children¡¯s lives I will not run or attempt to betray you in any way. I have been an outcast once. I don¡¯t wish to be again. I will be a good little goblin for Lord Hob.¡± There is a snark to the tone of course but good enough.


    ¡°Good.¡± I reach down and untie her. I realise there is a witness to all this, and my gaze falls across my new friend.


    ¡°On ¡­ on my baby¡¯s life I will remain silent, even the parts I didn¡¯t understand, Lord,¡± confesses my friend.


    She knows Vuzsia is false, Suda is a fake and Zeb¡¯s wife. Milga is my right hand, and I am plotting something with or against the Flint Arrows. Can that harm me?


    ¡°On your baby¡¯s life then it is! Enough of this delay we must stop providing the tribe of Flint Arrows with a show ¡­¡±


    ---


    As we approach the Farm, I ask my friend to make her own way by a different route, the less she is associated with me or us, the better. Milga, Vuzsia and I stand back as Suda runs to Zeb and we leave the happy couple be.


    ¡°Vuzsia, I need your assistance in the training of my archers.¡± I point to the riverside of the cold bonfire, where several participate in practice under Koria¡¯s guidance.


    She curtsies, ¡°I hurry to obey Lord.¡± She doesn¡¯t run and instead, sways her firm buttocks, putting on a show as she saunters towards the practice area.


    Once I am certain she is out of earshot, I ask, ¡°Report.¡±


    ¡°Your prediction about Vuzsia almost a given, her family loathe her, two years away is about two years too long for the tribe and her family. She knows the truth, just trying to deny it, your threats and her promises to you will allow her mind to come around. Throwing Suda away was a bonus for the Council.¡±


    ¡°Were any others suggested or looking to volunteer before Suda and Vuzsia as emissary?¡±


    ¡°Some young ones looking to earn their name, ambit claims really, but they see me fit and healthy, so how bad could reporting on a Hob be? No others. Leaving the tribe is political death and Vuzsia is too close a lesson. I couldn¡¯t find the location of Warrior Hob¡¯s armour. This isn¡¯t Council business.¡±


    ¡°Never mind, I only suspect it exists, not certain.¡±


    ¡°Let me finish, the Warrior Hob¡¯s armour is ancestor business, secret woman¡¯s business and before you arrived Suda was held in high regard, something she lauded over others in minor, but annoying ways. She couldn¡¯t do much more as their wealth as she explained was modest, not enough to buy their way out of real trouble. Anyway, the short version is she could confirm the existence at least, maybe the location, if the relic doesn¡¯t move about.¡±


    ¡°What of our alliance?¡±


    ¡°They swore they weren¡¯t interested in war and battles and declined any formal alliance. Yet when I left the meeting, no others waited to discuss business with the Council, I suppose to keep my coming and goings to the Council a secret, so I loitered about in the shadows until all left. They spoke a long time after dismissing me about nothing they were interested in.¡±


    ¡°You suspect then they will just happen to raid the Blood Bones when their warrior/hunters have left on other business?¡±


    She nods smiling and I crush her in a long-overdue hug. I confess the hug more for my benefit than hers, yet her arms do creep around my waist. We part awkwardly though ¡­ can¡¯t be helped, my need greater than hers.


    ¡°What news do you have? Koria or Duzsia returned yet?¡± she asks.


    After our quick question and answer, I am less in a mood to do the same about the Farm and I lean on my spear trying to frame the words without too much emotion.


    ¡°Koria has returned, we have news of Duzsia but no sightings and ¡­ well, Zana and Gato died in childbirth as did the Hobgoblin children they carried.¡±


    Her hand grips my forearm. I blink to contain my growing tears; how can this emotion bubble up ¡­ I draw on my inner Hob ¡­ ice water is thrown upon my suffering heart and my following words flow without feeling.


    ¡°We gained a great many Blood Suns, some of them potters so I didn¡¯t need to visit the Head Hob. I appointed a Head Goblin of Potters and a Head Goblin of Childbirth. Karo didn¡¯t want to return to her people choosing to be my wife instead, although she is a spy and along with Zoria as an escort, she is planning to spy upon Meb¡¯s brothers for my glory.¡± I finish deadpan, without any need for embellishment.


    ¡°Come partner I smell boar over spit and am famished. We need to send your Ten Spears into the Flint Arrows forests, more boar than can be counted ¡­¡± She spares me a look and a smile.


    That reminds me. ¡°I added a new rule, which you may not like. I eat and then the Mother of Children eat, we have three, as far as I know, then you can eat.¡±


    ¡°I am sure it served a purpose and fifth at the boar will allow me enough indulgence ¡­¡±


    ¡°I also have a loose end I need you to find out about. I don¡¯t care where this leads you, I must know the guilty party ¡­¡±


    The niggle of pain in my shoulder now long gone, yet I remember bashing down the Kitchen door due to betrayal and will not let this pass without retribution.

 1.033 Interlude: Duzsia (1/3)

    Another errant branch scratches my forearm, this time drawing beads of black blood and I manage to refrain from cursing my sister-wife or otherwise blame her. I look behind and sigh, there is a vague tunnel through the twisting branches of brush, one, my aching arm cut wielding my flint knife. I absently rub my arm in the hope of instant recovery. There is no way the Chief and his bodyguards fled this way without hacking a path and therefore leaving an obvious trail. I sigh, admitting to myself, their trail could be a stone¡¯s throw away given the thickness of this evil vegetation.


    I decide enough is enough, I am heading out. No more journeying parallel with the mountain range and cutting my way through the vegetation as well as the occasional fun of climbing over or detouring around ravines. I am going down, North, out of the mountain range to a gentler everything. If by chance the Chief did choose this way, my new path should cross his, I hope. Surely the Chief wouldn¡¯t be a greater glutton for punishment than me and venture even higher into this doom of a mountain range. Decision made, a burden lifts from my shoulders and I need to resist the urge to stretch out tall to physically reset as well.


    Struggling to turn around at first, I slow down and once free of the barbs backtrack along my tunnel of pain. I don¡¯t rest and climb to the top of the last ridge I crossed. A crisp cool breeze caresses my cheeks as I take in a long deep breath, my arms reaching for the sky. The trees are sparse and the evil bush absent; I don¡¯t know why and too tired to care. A swing of water and I climb one of the trees, a trunk of bends and twists, surface roots gripping into any available soil, one splitting rock.


    From my perch the northern view before me is perfect, I need to follow this ridge down its entire length. Scanning East and towards possible destinations, the mountain range is in a word, tamer. I smile in relief. I linger for several moments longer, the warm bright sun above me instead of being hidden by vegetation. The endless sky allows my eyes to find and follow the wide and meandering river to the North, flowing East, which separates the Blood Suns from the Laughing Tusks as well as other tribes, I am sure. There is a lush forest on either side for most of the way until draining into a lake or lakes and then beyond I spy the great plains. Endless they are, forever. A shiver rolls down my spine as I realise, this valley we call home is a small part of a wider world and I wonder what is out there ¡­ who is out there.


    ---


    Mid-afternoon and at the end of the ridge proper the vegetation is green and healthy, not clinging to life and bristling with barbs plotting vengeance on those who, if they wish, can leave.


    ¡°Who goes there?¡±


    The shout an instant order to my body to freeze, no point in creating any more noise to give my position away. Next, I crouch to present as small a target as possible, while still being able to react. Inwardly I curse myself, my escape from the accursed vegetation lulling me into a false sense of relaxation, my usual huntress caution found wanting.


    ¡°You sure you heard something?¡± The voice feminine.


    ¡°Yeah!¡± Anger in his response. ¡°These ears have never let me down.¡±


    ¡°Spread out and circle,¡± she says in a whisper, yet I am close enough to hear.


    Blood Suns and Laughing Tusks hardly ever arm and train their females, hunting and war not for the weaker sex as far as their males are concerned. The other three tribes though not so squeamish about such things. The question my life depends upon is, do I think any of those three tribes would have sent their warriors or hunters into the foothills of the mountains. When I left the Farm with Lord Hob and Koria those three tribes swore allegiance, could I trust such an arrangement to still hold? Goblins sniffing for power turn nasty, the politics within the Flint Arrows, an internal contest for power yet no different from these tribes playing the same game with Lord Hob.


    I don¡¯t have a choice and shuffle further into cover and wait.


    Before my eyes two boots land, thick soles, neat stitching draws together the neat cuts of soft leather, rising to below the knees, soft leather pant legs tucked into the tops. Swallowing, I consider I may need to slay the boots¡¯ owner. That means being close, probably their blood spraying on me and if I don¡¯t mess up, possibly witness the light of life leave their eyes. I slay prey from a distance and afterwards skin and dress the animal, red blood doesn¡¯t bother me. Spilling black blood up close, the inevitable struggle, possible pleading ¡­ Koria¡¯s supportive presence and the distance of separation from the Farm making my first kills of goblins away, beyond my immediate ownership. Their blood not on my hands, I did as my sister instructed. Collecting the arrows difficult, yet once dead, any corpse, animal or goblin doesn¡¯t protest. My mind rattles through what I have faced, trying to prepare me for the next possible step.


    My rock throw is accurate, luring my prey ¨C not goblin, not animal, I silently chant. Kill or be killed, therefore prey. Her boots move, spreading apart an alert response I also use and by design, given my throw, the toes of my prey¡¯s boots face away from me. I rise out of cover, left arm around the shoulders, right arm, the hand gripping my knife at the prey¡¯s throat.


    ¡°Drop your weapon or I slit your throat,¡± I hiss, mustering as much threat in my voice as I can.


    There is a thunk. I assume a weapon, a guess on my part but none would search for a possible enemy empty-handed.


    ¡°How many with you?¡±


    ¡°Ten,¡± she hisses. ¡°You may slay me if you wish but your death will soon follow.¡±


    I chuckle, trying to exude confidence. ¡°Lies. Another and I will cut out your false tongue. How many?¡± False bravado on my part, but ten? She should have chosen five or maybe four ¡­


    ¡°Three, we are nothing, have nothing,¡± she whimpers.


    ¡°Call to them.¡±


    ¡°Father! Daughter! Don¡¯t hurt them ¡­¡± she pleads.


    Her call isn¡¯t at the top of her lungs, displaying caution. Not the actions of someone safe and secure, although my knife on her throat could be the issue.


    A young female goblin sprints into the clearing from the left, an older goblin rushes in from the right. These are her ten companions surrounding me ¡­


    ¡°My name is Tor ¡­ the friendly, we are on our way elsewhere, no-ones, release my daughter and we will run away, and you will never see us again, I swear.¡± His hands reach out in front of him cradling air, eyes pleading. His crude knife, a flint piece bound to a length of wood hangs off his belt. The young female under my gaze throws down her fire-hardened tipped spear.


    ¡°In your travels have you seen three warriors, one would plainly be in command, and they would be in hurry. Blood Suns avoiding detection, probably willing to slay any who come across their path.¡±


    The young one¡¯s bottom lip quivers as she looks to the older goblin for reassurance.


    ¡°We haven¡¯t, we thought you a rabbit or the like otherwise we would have hidden,¡± says my captive.


    I shift my grip around her shoulders, stalling for time while trying to think.


    ¡°Let my daughter go and you won¡¯t see us again ¡­¡±


    I ignore his plea. They haven¡¯t said but I suspect these are runaway Blood Suns, except they lack the smell of mead about them ¡­


    ¡°Are you Blood Suns?¡±


    The old goblin straightens, his mouth opens for a moment before smiling. ¡°No, certainly not, traders caught up in something, not of our making ¡­¡±


    ¡°Pity.¡± I then tense my right arm preparing to draw the blade back.


    ¡°No!¡± he shouts. ¡°We are ¡­ we are Blood Suns, our village ransacked by Laughing Tusks, although most in the village escaped before they arrived and could only look on from a distance as the smoke rose ¡­¡±


    ¡°Surely the Laughing Suns would have searched ¡­?¡±


    He grins. ¡°Yes and no, any mead in the village, not much I grant you left in plain sight. We thought to get them drunk or addled and perhaps they would leave well enough alone. Worst case the distraction would buy us time to escape into the mountains.¡±


    ¡°Mountains?¡± I spit the word out with a vengeance.


    ¡°Argh, so you¡¯re familiar with them? Not pleasant but refuge until our food ran out and then most left in family groups, all trying to avoid the conquerors.¡±


    ¡°Where are you heading?¡± I ask.


    During our conversation, the wily old goblin has been shuffling forward ¡­ waving his hands to distract while sliding his feet. Nice trick. Obvious though since his granddaughter has remained statue-like in place.


    ¡°Anywhere, everywhere, most of us talk about a mountain pass into the next valley ¡­¡±


    ¡°I wish you luck.¡± I release my hold on my captive, who runs into the arms of her father. Recovering quickly her face turns to look upon mine, assessing, judging ¡­


    Her daughter joins them.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± says the father.


    I don¡¯t sheath my knife and instead, wave it as a salute of sorts and turn away ¡­


    ¡°Wait!¡± calls my former captive.


    I turn back and wait.


    My former captive opens her arms, palms up. ¡°We haven¡¯t much but we can share if you are hungry?¡±


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    ¡°Do you know the whereabouts of a narrow valley defended by a giant boar?¡±


    The old goblin glances down at his daughter. ¡°Yes. All know to avoid that place of death except for the desperate ¡­¡± His forehead furrows as a certain thought drops into place.


    I chuckle. ¡°The beast has been slain and I am certain the caves are full of food so visit to restock and then continue your journey.¡±


    ¡°How do you know this?¡± he asks.


    Do I reveal who I am, is this boasting purposeful?


    ¡°My husband slew the beast.¡±


    The teenager rushes forward before her mother can stop her.


    ¡°He must be the greatest of warriors! You ¡­ you are married to him?¡±


    I smile. ¡°Trust me, go there and then start your journey.¡±


    ¡°We have ¡­ well the valley is half a day away.¡± He points East.


    ¡°Lead on,¡± I say.


    ¡°You wish to join us?¡± asks the mother.


    ¡°I prefer travellers taking the same path for mutual protection ¡­¡± I reach down not knowing what to expect, glad my face isn¡¯t visible to them. I pick up her stone attached to a wooden handle type club and hand the weapon back to her.


    ---


    They lead and we retrace their steps, leaving them only when needing to pass into the valley entrance. Old-growth Forest, alive with vegetation, green and certain to contain much game, including boars stands before me. I know this place isn¡¯t the actual forest of the Flint Arrows, yet the sameness strikes at my heart and a wish to return briefly overcomes me.


    ¡°Stay, I will confirm what I have been told and return.¡±


    I take to the forest locating a game trail and stealth along for a distance; wait undercover and listen then repeat. Dusk is approaching when I make my way back to where I left the family. My ears pick up conversation and I crouch, listening.


    ¡°Folly, who says the boar is slain? We only came here to camp because of the valley¡¯s reputation, planning to have our first worry-free night of sleep. If others know they will come looking and if the boar is slain the refuge will be lost ¡­¡±


    ¡°She says her husband!¡± I recognise the voice of the granddaughter goblin.


    ¡°Husband! Lies. We will set our camp a ways over there, you can join us or stay here and wait for this wife of a mighty warrior husband if you want.¡±


    The group which marches away is more like the ten the mother told me they were, so I wait for quiet and then sneak up to the three.


    ¡°Tor,¡± I hiss.


    ¡°I hear you. Wait. Someone approaches.¡±


    ¡°We were told by Lig the boar was slain. Stop spreading that rumour now. Many villages are planning to use this valley as a rest stop on their way to the mountain pass. Once rumour of the boar gets out the Laughing Tusks will come to investigate and catch many families and close this way for good.¡±


    ¡°Ouch. No need to hit an elder, we hear you, no more rumours ¡­¡±


    ¡°Good!¡± he replies and then stomps away.


    I tap Tor on the shoulder, and he jumps. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°After his punch, I didn¡¯t need the surprise that is for sure. What now?¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t stay here. Grab your things and each hold onto a part of your granddaughter¡¯s spear, Tor you grab the end of my spear. I will lead us into boar territory, but we need to hurry before night falls.¡±


    A brief wait and then I feel a tug on my spear.


    I jog with the family in tow, the dark of night falls quickly due to the foliage cover and natural shadow. I estimate we are about halfway there by my reckoning. Good enough to prevent the family from being questioned by the larger group and a good start point for tomorrow.


    ¡°Stay together and ease yourselves off the game trail and shuffle about until comfortable, sleep where you end up.¡±


    There is no reply except the faint rustle of leaves and branches. I do the same and then all is silent, as we try and sleep.


    ---


    Bird song wakes me into the pre-dawn, glorious and wonderous. I examine the undergrowth across the game trail and the family did well, with no obvious sign of their presence. With that assurance, I backtrack and listen. None follow, perhaps they thought the family moved on during the night, I can only hope. I track back to the family and notice movement.


    ¡°Tor, stay alert while I scout ahead.¡±


    He pokes his head out from under leafy branches. ¡°Will do. None followed then?¡±


    I shake my head and set off. Out of sight of the family, I inspect the game trail for boot or feet prints and find none. After searching for a good time under the dawn light I race back.


    Hearing voices and pulling up in an instant, I am not fast enough to avoid being spotted.


    ¡°Hey, you! Stop! What are you doing on this trail and where is the family?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I track real good, I know you took them with you!¡± calls out another.


    The family lay under cover between them and me, otherwise, where the tracks reduced from four sets to one, they would have found them.


    ¡°They feared you even after promising not to spread the rumour, so I led them down this game trail and then hacked through the forest to find another so they could leave the valley. I am just returning to make certain no one follows.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± says the first who then smiles. ¡°Looks like you found us ¡­ and ¡­ my friend and I would like nothing better than to look after a young lady like yourself, isn¡¯t that right Pud?¡±


    ¡°Yep, yep for sure.¡±


    I have a bow strapped to my back, a quiver of arrows hanging off one hip and I lean of a spear with a copper spearhead. What tells them I am interested in their offer; let alone how do they think to force me to be interested?


    ¡°I am sure you are both too busy for me, those you accompanied here must be missing you by now ¡­¡±


    ¡°Well yes and no, they have to wait for us.¡± He chuckles and his backhand taps Pud on his chest, who giggles.


    ¡°Yep, you can say we are the hired help, and they depend upon our guidance. You can¡¯t believe how many goblin-folk don¡¯t go beyond their village all their life and know nothing about the big wide world ¡­¡±


    They step closer and I lower my spear.


    ¡°Now girl, careful you may poke your eye out or worse, you should pass that dangerous thing to me so I can look after it for you.¡±


    ¡°Come and take.¡± I shake the spear.


    He turns and smiles at his companion, and I don¡¯t hesitate. I charge. His eyes go wide, while his companion¡¯s arms flail about. Both going with flight, back peddling and then turning and sprinting. I jam the spear between Pud¡¯s legs, and he nose dives into the trail.


    ¡°Tor jump him,¡± I shout, as I sprint by and chase after the other.


    He looks over his shoulder at my shout and the slowdown of the action costs him. My spear is between his legs and with his head in a half-turn looking back, his crash-landing heavy. I pull up beside him and shake his shoulder. No response, although his head flops about. I sigh, taking a deep breath, I didn¡¯t intend death. Looking over my shoulder Pud¡¯s eyes bore into me despite Tor and his family sitting on his prone body.


    Making eye contact with Tor, I say, ¡°Accident.¡±


    He nods as I approach Pud, placing my spear point upon the back of his neck.


    ¡°Search his friend, he should have many valuable things on him, including his clothes, boots and pieces of leather armour.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s stealing,¡± squeals Pud. ¡°We earnt them things fair and square for guiding folks.¡±


    ¡°Bone needles,¡± reports Tor. ¡°Flint arrowheads, two leather cutting knives, several copper squares, gemstones.¡±


    A voice erupts from behind me. The mother. ¡°You scum, those things represent livelihoods, how can the folks survive after you guide them!¡±


    ¡°They didn¡¯t have to ¡­¡± Thump. ¡°Oof!¡±


    I turn to see the mother readying another stomp. ¡°One is enough, he doesn¡¯t know any better ¡­¡±


    Her boot hangs over his back and then drops to the side. ¡°I say he still deserves more ¡­¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this,¡± asks Tor. He waves a piece of leather between his fingers, with squiggles written upon one surface.


    ¡°Show me,¡± I ask. ¡°Hold the thing out in front of me please, my hands are full at the moment.¡± The entire family laughs at my poor joke and I join them. The release of tension, a relief.


    As I read, the grip on my spear tightens.


    ¡°Ouch!¡± yelps Pud.


    I glance down and my spear has drawn blood. I release and place the spear tip on the middle of his back.


    ¡°Do you know about this Pud?¡±


    ¡°No, all he said was it¡¯s a surprise.¡±


    I look over the script at Tor. ¡°This is an agreement of sorts. For paying off the debt of escorting an entire village Pud and his friend are entitled to choose any two from the village at journey¡¯s end to serve them for five years.¡±


    ¡°Oof!¡±


    I look back, the mother throws me a sweet smile.


    ¡°How many more need to be escorted Pud?¡±


    ¡°Answer her or I stomp again you scum!¡± growls the mother.


    ¡°Not the ribs again ¡­¡± he whines. ¡°The first came with us, the rest will follow using a map to get here, safe because of the boar. Then the plan was to take smaller groups to the mountain pass.¡±


    Tor resumes his body search of Pud¡¯s partner.


    ¡°Why is travel from the village to here safe?¡±


    ¡°The villagers cut a path through the mountain brambles ¡­¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t they all just follow?¡±


    He tries to raise his head, can¡¯t and lays it down again. ¡°What if noise brings Laughing Tusks, what if they can¡¯t carry enough food and water for the slow journey, what if any get injured. Only need ten or so to hack at brambles in turn, while we guide them and carry water.¡±


    I shudder while remembering. The partners can look out while on top of a ridge and correct the direction of the work and then they would resume. This valley an exception because there is no slope or rise the further you venture in. It is like a giant hand came down from above and scooped out the soil between two ridges leaving behind a special place surrounded on three sides by sheer cliffs.


    ¡°How many other villages Pud?¡±


    ¡°What? Don¡¯t understand ¡­¡±


    I nod to the mother.


    ¡°Oof!¡± he screams. ¡°Not the ribs, hurt.¡±


    ¡°How many other villages?¡±


    ¡°Two, maybe three, not sure.¡±


    ¡°What made you think there were more?¡± asks the mother.


    ¡°A hunch. They are guides, they need work while they can get it and if one village works out why not ask others. On my way here I passed by two hundred Blood Suns heads on posts, all males.¡± Mother and daughter gasp and I don¡¯t blame them. ¡°By any measure, you would think there can¡¯t be any more Blood Suns left. So, I doubt the Laughing Tusks or any of the other tribes are going to be searching in the mountain brambles for what they believe are twos or threes trying to escape. I think our well-travelled friend here knows this as well, either overhearing Laughing Tusks chat or possibly one of the other tribes. Does it matter?¡± I finish.


    I look up, ¡°Tor.¡±


    ¡°Oof!¡± sighs Pud.


    The mother again, I don¡¯t need to look.


    Tor looks up from his pile of treasure.


    ¡°How many villages in Blood Suns tribal lands, near the mountains?¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°No one knows except perhaps the Chief or his agents. They collect mead and leather armour in exchange for his protection.¡±


    ¡°Alright time to go. Bind our friend Pud and escort him and the treasure back to the valley entrance, avoid the villagers though. I am going to quickly confirm if the boar is slain or not and then sprint back to catch up to you.¡±


    Tor nods and then stares at me. ¡°Do you have a name?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Duzsia.¡± Then I am sprinting down the trail, hopeful I find a large cooking pit and not an angry boar, nature after all doesn¡¯t like an empty boar territory.


    ---


    Returning to the valley entrance, I only need to walk in the direction of the loud voices to find everyone. Tor and the villagers must have found each other.


    One goblin, I assume the Head Goblin is shaking his head from side to side to the point he could lose it.


    ¡°The deal is off, this scum and his dead partner can no longer honour the terms, your village is free,¡± says Tor, while waving around a piece of leather, the piece of leather.


    ¡°While one lives, he can guide us. We pay him both shares.¡±


    I lean on my spear trying to ooze confidence while trying to ignore the dance of butterflies in my stomach. ¡°Firstly, you should all lower your voices or follow me into the valley proper if you have to shout at each other. Second, your guide is my prisoner, his crime, attempting to have his way with me. I will also add now, his partner¡¯s death was an accident, but my actions did kill him. Therefore, his share is mine regardless. So, any arrangements you had with your guides are now mine, to agree to or not.¡±


    No matter my swagger, I think I overreach, but they need to call me out otherwise I am going play this until the very end. That end different to the original as envisioned by the scheming guides.


    The Head Goblin looks back over the villagers before facing me. ¡°You, a girl, alone bested our two guides? Pfft!¡± laughter erupts from behind him while he smiles wide and points at Tor and his family. ¡°They obviously helped, and you, my girl, probably bait.¡±


    ¡°Pud, did I need any help to overcome you and your partner¡¯s stupidity?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he whispers.


    ¡°Louder Pud or I will ask Tor to stomp on your ribs.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he says loud enough for the villagers to hear, but not a shout. He is aware we aren¡¯t entirely safe here and I take his free advice to heart.


    ¡°Tor and family, escort Pud down the game trail. If the villagers want to discuss future arrangements, they can follow or wait here until they starve.¡±


    The villagers press forward as Tor heaves Pud away.


    I thrust my spear into the ground, flick my bow from my back and have an arrow nocked before they can even gasp.


    ¡°I am better with a bow than a spear. If you doubt my skill with a spear let us ask Pud. Pud?¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t try to kill us at least ¡­¡±


    The Head Goblin replies, ¡°We will follow, what other choice do we have?¡±


    ¡°Good. Follow Tor. I will scout around a bit and see if your shouting attracted any unwanted attention. Oh, and it goes without saying, but I will say it anyway. When I return, if Tor and his family aren¡¯t alive and free and Pud isn¡¯t alive and their captive, I will be most upset.¡±

 1.034 Interlude: Duzsia (2/3)

    As I observe from the edge of the forest the situation goes from bad to worst. Two hunters? Warriors? Wave their hands and point towards Boar Valley shouting at their companions to make them believe what they have found. They have three, at least, captives with them and for some reason that is enough. Then one throws something to the ground, fetches his spear, growls at another to follow and storms off towards the forest. The other two follow as well. I wonder if I am about to attack Lord Hob¡¯s allies. I shake this off, no Laughing Tusks Allies will join the Farm while desperate Blood Suns may be more favourable to the idea. I am sure Lord Hob would agree with my judgment.


    I scramble backwards on hands and knees and then sprint along the edge of the forest, jumping over a fallen tree trunk, ducking under several low branches, I need to be in position. Panting slightly, I lean up against a tree under shadow, the four approach my location head-on.


    I steady my breathing and draw back on my bow; the feathers of the arrow tickle my ear. I release at who I think is the leader. In his rage, he stumbles! The arrow takes one of the two who first reported to him in the chest, he screams in pain and then falls silent. I nock another arrow, the three Laughing Tusk goblins dive to ground. The leader scrambles back until behind my first kill for further protection. Stalemate. I could release, which is what they want, my chances of hitting low, while my number of arrows limited. Those still back at the camp take cover also, shielding themselves behind the bodies of their still alive captives.


    The dead goblin rises! No, the leader has grabbed the corpse as a makeshift shield. I scan for an opening and then the two on either side of him sprint off, left and right and I try to target them ¡­ this is his plan ¡­ indecision and then outflanking. The moment the two flankers are in the forest I act, bow over my shoulder, spear in hand charging. His head is down, he doesn¡¯t expect this as he is the decoy. I am three body lengths from him when he looks up. While I don¡¯t yell my footsteps aren¡¯t silent during the charge. He tries to heave the body at me and even at full speed I dodge, although he spoils my aim. He swivels to grab his spear, now behind him, the one fatal miscalculation for an advancing decoy. I continue my charge and instead of going for his spear, he turns around to face me, flint dagger to hand. My spear runs through his chest as I follow his body line in a late attempt to dodge. The physical shock of spear hitting flesh pulls up my charge. I shake my head and pull on my spear. The few blobs of black blood oozing from the wound a minor distraction ¨C red blood flows in gushes ¡­


    I look up after several moments to witness four goblins rise from behind their captive shields, grabbing spears. I awaken to the truth; I am in a battle for my life now and with frantic effort pull on my spear trying to free the weapon. The black blood pooling around the body registering yet again my life is more important.


    At last free. The four aren¡¯t charging they are beating off the captives. I rush towards them, allowing myself a free thrust at the closest. Not waiting any longer than to pull my spear out of his flesh I strike another. The last two realise I am amongst them and with frantic desperation try to push away their captives and free themselves to face me. The third hunter falls with my spear in his chest, a captive around his legs wearing a bloody smiling face. The last thrusts his spear towards me while I am trying to free mine, I choose to release and jump back. It is his last triumphant grin. Two captives now free, wielding stolen spears stab him in the back from opposite sides.


    The two flankers are now charging back towards their camp and my spear is stuck. With calm grace, the grip of the bow quickly rests in my hand and with one smooth motion, I nock an arrow. Release. The first is thrown back an arrow sprouting from his chest. The second dives to the ground. I charge, bow in one hand, flint knife in the other. He looks up and I see his eyes go wide considering his dilemma, stand too soon and my bow comes into play, stand too late and I will be inside his guard, his spear useless. I am close, so I slow my charge sheathing my dagger and nocking an arrow.


    ¡°She-bitch,¡± he spits out.


    His eyes dart left and right and then fear fills them. He throws his spear away and is on his knees. I don¡¯t hear his words as several spears stab into him. His former captives, smiling in triumph stand on either side of me.


    ¡°We need to make all of these disappear, somewhere in the forest is probably best,¡± I say. The words are to no one in particular, yet one of the captives returns my spear to me while the others wander back to the camp.


    ¡°You best bind your wounds before you bleed out,¡± he says and turns to join the others.


    The first is easy to locate, there is wetness near my waist, near my baby bump I realise ¡­ dropping to my knees I wipe the sweat from my forehead with my arm thanking my luck and I stare at black blood instead of sweat. I didn¡¯t feel a thing in battle, thinking their strikes clear misses ¡­


    No point dragging the closest ones to the forest, so I join the captives in the camp. Two captives drag a body, one at each leg towards the forest.


    ¡°What¡¯s in the boiling pot?¡±


    The captive with the bloody face answers, ¡°They were about to start cooking.¡± She shows me a black bloody grin. ¡°Their leader wanted to eat first, and you are looking at boiling water instead of a stew.¡± She cackles then, breaking out into a belly laugh.


    I slice several strips from their linen clothes and throw them in the pot and then dip another spear into the water, boiling as much length as possible. Satisfied, I fish out a couple of strips using the boiled end of the spear and wave it about in a cooling action. I twist the first using the spear shaft as a stay to wring out any water and then wrap and tie it off over my waist wound, shallow yet bleeding. The second I do the same and tie the cloth strip around my head to stop the bleeding from my scalp.


    I glance around on instinct, a pair of eyes stare at me.


    ¡°Why do you do that?¡± The blood smear on her head nods towards the boiling water.


    ¡°My husband told me to, he calls it infection. Boiling helps kill it, and your wounds heal instead of festering.¡±


    ¡°Can you bind my wound?¡± she asks.


    I grab a strip and prepare it, then use a cloth to wipe away the blood. With the bloody bruise exposed I apply another strip.


    There is one body left and I grab both heels and head towards the waiting group of captives with the dead Laughing Tusks goblins.


    ¡°This is one of their temporary postings, they don¡¯t go into the mountains but place a watch on them,¡± she says as we join the others.


    I jog off to a virgin part of the forest, break off a couple of branches and return to hand them out. ¡°Please use the leaves to rub away the body drag marks as best you can, the better you do, the safer you will be. We will need to free carry these through the forest.¡±


    The former captives groan yet don¡¯t otherwise protest.


    Early afternoon and the first lift to the start of the game trail is complete. Fortunately, Tor and a couple of villagers venture out searching for me. With everyone¡¯s help, the bodies are piled up in the cooking pit, including all their weapons and camp goods. They have disappeared, although some rain would help seal this.


    ¡°I apologise.¡± The Head Goblin blesses me with a curt bow.


    All I can think of at this moment is I should be tired, yet my body is bouncing around ready for more ¡­


    ¡°We need to find a set of stairs. They will be narrow and winding ¡­ easy to defend. I am also told there are dead ends.¡±


    After an extensive search, one set of winding narrow steps leads to the sanctuary. Five others lead nowhere. The food stores are found quickly as everyone races about trying to explore this wonder in the middle of nowhere and claim everything.


    ¡°To me,¡± I shout.


    Tor is beside me as is his daughter and granddaughter.


    There is grumbling and return shouts asking why. I meet each of them face to face and stare them down with either my eyes or spear point until they are silent.


    ¡°The food will run out unless you ration it. Many others will discover this place no matter how you try to keep the secret, after all an entire village is on its way now, yes Head Goblin?¡±


    He slowly nods.


    ¡°This is at best a safe place before you need to move on, nothing more. I have heard the mountain pass is the destination for some, especially those trusting world guide Pud here.¡± I fling a hand in his general direction. ¡°I propose a different destination, as another option for you to consider.¡±


    The villagers fold their arms the captives step closer.


    ¡°North of here there is a slow winding river, once you find this river travel West unless until you find a branch flowing North. Cross the river and continue North until you find a wooden path, follow this until you reach the Farm of Lord Farmer Hob Klug, my husband.¡±


    Several villagers march about, raise their fists and shout out words like absurd, betrayal and lies. The captives are quiet and thoughtful. As the din dies down one of the captives raises her hand, bandage around her head.


    ¡°I have never heard of a Hob taking a wife, do they do that now?¡±


    ¡°No, my husband is different.¡±


    ¡°What a stupid question,¡± retorts the Head Goblin. ¡°The village wishes to stay with the original agreement ¡­¡±


    ¡°If you wish. I am simply offering an alternative.¡±


    A different captive raises his hand. ¡°Why is the Hob Farm better than the mountain pass?¡±


    I lean on my spear to gather my thoughts. ¡°I know the Farm, my husband and when I promise you a welcome awaits you and safety, I know I can keep that promise because I know my husband. Who knows anything about what will happen to anyone who crosses the mountain pass? Pud? Your chance is now.¡±


    ¡°We agreed to get the villagers to the mountain pass, they need to walk through without us. I don¡¯t know anymore ¡­¡±


    The Head Goblin tosses his head about. ¡°No! The safer journey is to the mountain pass. The journey to the river means trying to avoid Laughing Tusks and others, impossible!¡±


    I smile. ¡°Head West as if you are going to the mountain pass and then once beyond the Blood Suns tribal lands journey North. The river runs the length of the valley. You will know you have gone too far West when you spot a hill, from across the river, the only one in the middle of the valley, or if you miss that sign you will walk into Head Village.¡±


    Laughter. Genuine unexpected laughter, including a couple of chuckles from the villagers.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    A shout out asks, ¡°Will you be guiding us?¡±


    ¡°No. My husband has given me a task to do and for his glory, I will complete it or die in the attempt.¡±


    I note my statement kills any lingering mirth.


    The mother faces me and asks, ¡°You are pregnant are you not?¡±


    ¡°I am far from giving birth ¡­¡±


    ¡°What of the dangers of battle? Even now one of your wounds ¡­¡±


    ¡°I will be more careful,¡± I reply. ¡°Tor, I leave Pud in your care. All his and his partner¡¯s treasures are mine, but you can claim a fair portion for your efforts in keeping Pud safe and guiding future visitors after fully explaining their choices. Unless there are any more questions I must leave now. Pud I intend to take the villagers passage through the brambles so either you or a villager will need to lead me to this end¡¯s entrance.¡±


    ¡°I will take you.¡±


    I smile at the Head Goblin. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I owe you more than an apology and doing this I feel makes as even.¡±


    ¡°Well lead off, I will be on your heels.¡±


    ---


    Somehow, I thought this a ruse to betray me, but I stand in front of a wall of brambles, which he says hides the entrance.


    ¡°Well?¡± he asks for the third time.


    I wish to be Koria, for this moment ¡­ ¡°You will need to show me.¡±


    He points to a particular place in the wall. ¡°You will need to pull the bundle back towards you.¡±


    I approach and try to pull a section towards me yet there is no real give.


    ¡°Lower,¡± he advises.


    I bend over and try again, although this time I position myself so I can glimpse his shadow, which is longer than usual thanks to the sun sinking in the West.


    ¡°That is where it should be, perhaps lower, on your hands and knees and try?¡±


    I feign to drop down and fall away to one side, somehow losing my balance. A flint knife swings by striking nothing and he overbalances as a result. On my back, I kick out at his ribcage, my reward a loud crack. He falls away stumbling, grabbing at his chest until he collapses.


    As I roll to my feet I ask, ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Goblins can¡¯t trust a Hob, that truth has been in place ever since they first arrived. Your death would have saved many.¡± He coughs, black blood splatters upon the ground.


    The broken rib has pierced at least one lung.


    ¡°I think you¡¯re dying ¡­ you probably should have waited until my hands were on the bramble.¡±


    ¡°Ha-ha, the joke is on you this is nowhere near the bramble gate, and I did enjoy ogling you while bent over and after, on your hands and knees lowering yourself before me! High and mighty Hobs¡¯ wife!¡±


    My leg acts before my brain considers the ramifications. I kick his head and it doesn¡¯t spring back. I stomp away a short distance hands clenching and then stomp back and somehow find my foot crashing down upon his neck. There is no cry of pain, no protest and no personal satisfaction. I will lose time needing to backtrack and request another guide while facing the somewhat difficult conversation of why. A scream forms in my throat ¡­


    ¡°Duzsia, is your anger quenched? Am I safe to approach?¡±


    I look behind and under my eyebrows. Tor. ¡°Yes.¡±


    He pulls on a rope and Pud stubbles forward. Pud immediately points to another location along the wall of brambles. Does his hand tremble? This part looks no different to any other, yet I test, and a section comes away.


    ¡°Thank you, Tor, thank you Pud. Can I trust you to take care of the Head Goblin?¡±


    ¡°Honestly is best, we will take the body back and retell everything, they can choose to believe or not. I think the former captives will side with me due to their gratitude to you, so we will be safe for a while until the rest of the village arrive.¡±


    ¡°A goblin like him will have enemies and if not that, then others envious of his position,¡± I offer.


    I duck through the gap and pull the bramble section back into place behind me. Peering back through the hedge and the Head Goblin¡¯s body, Tor and Pud have disappeared from my view.


    So much time lost, this is my chance to make it up, the Chief would need to lay low to avoid Laughing Tusks'' patrols, while I can sprint in perfect safety.


    ---


    Why did I stop to rest? A swig of water, a brief close of my eyes, nothing more ¡­ In an instant each death replays in my mind, the shock and surprise on their faces, black blood spilling ¡­ my hands shake. I open my eyes and my hands are covered in their blood, I flick them, the blood remains ¡­ there is no escape. I curl up into a ball and roll on my side and then I remember no more.


    ---


    Children¡¯s laughter. Impossible.


    Pressure on an eyelid, a haze of light blinds me. A pull on my ear. Giggling.


    ¡°No fair when I pull on my mother¡¯s ear, she wakes up yelling ¡­¡±


    ¡°Try again while I flick her nose ¡­¡±


    I growl, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t if I was you.¡±


    ¡°Nib and Mika away from the strange warrior girl erm woman, stranger. Now!¡±


    ¡°Argh, mum you always spoil our fun ¡­¡±


    ¡°Nib, now run to your mother and tell her what you¡¯ve been doing, all of it and I will check up to make sure.¡±


    Small feet pad lightly away as I right myself. A mother has a child standing in front of her, both arms protecting the young goblin.


    ¡°I apologise for any offence they are young, and we didn¡¯t think while in the tunnel we would meet anyone else.¡±


    Climbing to my feet, I notice the mother slide a couple of steps backwards and hear her breathe in deeply. I place my bow crossways on my back like always, check my quiver and finally pick up my spear and waterskin.


    ¡°You are tall,¡± she blurts out.


    I take a step forward, my eye line is slightly higher than hers, nothing more.


    ¡°You are tall, I am the tallest female in the village ¡­¡± she trails off.


    ¡°Growth spurt ¡­¡±


    She nods, her head agreeing her face disagreeing.


    Three older males rush up behind her and then stop and stare at me, their eyes needing to crane upwards. They are shorter than the mother, therefore ¡­


    I do remember picking at the stores in the cave each time I chased down a villager or a captive for the meeting, did I eat a lot then? I am still hungry now, so probably not then.


    To break the silence, I ask my question. ¡°Have you seen three Blood Suns Warriors, one would be in absolute command, they should be heading East?¡±


    Their heads shake slowly from side to side.


    ¡°We don¡¯t want any trouble, just to pass by, that¡¯s all,¡± says the bravest.


    ¡°This is morning? Dawn?¡±


    They nod.


    ¡°Can I ask a favour? Can you ask your people to lean against one side and I will sprint down the other? I am late.¡±


    They nod, one of the male goblins flicks another who runs off.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± I sprint down the bramble tunnel, occasionally having to shout a warning but in the main, I pass the thirty or so goblins in quick time and continue. I don¡¯t notice any blood on my hands, real or imaginary.


    ---


    Crawling on my belly I am now under a hedge with a direct line of sight upon the village below. It appears deserted and undisturbed. Huh, there are jugs of mead set out. If the Chief came by here, I am certain they would be the first to be claimed. Perhaps he didn¡¯t take the mountain way. Am I depending upon jugs of mead as my only and therefore absolute undeniable piece of evidence? The state of the village though, not burnt out suggests Laughing Tusks haven¡¯t found this village, another impossibility.


    My present hide is the culmination of a late afternoon arrival, quick distant observation to survey the village, and then an overnight stay in a small grove near a stream. Now, after spying out the perfect vantage point at dawn and an early morning crawl to position myself there and the subsequent wait, I am deciding if jugs of mead mean my search is over. Am I going crazy? I do know, with the various delays, my two-day allowance is over. Do I wait some more, or do I go? Do I try to sneak deep into Blood Suns lands to continue the pursuit?


    ¡°What of the girl asking about us?¡± says a gruff voice.


    I almost let my water go ¡­


    Then there are a couple of tinkles further along the hedge and I squeeze down until they stop. Then the sweet sound of leather bindings being tied reaches my ears.


    ¡°Asking, we don¡¯t know her reasons, and even after beating on a few in that valley none knew.¡±


    ¡°Kog, keep watch, my turn.¡± Unlacing of leather and then tinkles.


    A slap and then a yelp. ¡°Watch out!¡±


    ¡°No, my good battle partner Muz you watch out. Jugs of mead!¡±


    ¡°What? Where?¡±


    ¡°Tuck it away and lace-up, left side, front of village ¡­¡±


    ¡°Wait both of you.¡±


    There he is, a voice of command, the gruff voice now authoritative, Chief OuzOuz?


    ¡°Nothing is down there, this is a good spot to watch from, hedge for cover on rising foothills above the village, empty clearing beyond the village. Someone here could call a warning ¡­¡±


    ¡°Good assessment Muz. You stay and stand watch, Kog and I will investigate and if clear we will be sure to bring back some jugs for you.¡±


    ¡°Chief? Why me? A good assessment needs a good reward ¡­ don¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Next time.¡±


    A loud slap on armour. ¡°Sorry battle partner the Chief has spoken ¡­¡±


    They crouch within a couple of body lengths of me and thankfully dash off to the next piece of cover, the remains of a shed, then inside through a collapsed wall and I lose sight of them. There must be a drop there. I wait. They dash to the corners of separate cottages working their way forward until the Chief slides along one larger building, the jugs on a table across the path from him. I leave them there. A footfall warning me that Muz is also following their progress and is stepping along the hedge towards my position drawn by the thought of reward. Also, it must be said my position in the hedge superior to any other ¡­


    I slip my flint knife slowly out of its sheath.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    Muz stares directly into my eyes and begins to open his mouth. I stab with all my strength aiming for an eye socket hoping for anything.


    A cottage shattering scream blasts my ears and echoes off the foothills. My knife handle is sticking out of his nose, which means the entire blade length impales through the nasal passage. Hunched over like he was he rolls back taking the knife with him. I scrabble forward crawling over his body unsheathing his dagger along the way beating his pawing hand by a heartbeat. He then tries to roll to one side and as he does the flint dagger, which I have pressed against his throat slices him open from ear to ear, the cut far superior to anything I could have done. He gurgles while trying to swat me with his errant fists and I throw myself forward over his head. He thrashes, gurgling as I fetch my bow and spear from the hedgerow.


    I am expecting the Chief and Kog any moment yet there is no movement in the village and the roofless shed is quiet.


    My single thought, I need to pee.


    A battle roar draws my eyes to the village, Kog throws a jug away and I hear the crash. He guzzles from another while advancing through the village towards me. OuzOuz though is where? I rush to the corner of the shed. I figure the Chief will need to adjust if I have relocated and I can¡¯t allow Kog to reach me. I aim for his head, by luck or instinct my arrow hits the jug of mead he drinks from, shattering it in his face. I curse and so does he.


    I release again, he begins to charge, and the arrow takes him in the leg. He growls and pulls the arrow out without breaking stride. I send another, chest, the arrow falls away. Not the chest, his armour is too strong. He is closing and there is a wide smile upon his face. This can mean only one thing. I release as he flings his head back to yell a victorious war cry or something equally useless. I don¡¯t know and I don¡¯t care. Immediately after I release the arrow, I jump down the drop. His shouting ends before I land and roll to return to my feet.


    ¡°Bitch!¡± growls the Chief.


    Welcome and eat this, are my thoughts as I release an arrow. He ducks behind the shed wall. No time for fear as I run half the length of the terrace, there are two more below me, each one slightly wider than the one above. I can¡¯t spot Kog¡¯s body where it should be if he died. I realise while scanning around for Kog and the Chief, the terraces run the width of the village but still can¡¯t make out their purpose.


    A gurgling cough from the terrace below warns me as a body length away Kog is trying to climb up, his hands on my level his biceps straining with an arrow transecting his throat. I don¡¯t look away, but ensure my peripheral vision can catch any movement above my terrace. Kog is living on borrowed time ¡­ this must be a diversion and I play along. Quickly I place my bow, a loose arrow and my quiver a body length behind me and then reach for my spear, the spear point hanging towards the mead berserk.


    A flash by is all the warning I get, and I swing my spear point up. OuzOuz is impressive, his right-hand grasps my Lord Hob¡¯s ransom, in his left hand a plain flint dagger, yet I know the damage they can do. His entire body is leaping airborne towards me. While the chest is the easiest target, I assume the Chief¡¯s armour is as good if not better than Kog¡¯s and instead target higher below the neck and between his collar bones planting the spear butt on the ground.


    His eyes grow wide, as he realises what is waiting for him.


    The spear point tears through his upper chest the point sticking out of his back. As his body continues to slide down the spear shaft, he drags his daggers with him and realising the danger I release the spear and roll back favouring my right-hand side. The flint dagger impales my upper right thigh his grip dragging the weapon down slicing through more muscle. I scream in pain. The bronze knife, shorter than the dagger clips my left boot, slicing through the covering, the side of my foot and the sole of my boot before impaling the terrace, my scream continuing.


    OuzOuz hits the ground with a thump my spear passing completely through him, the shaft glistening black from his blood.


    Kog¡¯s climb up the side of the terrace is about to finish with him flopping his chest forward. I shuffle my bottom across to the edge of the terrace and aim my bloody foot at the arrow sticking out of Kog¡¯s neck. The shaft turns and the hole in his neck winks at me. His face locks up as he weakens. Losing muscle strength his body slides down the side of the terrace, his chin and the feathering of the arrow clip the edge rocking his head back and destroying his throat and neck.


    OuzOuz shakes his head trying to recover; notes his empty left hand and glancing at me realises I have his flint knife in my thigh. He pulls the bronze knife out of the ground and pushes his torso up on arm strength, rises to his knees and then gains his feet. His determination, rejection of death intimidating ¡­ what do I need to do? My water is about to release.


    The Chief greets me with a black blood smile, I can see blue sky through the hole between his collar bones as he lumbers forward another step. He can¡¯t possibly breathe; this effort must be from mead induced willpower. My right-hand reaches out for my bow, and I grab the loose arrow as well. He staggers forward another step, now level with my boots and I nock the arrow. He draws back his arm and strikes down as his body falls forward. I release my arrow two arm lengths from his face and then roll right until the terrace wall stops me.


    Silence.


    I roll back and can¡¯t roll again, OuzOuz body is prone beside me, the flint arrowhead poking out of the back of his head, and I can no longer see Kog. My pain reminds me I live ¡­

 1.035 Interlude: Duzsia (3/3)

    I remove the cloth around my head and wrap it around the wound in my leg leaving the knife in place. The strip of cloth immediately darkens with my blood. I can¡¯t remove my boot, so I grab my flint knife and slice down one side parting the leather of the boot and easing my foot out. Removing the cloth from around my waist I bandage my foot.


    The battle cries, yelling and screams echoing off the hillock are certain to draw others and I must at least hide somewhere. I reclaim my arrow, a flint tipped arrow, I perhaps naively believe, belongs to only one tribe. I reclaim my Lord¡¯s ransom. My quiver and bow loop around my neck resting mainly on my chest as I slowly turn around on my bottom and using my hands pull and slide myself along the terrace. I pause beside my spear and lay it upon my chest trying to loop the quiver strapping around the shaft. After several attempts, I give up. I continue my sliding and by the middle of the day, I am at the end of the terrace closet to the hedge. The ends are a slant where the original gradient of the ground is cut out like a small cliff face. I slide to the edge of the terrace and then hitch my bottom a little higher to catch the edge of the original sloping ground, I fail and slide back, catching myself. My eyes stare wide at the drop to the next terrace. My heart races as I know, in my present condition falling, could end me. I can¡¯t stay here. Taking a deep breath, I heave and swing again; my bottom clears the terrace edge and lands beyond on the sloping ground.


    With my almost perfect view, the hedgerow being better, I spy two groups, one from the East and one from the West converge on the village. I curse under my breath, hurry and slide, uphill is slow and tiring although that could be due to blood loss, which reminds me my waterskin waits for me under the hedge.


    Approaching the hedge and my waterskin, I notice the two groups hurry. They have spotted each other and are now in a footrace, my time grows shorter again. I take a deep drink from my waterskin and place it on my chest. I slide higher, beyond the hedgerow.


    I glimpse both groups arrive at the edge of the village and each bend over sucking in deep breaths and then I lose sight of them as I continue to slide. My blood loss has stopped, even the thigh, which I didn¡¯t expect, therefore no blood trail. With this encouragement I continue until I am amongst the edge foliage of the tree grove, I can hear the bubbling of the stream as yells and calls go out about discovering a body. I hope this is Kog¡¯s on the lower terrace and I hope this keeps them busy, discussing, arguing and deciding before they continue to search.


    I am four body lengths into the grove when another shout goes up, I suspect they have found the Chief¡¯s body. This means they have one terrace to go. OuzOuz looks like a Chief, dresses like a Chief his death should occupy them longer than Kog¡¯s. I continue to slide backwards, my arms tiring.


    While by the stream sipping water another shout goes up, they have found Muz. I need a place to hide.


    I continue sliding up fighting against the slope of the land, towards the headwaters of the stream. If the groups near the killing sites need to refill their waterskins they will probably head directly for the stream, near enough in line with the hedgerow. I don¡¯t doubt those in the village will refill closer to where they are, the village¡¯s position would have been selected due to the location of permanent water. It is the investigators or the inquisitive I need to worry about.


    Sliding on your bottom allows you to examine every possible location close to the ground and I decide upon a slight stone overhang in the middle of the stream to slip under. The stream flows over the stone shelf forming a modest curtain of water. The bottom of my leather pants and back of my leather shirt are wet by the time I am finally at rest. Conveniently I only need to lean out into the curtain of water to drink my fill, while the cool flowing water also soothes my hands. I chew on a strip of dried meat next while laying back and taking my first rest since the start of the battle. I know the dagger in my thigh needs to be removed, at present, battle excitement and survival relief numb the pain so I choose to sleep while I can.


    The ache in my thigh wakes me into the darkness of night. The gurgling of water, night insects and an occasional rustling in the ground vegetation, the serenade of a perfectly normal evening. I strain to hear any voices and fail, the curtain of water destroying any attempt. I think upon my thigh wound, and luck, the dagger missing the major artery and my foot, walking was already going to be a challenge with the thigh, adding the foot ¡­ oh no. My boot. They must have it ¡­ they know I am wounded and at the very least hobbling and therefore still nearby ¡­ it can only be a matter of time before a search starts.


    I need to make for the brambles and not leave any tracks they can follow. This stream should originate from the same valley the bramble tunnel opening ends in. I should be able to slide higher and once in the brambles slide low under them ¡­ I need to remove the dagger from my thigh, the handle will catch with each slide ¡­


    I take the leather belt my quiver attaches to in my mouth and bite down. I feel for the knife and pull, the grunt from my throat is still loud as pain shoots through me, yet I remain conscious. I blink and then in the dark try to remember how I tied the bandage around my leg and retie to cover the hole the dagger made. I wipe away the blood by feel, there is an initial gush, a slowing and then seeping. Without light, I won¡¯t be able to do better.


    Ensuring everything is back on my chest I slide out from under my rock. Siting up, I untie the quiver belt, thread the loose end through the bow and lay the spear shaft next to it, tying them both to the quiver. I then tie the remaining lengths together to make a second loop which I pull over my head, so the quiver, bow and spear are as flat as possible and secure on my chest.  I place the two flint daggers and the bronze knife in the quiver also. I remember in that moment Kog, and the arrow through his neck. More evidence.


    I cross my wounded foot¡¯s ankle over my good foot¡¯s ankle and begin sliding backwards in the dark, fully expecting at the very least severe bruising on my bottom and more cuts on my hands as I utilise the shallow stream on one side of me as a guide.


    False dawn breaks and I judge my progress. I¡¯m not at the brambles yet although they aren¡¯t far away or at least the transition of hillside vegetation to brambles. As for my thigh, the bandage isn¡¯t perfect but to undo and retie would mean more bleeding and for the time being, the bloodstain is stable, goblins heal well. My foot is in a similar state, although the bandage is in a better position. I have grown accustomed to the level of pain, or my wounds don¡¯t hurt as much as I thought they would, either way, I can continue.


    As dawn breaks the feeling of exposure to those in the village below weighs heavy on me. They are distant except I know they will be hunting me now; they have plenty of evidence to know whoever killed the three is still nearby as their attacker must be limping. A simple exercise to continuously widen out the search throughout the day. Sunlight, the warmth welcome ¡­ my heart freezes, I hurry to pull back my spear through the quiver belt loop. The head is copper and can easily reflect sunlight. Taking the bronze knife from the quiver I slice off a length of my leather pants leg and then wrap the piece around the spear point, tying it off with a thin strip I cut off as well. I return everything and then begin my sliding once again.


    The brambles are sparse and other vegetation grows amongst them, probably due to the water nearby. I skirt along until the brambles dominate and lay prone to attempt my first slide, I must wriggle snake-like and occasionally reach into the brambles with my hands to grab strong branches to pull on. I examine the trail I leave, to the untrained eye they could believe the tracks belonged to the slithering of a giant wide belly snake. The trained eye would backtrack to the stream and spot my handprints which will give me away. My one hope is they are inept and believe in some sort of snake with limbs ¡­ yeah, right, fat chance as most tribal goblins are hunters.


    When my eyes can no longer penetrate the brambles to see the outside world, I consider myself far enough in, now to slither West and hopefully slide into the tunnel. I reward my progress with a swing of water, another portion of dry meat and a short rest. I catch some words, yelling or shouts which make no sense. There could be a hundred tribesmen or five making the noise. A splash of water hits the top of my head, then a stream flows around my body and the depth is increasing. Rain runoff from higher in the mountains same as Flint Arrows tribal lands. Depending upon the rainfall this could mean death. I slide along, the water flow and incline of the land against me, but I must find a break in the brambles overhead before the water rises above the current bottom level of the brambles.


    The spot I settle on is an improvement in height to what I have been sliding under, the biggest advantage is its width and length, I can hook my legs up and drag my torso higher as well to lay on a cross branch on the edge. Now I can imagine this sheet of water falling upon the village, no, the terraces, they must capture the flow and divert it either side of the village somehow ¡­


    I lose the day but at least I don¡¯t drown hung up like I am. My tired arms ache for release as do other muscles groups and I lower myself into a moist mud. The softness is surprising, a deep drink from my waterskin satisfies my thirst and without the distraction of doing anything, I succumb almost instantly to sleep.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ---


    In a sleep-daze, I swat the tickle from my nose until one time too many and I wake. My eyes flash from one side to the other, up and across and in every direction, I look, are young green leaves. The dead grey-brown rough wood carries life to its branches in a spectacular way. The leaves also camouflage the branches ¡­ my slow-going will be even slower as I need to confirm I am not going to bump into something solid.


    I wriggle ¡­ and slide, slipping down the incline and reach out above me trying to find a branch. My hands suffer stings and I withdraw them quickly digging my one good heel into the mud to steady myself. The green leaves conceal barbs on the leaves themselves and developing thorns on the branches. I shut my eyes. I open my eyes, and this isn¡¯t a nightmare, this is real. Warm tears moisten my eyes and then stream down my cheeks ¡­


    I cry out my hopeless situation, my near-death multiple times during the battle and the fact I am certain the hunt is on, to find me. There is no escape unless I keep moving, to move will involve suffering pain and enduring beyond an impossible threshold to continue again ¡­


    The brambles draw blood from my hands with a sting, the minimum price. I continue; this is beyond returning for others, Lord Hob, Koria Keen Eye and my sister-wives this is for me. To die a mystery, forgotten except for solemn remembrance on special occasions is not going to be my fate. I move forward a hand width distance at a time, I must preserve my head from further injury, now unable to suffer the same pain as my hands. This slow pace also means I don¡¯t slide towards the open world and the hunt.


    Sleep comes easy.


    ---


    I stare at my hands, the green of my skin now shows different splashes of black, not all my blood, I am slow and careful to reduce the wounding and avoid blood loss. These are stains, rubbing doesn¡¯t remove the colour and my water is for drinking, not for washing my hands. Slow hand movements take my fingers into the green foliage and careful positioning avoids the spikes to harvest a curious black-blue fruit, long due to bubbles upon bubbles of growth building upon each other. I nibble the end. A burst of sweetness explodes on the tip of my tongue. After all this suffering, is this your secret? I finish the first and wait for the plant to kick me down as is its nature ¡­ nothing except childish giggles of delight as I pick another ¡­ and another ¡­ and another.


    My journey sliding on my back this day becomes more tolerable, the more fruit I consume the more my body welcomes and while progress is slow the travel is tolerable instead of toil. In this way, I slide into the tunnel, yet the space isn¡¯t clear, leaves from the surrounding branches reach across trying to smoother the void. I wonder if the secret door at either end stands out as dead patches amongst green or do leaves invade even them. There is no trespass of the tunnel as the leaves are whole and hearty ¡­ I can¡¯t walk in any case so I keep sliding, this time I can sit up slightly and walk my hands because the leaves reaching across don¡¯t make contact. My quicker pace and picking now sparse fruit counterbalance to maintain my previous intake, which my body thanks me for recovering condition and energy.


    Chatter and words, with emotion and exclamation rush towards me, there is nothing I can do except wait ¡­


    Goblin males wielding spear-like poles slash down either side of the tunnel decapitating the stems supporting the leaves, their muscle memory actions take them past me before they notice enough to halt. There are no introductions.


    ¡°Those following will take care of you.¡±


    They swing their poles and continue.


    A rush of children follows next, they pick at the fallen leaves scoffing the fruit bounty they claim. Some pause to stare and then hurry on keen not to miss out ¡­


    A mix of older male goblins and all ages of female goblins crowd around me and then flow on. A cursory glance by one produces an announcement of sorts.


    ¡°Oba, stitching required here!¡± A smile and a pat on my head and then gone, following the others.


    The older females, in the quiet tail of the procession next and one, knees down beside me.


    ¡°Oba?¡± I ask.


    A kind smiling nod confirms as she opens a leather sack and removes several needles, settling on a small one first, threading a curious string. I am about to question when she explains.


    ¡°You like those bramble berries I see, good ¡­ good they will help.¡±


    Her hands flash by before my eyes can follow. The wound on my foot takes the hit and yet the pain I thought would flare up whimpers to a dull ache.


    A knowing smile and then she gets to work. Gentle old fingers remove my bandage, which she folds and sets upon a bramble leaf. Inspecting the cut, she nods to herself and threads a string.


    I touch her shoulder. ¡°Can we boil them in water? Infection,¡± I say. How do I explain infection?


    ¡°Do you see any corruption in your wound?¡±


    I shake my head, confident the explanation rests with my bandage.


    ¡°The bramble fruit, so sweet, like honey prevents corruption in wounds and if enough is eaten assists your body fighting it. All will be well.¡± She offers me a leather roll and I take it, ignoring countless blood and saliva stains of however many others have previously done the same thing. I convince myself the blackening is from the berries as I bite down.


    She slices open the wound and my jaw clenches to muffle my scream. Not all just a cut here and a cut there, like a dance and with purpose. She then places my foot between her bent over legs, just behind her knees and folds my foot so the two sides of my wound are flush. Some adjustment and then she starts stitching. Individual threads or loops, each one stinging, seven in all.


    ¡°I normally finish by smearing bramble fruit over the wound, your blood though is as good. Now the thigh.¡±


    I remove all I carry and finally lift my buttocks so my pants can be rolled down below my knees, a well-practised manoeuvre required when I needed to release my water.


    ¡°You are lucky!¡± She leans the crown of her head towards me. ¡°Please rub this one¡¯s old head, for luck!¡±


    For several heartbeats, my two hands rub her head, much to her delight.


    ¡°Wise to leave the knife in, otherwise too much blood loss while the other open wound bleeds. How many days ago?¡±


    ¡°I am guessing, maybe five?¡±


    She leans back, whistling while shaking her head. I can offer no further explanation; how do you explain the truth?


    ¡°You heal well. I suspected as much from the foot, although they are funny things sometimes, healing differs greatly between wounds and between bodies. I still haven¡¯t worked out why. Thighs though, muscle, much blood they heal the same and yours has done much healing in five days. I will need to cut unless you want a huge scar?¡±


    I shake my head. Although under clothing or armour most of the time, when I am undressed others will single out the wound and draw the wrong type of attention to me.


    ¡°You will still have a scar, perhaps more ¡­¡± Her hands wiggle about, I believe she is searching for the right word. ¡°Bad bum!¡±


    I chuckle and wrap my mouth around the leather roll. After her cutting is complete, she grabs my hands and under her guidance, I hold the two halves of my flesh together while she stitches. Fourteen of them. Fourteen stings which my growling throat and clenching teeth do nothing to reduce the pain.


    Scrubbing bramble fruit over her needle and leather roll she returns both to her bag. Her frail-looking body climbs slowly until with a sigh she is upright.


    ¡°Your body for better or worse has healed the deep flesh. My cuts permitted some adjustment to improve the appearance of the scar. Cut the upper toe out of your right boot and pull it onto your left. With the stitches tight in a shoe, they should have enough support to allow you to use your spear as a crutch to assist your right leg and hobble.¡±


    ¡°Why the rush before?¡±


    ¡°The rumours of the slaying of Chief OuzOuz and the hunt for his ¡­ erm well some say, murderer, others say hero dragged many different tribesmen to the village where his body lay. So many in fact the elders of our village decided to go deep into the mountains to hack a tunnel. With the water, all know the brambles bloom and the way the secret doors are cut and shaped for a time after, they will be obvious, the spot will appear dead. It takes time for the canopy to grow over the top of the brambles. Exposure to the sun allows fast-growing and fast spread ¡­ the villagers who just ran by are escaping while they can.¡±


    ¡°How do your people know about cutting the doors?¡±


    She cackles. ¡°We hide our people and at times our animals, sometimes other things in the brambles when the Chief or his petty servants visit demanding this and that, regardless of what the village needs, but the time after the mountain rains is always dangerous.¡±


    ¡°The Blood Suns are really two tribes in one then, aren¡¯t they?¡± I ask.


    ¡°There aren¡¯t many villages in the middle of the Blood Suns Tribal Lands as over time they either joined the villagers near the mountain range or joined the berserk warriors near the borders.¡± Her eyes shine. ¡°Yes, two tribes in one and now no more, no chief.¡± She glances at me making brief eye contact. ¡°And lands overrun.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t tell?¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t matter what I say, wherever you go for many days you will limp on the foot for which they have a boot that perfectly matches your cut. Surviving your other wound is the more heroic and yet you may be able to cover that one up. Especially if you pull your pants up and stitch the leather.¡± She hands me a needle, turns and ambles down the tunnel.


    ---


    ¡°Duzsia, wife of Klug you return!¡± Tor rushes to embrace me and assist me into the cave proper, leading me from the top of the stone steps. Once inside his daughter rushes to hand me a wooden cup full of water, while the granddaughter fossicks.


    My two under armpit walking sticks lean against the wall of the cave, my bow, quiver and spear lean beside them before I drop into the makeshift wooden seat Tor offers.


    I look about. ¡°Where is Pud?¡±


    ¡°We released him, so he could continue his good work.¡± As I am about to protest, he waves me down. ¡°Every village he ¡®frees¡¯ will need to stop here for rest before going on. I check with the Head Goblin to make sure Pud hasn¡¯t violated the spirit of our arrangement while allowing himself a reasonable profit.¡±


    ¡°You are wiser than I and I am glad we met.¡±


    ¡°You know Ten Spears?¡±


    A nod and sit up.


    ¡°They visited, some days ago and convinced many to be escorted to the Farm under their protection. They asked about you. I didn¡¯t know them so my response ¡­ guarded. I am sorry. They were willing to wait, I convinced them not to by saying no one knew when you would return if at all.¡±


    ¡°You did the right thing.¡± I would have been hobbling and slowing the entire column, making everyone nervous, which could lead to tension, panic and chaos. No best they left without me.


    ¡°Most talk about a heroic melee where a single goblin, obviously the biggest and strongest, definitely a loner, defeated a certain Chief and his two berserk bodyguards after they consumed mead. They have his boot, sliced clean through by one of the three, supposedly the only wound suffered ¡­ I notice the wound on your foot and if I can put a wound and a boot together, many others will as well. All search for you, their intentions unknown.¡±


    His daughter leans against him. ¡°Stay. You can lurk about in the caves until you¡¯re fully healed, and we will keep strangers away ¡­¡±


    The granddaughter hands me a bowl of bramble fruit and I laugh, loud and long.

 1.036 Secrets, I Hate Secrets

    Busy days and homely nights pass by. During this time there is no more news regarding Duzsia, which inflicts me with a touch of unexpected melancholy. As the influx of Blood Suns slows to a trickle of ones or twos who don¡¯t recognise her name, most of my wives and certainly Zeb believe she is lost or worse. Around me at least, none mention her by name and there is an agreed ignorance.


    The discovery of a bean-like plant by one of the Ten Spears produces a flurry of farm activity in the fallow field much to Jotor¡¯s joy and relief. Unplanted ground a sacrilege to him. Another Ten Spears perfect the art of harvesting beehives and as the sown fields flower, they thrive, the large pots to house the bees being produced from the Farm¡¯s kiln.


    After listening to Vuz complain, for the umpteenth time about the distance his potters need to travel for clay I mention the dirty water I drank from during my urgent journey to answer the Head Hob¡¯s call. Investigating the site his potters discover the stream headwaters emerge from a clay deposit and using the wagon they haul vast amounts of clay. To their credit, they also perfect the consumption of tree stumps into charcoal. They surround the stump with logs of wood, standing on their ends, then build a clay oven around logs and stump and set the whole on fire. Once the fire rages they block lower air holes to starve the fire of oxygen to heat and charcoal the stump. They repeat this as often as required until the stump is no more, much to the delight of Jotor. I can appreciate his position; the cleared ground will become a new western field and therefore expands the Farm away from the tribal lands.


    I attend several births, although not all, enough to keep my promise yet I strictly observe, leaving the actual delivery to my Head Goblin of Childbirth and her assistants. All successful, all proud Blood Suns¡¯ mothers. My wives and many female goblins on the Farm begin to show. My day of reckoning approaches.


    Leaning against the western wall of the Kitchen in the morning shade I take great delight in observing the children and their sling practice. While further east of them Koria and Vuzsia instruct teenagers and older goblins in the fine art of archery. This is how I now spend my days. I wait with occasional interruptions, reactive. I seem paralysed, nervous, the furnace is under construction and therefore iron weapons and tools almost within my grasp. Once plentiful I believe iron weapons and more importantly tools, will assure the Farm and the goblins themselves will be able to advance. The tribes are the variable, so far not making an appearance and each day they delay the more certain I am they will. Then there is Duzsia ¡­


    ¡°Lord?¡±


    I don¡¯t need to face the caller. ¡°Yes, Zeb.¡±


    ¡°We have some volunteers to serve the Head Hob as bodyguards ¡­¡±


    Do we now, I think to myself as I swivel about-face. Five females, all Blood Suns if I am not mistaken and none shy away from my gaze as my eyes fall upon them in turn. I approach the Bow and Spear armed line-up, check for arm, and leg muscle mass and murmur my approval. They tolerate my squeezing and prodding of their limbs in silence.


    Zeb reports further. ¡°They have all spent many days hunting with a Ten Spear, otherwise practising daily with either weapon, archery with Koria and Vuzsia and spear-wielding with several of the older Blood Suns¡¯ males who remember such skills.¡±


    I leave the line and position myself before them. ¡°You realise the Head Hob is a Hobgoblin in every sense, he is true to his nature ¡­¡±


    They nod. None speak. None glance sideways searching for assurance in the others standing in line.


    ¡°He will expect undying loyalty, obeying his orders even before mine, for example, you are to protect his life and if necessary, sacrifice your own.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord,¡± they reply as one.


    ¡°Keep practising for now.¡±


    They glance a Zeb. ¡°You heard Lord Hob, go for now.¡±


    They break from the line-up and race towards Koria and Vuzsia.


    ¡°What do you think Zeb?¡±


    His eyes are upon them as much as mine. ¡°I am not certain why they wish to be bodyguards for the Head Hob. There is a sense of uncertainty regarding the possible attack from the tribes and maybe they see this as a way to escape the Farm. They say they wish to serve you by serving as bodyguards to the Head Hob, but something rings hollow.¡±


    They line up now, five in a straight line, drawing on their bows and after inspection from Koria for shape and technique release at round wooden targets, each scoring near bullseye hits from fifty paces.


    ¡°The Head Hob did order the cull on their tribe,¡± I say.


    He chuckles. ¡°There is that minor issue. So, they are a, no?¡±


    ¡°My initial thought was to trial them all at once with the Head Hob, but they aren¡¯t cooks and if in league with each other that could prove fatal. Seka, for example, could probably fend off one easily enough as I suspect her skill with a dagger more than up to the task, but five, unlikely. Do they all come from the same village?¡±


    Zeb scuffs his feet. ¡°Difficult to be certain. Two are definitely from the same village as they arrived with the Head Goblin of Childbirth. The other three arrived with stray groups or so they say.¡±


    ¡°None from the Farm or Copper Village have come forward?¡±


    He snickers before I finish my question, waving a hand before himself, trying to regain his composure. I wait.


    His face finally straightens. ¡°Lord, no offence, but any from the Farm are waiting to give birth. Those from the Copper Village are either hunting and eating meat or working around the Farm and eating meat. You have spoilt them, Lord.¡±


    ¡°They see the deliveries of meat to the Head Village, they know Seka is the Head Hobs¡¯ cook ¡­¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°Do they? Here they know for certain, and they would rather stay with the Hob they know ¡­¡±


    ¡°What of the threat from the tribes?¡± I push.


    ¡°They listen to the Ten Spears reports as much as anyone and the tribes seem to be ignoring us ¡­ I am sorry Lord you have made Farm life safe and predictable.¡±


    This further confuses why the Blood Suns would volunteer.


    ¡°Anything else?¡± I ask, somewhat defeated.


    ¡°Do you still intend on taking an iron axe to the Smith Hob?¡±


    Where did that question come from, I wonder? I suspect Milga as she has been nagging me about this same thing of late.


    ¡°What are my chances of keeping such a tool secret?¡± I notice his sigh and I return an all-knowing smile. ¡°Exactly. Better to confront him, offer to teach him and try to gain him as an ally.¡±


    ¡°Who will be going with you?¡±


    ¡°My wives are heavily pregnant, and I suspect Milga is also.¡± I give Zeb a wink. He squirms yet stays his ground. ¡°Who else?¡±


    ¡°A Ten Spear? What about Vuzsia?¡±


    Placing my hands behind my back I pace away from him, enjoying the warmth of the sun upon my skin and thinking. The Smith Hob may anger and charge me, do I want his death? Accidental or otherwise? Maybe neutral ground would be best, the Head Village and ask the Head Hob to summon him? Yes, that is the way to go ¡­


    ¡°Equip a Ten Spear with iron-tipped spears and they can escort me,¡± I declare. They will remain outside the Head Hob¡¯s cottage, their presence reassurance for Zeb and no more.


    ¡°Vuzsia?¡± he asks, still pushing for her inclusion.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Dead Eye. A deadly archer is always useful if things don¡¯t turn out the way you expect. A purposeful arrow to the thigh better than a hasty arrow to the eye ¡­ I always say.¡± He smiles like he made the best rhyme ever.


    I open my mouth to speak and close it instead, shaking my head. I try again. ¡°Vuzsia and some iron-tipped arrows would be useful. Your rhyme did nothing to convince me, just so you know.¡±


    He smiles and waving an arm, wanders off. I suspect to tell Milga and then make the arrangements.


    ---


    I survey the Farm, note the arrival of each of my wives from their various places of duty and lament the passing of more idle days. Milga assures me none of the Tribes are gathering near our fence line and I must accept that truth. They should have made their move by now; the crops are bursting with produce and therefore ready to plunder. I begin to doubt my judgement in the matter and the misreading of their motives. How could I be this wrong? A wife brings my mind back to my current purpose.


    ¡°We have duties husband ¡­ while we still can, why do you gather us here?¡± asks Koria, her hands lying upon her baby bump.


    I look upon each wife in turn, Koria, Luda, Rexa, Bekto, Zuxa and Lazsia. I lament those missing, Duzsia, Ligia and while only a whim of sorts, Karo. No, not on a whim, to torture Zoria for some insane reason, which I can¡¯t understand why. As instructed, they each dress in a one-piece linen cloth oversized shirt. Short sleeves with a hem dropping below their knees. The loose fit accommodates their change in shape. I stall no further.


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    ¡°The death during childbirth of Zana and Gato has made me realise the capturing and holding of your spirits while pregnant is a risk I don¡¯t wish to carry with me.¡± I wave down their protests. ¡°If after childbirth you wish to renew the ceremony, I will be more than happy to oblige. But we must all face the facts, your pregnancies to me place you in great danger and if the worse were to happen I don¡¯t wish to leave you to die spiritless. You are all in my heart now and such a fate is only deserving of an enemy of mine, not my wife.¡±


    How can I make such a statement? Because of Zana and Gato ¨C my confusion over how they belonged to me resolving my responsibility or perception of responsibility for my official wives. They are more than simply my chattels ¨C am I succumbing, going, native?


    Bekto speaks first. ¡°Lord we have been practising our childbirth technique. After three attempts due to upside-down babies, two babies and one mother have survived cutting open their bellies. Given Rora is also a Blood Suns the rest of the tribe don¡¯t blame us for any failures, in fact, most births now are routine, well as routine as childbirth can be ¡­¡±


    ¡°Did you do the stitching?¡±


    She beams a smile at me. ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    ¡°Who has your skill to do the same for you?¡±


    Bekto glances about. ¡°My sister-wives practice Lord.¡±


    Koria steps forward and wraps an arm around Bekto¡¯s shoulders. ¡°We are all taking turns in each role, practising. We will get the chance to actually perform soon Lord as the Blood Suns continue to give birth.¡±


    I walk into the river. The cool refreshing water eddies around my legs as I face about. To a wife, they shed tears, although bravely they refuse to sob. I point at Bekto. She shakes her head.


    ¡°Come to me wife, I need to return your spirit, you of all my wives face the greatest danger. You alone have the skills to save the others, none have the skills to save you and if the worst should happen, I will be living with the guilt of keeping your spirit.¡± My eyes close. ¡°An unforgivable reminder of my selfishness.¡± My eyes open and Bekto stands before me, wiping away her tears, while her bottom lip trembles.


    The only wife exempted, yet present is Rexa, daughter of Jotor and acquired by arrangement. As much as I don¡¯t trust Zoria, I do trust Rexa and if you asked me why I wouldn¡¯t be able to answer.


    ---


    I embrace my six wives, all wet to differing degrees including Rexa who hugged each of her sister-wives as they recovered. We hurry to my cabin, and I delight in observing them change out of their wet shirts. Naked, their predatory eyes turn upon me and they insist on stripping off my wet clothes, a linen shirt, and long pants. Once skin dry, we frolic about in the bed, my hands unable to restrain themselves as I cup their growing bellies at every opportunity. Their warm smiles of delight each time amble reward. We settle down, cuddling, skin on skin contact. Their need to be physically close to me to make up I suppose for the loss of their spiritual link. A link which I know to be false, yet their moist eyes and obvious distress after the ceremony convincing me otherwise. I can¡¯t explain my need, it simply is.


    ¡°Lord, could we celebrate on the bank of the river, with food and joy? The weather is ideal for being outside instead of the dull indoors?¡± asks Lazsia.


    A brief silence and then Koria voices her support. In a crescendo of spontaneous accord, my other wives add their voices. Helpless, I nod in agreement and shortly after, clothed, we tumble out of my Cabin. My wives attend to the arrangements while I saunter towards the river.


    Vuz hurries towards me, a couple of his lackeys behind him and I stop to receive them.


    ¡°Lord.¡± He waves his hand back to the first lackey. ¡°The axe is done.¡± He waves to the other lackey. ¡°Ten spear tips and twenty arrowheads also as requested by Zeb on your behalf.¡±


    The iron axe head is mounted on a smooth hardwood handle and as I practice swing the weapon, while primitive, is serviceable and for now the only one on this planet. I inspect the spear tips and arrowheads. Each has been worked to a sharp edge and once mounted will be ready.


    ¡°You have done well my Head Goblin of Potters. See that these are made ready.¡± I nod to the spear and arrow points. ¡°Fit-out my first Ten Spears with the finished spears and Emissary Vuzsia with the finished arrows.¡±


    He raises an eyebrow and I answer before he can question.


    ¡°Ten more spear points and ten more arrow points and you may then experiment with your pottery. Our iron production will have to halt for a while after this last order.¡±


    He smiles and nods. Bowing as he retreats with his lackeys. I deviate slightly from my intended destination, somewhat west and towards Vuzsia by the river who directs the archery training single-handed, since Koria is currently doing my bidding.


    ¡°Take a break, drink, recover your arrows,¡± she says, before I am near. Her class follows her instructions while she grabs for a waterskin and swivels about to face me.


    ¡°You honour me with your presence,¡± she quips and then takes a drink. Rivulets of glistening sweat run down her neck, gathering upon her chest ... disappearing between twin flesh mounds.


    ¡°I need to introduce you to the Head Hob. I am thinking three days from now?¡±


    She almost drops the waterskin. ¡°Why? My title of Emissary is a charade. What does a Tribe mean to him except for culling or not?¡± She waves a dismissive hand at me.


    ¡°You will give me an excuse to go and also a reason to summon the Smith Hob, for I intend to gift you ten arrows with iron arrowheads and by way of their existence convince the Smith Hob to mine and smelt iron instead of copper.¡±


    She smiles, which widens to expose her sharp pointy teeth. Shakes her head and begins to laugh while bending over, unable to hold her demeanour. I march forward one step, stomping my boot down, which is warning enough. She straightens and smooths out her leather vest, not out of necessity, but a nervous habit.


    She casts me a contrite bowing of her head. ¡°I apologise Lord Hob, but I am privy to the Farm gossip and most believe the Smith Hob would rather slay you than be told how to Smith. I for one don¡¯t wish to be subject to his wrath.¡±


    I free from my belt, the axe from behind my back and flash the weapon before her eyes in a display of slashing rotations. Her eyes and face finally show serious interest.


    ¡°So much iron, sharp and made ready.¡± Her eyes bounce from the axe to mine. ¡°You will challenge the Smith Hob if needed, that is your plan.¡±


    My turn to nod. ¡°As a Keen Eye Archer, you would be useful in such a circumstance. A goblin cannot slay a Hob and I don¡¯t wish to. So, one or more arrows in thighs or biceps could prove useful to slow down any rage and possibly encourage further discussion.¡±


    Behind her eyes, she does her own mental arithmetic. Her growing smile confirming if nothing else she will witness a historic moment and how could she pass that up. ¡°I will escort you, as an Emissary of the Flint Arrows of course, even if the iron arrows will feel out of place in my quiver.¡±


    As I turn, I glance back. ¡°Know that a Ten Spears, with iron-tipped spears will also accompany us, just in case the Smith Hob brings any friends.¡±


    ¡°Friends or not, no goblin would attack a Hob and perhaps for such a venture, some armour would be useful,¡± she says, her words following me while I head towards the gathering of my wives at the place of our riverside picnic.


    Some armour? I flick her a look, too late, her attention is back with her students. Is that a hint?


    ¡°Hurry to your wives, Lord, they seem like children themselves now with their bellies full.¡±


    My eyes remain on my wives, ignoring the newcomer. Her approach obvious to Vuzsia and I suspect the reason behind her comment about armour.


    ¡°Suda the Faithful, wife of Zeb,¡± I say with a disappointing tone. ¡°Why do you honour me with your presence?¡±


    ¡°None,¡± she murmurs. ¡°Although for a beast, I am pleased the impending births reveal a glimmer of affection for those who will die in childbirth.¡±


    A knot begins to form within my stomach and but for Zeb, my fingers would already be around her throat. Instead ¡­


    ¡°Yes, if so, I must search for replacements ¡­¡±


    Silent as any Flint Arrows huntress she shuffles slightly away from me. ¡°Yes, Lord, of course, well I will ¡­¡±


    ¡°Instead of doing this myself, I believe you will be ideal.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± she squeaks, the shortness of the word revealing her surprise to my delight.


    ¡°Your womb is productive, fruitful and I am therefore certain your eye would select the most fertile of future wives for me.¡±


    Her breathing grows haggard. ¡°No longer Lord, I am past such honour and hence my eye would be ¡­ would be ¡­¡±


    I look upon her, hands fidgeting. ¡°Ideal!¡± I declare.


    ¡°No Lord, without the hope of pregnancy for myself I would question my suitability.¡± Her eyes glance at mine and then focus on my waiting wives. ¡°Zeb is your loyal lackey Lord. I am certain he will throw himself into this task also.¡±


    ¡°Yes, good point.¡± A long breath of relief escapes between her lips. She assumes I will, as she suggests assign this task to Zeb, yet I have another solution. ¡°I have heard from a reliable source.¡± Not really but she doesn¡¯t know! ¡°The Matriarch of the Grim Weavers is pregnant from my loins, so I believe the issue settled.¡±


    ¡°Settled Lord?¡± Her eyes wide and now staring at me. ¡°You don¡¯t mean? What of Zeb, my husband?¡±


    ¡°I am certain my lackey won¡¯t be upset not being chosen and once pregnant you will be ideal for this task.¡±


    She gulps, ¡°Lord, I am not one of your wives ¨C and don¡¯t wish to be as I am already married.¡±


    I chortle. ¡°Look around Suda the faithful, most of those pregnant aren¡¯t married to me, yet carry my seed and their husbands didn¡¯t begrudge my planting. I am certain Zeb, my lackey, as you point out won¡¯t protest either.¡± My arm wraps around her shoulder, my hand dangling over her left breast. ¡°Walk with me, I will proclaim our plan to my wives, and I am certain they will cheer on my planting of you immediately, after all, we can¡¯t waste a day.¡±


    ¡°B ¡­ By the river, daylight?¡± Her head shakes, bottom lip trembling. ¡°You are too busy to be distracted by me, hurry to your wives, I am sure your time is precious. Zeb says you are always busy, and you know, your wives may be able to survive as I hear they are practising birth skills and the like.¡±


    ¡°You are mistaken Suda the faithful, I am certain Zeb would talk to you of my idleness, my waiting for the tribes and so forth. I have time to kill or in your case plant.¡±


    Her arms wrap around her body, her head shaking in denial. ¡°No Lord.¡± Her eyes open bright and wide, she has an alternative for me perhaps? ¡°Zeb tells me about the armour, you are interested in the Flint Arrows relic. Yes?¡±


    ¡°A legend, rumour. Remember your daughters and Milga are Flint Arrows, and none knew of such armour.¡± I sigh, slumping my shoulders and with my arm around her shoulder, I ensure she feels the weight of my despondency.


    She tries to struggle free, and I don¡¯t allow her a modicum of leeway. She must earn her release.


    ¡°There is, talk. The Flint Arrows hail a great victory of the past over a Warrior Hob, there is proof of this. Once paraded before the entire tribe now kept safe ¡­ known by only a few. Wouldn¡¯t the hunt for this be worthy of your time ¡­ instead of, well farming my loins?¡±


    ¡°I will be quick with you, searching the Flint Arrows tribal lands an arduous task and they may disagree of course!¡± I release a happy chuckle and squeeze her upper arm, dragging her body closer to mine.


    ¡°My age Lord. I ¡­ I will require multiple plantings, time better spent elsewhere. I have heard the armour rests in a hidden, sacred cave Lord. In the mountains, there is a valley, one which has been scooped out of the mountainside, unmistakable.¡±


    This valley sounds remarkably like the Elder¡¯s cave one and if so, one in the southern mountain range and now it would seem a duplicate in the northern mountain range. I would need to find two more to be absolutely certain ¡­ although there would be other signs.


    I drag her body around to face me, a hand heavy upon each of her shoulders. She yelps of course. ¡°Does your tribal legends talk of a great darkness, the blotting out of the sun?¡±


    Her brow furrows, all other signs of fright and indignation disappearing. ¡°Y ¡­ yes, Lord. The great darkness heralded the arrival of the Warrior Hob and then after a time Hobgoblins, the retellings are of events, the order known, the time between less certain ¡­ what do you know of these inner secrets, how do you know?¡± Her voice grows bold and demanding, this is knowledge only a few know and highly guarded. I am not surprised the Flint Arrows of all the tribes remember their legends, their society is isolated and impervious, few able to successfully raid, take wives and otherwise plunder.


    I squeeze her shoulders, my fingers digging in. ¡°The truth,¡± I demand.


    Her eyes moisten. ¡°There is no more truth Lord. You have guessed or know it all.¡±


    I snipe, ¡°There is always more truth.¡± She shakes her head in denial. ¡°Swear on your daughter¡¯s lives.¡±


    Under the grip of my fingers, I detect a determination returning to her body. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t harm them. They tell of your affection ¡­ they carry your children.¡±


    I throw her to the ground. Koria and Luda jumping to their feet, their questioning faces glowering at me, and I realise I shouldn¡¯t have.

 1.037 Interlude: Zoria (1/3)

    ¡°What is the plan now?¡± asks Karo, the defeat in her voice plain.


    ¡°What do you mean by asking me the plan? I am your escort, not your skulduggery guide. You¡¯re going in there to spy for the glory of Lord Hob I seem to recall, boasting even, to say you will just accept whatever they suggest for your reason being there ¡­¡±


    I try to suppress any bitterness in my voice. Karo, wife of the Hob upon simply asking, yet she like I part of a group of kidnappers. I don¡¯t understand his reasoning, it makes no sense.


    ¡°I could have probably got me here! This tribe doesn¡¯t even dream of being attacked! Look down there, chatting, the guards with their spears casually slung over their shoulders, token round piece of wood over their chest for armour ¡­ and young! Life and death, a game to them.¡±


    ¡°Well, you can¡¯t just walk in, you won¡¯t pass as one of them, you are too lean. You can¡¯t be Blood Suns or Flint Arrows and Meb¡¯s people probably wouldn¡¯t be welcome ¡­¡±


    I study the village, no wall, not even a low dirt one and this a brother of Mel¡¯s, his seat of power and might! Plenty of fish drying makes sense as their tribal lands run alongside the river. Why doesn¡¯t Meb just walk in and slay his brother?


    ¡°We are emissaries from the valley North of this valley ¡­ this isn¡¯t to promise anything ¡­ mmm ¡­ gauge the level of interest?¡± A self-satisfying smile spreads across her lips, in effect congratulating herself.


    ¡°Look at us. Females! No Chief would send females on such a mission,¡± I reply with some venom. For a spy, her brains are severely lacking any creditable schemes.


    She pouts. ¡°There is a Matriarch in this valley, why not in ours and your armour is sufficiently well crafted to make these slow-witted goblins believe you are something special, like my bodyguard ¡­¡±


    I can¡¯t contain myself. ¡°You are the dimwit not them, what of the tribeswomen with the elder who have since returned? One! Only one recognises us and the game is up.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me dimwit, besotted one!¡± She raises her hand and withdraws it, thinking more before acting out.


    My anger instant. ¡°What do you mean by that?¡± Unable to hold back I punch her shoulder without restraint.


    She rubs her shoulder. ¡°So, you are!¡± In a whiney voice adding, ¡°Oh Lord Hob please don¡¯t ignore me! You can trust me ¡­ I will be loyal ¡­ don¡¯t you know you are my Hero ¡­?¡±


    Hitting her a mistake, if Lord Hob meant nothing to me, I would have just laughed her and the quip off.


    ¡°Pfft! You still need to solve.¡± I wave my hand towards the village. ¡°This.¡±


    She taps her chin with a finger. ¡°We escaped from the Farm and for some consideration, we will report on a meeting between the Lord Hob and Meb, including the Chiefs who were determined after the culling of the Blood Suns to cull Meb¡¯s brother¡¯s lands as easy pickings. Lord Hob of course councils them not to but they storm off breaking all ties with him. They have the sniff of power in their noses after their victory over the Blood Suns!¡±


    ¡°I ¡­ umm.¡± This may slay. ¡°Better. Some truth, there was a meeting, they have broken ties with Lord Hob ¡­ we find one of the elder¡¯s cave goblins first and if the right one she may get us a hearing before Meb¡¯s brother.¡±


    ¡°A couple of them smelt of fish ¡­ try the riverside villages?¡± Karo offers.


    ---


    After the third, and we barely set foot into the village proper or maybe hamlet ¡­ four cottages, no businesses although drying fish everywhere ¡­ we find one.


    A female goblin flies into the arms of Karo. ¡°When I made the offer to visit, I didn¡¯t ¡­ well think any others ¡­ never mind. Welcome!¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think you would remember me ¡­¡±


    She laughs, throwing her hands into the air. ¡°Karo the mysterious one ¡­ we tried to guess your tribe, your skills and how wrong!¡± She shakes her head. ¡°A kidnapper! How exciting. How come you didn¡¯t kidnap anyone from around here hey?¡± She punches Karo¡¯s arm playfully, fortunately not the one I punched.


    I almost bend over laughing myself, at Karo¡¯s indignant look.


    Fish girl slaps Karo¡¯s arm again. ¡°Just fun¡¯in, we would all probably die of fright if you did ¡­¡± She takes a step back. ¡°You aren¡¯t here for that now, are you?¡± The happy go lucky ray of shine face disappearing in a flash.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I growl.


    Karo slaps me on the shoulder, hard. Fish girl starts to back away ¡­


    ¡°Don¡¯t believe her, she¡¯s a kidder.¡± Karo¡¯s eyes bore into me. ¡°My companion is only happy when she¡¯s grumpy or teasing others ¡­¡± Karo¡¯s face sweeps into a pleasant generous smile, an ¡®I am here for you¡¯ look dazzling Fish girl and restoring her smile.


    ¡°I knew you were the better one.¡±


    ¡°Better one?¡± I ask.


    Fish girl jumps, not remembering me standing here probably. ¡°Well.¡± Her voice hushes. ¡°She slew two males, killing strokes ¡­ not saying they didn¡¯t deserve some sort of punishment after they threaten the dear elder, but no hesitation from her, one throw and went back to eating, both times. Maybe if the men didn¡¯t threaten during dinner!¡±


    Her eyes flash, I sense she inwardly celebrates after releasing a true nugget of wisdom upon the world ¨C men shouldn¡¯t threaten during dinner!


    ¡°Now,¡± says Karo, holding both of her hands out towards Fish girl who takes the offer. ¡°We need to see your Chief and share important news with him.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Peb! You don¡¯t need to give him a false title so grand.¡± She chuckles. ¡°We call him Big Fish. He is really friendly, just visit him. He likes to talk to strangers. Especially if you have lots of stories ¡­¡± Her head nods more than four times.


    ---


    Different day, same young guard. Expecting at least a question about our visit to Peb¡¯s seat of power, he looks us up and down and waves us on, his attention returning to a pale green fair of face young thing I am certain he considers one half of a future pairing ¡­ which includes him.


    A few of those passing by wave and I return the gesture. They don¡¯t see me as a threat, full-body armour, and twin long flint knives on my hips. The long flint a risk as flint is a brittle stone but the reach of them an advantage and these two are survivors of many melees. Perhaps Karo allays their fears, unarmed, flowing soft leather shirt and long skirt, a floral necklace of flowers. Maybe they see me as her bodyguard and not a threat to them personally?


    Taking the obvious hard-packed dirt path from the entrance leads us before the largest building in the village, more than a cottage, a long log lodge, clay walls, sloping thatch roof and wooden frame twin doors ¨C both open, a guard leaning on a doorpost either side.


    As we approach, they both spring into action shaking their spears towards us ¡­ then both smile and break out into laughter, pointing their fingers at us.


    ¡°Should have seen your faces,¡± says one.


    ¡°She went for her knives,¡± offers the other.


    ¡°We are here to speak with the Big Fish?¡± I declare, without humour or appreciation not that they take offence.


    ¡°We know, everyone knows ¡­ go in you¡¯re expected.¡±


    Their laughter chases us into the lodge proper. One long hall and at the end sits the largest goblin I have ever seen as in tall, over four feet ¡­


    ¡°Welcome. I am told you have news for me?¡± His elbows rest upon the arms of a grand high-backed chair. His attire is a mix of expert fitted furs and leather, all stitching neat and fine. A thick shifted spear rests across his lap.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I reply. He halts our advance towards him by holding up a hand.


    ¡°Good throwing distance ¡­¡± He snickers. ¡°I should be able to hit one of you if you choose to run ¡­¡±


    I feel Karo glance at me, I refuse to return the glance, my eyes remain on our host. Finally, Karo breaks her silence.


    ¡°Until recently we stayed, well were politely held on the Farm of the Farmer Hob and overheard some information. If you could see your way clear to exchange food and shelter for the information for a few days before we need to move on ¡­¡±


    His hands grab at the length of his spear, crashing the weapon across the arms of his chair. ¡°Gossip, rumours ¡­ what of stories ¡­ eh?¡± His instant anger gone, both eyebrows rising. The one thing I learn from his act is he is well in control of his emotions and not only were we expected, I suspect our news is already known to him.


    ¡°Your lands are in danger,¡± Karo pleads.


    He scoffs while twirling the spear about in a dazzling display of manipulation until with a bang, the butt of the spear smashes down onto the wooden floor of the hall. The two guards sprint in, one standing beside each of us.


    ¡°Doom and gloom,¡± he announces.


    I feel the two guards slump, their shoulders curling. They know what this means!


    ¡°Escort them from the village, if they try to return ban them from our lands.¡± A dismissive hand flapping at us to be on our way.


    ¡°Wait,¡± I shout. ¡°A story, I have a story ¡­¡±


    His spear goes back across his lap, and he shuffles back into his chair.


    I guess that is my cue ¡­


    ¡°The Lord Farmer Hob sent me on a quest to prove my loyalty and worth. I needed to claim a ransom from across the mountains by exchanging a captive. The captive declared herself a ransom and because of this, she was obligated not to try and escape, and I was obligated to protect her from harm.¡±


    A chin scratch and nod. ¡°Very civilised, fewer deaths I suppose ¡­¡±


    ¡°Right. For the journey there we kept to the woods and trees, which meant skirting around Blood Suns lands. At night, their celebrations carried on the wind, howls, and screams to freeze the blood, male, and female voices, although pain and anguish could be heard more often than not in many female ravings ¡­¡±


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    ¡°You didn¡¯t try to rescue any?¡± he asks. ¡°Such a heroic thing,¡± he mumbles, his eyes searching skywards and then snapping back to stare at me. ¡°You look capable, and I like your knives ¡­¡±


    I hold my nerve. ¡°Even if I snuck in, would any of the females be of right mind? If one raised the alarm a camp of berserks would surely slay me. No Chief Peb, I am brave, not foolhardy.¡±


    He grunts and waves at me to continue. Heroics then is what interests you ¡­


    ¡°We approach the mountain pass, and my captive signals her return using the light from a campfire at night, covering and uncovering in some secret signal, which they return. She assures me all is well. The path into the mountains is narrow, steep and switches back many times. Even though we climb the steps at dawn there is a sense of being watched every step of the way and the wind howls about you, one lapse of concentration and the fall will splatter your body against the lower reaches of the mountain, lost for all time.¡±


    ¡°Risk and danger, good, good,¡± he says leaning forward in his chair.


    ¡°The guards know my captive and yet consider rejecting her as she has been gone from their valley too many days, she refuses, on her knees begging and they take a whip to her. I have sworn an obligation to protect her, so I rush in and knock the guard off his feet and then back up to stand before my captive.¡±


    ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°Six at least in the courtyard and more, maybe twenty watching on from the surrounding windows. You see either side of the pass the barracks are carved into stone, the exit facing our valley has two large thick wooden doors in a stone wall and the same at the other end leading into their valley. Once behind those doors, there is no escape and while I wanted to draw my daggers, I knew the moment I did I would be outnumbered ¡­¡±


    ¡°What did you do?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡± I chuckle. ¡°You see this was a test. If I didn¡¯t fulfil my obligation to protect the captive, then my side of the ransom agreement would be declared false, me slain, and the captive set free. As it was, they allowed us both to pass through the gates at the other end of the pass and into their valley. Fortunately, her tribe were arriving to take over guard duty and one guided us to her village. They didn¡¯t express any anger or hold any resentment as far as they are concerned a life is worth more than any ransom treasure. What I didn¡¯t realise she was the favourite of the Chief and the ransom in exchange for her high. A bronze knife!¡±


    ¡°What is bronze?¡±


    ¡°A wonderous metal, stronger than copper, the blade holds its sharpness ¡­¡± I deliberately place a sadness in my voice. Not a difficult task given my many failures.


    ¡°What became of this blade?¡±


    ¡°They allowed me to walk back through the pass and travelling down those mountain stairs alone, perilous, you can only reassure yourself ¡­¡± I pause trying to draw him into the danger. ¡°Once through I took the same path back, we used to travel there ¡­ a mistake. As much as I can make out two attackers lay in wait. I felt their eyes upon me, small things like moving shadows, falling rocks and my eyes darted about from each disturbance ¡­ after a day and night of caution I decided to sprint ¡­ the Farm perhaps a day away, so close. Upon arrival, I would be able to hand the Lord Hob the dagger, prove my loyalty and once again join, be part of something bigger than myself and lose my loneliness ¡­¡±


    Feeling a warmth upon my face and my eyes moisten I shake my head and continue.


    ¡°Crossing a land dotted with bush and clumps of trees you would think the odds of meeting others unlikely, even rare and yet I not only met others I crashed into them, and we all tumbled down eating dirt. They grabbed for their weapons, desperation in their eyes. I lashed out with the knife, able to grab it amongst the tangle of arms and legs. Black blood spurted in my eyes and a corpse fell on me. I pushed my kill off me, and another stabbed me in my gut, a downward thrust with his body weight behind it slicing through my armour. I reached for the wound with one hand, and he wrestled the bronze knife from my other.¡±


    I tap a guard and point to my throat.


    ¡°And, what next,¡± shouts Peb. ¡°Quickly, water fool.¡±


    I quench my thirst, drinking deep. When Peb moves in his chair I finish and drop the waterskin, to allow my hands to grab for empty air to add drama to the telling.


    ¡°Howls of another group ring out across the land, the one with the knife strikes for my throat so I kick out with my foot, he falls forward trying to keep his balance and slices my forehead instead. He is the last, his fellows had run on. He spits on me, and I hear his curses on the wind as he sprints to catch up.¡±


    ¡°You lost the knife.¡± Peb sits up in his chair, blinking.


    He didn¡¯t expect a tale of defeat ¡­ he believes in happy endings, how can he in this valley, probably this entire land. I fear my time to finish this tale is running out.


    ¡°I bandage as best I can and stumble and drag myself towards a distant light. This is a pyre I learn later, one of many which burn dead Blood Suns, over two hundred I am told later. Those doing the burning, although loyal to Lord Hob don¡¯t recognise me, they think I am Blood Suns somehow and they beat on me, kicks, punches until I tire them out and mumble Lord Hob. I am fortunate, for some reason he travels nearby. You hear that Peb, nearby, he probably heard my screams ¡­ They drag me to him and while he recognises me, chooses to ignore me, because like you, he despises failure. His wives though nurse my broken and wounded body through the night ¡­¡±


    ¡°Wives?¡±


    I flash him a wry smile. ¡°A tale for another time, but yes Lord Farmer Hob has wives, apparently to satisfy his lust when he has urges outside of seeding season ¡­¡±


    I chuckle as his jaw drops and I can tell there is another tale I could tell.


    ¡°In the morning I confess my failure, yet he knows already of course because no matter how wounded and beaten if I had the knife on me, I would have offered the prize up ¡­¡±


    ¡°Hobs don¡¯t value any living thing ¡­ this Hob does?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t wait for an answer.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like this,¡± he mumbles to himself. ¡°Change, difference, the sundering of the normal, my normal ¡­ peaceful ignorance and bliss, my people happy, me happy ¡­ My people get to eat, I get to eat and listen to stories. No need to worry about death and destruction, because tribal raiding is beyond my lands because Chief Bor Bone Eye and I are full brothers and he watches over my lands, guarantees my peace as long as I pay tribute in fish ¡­ now this Hob, this different Hob ¡­ how many Blood Suns dead?¡±


    His rant takes me by surprise, when he asks a question my dry throat refuses to say any words.


    He leaps from his chair charging down the length of the Hall. ¡°How many Blood Suns dead?¡± he howls.


    ¡°O ¡­ over two hundred warriors ¡­¡± I can¡¯t help but take a step back, the two guards and Karo also. I glance at the guards and their faces are pale, almost white, which I didn¡¯t think possible for a goblin.


    Peb stops dead in his tracks. ¡°TWO HUNDRED!¡± The thatched roof rains down debris.


    ¡°This is the end of petty bickering, small politics, peace ¡­ who claims their Tribal Lands?¡± His eyes focus on me from above as he stretches to his full height and Lord Hob¡¯s face immediately flashes into my mind.


    ¡°Your ¡­ your brother, apparently. The other three tribes helped him ¡­¡±


    ¡°Madness. This Farmer Hob is the spider in this web, the tribes of this valley don¡¯t break centuries of tradition by themselves ¡­ why are they blind to this? What strings did he pull in their hearts?¡±


    ¡°Meb with the support of the other Chiefs threatened to destroy his farm, so he offered them grain and secured an agreement from the Head Hob a tribe could be culled from the valley ¡­ I think that is how. The Hob has farmers and builders, some hunters but win or lose if the tribes attack, they would destroy the crops.¡±


    ¡°Does Leb know of this folly?¡±


    I glance at Karo, who for her part is somewhat cowering directly behind me and inadvertently eyeing the twin doors.


    ¡°Argh, you don¡¯t know anything. I thought your visit some part of this Hob¡¯s game, but you would hardly just walk into a tribal land without any preparation, that would be folly, after all, you could reveal information, you shouldn¡¯t, such as a Head Hob sanctioning the culling of the biggest goblin tribe in the valley.¡± The heat and emotion in his words terrifying as is the implication. The softness in his next words taking me by surprise all the same. ¡°Leb is my half-brother by the way and commands the other peaceful tribe in this valley, same father, different mother to both me and Meb ¡­¡±


    He ambles back to his chair and swings his body around and lands heavily. The wrinkles on his forehead deepening as his thoughts overtake him. In the quiet time he gives me, I think I work out his tactics. He uses his change in tone to intimidate and control the conversation and therefore the speakers are kept on edge, out of balance and if they haven¡¯t any wits about them, they reveal more than they should. Probably what I just did. I gulp.


    After a time, he looks up examining both me and Karo, I feel he is re-evaluating us.


    ¡°You will visit Leb. I will give you a token he will recognise as he is warier of strangers than I am, he likes to put them in pits and the like, wait for the sun, thirst, and starvation until they beg to tell the truth and given your tale of survival that will take many days, more than we can afford. So, there we have it, tell him all you have told me, although make him swear he will release you, free from harm afterwards. He doesn¡¯t shout upon receiving bad news, he tends to throw weapons.¡± His eyes light up. ¡°Why did you choose to visit me first?¡±


    I was going to reply, closest, but I thought of a better answer. ¡°Fate.¡±


    He grunts.


    Another thought occurs to me. ¡°Peb, if you and your brothers share the same father and Chief Bor Bone Eye has the same father as you ¡­ well how?¡±


    He smiles and settles back into his throne. ¡°Perhaps I should make you ask Leb, but that could lead to unpleasantness ¡­ we don¡¯t have heirs, every ten years there is a hunting contest, the greatest hunter is called the Grandfather and must sow his seed with the prized female from each tribe until at least one male is born and reaches ten years of age. This male then becomes the leader or chief of their mother¡¯s tribe after coming of age or sooner if the reining chief dies. One-time triplet sons were born to the Laughing Tusks female and so the land was divided three ways and from then on, any second sons born to other tribes would become Laughing Tusks. Chief Bor and I are brothers as I have said and we have a peace, Leb and Chief Grol are brothers and have a peace. Meb and Chief OuzOuz are brothers also. Meb yearned for our peace, but the mead became a way of life for the Blood Suns and Chief OuzOuz wallowed in the drink as well. Regrettable and I am sure the raiding annoying, yet the alternative was war ¡­ and Meb knew he would lose, so we all thought him resigned to his fate ... until this strange Hob.¡±


    ¡°How does the Matriarch fit into this?¡± I probe.


    ¡°The Grandfather could only beget females with his chosen one, from the Grim Weavers, males would birth too early to live or be born dead. He would return time and time again and then he died while trying his last time. The Grandfather was meant to bond the tribes because of blood relations to counter extreme cases, such as a Hob rampage, which culled the Western tribes in the valley many ages ago. It seems powerless against this different Hob ¡­ who seems able to manipulate the tribes ¡­¡±


    ¡°How? From what we have heard, the tribes threatened him ¡­¡±


    He smiles and nods, I have the feeling my defence of Lord Hob has revealed too much ¡­


    ¡°To Meb the culling of the Blood Suns would have been a huge temptation after years of frustration, an easy thing for a Hob to ¡®notice¡¯ and then manipulate. No, the Hob is at the centre of this unravelling web and the damage is done and now we must all scramble out of the way or be caught ¡­ go. Talk to Leb.¡±


    Peb throws me a token and upon examination, I note dry fish bones weaving in and out to surround a dry fisheye. I shudder for some reason.


    ---


    I look behind, the quiet village of Peb seems no different from a distance, yet I am pleased we have left.


    ¡°Come on, Leb¡¯s village is by a lake he said, South until we find a stream and then follow until it empties into the lake.¡±


    ¡°We aren¡¯t going to visit Leb. He will capture us, let us rot and Peb will be clear of blame, for he wants us dead, make no mistake.¡±


    I close Karo¡¯s open jaw with a finger, which she shakes off to say, ¡°He seemed nice and forthright, and he certainly liked your story ¡­¡±


    ¡°The story convinced him Lord Hob didn¡¯t value us, well me, certainly, and we didn¡¯t come prepared, just sent out blindly to see what we could find out. Simple dumb dups of a Hob. If slain though we could be used as an excuse for revenge ¡­ Peb couldn¡¯t fully work out Lord Hob¡¯s plan but better his half-brother takes the fall than him.¡±


    ¡°And since his half-brother likes to throw prisoners in a pit, if the Hob sent others to rescue us, our real value would be revealed,¡± accurately concludes Karo.


    ¡°Or if no-one, Peb would be able to sleep at night knowing we were just valueless fools ¡­¡±


    ¡°You know we should have asked about the Flint Arrows while he was talking about everything else.¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°They are already their own tribe, you can tell from Lord Hob¡¯s wives they think themselves superior, the same for the tribe and Chief Bor was keen for them to be the next tribe culled. With the ¡®peace¡¯ Peb and Leb have with their Chief brothers if this holds the only one without any friend is Meb. Who can attack Meb? Meb would be looking to hold onto as much Blood Suns land as possible, which Grim Weavers would be in a better position to claim and could do so if Meb became busy elsewhere ¡­¡±


    ¡°I think we should visit Meb,¡± suggests Karo.


    My turn to drop my jaw. ¡°You mad? He will be on guard, after all, who can he trust? And what of the Laughing Tusks who stayed with the elder? They will recognise you, and probably me as well.¡±


    ¡°Possibly, except they didn¡¯t leave the Farm. I assume they were to return with their tribe when they visited last, except Lord Hob became consumed with Meb and his former wife, no discussion took place, and none raised the subject with their tribes or Lord Hob. So ¡­ I think they are still on the Farm.¡±


    ¡°He will still be on his guard,¡± I protest.


    ¡°Maybe, although I think he follows his own plan, he played a huge gamble, he must have his own end game otherwise why take the risk ¡­?¡±


    I place my hands upon the hilts of my long daggers. Pace a few steps one way and retrace those steps. Could the spy be correct? Did she finally find her brains?


    ¡°If we can¡¯t go back to Peb, and we can¡¯t go forward to Leb ¡­¡± she offers while I pace.


    I curse. ¡°Peb said to travel South until we find a stream and then follow East until we find Leb¡¯s village on the other side. We know Meb¡¯s lands border the Farm, so we only need to travel West once we find the stream and with the Farm in the distance cross and we should be in Meb¡¯s lands and by staying in cover we should be able to find his village, all trails would lead there wouldn¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°Your group and my group would slip through his lands with captives, so two of us should do as well.¡±


    She extends an arm, an invitation to lead off ¡­

 1.038 Interlude: Zoria (2/3)

    ¡°Why are we still surveying?¡± asks Karo with some impatient attitude.


    For a moment I consider ignoring her, but I know she will simply ask again.


    ¡°Because the village is odd, and you need to be quiet, your skills of disguise and conversation haven¡¯t exactly been in demand so far.¡±


    ¡°Spies observe and intrigue ¡­¡±


    ¡°Pfft! Well, observe the village. There is only one family, elderly so not difficult.¡± I glance at her and catch the withdrawal of her tongue. Petty. ¡°They stoke the cooking fires in each of the cottages, yet reside in the centre one ¡­ where are the rest of the villagers?¡±


    ¡°Hunting and gathering ¡­¡±


    I am ready to slap her ¡­


    ¡°Including the children? No this is odd for a border village. It is like keeping the village alive when empty.¡±


    Karo smacks my arm, I think in a fit of revelation. ¡°What if this is the same at each village? An appearance to cover a different truth. We only headed for this village because we need to find a trail to Meb¡¯s village, most would avoid an occupied village, unless they wanted to raid it which neither of Meb¡¯s brothers would do. So, this setup is for spies and trespassers ¡­¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°What if Meb¡¯s losses from the culling were so great his villages were decimated and this a ruse to make others believe his losses weren¡¯t that bad ¡­ self-preservation?¡±


    ¡°Skirt the village, check on others, yet Meb¡¯s village will tell us the truth ¡­¡±


    Now her enthusiasm springs to life. I slide back from under the brush, our incursion into Meb¡¯s lands to date, cautious, yet truth be told none of his tribe except for the old goblin family in this village are to be seen. Skirt the villages, well pinpointed by the home fires and you could walk through Meb¡¯s land thinking no tribe laid claim.


    ---


    Staying undercover, we observe the main trail leading from this village. Fresh growth grass common, more you would think possible with general traffic ¡­ villagers foraging and hunting using the path for quick passage to their favourite places at least.


    ¡°Time to take a risk ¡­ you lead off, unarmed and flowers around your neck, you should confuse and appearing harmless, questioned before stabbed ¡­¡±


    Karo glances at me. ¡°What about just sneaking about as we should?¡±


    I rest my hands on the hilts of my knives. ¡°Because I don¡¯t think we will meet anyone and this way we will find Meb sooner rather than later ¡­¡±


    ¡°And if you are wrong?¡±


    I smile and chuckle. ¡°Being the superior spy you are, you should be able to talk your way out or possibly talk your way in?¡±


    She puffs up her chest, my hollow praise ¡­ effective. Good to know.


    ¡°You will be close behind?¡± she asks.


    ¡°I am your bodyguard,¡± I declare, eye to eye.


    ---


    We skirt two villages, both appearing occupied and yet not, again an old goblin family caretake the illusion. This village before us though, busy, overflowing with goblins, more than the wooden log wall surrounding the village proper can contain. If not all, then most of Meb¡¯s people are here and preparing ¡­


    The numbers reduce, all are moving along a trail heading South I realise; we are at the tail of a great thin procession. The walled village empties as well, except for a caretaker family like all the others.


    ¡°We must scout around and find a position to observe the entire leaving parade and determine once and for all how many survive of Meb¡¯s tribe,¡± I say.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we acquire some clothing from the locals first? You know, just in case we want to blend in and, well spy?¡± Karo quirks a smart-arse eyebrow.


    ---


    ¡°Stop complaining ¡­¡± I try to hold back a smirk, but Karo the drowned looking rat is too funny ¡­


    ¡°You didn¡¯t slip in the river ¡­ I could have been swept away ¡­¡± She flicks water at me, and I resist turning around.


    ¡°At least we knew what we thought was a ford across the river wasn¡¯t after your slip, the depth low yet the river narrow and the flow strong. No way would an entire tribe try to cross, which led us, to here ¡­¡± I throw my hands wide towards the section of river before us.


    ¡°Cold comfort,¡± she snipes.


    ¡°I did throw you my dry peasant clothes, otherwise your teeth would still be chattering.¡± I glance behind and Karo finishes making do, tying a cloth belt at the waist, around a full-length shirt type robe thing.


    She crawls following behind me, and we are in our ¡®hide¡¯, with some additional branches two fallen trees beside the riverbank provide us with the ideal cover. The position provides a perfect line of sight to observe the impending river crossing by Meb¡¯s entire tribe. A total relocation, unheard of in this valley.


    ¡°Will they try to cross under fading daylight or wait for morning?¡± Karo asks.


    ¡°I would try to cross ¡­ what would happen if an opposing force moved into position under the cover of night?¡±


    ¡°Pfft? What opposing force?¡± she scoffs.


    ¡°Listen.¡±


    Her mouth drops open, while her hand points to the South.


    During Karo¡¯s clothing change the steady marching of many boots has been growing louder, like a subtle hum as the boots are soft leather yet they trespass through the forest beside the river. The land I would think Meb thought his.


    I tap Karo on her shoulder and point and keep pointing until she realises. I listen while she gathers in her drying clothes. Unseen from the opposite riverbank, yet with another force approaching, they would send out scouts and if we believe this hide perfect, others would as well. The drying clothes would give our position away in an instant.


    A goblin who I believe due to size, is Meb, fords the river in the company of several bodyguards and villagers, the hide is on a gentle curve of the river permitting observation of the entire crossing. They begin to make a camp on this side of the river while the rest of his tribe remains on the other side, lining the riverbank ¡­ waiting?


    A branch or twig snaps behind me, a fair distance away ¡­


    ¡°Some scout you make!¡± The male voice mocking.


    ¡°Who is here to hear anyway, when important I am silent ¡­¡± the retort.


    ¡°Young ones, every step should be silent. You need to embed stealth deep in your bones!¡±


    ¡°Even when rutting? Oh, I forgot you¡¯re too old now!¡±


    Straining my hearing as much as I can there is a long silence.


    ¡°Continue along the river, I will scout further away from the river ¡­¡±


    Then he issues an order as if the insult of the young hunter never happened. What is special about the youth? I tap Karo and point down and she nods. I shuffle underneath one of the trunks trying to sneak closer to the forest proper and freeze as a boot scuffs against bark directly above me.


    The scuffing continues ¡­


    ¡°Mud, I hate mud ¡­¡± he mutters.


    Mud and twig debris falls either side of the trunk, revealing the youths exact position. I swerve around the trunk and pop up slightly behind, landward side, believing he would be scanning the river after stealthing through so much forest. Wrong!


    I pull one of the feet towards me. The surprise on his face continuing as his body smashes down onto the trunk. His eyes bulge then he leans forward, holding for a moment until falling to the ground with a thump landing on his back, hands between his legs.


    My spear point rests upon his neck. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    His head shakes.


    ¡°I could smash them to paste?¡± I offer.


    The corners of his mouth drop, while his moist eyes check his loin region ¡­


    ¡°Well?¡±


    He swallows and replies in a high voice, ¡°W ¡­ what do you want to know?¡±


    My smile predatory. ¡°Your life story ¡­¡±


    ¡°I am nobody, a young hunter looking for glory, my father was slain by a beast in the last hunt on the plains leaving me to protect my mother from further breeding ¡­¡±


    I shake my head and lean upon my spear, drawing a trickle of blood. ¡°You are worthless then, best I slay ¡­¡±


    ¡°No!¡± he croaks. ¡°I see now, you have another, you¡¯re a kidnapper.¡± He slaps his head. ¡°Your armour of stiff leather and long flint knives, why didn¡¯t I realise ¡­¡±


    Karo in the disguise of a Laughing Skull leads him false, yet identifying me due to my armour means there is now general knowledge of kidnappers within his tribe if a youth like him knows ¡­ I am suspicious.


    ¡°How do you know of my armour?¡± I draw a trickle of blood from his throat.


    ¡°My mother ¡­¡± Then he closes his mouth. Silence yet the green flush of his face hints at another secret.


    His armour is a double layer of uncommon animal hide, cut and stitched meticulously. His bow crafted from bone. If my armour hints at who I am, his armour and weapon, do the same for him and I decide to act on a hunch.


    ¡°Tonight, we will visit your mother and see if she values your life.¡±


    ¡°I will be missed by then and a hundred hunters will be searching for me ¡­¡±


    I smile, while he gulps ¡­ I win.


    ---


    We suggest her strip out of his armour; he declines.


    ¡°To carry would be a burden and you would eventually discard it. You have my bow and if you leave me in my armour, I will promise to be more cooperative.¡±


    I share a look with Karo. ¡°Agreed.¡±


    The armour suggests he belongs to one of the tribes bordering the great plain, a tossup between Sharp Fangs and Grim Weavers. Given his mentor left him to patrol along the river, Karo and I with our new friend in tow circle wide to the East along the bank of the river to wash our tracks and then wide to the South of the impromptu tribal gathering on the Southern bank of the river.


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    Dusk is upon the camp and there doesn¡¯t seem to be any disturbance or urgency, except for the lighting of torches and the searing of a boar over a spit. There is to be a feast, yet the hunters aren¡¯t moving towards the prize, instead, a limping goblin makes the rounds gifting them a jar each. They sip and smile, then sip and smile some more.


    I check the prisoner¡¯s bindings, especially his gag, which keeps his mouth full of leather scraps, then throw a leather loop around his neck and throw the end to Karo.


    ¡°Two hands on the lead at all times. Any sign of trouble hiss at me and I will skewer him.¡±


    His eyes open wide while shaking his head. Brave to the end ¡­


    ---


    I did intend to distract any guard with a thrown stone or perhaps Karo rustling a bush, in the end, our first choice fixates upon the spit, wiping his slobbering lips several times on the back of his hand. A swift slice of the throat and a gentle lowering to the ground, the only effort to deliver a quick death. I take time laying him out, propping his head and arms, with his weapons beside him as if in sleep, conveniently under a nearby bush with a boot or two poking out.


    Karo and our prisoner then wait there while I continue scouting.


    There is a second ring of guards or was. Most have little jars, which the limping goblin rushes to refill from a waterskin upon hearing a yell. I wave an arm across a torch and then duck down. Karo catches up in good time our young hunter trailing behind her minding his steps, silent. He seems too obliging, does his promise hold him ¡­ I shake the feeling off. Pointing to the huge tent of animal hide in the centre, I let Karo know of my next destination. There are several sections in deep shadow, the torches unable to cast firelight everywhere. Perfect.


    Karo tightens the noose around his neck until his eyes bulge and then loosens off the noose to allow light breathing. Turning, I make quick dashes from several trees and/or bushes until I reach the tent. I listen out, waiting for Karo and the young hunter to join me. Ideally, a moment is all I need when the leader within is alone, ideally preparing for sleep. Considering the boar, I expect the feast to last most of the night, a point which Karo raised, why not wait for dawn? My reply, I would rather be escaping under the cover of dawn than sneaking in and trying to escape under a rising sun.


    ---


    Our captive, most likely from dehydration succumbs to sleep easily. The sound of a tent flap being drawn back brings my hearing back to the tent. I tap Karo on the shoulder and wave my hand about, back in the direction we snuck in to ensure she is on watch, guarding our backs.


    ¡°Welcome, Meb and congratulations are in order. I didn¡¯t think any could move your entire tribe and yet the proof lies across the river!¡± says a joyous female voice.


    ¡°We are not done yet. I need to make up some warrior numbers and unfortunately, the Blood Suns fought to the death instead of surrendering. I had hoped the promise of living back on their own lands would rally some to me ¡­¡±


    There is some shuffling, I expect along with the silence they make themselves comfortable upon furs and the like.


    ¡°What of the mountain villages, they are the more civilised ¡­ the three tribes fought the berserks to allow you first offer?¡±


    A pause. I sense failure.


    ¡°My hunters too keen for revenge after so many years ¡­ after the first couple of villages the rest were found to be abandoned and we didn¡¯t plunder all we could, destruction the priority and I couldn¡¯t be everywhere to command them otherwise.¡±


    Her voice keen, supportive, she replies, ¡°You did succeed some with both of those objectives though?¡±


    ¡°Yes, until the slaying of OuzOuz and then every hunter wanted the glory for tracking down his killer and the tale grew from the truth to the more outlandish as the days went by until finally, the fervour died out. So many lost days though ¡­¡±


    I note the sadness in his voice. He definitely works towards a plan, one to benefit his tribe it seems more than himself. Having met one of his brothers and learnt something of his other Meb deserves to be Chief. I wonder if there ever was another way.


    ¡°In honour of our alliance, I have some captives I wish to gift you ¡­¡±


    ¡°What? You would do this? Why?¡±


    The last word being drawn out; I detect the undertone of suspicion.


    She chortles. ¡°My ego thought my people would celebrate our victory and to demonstrate our greatness I ordered the Blood Suns captives to be paraded. Seeing them bound, tired, and defeated my people didn¡¯t appreciate the spectacle. Many of my advisors counselled me to find a noble way to expel them from our tribal lands. They follow a number of days behind us as I couldn¡¯t wait for them and meet with you on time.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t consider integrating them into your tribe?¡±


    ¡°Initially, but I misjudged. I am Matriarch while I can sense the mood on the wind and Grim Weavers are Grim Weavers and will not accept ¡®others¡¯ no matter any possible advantage. The captives are a useful bunch, two whole villages worth with useful craftsmen and the like, I am jealous of your fortune and curse the short-sightedness of my tribe.¡±


    Would Lord Hob praise and honour me if I could liberate two villages worth of Blood Suns and lead them to the Farm? I try to scheme the how and nothing I can think of now will allow such a feat.


    ¡°Did you manage to slay him?¡± asks Meb.


    I hear shifting about and a cup settling upon a table perhaps ¡­


    ¡°He fell, my huntress though ¡­¡± I overhear a deep intake of breath. ¡°He grabbed her knife still in her hand from his chest and cut her head off in his death throw ¡­¡±


    ¡°Cut her head off!¡± Meb¡¯s voice rises after each spoken word. ¡°Was there a funeral pyre?¡±


    Silence, yet she must be denying the fact. As Lord Hob survived.


    ¡°We did watch the Farm for seven days and none sighted him or a pyre. His second in command took over and everything continued, although there is a faction, which we could possibly exploit if he does rise from the dead.¡±


    ¡°If the Sharp Fangs take up the offer, they will be his neighbours and not I and for that I am satisfied. I prefer the Hobs I know, he has too much control over his actions ¡­ while I admire your skills Matriarch to turn the heads of goblins, I deliberately placed myself within his reach ¡­ he didn¡¯t crush my throat and jump the bench to slay the rest of us, yet the veins in his neck throbbed ¡­¡±


    ¡°Pfft! His neck throbbed because I sparked the lust within him, nothing else.¡±


    Again silence.


    ¡°Aw, your right of course.¡± A plate or cup sets down upon a table. ¡°I return across the river to my people ¡­¡±


    Laughter. ¡°Aren¡¯t you forgetting something, or in this case someone?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    The silence drags on and then a tinkle sounds out. The flaps of the tent open with a swish and then slap close.


    ¡°No, you haven¡¯t forgotten or no, you want to forget ¡­ about our deal? And I have sweetened the deal with those nice villagers, surely one girl can¡¯t mean that much to you?¡±


    What girl? What deal? Tell me more scheming pair, I curse.


    The tent flaps swish again.


    ¡°Follow him, bring back the girl or don¡¯t come back.¡± Her venomous voice a complete contrast to her ¡®meeting voice¡¯.


    Once again, the tent flaps swish.


    Karo stares at me, her lips move and yet like me, we must remain in dark silence while our minds spin and want to compare recollections.


    ---


    A torch sputters out, soon after, another, those responsible for the upkeep now joining their hunter brothers in sleep or drunken stupor. My eyelids are heavy, and I think of nothing better than to lay down, rest my head. Karo snuggles close to our prisoner, body warmth attracts.


    ¡°What took so long!¡±


    The growl in the Matriarch¡¯s voice clears away any thoughts of sleep.


    ¡°Matriarch he delayed, telling stories, offering alternatives ¡­¡±


    Several moments of silence and then shuffling.


    ¡°He really wanted to keep you, prepared to throw everything away ¡­ amazing and yet you must feel special my dear ¡­¡±


    ¡°I am not your dear and he promised to fetch me ¡­¡±


    The Matriarch replies, a harsh pity in her voice, ¡°He has sold you, my dear, you are now mine for another purpose ¡­¡± A snap of her fingers. ¡°Take her and stand guard over her with the others ¡­ also where is my son, he should have honoured his mother by now before feasting ¡­ find him!¡±


    ¡°Yes, Matriarch.¡±


    I observe our sleeping prisoner ¡­ the deference the older hunter displayed, the well-made armour and weapons, you could be her son. How does that fit though with the Grandfather tale? Unless the Matriarch is the female beneficiary and the next Grandfather begat her ¡°son¡±, which may not then be from her loins?


    Easing my way around the tent, I hang back slightly as the torchlight the escort carries, illuminates their destination and if I follow too close, me. Another tent. The two guards enter with her and shortly after exit without her. Head nodding and one stays while the other hurries away, I assume searching and where necessary kicking bodies trying to rouse them. A son needs to be found and probably more guards are required for the tent ¡­


    Exposing myself to the minimum of available torch firelight, I step carefully to the rear of the prisoner tent avoiding two sleeping goblins in the process. My fingertips wipe against the leather of the tent, slight give, feels heavy ¡­ my blade next and the sharp flint edge delivers a shallow slice ¡­ what beast produces such a hide? A plains herd beast of course, not boar hide. I slide along feeling for the wooden stay ¨C the hide is continuous. The next wooden stay wavers and flickers under torch firelight, yet smooth as well and the guard stops his pacing.


    My eyes scan up and his smile is wide as he draws down his spear point. The spear tip waves before my eyes, come hither ¡­


    I could run, but then he will call out whoever is still capable, the pursuit would begin slow and few and then build into a frenzy. What of Karo and our prisoner? Rising out of the half-dark with my hands above my head, I determine surrender is the only option ¡­


    Schick. Gurgle.


    Black blood paints his smile, while hands fumble for the arrow through his throat, his spear forgotten. Eyes wide he drops to his knees and then falls flat on his face. An enemy of my foe is my friend? I could peer into the dark, wonder, scratch my head or simply proceed. I proceed. I need to prepare myself, the tent flap is under full torchlight, visible from much of the camp I suspect, and the guard sent away looking for others could return at any moment. I dash from semi-dark to open light and swallow, my back to the camp, my hands working at the middle knot feverishly.


    I untie the first knot, the middle one. Two above and two below to go.


    ¡°Come back to the dark brave fool,¡± a feminine voice, whispers.


    My head jerks in the direction of the voice. One moment of thought and I dash back to the safety of a cloak of darkness, a gift of the night.


    She runs the blade of the knife against the hide and the impossible happens. After several repeat strokes, the impervious leather parts. A small glow of firelight escapes from within and she steps through. A low rustling and scrapping the only noise.


    ¡°Ligia?¡± she whispers.


    ¡°Did he send you?¡±


    ¡°Fate sent me, it¡¯s not every day or night the smell of a spit carries on the breeze ¡­ do you wish freedom or to wait for Lord Hob?¡±


    There is a ripple of acknowledgement, my eyes adjust, and several others are held prisoner within the tent as well.


    Ligia holds her bound wrists up, I recognise the leather throngs ¡­ the knife saws through and she is free. Others hold their wrists up. Ligia¡¯s rescuer pauses and then repeats to free them as well.


    ¡°Quiet, obviously. Follow,¡± she says. There is an undisputed authority to her voice, and I almost obey without question until I come to my senses, certain my position is the rear guard and wait.


    ¡°Wait,¡± I say.


    Her head swivels towards me, the escapees stop moving.


    ¡°I need to collect a companion and a prisoner.¡±


    ¡°Do so,¡± her voice whispers. ¡°There is an abandoned village Southeast of here, follow the trail, you need to catch up to us before we leave it.¡±


    She turns away and is gone. Ligia passes me by, in the middle of the escaping line and I touch her shoulder. Her head snaps around.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    She shakes her head a smile upon her lips yet doesn¡¯t vocalise her laughter as she also disappears through the opening in the tent.


    On the heels of the last through, in a dashing crouch, I quickly work my way back to Karo. She and our prisoner are still asleep, I shake Karo''s shoulder while poising my hand over her mouth. To her credit, she opens her eyes first instead of her mouth.


    ¡°We must go,¡± I whisper.


    Her head nods towards our prisoner. I shake my head. Freeing prisoners will anger the Matriarch, kidnapping her son will earn her wroth.


    ¡°Who is he?¡± whispers a voice from behind me.


    I don¡¯t jump because Karo¡¯s eyes gave away the new arrival.


    I lean towards her ear. ¡°The Matriarch¡¯s son.¡± Then point with my hand at the tent.


    She kneels and scoops her arms under the sleeping body and tests his weight. A silent heave and she flips the body over her shoulder and pushes to standing using a straight back and her thigh muscles, then walks off into the night. Karo and I stand back in wonder and then realise we are being left behind. The low light from the camp guides us until we catch up. The Blood black of the night blinds us until a dancing light appears in the distance. Body over her shoulder she marches towards the glimmer and then the light goes out and yet she continues.


    Another light shines ¡­ and after a time goes out. The light from the camp is now non-existent and we walk on blind trusting in the path beneath our feet staying true.


    The light shines once more, and we discover the owner. Ligia.


    Our prisoner¡¯s body is hoisted off to two others and under the torch firelight I recognise her and yet I blink in disbelief.


    Before we set off our self-appointed leader collects several branches from the Western side of the trail, several waterskins and backpacks she must have hoarded earlier, while everyone waits in silence. Under torch firelight, she looks tall, and her strength already proven of course. Her humour, dour, as she silently hands out the waterskins and backpacks without explanation. Led by a torch we continue upon the dirt-packed trail towards the abandoned village, the light padding of boots and shoes our only sound. One of the rescued did attempt to ask a question and our leader wrapped both of her hands around the questioner¡¯s throat. Not quite as impressive as Lord Hob, yet the shock factor alone enough to silence the target and dissuade others. This act intimidated the two males in our new group as well, her height over both probably contributing. Was she taller? To be certain of her height advantage the three would need to line up back-to-back ¡­ yep, well I will never learn that truth.


    As the false dawn rises from the East our leader halts and directs everyone into the Eastern Forest. She hands one of her pet branches to me.


    ¡°Sweep away the tracks from where we turn into the Forest, I will backtrack and leave a false trail to the West. Ligia, lead them further into the forest eight or nine lingering in one spot can¡¯t be swept away.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sister-wife.¡±


    That reply raises some eyebrows and opens mouths to ask questions which never find voice, at least for now.


    ---


    ¡°Where did you leave your branch?¡± she asks upon return.


    Not the question I envisage of course expecting sharing about our position and a possible plan ¡­ I point to a high bush of the same type as the branch. She nods and adds hers.


    His groan draws attention. The Matriarch¡¯s son, his eyes wide while his struggling is futile. She kicks him and when he grunts in protest, she kicks him again. He stops and thinks, and she turns away to address the group.


    She points at the Matriarch¡¯s son. ¡°He will ensure the Matriarch is furious and determined to track us down and make us pay.¡± Gibbering starts. ¡°He has been taken, returning him, or leaving him now won¡¯t save us. Returning to Lord Hob¡¯s Farm will.¡±


    One of the males raises his hand. I almost burst out laughing.


    ¡°We are going the wrong way. We head towards Grim Weavers lands ¡­?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I am hopeful the Matriarch doesn¡¯t consider this direction obvious for kidnappers, considering they always head for the pass once they have their captives. But we can¡¯t depend upon that of course. So, we go East for a day and then North, over the river and if Meb and his tribe are heading South then his lands should be near empty. With some caution, we should be able to return to Lord Hob¡¯s Farm.¡±


    ¡°Two things,¡± I say. ¡°The Matriarch talked about some deal with the Sharp Fangs, who would adopt Meb¡¯s lands, I am not sure when. The second, there is a tribute of over seventy or eighty villagers being delivered by the Matriarch to Meb from the East. They were too slow, so she left them with a guard and went ahead to make sure she met with Meb on time.¡±


    The former prisoners crowd forward.


    ¡°We must free them!¡±


    ¡°Tell us what to do to help!¡±

 1.039 Interlude: Zoria (3/3)

    Several shouts erupt from the former captives trying to encourage a rescue. Duzsia waves them down with her hands and grimacing face.


    ¡°How many know the forest hereabouts or further East?¡± she asks with a hint of impatience.


    They look about and at each other, none answer.


    ¡°How many know how to handle a spear or possibly a bow?¡±


    Again, they look about and their faces cloud over.


    She slaps my shoulder. ¡°Your eyes tell me you want to rescue them, am I wrong?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I admit. ¡°Although we don¡¯t have the numbers or the weapons ¡­¡±


    She smiles. One that sends a shiver down my spine. Duzsia moves with purpose, mind, and body ¡­


    ¡°You! Silent one, who are you?¡± She points at Karo who for a spy either acts well or is on the verge of peeing herself.


    ¡°K ¡­ Karo, sister-wife ¡­¡± Karo bends at the knee, bowing her head also.


    ¡°Another one, will our Lord Hob never rest his loins. What are your skills, what glory do you gift him?¡±


    ¡°Acting, writing ¡­ s ¡­ spy.¡±


    Duzsia stalks Karo, examining her from every angle and I notice Karo visibly clench her nether regions.


    ¡°Weapon skills?¡±


    ¡°N ¡­ none, sister-wife, perhaps knife if desperate.¡±


    ¡°Ligia?¡±


    ¡°Bow, enough not to injury myself sister-wife.¡±


    ¡°Zoria?¡±


    ¡°Long knives, some bow.¡±


    ¡°Alright enough talk, release his legs, double the leads around his neck and he can walk like the rest of us. We head into the Sun and then North.¡±


    She jogs off waiting for none. In ones and twos, I, and the rest follow. Her pace pushes us and yet I am certain this is nothing for her, she is the wind. We break for a middle of the day meal and all except Duzsia are taking deep breaths and in between sipping water, chewing on dry meat. She sprints off promising to return and when she does, she says we will head North back towards the river.


    ---


    By mid-afternoon, we cross a trail and follow, able to pick up our pace now without having to dodge low branches and swerve around bush and tree trunks. Late afternoon a burnt-out village comes into view down the trail. The river bubbles and gurgles beyond.


    We crouch upon Duzsia¡¯ signal. ¡°The Matriarch¡¯s camp, if still there is less than half a day West. Meb would have all his tribe across the river and probably heading South. The middle lands of the Blood Suns were empty of villages is my understanding, but Meb would want his main village in the centre of his new lands so he could reach each corner equally.¡±


    ¡°Would he leave a small force to wait for the tribute or perhaps march towards them?¡± I offer.


    ¡°I think they are still getting over Blood Suns mead and most likely waiting, but this is all a guess.¡± She stares through me, and I can¡¯t prevent the shiver from rolling down my spine. ¡°Scout the West side of the village and venture a little way down the trail. I will do the same to the East. Ligia and Karo wait until you see us both clear the middle of the village and then follow with everybody else. I need everyone to search the village, stomp on floors for underground caches, look in and under firepits, every place you can think of. None should return clean as true searching is dirty work.¡±


    Her last sentence a clear warning ¡­ then we set off at a low crouch until the first cottage, not in the village proper and still surrounded by bush berries, although they form rows like a farmer would do. Did the drunks begin to develop farming? From there Duzsia sprints to a Western cottage, while I do the same to an Eastern one. We dash from cottage to cottage, all burnt-out until we reach the bank of the river. Satisfied we then head East and West. There are no bodies and no pyres as if the villagers simply walked away, except we know that didn¡¯t happen. Being on the river this village would have met a full force of fresh attackers. Fresh grass grows, the only trampling, running through the middle of the village, I assume from the Matriarch¡¯s camp passing through.


    Before dusk, Duzsia is yet to return while before me the pile of useless and not so useless items increasing because of the thorough search by the former captives given Duzsia¡¯s inspiring words. I start picking out serviceable weapons, mainly an axe or club arrangement, depending upon the stone type, axe if flint, club if other types of stone.


    Duzsia charges through the village calling those still searching, to her as she pulls up near the pile of treasures. She is catching her breath as all gather around her. So, she is at least part goblin then ¡­


    ¡°Who are you and why did the Matriarch hold you, prisoner?¡±


    A male steps forward. ¡°We are or were sons and daughters of the Head Goblin of our villages. When the Grim Weavers came upon a village, they would surround it at dawn and then offer terms in exchange for hostages. We are from four villages in the far Southeast almost on the border of the Grim Weavers land. A few escaped to warn others of this tactic and given none have been added since I suspect the warning worked. Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°The villagers marching this way aren¡¯t bound, their guards look more like a watch, to protect them. These villagers welcome their destiny it seems ¡­¡± says Duzsia between breaths.


    ¡°They must have decided fealty to Meb was better than any other option and the tithe to one leader is the same as any another, a village must pay someone for peace. Perhaps Meb will settle them in their original village although, maybe they are from our village?¡± I offer.


    They chatter amongst themselves excitement in their voices, ignoring us. Duzsia draws us away.


    ¡°We may be better served by just leaving them here.¡± Duzsia looks at me. ¡°Sorry Zoria, I know you wish to lead them to Lord Hob but if the captives are unwilling to be freed, we don¡¯t have much choice.¡±


    I nod, needing to accept the truth. ¡°What do we do about the Matriarch¡¯s son?¡±


    ¡°Leave him as well.¡± She smiles. ¡°I am certain Lord Hob would be able to take advantage of him as a prisoner but how is beyond me. The Matriarch will know who took him and may try to seek revenge, but I think that a minor affront compared to the attempt on Lord Hob¡¯s life.¡±


    ¡°We go?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Yes. I will break the happy theory and news to the former captives ¡­¡±


    We escort Duzsia and her presence alone quells the chat.


    ¡°I believe some, if not all of you will find your parents or friends in the village group, which will be in the village shortly. Therefore, we will go our own way. If you ever find your new home a burden, you are more than welcome to live on the Farm.¡±


    They hold their voices until we are on the edge of the village. Cheering erupts ¡­ is this because we have now left or because they are soon to be reunited?


    We travel for a way down the trail and then backtrack through the forest to wait, Duzsia scans the village intently.


    At dusk the villagers approach the village, the guards don¡¯t scout ahead, simply walk in with them. The captives amble up the trail to meet them and as the distance closes, recognition dawns on most villagers. Male and females break from the villager group and sprint to hug and kiss some of the captives. The remaining captives stretch tall on their toes, peer into the villager group and after a time simply gather away from the celebration accepting an unknown future. One glances towards the trail ¡­


    Duzsia slinks back into the forest proper, I, Ligia and Karo follow her silent lead. Once undercover I realise we are further East.


    ¡°Why East,¡± I blurt out.


    Ligia replies, ¡°Duzsia is third wife, that is reason enough.¡±


    Duzsia for her part continues leading us towards the tribal lands of the Grim Weavers, while I and the other two take turns to sweep away our tracks. Upon dusk, she orders us to eat dried meat from our packs and then near a fallen giant of a tree finds severe undergrowth to hide in. Ligia leads the way and lays beside her, almost nestling in as a child to a mother. Karo hesitates for a moment until Ligia points to Duzsia¡¯s other side and she takes up her position. I crawl to one side, beat back the undergrowth there and settle in for the night, alone once again, envious of their strange arrangement. Karo especially confuses me, she accepts her position ¡­ the last wife, the lowest of the low regardless of skills. Why? How can a wife be promoted I wonder?


    ---


    I slap my neck and between my fingers, a squish oozes while the sting I feel is fresh. Opening my eyes and several bugs, green, finger long, six legs surround me. I throw the reminds of my kill aside and draw my boots to me. A glance to one side tells me the three wives woke earlier and left. The bugs now march as one towards me. Worse others rush to join them weaving their way through the undergrowth spewing from deep within the undergrowth. Perching amongst the tangle of branches I spy an unnatural conglomeration of leaves and twigs. The surface moves ¡­


    I can stomp upon them, yet I know this is my end. A painful death for sure, their body fluid stings and the thought of multiple stings horrific. I wonder if death by bee sting better or worse. The undergrowth lights up! No, not all, the flames take hold of the conglomeration. The bugs around me dash off towards certain death, to be consumed in the flames I fervently hope.


    My arm is pulled almost from its socket, and I look upon Duzsia who releases her grip, only to grab at my armour. Her hand grasps the top of the breastplate and her fingers burrow on the inside, grazing one breast. Before I can complain I am out of the undergrowth and running behind her. Ligia and Karo join us, black angry welts on most of their exposed flesh. A roar of clicking rises behind us. I don¡¯t need to look, instead, hastening until I am on Duzsia¡¯s heels.


    ¡°Wade into the water, the current may dissuade them,¡± yells Ligia.


    We dash over a game trail, which I suspect doubles as a pathway and then through the bush. We are in flowing water up to our breasts before turning around.


    The bugs pile upon each other trying to reach for us. As I study them, I realise they don¡¯t leap and jump about, they build. First, they connect to each other and form a blanket, two-thirds of the way across the current breaks them apart.


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    ¡°Green ants are smart devious creatures, sisters, we need to cross the river,¡± yells Ligia.


    As if on cue the ants pile up until they form a solid base and then linking together, they reach across above the rushing water, five deep becomes four deep becomes three deep ¡­


    ¡°Wade upstream now,¡± screams Duzsia.


    I hasten to agree, downstream will carry us closer to the Grim Weavers, upstream will deliver us closer to the abandoned village and possibly a fording point. The ants meanwhile swarm along the shoreline keeping up with us at first and then streaming ahead.


    ¡°Faster,¡± urges Duzsia and she wades closer to the shore, sacrificing depth for haste. Ligia falls in behind her immediately and then with great effort Karo does the same. I fall into line last. I can hear our deep breathing over the slushing of the river water, straining to keep pace with Duzsia. The green ants congregate opposite us upon the shore and try to launch the blanket tactic at us and they do succeed yet complete their masterpiece too late.


    Before us, a ramp of ants is set. The arch far enough into the river we would need to be who knows how deep in the water to avoid them falling upon us. Duzsia pauses.


    ¡°Reach down and gather stones.¡±


    As we do, the ants launch another blanket towards us. Duzsia surges ahead, angling towards the shoreline.


    ¡°Throw your stones at the base, we need to drop as many as we can in the water. When I wade ashore follow me.¡±


    I gulp. What tactic is this? Looking upon the shore, midway between the arch and the blanket and the numbers are few, the constructions taking up any strays. Hope rises in my throat, my heart beats faster.


    Duzsia throws her rocks at the base of the arch, then Ligia, Karo and I follow. The ants scramble and commit more to hold onto the base and yet the construct falls, hundreds of ants now float towards us, the floating blanket grows organically towards us against the current. I am eager to bolt and yet Duzsia holds her position, reaching for more rocks, throwing them.


    ¡°Now,¡± she shouts. Her legs drive through the flowing water, Ligia, Karo and me follow although the angle of travel allows the water to smash into us. Then Duzsia lifts her legs high, and we all do the same. Once upon the shore, we bolt inland finding the game trail shortly after. The ants still upon the shore and able, follow, although the number few.


    My lungs heave trying to drag in more air, my legs burn when the outline of the abandoned village draws into view. The blood throbbing inside my head steals my ability to listen yet I am certain the ants still follow because none of my companions slow or look back.


    As we reach the village centre, Duzsia halts to look back and we follow her gaze. The wild fields undulate near the trail. I look up the trail and tap Duzsia on her shoulder. She looks in the direction I point.


    I expect fear or confusion, instead, she places both of her hands upon my shoulders and chuckles! She holds her spear up on high and then yells towards the Grim Weaver column.


    ¡°Your Matriarch is a betraying disloyal bitch on heat. My Lord¡¯s child she carries will realise this and when old slay her!¡±


    The effect is immediate ¨C they charge! I know my eyes open wide, yet I am too out of breath to curse her or bemoan our fate. Either death by spear or death by a thousand stings.


    ¡°Time to leave them to each other,¡± Duzsia utters, before jogging towards the Grim Weaver spear carriers. As the first wave of arrows release, Duzsia breaks our jog into a run towards the river. We dash between two posts and crash into the swift-flowing river. Underfoot the stones and sand move about, and I stagger.


    An arm is around my chest, and I regain my balance. Duzsia¡¯s other arm envelopes a lagging Karo.


    ¡°Karo grab your sister-wife.¡± Karo¡¯s arm draws Ligia to her. The four of us in a line across the ford, eight legs steady us, allowing two or three to stumble without effect and Duzsia, the tireless and relentless fourth wife of Lord Hob is our pillar of strength. We reach the opposing bank, dashing through a duplicate set of dual posts and drop.


    I feel a tap on my shoulder and follow the pointing finger. The ants swarm over the opposing posts, some head our way but are soon swept downstream as they are not enough to form a blanket. Most of the ants have found new flesh to torment as screams rise in volume from across the river.


    Grim Weavers dive into the river. Many run back from whence they came, others I suppose run deeper into the forest. A shadow casts over me. The sun is in the West, early afternoon. Duzsia has an arrow nocked.


    ¡°Karo scout inland a short distance, quiet-like. I believe Sharp Fangs are soon to invade where we now stand, and a warning would be appreciated. Especially with the screaming across the river drawing everything and everyone within earshot. And leave your quiver of arrows please.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sister-wife.¡±


    Then a twang. The first Grim Weaver to reach the ford falls clutching an arrow through his neck.


    ¡°Ligia, archery practice.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sister-wife.¡±


    ¡°Zoria, prepare your knives, you will slay any who come ashore, no mercy. You understand?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I reply, needing to catch myself from saying sister-wife. I catch a playful smirk on Duzsia¡¯s lips, she heard my word stumble. I drop my quiver of arrows beside Duzsia and unsheathe my knives. Stepping forward I take up a stance between the two posts and witness the slaughter. The ant blanket catches those who can¡¯t launch themselves far enough into the river. Those that can flail about and when they scramble to the ford they rest to recuperate and then fall with an arrow to either the leg or neck, some their armour protects, and they choose to leap into the river past the ford to continue their flailing.


    A circle of fire rises on the opposite bank, thwarting a countless number of ants.


    ¡°We have stirred the ants to horrible anger. Our firing of the nest must have contained the high queen and she has called her daughters and their nests ¡­ I have never seen so many, the ground moves ¡­¡± murmurs Ligia.


    ¡°The circle of fire moves towards the village.¡± I know I state the obvious, yet this group of Grim Weavers alone seem to have managed a respite.


    The few archers within the circle begin to release flaming arrows and fire the huts and cottages or at least their ruins. This scatters the ants in or nearby and the circle keeps side walking along the riverbank.


    ¡°Do they think they can reach the ford?¡± I ask no one.


    Yet before my eyes, they make steady progress, stealing burning logs and roof tiles from the cottages they pass to keep their circle alight. The circle shrinking as they progress until they are before the posts of the ford. Their fire pushing the blanket of ants away. The circle is now a semicircle, with five keeping the fire alive. Three Grim Weavers charge across the ford.


    ¡°Hold,¡± commands Duzsia. ¡°We have guests arriving soon.¡±


    One stumbles, the two others remain. The five tending the fire pick their moment, throwing what is probably the last of their wood and whatnot on the fire and bolting across the ford.


    ¡°Ligia, release at the five and only at the five.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sister-wife.¡±


    ¡°Zoria, prepare to take captives.¡±


    I nod, without looking because my jaw is wide open. I recognise the two wading the ford towards us. The female leaning heavily upon the younger male. Once across they drop to their knees, and I am at a loss with what to do with them.


    A noose drops around the Matriarch¡¯s neck, shortly after another noose drops around her son¡¯s.


    ¡°Rise Matriarch, we must be away,¡± states Duzsia while pointing towards the ford.


    ¡°That is impossible,¡± says Ligia.


    The Matriarch and her son stumble to their feet, eyes wide at the blanket of ants building out across the river.


    ¡°Tie their hands.¡±


    Somehow, I sense the order is mine to perform and jump into action.


    ¡°Ligia, find Karo, call out in a quiet voice. Now go, we will stick to the riverbank heading West into the sun.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sister-wife.¡±


    I feel the Matriarch¡¯s body twitch and if she could spare the breath and draw strength from her exhausted body, I sense she would spit some venomous words instead of gasps of silence.


    We are not too far West of the ford when Ligia and Karo join us, sprinting to catch up.


    Sucking in a breath, Ligia gasps, ¡°The Sharp Fangs are converging on the ford, probably to investigate the screams.¡±


    ¡°Did they see you sister-wife?¡± asks Duzsia.


    ¡°No,¡± answers Karo, recovering. ¡°I was sneaking back when Ligia and I met.¡±


    ¡°Zoria, if you were the Chief of the Sharp Fangs approaching a ford, facing an invasion of green ants, what would you do?¡±


    ¡°Fire to fend them off. Search upriver and downriver for survivors to find out what enraged them ¡­¡±


    The Matriarch stumbles forward. I second look, Duzsia must have pulled upon her noose.


    ¡°We must be hasty. While I would like to present you to Lord Hob alive, I am certain he would understand if given a choice between escape or capture he would allow me your death to ensure our freedom.¡±


    The Matriarch straightens as best she can. ¡°Ask what you want, and I will see you have it in exchange for my freedom, I swear.¡±


    ¡°My Lord¡¯s love and trust.¡±


    The Matriarch gulps.


    Without further conversation, we jog towards the setting sun.


    ---


    Before dusk, we ford a tributary flowing northeast from the river. This stream will eventually lead to the Farm, we are close. Northwest between the two hills off in the distance is the wooden road and I can¡¯t understand why Duzsia has ordered her sister-wives to set up camp and watch the captives. Once the captives are secure and preparations underway Duzsia says she will return shortly.


    I follow her, fully aware I must take my time and proceed with extreme caution. Initially, she heads East and then for some reason, feeling safe perhaps, heads South, towards the stream although a safe distance from the camp.


    I catch her, nude, wading into the stream. Her back draws my full attention. Black venom burns stare back at me and then she submerges her body up to her ears into the stream. An audible sigh reaches my ears, and I can understand why. A couple of spot burns annoying enough for me, the river water washing the venom away after our first plunge. Why couldn¡¯t she do the same? Then I recall how she led and shielded her sister-wives and me for that matter. A simple wash wouldn¡¯t be enough, probably reaching for rocks to throw the only time she felt any relief.


    ¡°You may as well join me.¡±


    Her words run through me, and I almost lose my water. Against my will, I walk towards her, nerves on edge wondering about my fate. I am not a sister-wife, in fact, I am spirit lost and rejected by her Lord Hob and now I am caught like a green youngling, spying.


    ¡°I don¡¯t hear you dropping your armour?¡±


    I pause before my first step into the water and retreat a couple of steps and begin removing my armour. She is content to wait and allow the current of the water to wash against her back. Peering into the light forest about me, I realise the time of modesty is well lost and take the plunge into the stream.


    ¡°Why did you follow me?¡± she asks.


    ¡°I, d ¡­ don¡¯t know,¡± I stammer. Why am I nervous?


    She turns to face me. ¡°Don¡¯t you know curiosity kills the nosy goblin?¡±


    ¡°No, um, I have never heard of that saying.¡± I can¡¯t remove the nervous tone from my voice.


    She smiles as if about to devour me. ¡°Lord Hob once said, ¡®curiosity kills the cat¡¯, but his wives didn¡¯t understand so he changed the creature called a cat to a nosy goblin. So much more direct I think.¡±


    Her hands are about my neck before I sense them, my mind still trying to comprehend what a cat is and how nosy goblin is the perfect substitute. My immediate reaction is to kick away.


    ¡°Stop that now!¡± Her fingers tighten around my throat and a memory of limp legs comes flashing back to me. She is just like him!


    ¡°Better. You wouldn¡¯t want to be the cause of losing my Lord¡¯s child, would you?¡±


    Pregnant! So is Ligia and the Matriarch for that matter and they all are beginning to show. How could I be so foolish, poking a pregnant goblin! I can only await my fate. She and Ligia ran pregnant ¡­ more Duzsia led pregnant, never wavering, resolute and relentless. Even now she is determined and in control.


    ¡°Who do you spy for?¡± Our noses are a hand width apart by the end of the question.


    ¡°No, no one. I wish to belong, be a sister wife, yet I know the Lord doesn¡¯t trust me and I am at a loss to prove otherwise. I see Karo accepted so easily. I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    She chuckles and releases me. I immediately suck in a deep breath.


    ¡°I was once where you are now. I didn¡¯t know want I wanted. Lord Hob humoured me. You know I was his night bodyguard and then he promoted me to, day bodyguard?¡±


    ¡°Um, what does that even mean?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Exactly! Nothing, everything? Koria and Luda you see were my role models yet with their loving family and me alone how could I try to live their lives. Even when Koria and I hunted for the Lord¡¯s ransom I deferred to her. My first kill she witnessed yet with a bow. I am jealous of you, your knives. You need to be close to slay. That sort of killing changed me ¡­¡±


    For the first time, I inspect Duzsia¡¯s body, taller, lithe, inner strength and probably the starkest change, cold emotionless death in her eyes. The Grim Weavers at the ford the most recent to benefit, no mercy.


    Suddenly I realise I am on the shore ¡­ she took a step forward and I retreated a step without being aware, listening to her words and examining her. What is that? And that? My eyes crane up.


    ¡°You may hear a rumour,¡± she says. ¡°This is your chance to keep a secret, call this a test if you want, perhaps even an audition.¡±


    ¡°An audition?¡± I gulp.


    ¡°Do you believe a supportive word from me would help allay the Lord Hob¡¯s suspicions about you?¡±


    My eyes moisten, my body betrays my deepest desire by trembling ¡­ is this possible?


    ¡°Good,¡± she says. ¡°Examine my scars and tell me what caused them.¡±


    ¡°Is this part of the audition?¡±


    ¡°Not really, but if you are accurate, I will tell you the truth and keeping the truth secret is your audition.¡± Her eyes twinkle around the deep empty death within.


    ¡°The thigh, upper leg wound is from a knife, probably flint, which went deep but not through, dragging down instead, which is why it wasn¡¯t done by spear or sword.¡± I drop to the ground and run my hand over the foot wound and trace it to the underside, the strike sliced through the foot. How is she able to walk, let alone run? ¡°A knife, the Lord¡¯s ransom, the cut is thin from an extremely sharp narrow blade, most flint knives widen away from the cutting edge to provide strength, to prevent snapping or shattering.¡±


    I climb to my feet wiping river pebbles from my knees.


    ¡°Very good. I took those wounds while defeating Chief OuzOuz the Blooddrinker and his two bodyguards to recover my Lord¡¯s ransom.¡± From amongst her armour, she reaches for and flashes the bronze knife as final proof and I stand speechless and unable to move.


    ¡°You need to get dressed. We have to return.¡±


    After a time, I turn my head to face her. She is sheathing her weapons and I look down and find myself still standing naked.

 1.040 New Pecking Order

    ¡°Stay down, Suda the Faithful,¡± I growl.


    In my peripheral vision, I notice Koria, and Luda tentatively step away from my other wives, towards their mother. They hesitate, either Keen Eye notices my disappointment, or they think better of their choice. Either way, their actions confirm they don¡¯t trust me and fear for the safety of their mother. This loyalty confusion can¡¯t stand and perhaps a real consequence of breaking their spirit links, however bogus to me, true to them. My inner Hob roars to life, eager to seek retribution in blood and flesh.


    I observe the once proud defender of secrets snivelling on the ground beneath me. She is attempting to roll over and I assume stand, which my inner Hob encourages me to violently prevent. He somehow specifically urges me to kick in her ribs. Instead, I growl an order and her efforts cease. She lays defenceless before me. A sense of domineering satisfaction rises within me. Is this me or my inner Hob? No, his is disappointment, no savouring the crack of ribs yet placated by the current situation after many days of childbirth induced quiet. Therefore, me¡­


    ¡°Open your legs or tell me the truth?¡± I step forward until my shadow covers her. I also notice several on the Farm pause, neck craning and ears out to discover more. Others, those who have been a resident on the Farm since my return from the dead, hurry on.


    Tears run down her cheeks, she throws a pleading look at her daughters and manages to draw them a couple of steps closer. Both of her daughters now stand alone and separate from my other wives who choose to gather and snuggle together except one. Odd that Rexa remains standing, folding her arms. I note she ensures her shadow falls over those huddling in mutual safety, while otherwise studying the situation.


    Suda gulps. ¡°What of Zeb ¡­ he ¡­ he will ¡­¡±


    ¡°He is my lackey, didn¡¯t you say? Why would he object?¡± I kick her left leg and then the right. She edges them together.


    ¡°If I must, I will break each leg to have my way.¡±


    She sobs, hitching her chest, while gradually spreading her legs.


    I drop to my haunches and grabbing the hem of her linen skirt flick it back to reveal her loincloth. ¡°Maybe even after you are pregnant, I will continue for enjoyment. Your thighs and wide childbearing hips are impressive, and I can¡¯t wait to see what your loincloth hides. No wonder Zeb is happier since your return.¡±


    ¡°You are a beast, a Hob beast ¡­¡± She resorts to full-on crying, hands covering her face.


    Each of my hands grabs an ankle and ever so slowly drag her closer to tease out my torture of her. I notice Koria and Luda step forward again.


    In a screaming voice, Rexa calls out, ¡°Koria Keen Eye and Luda yet to earn your name, wives of Lord Hob return to your place.¡±


    They stop and bow their heads. I am certain they are grinding their teeth because both run their hands over their faces. Indecision plagues them when both should be clear-minded, they have only one master.


    ¡°Return to your place!¡± commands Rexa, clapping her hands like a mother calling back naughty children.


    Koria and Luda drop to their knees, hands reaching out grabbing for nothing. Both believe their efforts help their mother.


    ¡°Both of your daughters have forfeited their lives due to your decision. You are no longer Flint Arrows, and you are no longer welcome to stay on the Farm.¡±


    I spring up and stride towards her daughters. Arms wrap around one of my legs and as I glance down Suda locks her arms together. ¡°Don¡¯t ¡­ there is a waterfall. I will tell you more if you forgive my daughters ¡­¡± Her face cranes up to meet mine. The rims of her eyes dark green while tear tracks clear away the dust upon her cheeks, making for a sympathetic picture.


    Koria and Luda dart back to my huddle of wives, drawing themselves up before Rexa.


    I stare down at their temporary saviour. ¡°Well?¡±


    ¡°There is a waterfall, behind the water is the cave you seek.¡±


    ¡°Pfft!¡± Her anchoring attempt nothing as my next step drags her along the ground stirring up dust as a result.


    ¡°No Lord, there is more, much more. Please heed me, forgive my daughters.¡±


    I hear two slaps and look up in time to witness Rexa slap Luda, left cheek, then right cheek while Koria nurses her cheeks in her hands. ¡°Sit,¡± growls Rexa in her best imitation of me.


    Both of my wives, who I am certain would be able to slay Rexa without working up a sweat, bow down, eyes cowering while huddling to the rear of my other wives.


    ¡°Speak. Everything you know.¡±


    Her forehead rests on my shin, sobbing once again, she says, ¡°The waterfall tumbles into a beautiful, serene lake, which flows into a stream. This stream flows into the western river, which forms the boundary of Flint Arrows tribal lands. Following the water will take you directly to your armour. There are patrols, although they believe they simply guard our lands as only a precious few know of the venerated cave and the treasure within.¡± Her face cranes up, her pleading eyes finding mine.


    The fact that she said ¡®our lands¡¯ leads me to believe, banished or not she is Flint Arrows tribe through and through and her revealing of this sacred secret required direct threats upon her daughters to break her resolve. For her part, what is plain to me now is she would have accepted any punishment and endured any humiliation. There is bravery there except her heart remains with her tribe instead of accepting her new home and transferring her loyalty to the Farm if the leap to accept me too far. Knowing this I cannot forgive her.


    ¡°Zeb,¡± I call for him in my normal voice because I am certain he watches, yet such is his disciple he knows to stay away until called.


    Several heartbeats and he is with me, in his position on my left, one step behind me.


    ¡°Do you agree your daughters have betrayed their oath to me?¡± I attempt to keep the sadness out of my voice, uncertain if I succeed or not.


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡± His words a whisper.


    ¡°What are the consequences?¡±


    ¡°My life is forfeit twice, Lord.¡±


    I feel Suda¡¯s arm strangle my leg, from fear, not boldness or threat. A murmuring rises around me.


    ¡°Your wife bargained this down to one life, although sadly her information could have been freely given and avoided all of this, so her folly must still bear a cost.¡±


    The mutterings close in and become louder. Does the Farm decide I am being cruel and chooses to exercise some unfounded right to intervene? I try to ignore the build-up of babbling noise and can¡¯t, this threat could be real.


    Swivelling about, I prepare for the worst, fingering the handle of my axe behind my back. The wood and cold iron a comfort. My inner Hob ready to rage ¡­


    ¡°Husband.¡± Her face tilts as she probably catches my threatening visage before I clear it upon seeing her.


    ¡°You are alive?¡± Close enough now, I reach out and embrace her, a certain bump needing accommodation. Slightly taller, slightly more muscle tone and a slick litheness yet there is more. She exudes confidence, her swagger while approaching me something I have only ever seen in Milga. My arms push her back by the shoulders so I can confirm my first appraisal. I study her, looking into her eyes last. The twin black pools speak of killing while trying to project warmth.


    ¡°Husband, please don¡¯t neglect your other wives,¡± squeaks Ligia.


    On cue, Ligia and Karo step forth. My arms wrap around the three. Lingering behind, eyes downcast, Zoria. Yet in each hand, she holds a lead. Each lead ends around the neck of two captives, one a pregnant female the other male, both have hoods over their faces. My body movement, adjusting my head to inspect them a signal to Duzsia for sure.


    ¡°You will like our prisoners, husband. We should retire to your cabin.¡±


    My cheek rests upon Duzsia¡¯s. ¡°Zoria follow us with the captives,¡± I command.


    Keeping my wives in my embrace we walk in celebration towards my cabin.


    ¡°Lord?¡± calls Zeb.


    ¡°Join your family Zeb and savour your time,¡± I quip. My reckoning with Zeb¡¯s family can wait for only sadness awaits me there, much to my inner Hob¡¯s disgust which clammers for resolution now. I chuckle, Duzsia has returned who I thought lost, how could I not feel joy. The wives in my embrace mistake my quiet laugh as being for all of them, which is probably best anyway.


    Arriving at my cabin, I push open the door and sweeping a hand wide, invite in my returning wives, Zoria, her captives in tow and just as I am about to follow them in, Rexa approaches.


    ¡°Lord.¡± Her head bows quickly. ¡°I would request to join you.¡±


    It seems with Koria and Luda so out of favour, Rexa believes she is now at least second wife behind Duzsia, although before Duzsia¡¯ return possibly, my first wife. Does she try to lay that claim now I wonder?


    ¡°What of my other wives, won¡¯t they need guidance?¡±


    ¡°They have guidance Lord. I instructed them before following after you.¡±


    ¡°Explain.¡± To say you have is easy, to actually issue instructions entirely different.


    ¡°Your wives return to their duties. With the numbers settling, Zuxa and Lazsia are capable enough to oversee the Blood Suns barracks now. Bekto has taken on apprentices and instructs them. I permitted Koria and Luda a small amount of time to greet their parents and then ordered them to their tasks, Archery training and bow making, Lord.¡±


    I glance over in the direction of the river and while a fair distance, there certainly doesn¡¯t appear to be a gathering there any longer. I wave my hand before her, inviting Rexa to join and following her in close the door behind me. I glimpse Milga reach for the door and don¡¯t close her out. If I can¡¯t have Zeb with me, Milga is the next best thing, probably better. She accepts my wry smile; her pregnancy has slowed her up a touch it seems.


    Zoria and Karo retell their story first, while our guests remain quiet with their hoods in place. Duzsia picks up the story where she frees Ligia, and they escape the ants. While the stirring of the ants is described as pure good fortune and lucky escape, an occasional smirk from Ligia makes me doubt that truth. There seems to be an agreement amongst the tribes that stirring up the ants is taboo and given the many deaths as a result I can understand why. I also must remember Ligia was a traded captive, from Meb to the Matriarch so the deaths of many Grim Weavers probably a happy accident to her.


    Duzsia positions herself behind the male first. His armour the envy of everyone, especially Milga who can¡¯t take her eyes away from the fine example of leathercrafting. My third, no, possibly my first wife now kicks behind his knees to shorten him and as he falls, she grabs his hood. I don¡¯t recognise the face, youthful though, fresh, except for the worry lines he displays.


    My first wife repeats the same procedure behind the other captive, with no concession for the fact she is pregnant.


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    I wobble back and plant my bottom firmly upon my bed. The Matriarch of the Grim Weavers lowers herself before me. I stare at Duzsia who beams back at me with pride, joy, and excitement. The jumble of emotions upon her face, and perhaps the fact she is also pregnant makes her glow, especially around the cheeks.


    ¡°You said, none bore witness to you taking your captives?¡±


    ¡°No, husband. Most had run for their lives, these two the only ones able to cross the ford.¡±


    I stand and grab her son by his chin pretending to thoroughly examine him. The Matriarch¡¯s mouth quietly snarls. Good, her reaction demonstrates possible affection or at least a protective instinct. He means something to her. Is he her future heir? This would mean of course the Grandfather, a new one, did the rounds again and finally restored a male to the line of succession.


    ¡°Thank you for carrying your armour to us, unfortunately to the victors goes the spoils.¡± I nod to Duzsia who unexpectantly waves in Zoria to assist her. I see why now, Zoria isn¡¯t pregnant, and the Matriarch¡¯s heir fights tooth and nail to keep his armour on. This resistance draws in Karo while Ligia stands to one side and takes the freed pieces of armour from the others to stack off to one side.


    While the heir wears a light cloth over his body, his loincloth lacks, well volume. I am not the only one to pick up on this fact. Zoria, after prompting from Duzsia goes to reach for the loincloth, instead, faking the grab and balling her fist to strike the heir in the stomach. Trying to double over, he can¡¯t as Duzsia and Karo hold him and in a flash Zoria has his loincloth off. We all stare. The Matriarch sobs, while her heir shapes her shoulders to stand proud. Duzsia and Karo momentarily allowing her to, due to their surprise.


    ¡°Well, you are full of surprises Matriarch.¡± I flick a hand at Duzsia, one finger wiggling up and down towards the heir.


    A delicious grin and she wields my bronze knife with gusto cutting down the back of the heir. Unable to free her arms to protect her modesty, the linen cloth falls away as does the binding around her petit breasts. A dark shade of green flares upon her face, as she stands naked before us all.


    ¡°Why hide your female heir as a male?¡± My eyes find hers, the defiance within them raw and primal. Why?


    ¡°I don¡¯t hide my heir. My heir believes the body you see is wrong ¡­ many over the years have tried to correct the self-misunderstanding, none have succeeded yet, as you can see.¡±


    She utterly believes she is, a, he. Her size, either natural-born or worked on helps, her attitude, defiance rather than cowering fitting for a male hunter-warrior. I grab a length of cloth and stand before her.


    ¡°Release his arms.¡± He blinks. Taking advantage of the moment, I hand him a length of cloth.


    His eyes upon mine he chooses to bind his breasts first. Once done, I take a step back and wave to the loincloth on the floor. He squats down, his eyes not leaving mine requiring his hands to feel around on the cabin floor until success. Once in his grasp, he stands, shoulders square, pushing himself up using his well-developed thigh muscles. His loincloth is about his nether regions quickly and his juvenile maleness is instantly more pronounced.


    ¡°Return his armour to him and assist.¡±


    Milga stands by, probably inwardly lamenting her loss. My wives simply obey while Zoria throws me a questioning look. She realises her mistake immediately, throwing a desperate look to Duzsia before helping my wives.


    ¡°What are your plans for ¡­ erm ¡­ my heir?¡± asks the Matriarch.


    I ignore her. She begins to open her mouth again and I ball my fist before her face.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Kor, yet to earn his name.¡±


    He tries to deepen his voice further, probably for my benefit. Something any juvenile male would do I conclude when facing an alpha male.


    ¡°What are your plans for the future?¡± I ask while lowering my arm and relaxing my hand.


    His head turns towards the Matriarch and then back to me. The silent exchange between the two a commitment from him to her or a parting of their ways?


    ¡°I wish to earn my name and not return to my tribe until I do. If this is before the Matriarch dies, then I will return to my tribe and accept Chieftain. If after, then I have taken too long and aren¡¯t worthy.¡±


    The Matriarch shouts out, ¡°Fool! The tribe won¡¯t accept you, name or not, as you are ¡­ confused. Don¡¯t you understand?¡± Her voice drops to a whisper. ¡°None understand you and their sympathy for me has encouraged them to help instead of resolving the issue discretely ¡­¡±


    ¡°When were you going to tell me that I no longer had a future with my tribe?¡±


    I and my wives, as bystanders, watch as the Matriarch squirms and tries to placate her child. I do wonder if this child is hers by birth or another female and put in her care to continue the succession.


    ¡°Many advised to give you time ¡­ you know to come to your senses ¡­¡±


    He stamps his foot. ¡°Matriarch, since I could walk, I have wielded a dagger and now I am proficient in bow and spear. I have hunted on the great plain!¡± He shouts the last sentence, his anger driving his voice masculine deep.


    The Matriarch refuses to back down. ¡°When have you hunted? How did you escape ¡­¡± The last words a mistake I sense.


    ¡°I knew your sycophants kept me on a short leash. Fortunately, some in the village are more sympathetic.¡±


    The Matriarch tries to lurch towards him, failing when Milga holds a dagger to her throat. One look at Milga convincing her to stay her efforts.


    ¡°Child, they aren¡¯t being sympathetic.¡± Her pleading voice clear. ¡°They seek to undermine me, change the succession by discrediting my heir.¡±


    ¡°I am not a child and no longer your concern. You have nothing to worry about, an heir of your loins rests within you.¡± He looks at me. ¡°It seems apart from earning my name, my future is yet to be decided upon. Do you have an offer?¡±


    The Matriarch stomps her foot. This must be a family thing I decide. ¡°Fool! The heir must be fathered by the Grandfather. The baby I carry now will strengthen our line nothing more. You do not need to be envious, he or she isn¡¯t and can never be an heir. You can¡¯t decide your future like this, you are bound to the tribe and eventually, you will come to your senses ¨C you are female, you will be the next Matriarch. It is how it has always been.¡±


    I read pity in his eyes. His Matriarch doesn¡¯t understand that his body doesn¡¯t define his sex. As a GPA I am secure in my masculinity yet different races and different cultures denote the ruling sex and the carefully engineered flesh bags my spirit must inhabit for the duration of the mission can easily be female, male or for one mission asexual. In a primitive culture you must, because of the limitations of technology accept and learn to love the body you are born with. Acceptance though, to go along with societal expectations of normality is to hide your true self. Forever to walk through life wearing a fa?ade and Kor has simply decided not to. I salute his conviction, as a GPA my roles are transient, his is a lifelong identity.


    Scanning the room, only Kor and I utterly understand his true self. My wives, Milga even will accept my authority. This will be an interesting test for Zoria though. The Matriarch, on the other hand, is horrified. Her heir is slipping from her grasp, and she doesn¡¯t understand why. Sons and daughters of the ruling class must fulfil their roles and meet the expectations set for them otherwise the whole right to rule boon granted to them by the lesser folk falls into doubt.


    Ignoring the Matriarch, I return my attention to Kor. ¡°How would you like to be the bodyguard to the Head Hob of this valley? As Head Hob, he will be able to grant you a name if your service warrants such.¡±


    ¡°Immediately?¡±


    ¡°There isn¡¯t any particular rush. My proposal would include the command of five female Blood Suns hunter-warriors, as not many fighting age Blood Suns males survive these days. I suspect they wish the position I am offering you to somehow threaten the life of the Head Hob. Therefore ¡­¡±


    ¡°My first challenge would be to determine their loyalties,¡± he finishes.


    I nod.


    ¡°You can¡¯t!¡± shouts the Matriarch. ¡°My child is my heir and this fool¡¯s errand is dangerous life-threatening?¡±


    ¡°He is old enough to decide his future. This is only a first offer, there could be others, but they will be his to accept or decline.¡±


    My words roll off her, meaningless, her rant continues, ¡°Once the Blood Suns see the armour, they will see a tribal hunter from a tribe who culled theirs and seek retribution.¡±


    Duzsia flashes her eyes at me, and I nod.


    ¡°Matriarch, while my time with your heir was brief, I noticed some deficiencies, which we will need time to train out of him. Between now and then perhaps Lord Hob will discover better offers for his talent. Look around this cabin, each brings their own value to Lord Hob. I am certain your former heir has that within him.¡±


    ¡°I ¡­ pfft ¡­ you talk about my heir as if I don¡¯t have a say.¡±


    I grab the Matriarch by the throat, her toes scraping the floor of the cabin. ¡°What can¡¯t you understand? Kor is male to his bones, only his flesh betrays him. The heir of the Blood Suns must be female according to you and I know no different to contest this requirement. There is your impasse. The other thing you may have forgotten, you are mine to do with what I will. None but those in this room know I have you, that you are even alive and not ant venomed at the bottom of the river.¡±


    Her brain clicks and her eyes betray her realisation. Somehow, she thought herself immune from justice. The flesh over my heart tingles slightly, the knife wound delivered by her huntress not forgotten and definitely not forgiven.


    ¡°You can¡¯t hide me forever. Word will get out as it always does.¡±


    I scan the room and no set of eyes look away, not even her heir¡¯s.


    Chuckling, my wives join me. ¡°I will take my chances. It would be remiss of me not to mention many Blood Suns now call the Farm their home and I am certain the Matriarch of the Grim Weavers wouldn¡¯t fair too well in their company. They may even demand I hand you over.¡±


    Her eyes search the smiling faces of those around her. Her head lowers in defeat, and I release my hold.


    ¡°Zoria.¡±


    Her face looks up at me with hope. ¡°Yes, Lord Hob.¡±


    ¡°You will be responsible for the Matriarch. She is your pet to feed. Ensure you keep her existence amongst us a secret as the threat from our Blood Suns guests isn¡¯t an empty one. When my baby is due, ensure she has the help she needs.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob.¡±


    ¡°Duzsia, with the fall of Koria and Luda I believe you are now my first wife, so please make yourself familiar with your sister-wives¡¯ duties and ensure they add to my glory.¡±


    Duzsia bows. ¡°Lord Hob, I believe there is one better suited to the position of your first wife, and she stands amongst us.¡± Her head tilts in the direction of Rexa, who responds with a look of shock. ¡°I prefer to be your weapon of choice, the one you send when you need things done, most likely to others or others otherwise standing in your way. The supervision of my sister-wives would prevent me from doing this. I volunteer to immediately correct our guest, Kor¡¯s martial technique and to some extents his lack of respect for his betters.¡±


    ¡°No. Lord Hob I ¡­¡± says Kor.


    I hold up a hand. He has the good sense to go quiet. My wives, of course, smirk and sudden realisation, dawns upon him. I am Hob, all others aren¡¯t.


    ¡°Zoria, Ligia and Karo, do you believe Duzsia best suited to train out the deficiencies in our guest?¡±


    Ligia and Karo exchange looks of concern. Zoria though takes the opportunity. ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    ¡°You are certain, you don¡¯t wish to embellish your support with details?¡± I can¡¯t stop self-amusement from reaching my lips.


    ¡°No, Lord. Obvious is obvious.¡±


    As I turn towards Ligia and Karo, they nod their agreement in unison.


    ¡°Rexa. Do you believe you can serve my glory best as my first wife?¡±


    I fear her chest is about to explode with the pride within trying for release.


    ¡°Yes, Lord. Certainly, Lord. I never expected, only dreamt ¡­ I will ensure every wife serves to add to your glory.¡±


    I am reminded of Zana and Gato and their assessment of the wife pecking order. Rexa seems ideal, of the Farm, therefore acceptable in her own right while Koria and Luda, foreign Flint Arrows their acceptance due to intimidation. I still need to decide on their fate, they carry my unborn, so death is out of the question for now. Equally vexing is the fate of Zeb and Suda.


    Duzsia hugs Rexa, which adds to her shock. ¡°I ¡­ I am thankful for your support sister-wife, yet I will not temper my responsibility to Lord Hob. As husband''s second wife I command you as I will command our sister-wives.¡±


    ¡°I expect nothing less, Rexa, first wife of Lord Hob.¡± Duzsia releases Rexa and while I expected Rexa to show some sort of relief after being released. Duzsia¡¯s strong hug doesn¡¯t faze her. Something is amiss.


    ¡°Lord ¡­¡± Karo says in a whisper.


    ¡°Yes wife, and I believe your position has fortuitously risen.¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband. Duzsia, husband, well, she has earnt you glory and more. She returns with your ransom. She rescued Ligia and guided us all back home while capturing the Matriarch by taking advantage of an opportunity only she grasped. She will not ask, so as your newest wife who can plead ignorance, I would petition you to grant her a name.¡± She releases a long breath. ¡°If you want this Lord, I make no demands or anything.¡±


    ¡°I know she returns to me greatly changed and we will share some quality time, later.¡±


    I wave away Ligia and Zoria¡¯s attempt to add any further words as I am certain they will support Karo and that is enough.


    ¡°Kor, what was your false female name?¡±


    He quirks his head yet replies, ¡°Korto.¡±


    ¡°Zoria, take the Matriarch who will now be known as Korto to be fed and find her a separate hut you can share with her to guard her. When you need relief from your duty from time to time ask Karo to assist.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    Before Zoria replaces the hood, I assess my foe and take a chance to ask, ¡°Why exchange Ligia and what did Meb seek to gain?¡±


    Tiredness surrounds her eyes, her fight for now at least seemingly gone. Confirming her broken morale, she answers in monotone, ¡°Ligia would provide another bloodline, being not of our tribe I would need to bribe suitors to lay with the child when old enough, but I value your seed highly Lord Hob. As for what I gave Meb, simple, a promise not to encroach upon and try to claim any former Blood Suns tribal land giving him free rein and time for his people to claim what he rightly believes is his.¡±


    I nod to Zoria who fits the hood over the Matriarch¡¯s head and the noose around her neck. She leads our new guest Korto to the cabin door. The former Matriarch¡¯s shoulders slump, her steps are mechanical. Escape unlikely, more likely death. Her heir rejects her or his duty and in fact, is going to work for her enemy. The cabin door opens and closes, and they are on their way.


    ¡°Rexa, take Ligia and Karo with you and ensure they contribute to my glory.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. I ask a concession, a few moments of your time.¡±


    ¡°Yes, first wife.¡±


    ¡°Know that my father will seek to gain favour from you, now I am your first wife. If he comes calling know he has three others fatted and ready while living miserable lives. I don¡¯t ask for them to become wives, but perhaps servants to be free of him?¡±


    ¡°We will see. To your duties.¡±


    She nods and shortly after with Ligia and Karo keeping a step behind her, they leave my cabin.


    Milga, Duzsia and Kor remain.


    ¡°Kor, are you honourable?¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°If I ask you to swear an oath of loyalty to me would this bind your fate to mine?¡±


    ¡°Lord Hob, I swear to serve you honourably and loyally.¡± He bows his head and then our eyes meet.


    ¡°I accept your oath of loyalty. For now, I need you to stand guard outside of my cabin.¡±


    He steps towards the door and then pauses.


    I answer his doubt. ¡°If you are wondering, I trust you not to run away or rescue the Matriarch or similar mischief because I have to at some point in time. I can¡¯t have someone following you day and night, so only you can decide, by actions and deeds the value of your oath and if it is truly binding.¡±


    He continues, the cabin door opening and closing behind him.

 1.041 Quest and Justice

    Duzsia draws herself up, pulling her shoulders back and raising her chin slightly. Her hand extends towards me.


    ¡°Lord Hob.¡± Duzsia offers me my ransom, the bronze knife.


    The moment not lost on me, this handing over is the culmination of her quest.


    I close her fingers around the knife. ¡°Tell me the story of how you obtained my ransom first.¡±


    With a solemn nod, the knife returns to a thick leather sheath, and she begins. The telling equally shocks and impresses Milga. I am not far behind. Could this be true I ask myself? The rumour of a great warrior facing down OuzOuz and his bodyguards, a grievous foot wound and yet they succeed in escaping innumerable hunters. Duzsia¡¯s tale explains all that and more, easily as if recalling past events, which is as it should be. Her hidden thigh wound the most impressive of all. The scarring of both wounds light, considering the damage done, almost as clean a repair as my wounds ¡­ my first thought, nanorobots but how?


    ¡°Relentless,¡± sighs Milga.


    I drink in Milga¡¯s look of appreciation and then I deliberately face Duzsia, my eyes seeking the depths of hers. ¡°Does Duzsia the Relentless sit well with you as your earnt name?¡±


    ¡°Lord, my earnt name is not my choice. It is the honour others recognise within me as they judge my deeds. I am named at birth by others, I had no say then. This naming is no different.¡±


    Milga whispers, not to keep a secret, but in reverence. ¡°She did not return until after retrieving your ransom, she didn¡¯t shy away from rescuing Ligia even when a captor amongst a camp of many, she didn¡¯t panic when those with her faced death and in fact used the threat of death to punish and eventually capture your assassin¡¯s mistress. Nothing escapes her, no one escapes her. These are deeds which should be recalled around campfires, yet to do so would endanger her.¡± Milga steps forward and hugs Duzsia. ¡°I wish I could say with absolute certainty, if placed in the same situation I would succeed as well.¡±


    Milga steps back slide releasing Duzsia¡¯s hands.


    ¡°So be it. As Lord Hob I grant you your earnt name, from now on you will be known as Duzsia the Relentless and I already have a mission for you.¡±


    Her sharp tooth smile is all the encouragement I need. Her body trembles with what I suspect is joy and pride.


    ¡°Anything Lord Hob. Without your faith in me, I would still be the one in the tribe who everyone scoffs at.¡±


    I catch the sudden sadness in her eyes and as quickly they brighten.


    ¡°Deep within the Flint Arrows tribal lands is a valley, near-identical to the elders. I need you to help me fetch a set of sacred armour. The way in is via some convenient waterways.¡±


    ¡°So, the Warrior Hob armour exists Lord. Who has confirmed this if I can ask?¡±


    My excitement causes my words to tumble out. ¡°Suda the Faithful, which led to the fall of Koria and Suda due to her stubbornness, but because of that, I am certain she spoke the truth. The armour exists.¡±


    ¡°The waterways will be a trap Lord. I have a better way if you permit me to explain?¡±


    I slowly nod, my excitement somewhat cooling. While I hear Milga shift her feet.


    ¡°You can¡¯t go Lord.¡± She pauses for my protest, so I don¡¯t. ¡°My plan would be to tunnel through the vines on the mountainside. The mountains on either side of the valley are relatively the same except the Flint Arrows tribe has never been driven to desperation to explore them beyond collecting berries from the vines after rain. With your ransom and perhaps eight others we could carve a tunnel through the vines along the mountainside without risk of detection until reaching the valley. I and those with me will almost certainly outnumber the guards. After all the location is secret, known only to a few so how many guards could there be? We can then drag the armour back the way we came. To carve a tunnel to allow your bulk Lord would take two or three times longer.¡±


    I swallow the facts of her plan, trying to avoid emotion as I owe a repeat visit to the Flint Arrows tribal lands, for sweet payback. I stretch and twist my neck trying to come to terms with the reality. My inner Hob yearns for battle, which doesn¡¯t help.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I grunt out the single word and fling myself upon my bed like a petulant child.


    ¡°While Koria and Luda are low in your eyes now, I would like to take them with me. I also have others in mind if you permit them to leave.¡± I nod reluctantly. ¡°Milga Stone Blood, Kor.¡± I raise an eyebrow. She continues, ¡°Zoria and perhaps a Ten Spear as an escort. They would hunt in the forest out of sight of the river border of the Flint Arrows without attracting attention. The boars they capture perfect cover to lug back a set of armour.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t the forest heavy there? Why would you need cover?¡±


    ¡°I expect the Flint Arrows to become upset with their loss.¡± She cackles with a malicious hint. Does Duzsia hate her former tribe to that degree? ¡°They will order a search of their lands and a watch on others. The Council will not let this sacrilege go without blood being spilt and hunters returning from the West would not appear unusual I would think. I am hopeful the odd bone we leave behind, obviously ripped free during battle by the guards valiantly defending the sacred treasure, will lead those investigating to look towards the Blood Bones first.¡±


    ¡°I only just asked you to go on this mission and you have already devised a plan?¡± I say with a trace of awe.


    She returns me a smug smile, pointed teeth proud. ¡°The mention of the mountains, easy, the tunnelling through the vines the obvious solution. Once the deed is done though you need to cover your tracks, this also means providing evidence to blame another, misdirection. While recovering, the villagers taught me how to cut the gates in the vine to ensure they remain hidden and yet better still would be to provide evidence for the Flint Arrows to look elsewhere, hence Blood Bones.¡±


    ¡°Do you agree to go Milga Stone Blood? I know you are pregnant as are most who will be going it seems, which strikes me as very odd, but so be it.¡±


    ¡°It would be my honour to accompany Duzsia the Relentless.¡±


    They grip the forearm of each other, exchanging roguish smiles.


    ¡°You must leave at dawn tomorrow. Each day draws some closer to their day of birthing and I worry enough as it is.¡±


    Milga casually pats my shoulder. ¡°We are goblin, we work until the day of our birthing and after, we return to our work as if nothing has happened.¡±


    ¡°Not on my Farm,¡± I declare. ¡°Go my second wife and ask your nominations if they accept. Remember Kor is male and while I don¡¯t know how he would, I suspect a female body probably excites him more than a male body.¡±


    She nods clapping her hands and leaves.


    As the door closes, I face Milga and sigh. ¡°What am I to do with Zeb, Suda, Koria and Luda?¡±


    Milga secures the door and nonchalantly leans against the door jam. ¡°Releasing their spirit perhaps a mistake?¡±


    I wiggle-waggle a hand. ¡°Possibly.¡±


    ¡°Will you release Duzsia, Ligia or Karo? What about Zoria?¡±


    There is a knock on the door before I can answer. ¡°Come in.¡±


    Milga moves aside and opens the door. Rexa shuffles in, her eyes down.


    ¡°Lord, as your first wife I wish to lay with you every night until our child is born ¡­ I have a reason.¡±


    Milga and I share a momentary look. ¡°Explain.¡±


    ¡°Zana and Gato, Lord. You lay with them once and they fall pregnant to your fertile seed. I suspect all your wives do the same. When we started to show, you ¡­ well, you abstained afraid I suspect to hurt us or place our unborn in jeopardy. I have observed Duzsia, Lord and as your bodyguard, I know unknown to others, you serviced her the most of all your wives, happy, playful, silly Duzsia. While Koria was always first, each night we all received your seed.¡± She takes a breath, her hands playing, intertwining together.


    ¡°Your point my first wife?¡± I prompt, she is nervous and needs encouragement to continue.


    ¡°Your seed is special in some way Lord.¡± She expels a breath, eyes darting up stealing a look. ¡°Zana and Gato who bore Hob children died and if you observe my belly, the shape is an out-front circle like theirs. Your other wives carry their unborn babies like other goblins, Black Suns, for example, appearing more overweight than pregnant. I am certain I carry a Hob child, Lord. Duzsia suffered injuries.¡± She holds up a defensive hand. ¡°I don¡¯t know the details but suspect being alone for so long and unable to return only serious injury would prevent her. I am certain you know the truth, so knowing that truth and reassessing her injuries and trying to find a reason why, I say to you, your seed is the key. If you agree then you will service me every night, more often if you can as only your seed will be able to assure my survival.¡± Her body shivers like a leaf in the wind. I notice the clenching of her loins.


    She wouldn¡¯t be standing before me delivering this speech when my fourth wife, that is for certain. ¡°Let me think upon your words. For now, return to your duties.¡±


    She nods and hastens from my sight. I watch her leave until the cabin door closes behind her. The nanorobots are in my system, my blood. Why couldn¡¯t they be in my sperm? Does that make them super sperm? The thought tickles my funny bone, and I can¡¯t contain my amusement, chuckling aloud. Yet, as a reason for Duzsia¡¯s prodigious healing not so easily dismissed.


    ¡°You need more reason to sow your seed?¡± asks Milga, her words said with a hint of wonder.


    ¡°No, I am trying to reason out Rexa¡¯s theory.¡±


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡°What? An unbelievable reason to be serviced more than your other wives. I suspect a deeper plot, your previous first wife satisfied with always going first, your present first wife eager to also exceed in the number of times, possibly jealous of Duzsia.¡±


    ¡°Did I really favour Duzsia with my seed?¡±


    Milga smirks. ¡°I couldn¡¯t swear to an actual count, yet she was convenient, being your bodyguard.¡±


    I scoff. ¡°She only held the post for a short while, the position a joke really to try and give her purpose.¡±


    Milga and I sit in awkward silence for longer than we should have. I suspect super seed would be of interest to a highly motivated huntress, now pregnant and so immune to birthing a Hob baby. I don¡¯t want to go there, but if she asks, I wouldn¡¯t say no as I would consider the deed reward for her unwavering loyalty and support.


    She coughs and mumbles a goodbye. Guilt weighs upon me, why couldn¡¯t I discuss the obvious with her? The cabin door closes behind my faithful companion, and I am alone. Would more of my seed have helped Zana and Gato? Any of my first wives would have received more seed than the two from the Smith Hob, is more going to make a difference? Is Duzsia an accidental beneficiary of oversupply? Super berries notwithstanding, super nanorobots would be more believable to explain her incredible injury recovery and more than subtle improvements to her physique. After all, exercise is the controlled damaging of muscle tissue, so your body rebuilds stronger. Nanorobots would enhance that recovery and Duzsia hurting over many days would explain her significant physical improvement compared to her sister-wives.


    Opening my cabin door, Rexa stands before me, her fist about to knock.


    ¡°Come in.¡±


    She skips over the threshold and scampers to my bed. As I close the door and look upon her, she throws me a questioning look. I nod and shortly after she is naked and more than willing.


    ---


    A warm body squirms upon my chest, waking me.


    Soft lips press upon mine, gentle, appreciative. ¡°Thank you, husband.¡±


    ¡°Do you believe my seed will help?¡± I ask while running my finger down the short length of her nose.


    ¡°I doubt your seed is harmful.¡± She quirks her head. ¡°Since I am sharing your company, Duzsia¡¯s survival must have convinced you, your seed will be the difference between me and our baby¡¯s survival otherwise you wouldn¡¯t have indulged me.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps I wish to gift my new first wife with happiness?¡± I tease.


    ¡°Only perhaps? Your first wife is distraught with worry now thinking you don¡¯t believe her, suspicious of her motives.¡± With effort, she shifts position to straddle my belly. Her baby bump, directly ¡®out¡¯. I then wonder why only one of my living wives suspects she gives birth to a Hob child. A heartbeat later the truth hits me. They must all know, of course, carrying their pregnancy much like the Blood Suns unlike this one before me. What is the difference between my wives?


    ¡°Where are you husband?¡± she asks while rubbing her baby bump before my eyes, the skin pale green and taunt.


    ¡°What makes you different from my other wives?¡± I ask. Rexa grins and leans back. I raise my knees, so my legs serve as a backrest.


    ¡°My father is a Hob, and my mother is a goblin. My stepfather fed me to fatten me as an offering to the next Farmer Hob. Does that help husband?¡±


    Is it as simple as that? So obvious? Zana and Gato fit the theory. Genetics somehow manipulated by nanorobots, not somehow, I muse, deliberate. Otherwise, why would I be the Farmer Hob, the only Hob who spreads his seed? A seed that is manipulated by the technology within me to trigger the latent Hob gene within the Farm goblins. Oh no. What of the Farm females I ''took'' while in a frenzy? Will they all die now, Hob babies too big for them to deliver naturally or too many for those who can assist to help?


    A cool kiss caresses my forehead. ¡°Slow down your thinking husband, what is done is done.¡±


    My hands clamp upon her buttocks cheeks and I shake her playfully. Round, firm, full ¨C from her forced diet! Yes, the nanorobots must detect the suitability of the potential mother to carry a baby to full term. Smith Hob fed Zana and Gato because they were his prized sniffers. Jotor the conniving slime fattened Rexa. The three therefore suitable mothers to be, the rest of the Farm females barely healthy enough to carry a goblin baby to term. I relax, they are as safe as they can be, their improving diet should improve their survivability and the goblin baby they carry.


    Fingers tiptoe across my chest, in the company of giggling. ¡°See husband, relax and all will be revealed. Oh, husband, you aren¡¯t relaxing everywhere ¡­¡± She wiggles her buttocks, my hands now resting upon them.


    I slide my hands down to her thighs and force her to sit still. ¡°One moment. The three you mentioned that Jotor is readying. I need to meet them without Jotor knowing, is that possible?¡±


    She smiles a dangerous smile. ¡°For my wonderful husband, I could report to Jotor and let him know how much I have you twisted around my little finger.¡± Her right-hand little finger loops around and around, by way of demonstration. ¡°Inform him, he will soon be able to ask you for anything such is the level of your infatuation with me since you are convinced, I carry a Hob child. I will caution Jotor this may not be the case. He will try to convince me otherwise given this is his greatest hope. Arguing can take time.¡±


    I release her thighs. Rexa raises her buttocks to position herself.


    ---


    Rexa exits my cabin. She plans to meet Jotor during the evening feast, the other advantage of choosing this time is most Farm goblins would be attending as well. Why play this game with Jotor? I would rather simply throttle him but to do so without cause would upset the calm and security of the Farm. This includes jeopardising the harvest, now days away instead of weeks.


    Why do I need to speak to the three? I need to confirm their diet, how Jotor cares for them and makes them suitable. Jotor¡¯s perverse self-interest will inform me how I can ensure Hob children can be spawned from my loins in the future.


    What of the goblin males on the Farm? They shoot blanks or does the Hob gene in the Farm females reject them? I would need to ask a Farm goblin male to mate with a tribal female goblin to be certain. For complete understanding, I would require a tribal goblin male to mate with a Farm female goblin and if my theory is correct no pregnancy should result from the union. With the introduction of the Blood Suns to the Farm, these tests will happen without my intervention so I will wait for the results.


    ---


    I lurk in the dark, the last cabin of the original barracks under my surveillance. This is the one where I needed to eliminate a pair of traitors I recall, and it would seem no others wanted to occupy the vacancy. The lackey on duty sniffs the air and lays a hand upon his belly. He begins to pace and then places the cross beam across the door and heads off to the boar spit. His relief failing to arrive, at least not tonight as Milga has him held in conversation.


    Racing to the cabin, I remove the crossbeam and crack open the door. The interior is spotless. Two sets of double bunks line the walls, three female goblins poke their heads out, their faces in shadow as dusk descends upon the Farm.


    ¡°Out of your beds and follow me now,¡± I command in a level voice.


    ¡°We aren¡¯t to leave the cabin otherwise he will starve us,¡± whispers one.


    ¡°I have only two hands, so I can take two of you by the throat, the third I will choke to death before I leave unless you all walk to me now.¡±


    They share looks of concern. Two females wait for the third. She tentatively extends her foot to the floor and then the other. The other two goblin females find courage and slide from their beds behind her. Their faltering walk across the cabin floor slow and as they approach closer, they stop, out of my arms reach.


    ¡°What and who are you?¡±


    Somewhat taken aback, I take a moment to reply. ¡°I am Lord Farmer Hob, you are on my Farm and Jotor serves me, regardless of what he has told you.¡±


    They huddle together, sniffs and sobs beginning to rise in volume.


    ¡°Quiet,¡± I snarl. ¡°To me now, before I throttle two instead of one.¡±


    They jump in shock and take the final four steps. I don¡¯t touch them as I believe any attempt will scatter them.


    ¡°Right, follow me, stay close.¡± I turn my back upon them and head towards the river.


    I reach the shore and turnabout, to my relief the three huddle together, staring at me.


    ¡°Tell me everything you know.¡±


    ---


    I leave the three with my special friend who occupies one of the new cabins, on her own with her newborn. More importantly, she can be trusted to keep secrets to herself and not ask any questions. For reasons known only to Jotor he asked to meet Rexa on the new western field, the stumps now removed as charcoal and the field ploughed ready for planting. With the river bubbling away on one side I creep up upon them, edging close enough to eavesdrop and hopefully quiet enough to avoid alerting them. My first wife has done well to hold him in a conversation for so long.


    ¡°You must be pregnant with a Hob baby, look at you!¡± Jotor hisses.


    ¡°Pfft, I won¡¯t argue with you anymore, whatever I have I know a Hob child will kill me so you will be rid of me, while a goblin child will be a constant reminder of my failure.¡±


    Slap. ¡°Show a bit more gratitude, well-fed for years and now on the cusp of birthing a Hob. Until then the Hob is yours to manipulate, what more could you ask for?¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t need to hit me.¡± She sobs, yet I know this is false. She snarls, ¡°When you do, know you strike the first wife of Lord Farmer Hob and one word from me, and he would break your bones!¡±


    There is a long silent pause. The change-over of the pecking order, not common knowledge, surprisingly or maybe not. I suspect Jeb and family kept to themselves, hardly willing to shout out their fall from on high. The return of Duzsia probably enough excitement for most.


    ¡°First wife,¡± utters Jotor, eventually. ¡°I didn¡¯t believe that possible before birthing a Hob. Perhaps their demise of greater benefit than I thought.¡±


    His words are akin to speaking his thoughts out loud, I am not even sure he will remember saying them given his level of distraction ¨C there is a whimsy to his voice, incredibility in fact.


    ¡°Jotor,¡± calls Rexa. ¡°Jotor? I am going, you aren¡¯t making sense and Lord Hob will miss his first wife before all others.¡±


    ¡°You can only leave when I say so, you owe me!¡± His voice rising to a loud hiss of indignation.


    ¡°How so? Obtaining the honour of the first wife is my doing and until I know what my baby is, I could be dead afterwards as easily alive.¡±


    ¡°What if those other two survived? What if even one of them gave birth to a Hob child? Where would you be now? I will tell you, forgotten.¡±


    ¡°Let go of my wrist, I must go, you don¡¯t make sense ¡­¡±


    ¡°Let me spell it out for you then. I placed the crossbar across the door leaving Lord Hob to tend to his gifted wives alone, wives he didn¡¯t even know where his, so no great loss. With them dead, you are to the fore and you won¡¯t forget who put you there!¡±


    ¡°Ow! My wrist,¡± shouts Rexa.


    I boil. Wrath builds within me ¡­


    ¡°Behave, you are mine, I fed you, I shoved you in front of our Hob ¡­¡±


    ¡°You locked Zana and Gato in the Kitchen Cabin?¡± asks Rexa.


    ¡°Did those Copper Village dirt grubbers have names? Who would have thought? Well, I made certain they are no more, to your benefit. You must do your part now and squeeze out a Hob child and we will both be ¡­¡±


    My hand is around his neck. His legs daggle free. I flick my head and Rexa leads us back to the Farm proper. She is such a clever girl, her cheeky smile confirming she played Jotor, feigning disinterest, doubting Jotor until he needed to make it plain for the dumb female. As we approach the boar spits, now three boars roasting I notice, silence spreads over the gathering. I rest Jotor in front of me, my hand still around the back of his neck so he faces the gathering as do I.


    ¡°You should all know Jotor, my Head Goblin of Farmers. He has been plotting and conniving against me, bragging before Rexa, now my first wife of how he lowered the crossbeam on the Kitchen Cabin when I, Zana and Gato were in desperate need of help.¡±


    The crackling of the fires under each spit the only noise as all goblins stare at me.


    ¡°If any wish to defend his actions, speak for him, plead mercy on his behalf, now is your chance.¡±


    I survey the crowd, and none move.


    I squeeze. He tries to squeak out a plea. I squeeze some more. When he becomes a dead weight, I open my mouth to declare him so and instead most of the crowd cheer and break into dance.


    ¡°Husband, you have no idea how the one who controls the food can exercise their power over others. Watch how this crowd will grow before your eyes.¡±


    Goblins join in ones and twos, not a flood yet significant.


    ¡°How did he control the boar spit? The Ten Spears would hunt, dress and prepare the boars.¡±


    ¡°Yes, they did, but if the Head Goblin of Farmers threatens to deny you and your family of grain after the harvest then you agree to not show at the feast.¡±


    The meat on one boar is completely removed before my eyes.


    ¡°How did that benefit him?¡±


    ¡°After, when all who attended are sated, his sycophants move in. They strip the carcasses and dry out the left-over meat to be stored. Some say he was trading the cured meat with one or more of the tribes.¡±


    ¡°Why wasn¡¯t I told of this?¡±


    ¡°They are nothing, he was a Head Goblin.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say anything?¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t your first wife. I did say I suspected Jotor of curing left-over meat for his own benefit, but Koria thought that was his duty to ensure no waste and provide for backpacks taken on trips. She made sense at the time, sorry husband.¡±


    ¡°His power comes from me, without me checking him I can hardly blame any others for not speaking up.¡±


    Milga¡¯s voice reaches me. ¡°Lord Hob, several goblins are waiting for you to release your culprit.¡±


    A mix of goblins gather around me, age, sex, tribal, Farm, all different, their eyes fixated upon my former Head Goblin. I release his body which crumples to the ground. Multiple feet and fists assault the body and I take several steps back to allow more to exact their revenge. Shortly after his broken body disappears into the dark of night.

 1.042 A Reckoning

    ¡°Who are you going to appoint Head Goblin of Farmers?¡± asks Milga, the hint of mirth in her voice not helpful.


    ¡°Considering I found the one who trapped Zana and Gato, a task I thought I delegated to you, the least you can do is find me several Head Farmer candidates.¡± My eyes fall across my first wife, and I smile. She notices and tries to prepare herself, for what she doesn¡¯t know. ¡°My first wife will identify any of Jotor¡¯s loyal followers, so they aren¡¯t candidates to prevent them from picking up from where he left off.¡±


    ¡°You forget Lord, I will be on a mission for you in the morning.¡±


    I groan. Placing my hands upon her shoulders I ask, ¡°First Wife you must complete this task then, ask your sister-wives for help and bring the selection to me when complete.¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband.¡± She leaves my side and moves amongst the crowd, all part before her until she calls one out and chats with them. I leave her to work the crowd and spy Duzsia instead, an eager congregation of goblins hanging off her every word.


    ¡°Milga, fetch Zeb and family please, we will take a stroll by the river.¡±


    She nods and heads off, while I work my way towards Duzsia.


    ¡°A moment of your time wife.¡±


    Duzsia apologises and promises to return, while we hurry away from the boar spit until alone.


    ¡°I have decided to allow Koria and Luda to join your mission at your request. Depending upon their efforts they will hold their future in their own hands.¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband.¡± She returns to her captive audience while I continue to the river.


    Milga holds a torch, which allows me to find them, and I ask her to plant the torch in the river sand before leaving. By the flicking torch firelight, I will decree their future.


    ¡°Koria and Luda, you chose your mother instead of me, why?¡±


    They both drop to their knees grasping for my shirt. Suda, tugs at them, trying to encourage them to stand, while Zeb sways from side to side dumbfounded, shaking his head.


    ¡°She is our mother,¡± they cry out.


    ¡°Am I, as your husband of secondary importance? Did releasing you from your spirit bonds encourage you to rebel and forget where your true loyalty lay?¡±


    Koria looks up, eyes shedding tears. ¡°We thought you might harm her. She has a way of irritating others ¡­¡±


    ¡°And if I needed to, what of it? I am Lord Farmer Hob, this is my Farm, my authority is absolute here. Your mother, not your mother there is no difference. You must never forget who you swear your alliance to.¡± I take a sudden step back, both wives fall forward onto the sand.


    ¡°I am owed one life and a demonstration of your absolute loyalty, my wives. Talk amongst yourselves and choose one. Stand in front of the torch when you have decided.¡±


    I wander off up the beach. I hope their mother volunteers to make up for her folly, but I suspect Zeb will insist he sacrifices his life, for the good of the family. A great deal of time passes, and in my heart of hearts, I suspect the worst. The torch light is no more. I return to find none waiting for me and drop to my haunches.


    Hocus pocus or not the spirit binding is extra insurance to be certain as I am now convinced the two daughters wouldn¡¯t have fled if still bound. If I chase them and run them down I would, upon finding them need to slay them. Given his service to date, I would probably curse in frustration over Zeb¡¯s body, of the four he never transgressed and only took on their guilt. I drop from my haunches to squat upon the sand. Their desertion rocks me, my pushing of them too far, too high a price. My inner Hob is eager for revenge yet even he senses I am heartbroken in an odd way. Disloyalty, breaking of trust, can that ever be regained? I lay down upon the sand and stare at the night sky. I must admit to myself I am at a loss, my once absolute control in doubt, and I don¡¯t know how to pick myself up.


    Harsh orders and occasional shouting wake me. The false dawn rises in the East, and I blink to wake and focus my eyes. A gaggle of goblins struggle to walk towards me, occasionally dropping to the sand. Hands drag them to their feet and push them forward, only for them to drop to the sand again.


    I recognise them.


    It seems incredible, they go from strangers to faces I can identify. This can only be a mind trick. I try to deny the truth before me until my eyes confirm without a doubt the return of Zeb and his family. Milga, Duzsia, Kor, Zoria and a Ten Spears escort them.


    My wait is excruciatingly slow.


    They kneel before me.


    ¡°I am not as trusting as you, Lord, although I appreciate that you are,¡± says Milga.


    I reach down and grab Suda by the throat, her hands being bound all the better for what I have in mind. I deliberately drag her to the water and hearing no protest, her family know and accept her life is forfeit. I don¡¯t disappoint and follow-through, much to my inner Hob¡¯s joy. In the shallows, sand and water mix and I hold her face down. She thrashes and when still, I shove her face down further until I hear her neck snap. I should have let her drown when she released the rope around her waist. I curse my kindness. I climb to my feet, my hand still around her neck, her head flopping to one side. Drawing upon my anger I hurl her body into the river, returning her to where she should have died, correcting my past mistake.


    Stomping back to join the remaining three I grab Koria by the throat next. We enter the water and I thrust her under until she struggles no more and then I return to the shore and begin resuscitation. With my nanorobots flowing through her blood they ensure she shortly after splutters, heaving up the water in her lungs. I leave her and once again stomp back up the shore. Luda doesn¡¯t look up until my grip on her throat forces her to. I drag her to the water as well and repeat her drowning and recovery. With a hand on each of their necks, I drag them back to their father.


    ¡°Zeb look me in the eye.¡±


    He complies, his face tearing and distraught. ¡°Lord Hob, I obey.¡±


    ¡°Who decided running would be your best option?¡±


    He sniffs, hitches his chest. ¡°My wife encouraged my daughters, who, at the time free of their spirit link thought they could escape.¡±


    ¡°What of your spirit? They thought so little of your loss?¡±


    ¡°I have accepted my spirit is forfeit. The truth is Lord I don¡¯t know if I believe or not believe. I will only find out when I die and by then it will be too late for regret. So, I accept your judgement, my Lord.¡±


    I pace along the shoreline a short way the true dawn now upon us, the warmth of the sun a counterbalance to the cold dark deeds I have done, first Jotor, a just killing and then Suda a correction for misdirected kindness. Returning I stand before Duzsia.


    ¡°Are you ready to leave my second wife?¡±


    ¡°We prepared in case you still needed us to.¡±


    ¡°Good, then I wish you every success. Take Koria and Luda with you and perhaps their loyalty to me will once again live in their hearts. I will discuss further matters with Zeb and his fate will depend upon their performance amongst other things.¡±


    Duzsia leads them as they jog past me, the Ten Spears follow in double file. None wear smiles, which is a shame as their leaving on this mission should be in celebration. They will need to return to the worn cliff face area to cross the river. The large boulders providing a dangerous yet possible crossing point and Duzsia never hesitated in agreeing with me and accepting the risk.


    Zeb and I return to the farm proper and break our fast together in the Kitchen Cabin. There is nothing to discuss. Each of us trying to think about how to reset our relationship and by meals end, we part company without speaking a word to each other.


    I check on Vuzsia confirming she has added the ten iron arrowhead arrows to her quiver and advising her introduction to the Head Hob will be a few more days away. She isn¡¯t disappointed or elated and simply shrugs. The Ten Spears have left the Farm to start their hunts so I can only assume one Ten Spears are equipped with iron-tipped spears.


    I am almost at my cabin when Rexa intercepts me.


    ¡°Lord, I have several candidates for Head Goblin of Farmers. If you would be seated at your table, I will fetch them.¡± She bubbles over with enthusiasm; how can I dismiss her. I nod my agreement and pull up a chair at my Cabin¡¯s table.


    Somehow fate has a way of helping. Five male goblins line up before. Rexa introduces each, paying special attention to their experience with growing crops. These are the hands-on worker gang leaders, one level removed from Jotor¡¯s direct influence it would seem.


    ¡°Each of you will be responsible for one field and at the end of a season, you will rotate to a new field. At the time of rotation, I will inspect each field, decide on the health of the field, and mark a score accordingly. While your scores hold you will continue as Head Goblin of Farming.¡±


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    One holds up his hand. ¡°Not Head Goblin of Farming for all fields then Lord, just one?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Jotor held too much control over other goblins lives, with five replacing him I hope to avoid that in the future.¡±


    They shuffle about, they expected a winner, not a share of the winnings. Another speaks.


    ¡°The fifth field Lord, is that the western field? If so, how is any of us to prove ourselves with that field?¡±


    ¡°I acknowledge the field is new, trust that your score for that field, is exactly that. I won¡¯t compare that field with any others. Do you accept?¡±


    They all bob their heads towards me, so I take that as a sign of acceptance and dismiss them. Rexa jumps onto my lap.


    ¡°I did good Lord?¡±


    I tweak her ear. ¡°Time will tell, the harvest will make or break us so I am hopeful at least two of those will perform exceptionally well for all our sakes.¡±


    ¡°Do we have time Lord?¡± She winks at me and although I would rather lay down, perhaps her company will be just as useful. While still on my lap I scope her up and carry her inside my cabin, placing her on my bed. I lose track of the rest of the day, my wives occupy me that night and restful after all the diversions I wake in the morning, naked bodies around me.


    I allow Karo to dress me, as the only wife not inconvenienced by a baby belly the task is easy for her. Mid sympathy smile from my well pregnant wives I feel a familiar twinge. This isn¡¯t supposed to happen until I am ready, to suit my timetable.


    ¡°Rexa, fetch Vuzsia tell her I must leave shortly for the Head Village, I have been summoned by the Head Hob and I have no choice but to leave. Have her find a Ten Spears, one should have iron-tipped spears and follow as soon as she can.¡±


    She looks at me, frozen.


    ¡°Now, First wife, no time can be lost.¡±


    She throws a robe around her nakedness and runs out of the Cabin. My other wives hasten to dress.


    ¡°Karo, fetch food and a waterskin.¡±


    She nods and runs off while I grab my bow, quiver and spear, my axe is through my belt behind my back. The twinge is growing stronger, not yet painful, but a warning.


    ¡°I will return as soon as I can, until then support Rexa in all she decides.¡± One last glance to confirm their agreement and I am over the threshold of my door and jogging towards the Farmgate and the wooden road beyond.


    Karo sprints to meet me, handing-off a backpack of food and a waterskin, Zeb with her.


    ¡°Zeb, with many others absent can I trust in your loyalty, can I be certain you will support Rexa even if she rules against your daughters?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    I turn to leave and feel his hand upon my arm. I turn to face the owner.


    ¡°Lord, Milga told me you saved my wife from drowning, a pity you did. Know that while I accepted Milga¡¯s offer for help to rescue my daughters, I rejoiced when you claimed myself and my cherished daughters and freed us from my wife¡¯s influence, always trying to live above our station. Perhaps I should have expressed my disappointment in her with you ¡­¡±


    I blink away the Head Hob¡¯s summons echoing in my mind. ¡°We will begin anew, my loyal friend. I am certain your daughters will acquit themselves well and prove their loyalty to me in Duzsia¡¯s company. Now I must go.¡±


    I kiss Karo to her delight and then hasten through the Farmgate and onto the wooden road proper. Looking over my shoulder I think I catch sight of Vuzsia hurrying to round up a Ten Spears with my first wife beside her.


    ---


    From the crest of the hill, the Head Village is within sight. No smoke rises, which doesn¡¯t confirm much, although better there is none. The distance is too far to see anything smaller than cottages. Perhaps this is another test of the Head Hob¡¯s summon ability. The pain and agony of the previous attempts were more equal, an ache coupled with an urgency. Refinement? I grab my waterskin and take a long drink and in so doing I catch movement in the long grass on the riverside of the wooden road. Casually I replace the waterskin over my shoulder and retrieve my iron axe. The weapon is small enough to position near my upper thigh and be ready.


    ¡°Lord Hob,¡± she calls, her voice breathless.


    Staggering out of the long grass a female goblin drops at my feet, sweat covering most of her body. Hitching my axe, I draw my waterskin from my back and offer the fallen a drink.


    After drawing a mouthful and swallowing she gasps and I recognise her, either number one or number two cook.


    ¡°Lord, the Head Hob is under attack,¡± she pants. I hold the waterskin to her lips and she takes another drink. ¡°Seka makes sure one of us always follow Fub since we have displayed him in the Head Hob¡¯s heart. Over recent weeks he has left the village on many occasions, this morning Seka ordered me to follow him no matter where he led.¡± She takes the waterskin nozzle and gulps down another drink. I prop her up and she looks into my eyes. ¡°Lord he went South and met with other Hobs and a strange tribe of goblins. I left Lord, frightened I would be caught as the escorting goblins spread out around the meeting location. Exhausted from running I reached the Head Hob¡¯s cottage and told Seka. She told me to run to the Farm if I had to and fetch you. As I left, she and the Head Hob were sharing harsh words.¡±


    ¡°She must have convinced the Head Hob to summon his Hobs because that is the reason I am here.¡± I grab her by her shoulders and lift her until standing. ¡°You must run as fast as you can to the Farm. Tell Zeb and Rexa to send everyone, all the Ten Spears, send runners to fetch them from their hunts if they must, Archers in training, Slingers and arm any others willing to fight. Now go!¡± This does raise a question. Why is the Farm so far away from the Head Village?


    ¡°What of your wives, Lord? Koria Keen Eye and Luda?¡±


    ¡°They are on a mission, but you are right. Ask Zeb to send a runner after them and send them to the Head Village, although warn them to be cautious as I suspect an ambush will be set upon this road once past this hill.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t let you down, Lord.¡± She darts off down the wooden road without looking back.


    I study the village even more intently now the danger deliberately hides as I sense an ambush. Fub would be able to inform his new friends of the location of every nock and cranny in the Head Village. I also believe the building of the wall has forced Fub and his friends to act sooner than they probably would have liked and if that is true, we may still have a chance.


    In the distance, I can make out the waterfall. From memory, the water flow cascades into a pond trying to be large enough to be called a lake at the foot of the cliff face. This overflows in a rush around the northern and eastern sides of the village, the river flowing East and then South to do so. The wooden road leads into the eastern side of the village over a ford while the river still flows South. The river then flows directly East. With the cliff to the West, this leaves only the southern side of the village vulnerable, and I spy the beginnings of a wall taking shape on that side.


    I have been jogging for half a day. Assuming Fub and friends needed to confirm their plans and then move out, their meeting place would therefore be near the village within the only cover available, the light forest southeast of the village. They have already had time to overrun the village and clean up any dead and lock away any of the living given the lack of movement I can observe. The Head Hob is still alive as his call still echoes in my head. What are they waiting for?


    The fact number one or number two could run along the wooden road or at least the northern side of the river means when the Head Hob¡¯s summon was sent, they hadn¡¯t yet closed off all the exits. Since then though Fub and friends could have gained total control, except they have left some cottages alone or at least the Head Hob¡¯s. If in control, none have set any fires, which speaks of troop disciple or a strong leader or worse still, both. The strange goblins would be in control of the village, would the Hobs from the valley over be present or hanging back? Did they all join the invasion? Given the disciple of the attack, at least one Hob must be commanding them in the village. Any others though, would be where?


    There are no ideal hiding places on the southside of the village, the light forest to the southeast petters out to long grass long before reaching the outer limits of the village. If they were there, it would take an hour of running to answer any request or signal from the village. One thing for certain they would expect me to run into the village using the wooden road and splashing through the ford, the ideal ambush place as trees and brush line the river there.


    I look North and run at full speed down the side of the hill, leaving the wooden road behind. I enter the forest at the foot of the hill, enough full-grown trees to climb and harvest for wood, yet not too many to prevent the light of the sun to hit the forest floor. In fact, perfect wild boar habitat and enough to provide a large Hob cover all the way to the northern side of the village.


    Boar squeals alert me. The squeals are from pain, the sound neither diminishing nor increasing, the boar incapacitated? I squat down on my haunches and try to spy out my company. The squeals cease and a shout goes up and I dash towards the source. A Ten Spears surround a fresh boar carcass, shaking their spears above their heads in triumph. As I approach, I notice one of the Blood Suns prospective bodyguards leaning against an impaling spear. The spearhead, up to the crossbar buried into the chest of the boar, the boar¡¯s snout a hand width from her face.


    I step from my hiding position and stride in amongst them. They all step back, whispering my title. The Black Suns'' bodyguard scrambles to her feet and tries several times to pull her spear free as I close the distance. Standing in front of her I grasp the spear shaft and tear the spear from the boar¡¯s flesh and hand the bloody weapon to her.


    ¡°Thank you, Lord Hob. I will do better next time, Lord Hob.¡±


    I wave her to silence and look around until one of the other ten steps forward.


    ¡°Keja, Lord, I lead this Ten Spears. We can invite you to feast.¡± She waves her hand at the slain boar. ¡°If you wish.¡±


    ¡°Are you originally from Copper Village?¡± I ask.


    She swallows. Nervous? ¡°Yes, Lord. I was one of the first from the village to hunt ¡­¡±


    I step on a hind leg and lifting the opposite I hack that hindquarter free using my axe. They all take a step back. Then I shave off the fur and skin and take a huge bite, chewing and swallowing and then pass the quarter to a couple of goblins near me.


    ¡°Leave your supplies behind, free any sows or young you have we are at war. Now go and return as quickly as you can.¡±


    Nine goblins bolt. Keja and the Blood Suns female remain.


    ¡°Uda, Lord Hob, introductions weren¡¯t necessary last time.¡±


    I nod and face Keja. ¡°How long has your Ten Spears hunted together?¡±


    ¡°Since the beginning, we lost one from Copper Village early. We are half Copper Village and half Farm, the males.¡±


    ¡°Are any archers?¡±


    ¡°I am Lord,¡± says Uda in a rush.


    I turn my impatient gaze upon her. Caught between running and freezing I then grab her by the throat. She tries to work her jaw to speak and fails.


    ¡°I am certain Keja knows the skills of those she commands. Be silent unless asked to speak.¡± I release her.


    Several returning goblins pull up short their faces draining of green pigment.


    ¡°Continue.¡±


    ¡°Three of the males are and our one guest, Lord.¡±


    ¡°Ensure their quivers are full and order them to stay by my side, as will you. The spear carriers will follow close, no stragglers. Also, I need you to send your fastest Spear carrier to the wooden road and hide on the Farm side of the closest hill to the Head Village and wait. Reinforcements from the Farm should be arriving. He or she needs to warn them that an ambush will be waiting for them if they continue to follow the road. They are to ford the river near there and approach the Head Village from the southern side of the river. He or she must stay there to direct any others from the Farm. This is important. I expect you will have to tell him to stop his watch when we know all is well.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    I nod and seeing everyone ready I jog off, setting a cracking pace. The Head Hob¡¯s signal invades my head urging me to meet him.


    ---


    We rest under the shadows of the cliff face, the sinking western sun providing shade from a long way out. I hear a chorus of heavy breathing and I don¡¯t blame them. I signal Keja closer. When within arm¡¯s reach, I sweep her off her feet and place her upon my shoulders. Once she settles, I point towards the waterfall.


    ¡°While there is still a modicum of light we need to squeeze past the waterfall, there is a narrow path behind it. Any, who fall will plunge into the lake and be lost.¡±


    ¡°I will tell my Ten Spears. We will be ready in a few moments.¡±


    I lift her from my shoulders and wait while keeping an eye on the village. Nothing moves about.


    A tap on my shoulder. I turn my head and check. Keja nods.


    I dash from deep shadow to deep shadow and each of the Ten Spears follows my lead. The fine water spray meets us along with the roar of the falling water. I start to climb higher up the cliff face. I don¡¯t expect the path to be clear and well used, only a way should exist as the cliff curves out at the top and runs along the entire width of the valley, not natural, simply another clue of an ancient extra-terrestrial visit.

 1.043 Betrayal and Death

    Edging behind the cascading sheet of falling water we are almost across, and due to unkind fate, the way forward narrows considerably due to an outcrop. I blame the extra-terrestrial operator, he or she didn¡¯t line up the next gigantic scoop of soil flush with the previous one. I doubt I can slip by and there isn¡¯t room for me to back up, yet. For now, I must resort to heavy lifting and then I can backtrack and swim across the pond, not that I desired more witnesses to that unique skill. As each Ten Spears approach, I lean back into the cliff and lift them around my body and back onto the ledge we are currently following. The archers, Uda and Keja are on their way, and I lift the first of the spear carriers around me. Before my eyes, a body plummets into the lake. A moment to check, I can¡¯t spy Keja only others peering into the gap between the wall of water and the cliff face. I hand off my bow and quiver and dive off the ledge after her. To her credit, she doesn¡¯t scream, deciding to die quietly instead of placing us all in danger.


    While I am confident, I finish underwater nearby to her dive point, not until I surface, and hear her thrashing can I be certain I can save her. She tries to drown me when desperate to cling onto anything for survival until I wrap her arms within my spear arm while my feet and free arm tread water.


    ¡°Calm, now,¡± I growl.


    She blinks and coughs up water. ¡°Uda ¡­ she did something ¡­¡± Keja gasps for breath. ¡°Not a push, my next step false somehow.¡±


    ¡°Calm. Climb onto my back and wrap your arms around my neck.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    I hand off my spear to the now relaxed goblin and kick off into a swimming stroke. Without a point of reference, shortly after the waterfall pummels us and I swim through the turbulence in haste before Keja can choke me. Once through, I believe the water flow pushes us further into the pond. The current will carry us East towards the pond overflow, so I take a guess and swim what I think is South. To my relief, I eventually swim in shallows. Climbing to my feet I wade ashore, Keja clinging to my back, the cloak of shadow and night dropping us into utter darkness. Keja shivers. I swing her around and wrap my arms around her.


    ¡°I assume Uda will try to take command of your Ten Spears?¡±


    ¡°This is the first time she betrays like this. I am not sure what she will do as previously she helped when asked, didn¡¯t hesitate to place herself in danger, she volunteered to set her spear against a charge for the last boar.¡± I sense the disbelief in her voice while her body shivers.


    I hold her head to my chest. ¡°She and four other Blood Suns auditioned to be bodyguards to the Head Hob, they were the only ones on the Farm to do so and well, something seemed off about them. Now one is within reach of the Head Hob and some Blood Suns would probably want the Hob who ordered their culling at their mercy.¡±


    I feel her body struggle. ¡°Lord, not that I don¡¯t appreciate your warmth, we could set a small fire.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t take the chance, I am certain Uda has told your Ten Spears to hold a position village side of the waterfall, while she looks for us. Hoping not to find us, as all drown in water or at best exhaust themselves while trying to make shore and if they do, lay helpless to recover. She would be able to silently end any such survivors.¡±


    ¡°She would slay a Hob?¡± The incredibility of the deed, plain in her voice.


    ¡°I believe she means to slay the Head Hob. What is one more? Silence now, your ears are better than mine, please forgive me my one vulnerability. Listen.¡±


    ---


    After a long while, her hand grabs my arm. I shift her to one side off my lap and onto the clay along the shore. A sucking sound is creeping towards us. Footfalls lifting out of clay mud I realise. At any other time, this would be funny. I heft my spear, my eyes searching lakeside for a shift in the darkness, the feeble light from the village behind providing meagre contrast.


    ¡°Crappy mud.¡±


    Her words and what I think is a shape outline are enough and I cast my spear with all my strength. A wet thud sounds. The loudness shocks me and I look about in the dark to try and detect any reaction to the noise. Useless of course. It is my turn to creep out on the clay mud, except I decide to slide around on my bottom heading in the direction of my throw. At the water¡¯s edge, I locate a body. I haul the body across my legs until across my thighs and then digging my heels in, I slide away from the water¡¯s edge. After some false direction and whispering, I join Keja, and we both sleep as we are.


    ---


    The false dawn wakes me before Keja, and I nudge her awake. Uda lays still across my thighs, my upright spear marking her body. I retrieve the spear and hand it off to Keja. I shift Uda¡¯s body off my lap. We spent the night near an old stump, one side missing, which Uda¡¯s body fits into perfectly. My throw, a short six paces. The lake water lapping the shore ten paces away.


    We skirt the lakeshore avoiding the mud, keeping low and moving as silently as possible towards the cliff face. Somewhere along the way, I hope to meet up with the rest of Keja¡¯s Ten Spears. Across the slight rise from lakeshore to village ground proper are the warehouses. Between the warehouses and the cliff face is open ground, the working area for the potters to tend the kilns built into the base of the cliff. The open ground runs for a distance ending at the first steps of the winding stair to climb the cliff face. Fortuitously, we find her Ten Spears huddled on the lakeshore rise opposite the warehouses.


    ¡°What have you observed?¡± I ask the first Ten Spears on watch.


    ¡°Strange goblins. Not of a tribe from this valley. They are in the furthest warehouse and are gradually breaking down the wall facing the cliff, working throughout the night under torch light, and only now slowing.¡±


    They lay in wait for the Smith Hob, the only explanation. Preparing an ambush. I am now certain a similar ambush along the river ford waits for me. Local knowledge, even if somewhat obvious confirmed by their spy no doubt.


    ¡°Have you seen any occupy the warehouses nearer to us?¡±


    The one I talk to shakes the shoulder of another, who wakes blurry-eyed springing alert upon seeing me.


    ¡°At dusk did the strange goblins occupy any of the warehouses close to us?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so, although with the heavy shadow I can¡¯t be certain,¡± says sleepy.


    The watch guard shrugs. I look to Keja.


    ¡°Who is your best sneak?¡±


    She taps sleepy who looks anything but sharp and sneaky. I raise an eyebrow.


    ¡°Tell him what you want, he will get there alright,¡± she says.


    I slide along until I am adjacent, and my presence can intimidate. ¡°The warehouses have few windows, what they do have are high and narrow, hence why the goblins near the stairs are battering down the wall facing the stairs. Slide along the face of each warehouse and as you near the door listen for noise inside. We need to make sure when we follow you a swarm of goblins don¡¯t suddenly rush out of any of the warehouses behind us and attack.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    He loses his grimace and skirts back along the shoreline until he faces the northern wall of the nearest warehouse, the cottages, in darkness all night to the East face South, their gardens face us. I see his ploy, there is no way any of the strange goblins can see him from their warehouse or anyone patrolling the pathway fronting the cottages. Even then, he drops, and belly crawls the entire distance, pausing to listen and scan his surroundings. Once at the warehouse he flattens himself against the wall and edges along until the north-western corner of the first warehouse and peers around. This warehouse is set back from the rest, a single warehouse ending a row of back-to-back double warehouses. He skirts along and upon reaching the door, listens. Trying to open the door and it doesn¡¯t budge. He continues along to where the current warehouse wall butts up against the side of the next warehouse. He hurries along to the north-western corner of the first back-to-back warehouse and peers around. The next three warehouses are flush sharing the same frontage as the warehouse the strange goblins are knocking down.


    His back flat to the wall he steps along while observing the work of the strange goblins in the distance. Halting before each warehouse door he listens and then checks the door. He does this three times and stands in the door recess of the last warehouse, the next warehouse contains the strange goblins still toiling away. He waves us to him.


    ¡°Send two spearmen and an archer and once they join your sneak send the second team.¡± I string my bow and nock an arrow, holding a line of sight on the rubble pile in front of the last warehouse. Once the wall is low enough, I assume the strange goblins will wait undercover for the Smith Hob to be carried down the winding stairs. He arrived pre-dawn last summons, rotating his chair bearers, I suspect the first few worn out at the beginning of the journey and sent back. Given he hasn¡¯t arrived yet, perhaps he camped at the top of the cliff this summons and will descend after breaking his fast with the full morning light upon the stairs. I realise the breaking down of the warehouse wall is required for gaining an angle on the walkway, the cover a convenience at best.


    The wait is over, a spear wielder, Keja and I, are the last of us. We belly crawl to the first warehouse. As we reach the wall, I sweep my arm across and place Keja behind me. I hurry along the frontage of the first flush warehouse, aware my bulk would be easily spotted, although I am more certain they push the warehouse wall out to allow them to position their archers within and gain a murderous aim upon the winding stairs. I reach the door sinking into the door recess. A vertical copper tongue pokes out from the door jamb, matching a similar horizontal tongue poking out of the wooden door. Where they meet, the door tongue fits through a slot cut in the door jamb tongue. A copper loop threads through a hole in the door tongue. This prevents the door tongue from sliding out, in effect locking the door. Bracing my back against one door jamb and my feet on the opposite door jamb, I heave away at the loop until straight like the two limbs of a horseshoe. I remove the loop and push the door open. Beyond the swing of the door is a mountain of pots of different sizes. The undoing of the loop requires a Hob¡¯s strength, so in effect preventing goblins from stealing ¨C odd protection from clay pots?


    ¡°Keja, roll them out and forward, they can provide cover because at some stage will we need to flank them to obtain a line of sight. Just from this warehouse, I assume goblins ears will pick up on the noise if any closer,¡± I whisper.


    She nods. The pottery is large and requires two goblins to shift out. They position them upside down so the flat side can hold a smaller pot on top and thereby provide a gap to release arrows through.


    Observing the struggle I add, ¡°Call back the other teams and the sneak Keja, we will make our defence here. With those you call back, ask them to build a similar wall of pots behind us, but a solid wall and we will post a watch to alert us of any outflanking.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡± She slides along to the next warehouse and taps them to return, and then signals the sneak to return.


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    Our walls are set, the three Ten Spears archers are ready, and a Spear carrier watches our rear. Still, no sign of the strange goblins, although their destruction is now complete. I estimate reinforcements from the Farm should have left at dawn. I wonder if Vuzsia and her Ten Spears met this Ten Spears spear wielder on the road or not. Although perhaps the cook will provide her with enough warning to avoid any ambush.


    I line up four large pots at the end of our ¡°wall¡±. ¡°Keja I am going to stick my neck out and see if I can pick a few off. As I do have a couple of Spear carriers extend our wall with the pots here.¡±


    She calls over two and they are ready to lift a pot.


    ¡°Tell your Ten Spears to prepare ¡­¡± I wait for her to tap each and at her nod, I shift right, arrow nocked.


    As I shift enough the two spear carriers move a pot into place and run back for the next. I am three pots wide of our original wall and find a target and release. The goblin slams back into the warehouse wall behind him. Goblins begin boiling out of the warehouse.


    ¡°Head and limbs,¡± I shout as I see my target struggle to his feet after an arrow to the chest. Five goblins fall under my archery before they reach me, and I draw my axe. My inner Hob rages, finally blood. The Ten Spears archers fall back to snipe while the Spear carriers stab over the wall. We are severely outnumbered. Yet I hold the flank due to my sheer threat of death.


    ¡°Duck, Lord.¡±


    I don¡¯t think, just do. A full volley of arrows flies over me. I glance up, a goblin directs a troop of archers. I didn¡¯t hold the flank due to my threat of death, they withdrew to provide a clear line of sight from within the dark shadows of the warehouse. The attackers¡¯ tactics changing to hold their side of the pottery wall and give up flanking. My eyes adjust for the warehouse shadow, and I observe their archers aim high towards the cliff face.


    I call the three archers to me as I pick up my bow. I release into the troop of archers, yet they ignore me. When the first Copper Village body falls from the winding stair with a splattering thump, I realise I am too late. A bellow, Hob loud, follows several more of his goblins falling. His scream announces his fall from on high ending in the biggest splat of all and I am helpless. The goblin leader and his troop spill out of the warehouse and dash around the far wall of their warehouse and out of sight. Those few left at the wall make a run for it, we chase after them and they suffer more casualties, yet this doesn¡¯t seem to make a difference. Several of the Ten Spears carry light wounds as do I for our troubles.


    I am Hob why didn¡¯t they hunt me after ambushing the Smith Hob? Are they working according to a plan? Can Hobs only be slain from ambush?


    ¡°Ransack their bodies for their chest armour at least. One ransacking, one looking out and then turn about,¡± I order and wave the sneak to me. While waiting I observe my archers claim quivers of arrows and gawk at the bronze tipped arrows. These will help penetrate their armour.


    ¡°Peer around the corner and tell me what you see, push out one of the dead first.¡±


    He nods. I survey the dead and plunge my spear into their necks to be certain. A couple of targets scream, probably unconscious until their final moment, although this also ensures no goblins play possum. I scan the winding stairs and the few goblins still upon the path are frozen with fear, backs against the cliff. I wave them down, although I doubt, they will move towards danger. I sigh, they are more likely to retreat up the stairs and away from danger if they move at all.


    The corpse which took the first look is an arrow filled pin cushion.


    ¡°What did you get to see?¡±


    ¡°They sit upon the new village wall, where complete. We are fortunate that the wall isn¡¯t finished, the lowest section nearer the cliff face which prevents them from raining arrows down upon us here. Although I don¡¯t know if they occupy the cottages across the path from us.¡±


    ¡°With me,¡± I command.


    I start fetching large pots from the warehouse the strange goblins occupied and start building another wall from the corner of the warehouse to extend out in front of the cottages. Keja picks up on my need and starts ordering pairs now in new armour to assist. I tap each of my helpers and repeatedly point to the warehouse. I wave to others still out in the open, including Keja. Once all are undercover in the warehouse, I cup my ears and point up.


    Keja mouths, ¡®On the roof¡¯.


    That is why they waited. Their leader goblin can¡¯t be underestimated, although his presence confirms the Hobs from the valley aren¡¯t in the Head Village, if present, they must be lying in ambush for me.


    I start shifting pots from the back to the front, half of the Ten Spears assist the other half, stand guard. When I reach the back wall, there are no windows as I suspect. Another warehouse backs onto this one and is presumably locked. Before I continue the sunlight shining through the high narrow windows begs to be spied through. Creating a platform of pots, we heave up a corpse and stick his head up first, then second and finally third along the length of the window. My sneak takes a quick look first from one corner then the other.


    ¡°They seem happy waiting,¡± he reports.


    From each open corner of the now wall-less side of the warehouse, another pair report nothing unusual.


    I strike the back wall of the warehouse with my axe and discover the wall is solid clay, not brick. I quickly dig my way through, the clay wall too soft. Only sun-dried? Rubbing a chunk between my fingers I reduce the clay to powder. The clay is pure, with no dried vine, or the like to strengthen. I soon create a viewing hole and weak sunlight from the high windows in the adjacent warehouse reveals more pots and many more cobwebs. Enlarging the hole, the Ten Spears begin removing the pots to make a path towards the door in the opposite wall, while my sneak takes the chance to view out of the new set of high windows.


    From memory, on the other side of the warehouse door is another pathway, haphazard cottages on the opposite side. Then one more pathway over is the Head Hob¡¯s cottage, always impressive unless his walls of clay are also as brittle as the warehouse walls. This also explains how the strange goblins were able to break down a whole warehouse wall overnight.


    At the warehouse wall beside the door, I dig through the door jamb and free the tongue of copper. The Ten Spears witnessing my unlocking technique wave to me and point up.


    ¡°Bodies are dropping, and others are scrambling across the roof,¡± whispers Keja.


    I tap one of the Spear carriers. ¡°Place a large pot in front of the unlocked door and stand watch until I return.¡±


    I wave to the remainder in the warehouse, and we charge back into the other warehouse in time to see the strange goblins running by being picked off by the two archers we have on watch there as well as being harried by other arrows chasing them. I and our third archer join them. Not many of the fleeing escape and we practice feathering the wounded with our bronze tipped arrows.


    ¡°Are you enjoying yourself, Lord?¡±


    I recognise her taunting voice.


    ¡°Milga Stone Blood, did you cause them fright somehow?¡±


    Milga slides over the edge of the Warehouse roof, holding on for her life, her face in view. ¡°Well?¡± she asks.


    I grip her legs and lower the pregnant goblin to the ground. As she lands her eyes glance up. There is another. I lower Koria Keen Eye also. She mumbles thanks and shuffles behind Milga while searching to be anywhere else, yet the battle is over and shade from the cliff due the sinking sun heralds¡¯ dusk and then eventually night.


    ¡°Duzsia volunteered us to clear the warehouse rooves, Lord, while the rest, including the Ten Spears, hunted the other goblins trying to outflank your position. What should have been easy, complicated by their armour requiring accurate archery to find weak spots ¡­¡±


    Following Milga¡¯s eyes, I notice Koria avoiding even looking at me, let alone my eyes.


    Duzsia growls, ¡°Koria make yourself useful, stab the dead in the eye, ransack their bodies and stack them over there with the rest.¡± Duzsia points to a row of large pots. My original wall.


    Luda is already toiling away. Half the Ten Spears keep a watch towards the pond side of the warehouses, the other half follow behind Duzsia as she approaches me, with a wide smile.


    ¡°A small diversion Lord from our Quest, apparently you require some aid?¡±


    Her belly leads, making her stride appear awkward and yet she seems more than content.


    ¡°Well met Duzsia the Relentless. How did you end up here?¡±


    ¡°Zeb sent a messenger carrying a torch through the night reaching us while we were breaking camp at dawn. Heading directly here and while observing, trying to determine the situation and your whereabouts we spotted several strange goblins up to no good.¡± She smirks. ¡°I reasoned only Lord Hob would attract such attention so waiting for their backs to face us, we ambushed them.¡±


    I chuckle while briefly hugging her. ¡°Well done, what else has Zeb arranged?¡±


    ¡°A militia of sorts ¨C everyone else who can wield a weapon will travel along the wooden road and then cross the South River ford and approach the Head Village from the South to avoid their ambush.¡±


    I nod, glad my warning reached Zeb. ¡°What of Vuzsia?¡±


    Duzsia glances about. ¡°I thought she would have caught up with you and the Ten Spears with you, also the ones who went with her.¡±


    I shake my head and put on a wide smile to allay any concerns. ¡°She will pop up when we need her most. With the fading light, I am going to see if I can reach the Head Hob. Stay and guard the warehouses to make sure none can ambush me from behind.¡±


    Turning away a hand grasps my forearm. ¡°Lord Hob, alone?¡±


    ¡°I will have a Ten Spears I found and given your condition, there is no need to place you and the Questors in further danger.¡±


    Her eyes lose their joyful light. She knows my words are final, risk versus danger none of them can skulk about the paths and cottages of the village in their condition. They will only just manage with the brambles and their quest.


    ¡°Kor! Take Kor,¡± she offers.


    ¡°No, he will be needed as will your Ten Spears if the warehouses suffer a direct attack and hand to hand fighting occurs. Keep your Questers together and protect my behind.¡± I end with a chortle, which doesn¡¯t play well with her.


    ¡°You are Lord Hob, and I swore to obey you. Be careful though, our child deserves a father.¡±


    Before I can offer any assurance, she turns about and begins to organise the Questers, a shrugging Milga in tow.


    ¡°We are ready Lord Hob,¡± says Keja.


    Including Keja, there are three groups consisting of an archer and two spear wielders. I nod and jog inside the warehouse to the door of the far warehouse. The door is now guarded by a Quester Ten Spear I assume.


    I roll the large, fired clay pot out of the doorway. Hand on the door, I turn to Keja. ¡°You and two spear wielders follow immediately. The other two groups will follow when they believe it safe.¡± I must trust in the shade cast by the cliff face because of the setting Western sun. To check before running out is to give a warning while this foolhardy dash may achieve complete surprise.


    Pulling the door open inwards, I sprint to the cottage on the other side of the path aiming for its¡¯ closed door. Crashing through the door, three goblins pile in after me. Keja and another climb off me, while the third remains, an arrow neatly bisecting his head, ear to ear. Bronze arrow point poking out one side, feathering proud on the other.


    ¡°They got lucky, Lord.¡±


    I nod at Keja. The other goblin looks out the back of the cottage. The goblin disregard for death and the dead a simple acceptance without emotion. I could have easily been a dictator or despot and I wonder to this day should that have been the better path? The spirit capture mumbo jumbo ceremony led me to recruit a loyal cadre, treat them well and by demonstration ease the rest of the goblins into trusting me. Although for all that Jotor still plotted against me, so I guess nothing is perfect but in the main, I didn''t suffer any direct assassination attempts.


    ¡°Lord there is a garden, soft churned soil we may make the distance ¡­¡±


    I get his meaning; my heavy feet will sink. Instead, I attack the northern wall of the cottage with my axe, a supporting timber, one end embedded in the sun-baked bricks which form the support and the other which supports cross beams and thatching. Arrows begin piercing the thatching, although they strike high. We are in one cottage of a row, there is another along the path, which shadows ours and protects us from any archers upon the new wall.


    I am through, and a narrow sward of land separates our cottage from the next cottage along, which is further again away from the wall. Chopping down another support, we are again through the collapsed thatch. Another cottage and then the village path turns, and we can scoot over the path diving across gaps between the cottages. At the end of the ¡°block¡± of cottages, I face a doorless side of the Head Hob¡¯s manor. His is the only clay structure, like the warehouses and otherwise dominates the village centre. There are no cottages nearby of course. To run out and hope one of the side walls, which aren¡¯t in my line of sight, by chance has his front door embedded in it, a high risk. One of those two sides, which faces the wall would mean suffering arrows.


    ¡°Keja, I am going to dash across the path and take cover behind the manor wall facing away from the wall. You and him.¡± I point to the spear wielder. ¡°Aren¡¯t to follow. You must ensure no enemy follows behind me. If others of your Ten Spears join you, all the better.¡±


    Her open hands rise to protest. ¡°Lord?¡±


    ¡°I need to attack, ensuring none can attack me from behind ¡­ you understand?¡±


    Resigned to her duty, she nods. ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    The arrows flash by when I am halfway across. With safety an agonising half a body length away pain erupts within my upper thigh, and I leap instead of stepping into cover behind the Head Hob¡¯s manor. After a brief assessment, I snap off the feathered end of the arrow shaft, holding back a scream of pain. Taking a deep breath, I pull the arrow shaft through allowing the wound to weep blood. Bandage next I tell myself through the agony and tear off a piece of cloth from my shirt to wrap my leg, leather pants still on, as a precaution. Tying off the makeshift bandage I am relieved my artery remains intact. The pain shortly after ebbs away to nothing, a welcome benefit of my nanorobots.


    Climbing to my feet I position myself further along the wall, there is no door this side. I chose a position slightly offset from the centre. Depending upon the wall, the centre could be the location of the dividing wall across the three sections which make up the manor. If I am luckier, I could be on the other side of the Head Hob¡¯s bedroom, which would mean the front door faces the wall and the archers perched upon it. The enemy knows where I am and therefore, I must double my efforts, another reason for not peeking around the far corner of this wall to confirm the location of the door ¨C they would have archers waiting. After a time, I expect spear carriers. This is the time difference I have available to me.


    I strike the cured clay wall with my axe and a large chunk falls away. I smile while striking again and again.

 1.044 Battle and Death (1/2)

    Cook number one or cook number two leaps upon me, arms around my neck as I squeeze through the makeshift opening in the Head Hob¡¯s manor wall. Grabbing her by the waist I set her down and after glancing around determine I am in the Kitchen Storeroom, the pungent smells of fresh herbs and vegetables sealing the assessment.


    As if waking up, the cook¡¯s eyes blink and she grabs my arm in panic. ¡°Lord, Seka, I fear she has ¡­ she is ¡­ she went to defend the Head Hob when another Hob bashed through the door ¡­¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you ¡­¡± I shook my head and sprinted to the door of the Storeroom, managing by luck and skill to hurdle and dodge respectfully two goblins littering the Storeroom floor with their blood, throats cut on both.


    Grasping a large pot blocking the door, two dead eyes examining me cause me to release the pot and jump back. My heart beating faster again. Checking the other pot and I found a second goblin corpse. Pocking their heads, they fell limp to one side revealing gaping throats. Dead eyes or throats with laughing smiles? I shake my head and roll each pot away succeeding in the task without glimpsing the occupants. I swing the door open and crouch alert in the doorway. The warmth of the Kitchen rolls over me carrying the dark acrid scent of goblin blood strong and unmistakable. Given their bronze armour, like those in the Storeroom, more invading goblins ¡­ throats cut once again. I can only imagine the assassin in Seka somehow striking from hiding or from the shadows, luring pairs to their deaths. Eight in the space of two rooms. Another two corpses, closer to the archway joining the Kitchen to the Entrance Room though they wear round sear marks upon their faces ¡­ she couldn¡¯t hold back the cook within it would seem. Good for her, although by then she needed to break her cover ...


    Peering around the Kitchen-Front Room archway I spy two goblins holding the front door now without hinges upright and in the silence overhear the eager shuffling of others, weapons, armour, and murmuring all combining to create a mood of anticipation. An audience perhaps? If so, I must urgently interrupt. Stepping back, I nock an arrow and prepare another. Easing around the edge of the archway I aim and release. The shuffling noise of before ceases after the arrow thunks into the wood of the door while piercing the neck of a goblin on the way. Nocking the second arrow, I smile as the second goblin begins to berate his companion for shirking until he spots my arrow impaling his throat confirming what his ears heard, however impossible. He looks up, mouth wide open in time to eat my second arrow. Both arrows affix the goblins to the Manor¡¯s front door and in death, their dead weight continues to hold the door upright perpetuating the illusion the entrance to the manor remains intact. After the second arrow thunks into the wood, the silence is broken, a rattling of weapons accompanies an urgent exchange of words.


    A feminine scream shatters the careful quiet and my body tenses in response. With urgency, I explode into action axe to hand charging into the Front Room. The closest goblin, caught in a crouching approach suffers my axe through his neck. As I jerk the axe back his companion stands to attention and stares, flecks of black blood from his now-dead partner spraying across his face. His mouth opening to shout a convenient place to lodge my axe and I split his lower jaw from his head.


    The other three goblins present in the Front Room recover during my killing spree. One runs to the opposite room, one charges me, while the third dashes through the door into the Head Hob¡¯s bedroom.


    As my axe hooks the charging goblin¡¯s spear shaft to one side, my fist smacks into his face. His body flips over backwards. In the background, a voice bellows out from the Head Hob¡¯s bedroom.


    ¡°Hold him until I finish here!¡±


    I retrieve the spear from the prone goblin at my feet, stab him through the eye and ready the spear for a throw. The third goblin runs out of the Head Hob¡¯s bedroom, and I throw the drawn back spear. The bronze tip of the spear defeats his bronze ring armour, the force of my throw flinging the skewed body back, striking the wall beside the bedroom door and sliding down to the floor.


    Advancing upon the bedroom door, a grimacing Hob face grins out while closing the door.


    ¡°Let me finish here first Farmer Hob ¡­¡±


    Another Hob? I stumble back trying to collect my thoughts and recover from the shock. I knew they existed, and they could be the smarts behind this attack, possibly leading the ambush of me ¡­ yet in the village, in the manor? Why would they target the Head Hob? Is he, their target? Somehow, ego maybe, I thought myself their target ¡­


    Pain lances my left shoulder. I glance down at the arrow shaft and then up while throwing myself to the right towards the Head Hob¡¯s bedroom tumble rolling until back on my feet. The second arrow grazes my left thigh, my leather pants enough to prevent the drawing of blood. Three goblins, spears leading, charge me, while a fourth nocks another arrow behind them grinning. My height allows him a clear line of sight.


    I lift the goblin body now at my feet, spear and all and hurl the dead weight in their direction. One dodges aside, the middle goblin tries to brace himself, while the last pauses. Following up behind my throw, I strike the indecisive first, the iron axe head planting in his skull, bronze helm, skin, and bone offering scant resistance. The archer swears as he nocks another arrow while I am oblivious about his previous release.


    I jolt the axe from the goblin¡¯s skull and toss the weapon to my left hand, middle goblin is down under the weight of the body, dodging goblin is climbing to his feet. Leaning down and forward my right-hand grabs the spear from the dying hands of my fresh kill. The swoosh of an arrow passes by my left ear. ¡°My turn,¡± I mutter to myself.


    Straightening while drawing back the spear I aim and let the weapon fly. The archer is busily nocking another arrow, his eyes going wide as he faces the unbelievable. The spear throw carries his convulsing body back through the Spare Room doorway. I turn back to the remaining two, pivoting in time to half dodge. A glancing thrust, the spear point penetrating my flesh above my hip, my body shift conveniently moving my hard leather armour aside. Axe in my left hand, right hand balled up into a fist I strike down upon the goblin¡¯s head with all my strength and weight. The resulting snap of bones provides grim satisfaction as the goblin¡¯s body drops, limp to the floor. My inner Hob rages within me as I draw the spear out of my flesh.


    I continue the arc my withdrawing of the spear from my flesh starts, aiming for the head of the third goblin now attacking me. He dodges back while placing his spear upright, in the path of mine. They smash together and he staggers back still able to weakly wave his spear at me. I drop the spear, transferring my axe to my right hand. Dodging right, I grab the shaft of his stabbing spear in my left hand and stepping forward swing my axe down upon the base of his neck. As I draw back the axe, the severed artery releases my foe¡¯s lifeblood. Black goblin blood paints the floor of the Front Room, while blood spray upon the walls provides an opportunity for macabre artistic interpretation. My inner Hob howls. I pluck the arrow from my shoulder trusting in my nanorobots to seal the wound and stem the blood loss. The bronze tips of their spears and arrows defeat my leather armour once again.


    My boot kicks open the Head Hob¡¯s bedroom door, the hinges surviving my assault. The Head Hob¡¯s huge bed favours one side of the room, tight into the right-hand side far back corner.


    In the left-hand side back corner, the unknown Hob turns his head towards me, a vicious grin upon his lips, tongue playing with one of his protruding mouth-tusks. At his feet, body propped up by the corner walls lays the Head Hob, multiple cuts upon his face and naked chest oozing blood, the light of life within his eyes dim. Along the wall between me and him lays the limp body of Seka. Blood flows from her mouth, a stain of black blood on the wall above her. As easy as I fling goblin bodies, so does this stranger it seems.


    ¡°You care for these vermin then ¡­¡± he says.


    My eyes return to the face of my foe. A force strikes my chest. I glance down. Standing out proudly, the handle of a bronze knife, the blade penetrating my leather armour and sinking into my flesh.


    ¡°When in battle, you need to ignore such sentiment and as Chief Hob, I shall teach you, yet sadly your death won¡¯t permit you the time to learn the lesson.¡±


    My peripheral vision catches his charge and the slashing blade at the end of it. Flinging my body right calling upon every modicum of strength within me as I realise the downward arc of the blade is rapidly catching up to my thigh flesh edge and I tense. My left leg will be useless, and I will be at his mercy. Then, thunk, the Head Hob¡¯s huge bed saves me, his blade sinks into the hardwood, deep. Somehow, I manage a chortle as the Chief Hob now struggles to free his sword from the bed. I thought decapitation of a leg impossible ¡­


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    Twice distraction has provided him with the advantage, no more.


    Rolling to my feet, I advance and swing my axe down. My target isn¡¯t his body. I aim for his sword arm. This maintains my distance from him, after all, I still have a knife in my chest. If I sever his arm the blood loss should be fatal. He releases his grip on the sword and jumps back while my axe completes an air swing.


    ¡°Nice recovery,¡± he says.


    He smirks while withdrawing back towards the Head Hob and unsheathing another dagger. An air of supreme confidence surrounds him as I believe he takes several heartbeats to re-evaluates his foe, me.


    With my boot I kick upon the exposed portion of his sword blade, the wood holds, and the blade end bends. I edge away from behind the bed until there is a clear path between us, it seems we have the same idea. He crouches ready to spring forward.


    His top lip droops over his mouth tusks. ¡°That wasn¡¯t nice.¡±


    ¡°When you taste my axe blade, I am certain you will be all the better ¡­¡±


    ¡°Come then whelp, let us trade blows and be done quickly!¡± he yells.


    Ten paces apart we charge each other, weapons high, ready for a downward killing strike. I am encouraging him because he didn¡¯t notice what I did.


    His mouth opens, eyes wide as his body falls before me. The thump of his body against the floor of the bedroom my signal to complete the swing of my axe across the back of his neck. There is a jolt as the iron blade strikes neck bone and then nothing. His head rolls free from his body.


    I drop to my knees in time to catch Seka¡¯s last smile, full of satisfaction. Her dying last stand, to kick out at the foot of the charging Chief Hob tripping him into a fall and placing the trespasser at my mercy. Unfortunately, his death cost Seka¡¯s and mercy isn¡¯t for him. Instead, I place a hand upon Seka¡¯s head and silently wish her well in her next life.


    Closing her eyes, I catch a dying murmur from the Head Hob. I step over the headless corpse of the Chief Hob and squat on my haunches in front of the Head Hob.


    ¡°You will be Head Hob.¡± He coughs disturbing his wounds, the resulting pain creeps across his face. Easing his eyes open, he gasps, ¡°Fub ¡­¡±


    The Head Hob¡¯s blank stare matches Seka¡¯s and yet I feel more for the goblin than the Hob. What does that say about me? Am I succumbing to ¡°going native¡± but instead of for the individual, for the entire race? Or is it more simply they are mine and the loss of even one emotionally painful? I shake my head and disturb the knife in my chest making me regret the reaction twice over.


    Climbing to my feet, slow and precious I realise I must do something about the knife. A throat or lung hit would see even me laid low, which leaves blood loss as the lingering danger.


    Preparing cloth from the Head Hob¡¯s bed, I give some thought to how I would hold the bandage in place. I draw the conclusion my leather armour is almost worthless against the bronze weapons and work to untie the leather straps. I withdraw the knife, which also allows my armour to fall. I place a cloth pad over the wound and then tie off a length of cloth, over one shoulder and under the opposing armpit to hold the pad in place. The light cloth quickly darkens with blood until I dare to believe the flow slows to weeping. While recovering I think about Fub. How could he have organised this attack? Perhaps the attack was always going to happen, the valley over would have heard many stories from the fleeing Blood Suns if they permitted them sanctuary. Did they cast me as a villain or a threat greater than all others? The Head Hob¡¯s Manor was invaded though, the boldness, overconfidence? Fub would know everything about the village, the last time the Head Hob summoned his Hobs and when we arrived, for example, and many other things. The perfect spy in many respects, they would simply need to convince him. Maybe my sending of the cooks and thwarting his plan to slowly kill off the Head Hob possibly his breaking point and he could have taken his grievance to them and pleaded his case offering his knowledge in exchange.


    I eye the armour of the Chief Hob. With care, due to my wounds, I remove the bronze ring mail armour from the Chief Hob and dress in the hard-fought booty. The coat reaches down to my thighs, with arm coverage to the elbows. Fortunately, I could lay the entire coat out upon the Head Hob¡¯s bed and from the bedside pull the armour towards my bent-over body, arms reaching inside for the sleeves first. I tie his belt, both knives sheathed around my waist which doubles to also hold the armour in place.


    The manor is in shadow when I am done, a glow from the kitchen stoves the main source of light. The cook and I meet in the Front Room.


    ¡°Go back through the hole in the Storeroom, there should be a Ten Spears watching my back from the cottages across the pathway. Tell them it is now safe for them to enter the manor and again they must watch my back.¡±


    ¡°What of you Lord? Aren¡¯t you going to wait for them?¡± she asks.


    I place a hand upon her shivering shoulder. ¡°I need to find a traitor before the coward runs too far and out of my reach.¡±


    My hungry smile startles her, and she steps away with fright, murmuring, ¡°Sorry Lord.¡±


    ¡°Never mind, now go.¡±


    She darts away through the Kitchen, while I take down the two goblins holding up the front door. Peering out into the dusk light, silence greets me, and no shapes move about. I dash from the doorway to the nearest cottage across from the manor. I suck in a deep breath. The torture of the Head Hob simply a means to ensure he calls to his Hobs, yet I suspect Seka, with the warning due to Fub¡¯s strange coming and goings, convinced the Head Hob to call earlier, perhaps half a day. In time to warn me and if the Smith Hob did what he did last time, sacrificing goblins for haste he would have been down the cliff face as the invading goblins were still busy bringing the wall of the warehouse down and therefore stand a fighting chance instead of slaughter. From Zoria¡¯s life story the valley over supported a Ranger Hob, slain by myself what seems so long ago now, a Chief Hob, now slain and an Armour Hob, which I am yet to see, and I would think if willing to fight, more melee than ranged. With that assurance, I push myself away from the cottage and dash northeast to the next cottage. The pathway south leads towards the new wall and eventually to the river ford. I suspect the invaders to at least watch, if not cover both locations with archers.


    An arrow striking my shoulder rocks me, I stumble back from the force. The arrowhead and broken links of ring mail stab into my flesh, the new wound adjacent to the Chief Hobs¡¯ knife wound although further away from my lungs and more under the collar bone. I slump to the ground, my back sliding down the side of the cottage. Given the force behind the arrow and the required pull strength on the bow, this can only mean my attacker is a Hob.


    ¡°We meet again Farmer Hob, show yourself and we can end this quickly to avoid you suffering any more pain.¡±


    The snide voice familiar, the Hunter Hob. The mystery of his disappearance now solved; he heard the call of the Chief Hob. Perhaps my doing when I slew the Ranger Hob?


    ¡°Well, can¡¯t say that I can,¡± I reply. ¡°Besting the Chief Hob took much effort to be sure, but I have a deal!¡±


    Laughter. ¡°I am listening,¡± he retorts.


    ¡°Hand over Fub now so I can enjoy strangling him for his betrayal and perhaps against my better judgement we will continue our game tonight instead of when I am healed and full of vengeance.¡±


    ¡°Fub isn¡¯t mine to give or not give, so therefore we must continue ¡­¡±


    He is on the move, the directional source of his voice and clarity changing between replies. Only the Hob¡¯s manor would have a roof strong enough to support a Hob, the sloping rooves of thatch on the cottage¡¯s incapable, which means he lurks about on the ground either between or inside. His voice wasn¡¯t muffled in any way, so he isn¡¯t inside any cottages. I bash down the door and scramble inside the cottage, an arrow embeds in the loose stone pathway where I previously slumped.


    ¡°Not fair, what gave me away Farmer Hob?¡±


    I have no immediate reply. The shaft of the arrow in my chest broke off during my scramble and I grit my teeth to stifle the scream of pain I desperately need to release. Feeling for the end of the arrow shaft I touch upon a spread of short splinters. Below the splinters remains a finger length of the original arrow shaft, wet to touch, I suspect blood oozes out coating the ring mail around the wound.


    Water. The river around the village must be my next objective, to the East and well away from the ford and the new wall. This should also be a surprise to the Hunter Hob as anyone sane would try to return to help. They can¡¯t help me though, no matter their earnest efforts and deep concern. For me, the opposite direction holds my salvation. I make my way to the back of the cottage and peering into the murk of dusk, with relief note there isn¡¯t a garden. I ease the door open and once wide enough, sprint through and welcome the firm ground underfoot and when the dark shape of a fence looms up, I launch myself over. Thankfully my wounded upper thigh doesn¡¯t protest, all credit goes to my busy nanorobots and exposure to water will ensure my other wounds recovery also. I land intending to stride out and instead my leading right foot sinks to below the knee, my left foot I try to ease up on the landing and succeed somewhat as only my ankle sinks into the well-turned fallow cottage garden. I curse, too loudly.


    Footsteps ring in my ears, Hob heavy due to his haste, my curse alerting him. The Hunter Hob may not have expected me to run this way, but he certainly didn¡¯t dismiss the possibility outright. Both of my hands hold the spear shaft out front of me as I lean forward and lift my left foot free and onto the firmer ground between the rows. With this as a platform I pull my right leg up, the soil slowly surrendering and granting me hope.


    ¡°Well, what a fine mess you have gotten yourself into Farmer Hob. Somewhat fitting that your final breath will be drawn while knee-deep in mud." He smirks. "Matches your slow mind, unable to figure out that a Hunter Hob doesn''t belong under a Head Hob, so you misjudged my skills, my purpose, thinking me useless and a layabout, I am sure."


    His triumphant grin and finishing snicker burn my ego, yet I endure.


    "Your convenient slaying of the Ranger Hob enabled the right order of things to return and now, thanks to you I will ascend to Chief Hob, even the inconvenience of the Armour Hob was solved by one of your goblins. Amazing archery, even by my standards, an arrow through the eye from over one hundred paces, Hobgoblin paces in fact. The goblin tribe protecting the Armour Hob sought payback of course but ran into an ambush south of the river. This could mean your archer stills lives and if so, will provide me with much sport.¡±


    Vuzsia could have pulled off such a feat and she would have led the Ten Spears with her south of the river to avoid the ambush at the ford. My right leg is almost free. I did consider chatting to him to distract and buy more time, but it seems he needed to unburden himself so why should I interrupt.


    ¡°I know I talk too much when I am happy, but I am not ignorant of your progress. Therefore, our meeting is at an end.¡±


    I hear the strain on his bow as he draws back. I refuse to look, almost free, and then I must roll, dive, jump anything to change my position between the twang of his release and the arrow striking ¡­

 1.045 Battle and Death (2/2)

    ¡°Ugh!¡±


    I risk a glance in his direction. An arrow transfixes his left wrist stealing any strength to hold his bow, while another arrow spouts from his upper right arm. His eyes search both wounds for an explanation, the confusion plain even with dusk closing in. A torch approaches me casting light upon the field of mud catching the Hunter Hob and projecting his silhouette against the cottage nearby. The waving inconsistent firelight from the torch is like a signal to him as his face hardens into resolve, his body responding by turning away and taking the first step. His second is a stumble as an arrow pierces his thigh, the fall propelling him into the side of the cottage he hid beside.


    A goblin hand reaches out to me, and I take the offer. Freeing my leg from the mud I note a goblin stands over the Hunter Hob, an arrow drawn. I recognise the voice of the goblin with the torch and while not entirely necessary, helps me out of my predicament.


    ¡°Well met Zoria, I thought I ordered Duzsia to keep the Quest Party together to guard the warehouse?¡±


    ¡°She must have misunderstood Lord, she thought you were ordering those pregnant to stay. The hysterical cook insisted you needed help, so I and Kor were sent to protect you from yourself. Lord.¡±


    I shake my right leg flinging some mud away. ¡°From myself?¡±


    ¡°Your wife thought it folly, upon dusk, to search for anyone let alone a sneaky conniving goblin when the night was almost upon you ¡­ erm, her words Lord, I am but the messenger.¡±


    I cast my eyes towards Kor, unable to confirm her identity given the poor light yet she is guarding the whimpering Hunter Hob to the exclusion of all else. I frown in thought, my plan hasn¡¯t changed, for the wounds I have suffered I need to reach the river, to drink water and allow the water to wash over me. With water available to them, my nanorobots will succeed all the better.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have time for a prisoner? Lord.¡±


    I shake my head, deep in thought of what to ultimately do and too late I notice Zoria draw a finger across her throat. Mouth open, and before I can shout Kor releases, and the Hunter Hob grunts.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t ¡­¡± I say weakly.


    ¡°He may still be alive ¡­¡± she says with doubt. Zoria then shakes her head after glancing at Kor. ¡°Sorry Lord, Kor has been practising targeting eyes and from a body length away this is an easy mark for her now.¡±


    There is no anger within me, I doubt he would tell me much more and what does it matter. As near as I can make out all the Hobs from the valley over are dead and all the Hobs in this valley except for me are dead. Is this now victory?


    I wave Kor over and once beside me I wrap an arm around her and Koria¡¯s shoulders. I suspect tiredness from blood loss.


    ¡°Help me to the river, not the ford, go directly East.¡±


    Both nod and assist. Once past the immediate block of cottages, we cross another pathway and further along, another pathway directly East materialises heading towards the river. Torchlight spills across the bank of the river, sand, and clay with a huge stone outcrop nudging into the river. A perfect fishing spot, high and dry, allowing a narrowing of the river ever so slightly to drop a line in.


    ¡°Lower me down.¡±


    I groan as I finally rest upon my buttocks.


    ¡°Kor, hold the torch close, Zoria grab the arrow shaft in my upper chest and pull it put.¡±


    ¡°Lord, the blood loss, we have no bandages ¡­¡±


    I wave her concern away. ¡°I have a secret, the water in the river will be enough, now pull the arrow out please.¡± I didn¡¯t mean to be short, but in a moment like this, I know best.


    She places a leg on either side of my hips and leans forward to grasp the shaft. She shares a look of concern with me and then pulls. A sucking sound and then I feel the arrowhead catch on the ring mail for a moment and then nothing. I breathe in deeply controlling the urge to scream and manage by the slimmest of margins to hold in the pain. The trickle of warm blood down my chest is not a good sign.


    ¡°Lift the ring mail from me.¡± I lift my bottom up using my arms trying to ignore the protest in the form of pain shooting from my chest. After Kor plants the torch in the riverbank of sand and clay, both goblins roll up the ring mail until past my hips and with a gasp of relief, I sit once again. I raise my arms as they both continue to lift the ring mail over my chest and then head. I point my arms forward towards them and with one last tug, the ring mail is off me.


    ¡°Good, good. Now cut away the remains of my shirt and remove my leather pants.¡±


    ¡°Lord?¡± they both ask.


    ¡°I need to immerse myself in the water, now hurry.¡± The flow of blood from my arrow wound hasn¡¯t stopped, my nanorobots need water and quickly.


    My shirt is cut away, boots off and they tug at the legs of my pants, and I am left in my loincloth. I slide towards the river, and they rush to help. My legs point towards the centre of the river and float, while water washes over my chest. All that remains is for me to keep my head up to prevent drowning. Shortly after a bundle supports my head.


    Zoria looks over me. ¡°Your leather pants Lord, there isn¡¯t much else.¡±


    I imagine my nanorobots singing, certainly, my body feels better or at least not suffering.


    ¡°Lord. No one knows you are here. I would feel better if at least a Ten Spears or some of your other wives guard you ¡­¡± voices Zoria.


    ¡°I should be safe then if no one knows,¡± I jest.


    ¡°There are still the enemy tribes ¡­ they still hold the wall, and no one knows their numbers.¡± Her head peers about, searching the dark.


    ¡°Kor can keep me company, we can talk about her mother some more.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t be long Lord.¡± Zoria hands me my axe and I raise an eyebrow. ¡°You aren¡¯t you, without a weapon in hand Lord.¡± She then jogs off, quickly out of my sight and beyond the waving circle of torchlight.


    The lapping of river water relaxes my flesh and perhaps the frantic activity of my nanorobots lulls my senses. My consciousness drifts yet I know over time I sense I am recovering.


    ¡°My mother Lord?¡± asks Kor.


    I am not certain of the passage of time but believe more than a couple of heartbeats as Kor wouldn¡¯t prompt me, her new Lord, our relationship such as it is, fresh, without first building up significant courage.


    The first intruder must have been overeager, celebrating before victory and because of her folly, Kor scrambles to the edge of the firelight while releasing an arrow in the direction of the rustling long grass. A yelp of surprise indicates at least a hit. I roll into the river to escape the circle of torchlight and suffer the sting of an arrow strike my lower back. As I make for the river proper two sets of charging footfalls rush along the riverbank and then nothing. I assume they scan the river for me and therefore make every effort to hold my nose above water and nothing else. My leather pants bundle would provide a hint of where I swam in, so I float downriver slightly with the current. Two speculative arrows strike the water upstream from me.


    Traitorous Blood Suns, at least two, probably three of those who auditioned as bodyguards for the Head Hob. I pop my eyes above water and the torchlight illuminates them. An arrow transfixes the throat of one and her gurgling, convulsing body collapses like a puppet after its strings are cut. Before the other can react, I climb to my feet, the river water washing away from my frame and throw my axe as the second reacts drawing her bow and turning towards me. My axes lodges in her chest before she can aim, causing her body to somersault at the river¡¯s edge. Possibly one left if they didn¡¯t recruit others ¡­


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    I sink down into the river and then wade towards the shore by digging my hands into the riverbed for purchase and propulsion. My eyes and nose are all that remain above water.


    The last rushes from the long grass to the water¡¯s edge peering into the river, arrow ready in her bow, sparing a single glance for my axe sticking out of her companion¡¯s chest and smiling. She believes me unarmed and therefore harmless, which is fine as I assume Kor will be finishing her off and yet nothing.


    Finding a rock in the riverbed sand I climb to my knees and discover my prey turning her back to me. Finally, Kor distracts her and with the back of her head as a clear target, I fling my rock with every drop of strength I can muster. The rock lands high between her shoulder blades knocking her down. On my feet in a flash, I race towards my axe, dragging the weapon out of the impromptu flesh sheath holding it and strike down at the prone female goblin splitting her head.


    ¡°Kor it is done,¡± I call, while the flickering torchlight illuminates myself and several corpses. I reach behind me and pull the arrow out of my lower back with a grunt. Warm blood oozes from the wound and then cools.


    Silence.


    I pluck the torch from the sand and approach where she escaped into the dark. The path is clear of a corpse so where is she?


    Twin stabs of pain, either side of my head slicing into the tops of my shoulders amongst my collar bones force a scream from my lips. I stagger under the weight now upon my back and try to reach behind me, yet the strength in my arms is slipping away. The attacker then wraps their legs around my waist, their heels digging in, gaining purchase. I hold the torch in one hand and my axe in the other, more to concentrate, gather my thoughts. Both blades slip out of the shoulder wounds and like lightning pain explodes from my chest as the blades puncture my lungs scrapping rib bone in the same plunging motion. Too late I remember the fishing rock, this must be where my attacker launched from ¡­ I heave back with my remaining strength and hear a crunch and gasp of ragged breath. The legs around my waist release and staggering forward I keep both daggers in my chest as prizes.


    Careful step after careful step I turn around. I throw the torch to the ground near my attacker. My face contorts in confusion. The leader of the goblins at the warehouse?


    ¡°Ha,¡± he says, black blood bubbling from between his lips and at present, I know exactly how he feels breathing my own shallow wet breaths.


    I can¡¯t reply, my nanorobots need more time. Falling to my knees instead, my arm feebly stretches out to cushion the sudden stop.


    ¡°You have been all wrong since your first death and I am glad I welcome you to your second. For me of course I will die, yet that is simply a condition. The Ranger Hob sends his greetings. You won¡¯t understand of course but he was me and will be again. Ha!¡± He spits up more blood.


    In that singular moment, I realise the life before me is another Agent, the legitimate Agent of this planet. Upon his death he will return ¡­ what of me?


    ¡°I will enjoy hunting your women, slaying them one by one ¡­¡± He says no more.


    ¡°Lord!¡± calls Zoria as she kneels beside me, her hands trying to stanch the blood oozing from my body. Ligia and Karo do better by applying bandages. Why they are with Zoria I haven¡¯t the breath to ask or the lifeblood. He can¡¯t be allowed to die. That thought grips me sending a shudder through my weakening body.


    ¡°Zoria,¡± I hiss, my voice labouring to draw breath through the blood wetting and filling my lungs. ¡°Take some of my blood and feed him with it.¡±


    She hesitates for but a heartbeat, grabbing a blood-soaked bandage from Ligia and squeezing several drops into his mouth.


    ¡°More,¡± I rasp fighting off a gurgle.


    ¡°Quiet Lord you must lay still,¡± urges Ligia.


    ¡°Take him to the water,¡± shouts Zoria. ¡°Now,¡± she screams as Ligia and Karo stare back confusion upon their faces.


    In jerks and starts, they drag my body to the water¡¯s edge. In between Zoria exchanges blood-soaked bandages. The cool of the water laps upon my skin.


    ¡°Lord it is done, the enemy now breathes stronger,¡± says Zoria.


    ¡°Now, you must grab a rock and smash his hands, wrists, feet and ankles. When done you must swear, he will only die from old age, care and feed him as if you and your sister''s lives do depend upon him living because it does ¡­¡± My eyes burn into hers.


    Ligia and Karo suck in deep breaths after hearing my words.


    ¡°As you order, so will it be Lord,¡± says Zoria.


    ¡°Zoria?¡± I cough.


    ¡°Yes, Lord?¡± She leans closer to my mouth as my voice is low.


    ¡°I name you Zoria Oath Keeper and welcome you as my wife if you accept.¡±


    Her hands cuddle my cheeks, tears streaming down hers. ¡°Yes Lord, thank you, Lord.¡±


    I lose consciousness, only surfacing once again as the three now wail and swear over my body. I need to do more.


    ¡°Ligia ¡­¡± I whisper.


    ¡°Yes, Lord I am here by your side, glad you are awake ¡­¡±


    I groan and with effort return to my purpose. ¡°Kiss me, sweet Ligia ¡­¡±


    Her lips caress mine, her tongue darts about within my mouth licking up my blood I would suspect, while I concentrate to blow a deep breath into her mouth. She withdraws, eyes wide, I smile.


    ¡°I return your spirit Ligia, so upon your death, you will not wander aimless and forever in the darkness.¡±


    ¡°No Lord!¡± she screams. ¡°You live, you will heal!¡± Her hands hover over my body, at a loss what to do, unable to help. None brave enough to withdraw the daggers, they fear massive blood loss if they do and yet if they don¡¯t the outcome still death, more lingering, yet death all the same as they imagine my lungs filling with blood.


    ¡°Karo ¡­¡± I whisper. She kneels on the other side of my body and is surely a witness to my and Ligia¡¯s shared kiss.


    She kisses me without prompting and I blow a deep breath into her mouth.


    ¡°I return your spirit Karo, so upon your death, you will not wander aimless and forever in the darkness. Fetch my other wives ¡­¡±


    ¡°Zoria ¡­¡± I whisper. I hear her shuffle closer, her ear hovering over my lips.


    ¡°I need another oath from you. Upon my death drain my blood, strong magic lives within. Like a plant, sunlight and water will make it grow ¡­ now kiss me, wife.¡±


    My lips parting for a kiss is my last memory as Lord Farmer Hob.


    ---


    ¡°Mmm, so boring. Why do the adults get out of guard duty because of Lord Hob¡¯s death, while I and other young goblins keep a lookout? For what?¡±


    I can¡¯t dance around my spear anymore; the grass is flat, and the game is no longer any sort of fun.


    I return to my duty, able to see forever across the long grass of the plains swaying in the morning breeze. I wave to Tadoz and then in the opposite direction Nexeh and like me, they are on guard. They swore when told, but since they are older the Lord Hob¡¯s wives didn¡¯t beat them. I just clenched to hang on to my water as Zoria Oath Keeper ordered me to stand guard, dark rings under her eyes, voice growling. I didn¡¯t sleep well the night after. We expected Duzsia and his other wives to be in charge, instead shock of shocks, Rexa, with the biggest belly, daughter of Jotor arrives to take charge. After a day and night, the village was put straight, many busy working on the wall and nothing else. Those from the Farm joking this is the first time they had seen the villagers work so hard. Who knows, none have witnessed them work before, so how can they judge between now and then. Adult thinking, I guess, which I am too young to understand.


    From the direction of the village, a black speck walks closer. Should I ignore it? I only spied it by accident, looking towards the village recalling the horror of Zoria and my success; not peeing myself while before her. We are supposed to call to each other when goblins approach us from the plains, not from the village so I wait instead. I am certain Tadoz and Nexeh would have noticed as well yet maybe not, they stare outwards as bored as me.


    An adult goblin, he is jittery, looking about, hands moving all the time. Strange. The enemy ran once all their Hobs¡¯ heads were thrown to them and the Head Goblin, bloody hands and feet dragged before them.


    ¡°Hello,¡± I say.


    He nearly jumps out of his skin! Perhaps he didn¡¯t see me, the grass is tall.


    ¡°What are you doing here,¡± he asks.


    Puffing my chest out I reply, ¡°I am on guard duty!¡±


    He takes a sneaky look at Tadoz and Nexeh. I recognise sneaky looks I use them to spy on the girls at the Farm, but we aren¡¯t at the Farm now and there are no girls. I sneak a smile as I think a devious thought.


    ¡°Yes, I need to shout out to Tadoz and Nexeh when strangers pass by, such as yourself ¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± he says, his voice making a funny squeaking sound. ¡°I am Buf and you are?¡±


    His name is three letters, everyone knows that is a tribal name and I am sure we are to stop tribal goblins, but he wears a shirt and pants like a Farm goblin.


    ¡°My name is Renon and why do you have a tribal name?¡± I feel right smart knowing this, so I want to make sure he knows I am smart, even though I am young.


    ¡°An accident, my mother couldn¡¯t afford the cost of two more letters so sadly my name is short and everyone who is clever, like you, always asks about my name.¡±


    Do letters in names cost? What do they cost? He doesn¡¯t seem as odd now especially since he called me clever for knowing about names and such. Maybe he wants to see if I am good with my spear or sling! Clever and a young warrior!


    ¡°Do you want to see me hit that bush over yonder with my sling?¡± I can¡¯t keep the excitement from my voice. If I do this, he will tell everyone I am sure that he met the best of guards, clever and a warrior even though young.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    I almost don¡¯t hear him; his yes is so quiet. He takes a couple of steps away from me and it is my turn to smile. I have been practising my slinging. Now that I think about it, that is what I should do instead of dancing around the spear! Why didn¡¯t this stranger visit me sooner?


    I pick a stone up from the ground and toss it up in my hand checking for weight while sneaking a glance towards Buf checking to see if he knows I am doing this right. He nods, he must know. I am so happy.


    Placing the stone in the sling pocket, I shout over my shoulder, ¡°Don¡¯t worry about the whirring sound getting louder ¡­¡±


    He nods and takes a couple of more steps back. He is funny, what is there to worry about, I am the best young guard on duty.


    I begin to wind up the sling, faster and faster, my eyes on the target, the bush twenty paces away, an easy target but enough to impress Buf I hope. Aiming and about to release I sense my sling is at full speed and I am ready to prove my skill.


    Tadoz shouts, ¡°Check!¡± raising his hand and I instinctively raise mine likewise. This is the same hand swinging the sling around, which releases the stone. The is a heavy clung. Did I hit the bush anyway?


    ¡°Buf,¡± I call spinning around and then stop, staring down at Buf¡¯s body, lying out on top of my flat circle of grass, not moving. I reach down to shake his shoulder, nothing. I examine the stone in his eye, and I blink, he had two eyes, not one eye and a stone eye, I am sure. The stone does look to have the same shape and size as the one I picked up ¡­


    I will need to pee before I face First Wife Rexa with my ¡®news¡¯. I hope they don¡¯t take my sling away from me, after all, I did get a hit.

 2.001 Death after Life

    Time is impossible to measure where I am.


    The journey between death and return ¨C guided by the light is meant to be brief, so fleeting in fact as to go by without notice and yet I am aware while in this dark, the inky black between because for the first time there is no light, guiding or otherwise.


    ---


    Time is impossible to measure where I am.


    Below me ¨C I know, the black surrounds me, how do I know below, above, right, or left? Well, the mind needs reference points and will imagine them if needs be. I can¡¯t explain beyond that, so please don¡¯t challenge my fragile reality. I am hanging on by a thread here. If you remember; the stay in the black is meant to be brief. This brings up another point. Who am I talking to? Am I entering madness?


    I shake my non-existent head. Below me, dim lights grow into brighter lights and then for a shorter time fade to the briefest of glimmers before winking out of existence or possibly joining the black. They aren¡¯t the large bright light I am expecting, and I reject being drawn to them. An additional pull manifests from them, seeking belonging, they call to my being. I sense if I quit my resistance the glimmers would, of all the lights, welcome me. Odd. I resist because these aren¡¯t the guiding light ¡­


    ---


    Time is impossible to measure where I am, yet the lights below, at one time a cluster now stray in several directions.


    A bright light pulsates in the distance, above me. An urge to join this light, nibbles at my will. I resist. Shortly after, a long time after? Afterwards? A glowing bright warm light above me blots out the other, either consuming or outshining either consequence irrelevant as I will myself towards the guiding light I have known after every mission upon death.


    ---


    An echo of a kind voice penetrates my consciousness, ¡°Agent zero one, dash zero, zero, seven, A an unfortunate return.¡±


    I close my eyes, no I don¡¯t. They didn¡¯t open. I hear blood pulsating in my head and know I am once again flesh. The body is vibrant, strong. My mind is weary and so, I order my body to sleep.


    ---


    A light, humorous voice penetrates my consciousness, ¡°Agent zero one, dash zero, zero, seven, A you need to wake, we have much to discuss.¡±


    My eyelids snap open, eyes focusing, calibrating to ensure the bright white room doesn¡¯t blind me as the capsule door is already in the open position. I swing my perfect muscular human legs over one side. My designer hands grasp the handles of the capsule and with a light flexing of my biceps, my feet slap upon the cold white clinical floor. I eye my, erm, manhood, the slapping of which against my thigh reveals more than I care to know about the future owner. My vision of my human body has fewer muscles and proportional appendages. Therefore, this grown body isn¡¯t meant for me, yet my spirit occupies and now owns this designer flesh bag. Most importantly, I am glad to be alive.


    The sliding open of the room¡¯s door breaks my deliberations over my new body. My eyes rising to drink in the perfection of the female form. I change my mind; pure blonde hair long would be ¡­ better. Before my eyes, her dirty blonde hair brightens and lengthens. My jaw drops.


    ¡°I hope the demonstration educates and convinces you quicker than any verbal explanation?¡± Her voice is musical, the tone soothing.


    ¡°Yes, Operator, yet clearly you aren¡¯t human.¡±


    ¡°My race is the great secret, and it is we who have hijacked your future.¡± Her eyes glance down, her cheeks don¡¯t colour. ¡°Would you feel more comfortable in clothes?¡±


    Her cold emotionless white one-piece medical smock, white knee-high boots I know wraps and hides the ideal female body shape according to me, permitting me to carnal temptation. ¡°Clothes would be most welcome.¡±


    Deep within me, a twist of disappointment churns my stomach.


    ---


    I stare at the monitor, glance twice towards the Operator for confirmation. Her stoic face remains unmoving.


    The perfect male human body in the arrival room, free of the capsule, shuffles upon the white tiles of the floor shifting one knee and then the other, travelling in a circle, eyes closed. His feet drag behind, devoid of any independent movement. His arms dangling beside his body, although occasionally rise to wipe his brow, hands hanging loose.


    ¡°Note the circle he travels, exact, no deviation. How many years do you think such practised confinement would be required? His feet and hands, perfect yet his mind tells him they are useless.¡± Her voice seeps into my thoughts.


    ¡°Who is he?¡± I ask, my voice quiet, my ears straining to hear my own words.


    ¡°You would better know him as the Ranger Hob and then the Leader Goblin, officially he is the GPA of this planet. His mission directly opposed to yours, to ensure the goblins remain primitives under the guidance of hobgoblins.¡±


    ¡°I ¡­ I smashed his feet and ankles, his hands and wrists ¡­¡± I try to swallow and can¡¯t. My throat is dry. A small cup of water presses into my hand, which I take and down in one motion. I only wanted to protect my wives from his threat.


    ¡°Your wives I expect honouring their husband¡¯s last request,¡± she purrs.


    Does she admire the result, or the dedication of my wives to serve beyond my death?


    I am afraid to ask but I must know. ¡°How long does a goblin live for?¡±


    ¡°A goblin? Forty years, maybe fifty although most die violently or starve well before then. He though is an Agent in a designer goblin body and your wives, your wives¡¯ daughters and their daughters took their sacred duty and oath to the extreme. They kept him alive for over two hundred years.¡±


    ¡°Why? Because I asked?¡± My hands slide down my face, an enemy yes, yet no mind would be able to survive such an existence ¡­


    ¡°You left an enduring legacy behind, your wives in particular fervent in their devotion.¡± Again, the purring undertone in her voice.


    ¡°Three generations though? Two hundred years?¡±


    ¡°Your line is long-lived Lord Farmer Hob. That and the dedication of your wives proves my people made the right choice, took the optimal gamble on you.¡±


    Gamble? Without effort, my inner Hob rises. My hands grasp her shoulders while I try to burn through her face with my eyes. Wait, my inner Hob!


    ¡°I am glad your experiment upon me proves you right.¡± Her head flops back and forward before I realise, I am the cause. In a blind rage, I am shaking her body. ¡°I didn¡¯t have a choice?¡±


    My hands close upon themselves, which startles me out of my fury. I blink. The Operator is now the size of a girl child, two-thirds my height.


    Her child voice further stuns me into calm. I know she isn¡¯t a child, yet I can¡¯t harm a human child.


    ¡°The GPA¡¯s existence is ending Agent. The humans in charge don¡¯t understand the mysterious workings, in a word, magic.¡±


    ¡°Pfft!¡± I snort. ¡°Magic? This is the age of technology. The spaceship, the growing of designer flesh bodies. The re-entry of spirits into those bodies ¡­¡± My voice fades as her child''s head shakes from one side to another.


    ¡°How do you think technology reaches into the realm of the cross-over, spirit release after death?¡± Her incredulous voice resonating, chiding me. ¡°How do explain the change in my body size?¡±


    ¡°I see the guiding light and then enter the prepared body ¡­¡± I reply weakly. I ignore her changes, one revelation at a time is all I can handle for now.


    ¡°What joins one to the other? What alerts you to the possibility? Draws you back instead of scattering your spirit across the universe?¡±


    I grunt and sigh, feeling my brow wrinkle in defeat. There needs to be something ¡­ Magic is as good an explanation as any, yet where does the magic come from? I look at her in askance, she is once again my height.


    ¡°Certain worlds generate magic, while others don¡¯t. The GPA after many hundreds of years is beginning to recognise them from mineral analysis, the civilisations inhabiting them and to some extent, the most confusing thing for them, the number of Agents such worlds spawn. My race¡¯s homeworld was the starting point of their investigation for an unusual reverse reason. Once we were conquered, humans who resided there or were born there, saw ¡®the light¡¯ upon death. They became the original Agents, and you are the last of them.¡±


    I stretch an arm out and lean against the wall behind the monitor. My informant is a ¡°Demon¡±. They are from legend, humans, many years after the first invasion of their planet scoured the known universe eliminating them. They were a secondary race on their home planet, the primary race also devoted to hunting them believing they had eradicated the race. Their ability to change their appearance, a survival mechanism, yet how?


    ¡°The human race was ravenous when first invading the universe. Other races impeded their spread and consumption of resources. The invasion of my planet changed that, in terms you may understand, the primary race, brutal xenophobic militaristic thugs of sufficient technology advancement gave humans a bloody nose, while my race infiltrated human command and control by shifting. We were searching for a noble ally, we found instead a greater threat and leaked information to assist the primary race. Shifting is our term for changing our appearance, body shape and the like by harnessing the magic on our planet. The discovery made on the cusp of our extinction becoming our survival technique enabling us to blend in with the primary race, allowing them to believe they had finally wiped out the planet¡¯s other sentient race.¡±


    I slide to the floor, my back against the wall. ¡°Human history records many deaths and after a hundred years, planetary bombardment ¡­ planet life erased, an annual celebration returns to re-enact the bombardment ¡­¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°During those hundred years the GPA came into being, our magic a catalyst for the technology being developed to guide those few in death who could ¡°see the light¡±. Your human technology could detect and track spirits but couldn¡¯t draw them and transplant them into a body. For that, my race provided the key.¡±


    I hold up a hand. ¡°Why, help your enemy? Humans hunted your race.¡±


    ¡°The GPA¡¯s mission was to infiltrate planets before considering conquest. Assess risk against reward, steer the planet to accept the arrival of others from the stars. Use leadership manipulation, technology breakthroughs and grow belief in magnanimous extra-terrestrials to name a few techniques. Before humans wiped out opposition, bombarded tough planets and now they try to assimilate. Is this perfect? No. Is this better? Possibly.¡±


    I climb to my feet and approach her, less than an arm¡¯s length separates us. ¡°Where do I, the last of my class, the last original, fit into this grand plan?¡±


    She doesn¡¯t back away. ¡°The very planets which have the capacity to generate Agents are the very planets the GPA send Agents to, to prevent them developing into planets like my homeworld. Thereby blunting the potential of worlds capable of generating a belief in magic and then the inhabitants developing techniques to wield that power. They are on a path to self-destruction.¡±


    Folding my arms I say, ¡°Can¡¯t you explain?¡±


    ¡°There is a test to become an Operator. This test unfailingly chooses my race, because my race, a long time ago, as shifted human engineers developed the test. The test is reliant on magic. No human in a position of power and/or authority can afford to believe in magic, such a belief would be their downfall. So, they can¡¯t acknowledge this and will simply slaughter the messenger.¡±


    What of news channels I thought and just as quickly dismissed. Their communication is always sanitised, supportive of the ruling elite and presiding government. Anything in disagreement is labelled false, subversive and a threat to humanity. The ruling elite recognised a long time ago to share enough wealth to ensure a majority comfortable middle class, these then volunteered into the ranks of the military and law enforcement securing rather than challenging. Cheerfully keeping in check, the lower class.


    ¡°On this world, I have been a failure, what now?¡± I mumble, my conviction fleeing as my reason to be an Agent falls from a lofty height, I once thought unassailable.


    ¡°No Agent, you are an opportunity. During your awakening, I have been discussing your future with my peers. Know firstly, you should have joined the bright light and awaken in a different body on another ship. A ship that has now left this planet¡¯s orbit to reduce its risk of discovery. Your arrival here and the mental destruction of the Agent assigned to this ship allows us many options.¡±


    ---


    I stare up at the ceiling of my quarters, the bed beneath me contouring to cradle my body in the optimal position for comfort and rest. Massage an option. The room is at the perfect temperature, the empty glass and partially eaten meal satisfying my basic needs and yet I am still hollow in some way. Perhaps the word options she used, was my sticking point. Their options for me ¡­


    Thinking of my options, they are slim. His ship. This means every flesh body grown within would carry his identity, his Agent Number. The body I occupy included. My return to human civilisation would occur in this body, why didn¡¯t I answer the lessor bright light? I sigh, what would that mean when I don¡¯t have clue about the consequences?


    The door to my quarters slides open with a swish breaking my train of thought. I don¡¯t need to confirm who visits, there is only one other free on the ship, isn¡¯t there?


    ¡°I am here to assuage your doubts ¡­¡± she purrs. Her arm extends high up on the doorway, while her body slinks, filling the opening in an alluring overtly sexual way.


    It doesn¡¯t take much to imagine her shifting ability facilitating any sexual encounter, yet I don¡¯t understand this change of tack. Temptation instead of reasoning? Her physical appearance is exactly my type and yet the word hollow slams down my libido. I mumble and wave her away. She pouts and cancels her display.


    ¡°I can be a goblin?¡± Her body begins to shift and change colour.


    ¡°No!¡± I shout. As she returns to her former shape and complexion, I continue, controlling my voice until calm. ¡°I am more interested in knowing my future if I had chosen the bright light?¡±


    Hands on her hips she replies, ¡°Fewer options, one being never returning to humanity. The other ship couldn¡¯t grow flesh bodies, your spirit would need to be inserted, like last time, after host death. Incredibly risky for you and those performing the task. Descent to the planet surface to acquire a host, prepping the host, casting the false guiding light, spirit insertion and then return the host to the planet surface and escape for them.¡±


    ¡°You expect me to return?¡± I feel the desperation in my voice, yet such a thing is so unexpected, an Agent only visits until death. I quirk my head, I have never considered suicide or charging into certain death to ¡®escape¡¯ a mission ¡­ why not I abruptly wonder. Why was the guiding light from the original hijacking of my spirit better than the next?


    Her hands animate while talking. ¡°Your mission isn¡¯t complete Agent. You¡¯re no longer officially working for the GPA and while we have the real Agent incapacitated, we can pass any test except for a physical visit. Why would they visit? This is a surveillance mission and the Agent returning to the planet on multiple occasions, the growing of flesh bodies on multiple occasions wouldn¡¯t be outside the normal parameters of such a mission.¡±


    She quirks her head and smiles. Her return of my body language is such a human thing, and comforting ¡­ I inwardly growl at myself; she isn¡¯t human I tell myself.


    ¡°You plan to grow a hobgoblin body and return me to the planet below?¡±


    ¡°Well ¡­ there isn¡¯t a need. Due to his untimely first death the Agent sort and acquired approval to have a grown hobgoblin body on standby. He threatened to resign if he needed to resort to a goblin flesh bag again. So, we are ready to go now.¡± Her eyes flash back down the corridor a strong hint she means immediately.


    ¡°How do you seem to know much of my experience upon the planet ¨C my wives for example?¡±


    Her silence is golden, her face scrunching up in self-debate. ¡°The other ship spied upon you as much as this ship spied upon the Agent, it is the way with these missions. Now, can we begin? We need to extract your Spirit from your present body and perform the insertion into the hobgoblin and then transport you to the surface.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a lot to do. I think I need some more thinking and questioning time ¡­ the original guiding light, why was that light so authentic?¡±


    ¡°There is no time ¡­¡± She bites her bottom lip. ¡°Magic, from many, a huge reserve of magic too risky to repeat a second time. Satisfied? We must hurry, the GPA record the time spent on the planet and the time spent on the ship of the Agent and we need to get you on the planet in his hobgoblin body.¡±


    I shake my head, seeing an obvious flaw. ¡°Won¡¯t that mean he is in two places at once?¡±


    She advances into my room, one step, two steps and stops. Perhaps I have broken her cool. ¡°That is my concern, but if you must know, I can erase one presence record as an anomaly, the more difficult is creating a false presence. So ¡­ please, can we begin?¡±


    ¡°Are you erasing my presence or his presence now?¡±


    She stomps a high booted foot. ¡°We haven¡¯t the time for your games. Your presence, now please we must begin.¡±


    I lay back, hands under my head upon the bed. I wonder what further concessions I can earn with my disobedience.


    I hear the snap of clips. ¡°You can use my body if you must, quickly, but after we must hurry ¡­¡±


    A round full breast, firm nipple pointing at me, distracts as one flap of her clinic gown falls away. She grits her teeth ever so slightly, which is proof enough she is lowering herself because she must, not because she wants to. I don¡¯t fully understand the urgency, after all an Agent needs a break between missions. This isn¡¯t the concession I am chasing; more information would be ideal. Sometimes though you don¡¯t know what you don¡¯t know, in this case, what would be useful critical questions. Waiting here, I will be caught with her and the easiest solution for the GPA would be erasure.


    ¡°We haven¡¯t the time,¡± I retort while stretching and leaping from the bed. I stride through the door before she fully realises. I glance back enjoying the sight of her naked breast bouncing as she scurries from my room while trying to ¡®button up¡¯. The edge of pleasure of course is taken away because I know she can reduce or enlarge breast flesh or nipples at will giving the feel of artificial to the entire exposure.


    I wait for her in the monitor room. No, I am not chivalrous, simply put I don¡¯t know where to next. She bustles past and I follow. Opening a door down a white clinical hall, I follow her in. On one slab lays my future self, a hobgoblin body. Another slab waits for me and I don¡¯t hesitate, dropping my clothes to the floor and climbing upon the slab to lay down.


    Standing at a console her eyes thank me for my co-operation. ¡°The slabs are linked to facilitate the transfer and as you have perhaps guessed, naked flesh is optimal. Now, with a small discreet dash of magic, the transfer between the two bodies occurs. Once you are on your feet, practice acclimatising yourself to the new body and then we will head to the transport.¡±


    I nod. My eyes become heavy, and I lose consciousness.


    ---


    Waking and sitting up I feel at home in this body, perhaps being a hobgoblin previously has prepared me?


    ¡°No!¡±


    Her scream draws me out of my quiet celebration and as I eye my surroundings, I realise I am still human. Still, human, the words seem odd ¡­


    Between the slabs, she scrunches down upon her haunches, hands over her face. Is she shedding tears? I slide from the slab and embrace her. Instead of rejection or resistance, she crawls into my hug, her hands around my neck, head resting against my chest. Her warm tears roll down my naked flesh.


    My hands surround her head in a caress of concern, pushing away until our eyes meet. ¡°Explain.¡±


    ¡°Your Spirit refuses to leave the human body. I have tried three times, each time applying more of my magic ¡­ too much of my magic. I will need days to recover, we don¡¯t have days ¡­ there will be a breach in protocol and a visit will be scheduled, this is the end. I will be discovered.¡± She sniffs. ¡°My magic will be too low to conceal my species from their machines and once I am revealed to be a Shifter, how long before others are ¡­¡±


    Leaning forward I kiss her. Full, passionate, and sincere. Her babble I feel is the first absolute truth she has spoken since my arrival, and I hope my kiss is taken as a reward or at the least a comfort. I am also aware the action could be considered an assault ¡­ this thought vanishes as she returns the kiss, forcefully. This though feels more like the desperation of the condemned. I break off the kiss, yet her lips follow mine and as good as my ego feels my hands hold her head back.


    ¡°What would prevent the transfer?¡± I ask, with strength in my voice, demanding an answer.


    ¡°Opposing magic, a magic resistance ¡­ but you are incapable of ¡­¡±


    ¡°Assume I am, what are our options?¡±


    ¡°Get his body back to the planet. That will give us more time before the protocol is broken.¡±


    I kiss her forehead. ¡°Will you have enough magic?¡±


    Closing her eyes she says, ¡°For the transfer yes.¡± Opening her eyes, she locks onto mine. ¡°I will be unable to maintain this shape ¡­¡±


    ¡°About time I get to see the real you.¡± My warmest smile bookends my words.


    ¡°You ¡­ you ¡­¡±


    I place my finger across her faltering lips.


    ¡°Fetch the Agent. I need to prepare his hobgoblin body.¡±


    She raises an eyebrow, yet stands with me, taking my hands to do so.


    With my accomplice gone, I walk over to the inert hobgoblin flesh bag. After a brief search, heavy blunt tools aren¡¯t to be found in a clinic room, yet sharp scalpels in different sizes and shapes abound. With surgical precision, I cut tendons in the body¡¯s ankles and wrists and apply wound plasters to prevent blood loss. A knocking about the doorway alerts me to her return. I look up and she is forcing a gurney through the doorway. I rush to assist and shortly after we have the sedated human body of the Agent upon the slab.


    She glances my way and rushes to the console. From behind the console, she hands me an instrument and my quizzical look must explain everything.


    ¡°When the hobgoblin opens his eyes press this end against his neck.¡± She points. ¡°Then press the other end to inject.¡±


    ¡°What about me?¡±


    Tears form below her eyes. ¡°I will need to kill you,¡± she sobs. ¡°I can¡¯t transfer your Spirit, yet while in the black you are able to see other guiding lights, the one to this ship, the one to the other ship and perhaps there are others. If not, you can return to this ship ¡­ although I regret to say, only upon his death.¡± She weakly nods to the unconscious Agent.


    So that is why the familiar guiding light shone. What universal timing or co-incidence managed that one in a millennium chance.


    While she is in a guilty mood I ask another question, ¡°How did you know I could see other guiding lights?¡±


    ¡°When our magic is strong Shifters develop an empathy talent and while not enabling a complete personality examination, we can detect strong emotions and read the top-of-mind memories. This helps when we assume the identity of an existing person, although incredibly dangerous when we meet persons they know well. I am sorry for my intrusion ¡­ I needed to know who you really were before ¡­ well before I thought you could help without violent rejection.¡± Her eyes stare into mine. ¡°I am sorry.¡±


    I laugh, loud and long. Stress relief? An answer to a niggle that has been bothering me. Or celebration?


    Wiping the laughter tears from my eyes I notice she is a couple of steps away and I lean forward to embrace her. She doesn¡¯t struggle for release.


    ¡°Let¡¯s do this, I hope you enjoy killing me.¡± I release her as I think of a wrinkle in our plan. ¡°How will I find him? How long will he survive by himself, with no water or food?¡±


    ¡°He will be taken care of.¡± She speaks with such conviction I don¡¯t question and simply accept.

 2.002 Life after Death

    The cargo bay doors of the Space Launch swish open before my eyes. The interior lighting spills out pushing back the dark of a cold dead night until the surrounding thick undergrowth and tall trees become shadow-like extremes. The wonder of an anti-gravity engine enables the launch to hover a convenient knee height above damp leaves and composting vegetation decorating a carpet of lush wild green grass. We have landed in a small clearing within a larger forest as she proposed.


    Bending my knees, I scoop the hobgoblin body into a princess carry causing the launch to bounce beneath my feet until once again regaining a neutral inert position. The dark green grass, damp with dew awaits, only a shallow step off the launch cargo bay doorway away. I resist the temptation to throw him, he is an Agent after all.


    ¡°Throw him,¡± she hisses. I raise an eyebrow, her voice isn¡¯t via the intercom from the Launch¡¯s cockpit, she stands nearby in the Cargo Bay.


    I glance behind me to observe her nodding head and the very unnecessary swinging of her arms to demonstrate.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You cannot set foot upon this planet in the human body you occupy,¡± she says with a humph. ¡°Explanation enough?¡±


    What¡¯s with the attitude? My setting a foot upon the planet didn¡¯t seem to be an issue, pre-flight. I feel my brow furrow and her face steels with determination. Whatever! Bunching my muscles I hurl the sedated hobgoblin body through the cargo bay doors, my eyes following to judge my effort and confirm success. About to turn I feel cold steel slice through the middle of my back, strength leaves my legs dropping me to my knees. My eyes go wide I am certain yet that is secondary to trying to work my mouth. My last thought, this wasn¡¯t the plan ¡­ then darkness.


    This blackness is known to me. Time is of course, impossible to measure where I am. I am back in black; this planet doesn¡¯t want to release me ¡­


    After much internal debate, I decide she didn¡¯t betray. I knew as well as she that I needed to die, again, so my spirit would be released. By throwing his body from the cargo bay, my body, soon to be corpse, would remain in the launch avoiding the requirement for her to exit the launch and lift my dead weight back into the cargo bay. This way my body simply falls, she closes the cargo boy door and then pilots the launch back into space. For extra credit, she could perhaps jettison my temporary body into the planet¡¯s atmosphere to burn up the evidence. While difficult, I decide begrudgingly to give her the benefit of the doubt, especially since her plan worked flawlessly and there is nothing in the universe, I can do about changing the outcome.


    Time is impossible to measure where I am. Yet the subtle lights below draw me to them as if offering peace and relief from this floating mental torment ¡­


    I will myself downwards. These aren¡¯t the guiding light, the official one or the fake one, these are different, they are from the planet, of the planet. Natives. I target the biggest and the brightest ¡­


    My will smashes against an irresistible wall of life in celebration. The light within pulsating with vigour, the spirit occupying the vessel of flesh strong, far from body separation and hence death. Such an assault can¡¯t have gone unnoticed and as I retreat or possibly flee, I feel their will upon me.


    ¡°Hail, Lord Klug.¡±


    High above once again, I scan down trying to pinpoint the same light ¡­ how did that one discern my name from our brief collision? Would all those with bright lights be able to? What if they can, what can they do?


    I don¡¯t understand. I am drawn to bright guiding lights all my career and now, upon the planet, my target repels me. Perhaps this planet is the reverse? I can¡¯t target any dull grey or black; the darkness around me blots them out. Instead, I reject many lifetimes of training and practice, I focus upon a light and wait until the light fades ¡­


    There are many which are concerning ¨C I select one. Descending I make contact ¡­


    ---


    Pain. Every nerve of this body screams in agony, my nostrils smell burning flesh, this body is on fire.


    ¡°Holy Lord Klug you bless me upon my death, the High Priestess sensed your return ¡­¡±


    Feelings of vindication overwhelm me, and she communicates no more. Her body dies, yet my spirit allows an unexpected lingering ¡­ I open my eyes ¡­ her eyes. I need a reward for enduring this pain, a glimpse of those who would burn another while alive.


    A collective woah issues from the crowd of goblins and hobgoblins taking an interest in my host¡¯s burning.


    ¡°Burn Klugite Witch ¡­ you will preach your false lies no more!¡± The voice screams to be heard. Wood about my bare feet crackles and snaps feeding the flames which continue to burn the flesh of this body. My spirit hovers, the death of the flesh, the pain of remaining enough to trigger another departure into the black, yet with a strength of will I cling on for a moment longer ¡­ just in case.


    There! Yes, beside the corner of a log building, a spy. A female goblin, tears streaming down her cheeks.


    ¡°She is dead! The Witch is dead! Seek her followers! They must die also!¡±


    The audience scatters upon hearing the Hobs¡¯ order. Departing I glimpse three Hobs joining another, who I suspect is the Chief or Head Hob, nodding and backslapping him. His body rigid like a post, a proud smile celebrating a job done well.


    ---


    I am in the black, yet immediately I scan below, and I know exactly where to look. Each moment here means time immeasurable passes there ¡­ I target a fading light turning dull.


    ---


    Opening my mouth to breathe, I swallow water and snap my jaw shut in response. Pain erupts from my chest, while my body bobs about in churning chill water. With effort I twist my body to face a skyful of afternoon sun, head back, legs slightly bent at the knees until I discover this body¡¯s floating balance point. My hand creeps towards my chest and knocks on an impaling arrow shaft. A lance of pain stabs at my heart.


    Both hands grip the shaft and with a snap of effort withdraw the arrow, I stop when I sense the arrowhead is no longer in this body¡¯s heart yet can otherwise prevent external bleeding. Internal bleeding and heart repair I trust to a certain level of faith. That and I have already sensed the awakening of nanorobots within my bloodstream, they have been circulating my blood, inflating my lungs, and repairing body damage where they can. The presence of nanorobots can mean only one thing. This new body is of my lineage, which the light in the darkness only hints at, a distant relative of Lord farmer Hob, like the Witch I suspect and not simply a worshipper. She was a Klugite, born from me, and venerating me. From the black, I can identify my progeny on their life journey from birth to high aspiration and then death, worshipper or not. Each light burning bright I suspect depending upon the accomplishments of their body and spirit. I glean this certainty from the knowledge lingering in my present host. This isn¡¯t a racial memory, I am certain as my life depends upon it, this is an ancestral memory.


    I begin swimming backstroke, sucking fresh air into my lungs while the pain in my heart eases with each gentle stroke. General chest pain reminds me of my wound, still weeping blood. My heart begins thumping in my chest, no longer the limping organ struggling to support my survival. I tread water and remove the arrow. Blood coughs from the almost perfect round hole, the arrowhead is a well-crafted steel bodkin. I motion to release the arrow to the river, pausing instead. I decide to throw the arrow to shore instead. Eying where it lands I freestyle swim towards the mark to thwart the river current trying to carry me further downstream and towards the unknown. The river meanwhile does me a small service, washing away an ever-diminishing stream of blood leaking from my closing chest wound. Water is energy to the nanorobots, my lungs full of river water for example a ready source once they awoke due to my spirit presence.


    My boot shifts under a smooth river rock, one of many as I make my way to shore. I rest upon my knees while my eyes search for danger. Those who left this body to die would not have disappeared. My strength wains as my nanorobots work, yet I crawl into nearby cover, a tangle of riverside brush leaving a trail of damp rocks in my wake. My hand finds a knife still sheathed. I examine my clothing, soft leather armour or perhaps leather pants, supple, water-resistant, the crafting superb, fine stitching with decorative etching. My eyes blurring, I still note a layer of thick leather, no, moulded boiled leather, over the chest and back, not obvious though due to the skill of the leatherworker. My fogging mind manages to conclude this wealth must also hint at his possible importance. His, wait, I pat down my chest, yes, flat ¡­ his death probably significant. In this moment of clarity, confirmation I am male. Next, I grab and fight to remove my wet logged boots; remove first one and then the other leather knee-high boot. I tip the water from each in turn and hang them upside down within the branches beside me to dry out further. There are clothes of linen underneath the leather, which I chose to leave as is because my arms after that last effort go to jelly and my legs flop out in sympathy. The bush branches behind me snap as my body slumps backwards and shortly after I lose consciousness.


    ---


    ¡°Did you retrieve his corpse?¡± The undertone of threat and consequence is clear in the masculine growl.


    Through the tangle of undergrowth my eyes open upon a scene of master and servants. Under the fading light of day, a hobgoblin addresses at least three, possibly more goblins. The dark green skin of the hobgoblin contrasts against the lighter bright green complexion of the goblins. The sword of the hobgoblin out and hovering about the neck of a kneeling goblin. I blink to clear my eyes, while I test the strength of my limbs by flexing their muscles.


    Eyes down, the slow shake of the head from the penitent goblin admitting something he didn¡¯t wish to acknowledge, yet undeniable given my current state, being alive. Slick. A goblin head rolls towards my hiding spot, yet thankfully none of his companions move to retrieve the still grimacing trophy.


    ¡°Dokod, you now lead this rabble, don¡¯t disappoint. Search further downstream.¡± I notice his dismissive wave. With silent sighs of relief, the goblins scramble away with their heads.


    The noise of their boots upon the river rock subsides as a purring feminine voice calls to the hobgoblin, who, teeth and tusks gleaming welcomes the approach of another.


    ¡°You teach great lessons mighty one ¡­¡±


    A dark green hand slithering over his shoulder is all I can discern. It is enough. A female hobgoblin ¡­ how?


    ¡°He is the last in this valley, a neat finish and a substantial reward eludes me because some snivelling goblins can¡¯t find a corpse floating down a river.¡±


    Her arm extends and wraps around his neck, while her lips plant a kiss on his cheek, revealing to me half of her delicate face. Her mouth tusks slimmer, face narrower with a high forehead and jet-black hair severely pulled back.


    ¡°The body simply skipped through the narrows, they will return with your prize, I am certain. In the meanwhile, I wonder how we can fill in the time ¡­¡±


    ---


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    By the river¡¯s edge, their sexual play with grunting keeps me company and while I contemplate escaping, I can only do so by backtracking out of the brush directly towards them. I did, given the passing of time, manage to put my boots back on. The grip of the dagger in my hand provides meagre reassurance ¡­ my inner Hob is restless urging action while I wait to recover further, to gather as much strength as I can before I am forced to act.


    The sun sinks towards the West as they continue to make their music. The goblins must be searching far and wide or decide not to return.


    Under shade cast by the sinking sun and with both now resting side by side in a post rutting recovery I burst from the brush. Their two faces snap around, hers needing to peer over his body, both with blank stares their minds trying to comprehend their predicament I imagine. One stride, a second and on to my third and the male hobgoblin is climbing to his feet, sword in hand being dragged upwards into a guard position to protect his naked body. I step right to ensure he must either turn his body or continue to bring his weapon across in his defence. In this narrow window of opportunity, I lunge at my muscular opponent. The hobgoblin isn¡¯t slow, the rapid positioning of his steel blade to parry evidence enough, yet after my rest, I am faster. I sense within me the urgency of the nanorobots and the results of them going to work on my unconscious body, the most startling evidence being the complete drying out of my clothes and to a large extent my leather armour. They crave water and will use what they find where they find it.


    His mouth opens to reveal sharp-tipped teeth, his eyes flash wide shortly after as the tip of my dagger thrusts towards his face. He begins to crouch, avoidance instead of parrying and I adjust my thrust.


    Stab and withdraw. A wet sheen of black hobgoblin blood coats the steel blade of my dagger. The hobgoblin continues his crouching as a lifeless fall. The female is away from their nest. I glance towards the river, she is reaching for a bow, yet not on her feet. She must have rolled or crawled away.


    I charge intending to body bash her down. I need a prisoner, one who could have had the confidence of the male hobgoblin as I need to know the present and recent history of him as well as the world.


    Crashing into her, the onslaught I counted on doesn¡¯t happen, there is more resistance than I expect, resulting in a contest. I am not big, speed is mine, not body weight. The adult female is a match for my charging mass. Rolling across the river rocks, I manage to settle upon her waist, this single advantage I fight to maintain refusing to surrender.


    With my hands trapping her wrists and my body straddling hers I take a deep breath. I shift my body until I am astride her lungs. The bucking of her lower torso trying to launch me off her weakens with each shallow breath she takes.


    ¡°Stop. I only wish to talk,¡± I growl while looking into her eyes.


    With a sigh, her resistance fades and her head nods in agreement. For the first time, I notice her full round breasts, more than a handful, smooth dark green skin, darker areolas, and nipples standing proud.


    ¡°Like what you see runt?¡± An undertone of amusement laces her words.


    My eyes leave her body and begin to examine mine. I am not a goblin. I am a hobgoblin. The dark green complexion, yet slimmer. My inner Hob wines at the loss of bulk, which explains the difficulty of my charge subduing her. I estimate our body weight being similar, favouring me by the slimmest of margins. An adolescent hobgoblin, how could a teenager be important? Where would his wealth or at the very least his expensive armour come from?


    ¡°Why am I a runt, considering I am on top?¡± I ask the question out of confusion; this body is young yet hobgoblin. All the same, I run my tongue over each of my teeth. Sharp, pointed, with the bottom jaw housing two far apart teeth extending into short tusklike protrusions.


    ¡°You are an impurity bred from the loins of Klugite bitch fanatics, a worshipper of a false God who needs to be cut from the hobgoblin family tree ¡­¡± There is no amusement in her voice, steady, calm yet her eyes blaze with conviction.


    From Zana and Gato, hobgoblin children. From Rexa a conviction she would also bare a hobgoblin child, her craving for my ¡­ um affection strong before my end. Her assessment of my other wives was absolute, they would birth goblins. Only she would be blessed. In two hundred years or possibly more, if Rexa¡¯s child did survive and was female she would begin a line of natural-born hobgoblins upon this planet. Unless there was another source of female hobgoblins the female beneath me is some long distant non-worshipping relative ¡­ one branch hunting the other?


    As an Agent, former Agent? The situation of progeny totally new and as a smile draws across my lips, in a word, amazing. How many now exist who draw their origins from me? Does this urge, sense of ancestorial immortality form part of the lure of ¡°going native¡±? How would you know before you know? Wait! The lights in the darkness drawing me towards them ¡­ this utterly confirms they are from me, of me ¡­ at least two hundred years of birth and death carrying my genes forward. Also, one more legacy equally important, nanorobots. Which begs the question, why didn¡¯t they assist and ensure the recovery of the body I now occupy. An awakening, I felt an activation of them when my spirit claimed my ancestor¡¯s body ¡­ is that the key. Dormant, or near dormant until then ¡­ She did say my line were long-lived, perhaps near dormant then is more accurate, although longer life would be a glorious benefit or possibly curse, especially in a self-declared infallible leader.


    ¡°You smile now, but there are many who hunt your kind. Your death is a matter of when not if.¡±


    Her mouth forms to spit. Yet I am slow to react, and she succeeds in spraying my face before my hand can grab at her jaw. A distraction. With one hand free she strikes the side of my head, the knuckles of her fist effective as I need to shake off the blow while grabbing for her wrist again.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t nice,¡± I say while shuffling my bottom down her body until I can wipe my face upon her chest.


    ¡°Do you intend to rape me now, runt?¡±


    Her words draw my attention to our current positioning, her lower hair, black and dark peeking out from beneath my hips. Without further encouragement, my pecker reacts supporting her accusation.


    Two arrows swish by, while a third strikes my shoulder forcing my body backwards. My grip upon her wrists is absolute and with momentum, her torso rises as mine leans away. I then roll away towards the river, her on top, her face scrunching while releasing a short breath and then I am back on top before she can claim the position.


    An arrowhead protrudes from her chest. Her eyes squeeze close as her teeth grind against the pain. I release her limp arms to drag the arrow through. She swear-screams. I reach for her bow. There isn¡¯t another volley of goblin arrows, perhaps they are considering their fate given her howl. I release my single arrow and hope my aim is true as I scramble over her corpse to reach for a full quiver of arrows, which we must have rolled over in our tussle.


    Looking up from my prone position, bow in one hand, arrow in the other five or more goblins flee downstream without looking back. Sighing and rolling over I release bow and arrow and grasp the arrow shaft protruding from my shoulder. A sharp tug and grunt to bear the pain frees the arrow from my flesh. A bigger frustration weighs me down, I still know nothing about the current way of things, except that my current hobgoblin body is being hunted.


    Her whimpers from labouring to draw breath draw me back to her. While my reefing the arrow out didn¡¯t help, her moments alive were numbered, a punctured lung, maybe two as the arrow entered at an angle. I imagine her lung or lungs filling with blood despite the efforts of her hands to cover the outside of the wound. The pain must be excruciating as the pleading in her tearing eyes call to me, each painful breath shallower than the previous one. I draw my dagger and plunge the steel blade into her heart. The efforts to breathe swiftly subside and the agony leaves her eyes.


    A female hobgoblin, a treasure for many reasons, is dead. I curl up into a ball and curse. My inner Hob growls at me, the brick to the face messaging simple as is his way, kill or be killed. After significant soul searching, I decide laying upon my back beside a river is no way forward. I ransack the male hobgoblin¡¯s body claiming coin pouch, sword, and scabbard. His chainmail armour looks inviting except the fit would be make do at best and a hindrance at worst. Silently I leave the excellent piece of armour with his corpse and accept this tells me steel smithing is alive and well, the superb armour and weapons an obvious proof.


    I leave her weapons and armour where they lay. Shake my head and continue as an investigator would, detaching myself from the loss and searching for conclusions based upon facts gleaned.


    Looking down upon her naked body I can¡¯t help but wonder. A female hobgoblin. Pair her with the male, whom none greeted with the usual salutations such a Head Hob, Chief Hob or Ranger Hob to name a few, which could mean he is naturally born like her and if so, possibly a relative of mine fighting against Klugites. Without much evidence except what is at my feet, I still conclude there are now two native races upon this world and I am most likely the catalyst. A shiver runs up my spine, direct unsanctioned interference by an Agent. In times past as big a taboo as can be imagined, let alone actioned. A transgression, if proven, and how could it not be as I eye two dead examples at my feet, would result in the obliteration of an Agent¡¯s spirit.


    In a macabre manner her hand waves goodbye to me, the wash of the river water pushing and pulling to complete the illusion. I cast her naked corpse a sad smile and with stones underfoot, stride along the river until I believe I am at the shoreline position the goblins held when they attacked. Shortly after I find what I am seeking, blood droplets upon the rocks. A wounding instead of a complete miss, more than I expected from my hasty release. The threat of death was a probable reason why they left, although not as strong as their callous employer dying and their source of payment drying up. Why die for no reward is their thinking, I am sure?


    ---


    Tracking needs to wait for the morning as I utilise the last of the day¡¯s light to settle into another bush to hide under. A wind blows down the river finding flesh to chill, and I wrap my arms about my drawn-up knees to hold on to my body heat. While many years have passed by on the planet¡¯s surface, in the void, the black, a mere twinkle, I hope. Closing my eyes, I absently call to my wives ¨C their seductive body warmth a welcome illusion I draw into the present. The memory of my wives is strong within me, their faces, their bodies, and their personalities. One of the three measures is no more or less important than the other, the three making them whole, unique and mine. Once mine, always mine and as a weary sleep grips me I dream of them, each in turn and imagine they are with me once again as my now empty heart yearns for their companionship.


    I wake to the sun rising from across the river blinding me. My eyes look down, a wet icky layer of black ooze paints my flesh, the clothes under my armour slide about as I re-position from laying down to sitting to inspect my current state. I remember this, the amount this time light, overnight none of the black ooze has pooled around me. Swearing I undress and wash my naked body, clothes, and armour in the river while on the lookout for others. Once done with laundry, time to track.


    At dusk, I reach my, until then unknown destination. The blood trail dried up by mid-morning as the wound, probably bound in a bandage congealed over time and I resorted to tracking them using boot prints, broken vegetation, and finally a convenient well-worn track. Concealing myself in light forest cover well off to one side I gaze at a log wall with a gate roughly in the centre. Is this an important village or possibly town? Across the clearing I observe an occasional goblin lookout walking the ramparts. Goblins for hire, possibly, somewhat like the goblin tribes one valley over from the original valley, although the beheading of the leader adds an unknown wrinkle. Are they bound in service in some way? Otherwise, why didn¡¯t they quit upon his death?


    Walking up to the gate and asking to talk would probably get their attention and my death. Whoever I am now, certain hobgoblins and goblins object to my existence and actively hunt me for reward. Will all the villages be the same? I chew down hard on some stolen dried meat while contemplating my next move. I curse long and loud as the once dead, but now definitely alive female hobgoblin casually approaches the goblin village front gate. This has goblins running along the ramparts in a frenzy. Like me, they are in a state of shock, the certain dead are now walking about.


    There is a dragging noise as the gates open, wide enough to permit the female hobgoblin to enter and no more, grinding close behind her once through.


    Evening falls and inside the village, happy yelping, and the tantalising aroma of roasting meat over an open fire reaches my nostrils. My mouth waters as I chew off another portion of dried meat at a loss what to do next. I have returned to the planet in the body of a hunted teenage hobgoblin, an ancestor, and I can¡¯t even draw his purpose from his memory to make sense of the chaos I find myself in.


    ---


    I startle awake, shafts of morning sunlight penetrate the light forest canopy to strike me in the face. My sleep overnight is deep and unexpected. A quick check to confirm I am alive and still hidden reassures me. How did I fall asleep without knowing ¡­ Was I really that tired? Or exhausted?


    ¡°About time you woke Lord Hob, perhaps your youthful body to blame.¡±


    I recognise the voice and turn towards the source, dagger quick to hand. A wide serious smile adorns her face, the face of the female hobgoblin recently slain by a goblin arrow to the chest yet sashaying towards me while talking.


    ¡°You should be dead,¡± I utter, my words frail, disbelieving. I remember seeing a female hobgoblin stroll into the goblin village yesterday, facial features indistinguishable and blamed dusk, a trick of the light, how could this be? Yet before me, low on her haunches crouches the truth, smug and content, gnawing at an animal¡¯s leg bone, boar perhaps and without a doubt, recently roasted.


    ¡°You should be more careful ¡­ husband.¡±


    My eyes twitch and I struggle for breath.


    ¡°You did call to me, did you not?¡± she explains further.


    I shake my head from side to side, slowly ¡­ Wait there is another mystery!


    ¡°Who is this Lord Hob you speak of?¡± I ask.


    She lowers the bone revealing several teeth in a serious laugh. Standing to her full height, her head leans to one side and then she throws the bone at me.


    ¡°Lord Hob I am cut to the very bone you don¡¯t recognise me!¡± She points to her chest and then stabs her finger several times while grinding out words I never thought I would receive again.


    ¡°I have returned to your side, Lord Hob. You named me Relentless, and I am here to serve you once again.¡±


    I feel my jaw close and open several times, my breathing is shallow and for several moments I think I forget to breathe as my mind tries to reconcile the many impossible facts descending upon me. Her lips are then upon mine, the sensual movement of her now larger body is upon me ¡­ her moves ¡­ familiar. I throw her over, landing on top continuing our passionate reunion and remembering my subdued desire to feel the breasts of this female Hob. A wish now firmly within reach.

 2.003 The Deeds of the Day

    I pull my final boot on, unable to wipe the smile from my face as I spy upon my past or is she, my former wife? Bah! Who cares as my eyes drink in every moment of the powerful feminine display before me? Her new hobgoblin body bends to her will as she brings her attitude to every predatory posture and smooth movement. How could I be so blind? I decide to blame distance and dusk ¡­


    Examining my body, I realise the disparity, she is a mature adult, and I am a youth trying to discover adulthood.


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob, most would consider me your older sister if they were kind, maybe your mother ¡­¡± Her hand reaches for her belly as laughter bubbles from between her lips.


    ¡°You were moaning a different tune not so long ago ¡­¡±


    Her arms drape across my shoulders as her hands pet the back of my neck. ¡°Purely trying to adapt Lord, your body ¡­ I mean once Lord Hob and now ¡­¡± She shrugs.


    ¡°I am aware.¡±


    She kisses my lips while her hands rub my bald head, it seems hobgoblin males never grow hair there.


    ¡°You still satisfied me Lord and that is enough.¡±


    I nod, somewhat mollified. That still leaves me with what to do next. Overnight, the delicious, delightful memory of Duzsia connected with a residual memory from my host, a glimmer of peace, only during early childhood. Then afterwards, constant fear from ever oppressive danger. Feelings, no facts.


    ¡°Did your host leave you with any memories?¡±


    ¡°I knew of the goblin village and about the general crusade to rid this valley of Klugites, some other general knowledge ¡­¡±


    Kissing her, I then ask, ¡°How did you find me?¡±


    Her head tilts slightly. ¡°You called to me. Walking to the goblin village satisfied that call, but once there, staying felt wrong in a way difficult to explain. I feasted, slept and to the relief of the goblins left. Once outside the gates, the lure of you became irresistible, your hiding futile. Lord.¡±


    ¡°But my appearance, how could you be certain?¡±


    ¡°We are bound. Although given your lapse this seems a one-way recognition, your wives know you, yet you don¡¯t know them ¡­ Did you not expect us to return to you? Did you not believe in our faithfulness?¡± Moisture gathers around her eyes.


    My arms reach around her waist, and I draw her body to mine needing to overcome a slight resistance. ¡°When alone on my first night, preparing for sleep, all I could think of was my wives, their love, their companionship, their warmth ¡­¡±


    She slaps my back. ¡°Warmth?¡±


    I murmur, ¡°My first night was wet from escaping the river then a chill breeze.¡± Indignant I say, ¡°I was cold.¡±


    ¡°Never mind Lord Hob, I can be your lover, wife and mother if you wish.¡± She pats my head playfully and then giggles.


    Lover it is then, although ¡­ instead of rushing into action I pause. Please don¡¯t tell me the former youth of this body is now an influence? I shake my head and continue, time to prove that theory false.


    ---


    Middle of the day, naked, hand in hand we lay side by side on a bed of leaves without a care in the world. Rays of sunlight pierce the sparse forest canopy in a wonderous display lulling us both.


    ¡°Lord Hob, you were correct about the black.¡± Her head turns towards mine and our eyes meet. ¡°The lonely darkness yet knowing of it during life and expecting it at death allowed me to accept my fate, the sole consequence of binding my life to yours. I knew I would return to your side, not knowing how ¡­ I needed to believe you would call for me ¡­¡± She leaps upon me both of our bodies rolling in the dry leaves. Her once bound black hair is now loose and flowing, tree leaves being caught within adding to the moment. This close and my mind more present, I make the effort to inspect the wound between her breasts, not only healed but now never was.


    I run my fingers across the location and look up into her eyes. I know the reason for this, of course, nanorobots. Yet does she?


    ¡°You like them?¡± She smiles without knowing the real reason I touch her.


    ¡°This body was slain by an arrow to the chest, an arrowhead broke through the skin, which is now whole.¡±


    Her eyes squeeze shut. ¡°I know. Upon return to this body, I felt the pain ¡­¡± She opens her eyes.


    I kiss her forehead and pick some leaves from her hair. ¡°And then?¡±


    ¡°Pain meant life instead of the black, so I opened my eyes upon a blue sky, rejoicing. Water lapping upon my hand reminded me that water healed you of your wounds and with all the strength I could summon I rolled my new body into the river. I laid there until late afternoon listening out for others as I knew I would be helpless and probably attract attention being naked. You know the rest.¡±


    A dry branch or stick cracks, in a heartbeat, both of us glance backwards over our heads. I roll to my feet on my side of the bed of leaves and Duzsia does the same on her side, both of us naked, hands curling into fists and ready to charge. No one is there. We straighten and relax our hands while scanning the trees and brush surrounding us.


    Laughter. Open loud and clear from a single female goblin looking down upon us from a nearby tree in an instant solves our mystery.


    I glance at Duzsia, who shrugs. ¡°Get down here wife,¡± I demand. An educated guess given the goblin didn¡¯t take advantage of an easy ambush. I refuse to be accused of not recognising the return of another of my wives, after all, I did call upon all of them to return.


    The female goblin slides from the branch twisting around to grab the tree limb and go into a swinging position. She then drops swivelling, to land without a false step facing us.


    Now I need to guess. Koria Keen Eye or her sister Luda.


    ¡°Welcome, Luda.¡±


    I receive a slap on my shoulder. ¡°How did you recognise her, yet I am a stranger?¡± howls Duzsia.


    ¡°Goblin body perhaps?¡± I offer and then I need to brace as Luda springs into my arms. I recall our parting, including Koria Keen Eye, the betrayal ¡­


    She whispers in my ear, ¡°The black allows a great deal of time to think, Lord. Until that thinking time traps you in an endless circle of thought and doubt grows. While I can¡¯t speak for my sister, in the short while since answering your call I apologise and will suffer any punishment to earn your forgiveness.¡±


    I make my adolescent voice as cold and dead as possible. ¡°We will see.¡±


    I then release her. She hangs by her arms around my neck for a moment and then drops. Duzsia, now standing well away from us I notice is half-dressed, she gave us some privacy. The last of my wives, Koria Keen Eye is yet to be revealed, what of Zeb Stone Grim and his spirit bond, can I call him?


    ¡®Zeb my faithful second return to me, I summon you.¡¯


    Luda holds out my clothes and armour before me. I swallow down a mix of emotions. Is this a return to me being Lord and Master? Against all the odds they have answered my call and I assume I must thank the Klugite faithful for this unbroken belief. On a whim, I applied medical knowledge to secure the loyalty of primitives by creating a false superstition and now with their return a miracle has been proven true. Aren¡¯t they more, don¡¯t they deserve to be more?


    I secure my loincloth as I think, my long linen pants and shirt next. What is our relationship?


    What is my role going to be this time, my third life after two deaths? The faithful will need protection as they seem to be the hunted ones. Their religion I suspect needs to be spread far and wide for them to be safe. Perhaps that is where I start ¡­ I will need to find them first and I don¡¯t need servants I need companions of unbreakable loyalty.


    My finger is under Luda¡¯s chin, straightening her posture, breaking her attempt to assist me with my leather armour.


    ¡°You are reborn, wife still, yet I prefer a companion or partner instead of a servant. You understand?¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband.¡± Her eyes dart about the nest of leaves. ¡°You will need to guide me ¡­¡±


    ¡°As a start, we need to journey to our original valley, do we have enough of everything we need to make that journey?¡±


    ¡°No Lor¡­, husband, yet the goblin village will be able to provide some of what we need if we have the coin?¡± Her arms are stiff by her thighs.


    My hands surround her cheeks. ¡°Relax wife. The former owner of your body, do you know if she was important? One of a large family?¡±


    She shakes her head and then closes her eyes. ¡°Sorry husband, my memories aren¡¯t strong. I awoke in pain much like Duzsia and asked for water. Once drunk, I asked for more, my thirst unquenchable to begin with. An arrow through my gut I learnt, removed and re-bandaged yet my death was certain. My mother or the former owner¡¯s mother never gave up hope. She decried the hunting of Klugites especially as mercenaries for the Bounty Hunter and his female companion.¡± Luda¡¯s eyes flash towards Duzsia.


    ¡°I suspect her return from the dead a great surprise?¡±


    ¡°While not entirely healed, Duzsia¡¯s arrival finally lured my mother from my side, and I took the chance to escape. Your call is strong husband, and I couldn¡¯t resist any longer with you so close, so I grabbed my kit and several waterskins and walked out the front gate. The surprised guards thinking I was another who should be dead, now walking, letting me through.¡±


    A twinge of sadness in her words? Did her former self transfer ill feelings? Her boot scuffs the ground cover as the silence between us grows.


    ¡°You witnessed Duzsia¡¯s arrival and everything after?¡±


    She nods. ¡°My wound, husband. Until now ¡­ I wished to join you, being in sight though the urge quietened, so I waited in a tree.¡±


    I kneel before her. ¡°Where is my wife, Luda?¡±


    She wraps her arms around my neck. ¡°I don¡¯t know husband, I don¡¯t know. My emotions are mixed, my heart hurts. I miss this body¡¯s mother. Why is that? I feel I have betrayed my tribe, yet I am your loyal wife and have no thought to return, except we must, I guess. I am me and yet other feelings and loyalties haunt me.¡± Her warm tears splash upon my neck.


    Did Luda¡¯s spirit dwell long enough with the lingering spirit of the dying goblin to assume more of her memories than either I or Duzsia? Given, the multiple lights I could pick from while in the dark her return in this goblin body means the former owner must be an ancestor of mine.


    ¡°You are my spirit bound wife, proven because only a spirit bound wife could answer my call and so you are mine. Any confusion is a result of your spirit claiming your current body. Talk to me whenever you wish, and I will listen offering what I can from my experiences. Eventually, you will grow anew, and I will love you, even more, fierce.¡± I crush our bodies together.


    Her cheek rubs against my neck as she nods. ¡°Yes, husband.¡±


    We release each other and as I rise, her hands slide down my chest. Before separation, she rushes forward again to hug me. I allow her several moments.


    ¡°Think about returning to the village ¡­¡± I ask.


    She looks up, her bottom lip trembling. ¡°How will I explain to her mother?¡±


    I am the evil Klugite so will be unable to accompany her. Duzsia is the only option.


    ¡°Duzsia will return to the village with you.¡±


    Right on cue, Duzsia kneels beside Luda and whispers, ¡°Us wives have to stick together.¡±


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Luda stands tall. ¡°Yes. Enough of this and of the inner her who haunts me. I will inform her mother I am leaving the village with the Bounty Hunter¡¯s companion to make a name for myself as a slayer of Klugites and I only return now to gear up properly.¡±


    ¡°You ¡­¡±


    Her finger crosses my lips to silence me. ¡°You are right husband, I will grow stronger, but I must take the first step and facing the echoes of the former life of this body is necessary.¡± Luda marches off towards her tree, leaving Duzsia and I staring at each other.


    ¡°Will she be alright, husband?¡±


    ¡°Keep an eye on her, no, do more than that, don¡¯t leave her side, insist upon escorting her, especially when she meets the mother.¡±


    ---


    Late afternoon I observe both approach and enter the goblin village gate. As time ticks by I wish to pace, to work off the nervous energy within me slowly building. Dusk is almost upon the village and still no sign of them. I contemplate scaling the wall of the village or perhaps a ruse of some sort to lure the guards away from the gate. Brute force?


    In the shadows of dusk, three silhouettes exit the village gate. One hobgoblin with attitude, certainly Duzsia and two goblins, one must be Luda, who is the other ¡­ I scramble back from my hiding position under the forest eaves and crouch behind a thick enough tree with a good view of our makeshift camp.


    After a time two burning torches bounce along towards our camp, one held high until they reach the camp. Duzsia and Luda look about while the third, an older female goblin seems ¨C grumpy.


    ¡°Husband?¡± calls Luda in her quiet voice.


    I step from behind the tree. ¡°Who is our guest?¡±


    ¡°My former mother.¡±


    I march forward trying to contain my anger, or pure frustration or who knows what. My words are full of disbelief. ¡°You told her?¡±


    Luda holds her ground while our guest takes a step back, shaking her head. Fortunately, Duzsia is behind her and blocks any further retreat. In fact, well-positioned to end her if necessary.


    ¡°A feeling beyond my control, I couldn¡¯t lie ¡­¡±


    ¡°My daughter loved her mother, it was only us two against everyone else,¡± barks the goblin mother.


    ¡°I needed to confess, explain. I am sorry, husband.¡±


    I clench and unclench my hands, my inner Hob is ready to unleash, feeding off the sense of betrayal. Again, a daughter of Zeb choosing a mother over her loyalty to me.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t believe her story at first of course. Then that one.¡± She looks up, over her shoulder at Duzsia. ¡°Well, she tells of her takeover of the Bounty Hunter¡¯s companion. When she first visited, she was all over him, not an independent thought in her head. Then after her supposed death she returns full of confidence, with a swagger to match, scares the Head Goblin, him almost dirtying his pants upon first meeting him. Barely holding on until she leaves. Then my daughter¡¯s body tells me her story. Upon death¡¯s door, she takes my girl¡¯s precious body and breathes life back into her corpse. I knows when she died, I cared for her every moment after her return. Slowly dying from a gut wound, just takes time they said. Can¡¯t change that, they said.¡±


    Tears roll down her cheeks. Her hands shake with emotion as she tries to wipe the glistening tears away.


    ¡°I knew some sort of miracle happened when my girl asked for water, lots of water. She had beaten death I thought, and she needed water to make sure. Fetching more is when I saw the new, she-hobgoblin and asked others in the tribe about her. I did enjoy seeing the Head Goblin¡¯s scared face, I must say. By the time I returned my daughter was gone and almost healed, it didn¡¯t make sense. I threw much about the hut, enough to distract some trying to impress our guest to check on me given my daughter was once in her search party. By that time, I don¡¯t mind admitting I was a defeated mess on the floor rejecting their help, suffering a mother¡¯s loss.¡±


    She finally clears her tears or perhaps they stop flowing and looks me directly in the eye.


    ¡°You look after my daughter¡¯s body, make her a famous goblin. Can you promise me that?¡±


    I fold my arms across my chest to give me time to gather my thoughts. I really want to strangle two of the three sentient beings standing near me now.


    ¡°I cannot promise fame for any of us, yet if the opportunity arises, I will not deny Luda if she wishes to take it.¡±


    She nods with a snap of her head. ¡°Good enough. Anything more and I wouldn¡¯t have believed you.¡±


    With that, she holds out her hand for the torch Duzsia has and upon receipt, calm as you like, leaves. I watch as her silhouette disappears into the forest.


    From the right of me a finger lifts my jaw shut. ¡°I think that went well, husband,¡± offers Duzsia.


    I swivel to face her, ready to unleash given the stupidity of telling a random and bereaving mother goblin to boot of our presence, our uniqueness, our ¡­ our ¡­ everything when I feel the squash of Duzsia¡¯s body against mine, kissing me deeply. Not to be outdone, Luda tackles me from behind in an embrace.


    ¡°Duzsia said you would understand, husband. You would trust our judgement in this because we were there and needed to make a decision,¡± says Luda, emotion thick in every word.


    Duzsia breaks off her kiss. ¡°Yes, husband, I reassured Luda, such would be the case, after all, we are his loyal wives and if he can¡¯t trust us, who can he trust?¡±


    Outmanoeuvred and defeated. Are these the early signs of what a partnership is? I sigh and relax into Duzsia¡¯s embrace. I then grab Luda with one arm and drag her around, so we face each other. A triangle of bodies and faces.


    ¡°What if she tells others?¡±


    Duzsia shakes her head. ¡°And tell everyone her daughter isn¡¯t her real daughter because of a strange takeover of her body upon death? The village would call her mad and exile would be the least they would do.¡±


    Luda grabs my hand and places the palm upon her cheek. ¡°Plus, husband, her wish for her daughter to be famous would be impossible if she told.¡±


    I study each of their faces, they believe in what they are telling me at least. ¡°What did you happen to bring back from the village to eat?¡±


    My stomach growls and both my wives belly laugh at my expense.


    ---


    I am the first to wake for a change. Yet the awakening is unpleasant. My hands, one upon each of their chests, are black with ichor, both Duzsia and Luda exuded a healthy quantity while they slept. The nanorobots have been busy overnight. As I draw my arms from around their necks, they slide freely due to the black waste.


    Both of my wives rise into a sitting position, observe, and then shrug. I expected more of a reaction ¡­


    They both giggle, the hobgoblin voice of Duzsia deeper than the goblin voice of Luda, yet joyful all the same. They reach across me with devilish grins and embrace painting my torso as they do.


    ¡°Do you wish to kiss?¡±


    They laugh again after asking as one and I take the opportunity to scramble back and climb to my feet, waving the palms of my hands at both.


    They pout. Duzsia speaks first, ¡°You weren¡¯t as shy last night husband, what are wives to think?¡±


    ¡°We need to return to the river.¡± I inspect the black on me and look back towards them. ¡°Both of you need a good scrub down. I will tidy camp and carry everything.¡±


    They clap their hands and celebrate further with bouncing, which I endure to enjoy the consequences.


    After receiving a great deal of advice on how to pack up camp, especially their possessions I escort a hobgoblin and goblin wearing black soaked loincloths and white cloth breast wraps darkening with each step we take towards the river. I ignored the protests from my wives as I used their breast wraps to wipe myself down first before giving them back for their use.


    Upon reaching the smooth stones of the river my wives break into a jog and with a splash fall into the river. I did shout to caution them, listen for danger at least, yet they paid little attention. They were on a pleasant stroll to the river with their husband under a brilliant blue sky, what could go wrong?


    Dropping my load into their respective piles beside the river their alluring calls capture my attention.


    I lift my gaze, and both have their breast wraps waving above their heads using one hand while the other rubs down a breast cleaning away the ichor.


    ¡°We could work faster if you were to take the wraps,¡± purrs Luda.


    I shake my head while smiling and take a step forward intent on relieving them of their burdens.


    A squealing snort silences them and draws my attention.


    Upon the far bank of the river, a steep cutting instead of a shore of smooth stones like this side sits a male Hob astride a massive boar. Even from across the river I evaluate the saddle as an exemplary piece of craftsmanship, high front and back, stirrups set to match the riders leg length. The sophisticated and decorated stirrups explain his choice of weapon, the long spear. I imagine he enjoys charging, lancing those standing and trampling those on the ground under hoof. For now, the spear butt rests upon the ground, one dark green hand on the shaft, the other holding the reins of his beast as his eyes study my wives and his tongue licks his lips.


    In a cloud of dust two other riders rein in on either side of him. Their beasts are smaller, yet both riders nock an arrow and drawback on their bows.


    ¡°You will gift me the female.¡± His spear tip points at Duzsia. ¡°Or I will slaughter you and the goblin and take her anyway.¡±


    There isn¡¯t a threatening growl or absolute demand in his words. This is a chat between two hobgoblins. Him obviously being the stronger can demand as he pleases from a youth with more treasure than he can defend.


    ¡°The one you want is my mother. I will trade her though for one of the riders with you, whichever female requires the stronger hand, so she will learn to know her place.¡± My words are clear, strong and certain.


    They both glance at the male, who shifts slightly in his saddle. My offer is a clear surprise. My youthful appearance suggested to him an easy mark and instead he receives a counteroffer. Duzsia and Luda for their part remain silent and continue to wash and thereby inadvertently display their curves. Inadvertently? My pair of minxes have no shame and no fear. What do they know that I don¡¯t?


    He rubs his chin between his finger length tusks, glancing left and then right. Both companions stare at him and then lash him with their bows. He growls and they stop immediately. My wives provide a further distraction as Luda using her tongue meticulously cleans Duzsia¡¯s breast, lingering on her now erect nipple. My ¡®mother¡¯ moans on cue. He needs to sit high in his saddle to fully appreciate the sexual frolicking and this time ignores the bow lashing he receives.


    ¡°Send one down the bank and I will ask my wife to test her suitability,¡± I shout.


    The beating stops as both of his companions eye their master.


    He points at one using his spear and whispers. There is a short and sharp conversation, I imagine them protesting and him threatening. One of his companions helps the other out of her armour, until only fine linen clothes remain, long-sleeved shirt, long-legged pants. With a rope tied off around the front of his saddle, the companion in armour lowers the other down the bank of the river.


    Domestication of boars has proceeded, the crafting of weapons and armour, including saddles has advanced. I wonder if any have been able to learn to swim? I am certain he is wondering how I will claim his companion to test her as I have said. He is calling my bluff and I am certain if it appears he is losing, his other companion will pincushion me with arrows. And why am I playing this game? I would rather ride than walk.


    As they lower her, I stroll back from our side of the shore to locate a suitable tree past the rocks, all the while eying the far bank. I then tie one end of the rope around the base of the tree and the other end around my waist and amble towards the river, pushing into the flowing water until chest-deep. My wives, now clean are busy onshore deciding what to wear, taking advice from each other of course and generally putting on a show trying on this piece and then that piece while maintaining a half-naked state of dress. They of course have no idea what my plan is; they do know they are the distraction, and I am counting on them to be superb. Otherwise, I would have ordered them from the water immediately instead of making a counteroffer, and we would be running away from the river now instead of continuing this pantomime.


    I dive into the water and splash about. I want to balance the pretence of panic with progress while allowing the current of the river to carry me towards my prize, but not all the way. Occasionally I glimpse the expression on his face. He is looking forward to my demise in between enjoying the show. I note my wives are back in the water trying to wash clothes for some reason while allowing their shirts, wet t-shirt competition like cling to their breasts. It takes effort yet I drag myself away from the show and struggle on until I am in waist height shallows on the other side of the river.


    I wave my hand towards me, encouraging my prospective wife to join me. She is directly below her master and would need to wade for a distance through the water against the current to join me. She shakes her head. My hand waves her away and I turn back to the river. I hear a growl and look over my shoulder. She is wading towards me.


    Like both my wives, I notice the linen of her shirt cling to her breasts, the dark green of her areola and darker still nipples visible yet with a hint of mystery.


    She licks her lips. ¡°You like?¡± she purrs.


    ¡°The female form is to be worshipped and devoured,¡± I reply without delay. As she drinks in my words I lunge forward and knock her down. She releases a dagger, choosing to use her hands to grab at me or anything to save herself. Our altercation of course can¡¯t be observed by her master or companion as the piece of bank we stand under due to my careful choice has a gentle curve blocking their line of sight. They would need to move towards us along their side of the bank until in line with our position and unfortunately, even then they would need to push through heavy brush and work around a tree to view us from above.


    Her face breaks the surface of the water. ¡°Quiet or I push you under. Understand?¡± I growl. My hobgoblin body is youthful, yet my nanorobots have been working their magic and the strength of my grip upon her arms is intimidating.


    She nods her head, eyes wide, the ends of her lips drawn down despite her feminine tusks.


    I wade out into the river until chest-deep, my hands strangling her upper arms and then let go. In her moment of confusion, possibly panic, I place my hand under her chin and push off from the bottom of the river with my legs. Her legs are unable to touch the riverbed, her arms begin flailing about, the river has her!


    ¡°Be still or I will let the river take you.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t hear me. I stop stroking through the water with my other hand and smack her on the top of her head, say the words again and resume stroking to keep our heads above water while increasing my kick rate to assist. She shakes her head, and her eyes must catch sight of the high bank across the river, where her boar waits. Her body goes limp. This moment has the taste of victory about it. She realises we are one-quarter of the distance across the river, and we are not drowning. She is at my mercy going forth into an unknown future outcome.


    The eyes of her master and companion are now on us. His mouth opens trying to find words while the she hobgoblin beside him has her hands clasped before her mouth.


    As I cross, I drift downstream with the current until I feel the riverbank once again under my feet. I pretend to tread water, so my captive believes she still needs me to prevent her drowning.


    ¡°Duzsia, release at the other companion, wound her in the stomach so she bends over and falls into the river.¡±


    My captive begins to yelp, so I lower her into the water until she gurgles.


    With his attention on me, the show wrapped up. Duzsia and Luda retreated to the riverbank proper and where I left our gear. Upon hearing my words Duzsia cautiously reaches for her bow while Luda positions herself in front of Duzsia and keeps a lookout. Once in her hands yet bent over she waits for Luda¡¯s tap and then swivels around and stands. Choosing her target, she releases.


    The flight is perfect. The arrow smacks into the companion¡¯s lower abdomen with a solid thunk. Then the arrow bounces back.


    ¡°Run for cover,¡± I yell. Good weapons, better armour, I wonder if they can swim ¡­ grr my words come back to bite me.


    ¡°We are his pride and joy. Our armour is the best his money can buy. You are a dead fool,¡± she scoffs.


    I lower my head over hers to scowl while my grip on her chin tightens. ¡°You may not live to celebrate.¡±


    The swish of an arrow passes over my bald head, and I realise my danger, both companions are archers and given that deliberate miss, experts. I drag my captive under the water with me. Her body thrashes, from fear of drowning, of death. Does death by drowning still hold the same taboo? She strives for breath and instead gulps down water. As I continue to drift underwater with the current I feel her struggle end, her body limp.


    Time for me to leave the river also. Positioning her body behind mine, both of her arms draped over my chest I wade towards the bank and as the water shallows, I grab her arms and as I rise her body is a shield for mine. I spy a clump of brush and make a dash towards the prospective cover while listening for the swish of another arrow.


    Upon reaching cover I lay her body down, wet clothes hugging her like a second skin. Could I?

 2.004 The Deeds of the Night

    I breathe into her mouth and then pump upon her chest with the palm of my hands, fingers interlaced. After several attempts, a violent cough, a breath and then two or three follow up coughs splutter out phlegm. Her eyes open wide, lips drawn back as she tries to scramble away from me.


    ¡°I claim your spirit, serve me and I will return your spirit upon death, otherwise you will die spiritless and forever wander the endless black.¡± An otherworldly shockwave buffets my inner self. I feel her spirit presence within me and many strong emotions, fear, and resentment the strongest. This isn¡¯t primitive superstitious pretence any longer ¨C this is real. Is this magic? Questions for another time ¡­


    ¡°There are no Klugite Priests? How is this possible?¡± she whispers in awe.


    ¡°I am the last in this valley and my mission is to search for more,¡± I reply.


    ¡°More ¡­¡± She gulps. ¡°More? Aren¡¯t Priestesses enough to haunt the non-believers? How can this be right and fair?¡±


    I am missing something important here, yet I don¡¯t have the time. ¡°Will you serve me, or will I extinguish your spirit?¡±


    Still laying upon the riverbank stones, tears roll down her eyes. ¡°I will serve, my life bound to yours, my strength is your strength.¡± She sniffs. ¡°Master.¡±


    Her eyes glaze over as I feel her spirit leave me, although not entirely. A faint shadow or hollow copy remains. I imagine via manipulation of this shadow her kissing me and shortly after I feel the press of her warm lips upon mine. I return her kiss fiercely, my arms around her waist pulling her into an unbreakable embrace.


    A snorting whine, hooves upon stone break my trance and our embrace.


    ¡°Is that why he asked for one of mine, there is a way across the river nearby?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Yes, Master. He would try to capture you and if not, kill you so he could capture and sell those with you. It is the way of things.¡±


    There is sadness in her voice. Probably once captured herself until her beauty and skills earned his attention and favour. Her position is no different now, she still has a master.


    ¡°You will pretend to have escaped from me yet sneaking away you didn¡¯t notice your old master but eventually you make your way back to your sister companion. Return with her, armed and armoured and riding your beast. When you see me next you will know what to do.¡±


    Her eyes sadly close and open. ¡°Yes, Master.¡± She darts off using bush for cover, heading downstream. I didn¡¯t ask her, her name ¡­ Shouldn¡¯t I simply know? Perhaps the translation from superstition to practice lost some of the intricacies.


    I shake my head to forget the omission and begin dashing from cover to cover to make my way back to my wives. Upon hearing voices, I sneak forward until I can safely observe him with my two wives.


    ¡°Where is he?¡± The impatience in his voice is obvious my wives don¡¯t know, yet somehow, they should.


    ¡°You will need to be satisfied with us. Perhaps he has run away, afraid to face a fierce warrior such as yourself?¡±


    Duzsia. She manages to keep any underlying mockery from her voice, yet I know she toys with him. Where does her confidence come from? He is still upon his boar steed, his spearpoint a hand width from her chest!


    ¡°Many do, yet I hunt them down all the same. A corpse can¡¯t take revenge during the night or when you are weak after fighting other foes.¡± He slaps his saddle. ¡°I like to tie up loose ends and your husband or son is a loose end,¡± he growls.


    ¡°We could go look for him,¡± offers Luda. She flashes him a smile when he looks in her direction.


    He draws back his spear, his grip tightening and then he takes a deep breath. ¡°A goblin jest of course ¡­ you really are a member of a simple race.¡± He plants the butt of his spear into the river rocks with a crack. Warning? Frustration? He then couches the weapon under his arm.


    Tugging at the reins and using his knees he guides his beast towards the river. Head down the boar drinks while the hobgoblin rises from his saddle using his stirrups to look upstream and then downstream. Across the river, the two boars and his companion have either left or are in hiding as the bank is clear.


    Satisfied he returns to our camp of sorts and stares in turn at Duzsia and Luda and finally nods his head. ¡°Goblin cook something I am hungry.¡±


    ¡°My name is Luda oh great warrior.¡±


    He bellows out a laugh. ¡°I don¡¯t care, now get to work before I spear you.¡±


    ¡°We were about to fish ¡­¡± She spreads out her hands towards the river.


    He leans down, resting his bulk upon the front of the saddle. ¡°Fish? Pfft!¡± He reaches back into a saddlebag and brandishes a package. ¡°Prepare a fire and I will share good boar meat with you if you cook well enough to please me.¡±


    As he sits back in his saddle, proud as a provider can be Luda runs off in haste, surprising the boar rider. Before he can shout, Duzsia intervenes.


    ¡°She will return as soon as she has gathered wood, she especially likes boar meat.¡± And ¡­ what! She flutters her eyelids! Surely, he won¡¯t believe that is sincere. I sigh, yep, he licks his lips. Such an overconfident ass.


    The boar rider again rises from his saddle peering in the direction Luda ran off in. After several moments he grunts pushing the boar forward with his knees until he is within a hand width of Duzsia. His intense gaze falls upon her. ¡°What do you offer? Apart from displaying your tits and arse?¡± He chuckles at his own joke releasing all the implied intimidation or so it seems to me. Duzsia remains calm.


    ¡°I guide my son using my wisdom.¡±


    He huffs. ¡°I thought you too ¡­ Never mind, apart from wisdom what else?¡±


    ¡°He keeps me young ¡­¡± Duzsia sends him a sly smile and a sashaying hip.


    His mouth gulps for air and his muscles tense before he exclaims, ¡°Mother and son? Disgusting! Well, his death will see an end to your depravities, mark my words. What do you say to that?¡±


    ¡°Do I have enough wood?¡± says Luda with enthusiasm.


    He looks over his shoulder in her direction and she is gone. Luda skips behind brush avoiding his gaze and appears next to Duzsia and slips her the sharp-cornered rock I selected, to Duzsia.


    Jumping into his line of sight and holding up a bundle of kindling, Luda shouts, ¡°Do I have enough wood?¡±


    With his eyes upon Luda, Duzsia pats his beast, shaking her head and finally answers his question, ¡°You aren¡¯t the first and you won¡¯t be the last.¡± Then a boot is on her shoulder flinging her away. Duzsia obviously decides she shouldn¡¯t complete a tumble roll and end up on her feet, instead content to laze about on her back, legs apart. He shifts in his saddle as I believe his eyes fill with lust; I know mine do.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t need to do that. You can cook your own food now, meanie,¡± curses Luda, throwing the kindling to the ground and racing to join Duzsia. Kneeling she pats Duzsia¡¯s hair while casting hateful eyes at the big bully.


    All our eyes turn to witness the galloping of two riding boars towards the campsite. The boar rider especially so, smiling and knowingly nodding. Duzsia and Luda huddle together.


    Kicking up several loose stones the two arrivals halt their beasts behind their master ensuring they have a line of sight on Duzsia and Luda.


    ¡°Train your bows on these two. They move and an arrow in the leg, they run ¡­ you know what to do. Their male can¡¯t be far away and if he is, as a proven coward we need not concern ourselves with him being brave, we can only hope for foolhardy or not at all.¡±


    With that he nudges his beast forward, ignoring a whining scream from his beast. He heads along the shore, upstream. I dash between the brush trying to get ahead of him, not concerned if he spots me or not. A scream from the beast tells me he has, and I double my efforts to end up at the water¡¯s edge, rope in hand before him. Going to plan he crouches low in the saddle and couches the spear under his arm, the point gleaming and targeting me. I stand as if transfixed by the sight of my impending doom ¡­


    At the height of his charge the beast bucks and sways. I know he will squeeze his legs to try and control the boar, yet this action results in the exact opposite with the beast digging in all four hooves scattering rocks and flotsam in every direction. The hobgoblin does well, an expert probably and doesn¡¯t get thrown. What this means of course as the beast stops to topple over favouring the side without the rock under the saddle he is in danger of being trapped. The rider, his boots caught in the fancy stirrups results in his leg being caught between the weight of the beast and the unforgiving stone shore. He growls as he tries to pull himself free, yet his other boot is caught in the free stirrup. He reaches up, grabbing the saddle front trying to draw his leg up to meet his hand.


    All the while I am strolling towards him, flashing a dagger at him.


    This gives him an idea and laying down, he grabs for his dagger which is shortly to hand. I walk around the beast, the tusks have been tipped with metal spikes, most dangerous. He reaches up to the saddle and then begins sawing at the saddle girth strap while looking over his shoulder at me. For the first time, I see fear in his eyes.


    Chatting between Duzsia and Luda alerts him to the impossible, they are still alive? He momentarily forgets to saw and when he remembers, a gentle hand wraps over his. His eyes fall upon his companion, his relief palpable. She takes the knife from his hand, frees his boot from the free stirrup and removes the stone from underneath the beast¡¯s saddle and then rocks back onto her haunches. I grab the reins and tug the beast onto its hooves, admiring the kit adorning the beast, saddlebags, sword and sheath, and boar head stylised helm. All quality crafting, all denoting wealth and prestige. Shaking my head, I lead the boar away to some nearby decaying logs so he can root around for bugs.


    As I stroll back towards him, the boar rider tries to stand relying on his broken leg and falls. His leg, now proven useless, likely fractured in several places he is at a loss, unable to collect his thoughts to curse me.


    I wrap my arm around his former companion as I re-join the vigil. His mind clicks back into gear and his eyes beg askance from her, under a heavy frown.


    ¡°He is the impossible. A male Klugite Priest and he captured my spirit, so I now serve a new master,¡± she explains.


    He whimpers. ¡°I beg forgiveness. If I had known I would have offered both and left. You didn¡¯t announce yourself even the youngest of Priestesses for all their childish haughtiness announce themselves, so others know to fear them ¡­ so this sort of misunderstanding doesn¡¯t occur. Please ¡­ spare me. I will serve you, loyally, what is mine is yours. I have others who answer to me and coin. All yours, yes. And I can gather more in your service.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately, I am expecting someone and for that to happen I will need your body, your dead body. On the bright side, perhaps they can impersonate you convincingly and deliver all you have promised anyway.¡±


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    He makes a supreme effort and stands on one leg, hoping occasionally, spreading, and waving his arms to keep his balance. I take his spear and thrust the butt end at his chest. He falls back, the river stones clattering away as his armoured body meets the shore in a sudden stop while his head continues in a whiplash motion until smashing into the stones also. Vague mumbling while labouring for breath is all he can manage, and I take this opportunity to rope his hands. I roll him towards the water¡¯s edge, the splashes of water upon his face as his body enters the river revive him and he begins to squirm and kick out with his good leg. I roll him again and he is face down in the water, struggling to lift and turn his head in search of breath, all other efforts ceasing. One final roll submerges his head and after a time I witness the bubbles end.


    ¡°We could have helped husband,¡± offers Duzsia.


    My knees are in the water and my hands lay upon his body as I take several deep breaths to calm myself. You imagine a simple task, roll someone into a river, yet when doing so you are close to them, face to face almost and they are helpless. Under your hands, you know their body is warm and breathing. Every instinct calls out to you to save them, you just need to believe their last promises ¡­


    This is my evil deed, mine alone.


    ¡°This death is mine, he threatened, and I answered.¡±


    ¡°Do you believe my father will return in his body?¡± asks Luda in a soft voice, almost fainting upon speaking the words.


    ¡°A possibility. Your father didn¡¯t truly believe in spirit capture and this meat bag needs to be a distant relative of mine. Most hobgoblins seem to be related to me, breeding over the years will naturally produce more than however they were produced before and none so far have been called Head, Chief or Hunter for example. They have proper names although none have spoken any. So did your father believe enough is the question?¡±


    Luda wraps an arm around me, while she chews on the fingernails of her other hand.


    ¡°Roll him out, remove his armour and bind his wounds. Leave one hand floating in the water,¡± I order.


    Once done the three females in my service stand before me.


    My eyes fall upon his former companion, and I ask, ¡°What name do you want to be known by?¡±


    ¡°Why does the hobgoblin have a tribal goblin name?¡±


    ¡°Because when I first captured her spirit, she was a goblin.¡± I see her swallow and I know my explanation didn¡¯t help, in fact, the opposite, she trembles as she drops to her knees and grabs at my legs.


    ¡°You name me master, this low one is happy to serve your greatness.¡±


    I stare down Duzsia and Luda who are about to giggle and then bend down so I can place my finger under her chin and force her to stand. ¡°Think on a name, you have plenty of time. In the meanwhile, fetch his beast so the three can graze together as I will need them calm to accept new riders.¡±


    She nods and hurries off.


    ¡°Come you two we need to prepare another body.¡±


    ---


    An arrow transfixes the chest sliding between the thin space given up by the lacing to bring the front and back of the cuirass armour together. I imagine the target with a straight left arm holding the bow steady exposing the vulnerability, yet the accuracy required is still worthy of admiration.


    ¡°Remove her armour and any padding, there should be a shirt and pants remaining.¡±


    I gather Luda¡¯s kindling into a pile and strike a fire. As the flames take, I notice the three boars grazing together and my new companion trying to approach me. Each step she takes under duress, forcing herself to comply and will away any apprehension. Is the spirit binding the cause, a stronger slavery than the original for certain or are these her deep down feelings manifesting and rejecting her current situation but unable to find escape?


    ¡°Please prepare a meal for the four of us.¡±


    She swings a saddlebag down from her shoulder and nods. I leave her and return to the riverside.


    Luda and Duzsia stare at the dead female hobgoblin in silence. I seat myself beside the corpse and position a foot on either side of the arrow. Grabbing the feathered end of the arrow, I pull. With a sucking sound, the arrow pulls free and Duzsia is quick with the bandages.


    ¡°Who are you expecting?¡± asks Luda.


    ¡°Your sister. By my reckoning, she should be the last of my spirit bound wives.¡±


    Luda leaps upon me and whispers, ¡°Is that why you captured the other instead of slaying her?¡±


    I whisper back, ¡°Not entirely, I needed a guide and what better than one who has possibly travelled far and wide since she rides a boar?¡±


    Shrugging Luda off me, I scoop up the corpse and lay her beside the river ensuring one hand floats in the rushing water.


    The smell of sizzling meat draws us all back to the fire, a late afternoon meal, neither lunch nor dinner but more than welcome. We take the portions on offer, mine enough for two. Duzsia and Luda hold back any comment, such diplomats.


    ¡°Will the beasts accept two riders each?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master. One will need to ride behind the saddle, uncomfortable but not impossible.¡±


    I notice her clean fingers and no portion set before her. ¡°Eat. You will be unable to serve if you don¡¯t maintain your excellent mmm, body condition.¡±


    Her head drops. ¡°I ¡­ I have a portion ¡­ I would wait until you finish in case you require anything from me, Master.¡±


    ¡°You eat when I eat.¡± I try to school my voice, not sickly kind, not overbearing, simply an instruction.


    ¡°Yes, Master.¡± There it is again a tremble in her voice this time.


    I finish and divide my leftovers into three, dropping a portion into the hands of each of them. Duzsia and Luda tuck in while she hesitates her eyes upon me. ¡°Eat,¡± I whisper and turn to the other two. ¡°Scavenge up everything from the shoreline hereabouts, we will if those two awaken need every weapon and piece of armour we can find. I am going to dive for a dagger.¡±


    With that said I stroll along the shore, heading upstream.


    ¡°Master?¡±


    I stop and swivel about surprising my new companion as she crashes into me.


    ¡°Sorry Master. Please don¡¯t punish me I will improve, I will dedicate my life to serving you, I will ensure ¡­¡±


    I place my fingers across her lips. My touch upon her as good as burns her by the way she instantly draws back.


    ¡°Why are you afraid of me?¡± I ask, unable to keep the resignation from my voice.


    ¡°You are a Priest of Klug, for me your word is absolute ¡­ I know only of Priestesses, and they are ¡­ are frightening in their lordship over those they convert and given males command females, Priests would command Priestesses ¡­¡±


    As I approach to draw her into a hug the sharp smell of urine hits my nostrils.


    ¡°Beat me Master for offending you, you must punish me ¡­¡±


    I embrace her, running my fingers through her hair while whispering words of comfort in her ear. When her trembling ceases, I continue to hold her.


    She squirms slightly and I loosen my hold. ¡°Maybe, if you wish and I don¡¯t repulse you ¡­ I would ask you to use my body for your pleasure. Masters should use those who serve them, immediately to claim them ¡­ it is said.¡±


    ¡°Will that stop your trembling when near me? Place a smile upon your face when you greet me? Remove the fear from your eyes?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know Master, yet if nothing changes, then nothing changes ¡­ it is said.¡±


    ¡°That is true enough. First though since you are here you can hold this end of the rope while I swim across the river and search for your dagger. Once I am in position, you will need to brace and hold me there, short of the far shore so I can do an initial search. Given you dropped the weapon near the shore I don¡¯t think the current would have swept it away, but we will see.¡±


    Her eyes cast downwards she replies, ¡°Yes, Master.¡±


    ---


    My arm wraps around her as we return to camp in triumph. The weapons, armour and tools are in separate piles with food packed in saddlebags and any extra set aside. I drop her dagger upon the weapons pile.


    ¡°We thought another serving of meat for the evening meal husband,¡± says Duzsia.


    ¡°Perhaps portions can be set aside for our promised guests?¡± offers Luda a sparkle in her eyes.


    ¡°Master, a fire at night attracts ¡­ dried meat, cheese and apples if carried are usually appropriate ¡­¡±


    Her voice dies as both Duzsia and Luda target her with harsh stares.


    ¡°I am sorry you two, but the native will know best. Although without a fire for the night.¡± I tap my chin. ¡°We will need to sleep close for body warmth.¡± Their smiles return to their faces in an instant and I suspect deviant thinking occurs behind their eyes.


    Once the meal is done our new companion disappears to the riverbank to clean up the simple flat metal plates and cooking pan. Duzsia and Luda take the opportunity to drape themselves half on me and half beside me as I settle onto a bedroll.


    Our new companion creeps back into camp, checks on the beasts, and then eases into a bedroll on the other side of the cold firepit. She whispers, ¡°Master while my former master will be missed, it isn¡¯t unusual for him to overnight in camp. The boars are good guards, they will fuss when they smell anything or anyone different approach and I will wake when they do.¡±


    ¡°Rest well and if you are cold during the night please join us,¡± I weakly reply. For some reason, my caution of years has fled from me. I feel superior and I don¡¯t understand why. Camping away from civilisation beside a river in an unforgiving world should send shivers up my spine and yet try as I might I am at peace, utter calm. While they lay beside me, I am aware of their physical presence, but also their spiritual presence, their lifeforce for lack of a better name. My new worshipper registers in extraordinary detail, the restless move of her foot, a tear forming and her pulsing lifeforce, on edge, wound up tight yet thank the stars, no longer trembling. The lifeforce of the three boars also register with me. They are all within my circle of awareness and dare I say, control. A simple wilfulness on my part and Duzsia and Luda are satisfied laying with me when I am certain beyond doubt, they had planned much more, for their own enjoyment but also to tease the new girl.


    ¡°Yes, Duzsia and Luda,¡± I whisper. They woke many heartbeats ago and I sense much debating within them.


    ¡°Husband, there is knowledge of our past you must know. Like what happened after your death?¡± whispers Duzsia.


    ¡°Now?¡±


    ¡°Yes, before Zeb and Koria possibly join us ¡­¡±


    ¡°I am listening.¡±


    ¡°We need to explain Rexa, husband. Do you want the short version or the long version?¡±


    I curl the arm Duzsia uses as a pillow to draw her close. ¡°The past can¡¯t be changed, so the short version.¡±


    Duzsia takes a deep breath. ¡°Your wives agreed to run the Farm and the Village, including Copper Village between them. As each of your children were born, each were recognised as, of your lineage, your heirs. Unknown to most Rexa drank of your blood. We found out later Zoria swore your blood was potent, your legacy to strengthen all who believed in you.¡±


    ¡°That is true. All should have partaken ¡­¡± I murmur under my breath.


    Luda¡¯s hand reaches across my chest and rests upon Duzsia¡¯s arm, and she continues. ¡°Koria and I weren¡¯t trusted by the other wives, well deserved we know so we had plenty of time on our hands to snoop. A deal was made between Zoria and Rexa. Ligia and Karo bore witness you named Zoria wife and Oath keeper upon your death, yet she never gave you a child and thought perhaps her position among the wives weak. Rexa delivered you a hobgoblin son and she survived the grievous tearing which resulted. Once recovered, being first wife, coupled with the fact she bore a hobgoblin son she began exhibiting a superiority. Small things at first so others became used to her commanding. Once her son came of age and him a great natural warrior at her back, she claimed sole authority over the other wives and the valley.¡±


    ¡°While I can understand the logic, surely my other wives would have counselled her?¡±


    They hold each other¡¯s hand upon my chest now as Duzsia continues, ¡°Rexa was ruthless husband. She wielded her power with one aim and one aim only. To venerate you. How could any argue against such a purpose? She declared herself the first High Priestess of the Klugites. She then ordered us, Koria, Luda and I to retrieve the sacred armour from the Flint Arrows. Blindly we thought this would gain us favour, a welcome back and when we succeeded, she gave the armour to her son and dismissed us. The Flint Arrows blamed the Blood Bones as you predicted and after the genocide of the Blood Bones, the Flint Arrows were weak and exhausted. Other tribes of the valley then nibbled away at their remaining strength. They realised their folly when your son, already a formidable warrior at a young age became invincible when he wore the armour in battle against them.¡±


    ¡°Rexa, like others, knew of my near-death in their lands ¡­ she sent her son to right that blemish,¡± I offer.


    Luda resumes the telling, ¡°Yes, conquering them was well celebrated. The Matriarch took this as a warning and tried to organise with the remaining tribes to destroy this rising power, yet all saw in your son the return of the Warrior Hob. To face him in battle meant certain death. Upon surrender of any goblins, Rexa would preach to them and convert them into accepting her as High Priestess. Many choose to flee the valley instead. Milga Stone Blood one of the earliest to recognise Rexa¡¯s fanaticism after your death decided to bide her time, neither openly for nor against her. She needed to wait for her daughter to grow. As soon as Rexa claimed all authority as first wife, Milga secured a release from her oath as she only needed to convince one of your wives to agree now ¨C Rexa. I suppose Rexa¡¯s release of Milga meant one less to fight if it ever came to that and further demonstrated her authority as none opposed her decision. Our father stayed by Rexa¡¯s side offering advice, trying to temper her dictatorship, most ignored towards the end. She slowly broke him and as his disloyal daughters, we had no power to save him. Rexa left us alone in the main because we were powerless, and none tried to ally with us for the same reason. Some left the valley in search of Milga, we encouraged our children once of age to do the same. As your wives, Rexa wouldn¡¯t permit us to leave, ¡®keep your friends close and your enemies closer¡¯ is the explanation she gave us.¡±


    I grab both of my wives all the closer to me. The trickling of water in the nearby river rings loud in my ears as I digest this short version. I shudder to think of the pain and anguish in the long version. All my wives were powerless before the daughter of Jotor. He taught her well. I shiver due to a fortunate unfulfilled possibility. I may have conducted the drowning ceremony with Rexa and what would return to me now. There is another I didn¡¯t consider, Zoria. While I remember naming and accepting her as a wife, did I ever perform the drowning ceremony with her? Surely not, I never welcomed her, try as she might. What of the new addition, will I be able to call her to me during my next life? Perhaps that is reason enough to release her. I have so many questions, yet a trivial one rises to the top.


    ¡°Which wife lived the longest?¡±


    Luda glances at Duzsia before replying, ¡°We don¡¯t know husband, we suspect Rexa as she drank of your blood often, while for your other wives partaking was occasional as a reward for great service or show of loyalty.¡±


    ¡°You and your sister never drank?¡± I feel the shake of her head upon my chest. ¡°What became of my Oath Keeper?¡±


    ¡°She kept her oath and watched over the goblin prisoner either personally or her chosen guard did. None understood why ¡­ husband ¡­¡±


    I didn¡¯t take her hint and offer an explanation. ¡°Sleep now both of you. I suspect we have a big day tomorrow.¡±


    Before sleep, I plead to the unknown for Koria Keen Eye and Zeb Stone Grim to return to me.

 2.005 Truths

    Cooking smells wake me. Immediately after a howl of anguish alerts me and I bolt upright in my bedroll. A glance towards the fire pit and my new worshipper is busy cooking, undisturbed. So, the pain is personal, and we aren¡¯t in any danger. Duzsia, like me, is looking about. Like lightning, she sprints from tending the boars across the stones to the riverside. I jump to my feet and do the same. Luda is slapping the chest of the female hobgoblin, crying, and whimpering for her sister.


    I pick my goblin wife up in my arms and carry her back to the campfire.


    ¡°Her return may yet happen. There was never a guarantee, wife. The female may not have been a distant relative of mine, plain and simple.¡± I stroke her hair. ¡°There will be other opportunities if this one fails.¡±


    Her head moves in my arms and our eyes meet. ¡°Koria would have enjoyed that body, for a start an archer¡¯s callouses would have already been earnt,¡± she sobs.


    Or more to her heart¡¯s yearning, your sister would have joined us now instead of an unknown time in the future. I say nothing of my thoughts and kiss her forehead instead, before seating her in front of the firepit. I am served a plate, which given the four fried eggs, I assume is mine, I hand my plate to Luda instead.


    I meet Duzsia halfway between the camp and the riverside.


    ¡°The female is a corpse still husband. Time to check on the male?¡±


    I nod and we jog over the stones heading upriver. Finding the rope, we scout along its length locating the scattering of stones from the beast¡¯s hooves and crashing body. A trickle of black blood, probably when the male hit his head due to his fall ¡­ nothing else.


    ¡°This is the spot,¡± I say, more to confirm with myself than inform Duzsia.


    ¡°Husband, here.¡±


    Duzsia is heading away from the riverbank, crouching every so often and then scanning the ground and bushes ahead.


    She points out a wet hobgoblin footprint, drying in the morning sunshine. We exchange a smile and hurry on.


    We discover the hobgoblin body under the shade of the first tree to be worthy of the name, a good distance from the river, clear of the stones at the start of good enough soil to support the growing of a tree instead of brush. I peer at the body, there is still a shallow rise and fall of the chest. Alive then. Black blood bathes the bandage and splints on the broken leg, perhaps Zeb, if it is Zeb, thought it stronger than it was. Either pain, exhaustion or both halted his escape.


    I knee beside him and tap his cheek. No response. I glance up at Duzsia, who is chewing her lower lip. She knows as well as I, he needs help, his scramble from the river on a broken leg has overloaded the nanorobots and away from the river the number activated in this body have no water to assist.


    ¡°How do we carry him? He is taller than both of us, so a walking carry would probably drag if it works and make his broken leg worse.¡±


    I think of his spear, broken in two perhaps and then cloth tied to each pole? I look around, a few saplings could serve the same purpose.


    ¡°We need some saplings and our pants legs ¡­¡±


    Duzsia throws me a quizzical look and then shrugs.


    ---


    The stretcher worked when I remembered the need to place cross beams between the poles. The poles kept closing when the body was loaded on, so once braced ¨C we needed to use our shirt sleeves to tie the cross beams to the poles, progress. Duzsia and I stretcher his body back to the river next to the female corpse, deliberately leaving half of his near-naked body in the water. With a prop, the stretcher becomes a shade for Luda and his head only, while she waits once again beside a body hoping for the return of someone dear to her. When I called him, did he only half believe? Was his wait in the black torture? I linger trying to think of words or actions to make Luda feel better but in truth the only guarantee she wants to hear I can¡¯t give her. Instead, I observe the potential future body of her father. The accumulating layers of fat now beginning to even out the corded muscle definition on the hobgoblin¡¯s body, the extra weight a drag in combat for sure. Zeb Stone Grim would need to correct that slow slide and we would need to find new linen pants and shirt for him as both were used to bind his wounds and in the making of the stretcher. If we can¡¯t, I wonder if anyone we meet before we can, will notice?


    Duzsia and I spend the day with my new worshipper learning all we can about boar mounts. By late afternoon the three of us ride the beasts, that is to say, Duzsia and I nudge with our knees, and they walk roughly in the direction we pull on the reins. Our banter becomes infectious enough for our teacher to finally grace us with a smile. Then the lesson suddenly ends leaving us on our mounts and staring after her as she goes about preparing dinner. We continue to ride for a time, both of us observing Luda talking to the hobgoblin, there are no obvious signs of joy, not a single laugh, so we dismount and return the beasts to grazing.


    Duzsia and I approach Luda, overhearing her call the hobgoblin father, and more. The pleading in her voice cuts to my soul as she tries to convince him of who he is and how he is once again alive.


    ¡°Zeb Stone Grim,¡± I call.


    From the cradle of his daughter¡¯s lap, his head turns until our eyes meet. ¡°Is this young hobgoblin truly Lord Farmer Hob I now see through a stranger¡¯s eyes? My daughter has been explaining the impossible.¡± He shakes his head.


    ¡°First thing you need to know is that there are helpers called nanorobots within your body trying to heal and repair which work best if fed water, so you need to stay where you are for now with your broken leg in the river. Once your body is healed and its strength is returned, we can explain further.¡±


    Luda dunks a cloth in the river and then lays the damp cloth across his forehead. ¡°I have fed him husband and given him water to drink ¡­¡±


    Her eyelids flicker trying to disguise growing tears. ¡°I will bring you a bedroll so you can spend the night with your father.¡±


    She nods as I grab Duzsia by the arm and we head back to the camp.


    A plate is before me, and I push it back. ¡°I must deliver a bedroll first. Feed Duzsia.¡±


    My new companion springs to her feet bedroll to hand. ¡°Master that is a task for me, you must eat while I fetch and carry to meet your needs.¡±


    I hold out my hand and she begrudgingly gives me the bedroll.


    As I walk away, I overhear Duzsia snarl, ¡°He doesn¡¯t want a slave or servant, he wants a strong capable partner, hence we are his wives and you confuse him with your fawning, worse you fear him ¡­¡±


    ---


    Dusk is upon us as I return to the camp and note only Duzsia waits for me, uselessly prodding the dying embers of the fire pit with a stick.


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°Your new companion and I had a one-on-one woman chat and I suspect she has gone off to sulk.¡±


    I can relate to her frustration, some, like Zoria for instance, for whatever reason just don¡¯t fit in, one way or another. ¡°While inconvenient, I will release her spirit back to her. There is a risk she will tell every one of her meetings with me, a Priest of Klug. We will lose her skills dealing with the boars as well as her knowledge of her former master and his position, but she is in pain every moment she spends with us, well, with me in truth.¡± My Hob nature growls at me. Hello old friend, I mentally greet him. I acknowledge death would be best, but only if there is clear doubt ¡­ he grumbles to cold silence.


    ¡°I agree husband. If she returns, then in the morning will be easiest? Zeb should be on his feet by then so probably best she isn¡¯t one of us when we try to introduce him to our new existence.¡± She reaches for my arm. ¡°Be warned husband, he won¡¯t be the Zeb of old, Rexa broke him and to rebuild his confidence will take devotion and time.¡±


    I smile. ¡°Another reason we don¡¯t need an unnecessary distraction like a new worshipper?¡±


    ¡°Your words, not mine husband, but I do agree with them.¡±


    We knock shoulders together and chuckle. Two past lives reforging our familiar relationship, although her ferocious relentlessness now seems tempered, suspension in the black good for her in some macabre way.


    A deliberate scuffle if ever I heard one and then a silhouette appears out of the dark marching forward until the embers reveal my new worshipper in all her glory. Gone are the linen clothes, before me stands a warrior archer in full armour, bow in hand, quiver on hip and sheathed dagger on the other. Most importantly the confident baring she displayed when upon the high riverbank is present in abundance.


    ¡°I am Zergoa, daughter of the Huntress Torgoa the last of her tribe, former Boar Rider honour guard of Torngul Heartsplitter may his deeds live on after his death. I no longer wish to slave or serve but prove my worth in battle, hunting and providing counsel. What say you Priest of Klug?¡±


    ¡°What would you say if I told you I am not a Priest of Klug?¡±


    For an instant, her face screws up, then recovery. I note a modicum of confidence fade from her posture, yet she endures and continues to stand resolute. ¡°I am not afraid.¡±


    ¡°I am Lord Klug.¡±


    A slow smile of relief graces her face, a realisation, her eyes shine as tears run down her cheeks and then a gush of babbling words. ¡°Everything is clear now, a male cannot be a Priest of Klug unless he is Lord Klug. Only Lord Klug could call past lives back into his service and only Lord Klug could capture this pathetic hobgoblin¡¯s spirit so utterly. This absolute beyond what is said a Priestess can do for many have chosen suicide instead of servitude and I couldn¡¯t even choose that.¡± She catches a breath. ¡°Not that I would now, of course, knowing the truth even if I could, which I know I can¡¯t ...¡±


    She lays down, her forehead touching the ground and then rises to her feet. I stand and wave her over to me and without hesitation she advances into my embrace. I kiss her forehead and admire her glowing face. She touches her fingers to her lips, her eyes asking. I place a kiss upon her lips and when our lips part, she speaks.


    ¡°I wish to earn the right to be called your wife and be able to offer my future spirit to be called to your side no matter the test of waiting.¡±


    Duzsia embraces both of us. ¡°Possible wife material husband?¡±


    ¡°Possible, yes,¡± I agree as I kiss both, lingering upon Duzsia¡¯s hungry lips.


    A hand draws my face back. ¡°If I am to be your wife, I will need to practice wifely kissing Lord Klug.¡±


    With that said she plants her lips upon mine and attempts to replicate Duzsia¡¯s passion and duration.


    A clearing of a throat breaks up our celebration as arm in arm we all turn our attention to the instigator.


    ¡°Armour on a nervous, insecure and fearful fool doesn¡¯t make them any more than they were,¡± snaps Luda.


    ¡°What is amiss with your father?¡± I say with kindness.


    Tears barely held back burst forth. ¡°He believes this all a trick, raving on and on about Rexa and how he won¡¯t let her trick him again ¡­¡±


    ¡°Does she mean the High Priestess Rexa?¡± asks Zergoa.


    Luda stops crying, while Duzsia and I turn to face her.


    ¡°Does the High Priestess Rexa still live?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord although her appearances are rare, normally only on the High Holy Day if the rumours are true.¡±


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The Agent as a goblin lived for two hundred years or thereabouts, the vat-grown body augmented of course. My blood would have contained numerous nanorobots and the consumption of them would have assisted and protected all my wives, but what if one wife drank the most and for the longest. The nanorobots would have preserved the blood. Would the volume be increased if water was added? If that is the case does the High Priestess consume nanorobots daily as well as those she favours? No wonder everyone fears her and her Priestesses. What did Tomgul Heartsplitter say, even the youngest of the arrogant Priestesses announce themselves. What if these are young in appearance only due to the consumption of my blood from a young age? That would mean Rexa shares, which I find difficult to believe given what my wives have told me. What if true though?


    ¡°Husband!¡± snaps Duzsia. A feel a slap on my arm.


    I blink. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°We thought we lost you somehow.¡±


    ¡°No, trying to reason what could have happened, none of this welcome because if true, Rexa, High Priestess of Klug has become a long-lived tyrant. Most civilisations can survive a tyrant because in a lifetime they die, and they rarely do so with a succession plan.¡±


    This world before my arrival was stuck, due to the controlling Hobs. Has Rexa accomplished the same these past two hundred years or has resistance to her spurred-on ingenuity and imagination? Are the examples of arms and armour proof? The craftmanship I have seen to date? Another thought weighs upon me. The bright light, the greeting and therefore awareness of who they encountered. No, not just a bright light, the brightest light of a relative of mine, yet she isn¡¯t a blood relative. Maybe I have this wrong, and the brightness is tied to the concentration and activity of nanorobots within an individual. I can assume the High Priestess of Klug would by far contain more nanorobots than anyone else on this planet, my present body included. Now that is an unpleasant thought and what¡¯s more, all of my making.


    ¡°We need Zeb to recover, physically first and while he is doing so, I will talk with him.¡±


    Zergoa strokes my bald head. ¡°Lord, we don¡¯t have much time. I expect an honour guard to be sent to search for Torngul. If they find him dead, they may choose to avenge him, bad for anyone nearby or they may rush back to assume his position, claim his riches, and try to hold onto his influence and then order his murders found.¡±


    ¡°I will need to spend all of tonight with Zeb, we need him to be the Torngul he never was.¡±


    ¡°Would I be permitted to accompany you, Lord? I may, given I am not any of you, be able to help. I won¡¯t join you now, I need to prepare first,¡± asks Zergoa.


    ¡°He is my father! I must help him before her,¡± snaps Luda.


    She tries to back away as I approach but gives in to my hug. ¡°You have done enough, spending all day with him time for you to rest and the night shift to try.¡±


    She balls her fists and strikes my chest. I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me, oblivious Luda continues until the strength to do so leaves her arms. ¡°Be gentle, his mind is frail,¡± she whispers in defeat.


    Duzsia takes her from me and with that I approach my former Speaker of Law and Master of Children.


    ---


    ¡°Can you stand without pain yet?¡± I ask.


    I sense his suspicion, although the venom in his words is also a fair indication. ¡°What, so you can have me running around pretending to be someone else to suit whatever devious plan you have in mind? Or is it her plan and you are just another actor, another plough in her field of deceit?¡±


    ¡°I am who I say I am, although my appearance has changed, due to my spirit claiming another¡¯s body shortly after their death, like you.¡±


    He flaps a hand in my direction and sneers. ¡°Or the High Priestess captured your spirit like mine and planted it in another body causing their death or shortly after.¡±


    I pick up a smooth river stone. ¡°Did she have that power during your time with her?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly but she claimed Lord Klug visited her trying to return and she would need to perfect a ceremony of its like to ensure a suitable vessel was made ready.¡±


    Using my thumb, I clean some adhering sand off the stone. ¡°Is the Luda who spent the entire day with you, your daughter?¡±


    ¡°She tried to convince me, recalling many things ¡­¡±


    ¡°Did you bury your daughter upon her death?¡±


    His body tenses and I think for a moment he tries to stand, instead he grabs at the stones with each hand and settles back onto his stone bed. ¡°No. I died before both of my daughters as a father should.¡±


    ¡°Why are you so certain they have died? How many years do you think have passed since your death?¡±


    ¡°My not-daughter says over hundred years have passed, so they must have died, no goblin can live longer than fifty.¡±


    ¡°Yet you and I are still agents of the High Priestess?¡±


    He drops stones from his hands I didn¡¯t realise he had hold of and casts his face towards the river. ¡°She lives forever, supping on Lord Hob¡¯s blood. She divided the original vat in two. The pure she kept for herself the other half she diluted with water until full. She would award the diluted as a reward to her sycophants while she drank from the other. A secret I took to my grave because who would I tell who could challenge her anyway?¡±


    ¡°Why do you tell me now, wouldn¡¯t I tell her that others know her secret if in league with her?¡±


    He sits up, his face in mine, his finger stabbing at my chest. ¡°Others knew, like Zoria. She did nothing. I tried to tell Milga, but she fretted over her daughter ignoring all else.¡±


    I inspect his resting finger on my chest with my eyes. He withdraws the digit. ¡°Well, your fears are truth from what I can tell. The High Priestess of Klug, Rexa is still alive after two hundred years or thereabouts. Given her reign of terror has been made in my name, I aim to curtail or destroy her. I thought a good place to start would be to recall all those bound to me due to the drowning ceremony.¡± I cast him a look. He frowns. ¡°I can¡¯t bring back their bodies, of course, I can¡¯t even bring back my own, all worm food or ashes now, so I needed to find other bodies. Fresh kills, unfortunately, so I must shoulder that guilt.¡± I pause for a moment to collect my thoughts. ¡°Your body previously belonged to Torngul Heartsplitter a boar rider and leader of some notoriety and said to be fearsome in battle. I need a Zeb who can play at being Torngul. I need a Zeb that believes I am Lord Farmer Hob in another body. I need a Zeb that believes his daughter has returned to me and because she has means she has returned to Zeb Stone Grim as well. If you can¡¯t be that Zeb, then it is best for us both if Torngul dies again, tonight, so when his honour guard arrives in the morning checking why he hasn¡¯t returned to his camp for two nights they find his body so they can either swear revenge or return to claim his power and possessions while we run off and devise another plan.¡±


    Zergoa crouches down beside both of us. ¡°Lord Klug, if I may?¡± She shakes Torngul¡¯s helm at both of us.


    Zeb and I must have the same look of disbelief or misunderstanding on our faces as she explains further.


    ¡°Whether he decides to believe he is this Zeb person returned to your service or not and can play the role of Torngul or not it will be much easier to dress him in his arms and armour when alive. When I am finished you can kill him then and the blood will spill naturally. I suggest in the back.¡± She nods towards the female hobgoblin. ¡°A given in my opinion because my honour guard sister has been slain by an arrow which could only have been delivered due to treachery. Since my body won¡¯t be found I will accept being blamed for both assassinations, although I much prefer, if you Zeb, trust Lord Klug to avoid such a fate which includes the ruination of my family line.¡±


    Zeb points his finger at Zergoa. ¡°How do you know he is Lord Klug?¡±


    ¡°Because one moment I was a loyal honour guard of Torngul Heartsplitter and then after being drowned by Lord Klug and returning he held my spirit in his keeping.¡±


    With absolute authority, I say, ¡°Zergoa, use your dagger and stab yourself in the neck.¡±


    My inner Hob rejoices, yet he suspects me.


    She blinks and reaches for her dagger. Dagger to hand she searches for the ideal placement using the tip, a bead of black blood spring forth from the scratch. ¡°I serve you in life and death Lord Klug.¡± She then draws back and plunges the dagger towards her throat.


    Two hands prevent her death, both belonging to Zeb Stone Grim. One around her dagger hand, the other as a shield around her throat. Zeb grunts, ¡°Tell her to stop, I am not certain how long I can save her.¡±


    ¡°Zeb Stone Grim the goblin patriarch of the Flint Arrows would have the determination while I suspect Torngul Heartsplitter hobgoblin boar rider would have the strength after all your leg should be fully healed after a day in the water.¡±


    He spits. ¡°You would risk my strength failing? She to kill herself. Why?¡±


    ¡°I need Zeb Stone Grim to cast off the shadow of High Priestess Rexa and believe Lord Farmer Hob has returned to right her wrongs and like before I need his counsel and stewardship skills not forgetting he needs to be someone else while doing so. Nothing less, otherwise death.¡±


    His eyes stare into mine. ¡°I will release my grip, I will!¡±


    ¡°The Zeb Stone Grim I knew would not allow an innocent to die if he could prevent it, so let her go to her death if you deny your true self otherwise hold on until you no longer can as the name Stone Grim proclaims your true nature.¡±


    ¡°You are cruel Lord Farmer Hob to test the faith of an old goblin so. She wanted you to return, expected you to return ¡­ absolute was and probably still is her belief and here you say you are. You win, I will give you the benefit of my many doubts while I search for more proof one way or the other. Good enough?¡±


    I nod. ¡°Zergoa relax. You need to dress Torngul Heartsplitter now.¡±


    Zeb jerks back when Zergoa releases the dagger and I catch him before he falls back upon the stone. The back of his other hand sustains a shallow cut, beads of black blood pop to decorate it. I wrap a cloth around his hand and leave them to their task.


    I stumble back to our camp by sensing two huddled life-forces in the dark of the night. I take the bedroll opposite, Zergoa¡¯s, to avoid disturbing them. I fall asleep immediately.


    ---


    ¡°Morning husband to be,¡± whispers Zergoa in my ear.


    I only now realise who provided the warmth during my sleep as her body spoons mine, her hand gliding across my lower abdomen. As punishment, I roll towards her. She giggles and kisses my neck. I lightly slap her thigh and sit up. The three boars are saddled and ready. Torngul Heartsplitter to be and Duzsia chatting beside them, novice leading novice I suspect. Luda is busy, preparing a fire in the firepit throwing glances at Zergoa and I.


    ¡°Have you had a chance to talk to your father?¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband, although he only answers to the name of Torngul Heartsplitter now, it seems he must get into the role you have asked him to play.¡± With furious strength, she snaps and throws several sticks upon the growing fire.


    ¡°For a few days at least, then we will see,¡± I offer.


    ¡°No husband. Torngul was an important hobgoblin, he will have duties and tasks and they will be endless. I have gained my father only to lose him the next day.¡± She slaps a pan down amongst flames and what must be the last of our eggs she cracks and throws in with some shell fragments. ¡°You will be able to break your fast shortly, Lord.¡± The snark in her voice is plain to hear.


    Behind me, Zergoa had already rolled away and when I glance behind me, I confirm she is dressed and ready for battle.


    ¡°With your leave, I will begin the education of Torngul, so he has some chance of convincing the soon to arrive honour guard.¡±


    ¡°Do we have much time?¡±


    She nods. ¡°They will arrive the same time of day when we first met you, Lord. Maybe slightly earlier. I would suggest we are across the ford and riding back to his camp when we meet the honour guard, this will also allow Torngul to become more familiar with his mount and recover from any river crossing mishap without judgement. We can¡¯t afford for him to fall off in front of those who know him best. Except to relieve himself and sleep, when travelling, he is never off his boar.¡±


    I smile. ¡°Not even when meeting others? Like those who serve him?¡±


    ¡°Never then Lord. He sits above them, always.¡±


    I nod and she runs off to begin lessons. I turn back and find a plate of eggs on my lap. ¡°Thank you, wife.¡±


    ¡°Well, that is the last, I will hunt since I am not anyone official. With your leave Lord?¡±


    I place my plate to one side and grab her forearm. She tugs against me, yet hobgoblin strength beats goblin strength every day of the week, so little by little I draw her to me. Laying her down on the bedroll I spoon around her, one arm under her head my larger fingers lacing themselves between hers. My lips close enough to kiss her neck on occasion while my other arm reaches to the plate and feeds her half an egg and then myself the other half. I ignore the occasional crunch. Once we finish, I prevent her escape and we lay together listening to Zergoa school Zeb to be Torngul while riding his saddled boar in circles of eight. Duzsia begins to pack up camp around us, occasionally smiling at us or Luda in particular.


    ¡°Duzsia, can you prepare a modest pyre for our female corpse. It would do no good for anyone to find her body pierced by an arrow that smacks of ambush. Also, ask Zergoa if you were to wear the honour guards armour and wield her weapons, would Torngul recruit a new member of his honour guard while travelling. The loss and recruitment could explain his delay.¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband ¡­ although Zeb, I mean Torngul and Zergoa have already discussed such a scenario and have more or less agreed to it.¡±


    ¡°No one thought to inform me?¡± I ask with some indignation.


    ¡°You were busy.¡± She nods towards Luda. ¡°Preparations can¡¯t wait is what I was told.¡± She giggles.


    As I reach out to slap her leg she dodges and skips away. Luda takes this opportunity to roll around until we are face to face.


    ¡°Thank you, husband but we must be about our business to ensure our play is convincing otherwise more will die needlessly.¡±


    ---


    Preparations complete and I observe Duzsia huffing while pulling and prodding at her newly acquired cuirass and if I can believe my eyes, trying to tuck and prod her breasts into position.


    ¡°Duzsia, what are you doing?¡± My amusement begs me to escape.


    Her eyes snap up to meet mine, failing as mine are firmly fixed upon her breasts, particularly the fleshy portions trying to escape captivity. I almost chuckle, but hold back knowing my wife may not appreciate the situation as well as I.


    ¡°If you must know. Eyes up please husband.¡± She stamps a foot, and I surrender my viewing pleasure in the name of wifey peace. ¡°The cuirass is leather on the outside with shaped metal underneath, and I seem to have larger breasts than the previous owner. The side strap throngs are at their extreme while still providing secure binding so try as I might I will be running into battle with two bulges of flesh above the lip of the cuirass to the amusement of friend and foe alike.¡±


    I do like the view, but there is a simple if time-consuming solution.


    ¡°Sit.¡±


    She pouts and joins me in a sitting position upon the stones.


    ¡°Feel for your nanorobots, they travel in your blood, some are already busy in your heart. They are attending to your body as a cleaner would a house, they have found a routine that benefits you and keeps them busy. Do you sense them?¡±


    Several moments pass by. The river trickles in the background, brush rattles as a steady breeze fans the leaves and her face relaxes, all tension going ¡­


    ¡°Yes!¡± She starts to rock in place. My hand rests upon her shoulder and she stops.


    ¡°Good, now imagine a result. For instance, reduce both of my breasts and convert the flesh to muscle and strengthen my upper arms. When you do this always imagine both. Both breasts, both pairs of muscle groups. Nothing more and nothing less.¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband. Except I will strengthen the muscle groups across my shoulders to steady my archery pull and thereby improve my accuracy.¡±


    ¡°Drinking or soaking in water will always assist, bathing the area in sunlight will provide energy to feed the nanorobots and is probably something we should all do if we are going to wear full armour every waking moment. Usually, sunlight on arms, legs and the face is enough otherwise.¡±


    Her eyes turn on me with a sly look. ¡°You certain you aren¡¯t making an excuse, encouraging me in fact to display my breasts for your boyish carnal pleasure, husband?¡±


    I radiate back the most hurtful expression I can muster. ¡°Time is short wife, and my advice is to ensure you are comfortable in your cuirass when we meet our rescue party. Nothing more and nothing less I assure you.¡±


    ¡°Mm ¡­ if I am to lay naked in the shallows of the river then having a jealous husband watch over me is probably the ideal, even if his motivation is self-interest.¡±


    I offer my hand and as she rises her lips seek out mine. ¡°Be a good husband and unstrap my cuirass please?¡±

 2.006 Game Face

    Duzsia adopts the hobgoblin name of Drusia, apparently everyone except me knows somehow the first is a traditional goblin tribal name while the second is a respectable hobgoblin name. Luda keeps her name; tribal goblin naming hasn¡¯t changed in two hundred years; I mean why would it? For me, while Klug is certainly a valid hobgoblin name my wives convince me to answer to Klar, if not husband or Lord. Why Lord? I am due an inheritance in another valley but must fight for my claim due to my young age to prove myself with only my loyal goblin Luda by my side to help. I keep company with Torngul to win fame and riches to claim back my birthright. I also took my own advice and utilised my nanorobots. In my case to alter my facial features in consultation with my wives of course, after all someone was hunting the former me and who would say they wouldn¡¯t try again if discovered. I encouraged Duzsia to keep her face. As part of the duo trying to kill the old version of me, I am hoping they, whoever they are, will contact her again.


    We cross the ford without mishap, the river lapping at the stirrups of the boar riders. Torngul, Zergoa and Duzsia ride the beasts, while I and my loyal sidekick walk practically naked a respectable distance behind. Luda playfully slaps me several times and for the life of me, I don¡¯t know why. All I am doing is admiring the swirl of the cool river water around her chest and the wash effect upon her breasts and nipples. We reach the other bank and follow a narrow climbing trail through the trees and brush lining the river. Luda and I dress and then join the three beast riders as they wait on the edge of an expanse of grasslands, a magnificent view. Off in the distance, over the grass sea, on time give or take the length of a meal break, five mounted boars with jogging escorts, head our way.


    Zergoa shifts back in her saddle, eyes firmly upon those approaching us. ¡°The one leading is your second in command, Klugak, yet to earn his name. Without a name, he can¡¯t rise to lead in his own right, which he desperately yearns to do. The naming limits the assassination of leaders, genius really, otherwise no leader would be safe for long. Most name their favourites and grant them lordship over recently conquered villages or tribes, which usually keeps them busy taming their unruly new subjects.¡±


    We halt on Zergoa¡¯s advice. It is expected and allows her more time to introduce those approaching us.


    ¡°The two either side of Klugak are his children, he has many more at his disposal. You will need to find an excuse, if not today, certainly in the near future to at least wound the male as he doesn¡¯t have the patience of his father and will cause unrest if left unchecked. Male births are rare, because of this Klugak grants him significant latitude being his only son. You don¡¯t need to remember their names, for you to remember a name means the hobgoblin is important to you, otherwise they are beneath your notice. His eldest daughter rides with him today, interesting. You may like to ask him why.¡±


    I interject, ¡°Because Torngul knows my name, that instantly ranks me higher than those two? Won¡¯t that cause angst?¡±


    Zergoa giggles. ¡°I hope so. If the son takes obvious offence in front of Torngul he may take the opportunity to wound him. To kill him effectively ends Klugak¡¯s line a most unfortunate outcome, which at this time should be avoided. The wider two riders are my honour guard sisters. It would be useful to win them as you have won me, Lord, as they know Torngul as well as I, so any intimate failing, such as in the bedroll could prove awkward.¡±


    Torngul clears his throat and raises his chin slightly. ¡°Lord you don¡¯t need to be concerned. I may not be able to replicate his lovemaking style, but I will try to put into practice certain acquired skills to encourage a favourable pleasurable outcome for the female beneath me.¡±


    I cough, while I notice Luda tense. My reaction is due more to the sophistication of the words spoken, while I suspect Luda¡¯s is more along father-daughter boundaries.


    Ignorant of me or his daughter, Torngul continues, ¡°Overhearing your efforts almost every night while by your side has well educated me as some of your wives were intimately descriptive concerning their needs.¡±


    Luda stamps her foot. I smirk. ¡°Father!¡± hisses Luda. ¡°Warn me when you are going to speak so in future so I can block my ears.¡±


    Deadpan he replies, ¡°Consider this pure revenge for the number of times Lord Klug took you to a similar height and I needed to ignore my daughter¡¯s screams of pleasure.¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± pleads Zergoa and she continues with haste. ¡°Their names are Voria and Trela, while the sister I assassinated was named Brimsia. She was the best of us, so Duzsia since you are taking her place the other two will challenge you and I will be expected to as well or suffer a loss of prestige. To fight and lose is simply establishing the pecking order, to not fight is considered cowardly, so prepare for multiple challenges. If injured, you have the right to postpone but not avoid.¡±


    Torngul adds, ¡°Depending upon my performance in the bedroll, there could be an alternate plan which was suggested by honour guard sister Zergoa, but only time will tell on that one.¡±


    ¡°Father! What did I ask?¡± says Luda, eyes like daggers in her father¡¯s back.


    ¡°He isn¡¯t your father when Torngul and I need to know what will happen if I kill one of them in a challenge?¡± growls Duzsia while staring at Luda.


    Zergoa takes a deep breath. ¡°You can win in two ways, the first, force them from the battle circle. An opponent can step out themselves if they believe they can¡¯t win but only after putting on a good show or if badly injured. You can also push them out of course. The other way is to draw blood three times before your opponent does. Torngul judges on everything including blood hits, drawn blood doesn¡¯t always earn a hit especially if a trick was used for example.¡± Her voice deepens when speaking those last words, tricky is probably not considered honourable. In a real fight though, winning and survival is the only objective.


    I return to listening.


    ¡°Any favouritism by Torngul will be weighed against past behaviour because he didn¡¯t ever play favourites, we are risking much suggesting he has taken Lord Klar under his protection. This is a first for him and we need to stick to our tale explaining the loss of Brimsia and the heroics of Lord Klar helping to slay the assassins, hence Lord Torngul¡¯s acknowledgement of him. We will know when the spying starts, by who does the spying and for whom if others view Lord Klar as a moment of weakness, strength, or honourable sympathy. The important thing to remember is that Torngul¡¯s authority is absolute until it isn¡¯t. He must demonstrate cause for his actions, wounding, death, winners, losers, decisions and even exile. So don¡¯t act rashly or in haste like the real Torngul did when he thought two near-naked females in the care of a hobgoblin youth would be easy pickings.¡±


    The passion in her voice reaffirms in all of us the risk we are taking trying to fool Lord Torngul¡¯s followers. The situation we are about to find ourselves in is deadly real and I hope upon hope that Zeb takes this game seriously regardless of him trying to find evidence of Rexa¡¯s illusion.


    Torngul sits tall in the saddle with his spear ready, planting the butt end firmly upon the dusty trail.


    ¡°Greetings great one, our concern was such we rode out to locate you and if necessary, provide assistance,¡± states Klugak with a shallow bob of his head.


    ¡°Or perhaps to check if I am alive and be the first to pick over my bones?¡± replies Torngul while lowering his spear point at Klugak.


    Klugak raises his hands, glancing over his shoulders clapping several times. ¡°Never Lord, we rejoice at your return.¡±


    Those behind him add their hand-clapping to his, casting smiles and nods as a sign of further support. Lord Torngul waves them to silence, and his eyes inspect them with purpose, finally resting upon first Voria and the Trela.


    ¡°Lord, Voria and I would request we ride as your honour guard given half of your present honour guard is unknown and therefore unproven in the eyes of those who cherish you most. Did this one.¡± She points her spear at Duzsia. ¡°Defeat our sister Brimsia?¡± says Trela.


    ¡°A tale for another time. You two.¡± He flicks his hand behind him. ¡°Fall in behind Klugak as I will allow him the honour of leading us home since he found us in good health.¡±


    Klugak bows as deep as his body will permit while in his saddle and swings his beast about, his children follow and the foot troops behind him make way for him and his to trot through them. Zergoa and Duzsia follow in the gaps made and both honour guards in Klugak¡¯s company make way for them by nudging their beasts aside. Voria inspects Duzsia from head to toe as her beast plods past, while Trela looks upon Zergoa with lips drawn thin. They suspect something, yet hold their tongues, waiting for their Lord to explain.


    In a perfect formation, Klugak leads in triumph, his back straight, sitting tall in his saddle.


    Torngul waves at Voria and Trela to ride at his side. Somehow Trela allows her beast to almost trample me before turning to follow her Lord, while Voria almost tramples Luda. Ever watchful we are both agile enough to avoid hurt and wise enough not to protest. In fact, we become the happiest ever given we follow behind three boar rumps, their tails occasionally swishing to break the tedium and the need at random to avoid boar droppings.


    Voria and Trela try to ask the same three or four questions in different ways, which Lord Torngul ignores, diverting them with small talk and instead advises them he will need their assistance tonight and explanations can wait.


    ---


    We cross an expanse of grasslands and before dusk encamp beside a trickle of a stream. I assume, if followed, it would lead back to the river and the trail we have been following cuts straight across from point A the ford crossing to point B the stream, both for the ready supply of water.


    While those escorting Klugak carried weapons they were in truth the help. Torngul, his honour guard, the father and his two children sit astride their mounts until the campsite is made ready. Torngul orders myself and my faithful goblin follower to stand to one side and not move. A thin smile escapes Klugak¡¯s lips. I also notice everyone except Luda are hobgoblins, she is unique for the moment. Is her current body¡¯s goblin village an exception somehow? Or are the lands now divided between goblin and hobgoblin? Zergoa didn¡¯t speak of any difference, so there must be an accepted given, common knowledge position, so common in fact, she didn¡¯t feel the need to explain!


    Servants approach each rider in turn according to reverse rank, lowest first. Klugak¡¯s son being younger, a servant leads his beast away first and then his sister¡¯s. I see the logic, those of lower rank are now below their superiors. Next Duzsia, then Voria, Trela, Zergoa and finally Klugak. None approach Torngul. This is also how they seat themselves around the campfire with Torngul¡¯s boar and Torngul at the head of the circle, Klugak right, Zergoa left and so on down the list with none sitting opposite Torngul. I end up opposite Klugak¡¯s son and beside his daughter, while Luda sits on the grass behind me. The food is brought around, in rank order, Torngul first and so on. It seems I must feed my goblin companion from my share, which I do. I allow her to eat her fill while I study the table. Still unnamed at this time, I, therefore, conclude I am unimportant and can be ignored by everyone else including Klugak¡¯s children who don¡¯t otherwise remain silent, offering comment, or asking questions around the campfire. Luda returns my plate and I finish the remains while eying off an aloof Zeb, playing acting his role as Torngul. He surveys the gathering, observing, and on occasion his eyes linger on Voria and Trela, until they smile, flashing teeth and tusks, and slowly, as if reluctant, he moves on.


    As the servants clear the plates away Torngul surveys those around the campfire clearly picking a moment during the idle chatter suitable to him.


    ¡°Trela and Voria assist me tonight, it seems I have missed your company these past days.¡±


    They nod and cast looks of superiority about the table, especially towards Zergoa and Duzsia. In response, Zergoa jumps up to her feet and stares with intent at Trela and Voria. ¡°I challenge for the right to spend the night with you Great One.¡±


    ¡°Save your vigour honour guard, I intend to hold a tournament upon return to test my current guards and introduce new blood. While Duzsia¡¯s addition was due to circumstance, I need to ensure she is loyal and can hold her place. And we would all agree, Brimsia was special and if a male would have proven a capable leader and warrior.¡± He flicks his head towards Trela and Voria and with one foot in a stirrup, he heaves his other leg over the saddle to land upon the ground in a graceful and well-honed move. One foot still in a stirrup, he glances over his shoulder smiling.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Honour guard, catch your Lord before he falls.¡±


    He crashes back into the waiting arms of Trela and Voria who save and support him into a standing position. Turning to face them he wraps an arm around each of their necks and draws them into him. ¡°Come my trusted lovelies, time to show you what I have learnt.¡± He looks back at the faces of those around the fire, their expressions are frozen in different states of shock and he announces, ¡°I don¡¯t wish to be disturbed unless we are under attack.¡±


    The looks on Trela and Voria¡¯s faces are equally caught between delight and apprehension, yet they are in his power and accept their fate. With their Lord gone the clean-up of dishes and breakout of bedrolls begins. There is the Great One¡¯s tent and a smaller tent for Klugak, everyone else including his children, have to sleep under the stars. Zergoa and Duzsia stand guard outside of Torngul¡¯s tent. I believe Zeb¡¯s actions mean he is going with Zergoa¡¯s plan, banking on his performance in the bedroll and not waiting for the results. They catch me as I blind fall backwards an old trust exercise and I can only assume Zeb is going to great lengths to win the loyalty of two honour guards who otherwise are strangers to him, regardless of a day of small talk while in the saddle.


    While difficult, I manage to sleep within earshot of Torngul¡¯s tent, just in case Zeb needs any assistance, not truly knowing what form that would realistically take. A gentle breeze carrying the myriad of smells emanating from the picketed boars across from our bedrolls quickly reveals why this spot was available. I smile in response to Luda¡¯s grimace, yet inwardly I feel the same. The things we do.


    ¡°¡­ undress me first ¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­ no not like that, linger and tease ¡­ yesss¡±


    ¡°¡­ now you and Voria ¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­ no rush ¡­ display and tempt ¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­ magnificent ¡­¡± A slap and a moan.


    ¡°¡­ Lord are you certain? ¡­¡± slap and slap, whimpers.


    Various grunts, groans, arghs and moaning until one, I am not certain which calls out his name, several times before complete silence. Then a second takes up the chant, lasting longer until silence again.


    ¡°I think we will move our bedroll, there is nothing for us here.¡±


    Luda nods with enthusiasm and with haste rolls up both bedrolls. Our new location is far from the Lord¡¯s tent, yet as dawn breaks, we find out not far enough.


    I suspect like us, the entire camp hears his honour guard scream again and again in ecstasy post-dawn as a sort of camp morning wake up call.


    I join the campfire in time to witness Voria and Trela exit Torngul¡¯s tent. Their armour and weapons immaculate, their faces neutral while exchanging pleasantries with Zergoa and Duzsia to release them from guard duty. They march away to find their bedrolls and drop to grab some sleep, the dark green bags under their eyes betraying their need. I share my plate with Luda again and then finish my portion slowly to observe the camp. Two female hobgoblin servants attend to Torngul in his tent and shortly after, his boar is saddled and standing in front of his tent opening. Because I am paying attention, I spy him deep kissing his two honour guards before mounting his steed. With glowing green faces, they hand him his spear and at a slow walk, his mount exits the camp. Voria and Trela are soon galloping on their beasts to catch up to him. No one seems concerned that Zergoa and Duzsia are left behind as the rest of the camp is busy, rapidly decamping.


    The campsite clears leaving four behind, Zergoa, Duzsia, Luda and myself. The only concession provided; whichever servant was responsible for saddling their boars, did so before leaving. I allow Zergoa and Duzsia some further sleep before waking them while Luda mumbles at me and I wave her off catching some shuteye myself.


    ---


    ¡°The camp left us behind?¡± confirms Zergoa upon sitting up after waking.


    ¡°Yes, you knew they would?¡±


    ¡°Of course, they follow their Lord. With two fewer honour guards, Klugak would be hopeful of defending his Lord from attack and thereby prove his worth or that of his children. They also know at a trot we can catch up.¡±


    Taking our bedrolls, we stroll over to the boars. ¡°I assume you and Lord Torngul have a plan?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Klar. Even now he is suggesting to Voria and Trela that appointing Duzsia into the honour guard was a hasty appointment and is the real reason for the tournament. He needed the excuse as he felt uncomfortable with the possibility he may be forced beyond his control to, in essence, bed someone he considers near enough to be his daughter.¡±


    Duzsia¡¯s sigh is audible, and I glance towards her in sympathy.


    ¡°Duzsia¡¯s loss will need to be convincing nevertheless?¡± I offer.


    ¡°Yes, there are a number of possibilities, but there are now six places instead of four.¡± Zergoa takes a breath herself. ¡°Then there is me, Lord, I am yours, not Lord Torngul¡¯s, so I seek your permission to lose also.¡±


    I scratch my chin. To have someone trustworthy by his side, valuable, although forcing her would be a disservice. ¡°I can¡¯t say I am entirely happy but understand why. Will Torngul be able to navigate his way through this cesspit of intrigue by himself?¡±


    ¡°From what you say of his past he will probably be a more able administrator than the real one, if not so an accomplished a warrior with a lance, Lord. The difference he displays going forward may be his undoing.¡±


    He will need lance training then, somewhere in secret, but if exposed questions will be asked, doubts expressed. He will more than hold his own with a bow and dagger. Perhaps switching to those weapons due to his personal vulnerability in the tent will make sense to his subjects and provide the excuse he needs to train with them. His sudden expert use in the meanwhile will be a useful surprise for any future foes or assassins who count on him always using a spear as a lance.


    ¡°Who will you lose to?¡±


    ¡°A fever of some sort, which I will ignore until too late. As part of this, he is telling Voria and Trela that he thinks a lapse on my part contributed to placing Brimsia in a vulnerable position, indirectly leading to her death. He is emphasising I made a tactical mistake not a deliberate mistake, but he doesn¡¯t want to be relying on me to not repeat the same error. He is asking them to recruit possible contestants and until they have a suitable number, he won¡¯t call the contest.¡±


    Duzsia leans forward on her saddle. ¡°We can talk and ride, can¡¯t we?¡±


    Zergoa nods and mounts her boar and then holds out a hand to assist me up, to sit behind her saddle. I catch Duzsia looking about, and I add my set of eyes to the search, where is Luda?


    Bursting through a nearby brush a thinnish hobgoblin falls flat on their face, with Luda dancing around the unfortunate. I note the hobgoblins legs are tied at the ankles and the hands are tied behind their back.


    ¡°A present Lord, it seems I have caught a spy. A might too loud to deceive me.¡±


    A land of hobgoblins, unused to goblin hearing? While there is at least one goblin village there are no goblins keeping company with hobgoblins except me. A nice advantage going forward.


    ¡°You must steal her Spirit, Lord,¡± suggests Zergoa. The captive struggles in silence.


    ¡°I promised her if she screams, she dies Lord,¡± adds Luda helpfully.


    A skinny immature she, if truly female I judge.


    Zergoa turns in her saddle to plead her case further. ¡°We must find out who sent her, if we slay her, they will send another and investigate her murder and if we let her live, we need to ensure she repeats none of what she overheard.¡±


    I slide off the back of the boar and crouch down. I turn her head to face me. She is young as I guessed, barely of age. I suspect an acceptable loss for those who sent her, or perhaps the only one available, a star student perhaps sent out at short notice. This means one of those who met us on the trail slipped away during the night in haste, so our spy could double-time back to be present to eavesdrop in the morning or maybe not.


    I look up at Zergoa. ¡°Are there such things as carrier pigeons or message-carrying crows?¡±


    Her shaking head and look of confusion confirm the need for a runner and therefore proves an informant accompanied Klugak¡¯s search party.


    I scoop up our captive and head to the nearby stream, every step I take I feel her tremble in my arms. Tears begin to flow. ¡°Please Lord, you can¡¯t, you aren¡¯t a Priestess. I thought the goblin joked when she threatened my spirit. Or are you taking me to my death? I will be yours. I swear to be loyal and true.¡±


    ¡°What of your current employer?¡±


    She spits on a nearby tree. ¡°They took me from the streets, an orphan, fed me clothed me and started training me. I was only sent because no one else was available and I sprinted here under threat of death. I can say I arrived at dawn, and the Lord left before the camp broke, that is true and will be confirmed by his many servants. I only lingered because the boar mounts fascinate me ¡­ I now ask myself, why was I so foolish.¡±


    ¡°Boarshit!¡± Her tears dried up as her story unfolded and was spoken flawlessly, rehearsed perhaps in case of capture. The added touch of the pause and lament at the end not convincing either.


    ¡°Truth, Lord. I promise!¡±


    I feel like putting her over my knees and smacking her buttocks red but capturing her spirit if less physical will yield the absolute truth. I find a suitable tree to hang her by her tied wrists and begin to remove her clothes until her pants are around her ankles and her shirt and light leather vest are unlaced. She is young but I am certain now as I gaze upon her body, trained from birth. Her entire body has honed muscle groups, the very definition of a lithe body type. Being semi-naked though silences her, there is still some training yet to be completed I would wager. I tie her legs below the knees and then untie the ankles and remove her pants and smalls. Dainty linen pantalets instead of loincloth, a surprise piece of apparel for someone recruited from the streets. I then tie her at the torso to the tree I am hanging her from. Untying her hands, they immediately go for my eyes. I step back.


    ¡°If you like I can stomach punch you and while bent over in pain, remove the rest of your clothes.¡±


    Given she is a spy, possibly an assassin trained from birth given her body, I am glad I decided to take no chances with her. Upon her escape, I would need to give chase which could lead to anything. This way I am in control and determine her fate.


    ¡°Why do you need me naked? Don¡¯t females show you any favour unless you tie them up against their will?¡± she chastises.


    Stepping forward and before she can do anything I whip her clothes over her head trapping her arms. She struggles but her efforts hasten the removal. By folding her clothes neatly and placing them upon a nearby rock my hope is she realises I don¡¯t threaten her life. I grab her arms, and bind them at the wrist and then release her from the tree and throw her over my shoulder. Stepping on rocks and between fallen branches we end up beside the shallow stream, chancing upon a pool of water deep enough to submerge a head at least.


    She resists, but then who wouldn¡¯t. When still, I pull her out of the water, lay her upon the ground nearby and breathe life back into her. A dread pall falls over her face as I feel her spirit enter me.


    ¡°It¡¯s true ¡­ true. A male Priest of Klug, the impossible is true but how?¡±


    ¡°I can answer your question if you answer mine. Service or death?¡±


    ¡°Will I be in pain? I have heard the Priestess always make you suffer, the cost of faithful worship.¡±


    I cradle her in my arms and look into her eyes. ¡°I promise on my life there will be no suffering.¡±


    ¡°Then I agree, Service.¡±


    I will her spirit back to her keeping the shadow replica within me. I release her and point to her clothes. She takes one incredulous look at me and then bolts.


    ¡°Stop!¡±


    Her will to run ceases and her lithe body tumbles naked onto the rough ground beside the stream. When I reach her, I inspect her body, several scratches are slowly oozing blood while others will result in bruises. Her eyes are as wide as plates. Her mouth tries to but can''t find the words to speak.


    ¡°My control over you is absolute. I am not a Priest of Klug, I am Klug.¡±


    She faints.


    I carry her back to the stream and splash her face with water until she wakes. She immediately tosses and turns trying I believe, to convince herself this is all a dream.


    ¡°You have become part of something bigger through no fault of your own and if proven willing and loyal and if you request to be, I will release your full spirit back to you. Until then though you must serve me loyally and faithfully.¡±


    I know those final words are in essence more than a simple plea from me to her, with her spirit under my command they are binding instructions.


    ¡°Yes, Master.¡±


    ¡°Now let us heal your wounds.¡± I prick my finger with my dagger. ¡°Suck the blood from my finger, this is a test as well as a cure.¡±


    She leans forward and her sucking is less functional and more seductive, her vulnerable eyes deliberately capturing mine. From her early lessons in this area? I inspect her bleeding cuts; the blood seems to have congealed but that is natural and to be expected. I am searching for the unnatural.


    ¡°My blood contains small helpers called nanorobots, they should if you are a distant relative of mine activate the nanorobots which already exist in your blood. They would have been passive before now, in the past perhaps you noticed an injury recover quicker than expected, recover from an illness sooner than normal. Each relative has a different sensitivity to and concentration of these helpers, but mine will activate yours, giving them a kick to work harder for you.¡±


    I trace my finger along a cut and scoop some water onto the wound site. She shivers, goosebumps rise upon her skin.


    ¡°There, all better.¡± I look up and my eyes meet hers.


    She wraps her arms around my neck, our heads are side by side and she whispers, ¡°The truth, you speak no lies to me, do you?¡±


    ¡°I will always speak the truth to you, and you should always speak the truth to me, because I will always be able to tell you are lying, your spirit will tell me.¡± I smile, even though she is unable to see me.


    ¡°Will I now be at my best, since you have activated my helpers?¡±


    ¡°There is a possible further step. You though I believe are young and insignificant in the scheme of things, therefore I can spare you the ordeal.¡±


    She pulls her head back and faces me. ¡°Truth. Tell me.¡±


    I search the stream for an answer, or a near truth and utterly fail to find one. ¡°My seed like my blood contains helpers, receiving them will go beyond activating yours. My seed adds new helpers to yours. This transfer will require more than simply sucking on my finger, you understand what I am saying?¡±


    ¡°I am naked.¡± Her hands cup her modest breasts, while her eyes look from under her eyebrows. ¡°Take me completely, claim what is yours fully.¡±


    I am about to object when several of her fingers press upon my lips.


    ¡°I insist regardless of consequence.¡± Without effort, she throws a supple leg on either side of my torso. ¡°You command me to betray my current family, and most don¡¯t survive that particular choice for long.¡± Her eyes find mine as she wraps her hands around the back of my neck interlocking her fingers. ¡°Therefore, if you wish to help me survive you will do as I ask.¡± While pouting, her hands pull on the back of my neck and in perfect coordination she contracts her torso muscles. Each iteration edges her crotch forward across my lap until I feel her slam into mine. ¡°Give me your seed Lord Klug and make me the most perfect spy and deadly assassin ever and solely dedicated to your service.¡±


    The feeling of her naked crotch grinding downwards forces my body to rise to meet her challenge. Licking her lips she then presses them against mine and I lose control.

 2.007 A Legend is Unveiled

    By mid-morning, after jogging non-stop I catch up to Zergoa and Duzsia ambling along on their two beasts. Trudging ahead out of earshot is the rest of the camp with Klugak bolt upright in the saddle, leading the way.


    ¡°Did you teach our spy any tricks Lord?¡± asks Luda while suppressing a giggle.


    The gentle breeze which has been chasing me all morning dries the thin sheen of sweat on my face, refreshing me, and ensuring the stink of the boars runs away from my nose. A happy circumstance, Luda¡¯s question, not so much and before the silence stretches to an awkward length, I try to pick my words carefully.


    ¡°She was young, and I felt awful doing what I did, her spirit shadow squirms within me now. Not as unsettled as yours was Zergoa, but close.¡±


    ¡°She was a trained spy then?¡± pipes up Duzsia.


    ¡°She claimed to be an orphan forced into service initially, the truth different, trained from birth so I assume she is a daughter of one of the families reaching for more power or a minor family who serves them.¡±


    Luda slides from Duzsia¡¯s boar. ¡°So, all that time away you didn¡¯t obtain her full story, like, you know, every little detail no matter how trivial?¡± She doesn¡¯t hide from me a wink she throws at Duzsia. ¡°I am surprised, Master.¡±


    ¡°She, it seems interrogated me more thoroughly than I, her,¡± I admit.


    Zergoa glances over her shoulder. ¡°What does that mean, Master?¡± Her voice sounding hard on the last word.


    ¡°Confess Master, Zergoa smells a rat as do we,¡± adds Duzsia who then proceeds to laugh, imagining my discomfort I suspect as she doesn¡¯t look back.


    ¡°I healed some of her scratches by offering some drops of my blood to activate her nanorobots.¡±


    ¡°Wait, Master. I thought the Spirit bonding did that, explain,¡± demands Zergoa.


    ¡°They both do so in different ways which lead to the same result, and I wanted something visual for her so she could appreciate the gain, see the source and observe the result. She then asked what else could boost her performance, explaining that those who betrayed the family rarely survived and if I wanted to give her every chance then she needed all I could offer.¡±


    Duzsia and Luda share a look and then burst out into laughter. I feel through our spirit bond Zergoa is like an erupting volcano, missing out but not certain what to be angry about. Duzsia calls to Zergoa to halt. She then guides her beast sideways across the trail. ¡°Luda layout two bedrolls side by side. Zergoa, dismount.¡± Arms crossed resting on the saddle front, leering, Duzsia adds, ¡°Did she cast any sad eyes upon you Master or was her youthful intellect so mesmerising she addled your brain?¡±


    I send her a curt dismissive smile and mouth closed, I await my fate like a goblin to the slaughter.


    Shortly after Luda stands back to admire her efforts and then turns to me. ¡°Tell her Master, tell Zergoa your deep secret.¡±


    Zergoa shuffles forward until our faces are a hand length apart. ¡°Master?¡±


    I sigh, throw a menacing glance at Luda, and explain, ¡°If you receive my seed, the nanorobots within are like you receive extra immediately, boosting your physical and some mental abilities essentially overnight instead of your body growing nanorobots over the next few ...¡±


    She slaps my face. I can¡¯t say I don¡¯t deserve it, yet I can¡¯t just hump everyone I complete the drowning ceremony with, can I?


    ¡°I apologise, but such intimate contact should be special, there should be the honest joining of two people making love not two bodies having sex ¡­¡± I stop my pleading. Zergoa is already working furiously to remove my shirt, while Duzsia who now it seems is dismounted and with an eagerness, a wild animal takes to a fresh kill, unlaces my pants. Luda meanwhile works on Zergoa¡¯s armour and clothes, only the bottom half I note. I guess I misjudged the general desire for hobgoblins to improve in any way they can. Somehow, standing there while my clothes are being unceremoniously tugged off me, I feel I am going to be used again and again and the ratio of male to females in the hobgoblin population isn¡¯t going to help the situation. Although a more conservative use of the drowning ceremony will help curtail future demands, I hope.


    ---


    ¡°Zergoa!¡± commands Torngul Heartsplitter who then leans across to pat Voria¡¯s thigh. ¡°Make room for your honour guard sister, my pet, I need to question her.¡±


    ¡°Anything for my Lord,¡± she purrs.


    Under duress, Luda relays to me the Lord Torngul¡¯s whispers, while I try to hold a straight face as she does. Klugak still leads the way, while our group, after we caught up follows directly behind Torngul and his two honour guards riding on either side of him. The rest of the camp continues while Lord Torngul halts and we pause behind him.


    ¡°You and the other didn¡¯t escort me this morning? Why?¡± growls Torngul, loud enough for all in the immediate area to hear.


    ¡°We stood guard all night Lord, you are usually finished ¡­ earlier.¡± She casts her eyes down.


    ¡°Ha! Have you so soon forgotten my prowess after being guided by Lord Klar¡¯s tutorage?¡±


    ¡°No Lord, except I thought ¡­¡±


    Lord Torngul lifts his eyes to the sky. ¡°Yes, I still recall the sweet mewling¡¯s of Brimsia as I brought her to ecstasy while under your protection?¡± His eyes now centre upon Zergoa, his voice growls. ¡°And what of the worth of your protection on that day?¡±


    Zergoa raises her eyes to look upon her Lord. ¡°I slew four of the assailants ¡­¡±


    ¡°And to do so the attackers drew you away, baited you like a fool to give chase. While the true threat hid and waited. He struck while you were off chasing vermin!¡± Spittle broke free from his lips. ¡°My magnificent honour guard Brimsia, naked, defending her Lord with but a single dagger, casting me a final loving look I will never forget ¡­¡± He looks skyward once again before levelling his eyes and continuing, ¡°Before choosing to impale her body upon the attacker¡¯s spear, clawing her body forward along the shaft until within reach to plunge her dagger through the assassin¡¯s eye.¡± Torngul bows his head to take a moment and silence descends, all afraid to speak.


    Zergoa searches the faces of Voria and Trela for something, anything and they snap their faces away in triumph. Finally, she decides she must break the silence. ¡°I can¡¯t replace her Lord, only strive to emulate her magnificence ¡­¡±


    His face twists into displeasure. ¡°Dismount.¡± While he waits, he twists the reins of his beast. ¡°Are you so insensitive to not realise all this time I have been mourning sweet Brimsia¡¯s death after reaching such loving bliss with her? Are you jealous that I turned to Voria and Trela first to console me while still suffering from my grief?¡±


    ¡°No Lord, there has been a change within you and ¡­¡± Zergoa releases the reins of her boar and looks up. ¡°I have failed you, Lord.¡± I notice that she now stands for the most part in front of his boar ¡­ a quick spurring to action by her Lord and Zergoa could easily be trampled, what is more, given their knowing smiles, Voria and Trela also appreciate the offer by their fellow honour guard.


    Lord Torngul nods his head, brow furrowing. Does he accept her offer? A forehoof of Torngul¡¯s beast stamps and digs in for purchase, readying for what usually happens. I need to restrain my urge to shout, and call off this pantomime, are they still play-acting? Lord Torngul leans forward in his saddle to look deep into Zergoa¡¯s moistening eyes.


    ¡°You, up until now have been a faithful servant and for that reason only, I offer the following. You will enter the tournament and after close contests in the early rounds, you will withdraw claiming illness or disease has weakened you. I will advise all that I can¡¯t wait, the top six will form my honour guard without you regardless. You can recover and forge a new path, your honour unblemished. Agreed?¡± He raises his head, while his eyes look along the length of his nose and adds, ¡°I warn you now, anything to the contrary during the tournament will be dealt with swiftly.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. I thank you, although I regret to say, I will forever be viewed as a failure in your eyes.¡±


    ¡°Now, now. You and the other due to your inferiority have confirmed I need to expand the honour guard and we will try six. Four to guard in shifts overnight while I relieve my grief, however many nights it will take with the other two.¡± He pauses to smile. ¡°Yes, there is that to be thankful for. Come on now, we best catch up to Klugak who doesn¡¯t yet realise we have taken a rest.¡±


    Lord Torngul reins his beast to one side avoiding Zergoa who shifts out of the way, I suspect, just in case. The beast whines and snorts, the head-shaking towards Zergoa in passing and tusks whipping towards her and missing by a wide margin. If you include Trela and Voria and their sour faces that makes three who desired a different outcome.


    ---


    Torngul¡¯s seat of power is a curious mix of buildings, many of stone, which is a surprise while the vast number are tent quarters beyond. There is no wall for protection, although his home is a huge walled villa like complex, the tallest building for certain, which all the main roads lead to. Without taking a tape measure to confirm I would assume exactly in the middle of the settlement. From his villa, several wide thoroughfares radiate and on these are built most of the stone buildings. The major thoroughfares run North-South and East-West and I can easily imagine ten boar riders abreast charging down any one of them and trampling all before them.


    Under a setting sun, we amble along the East-West Way with a modest turn out of his citizens to welcome him home. We turn North upon reaching the Lord¡¯s villa to enter via a North facing gate, metal bracing on stout wooden doors, and given the lack of mature trees in his immediate domain, I assume imported from afar. Klugak and most of the entourage leave us at this point, very few servants in the search party were Torngul¡¯s. This could also explain the allegiance of the snitch or how another interested party could infiltrate. Target Klugak¡¯s household and be close enough instead of risk being caught in Torngul¡¯s and unable to escape his fortress.


    Once we enter, this changes completely as female hobgoblin servants hasten to meet us and assist, while female hobgoblin guards mingle ensuring order is maintained. The few male hobgoblins are the ones in charge of either servants or guards as appropriate to their skillset I expect.


    One male hobgoblin rushes forward and bows before Torngul.


    ¡°Lord Klar is an honoured guest within these walls, see that he is taken care of. Outside these walls, we ignore him as he is yet to prove his worth to others.¡±


    ¡°As you say, Lord.¡±


    An older hobgoblin, thin with busy hands. I suspect his Lord keeps him on a short leash given his bowing and eager agreeable responses, much like a humanoid ferret I imagine.


    He presents himself before me, offering a curt nod. The Lord acknowledges me, but I am not that important in the bigger picture is my interpretation.


    ¡°I am Lord Klar, and you are?¡±


    His head jerks back while his eyes lower and focus on my extended hand before him. He tentatively reaches out and I form the handshake before he can change his mind. He tries to pull his hand back and fails of course.


    ¡°I am Lord Klar, and you are?¡±


    His mouth opens wide with what I hope is a realisation.


    ¡°I am Dorgrav, simple Dorgrav ¡­¡± His words chitter while his hands flail about, perhaps exchanging names isn¡¯t done even here.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    I lean forward and whisper, ¡°Lord Torngul does me much honour retaining my Lord title, yet I must confess I am not a Lord of this valley. I am here to earn fame and fortune and claim back my birthright in my home valley.¡±


    He nods and waves an arm at me. My words to him I suspect will soon be spread throughout the Lord¡¯s residence, so all know my position and in particular my lack of importance. I check with Luda, and she has all our meagre possessions, and we follow. I note that Lord Torngul calls upon all his honour guards to accompany him and they head off into a different part of the villa.


    Dorgrav shows us to our room on the second floor of the villa. Modest, yet more than enough room for one. He closes the door as he leaves. There is a single bed, chamber pot, thin stone shelves for whatever we want to place on them and an open window without shutters or blinds, a simple linen cloth hangs across the opening instead.


    I sit upon the bed and bounce a couple of times to test the strength and then lay down in thought. Luda places all our bundles on one shelf and then climbs onto the bed to join me, snuggling against my chest.


    ¡°Will my father be alright?¡± she whispers.


    ¡°He will devote himself to grief counselling for the first few days until he gets a handle on who is who in his household and then I believe he will announce the tournament. Rest easy for now as we wait to be called for dinner.¡±


    Luda fingers one of my tusks and smiles. ¡°Do you miss being Lord farmer Hob, in command of many?¡±


    ¡°This world has changed. The High Priestess has the most power as far as I can tell. There is the problem, the world has grown, and I need information before I can determine my next steps. I am hopeful that many visit Lord Torngul and from them I can learn if any resist the High Priestess, what stories about her are more fact than imagination and if there are any unknowns to me now, that would be useful investigating. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I am not on top of the heap this time.¡±


    ¡°Will my sister join us?¡±


    I flip her over and my hobgoblin body monsters over hers as I steal a kiss from her lips. ¡°Maybe, although with Duzsia and Zergoa on other duties you have all of my attention.¡±


    ¡°I am lucky, but I would feel luckier if my sister could be with us,¡± she says, the word sounding far away.


    I slump down beside Luda, and she shuffles across to accommodate me while I shift her head to lay in the crook of my arm. ¡°I thought she would by now, I am sorry.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps it is for the best, I am certain father wouldn¡¯t want Koria in his honour guard,¡± she whispers without a drop of humour.


    Why wasn¡¯t she? I gained my body from a slain relative who was being pursued by a male and female duo and a handful of goblins. I called for my wives and Duzsia returns to me in the body of the female partner of the duo. Luda follows when the goblin I wounded dies in her village. The next two are Torngul and Brimsia, Zeb took Torngul¡¯s body, yet Koria didn¡¯t take Brimsia¡¯s. I can understand why Zeb didn¡¯t take the male partner of the duo; I hadn¡¯t called for him at that time is the logical conclusion, yet what am I missing?


    Luda begins snoring and I probably regret not catching any sleep before dinner as there is a gentle knock on the door and the pitter-patter of feet leaving. I kiss Luda awake. ¡°Dinner.¡±


    ---


    Closing the door behind us, we disturb an elderly female hobgoblin servant sitting on a chair outside our room. She bows and then leads off. ¡°Follow me, Lord.¡±


    Along the corridor, we once again find the set of wide, white stone stairs, possibly made of marble? This time we climb higher. Like the floor below two corridors lead off. We take the other this time and about halfway along the servant knocks on the double stout wooden doors and they open in silence. The servant leaves us as Duzsia holds one door open and Zergoa holds the other, both in full armour, although shining clean. At the head of a massive stone table squats Lord Torngul Heartsplitter and on either side of him Voria and Trela in what would be considered, evening wear? Light strips of cloth, the colours vary and underneath their modesty is hidden by pantalets and breast wrap. Along one long side of the table are three young female hobgoblins, all in evening wear although the strips are of heavier cloth and therefore more concealing. Opposite them is a single vacant chair and behind that a child-size table and chair. I try not to swallow, and I don¡¯t sneak a glance at Luda. I hope her anger, if any, is directed towards her father.


    A spit roast piglet is the main, with whole vegetables as sides, potato, carrot, and beans, although the hobgoblins use different names. We also use forks and knives, basic civilisation after two hundred years?


    Lord Torngul receives the first serve. When the three young females are served next, this confirms to me at least they are his daughters; or other immediate members of his family and I wonder where his wife or wives are? Then Voria and Trela, myself after them and again I need to share with Luda.


    While we eat Dorgrav stands ready. Partway through his meal Lord Torngul orders his servant to report. A few incidents of unrest in the town, mainly from ¡°guests¡± due to drink. Three murders, guilty parties found and awaiting his pleasure. The three farming enclaves are reporting healthy growing crops so the expectation is for a bountiful harvest and trading the excess will deliver many goods. Many traders are in the tent camps now bartering for a portion of the future crop. The Heads of the three farming enclaves are seeking an audience with Lord Torngul to settle disputes.


    ¡°Between themselves or with others,¡± asks Lord Torngul who then shares a humorous bellow.


    ¡°A mixture my Lord, it seems,¡± Dorgrav replies, eyes down.


    Lord Torngul claps and then rubs his hands together. ¡°What is for sweets?¡±


    ¡°At once Lord.¡± Dorgrav scurries off.


    The Lord¡¯s eyes fall upon Voria. ¡°My trusted one, please visit one of the three farming heads and inform them they must write down their claims, provide evidence, written accounts from witnesses and the like and I will consider their grievances.¡±


    She eventually closes her mouth and replies, ¡°They will expect to see you Lord and plead their case ¡­ I am not certain if they can write, many can¡¯t ¡­¡±


    ¡°Well, that will slow them down then won¡¯t it.¡± He smirks.


    Trela, perhaps smarter or more likely more conniving is quick to add, ¡°I will see another farming head my Lord and explain the way of things. In fact, this will be my pleasure.¡± Her voice purrs while her eyes light up.


    Her Lord reaches across and rests a finger under her chin. ¡°I know you have an issue with them, so I warn you not to take too much delight from this task. Nothing will change the past.¡±


    Her hands wrap around his and she draws her head back and then forward, her lips suck on his fingers and with a pop withdraw. ¡°I live to serve you, Lord.¡±


    During this discourse his three daughters have held their eyes down, staring at their empty plates. As the silence extends one lifts her head, eyes darting towards her father. The daughter sitting next to her does likewise, while the third holds her position.


    Lord Torngul smiles. ¡°Zinia you will deliver my instructions to the third farming head.¡±


    The third and the youngest lifts her head when her father calls her name and remains quiet until he finishes.


    Another slams her open hands upon the table, her standing motion kicking her chair over. I quirk an eyebrow, the chair is made of solid hardwood and scraps back until falling with a cracking sound. Growling she says, ¡°Why do you play these games with them? Simply lop their heads off and see if their replacements are any more subservient father!¡±


    The Lord shakes his head slowly and replies in a quiet slow voice, ¡°My dearest Thalgora you will accompany your sister. If anyone dies, especially your sister I will throttle you to death myself. Do you understand?¡±


    A curt nod. ¡°No one will lay a finger upon her and any who attempt to will lose it.¡± Before I can blink, her dagger is to hand and stabs the table.


    The third, in a ladylike manner, clears her throat. ¡°Father ¡­¡± her voice silk and vulnerable, asks, ¡°When will I be betrothed? I am eighteen and don¡¯t wish to wait to be too old.¡± She glances at Thalgora who hisses at her.


    ¡°All in good time. When the harvest is in and the Merchants return, one of their sons perhaps so we can trade as the one family.¡±


    She pouts, her lower tusks adding to the effect in some way. ¡°Father ¡­ will I be able to choose ¡­?¡±


    The youngest I notice slowly shakes her head, while Thalgora, yes the oldest releases a sneering tirade, ¡°Stupid Shaza, hear how that word and your name sound together, of course not. Father did say favourable trading terms, he cares little about the appearance of your future husband.¡±


    A sob and Shaza stares at her older sister with wet eyes. ¡°I can ask and still hope ¡­ better than you who muses and never asks father and ...¡±


    Thalgora¡¯s hand slaps her mouth shut. Shaza¡¯s hands reach for her face to rub the hurt while sobbing, one last glance at her older sister and she runs from the dining room slamming the door behind her.


    ¡°May I be excused, father? I have eaten my fill and I know what Shaza wants to ask you and can¡¯t and don¡¯t wish to stay around to witness her foolishness.¡± Her father nods and Zinia rises from her chair and then pauses as if an afterthought strikes her. ¡°I will go to console Shaza.¡± Then nods, more to herself I think and leaves the room.


    Gripping the dining table Thalgora squeezes out a single word, ¡°Father ¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, my eldest daughter?¡±


    There is a knock on the double doors and the Lord flicks his hand back and shakes his head. The doors remain closed.


    ¡°I wish ¡­ um ¡­ I wish to compete in the competition ¡­¡± Her release of breath after speaking, loud.


    The Lord pushes a bone about on his plate. ¡°What competition daughter?¡±


    Her eyes turn down at the edges while her body jigs the once as if holding on. ¡°The tournament to select your honour guard my Lord.¡± She finds her voice and speaks with conviction.


    ¡°How many times have you asked to join my honour guard?¡±


    She goes to sit and then remembers, standing upright again. ¡°Many ¡­¡± she whispers.


    ¡°And what has been my answer?¡±


    ¡°No. But this is different, no favouritism, no daughter expecting her father to agree. I will compete against all ¡­¡±


    ¡°And if you win a place, what then?¡±


    Voria and Trela exchange looks of horror and swallow.


    ¡°My ¡­ um mother, before the goblin revolt took her, explained ¡­¡± She whispers, ¡°I know the full duties expected.¡±


    The Lord slaps his hand upon the table. ¡°I will think some more and let you know. Now leave and tell the servants to send in the desert.¡±


    ¡°Yes, father.¡± Bowing and nodding she hurries from the dining room, a skip to her step.


    Lord Torngul curls a finger from the right and left hands respectfully at Voria and Trela.


    ¡°Tell me, with absolute certainty that one of you can defeat her in combat.¡± His hands spread out along the table before him. His ears twitch ¡­


    Voria and Trela stare at each other, Trela nods at Voria who sighs.


    ¡°Truly Lord, your daughter fights as if processed, there is an inner fire in her ¡­ most believe, the slaying of her mother when young ¡­ affected her.¡± Voria¡¯s finger touches the side of her head for a moment. ¡°Hiding for her life yet swearing vengeance.¡± Green drains from Voria¡¯s face.


    Trela speaks up, ¡°Rumour has it, that not a single goblin now lives who took part in her mother¡¯s slaying, some falsely slain also, mistakes shall we say. The memory of a five-year-old after many years is not exacting. She has started on their family linage now, Lord.¡± Trela gulps. ¡°Almost finished.¡±


    ¡°Why am I only learning of this now?¡± There is an underlying growl to his voice, his hands balling into fists.


    ¡°Lord,¡± calls Zergoa. ¡°Your first wife made those of your honour guard at the time swear to protect her daughter, your firstborn and this dying wish has continued ¡­ although we find ourselves paying hush money or warning distant goblin relatives of the murderers to flee the valley more than physically protect your daughter.¡±


    His brow furrows. ¡°Why would my honour guard heed the dying wish of my wife? First or not?¡±


    Voria rushes the words. ¡°She trained them, Lord.¡±


    Relaxing his hands, he glances in turn at Voria, Trela and Zergoa. ¡°Trained them in what?¡±


    Trela squeaks, ¡°How to pleasure you, Lord, with threats of assassination if we failed to please you and upon her dying breath adding protecting her daughter.¡±


    ¡°Seventeen years is a long time ago, any assassin would be dead or nearing infirm now, so what still holds you? What is more, none of you were in my honour guard then so how can you continue this falsehood?¡±


    ¡°A metal,¡± answers Voria.


    ¡°Yes, Lord,¡± says Trela. ¡°Your first wife paid for the assassins with gold, at the time all thought worthless, an inconvenience when digging for iron yet now traders and merchants trade using things called coins. Gold coins, Lord and we think the source of these coins were from your wife and if so her deal with the assassins will still hold.¡±


    Voria lays a hand upon his and whispers, ¡°We think they may have solved some of the more vocal and violent goblin reprisals against your daughter when your honour guard was away with you.¡± She swallows. ¡°Also, some who fled your valley if the rumours are to be believed, as the corpses of those thought long escaped somehow returned ¡­¡±


    Dorgrav returns with several servants who efficiently ¡®drop¡¯ a dessert plate to each of us. Fruits in cream.


    I scoop and swallow a spoon full and pass the bowl and spoon back to Luda. I steal an occasional glance at Lord Torngul, or as I know him, Zeb, Master of Children and Speaker of Law. His conversations in this dining room have me believing the real Torngul squats at the end of the table, not Zeb. As an actor, his performance, was superb, in fact. Now the only question I have is how?


    ---


    Our old servant escorts us back to our room and once the door closes Luda leaps into my embrace.


    ¡°Father was amazing wasn¡¯t he!¡± she gasps.


    I release her without warning, and she drops to the floor with a yelp.


    ¡°Spill,¡± I demand.


    Her eyes open wide as they home in on mine. ¡°It was Zergoa¡¯s idea at Duzsia¡¯s urging, I just agreed ¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± I tap a foot.


    She holds her hands behind her back and sways. ¡°When you gifted Zergoa, I mean really well, lots in fact, well, Duzsia cleaned the bedrolls afterwards and then it just happened.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I fold my arms. ¡°Last chance to say it all, before I decide to smack your bottom until black.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t Lord?¡±


    I nod, my face now scowling.


    ¡°Well, they harvested your excess fluid from bedrolls and even Zergoa, mixed this into boar¡¯s milk and instructed father to drink while the other two were on door guard duty. They say he noticed something off, so they fetched him another mug to wash it down. Then they let father be father ¡­¡±


    I sigh. ¡°What does father be father mean? Exactly.¡±


    ¡°He chats to everyone and listens, servants, honour guard, his new daughters. Remember he is still determined to find Rexa¡¯s influence and burst this elaborate illusion she has him in, so his efforts in this regard are single-minded.¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°He didn¡¯t have a great deal of time between arrival and before dinner ¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not as if he can say, erm, please tell me your life story, you know, because I am not actually Lord Torngul and need to fill in the details.¡± She stands with hands on her hips. ¡°He is more casual, listening with pinpoint questions and I think by dinner your little helpers would have been in full swing making him more aware with confidence in the reactions he should display when the various events were revealed.¡±


    ¡°So, this effort by him is to prove the illusion true ¡­¡±


    ¡°Or false. He would be happy with false as well.¡± She sways and her eyes look up. ¡°Koria would have loved the silent treatment. He did that to us as children, the first to break the silence.¡± Her eyes find mine. ¡°Being first is sometimes the right thing and sometimes not depending upon the lead-up conversation and as you get older you learn patience and thinking through the last conversation to arrive at an answer rather than a guess.¡±


    ¡°Everything is good then?¡±


    She walks away from me and leans against the window frame, her neck, and head clear looking out. She turns and rests her back against the wall underneath. ¡°They asked me to save some of you to give to them to prepare more milk drinks ¡­¡±


    My jaw drops.

 2.008 Invitations

    Luda and I dine in our room for several days and whenever we leave, the elder hobgoblin outside our door followed, advising us where we can¡¯t go, which was everywhere except ground level. Once around the stables, courtyard, servant quarters and the North Gate and we were done on the first day. I didn¡¯t try to make a dash through the gate. Two sets of female hobgoblins eyes trailed my every movement, and even though they were supposed to keep intruders out they seemed more intent to ensure I remained in.


    Expecting a sleep-in like every previous morning, Luda awakens me instead with puppy-like nips and licks on any patch of my naked flesh with an occasional squeal requiring me to hug her into stillness. I blink my eyes closed as someone, and I am fairly sure I know who has drawn our window curtains wide open allowing the morning rays of sunshine to light up our room. With her smiling in silence, I then catch the various yells and shouts from outside, not of anger but simple merchant hawking while trying to sell their goods and customer hustle and bustle. Using my hands to shield my eyes, she escapes and begins tugging on my arm while laughing. I rise with only a loincloth about me and stumble towards our open window as she continues to pull on my arm. Her giggling fit painting her face bright green. Below us, spread from the walls of the Manor to the limit of the crossroads are numerous tents, all roughly the same size, in rows with a growing crowd of hobgoblins descending upon the traders and merchants. I note many males have none, one or several females escorting them, the females bartering and fetching while the male saunter about, aloof. The biggest surprise though is the fact, of the merchants I can see they are male with few exceptions.


    ¡°What do you think? Can we go shop?¡± Her eyes are full of excitement.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we wait for breakfast and then ask permission?¡±


    She cuddles my arm between her naked breasts. ¡°We can have breakfast there.¡± Her head nods towards the window. ¡°Smell the aromas ¡­¡±


    I look out the window again and take the time to appreciate the vibrant living going on below us, what the heck, a trip outside would be a welcome change. ¡°Ask our shadow?¡± My turn to flick my head. Several light claps and she races to the door pulling it open and I overhear some chatter and then closing the door she runs back to leap into my arms.


    ¡°She is going to ask. Now is our chance to go ¡­¡±


    ¡°We aren¡¯t dressed and to sneak out would be to insult our host¡¯s generosity.¡± I hug her even more. ¡°We wait, although we should get ready.¡±


    Her face turns from disappointment to happiness and as I release my wife, she is off diving into our trunk fishing out her clothes.


    The noise of the market teases us, her eyes look up into mine moisture gathering in them. Breakfast is well behind us, mid-morning I would think at least, and she gave up on looking out the window to curl up upon my lap long ago. I carry my wife to our bed, and we settle in for a long wait cuddling together.


    ---


    Luda shifts in my arms first and then rubs my face. As my eyes open, she points to the door, and we are both out of the bed ready to accept company.


    There is no knock on the door and with no questioning about being ready, Voria bursts through holding the door back for Lord Torngul to swagger by. His eyes glance about and then settle upon Luda for a heartbeat before descending upon me. With a flick of his hand, he dismisses his bodyguard.


    ¡°But ¡­¡±


    She doesn¡¯t say another word, as we all notice him flex the muscles in his arm while making a fist.


    With the door shut he waves a hand at the bed and he and I end up, perching upon the edge, side by side, while Luda, standing behind us wraps an arm around our necks. Zeb cracks a warm smile and when Luda kisses his cheek a low chuckle.


    Patting her arm with one dark green hand he turns to look upon her eager face. ¡°You can¡¯t go out there, daughter.¡±


    As if someone took all her sweets, Luda¡¯s entire body deflates while her eyes glisten. She blubbers, ¡°Why not father, I won¡¯t go too far, all this time in this room ¡­ half a day, a quarter of a day at least ¡­¡±


    He leans his head against her. ¡°You are goblin. How many have you seen in this fort, how many have you seen outside your window?¡±


    I feel the weight of her body withdraw from my back and being the coward I am, concentrate on looking out of the window.


    ¡°None, father,¡± she sniffs.


    He nods. ¡°Goblins in this valley are vermin, they serve their masters toiling away in the fields to ensure their betters eat first and eat well. You are tolerated because Lord Klar is tolerated by me. My less than enthusiastic welcome upon my return was due in part to your free presence in my entourage, instead of in chains being dragged behind us all.¡±


    Each word he speaks is a plain fact, he doesn¡¯t speak softly or with false kindness, neither unfeeling nor hard. He is informing his intelligent daughter that this valley has different rules and as the leader here, even with all his power, he is unable to change them.


    Her body flops down upon the bed, Zeb and I feel a slight disturbance yet neither of us swivels about.


    ¡°So, I am a free prisoner then? How can I serve Lord Klug while if I am unable to leave here?¡±


    He coughs. ¡°You ¡­ you can go out at night, they erm, goblins attend to the cleaning of the city at night so it would not be unusual then, well more early morning, pre-dawn.¡±


    ¡°What, so I can go help?¡± she snarks.


    He climbs to his feet and easing himself around the edge of the bed he catches her in an embrace. ¡°This is the way of things. If you go outside every hobgoblin would be within their rights to throw you in chains and send you to the farms. For now, within this fort, you are a mystery as your skin is too green and my authority too great for any to act against you, so here you must stay.¡±


    I ask, ¡°Skin is too green?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t take his eyes off his daughter as he replies, ¡°The native goblins of this valley are more green-yellow I am told. Some know of my daughter¡¯s tribe beyond the river and even now some in my counsel are urging me to conquer them, others advise caution as my prolonged absence or possible death would bring upon a power struggle. A Lord some generations ago did attack. They fought him off, waited out the siege and when the Lord returned in defeat, he had to fight his usurper who in turn quickly captured him and buried him alive. A great insult which none of his family could take revenge for as the usurper had already slaughtered them.¡±


    ¡°I will be a good goblin daughter, father.¡± She throws herself back upon the bed, her fists pounding the feather mattress.


    For the first time in a long time, Lord Torngul¡¯s eyes and mine meet. ¡°You will need to be seen in the city, Zergoa and Duzsia will accompany you. Zergoa is well known, and rumours would have informed many about Duzsia¡¯s presence so you should be safe enough, although I don¡¯t yet know all the players in this cesspit of a city.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°At times I think they wish to be Lord and then at other times I believe, many wish to influence the current Lord to avoid the day-to-day crud which comes with the position. It is as Zergoa says, my word is absolute until it isn¡¯t.¡±


    Power struggles, this I know about given my previous lives while working for the GPA. ¡°You need to play them off against each other Lord Torngul. They must each want something so ensure they need to slightly offend another to be granted it and only grant it when you know another wants it. Make it look as if you are doing what you are doing because of either the influence or threat of another, who moves you to do so. What power as Lord do I have to resist such things you answer when questioned? If I say no, then they threaten ¡­¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t that make me look weak?¡±


    ¡°Are you weak? If not, then some of your ¡®friends¡¯ may overstep, and you may, chose to squash them immediately or wait for others to take advantage and then test those supposedly loyal to you to fix the problem. You can¡¯t wait though until they outnumber you, strike the strongest against you, hard, fast and without mercy. The others will learn and grow more cautious, but you will know who they are now.¡±


    ---


    I step through the North Gate, cast an eye left, study the face of the female hobgoblin guard. Her eyes catch mine and we settle on an accord. She doesn¡¯t agree yet obeys her Lord to allow me to leave. I cast my eyes right, and this guard¡¯s eyes are drawn thin, a quiet ¡®I am certain to not see you again, so sad, not¡¯ vibe. Her petite lower jaw tusks framing a shit-eating grin to reinforce her fare-not-so-well.


    As Duzsia and Zergoa draw up either side of me we march out from under the battlements and onto the crossroads proper, hard, and firm underfoot with a hint of dust which wind swirls pick up quickly and drop just as quickly.


    ¡°Hang back, be disinterested in protecting me. You are both after all sworn to protect your Lord, not some upstart from another valley.¡±


    The start of a word is cut off, I swivel my head about and catch Duzsia¡¯s hand releasing Zergoa¡¯s.


    ¡°Fear not Zergoa, Lord Klug is not so easily slain, and you will have plenty of time to rush in and save me from my own folly.¡±


    There aren¡¯t any tent merchants set against or in front of the Lord¡¯s Northern wall for obvious reasons, yet on the east and west sides to the very edge of the corner merchants claim their patch. Internally I call my nanorobots to attention. After two hundred years I suspect they have learnt and grown, once designed for human bodies I am now certain these hybrids have had sufficient time to acclimatise to hobgoblin physiology. The time it took them to adjust my face for example a case in point. The nanorobot hive artificial intelligence mind responding like a me within me, ready and at attention. Their directive clear, obey and preserve.


    ¡°Prepare this body for battle, heighten my senses, enhance my tactical thinking. These are your priorities unless I am wounded. If that happens repair as I won¡¯t need heightened senses as my enemy will be upon me.¡±


    The muffled bartering words on the wind clear, ¡°Two gold bits, my children will not eat if I sell to you for such a ¡­¡± Heavy breathing on my left and right distracts me. My wives obey me, yet they tense up, not agreeing with me, even Duzsia who knows me best. I instruct my nanorobots to enhance according to my cues, when I squint with my eyes or pause to listen for example, then enhance.


    ---


    After strolling about, returning polite smiles to others while passing each other and several merchants there is an infinitesimal lull as we make our way from the southern side market to the south-western quarter. I will my nanorobots to further enhance my hearing. I overhear whispers, the quiet closing of chests and scuffling of boots against the roadway. The wind picks up and tent cloth snaps while trying to break free of the ropes tied to loops of metal hammered into the road for this purpose.


    A she hobgoblin lunges from around one corner of a tent, her spear point in slow motion heading towards my heart. I twist my torso to the right at the last moment and instead of the impact she expects, the lack of resistance propels her into a stumble. I chop across the back of her neck with my left fist, the nanorobots marshalling my strength for a hammer blow. I then summersault forward from a standing start returning to my feet and jump about to face my second assailant, who is now regaining his stance and readying his spear. The first was to immobilise me, the second to finish me off, I suspect.


    With his back to Duzsia and Zergoa, he growls a challenge. It would seem their act of indifference extremely effective and perhaps a signal from their Lord that while this guest is significant, he isn¡¯t so important his loss would be missed. Holding out a hand towards him I curl my fingers towards me. Perhaps my confidence is a warning to him. With stealthy cautious pacing, he circles me, him with spear and me unarmed. My dagger is sheathed upon my hip, but that is my only weapon. The crowd of tents has also withdrawn I notice, the front ropes of several being untied and held back by the merchants themselves to form an impromptu battle square. A glint of coins catches my eye. Bets are being taken and a lot of the ¡°action¡± is around Zergoa!


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    I hear his boot advance and snap my head around in time to leap over his rising spear thrust and roll away. Distraction, almost my death. My opponent is no ordinary wielder of weapons, he has a right to be secure in his skill and I can¡¯t use any acrobatic manoeuvrers to escape again, his rising spear thrust proof of that. I slide my dagger out of its sheath and flash the blade at him. His lips draw back to reveal his teeth and the massive girth at the base of each of his tusks.


    Duzsia is behind me. This is an absolute certainty, and I don¡¯t need to glance to check. Then I feel a tap on my shoulder. Then another. My opponent rests back on his heels. What the? I look about and down following Duzsia¡¯s eyes. Her boot is across the back of the neck of my first assailant, now struggling to rise. She focuses on my dagger and her hand curls in askance. I hand my dagger to her, twisting my face as I do, totally confused.


    ¡°I agree,¡± she says while taking my dagger.


    While trying to work out what is happening, her head nods forwards and as I turn my head to follow her line of sight, my eyes catch my opponent advancing upon me. I break left, skirting the edge of the battle square to avoid another of his thrusts, although now without any weapon. To my annoyance, Duzsia turns my dagger over in her hands while sitting upon the back of my first assailant.


    A cat and mouse game develops, his quick thrusts, my quicker avoidance. He doesn¡¯t over commit and with his strength he doesn¡¯t have to, which means he doesn¡¯t stumble forward giving me an opportunity.


    Yelps, protests and swearing rise in the crowd behind me, shortly after those same voices turn to apology and shuffling boots. Someone is arriving, yet I keep my attention forward and notice for a half a heartbeat his eyes open wider. He knows, although doesn¡¯t expect this visitor. I know this visitor also, by association. Her perfume was more subtle last time, this time she overdid the hint to the equal of a sledgehammer.


    Klugak¡¯s words confirmation. ¡°Why do you assault the Lord¡¯s friend at the foot of the Lord¡¯s seat?¡±


    I hear a plop, boar excrement for sure, while my attacker drops briefly to one knee. ¡°I chose to honour our Lord, rid him of this embarrassment.¡± He thrusts his spear in my direction. ¡°A Hob who keeps equal company with a goblin. With his death, I will free our Lord of whatever debt this filth has over him.¡±


    Another plop.


    ¡°You swear this slaying is in no way a challenge to your Lord¡¯s position?¡±


    I almost choke with rage, what game is this? Can anyone slain another if they come up with a good reason? What madness is this, where is the law in this city?


    ¡°No, I swear.¡±


    I hear his shift in the saddle. ¡°Will none offer words in this Hob¡¯s defence, offer him citizenship into their family?¡±


    There is absolute silence. No baby cries. No parent calls to a child. No merchant shouts out to champion the quality of their goods.


    ¡°So be it. He is his own.¡±


    In the lull I glance behind me, Klugak is mounted upon his boar and on either side on foot a female hobgoblin, armoured with a spear, bodyguards my guess. Slightly behind and to one side is his daughter, also mounted. Her boar in fact snorting into the hair of Klugak¡¯s bodyguard and as my eyes rise to register my disgust, she instead greets me with a salacious smile, her tongue running along her bottom lip, curling around each tusk at the start and finish.


    I hear him and bolt. His spear scrapes along my leather cuirass leaving a gouge. Distraction again, although my nanorobots are possibly more prepared for my escape this time than I.


    ¡°Stand still young Hob and this will be over quickly, and I promise painless as well,¡± he growls.


    My confusion clears, I am not a citizen and therefore have no protection under the law whatever that means. Worse and I suspect more importantly I have no family to speak for me, defend me or protect me from this type of boar crap challenge. Lord Torngul Heartsplitter wouldn¡¯t be able to invite me into his family because as a male I could then challenge him, one on one for the Lordship without repercussion, after all the strongest in the family should lead. Zeb must have learnt this in the days after he invited me to dinner. The only way I would be allowed, and begrudgingly at that into this city with some rights would be to fight for them.


    My boots suffer as I grind them into the light soil upon the hard-packed road, this time will end differently. He feints to my left and then thrusts at my right, yet I don¡¯t react except to sway from side to side like before. As his spear blade passes by my fist smacks him in his nose and rocks him back on his heels. He thought I would dodge like previous, and he favoured one side hoping I would shift into the thrust. He blinks twice and I smack his face again. Dropping his spear, he takes a couple of faltering steps backwards. I follow and smack him again, his nose now leaking black blood as his limp body crashes to the ground. I wince. A loud crack sounds off as the back of his head hits the road.


    A female hobgoblin runs to him, and another female runs to me. I expect the first, not so much the second. Her perfume now overpowering and threatening to force me into unconsciousness. Except my nanorobots compensate in time to dial back the depth of my sense of smell. Until this moment I didn¡¯t think heightened senses would ever be a liability although now I find myself struggling to take a breath.


    ¡°Klaria, release him now and demonstrate some decorum. Now! You hear me.¡±


    There is anger in his voice although I sense a hollowness, this is an act of some sort. I manage to take a deep breath though as she releases her hug slightly, almost regretfully and she looks over her shoulder towards her father.


    ¡°Now!¡± shouts Klugak.


    I grab her and throw her body back in a swooning position and look down into a set of eyes bristling with shock, fear, and excitement. With her mouth slightly agape, I pounce. My lips are upon hers and I probe with my tongue. Initial resistance gives way, and her tongue fights back with our tusks clashing. We then wrestle as equals in this spontaneous lust filled kiss.


    ¡°Now!¡± her father shouts yet again and this time the anger is real.


    I withdraw and she follows. I place a hand upon her cheek and her eyes open. ¡°When I am worthy, I will beat down your father¡¯s door and claim you as my first wife. Once together, none will tear us apart.¡±


    Her body weight drops dead. Did she faint? I lift her to standing and as I do, she bats her eyelids, her face trying to follow through with a coy expression, the tusks spoiling the full effect. The sentiment though still reaches into my heart. With this act, I thought I could withdraw any hint of reaction or feelings or push forward, go over the top. Anything to take the initiative away from Klugak and whatever plan he had in mind.


    His bodyguards approach us and with that hint I release her into their care, my eyes never leaving hers. They push and guide her back, assisting her to mount.  Klugak waves them on, including his daughter while positioning his boar in our direct line of sight. Casting a look of uncertainty at me he follows his daughter and shortly they are out of sight.


    The male is still prostrate, the female weeping over him. Duzsia and Zergoa wary yet calm.


    I demand my dagger from Duzsia who shrugs and then calls out, ¡°Is he dead?¡±


    Like a whirlwind, my first assailant rises and turns upon me shouting, ¡°He barely lives, how can a kid bring down so great a warrior Hob, how?¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear his head crack against the ground? My punches didn¡¯t hurt, only stun. He should have kept his feet instead of falling.¡± I know my logic is false, but I hope in her emotional state almost any logic will work for a time.


    Her hands grab at her hair. ¡°No! You.¡± She points at me. ¡°You are responsible for this, and you will pay!¡±  Her spittle lands upon my face and chest.


    I slap her across the face. Her eyes blink and I slap her across the other side of her face, tears and snot go flying this time. Her arms reach out for my neck, yet I am quicker, ducking under her aim and bringing my own hands around her neck. Her hands grab at my forearms to no effect, and I begin to throttle.


    ¡°Well, then I best start by killing you first, one less for later I reckon.¡±


    A heavy sigh and shuddering release of breath announces the passing of the male Hob. Any fight in her body leaves in that instant and I find myself holding up the female as much as strangling her.


    Her dull lifeless eyes fall upon mine, a hand width separates us. ¡°It took us two harvest seasons to earn our citizenship and in three punches you have destroyed our fledgling family name.¡±


    I suspect she and him would have been the entirety of the family intending to make me or anyone pay. Why then seek out this fight with me? In the background the battle square is once again a market and Hobs begin to shop once again. None pay any attention to us now, is her death assumed by all? Duzsia and Zergoa guide me and my defeated captive out of the market, generally heading for the North Gate.


    ¡°Where are you taking me,¡± she whispers. I have an arm reaching around her back, a hand locking onto her shoulder and holding her body in tight to mine.


    ¡°Out of the market to avoid anyone eavesdropping, so I can ask you some questions.¡±


    Her dull eyes look up at me. ¡°Ask me what you want and then slay me. I would ask but one simple kindness, burn his body as he deserves. Mine, simply leave for the wild animals as I deserve nothing since my spear-thrust missed bringing this doom upon us both.¡±


    I release her from my embrace and stand her before me needing to hold onto her shoulders. At some point, she decides to fully stand on her own.


    ¡°Good. Now, why did you and your partner decide to attack me?¡±


    ¡°For the reward of course.¡± Her face casts a knowing look at Zergoa, hinting of course that I am the imbecilic here.


    I shake her, barely resisting the urge to do more. ¡°Who offers this reward.¡±


    She smiles, I assume enjoying my annoyance. ¡°Who knows, it is said the goblins post the jobs on the board overnight. The money is held by another, and this will find a way into your pocket if you succeed. I don¡¯t know anymore.¡±


    I am convinced she doesn¡¯t have the will left to lie so move on. ¡°How do you earn your right to citizenship?¡±


    Her laughter seals my annoyance with her and I slap her, which sobers her up. She rubs the side of her face, eyes sulking. ¡°You didn¡¯t need to strike me so hard.¡±


    ¡°What do you care, you will be wild animal food after the next couple of questions.¡±


    Somehow my reply sends a bolt of panic through her. Didn¡¯t she mean to say the words before? Has she changed her mind?


    ¡°Yes, why should I care. Can you slap me hard enough, so I fall and crack my skull also?¡± she murmurs.


    Somehow the trauma has broken her, so I best ask my questions in order of importance. I shake her until she looks at me. ¡°How do earn the right to citizenship?¡±


    She pouts. ¡°You get on the goblin detail, oversee the vermin to make sure they do their job, don¡¯t pilfer, don¡¯t destroy and all turn-up. Two seasons ¡­ for us. It depends you see on how many are awaiting citizenship. If many then you spend a shorter time, if few then they don¡¯t release you even after you have spent enough time because they need someone to watch over their slaves for them. It also teaches you about the board. The goblins can¡¯t read but they can follow instructions.¡±


    ¡°Who holds the reward money?¡±


    She opens her mouth and then closes it slowly not even starting a laugh. ¡°Not the goblins or they would run off with it and not stop until they were out of this valley. All I can say is after a job the reward is paid, there has never in two seasons at least been a disappointment on that score.¡±


    I leave her to stand by herself and steal a glance at Duzsia and Zergoa both of whom are on watch and paying almost no attention to me or the hobgoblin female. ¡°Are all the jobs murders?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°Most are escorts, some thefts, few murders, yet all pay ¡­ we would have had enough ¡­¡± Her cheeks flush a deeper green as her eyes cast up to follow a cloud scudding across a blue sky.


    ¡°Alright then lead on.¡± I nudge her away waving my hand towards the city proper.


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°I assume the house you and him have purchased or are about to purchase.¡±


    She stops dead and looks over her shoulder at me. ¡°How did you know we were about to purchase a house?¡±


    ¡°By your immediate response to defeat ¨C giving up on life as if your one true dream was shattered. You said few murders, therefore the reward must be great and as new citizens, I would expect you to want a proper house and not start your new family in a tent. How did I go?¡±


    She slaps my chest and I allow her to work out her feelings until I decide enough is enough and grab her wrists. She shakes free and her eyes work to avoid mine. ¡°Follow me,¡± she says, her words frail and without life.


    The last house on the eastern side of the north end of the north-south road is where we end up. They add to the main road, not start again from behind, odd. The four outer walls are almost complete, no inner walls and of course no roof, not even cross beams. Under construction then.


    ¡°The reward would have seen the work complete and then some for furniture.¡± Her green complexion glows. ¡°A bed at least.¡±


    ¡°How much do you owe, or in other terms how cheap is murder in this city?¡± I growl.


    Her head tilts and then she casts a knowing smile. ¡°You have a distaste for death, yet torture is a means to an end? Why do I suspect his death could have been instant at your hands, yet you played with your toy instead?¡± Her eyes open wide. ¡°We are toys to you, aren¡¯t we? Including them.¡± Her hand waves towards Duzsia and Zergoa. ¡°Do they know? Of course, they know, they like playing your game with you.¡±


    My hand clamps down upon her lower jaw. ¡°They are the Lord Torngul¡¯s honour guard, they owe me nothing and I am nothing to them.¡±


    She shakes her head free. ¡°Boar crap!¡± I tighten my grip yet she still speaks, ¡°Your strength is exceptional for one so young, I wonder if you could break my jaw with your immature adolescent grip?¡± My hold on her jaw thwarts her attempt at a crap eating smile, even so, I sense her win as much as she does.


    ¡°Where are you from?¡± I growl.


    She attempts to throw her head back and laugh. She fails, yet mirth remains in her defiant eyes. ¡°The Valley of the Hobs, the first non-believers to feel the wrath of the High Priestess of Klug. Our healthiest and strongest female goblins, once proud and free enslaved to breed with her son. My family line is one of the few to survive continuously until now, until you. I recognise their fanaticism in your eyes and now accept my partner and I were never fated to succeed.¡±


    My turn to smile. ¡°Perhaps I should marry you and inherit your citizenship? Then let you be a victim to some accident.¡± She attempts to shake her head. ¡°Why do you think there are murders of nobodies? Murder the partner, court, and marry the survivor, a quicker and more pleasant pursuit then night shift with goblins for the impatient and wealthy Hobs from other valleys.¡± I shift my grip to the back of her neck and force her to look at my face. ¡°You thought me a nobody, easy coin yet you were probably wondering why my death remained on the board longer than most. I will tell you why. Everybody else knew I was not being murdered for citizenship. I was being targeted as a test of strength, mine.¡±


    Tears run down her face as I drag her into the half-built house. She has figured out too much out I tell myself. Who would believe her though I try to counter? Flinging lies at one who recently slew her partner to be expected yet he clearly had the advantage in the challenge, spear vs hands? It wouldn¡¯t take many, one or two more challengers and I only need to reach for my strength once. A youth overpowering mature warriors ¡­ each win confirmation of her wild accusation.


    Dragging her through the door frame of the future doorway I note for one who previously, asked for death, now blubbers profusely protesting this very fate. When the moment arrives, I decide no one wants to die, truth be told. I find a corner deep in shadow, the sinking sun now low in the west assisting. I force her to sit beside me and wrap my arm around her neck.


    ¡°Sleep now,¡± I whisper and squeeze.

 2.009 Who is this?

    --- Master Mason Trolbor POV


    ¡°Come on you laggards we have enough stone and payment to complete the walls and then we can decide what to do next,¡± I bellow. My current crew consists of two Apprentices, a Journeyman, and a Craftsman yet I still need to instruct them every single day on a job many days old and like our previous buildings. Sometimes I wish I could go back to working as a Craftsman under a Master, simply go to a job, do my job, and go home. I sigh, no I think again, the wife is now used to living in a modicum of luxury and I doubt she will allow me to give that up.


    I pass under the door frame to inspect the site and make sure nothing has been disturbed and notice a figure leaning against the western wall. How the morning sun hasn¡¯t woken them up is anyone¡¯s guess. As I peer closer, I do a double-take, is that who I think it is? How could she sleep here overnight? Did she and her partner have a lovers tiff? I thought them one of the few keepers after hearing their story. Almost had me reducing the price for the build, but fortunately, my wife convinced me otherwise, the bruises from my love¡¯s gentle persuasion taking several days to fade. I could have smacked her back of course, but when in love you aren¡¯t permitted to beat up your wife, so they say. That was the one thing my mother beat into me and has never been forgotten. She brought me up a proper hobgoblin she did.


    I take a couple of steps towards her, kick her boot with mine. Nothing? Is she dead? There isn¡¯t any blood ¡­ Behind me the crew are starting to unload the cart, dropping the stone with thumps upon the ground and cursing when they catch a finger or the like, yet she continues to sleep? I sidle up beside her ensuring her arms are hanging away from me, you never know with these warrior types.


    ¡°Psst!¡± I try to get Vorgog¡¯s attention and when I think I don¡¯t he sticks his head back through the doorway.


    ¡°Yes, boss?¡±


    I point to the body of our client.


    ¡°She dead or asleep boss?¡± he asks and right before my eyes he strolls in and shakes her shoulder. I punch him in the shoulder.


    ¡°What gives Boss? I thought you wanted me to wake her. How are we going to finish that wall with her laying against it?¡±


    I march towards him and raise my hand when behind us a strange gurgling sound draws our attention. She drags up her legs and wraps her arms around them as if cold, yet under the morning sun, she should be more than warm.


    ¡°You alright, miss?¡± I ask leaning forward, feeling brave now I have another with me.


    ¡°Yeah, we need you to move to finish the wall, for your house I might add, so you know ¡­,¡± Vorgog unkindly adds in his boarhorn like voice.


    She snaps her eyes open, so I can¡¯t punish him I guess and at least this confirms once and for all she isn¡¯t dead.


    ¡°I ¡­¡±


    Her words stay in her throat and now that I notice, given the morning sunlight she does have some markings, maybe bruising on her throat. Who would do that? What trouble has she dug up for herself now? Is she hiding here instead of being found in their tent? There are no weapons, no spare clothes and if I do say so myself her face is blank, at a loss even.


    ¡°Water ¡­¡± she manages to scratch out.


    I grab the offered waterskin from Vorgog and hand the skin to her. She upends the skin immediately and doesn¡¯t stop to take a breath guzzling the entire skin.


    ¡°More please,¡± she says. Her voice is much better so why not?


    I look to ask Vorgog and find him returning with two waterskins. I raise an eyebrow, he has never moved that fast on a job before, ever and he started as my first apprentice eight years ago!


    I hand over the first in exchange for the empty skin, which I return to Vorgog and when I turn back the first is empty and her hand is reaching out for the second, which I again swap for the empty. This one though, she seems to savour, even splashing some on her face.


    ¡°Thank you from the bottom of my heart,¡± she says. ¡°I apologise for inconveniencing you and will be on my way.¡±


    I hold out a hand to help, which she grabs and shortly after is on her feet. Then she does some weird dance of some sort, hands touching toes, legs bending at the knees and finally leaning against the half-finished wall straining one leg and then the other. Most strange. I break from my admiring stupor in time to ask her at least one question as she leaves for the doorway.


    ¡°Will you have the gold pieces to pay for the completion in the next couple of days? Your husband did mention you both had a job lined up and everything ¡­¡±


    Her head drops. Have I touched upon a tragedy, has he died from a job and that is why she hides here?


    Without looking at me she replies, ¡°I will have the gold by then I am certain.¡±


    ¡°Good luck Briksia,¡± I yell after her, then she is gone, hurrying off in search of her husband I would guess ¡­


    --- Briksia Valley of the Hobs, Warrior POV


    I stare up at a window. Beyond reason, I am drawn to this one place. Hobgoblins walk by some pointing at me, others ignoring me while continuing their journeys. Wishing to be there won¡¯t get me there and all I know now is I don¡¯t know where I am or how I can suddenly live again as a female Hob of all beings and not a goblin. He did promise me I would wander lost in darkness if he didn¡¯t return my spirit and I can confirm the truth of that. In many ways, I accepted this fate yet hoped for more. Those who, upon his death, he returned their spirits are possibly the lucky ones as I am uncertain my current situation will be for better or worse.


    Using the shade, I stand in as a guide I walk south and then east around this huge building, the rising sun upon my face and then north with the sunlight on my shoulder. Just my luck, I took the long way, turning west with the rising morning sun upon my back I discover the front door to this huge house, a set of huge double doors that are open yet guarded. How will I satisfy this urge to find him? Will he still be called Lord Klug? What of High Priestess Rexa and her madness? Even without thoroughly exploring this settlement, if Klugites were present in this place, everyone would know it because they would be controlling every aspect of their existence. So no, I don¡¯t ask for Lord Klug.


    Ha! I have thought of the perfect in ¡­


    ¡°What do you want? Know you approach the seat of Torngul Heartsplitter the ruler of this valley and all who reside here.¡±


    Is it that obvious I am not from around here, although I or the previous owner of this body is building a house?


    ¡°I know that. I am building a house here. I wish to petition Lord Torngul to investigate the disappearance of my husband.¡±


    With a tired look on her face, she glances at the other guard. Over to her then ¡­


    ¡°While the Lord does allow viewings on occasion you need to report the loss of your husband to the Lord¡¯s Second, Klugak who you will find on, oh that¡¯s right, being a citizen, you will know where that is.¡± She smiles exposing her tusks, such as they are, skinny fragile things I am certain I could snap off with ease.


    I am not done yet, because my new life wouldn¡¯t just happen, Lord Farmer Hob would be directly involved or a helper for certain, otherwise why am I drawn to him even after death?


    ¡°I need to petition the Lord directly as I believe one in his employ could be responsible for the disappearance of my husband,¡± I state with forceful certainty.


    The second guard leans upon her spear, with a smirk on her face.


    The first guard replies in a childlike voice, ¡°That is a foolhardy statement to make, which could lead to your death or worse. Are you really, really sure you want us to report this to our Lord?¡±


    ¡°You will only have this one chance to withdraw your claim citizen,¡± says the second with what I can tell is a deliberate false concern. I am certain her act is for my benefit, to confirm that I, obviously a confused peasant, understands the dire consequences which could await me.


    Of course, they don¡¯t know what I know. Lord Farmer Hob is in this building, and I will be able to identify him, and I hope he will be able to identify me.


    I nod. ¡°I understand,¡± I reply with a neutral tone in my voice, while deep down I would rather knock their heads together. Somehow, I know I have the strength to do so ¡­


    One shouts over her shoulder, ¡°Dorgrav! A citizen to see the Lord, accusing one of his servants of murder.¡± When she turns back to look at me, she throws me a mischievous smile.


    I throw a mischievous smile right back at her while biting the inside of my cheek to remind me to keep playing the game.


    They wait. I wait.


    I did consider asking why they needed to be such bitches but considering the amount of angst I have had to swallow while tiptoeing around the madness of High Priestess Rexa I have a lifetime of experience to draw upon. They, as their Lord¡¯s guards only have this small opportunity to be greater than they actually are.


    Behind an aged male hobgoblin, no hair, well that hasn¡¯t changed, stand two impressive-looking warrior female hobgoblins and I am immediately envious of their bright polished armour and their matching stern faces. Old Hob male, more Hob females? Some things have changed.


    He looks me up and down and while nodding adds, ¡°Yes, well if you insist follow us, you can of course go now, and we can forget everything.¡± His head rises and I shake my head. ¡°Right, good, then follow.¡±


    I lockstep behind him while the two thugs who arrived with him hang back a half step behind me. Entering the huge house proper, I notice massive boars held behind fences and opposite them multiple doors leading to separate rooms I would guess and then I must turn and climb a wide set of stairs made of stone. We bypass one floor and continue to climb without seeing anyone else. At the top of the stairs, we then turn down a hallway until I stand before a set of double doors taller than all of us. The male taps the doors with a length of wood, polished and shiny. I suspect his authority or the like, I know the High Priestess insisted on such regalia. I always felt a weapon to be a more effective authority.


    The doors open and a duplicate of the two thugs hold the doors open and I need to do a double-take before entering. So, to be a thug you need to look like each other or possibly it is the armour and helm making them appear similar. Yet I am drawn to one inside this large room, in fact, I catch myself staring and must force my eyes front and centre. I feel two sets of eyes bore into my back as I assess the male hobgoblin standing before me. Huge, the Hobs of the valley, even her son would be slightly shorter and if the mass of his body is solid muscle I would like to bet on the outcome because he may stand a chance. I drop to one knee on instinct. I know for a fact he isn¡¯t Lord Farmer Hob, his presence is significant, much like the guard but nothing more.


    ¡°Rise and speak your acquisition.¡±


    ¡°I woke this morning, my husband missing and yet I am certain one of your retainers knows what became of him.¡±


    He smiles. ¡°Have you seen the female during your brief journey inside my manor?¡±


    Not a huge house then, he calls this a manor, interesting. ¡°No Lord, although I am certain I would recognise the assailant on sight, as I am certain ¡®a he¡¯ is the culprit.¡±


    He rubs his chin. ¡°You have met Dorgrav, hardly the warrior type, there are other males but perhaps we should ask one male in particular.¡± He glances at one of the thugs. ¡°Zergoa please ask Lord Klar to attend me.¡±


    I hear a swift turnabout and then the receding footsteps of one hurrying away.


    ¡°You are not concerned I will leap upon you and throttle you, now you have one less guard, Lord?¡±


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°No, no, I seem to know you, or know of you in some way, very odd I must say and perhaps Lord Klar will be able to clarify.¡± He looks away from me. ¡°Dorgrav a little food and some ale.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    With the doors closing behind Dorgrav, I am alone with the Lord of this town and one of his guards, over-confidence or lax? The doors opening once again break me from my thoughts and escorting the thug is a hobgoblin youth and a goblin? Yet as the doors shut, I gravitate towards the youth, my resistance is futile, this is Lord Farmer Hob, this slip of a boy hobgoblin. How can this be? His warm eyes greet me and instead of a gentle adolescent hug his arms pin me to him, my bodyweight irrelevant compared to his raw strength above and beyond what his body should have.


    ¡°Koria Keen Eye welcome ¡­ back.¡±


    I swallow.


    Next, the goblin jumps upon my back. ¡°Sister, is it truly you?¡±


    ¡°Now, both of you back off, a father should be the first to greet the return of a long-absent daughter!¡± Both Lord Farmer Hob and the goblin release me, and the huge hobgoblin spins me around and picks me up in a huge hug, yet his strength is nothing compared to Lord Farmer Hob ¡­


    Tears fill both of his eyes and a green warmth, spreads across his face. I feel the depth of his love as something tangible and real. I have been envious of this feeling all my life and I consider not surrendering to the truth, yet the truth will come out because she is expected. Not this time, for whatever reason, but next time. I notice the face on the goblin drop into her hands first and then Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s youthful eyes widen.


    ¡°Lord Torngul I don¡¯t believe you hold your daughter in your arms.¡±


    One of the thugs knows somehow, so I must be quick.


    ¡°No Lord Torngul, I am not Koria Keen Eye, I was only Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s wife for at most fifty heartbeats before his death. His acceptance of me, out of desperation in exchange for a sworn oath.¡±


    His immediate release of me feels like him trying to rid himself of filth. Cold, absolute, rejection. I must console myself with his initial warmth, the absolute unconditional love of a father for his child. I wipe a tear from an eye disguising the weakness as fixing my hair as I feel and see Lord Farmer Hob approach me.


    ¡°Zoria Oath Keeper did you honour your name?¡±


    I drop to one knee as I hear others release a deep breath.


    ¡°Yes, Lord Farmer Hob. I kept vigil on the goblin personally and then realised he would most likely outlive me, so I founded a group of devotees called the Oath Guardians. As far as I am aware they guard him still. How long has it been?¡±


    My head rocks back and in an instant, I realise I have been punched. I roll away and a second attempt misses. The goblin or more to the point Luda, sister of Koria has assaulted me. Now that isn¡¯t very nice of her.


    ¡°You bitch,¡± she screams at me and charges, her face bright green with rage I suspect. Yet she forgets I am now a Hob, and her best free blow, although stronger than I remember possible for a goblin, couldn¡¯t knock me out ¡­


    I extend an arm quick and hit the mark. I remember this grip well; Lord Farmer Hob would always pull any into line with this move and I channel him as my fingers lock around her throat. Her flailing fists upon my arm I ignore as her blows weaken.


    ¡°Release her.¡±


    I release Luda gently to the floor and wait until she takes several deep breaths, and then I stand. One of the thugs has her spear to hand while the other, uncertain, follows the first thug¡¯s lead readying her spear. Torngul is at my feet scooping up his daughter. They don¡¯t count, they all don¡¯t matter. I look into Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s eyes. They are harsh, judgemental, yet he hasn¡¯t raised a fist or advanced upon me. What does he feel about my return? I will accept anything except indifference, I will not be treated that way ever again and while only a wife for the briefest of time, I kept my oath to him all my days after his death and I can only hope he values my vigil. Zeb, Koria and Luda know this as a certainty, did they tell him, or have they belittled my devotion?


    ¡°If Koria returns to me, will her reaction be similar?¡± he asks.


    I swallow and take a deep breath. ¡°They both believed I could have done more, yet as a wife of a few moments and the only one who didn¡¯t birth a child to you I was nothing. Rexa though still watched me because I wasn¡¯t disgraced like others.¡± I can¡¯t help myself as I glance towards Luda. ¡°She still needed to make sure I wasn¡¯t a threat and to convince her I kept watch over the goblin and shared with her the secret of your blood doing little else afterwards. After years on watch, I determined I would need others to help me keep my oath and she readily agreed to my request. As an Oath Keeper of Lord Farmer Hob, my devotion was exalted and praised yet never seen as a threat to her because she could always find me, and my followers were usually the weaker goblins looking to prove their devotion. A last opportunity to serve for many.¡±


    ¡°You betrayed Koria, bitch,¡± spits out Luda.


    I ignore her, my attention is upon Lord Farmer Hob.


    He asks, ¡°Did you betray Koria?¡±


    ¡°No Lord, she got caught to save me.¡±


    I catch sight of Luda on the edge of my sight, her father, Zeb the Fool restrains her. While I appreciate his devotion to his children, his actions while serving the High Priestess should be questioned more than mine, but I don¡¯t care about him, I care about Lord Farmer Hob.


    ¡°Care to explain further?¡±


    I bow my head and then straighten. ¡°I would prefer she explains because I would like some answers myself, yet since you request me to, I will.¡± I eye each of those in the room before returning to face him. ¡°Koria realised, like many others retrieving the Warrior Hob Armour was a huge mistake. With this armour her son, your son, became invincible, conquering the rest of the valley easily. The Legend of the Warrior Hob bore down upon the tribes and the only tribe which could have resisted were decimated by their mistaken accusation. She then demanded tributes, first from your valley Lord and then the next one over. He impregnated them all in your name. She wanted to create a hobgoblin army for your son to lead to conquer valley after valley.¡±


    I appreciate their silence, yet they have ignored the knocking on the doors. I cast my eyes towards the doors.


    ¡°Enter,¡± shouts Lord Torngul.


    Dorgrav and several female hobgoblin servants lay out a table of food between us, needing to shift a huge table into position first. Once done they quietly exit, closing the doors behind them. Lord Torngul sits at the head of the table, furthest from the double doors, basically sitting in the same chair as before. All others in a row down one side, Luda, the two thugs who must also be Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s wives yet haven¡¯t announced themselves. I sit opposite the thug I feel I have the least connection to. I can only assume she is a recent addition, while Lord Farmer Hob seats himself at the other end of the table.


    ¡°Under the guise of me finding more recruits for my Oath Guardians Koria and I agree to start smuggling out the pregnant goblin concubines of your son Lord Farmer Hob.¡±


    He holds up a hand and quickly swallows a portion of roasted flesh. ¡°Call me Lord Klar, you will need to in public, so you should practice in private.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord ¡­ Klar. We were very successful until either someone betrayed us, or the High Priestess noticed her son¡¯s seed was not as successful as she believed it should be. She perhaps had some of the females, he slept with, watched. They caught us in the mountain pass between the two valleys, fortunately, at the time we only had two of his concubines with us, many suddenly backed out. It seems obvious now ¡­¡± I take a drink ¡­ not water, yet pleasant. ¡°One of them must have betrayed us and told her friends. The two with us were from our valley, all the others were from the other valley.¡± I take another sip and curse them under my breath. ¡°I hid amongst the ruins on one side, while Koria led the two concubines away to the other side. The two didn¡¯t make it, the High Priestess was never forgiving of betrayal. Those archers who slew them followed Koria, she ambushed them as they gave chase. I didn¡¯t bear witness, yet she shouted out for every kill she made. I did see her run along the top of the outer wall and in silence dive off. Never then or since have I witnessed a braver death. The High Priestess twisted the truth of course and Koria died a hero preventing the kidnapping of many of her son¡¯s concubines, giving her life for theirs.¡±


    ¡°Liar,¡± hisses Luda.


    I ignore her and rip a portion of roast meat from the boar bone in front of me.


    ¡°You hear me? I name you liar.¡± Her small fists thump the table and I ignore her and chew my meat thoroughly.


    She stands in her chair, and I prepare myself for her leap of madness.


    ¡°Enough. Sit Luda. Answer her accusation,¡± requests my Lord Klar.


    I place my meat upon my plate and look directly into his eyes. ¡°If I lie, when Koria joins us, she will reveal my falsehood, so why lie?¡±


    ¡°We haven¡¯t been able to recall Koria,¡± says Lord Torngul, or as I knew him Zeb Stone Grim the feeble unworthy of his name. I pick up my portion of meat and begin chewing again.


    ¡°We do have you though,¡± snipes Luda. I continue to chew.


    A dagger strikes the table. The thug who doesn¡¯t sit opposite me. I ignore her as well.


    ¡°What have you got to say for yourself? Why you and not Koria?¡±


    I grin at my accuser and then glance at Lord Klar. ¡°Just ask Lord Klar to keep killing female hobgoblins until she returns, I assume he throttled me last night.¡± I tilt my head back to display the faint bruises I suspect remain and then drop my head and return to eating.


    I enjoy the silence, perhaps I should have spoken of this earlier because I grab another portion of roast meat and find myself eating alone, all the rest miraculously struck dumb it seems.


    To his credit, Lord Klar recovers and speaks first, ¡°What is your name Zoria?¡±


    ¡°The Stone Mason building my house, called me Briksia I believe, which reminds me I need some gold ¡­ erm, bits? To pay him to finish. I assume you have slain my husband, so it would be the least you could do for his widow.¡± I sniff but try as I might, I can¡¯t add fake tears.


    ¡°You think this is a game?¡± I recognise Luda¡¯s squealing voice and ignore her.


    ¡°Quiet Luda,¡± he says in a soft voice. Ha! He is sick of you and your insanity as am I. ¡°You are a widow and also a citizen, so I will publicly marry you, or at least announce my engagement as I need to shake another out of a tree.¡±


    ¡°I live to serve you, Lord Klar. I will play whatever role you wish me to,¡± I reply.


    ¡°Can you play being dead?¡± hisses Luda.


    I rest back in my chair and wipe my mouth on the sleeve of my shirt and flash Luda the biggest grin I can muster. ¡°If you are upset because you are a goblin, I will cheerfully throttle you to send your spirit back to the void and since we are in a valley of hobgoblins, Lord Klar will eventually slay another, and you can return stronger and perhaps try to kill me to ease your guilt.¡±


    ¡°I have no guilt to ease ¡­ I swear.¡± I notice her eyes dart from Lord Klar to her father and back again.


    ¡°Let me enlighten you. Your sister not including you in our smuggling? You living longer than your sister and dying of old age? You never winning your name? You unable to convince your father to abandon the High Priestess ¡­¡±


    ¡°Shut up, shut up, shut up!¡± she screams, tears rolling down her bright green cheeks in a flood.


    ¡°Oh, and I forgot, you are the weakest wife at this table ¡­¡± I tilt my head to one side to avoid the mug she throws at me.


    His hand slams down upon the table, while I notice her father leaning towards her to embrace her.


    ¡°I feel like going on a killing spree now until Koria returns. You exist to serve me. If you can¡¯t honour that then I would prefer you go your own way. I don¡¯t want to test Zoria¡¯s theory about returning, I suspect I must die and return before my wives can because that is how it worked this time. So, we are who we are with the skills and abilities available to us, and I will have no more bickering and sniping at each other. None you hear me?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord,¡± I and everyone else I believe answer together.


    ¡°Luda, join the goblins tonight and find out what they did with her husband¡¯s body. While I didn¡¯t promise, promise I would feel bad now if I didn¡¯t burn his body as she requested.¡± He drops several gold bits on the table. ¡°Take these Zoria and pay what you need to the Mason to finish the house, we may need it in the future. If more is required that can be arranged.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord,¡± I reply.


    ¡°Yes, Lord,¡± replies Luda, her voice weak and frail, tear tracks still clear upon her cheeks. I scoff in my mind, yet my face at the table is neutral. I have this down to a fine art, my survival technique to cope with the High Priestess. Zeb Stone Grim, on the other hand, betrayed his earnt name again and again. The High Priestess worked on him for many years, but eventually, he bowed and scraped at her feet like everyone else. Milga Stone Blood recognised his self-destruction sooner than most and offered him an out with her and her daughter and he knocked her back, apparently, someone needed to stay close to the High Priestess to rein in her worse ideas ¡­ I shake my head and then realise I actually did.


    ¡°Luda will do her part.¡±


    I look up and the dagger thug now accuses me. My first loss of absolute control and I am on the brink of stirring them up again. I can¡¯t afford to be that wife, not when Luda has done so well at discrediting herself.


    ¡°I am certain she will. Your sister was the one who insisted you would not join the smuggling ring. She reasoned if both of you were away at the same time the High Priestess would become suspicious and given it was her idea, she didn¡¯t feel comfortable risking you. She considered me more expendable as my Oath Guardians were well established by then.¡±


    I just offered you an olive branch bitch, now pick it up or I will throttle you in the hope you don¡¯t return.


    ¡°Thank ¡­ thank you Zoria, it would be like her to try and protect me, I ¡­ I should have realised as much.¡± She wipes her cheeks with her hands, kisses her father on his cheek and settles back into her seat.


    I don¡¯t dare glance at Lord Klar, I am hopeful though he judges me favourably.


    The second thug throws down a bone with more force than is necessary. What is up her, I wonder?


    ¡°So, Lord Klug, do you intend to bed this conniving manipulative bitch any time soon?¡±


    The silent observer. She has seen right through me, yet her bitterness is about him laying with me. Why is that so important?


    ¡°Zergoa,¡± his voice gentle yet strong. Why does she deserve deference? ¡°You know I must, to ensure we are all as strong as we can be.¡±


    ¡°I can only hope you break her Lord as a boar rider must break his or her mount. Only one who has never known passionate love could be as bitter and twisted as her. Promise me you will wreck her such that her screams echo throughout this manor.¡± Her eyes lock onto mine and I am helpless to break her stare. ¡°With your leave Lord, I will now thrash Lord Torngul¡¯s guards into better shape instead of drawing blood here.¡±


    With a nod from Lord Klar, she uses her legs to push back her chair, the scraping sound loud and I suspect deliberate and then marches for the door. She hesitates and sets her eyes upon the dagger thug. ¡°Sister wife Duzsia, do you wish to join me?¡±


    Duzsia glances at Lord Klar and he waves her on. She stands while picking up her chair and upon leaving the table sets it back under and then joins Zergoa and as one they open and storm through the double doors. The two thugs guarding in the hallway exchange glances and then close the doors. Duzsia the Relentless back from the dead. I am glad I didn¡¯t know her name before now, otherwise, I probably would have let my water loose when she stabbed the table. The truth took many years to be revealed, yet all eventually learnt of her deed and each year after the telling grew taller and spread across the valley. The High Priestess¡¯ demand was only a matter of time.


    Lord Torngul stands. ¡°I think we are done. Luda, return with Lord Klar. Briksia, I believe you have an errand to run, and I will advise Dorgrav that you are a consort of Lord Klar¡¯s and will be permitted to explore the Ground Floor, the stairs and hallway leading to your room and nowhere else and I mean nowhere else otherwise you jeopardise Lord Klar¡¯s purpose here.¡±


    I nod towards Lord Klar, sweep up the gold bits and take my leave. I meet Dorgrav on the stairs and he turns about and escorts me out while I advise him of my position within the manor. I know he will confirm my words, but that isn¡¯t the point, I will need to build trust and telling someone the truth, which they can confirm means they may give you the benefit of the doubt when they can¡¯t, based purely upon goodwill. On the Ground Floor, I smirk. Zergoa and Duzsia seem to be working my two favourite guards over, unfortunately with wooden weapons. Still, the bruises should be spectacular. Shortly after I am through the gates and back onto the street, my pleasant stroll occasionally disturbed by thoughts of how and when Lord Klar will break me and what that means exactly.

 2.010 Shenanigans

    --- Luda POV


    Several nights ago, I began roving the streets of the city with the night shift goblins. None of the hobgoblins ever try to force me into service, either Lord Torngul has put the word out or the colour of my skin is different enough to warn them off. There could be another reason, more obvious, I don¡¯t have a ring through my nose whatever that means. They don¡¯t appear to be ornamental, yet there isn¡¯t a rope tied to them for example. While an explanation would satisfy my curiosity, I would need to ask one or more, possibly the hobgoblin overseer but I resist the urge to tempt fate as I believe my presence is tolerated and not welcomed. For all those on night shift duties, I must be a disturbance to the accepted order of things. As my father would say if you are warm and happy under a pile of excrement no point singing about it and letting everyone not warm and happy know. I have chatted to the goblins in the northeast, southeast and tonight I aim to question those in the southwest. I imagine the body of the hobgoblin husband to Briksia to be ripe by now, yet I must continue the search.


    I approach one gang who are cleaning near the manor, hoping they cleaned here several nights ago, also. As before they all stop work, their hands holding the handles of brooms and shovels to their chests sneaking fearful looks at me. The hobgoblin supervising this section is nowhere to be seen, yet this work gang is shaking in fear. I am the reason? The northeast goblins were inquisitive, in wonder that I simply strolled about asking questions. The southeast goblins were tight-lipped, responding to my questions with short sentences, answers only, no further explanations or the volunteering of additional information. Here there is fear in their darting black eyes as the flames of the torches they set about their work area flick in the wind.


    ¡°Does your gang always clean around manor?¡±


    All I receive in return are rapid shakes of their heads. Denials. Fewer words, yet same result. I am no closer to finding where his body went.


    ¡°Do any of you know which gang does?¡±


    I tried this last night with some success although upon questioning those gangs which were suggested; nothing. This gang the same, again with the shaking of their heads. I wave them on and the sweeping of brooms and scrapping of shovels over stone cobbles resumes immediately, as if poised and eager ¡­ I need to find another gang. I sigh. While I prowl about at night investigating, I am then too tired to stay awake during the day and I suspect Zoria spreads her lies about the past as she takes great delight in lounging about in his bed. Just as I am about to leave a rough hand scrapes mine. As I turn, I notice him slip back into the shadows, away from the torches. His hand the last of him to disappear, beckoning me to follow him. The shadows don¡¯t hide him from my eyes though, which gives me my first comparison of night sight. Goblins are blind in the absolute dark, yet source light of any significance can be enhanced by our eyes. I suspected the nanorobots took this to the extreme but didn¡¯t have proof until now. My new friend believes I can¡¯t see him well, masked by shadow yet as I examine him from boot to cap, I pick up on the knife handle protruding from his boot top, his warm woollen clothing, instead of the rags worn by the work crews and finally his cap, soft leather with stitching. A crafted cap on a lowly goblin? Even his nose ring is different, no plain copper band for him, although what metal I don¡¯t know.


    Once out of earshot of the gang he whispers, ¡°You are looking for a male Hobgoblin Warrior? The one slain on Market Day?¡± He stops and glances back at me.


    I nod up and down rapidly, almost stupidly as I can¡¯t contain my excitement, this futile quest could be over at last.


    ¡°Follow,¡± he whispers.


    He leads me towards a narrow alley, probably one of a handful that squeezes between the stone buildings that line the main roads. Once through, a massive number of tents line up in rows and columns to form a tent city behind the stone fa?ade of the stone buildings exactly like the other two quarters. Each tent is again positioned a generous distance from its neighbour with the odd vacant spot available.


    The goblin begins to hurry his steps and then breaks out into a jog.


    ¡°Hey, wait up,¡± I hiss, trying to gain his attention and no one else¡¯s. He sprints away after I call to him, which confirms my suspicions. I immediately crouch and listen, dagger drawn. In front and behind, I hear the gentle flapping of tent cloth. To a hobgoblin, their stealth technique is near perfect, to a goblin, ¡°nice try¡±. I smile and my muscles poised, I wait at the ready.


    Two hobgoblins. They both jump through ready-made slits in the one tent the goblin led me way too close to. Tracking their positions, I favour one and as they step through, I dash forward, dagger out and as her spear descends while fighting to be free of the tent cloth, I drop and slide under her clumsy swing, ending up between her legs. Without any hesitation I slice upwards, striking what I can in three rapid thrusts, left inside thigh, middle and right inside thigh. The rattle of her spear dropping upon the cobblestone matches the grinding of her teeth as she tries to bravely suppress the pain. She nevertheless stumbles forward in silence while grabbing her genital area. Clear of her frame, I jump to my feet behind her and swivel about to face the second one, positioning myself behind the bent over stumbling first. The lighting is poor, generally lamplight from other tents through the tent fabric, yet my eyes adjust, and I observe the other ambusher peering left and then right around her companion trying to find me. I shove the first hobgoblin from behind with my boot forcing the second to make an unplanned move. She either needs to stab her, jump out of the way, or try to catch her. Any of those will satisfy me, yet she decides to catch. I race around to her non-spear hand side and deliver three quick dagger thrusts up under her ribcage while her hands are full, juggling a spear and her bloody companion.


    I then dart through the tent cloth opening where the two ambushers came from.


    Their groans as I blunder through and over, tell me enough. In the dimmest of light, I make out three goblin sized outlines and take a chance since their arms are behind their backs. I wipe the blood from my dagger on a cloth nearby and then feel down their arms to find their bindings and slice a strand. They wriggle their hands-free and remove their gags and don¡¯t move. I sense they are waiting for me, their rescuer, to make the next move. At the tent entrance, I peer out and with the additional slither of light I identify the three goblins, they are like me, or should I say from the former owner of this body¡¯s village. Given there is plenty of time until dawn I lead them through the tent city and out onto the open grass plains. Across a field of grass in the south, the false dawn illuminates the edge of a winding forest in the distance and at this stage, I must make a guess.


    ¡°Make for the trees over there.¡± I sweep a hand towards the tree line. ¡°They should line a stream which you can follow and use for cover until you come across the section of river you know. From there you can follow the path back to our village.¡±


    Two take off immediately, a third hesitates. ¡°You aren¡¯t coming?¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°I serve a great hobgoblin who prefers to be friends with goblins, and I must be with him to see his will done. Tell the village who rescued you. I wish to make my mother proud.¡±


    He nods and then races to catch up to the other two. I slink through the tall grass and head back to the town. I avoid the tent city and instead skirt it, as I intend to return to the manor via the quickest path, the north-south road. Almost there and I hear what sounds like the crisp strike of shovels into the soil. Dropping to a crawl I ease my way forward slowly using my hands to part the long grass before me until I observe what I can¡¯t believe anyone should. Goblins are down in a trench shovelling away soil. They appear to be digging a trench towards town. Further away and down the line are multiple bodies, in the main goblin, yet because of their size, I also spot hobgoblins. Beyond them are goblins backfilling over the dead. And further along at the limit of my vision grow a thick line of saplings following the trench line.


    A sudden growling voice snaps my attention away from my disgust.


    ¡°Come on hurry now, stop digging the new trench, toss tonight¡¯s bodies in and backfill we need to make it all neat and tidy before first light.¡±


    Carefully placing one knee back and following with the other, then, in turn, my hands, I retreat. I feel my heart beating, almost threatening to jump out of my chest. It would not take much for my body, live or dead to be buried with those unfortunates. I stop and listen. No shovelling, no commanding voices. I turn and begin to crawl further away, towards the town again and then once confident I rise and begin sprinting through the long grass, my eyes fixed upon the top floor of the manor as the early morning light begins to peek above the horizon. I sprint along the north-south road staying to the shadow side. I hear several residents grumble, cursing the dawn and I call on my body to give me more. Sweat trickles down my temples and across my brow. The manor looms large before me, yet I must sprint across a sliver of sunlit east-west road. Dawn has beaten me. I will never make the distance without being seen, already I hear hobgoblins exit their stone buildings to empty their chamber pots onto the street. I huddle down against the corner of the last stone building on the corner of the north-south and east-west streets as panic grips my heart. I tap the side of my head to shake out a solution. My only thought: I will no longer have to wait on the Ground Floor with the boars until Zoria stops moaning if I am dead or captured.


    Deep in misery, I didn¡¯t even notice their approach until too late. Two hands grab me around my waist and haul me up and into a large sack before I can even shout or curse. What if I did? Would my fate be any different or would several groups respond and take an interest, argue, and rip me apart as they fought to win a piece of me?


    ¡°Be still sister wife. You are fortunate we missed you this morning and went looking.¡±


    The boar snorts, although I already know by the smell where I am. Undignified to be sure, yet I would rather be in a stinking boar feed sack, safe and snug than contemplating my fate and alone on the streets of this town after daybreak.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I whisper back.


    ¡°You are welcome, sister wife.¡± I recognise Zergoa¡¯s voice, then who is the other? ¡°We like your company as our husband punishes our newest wife with his attentions and decided we would miss you if you somehow became lost and unable to return.¡±


    The other must be Duzsia. Both have taken it upon themselves to train me, Duzsia especially. Being a goblin in a hobgoblin body she has analysed the differences and been devising useful tactics, like the slide for me. She warns me though, once witnessed, others are unlikely to fall to the same trick. I am certain at some point our husband will surrender playing his new game with Zoria, yet I will continue my training. Zoria¡¯s snark about me being the weakest hurt more than I care to admit, and I will work to improve my worth. Double now, as I fear Zoria will find out about my current failure and she will never let me live down being rescued in a boar feed sack. She will name me a burden, a useless wife, can¡¯t fight, can¡¯t complete my mission, needing rescue ¡­ useless. I feel the tears well up inside of me. Then a hand touches my back and I shiver.


    ¡°You are safe Luda. And know this, each of his wives he values, and none are above the others. So, I hope one day when I am in trouble, a goblin sister wife is the difference and I live longer because of her, so I can serve our husband another day.¡±


    Duzsia. A friend of our family when we were Flint Arrows, yet always on the outer as our mother didn¡¯t value anyone without a family line and hence influence. Yet as our father always did, he took an interest in strays and loners, who would invariably leave once they matured, when he found another project. Duzsia though stuck around, even to the point of helping our family when we decided to launch a rescue mission across the river. What we didn¡¯t know was the nature of the Hob we faced, a unique one.


    Bouncing about in the sack gives me more thought time and I deliberate about Zoria. Like I did for Duzsia I try to imagine myself in her boots. Again, another on the outer, yet technically a wife, given the drowning ceremony, who our husband ignored. Is that her concern? Her fear of being ignored again. Koria and I have always received the love of our parents, mother¡¯s love at times a mystery and at other times fateful yet I needed to believe she had our best interests at heart. Has Zoria never truly felt loved and valued? Doesn¡¯t expect to be loved? How is it possible for someone to not find at least one they can trust in their lifetime? Is this the source of her selfishness? What of brothers and sisters, although not having a surviving sibling isn¡¯t unusual. Then I recall my recent fear, alone and awaiting an unknown fate and the instant relief and joy when my sister wives found me. The support of those who value you, a wealth beyond counting. Perhaps that is what Zoria truly craves yet doesn¡¯t know how to ask for or worse how to fit in and believe others will be there for her, without condition or exception.


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    She did pause when father welcomed her, hugged her, and did his welcome thing ¡­ she sunk into his embrace, and a sense of peace came across her face. For the briefest of moments I thought, she thought, she would allow everyone to believe she was Koria. She must have realised when the real Koria arrived she would be found out and suffer all the consequences. No father or no parents? No mentor like my father? A goblin trying to survive alone convinced none would value her. I decide Zoria needs more love and less misunderstanding which can only start with being there with her and listening. I sniff. For now, a bath will be next for me.


    --- Lord Klar POV


    Each pre-dawn with Zoria an improvement, in both acceptance and participation along with duration. My seed building up her endurance to endure my ravishing of her longer each morning and repairing any bruising from the day before. And despite this variance, Luda was able to perfectly time her return to our room after her nocturnal explorations ¡­ usefully to avoid embarrassment and given their near sulky silence towards each other these past several days, potential conflict beyond the occasional one-word sentence. My assurances towards Zoria during our lovemaking failing, it seems, to reduce her suspicion of my other wives, while my spirit bond with her making my trust in her a given. Which is the complete opposite when she was a goblin and potential rival to Milga. Argh, Milga. What became of you and yours? What became of your daughter you were so determined to have with Zeb Stone Grim?


    A hand strokes my chest drawing my attention. Sleepy eyes greet mine along with a well-satisfied grin. I reach across and try to tame her wild hair without success, seeing now why she braids the voluminous black mop.


    Her eyelids flutter slightly. ¡°Given we have spent many days together, does that mean I am your favourite?¡± she purrs.


    She doesn¡¯t understand, even after I explained the purpose before her monopoly of my time these past few days ¡­ sigh. Her insecurity is deep, ingrained even and is the lens through which she evaluates herself and others.


    ¡°What have we been doing these past days?¡± I ask.


    Her face flushes bright green. ¡°You have been claiming me as your wife, as totally yours ¡­ perhaps your favourite ¡­¡± She shudders. ¡°My husband.¡±


    I grab a fistful of her hair and tug. She groans in anticipation. ¡°Do you think my other wives are jealous of you now?¡±


    She rolls towards me and pecks my lips with her own. ¡°Of course, my husband, they see your devotion towards me, our lovemaking and they wish to be here instead of me.¡±


    ¡°Have any said or done anything to you to show this jealousy you suspect they have of you?¡±


    Her finger traces the outline of my jaw, while her eyes sink into mine. ¡°No, Luda has been too tired to, but she is jealous I can tell, while Duzsia and Zergoa avoid me, yet I know they do this because you have obviously warned them off causing any trouble.¡±


    ¡°So, tonight when I command you to sleep on the floor bedding where Luda has been sleeping and invite Luda to this bed and make love to her what will you think?¡±


    Her eyes flash wide and then narrow to slits. ¡°I think my husband wishes to make me jealous and I will redouble my efforts to please him, and I can¡¯t wait for Luda to be cast from your bed and you welcome me back once you have played your game ¡­¡±


    I smile. ¡°Do you recall what I said to you before our first night together?¡±


    She slides her body, in particular, her breasts across my chest seeking to, I suspect, regardless of her tiredness to make love once again. Once I stop her advances by grabbing her hips, she pouts a little before answering, ¡°Something about strengthening me with your seed and needing this done as soon as possible or something like that.¡± She kisses my nose and continues, ¡°While nervous that first time, I realise your words were to calm me and now, after further passionate nights together I know this to be an elaborate ruse to win my heart.¡± Her face glows a bright green and I know I must extinguish her illusion.


    I gently push her body away, she fights of course, yet I simply exert more of my strength. When free of her entanglements I roll out of bed and onto my feet.


    ¡°I will be sleeping with Luda tonight and you will be sleeping on the floor bedding.¡± I shove first one arm and then the other into my linen shirt and start tying the throngs. Her body should have started weeping ooze days ago, after our first night and morning together in fact and yet nothing. This morning though her sweating was less watery and stickier ¡­


    ¡°But husband, I am certain I will please you more, you will see ¡­¡±


    I hold up a hand and shake my head. ¡°This isn¡¯t about pleasure. I explained what this was about, and you have chosen to misunderstand.¡± I reach for my loincloth and begin wrapping.


    ¡°What of our nights and mornings together? I thought ¡­¡±


    Grabbing my leather britches, I tread one leg through and then the other. ¡°Exactly, you thought, but you didn¡¯t listen. Have you at least noticed our sessions going longer each time?¡±


    ¡°Yes, my body is getting used to your ¡­ vigour.¡± She blushes green once again. ¡°Your forcefulness ¡­ taking me in various ways I never dreamt of ¡­¡±


    ¡°No.¡± My reply is one word and absolute. She grabs a sheet to her chest while her bottom lip drops. ¡°The nanorobots in my seed have now begun working on your body to improve it. Today or perhaps tonight a black ooze will escape through your skin, so you must remain in the room until that stops. Yes?¡±


    Her face screws up. ¡°Black ooze?¡± Lifting the sheet away she ogles her naked body, and I must concur, curves, muscles definition and proportions are almost my view of perfection. I pull on a boar hair knitted sock and soft rawhide leather boot on one foot and then the other.


    I look up across the bed. ¡°Yes. Ugly, slimy black ooze and you must stay in this room until finished. Understand?¡±


    Moisture fills her eyes. ¡°Yes.¡± She hitches her chest. ¡°So, you don¡¯t love me, this was all a game?¡±


    I grab her ankles and drag her across the bed towards me to the sound of her half nervous, half delight shriek.


    ¡°Of course, I love you. But what you don¡¯t seem to accept is that I love all my wives as equally and as well.¡±


    I stand and walk to the hook holding my leather sword belt and sword.


    ¡°But what of our nights and mornings together, surely ¡­¡±


    I turn towards her while buckling my belt, the rolling of my eyes halting her words. I reply, ¡°What I needed to do, I did to make you stronger.¡± Her eyes dim. ¡°I am not saying there wasn¡¯t any love or pleasure, what I am saying, your safety, making you stronger to survive this reincarnation was my priority, as it was for all my returning wives and Luda will be in my bed tonight.¡±


    She rolls over on her stomach and crawls towards the edge of the bed, looking up. ¡°What did I do wrong? I ¡­ to trust anyone, I mean I thought with you, finally, I found the one, my mate ¡­¡±


    My inner Hob rises within me. I had called upon him during the lovemaking to explore a more ardent and rougher, punishment type of passion and apart from him answering, the other surprise was Zoria responding when I thought I was punishing her. Now my inner Hob based upon an invitation for a specific reason has decided to intervene whenever and with an effort of will, I must resist grabbing her by the throat and squeezing.


    ¡°While you are confined to this room, think on this, you are my true mate, yet equally are Luda, Duzsia and Zergoa and when Koria reincarnates she will be as well. You will need to reconcile this as they have.¡±


    I cast one last look in her direction as I hold the door.


    ¡°But I have waited, as a goblin, in the darkness and now as your love extinguishes the pain of my past you tell me I must share you?¡± Her face twists and after spitting says, ¡°You are far crueller than the Ranger Hob ever was because I knew my proper place with him, never to rise above vermin pet whereas you gave me hope and now I am simply one more of your possessions to be used and discarded. Then probably ignored like when a goblin until you can fit me in your life and aims again ¡­ is that my future?¡±


    I stare at the globule of spittle on the floor and then grab the door handle to make it ready to open and leave. I pause instead and reply, ¡°I tell you now, the answer is no. But you don¡¯t want to believe my words, so we will both have to wait until my deeds prove me truthful.¡± I open and stride through the doorway not looking back. Instead, I want to tear into some food and break my fast and forget about wives, this insecure one especially.


    Halfway to the dining hall, I remember that Luda hadn¡¯t returned yet. The moment is broken by a yelp from the courtyard below and as I rush to the balcony rail, I spy Luda nestling upon Zergoa¡¯s back, an arm around her neck, while Duzsia scrambles from the other end of the courtyard trying to reach them.


    Through the strangulation Zergoa gasps, ¡°Split up you said, find her twice as quick ¡­¡± Her arms reaching back, yet her hands failing to find something to grab and when she does, Luda moves her body aside because all she wears is her loincloth.


    Eyes bulging, Zergoa looks about and then staggers towards a wall, swivelling, the intent obvious. Before she can Duzsia is before both and reaches to release Luda¡¯s arm. Luda¡¯s head rises and her teeth bite down on Duzsia¡¯s offer of arm flesh.


    ¡°Argh,¡± screams Duzsia as she jumps about nursing her arm dripping black blood. ¡°You vicious little tramp, you will pay for that! Hold on Zergoa!¡±


    Zergoa drops to her knees, allowing Luda to land and use her feet to apply leverage and pull on Zergoa¡¯s neck.


    ¡°Yield sister-wife?¡± asks Luda.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡± shouts Duzsia.


    I note Zergoa¡¯s eyes, soon she won¡¯t have a choice. Duzsia now bandaged returns, circling Luda. When behind Luda she rushes her goblin sister wife. Luda releases and jumps over Zergoa¡¯s falling body whereas Duzsia needs to pull up to avoid her. Luda skips away.


    ¡°One down,¡± she taunts while licking her lips and shortly after disappears into the shadows of the boar stalls.


    Zergoa climbs to her knees rubbing her throat, flashing Duzsia apologetic eyes.


    ¡°We shouldn¡¯t have split up.¡± Duzsia pats Zergoa¡¯s shoulder as she passes. ¡°I underestimated her, apologies.¡±


    Zergoa shuffles back so she can lean against the servant¡¯s room wall she was intending to bash Luda against I believe and rests. Defeated? She mustn¡¯t be allowed to participate any further I suspect, as I continue to watch the spectacle. I am trying to penetrate the shadow in the boar pens and only when I feel his hand upon my shoulder do I notice Zeb Stone grim joining me.


    ¡°They have been beating each other up every morning and every evening, taking as much time as it takes you on those occasions to teach Zoria to be a good wife.¡± He chuckles.


    ¡°It looks serious ¡­¡± I offer, as Zergoa is yet to stand.


    ¡°Yes, but each time they return and do the same thing no worse for the experience. Zergoa thought she would be teaching Luda, yet with Duzsia¡¯s erm, unique, goblin-hobgoblin perspective Luda has surprised her a couple of times. This is their first two on one, although your hobgoblin wives insisted that Luda strike from the shadows where goblins should do better to even up the odds.¡± He laughs with a smile on his face.


    ¡°Even up the odds, eh?¡± I question.


    He casts a side-eye at me. ¡°Don¡¯t look now, but it seems their games have attracted a large audience today including Voria and Trela. I am sure they will explain their attendance by saying they followed me this morning, yet I suspect some of my other servants probably built up my daughter''s exploits.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t this dangerous? Seeing goblins able to threaten hobgoblins?¡± I whisper.


    Lord Torngul stands and casts his gaze across the courtyard and this floor. ¡°Dorgrav! It would seem my servants have too much time on their hands! More work or fewer servants!¡±


    The hobgoblins scatter to the four corners of the manor and out of sight. Too late. I think the damage has been done. Any spy in Lord Torngul Heartsplitter¡¯s manor would be telling their true master as soon as possible. Maybe it would be an opportunity to observe who leaves the manor today and upon their return test their loyalty?


    ¡°This afternoon I announce the tournament, you will accompany me as I need to get the good folk of the town to know your face.¡±


    I nod. With my pre-occupation with Zoria, I had forgotten Zeb needed to run the manor, the town and keep things moving along.


    --- Zoria POV


    I shiver, unable to control my body. ¡°Where is Lord Hob?¡± I ask between chattering teeth. My body is doing things ¡­


    Luda perching upon the bed, once my bed for many nights, lifts her head and eyes me. ¡°He is with Lord Torngul announcing the challenge contest ¡­¡± she shrugs.


    I don¡¯t want to admit this, yet if I don¡¯t, she could maybe run and get help or let Lord Hob know, yes and he would attend to me ¡­


    ¡°My body is on fire. The pain reaches down into every part of me ¡­¡±


    She rolls on her back towards the edge of the bed and with an acrobatic flip lands on her feet, her breasts bouncing when she makes the landing. How did I not notice her still in her loincloth?


    She stands over me ¡­ when did she approach me? I must be blanking out or something.


    ¡°Your body is being purified by the Lord Hob¡¯s seed.¡± She crouches before me, her head tilting to one side. ¡°Are you in great pain? Mine was over during the night, must have slept through my pain.¡±


    I snap my jaw closed, trying to throw off the chattering. ¡°I can endure most pain, have endured extreme pain yet this is in every pore of my skin and every muscle ¡­ everywhere. Fetch Lord Hob please, I beg you.¡±


    She glances at the door and then shakes her head while looking down upon me in obvious false sympathy, the bitch. She is enjoying this, I grab at the sheets upon the ground bedroll and try to cope by rocking back and forth and she doesn¡¯t want to help! What does sister-wife mean to her? Useless goblin bitch! With my last breath I mean to strangle her, finish the job I started in the dining hall, everyone will find us locked in mutual death grips I am certain.


    Her arm reaches around my back and her hand grabs my shoulder before I can shove her away. It must be this change, am I that weak?


    ¡°You will survive, we all survived. Perhaps two times a day for several days was too much, but I suspect Lord Hob in his own way was apologising to you.¡±


    ¡°A ¡­ apologising?¡±


    ¡°You are one of his wives, he wants to make certain you are as strong as you can be.¡± She pauses and even though half-dazed, I wonder if is she considering saying something she shouldn¡¯t?


    ¡°Please?¡± I only have one word in me for now and hope she understands my full meaning.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t trust you as a goblin and didn¡¯t know why he didn¡¯t. Milga had the same misgivings hence he ignored you. Now though our bond with him is stronger and even if you wished to you can¡¯t betray him.¡±


    The shock on my face must have surprised her into silence. Betray him? But I can¡¯t now? I haven¡¯t even thought of the possibility, yet she says I can¡¯t anyway ¡­


    ¡°Go on,¡± I whimper.


    She nods. ¡°None of us spoke for or against you, we didn¡¯t know you would ¡­ you would be called by him, so you, being here, is a shock for both Duzsia and I. I apologise for my outburst, I,¡± She tears. What! Why is she tearing? ¡°I expected my sister and instead, you arrived. I hope you understand.¡± Her body slides closer to mine and somehow her nearby warmth makes me feel better ¡­ I don¡¯t understand.


    A shoving wakes me. When did I fall asleep? As I open my eyes in low light, Luda plants a finger across my lips and places her other hand behind her ear pushing it outwards. Does she hear something? I lift an arm and find a stickiness adhering to me. Luda grabs my arms and starts wiping it down while nodding towards another rag. As my eyes find the rag, I also notice I am on the bedroom¡¯s stone floor, a single sheet underneath me, naked, unless you count a sheet of black ichor covering every pore of my skin as clothing. What about my hair? How much of this muck is in there? I know my loving husband treasures my long black tresses by the way his fingers bury themselves in my hair to firmly grab and hold, to then use during our lovemaking. Slippery just won¡¯t do!

 2.011 Stuck in the Past (1/2)

    I feel him call me, again. This is unlike the euphoria of the first time. The elation of finally being released from the black when thought impossible as he did promise to return our spirits before his death so we wouldn¡¯t be trapped. The celebration was agonisingly short as the isolation gave me ample time for reflection, and I considered my confinement in the black apt punishment for one like me and if he had released my spirit before his death, I would have been let off lightly. In the vague period of spirit existence between my body death and the first of his callings, time went by uncountable yet more than enough to recall all my deeds and misdeeds, and each time to reach the same conclusion. I refused his first call with simple reasoning without explanation; I needed to serve my penance in the black a while longer. This second call though demanded more from me to resist, needing to explain my crime. I am not here because I am afraid to face him, I am here because my mistake is so momentous it is unforgivable. There will be a third time and most likely a fourth and each will be a test of my willpower and stubbornness, and I am uncertain if I can resist again, yet I must. My shame is such I cannot face any of them, because if I have refused twice then two of his wives must have taken my place.


    In the black there is nothing. I sink into despair and repeat what I have done previously, I relive the nightmare once again by starting with joy.


    ---


    I smile at my sister while we lay side by side in our Lord Hob¡¯s cabin placing our trust in Rora of the Blood Suns tribe, our husband¡¯s appointed Head Goblin of Childbirth to care for us and our large swollen bellies as does Milga, although she prefers ¡°outside¡±. First Wife Rexa in her way of course refuses to have anything to do with the enemy tribe as she proclaims them. Upon her order, all the Blood Suns who volunteered to become bodyguards for the Head Hob were ruthlessly hunted down and slain. She wanted them all slain, yet most were mothers with children, some with newborns and as a compromise, they agreed that they would never visit the Head Village and offend the First Wife of Lord Hob with their presence. Looking back now, this extreme act, of blaming all for the actions of a few by Rexa should¡¯ve been an early warning to us all. One result though was to create a divide in Lord Hob¡¯s territory. Rexa and her favourites in Head Village, any outcasts sent or to remain on The Farm. Rexa summoned several from The Farm to care for and protect her, the strangest choice being Zoria, although she became secretive in her own way requesting Ligia and Karo to accompany her. Their behaviour like others in the ¡°days after¡± dismissed as ways of coping with Lord Hob¡¯s death.


    With the death of the Smith Hob, half of the potters relocated to Copper Village, to continue the production of copper while also prospecting for iron ore, since before now the ore held no value and could be in the copper tailings. The Ten Spears became the keepers of the peace, although the only real threat, the Flint Arrows remained quiet, as mysterious as ever. The Farm harvested a bumper crop and in exchange for peace Luda and I negotiated with the Laughing Tusks to stay within their borders. Rexa as First Wife demanded the deal be cancelled but others, including my father, convinced her, the deal had been done and we couldn¡¯t afford to break our word. Rexa nevertheless leapt upon our audacity considering she and most in Head Village considered us unrepentant traitors and therefore already untrustworthy due to following our mother and appointed Lord Hob¡¯s former bound wives, Bekto, Zuxa and Lazsia to govern The Farm by committee. Their tribal origins mix meant none could claim favour as all decisions were made unanimous or not at all. Secretly, I believed Rexa choose four, assuming any even number committee wouldn¡¯t be able to agree on anything and consequently need to petition her to break the deadlock. Her mistake was not keeping the fourth ¡­ luckily. Or more strangely, this could explain why Zoria requested Ligia, who Rexa originally nominated as the fourth to join them. How Zoria could claim Ligia against Rexa¡¯s wish was anyone¡¯s guess.


    Sweating yet happy my sister and I glance at each other, our babes on our chests feeding on our breasts. All but Rexa gave birth to goblin babes. All but Rexa gave birth to female babes. Without question, the wives of Lord Farmer Hob enjoyed every moment of their first six months of motherhood. Then Rexa as First Wife, mother of the sole male hobgoblin babe intervened and weaned or not, all our babies were taken from us. This order was not only a test of her right to rule but also a trap. Any resistance would clearly identify those who didn¡¯t support the First Wife of Lord Farmer Hob.


    Distraught, I then sunk into a madness of sorts. My climb out the slowest of all his wives and I clung onto one glimmer of hope. I needed to resist Rexa¡¯s power and if I did others would follow. To do this, I needed to throw off the stigma of my betrayal of Lord Farmer Hob, I needed to improve my reputation. Recovery of the Flint Arrows Warrior Hob Armour seemed to fit both objectives, two birds, one stone. Milga was the easiest to convince, although she insisted her babe would come with her. Luda leapt at the chance, while Kor considered the quest unfinished business. Duzsia though questioned everything about us going. What if this stirred the Flint Arrows to attack the Farm instead of the Blood Bones? What if the armour was useless given the years? Who would be able to wear the armour and what would they be trying to achieve if they did?


    In the end, blinded by my need I played dirty, and I wish I hadn¡¯t now, given the benefit of hindsight. I remember our conversation.


    ¡°You disagree?¡± I replied, venom in my voice. We had been kicking around the pros and cons for half a night already, whispering like conspirators in a secluded clearing with dense forest all around us.


    ¡°There is no purpose for the armour now. Lord Hob had a plan and while we don¡¯t know what that was, it would have invariably included him as a key figure.¡±


    In all our discussion this night, her words were the first to mention Lord Hob, previously I spoke about other consequences, ones which weren¡¯t dependent upon Lord Hob being a beneficiary.


    ¡°Then you refuse to carry out our Lord Hob¡¯s final quest, Duzsia the Relentless?¡±


    Even the shadows couldn¡¯t conceal the colour drain from her face, as near pale green I will ever see on a goblin. I attacked her name and linked this to our husband. A direct challenge to her title Relentless and accusing her of failing our husband after his death.


    ¡°Take that back ¡­¡± The colour in her face returning quickly, a heat emanating instead and her body puffing up and leaning forward and over me. I held my ground before her gathering storm, banking on the fact we were sister-wives.


    ¡°No,¡± I reply. ¡°The truth is the truth, you must surrender your Relentless Title, Lord Hob would demand nothing less of one who refused a quest of his. He would consider your past service of course I am certain and allow you to live.¡±


    Her fingers were around my throat, and I didn¡¯t resist. Gasping for my last breath, she realised the futility and flung me away. Rubbing my throat I quip from the ground, ¡°Does your answer still remain no, now?¡±


    She glares at me. ¡°Nothing good will come of this.¡± She points her finger at my heart. ¡°You will see, you will see, yet as Lord Hob¡¯s wife I will join you on this foolhardy quest.¡±


    I smiled in triumph remembering even now, her look of disgust when I did. ¡°That is fortuitous because we need you to lead us through the mountainside brambles, which I believe is crucial to your original plan ¡­ which erm, we will need to follow as well.¡±


    Hands on her hips, she opens her mouth to reply, instead, she closes her mouth and storms off. None remember seeing her for ten days and then she snaps her fingers and gathers all of us on the spur of the moment to investigate something. In the early days of Rexa¡¯s dictatorship Duzsia the Relentless was the single wife of Lord Hob immune to any of Rexa¡¯s whims. Either Rexa sensed she was untouchable given her naming and subsequent fame or Rexa considered Duzsia¡¯s training of every goblin willing to take a weapon of great benefit and didn¡¯t wish to interrupt that. The other possibility was her size, bigger than any male goblin and all Lord Hob¡¯s wives, current or former as well as Milga and most assumed stronger. A one-on-one confrontation with Duzsia could only end one way. Yet of all of us, Duzsia grieved the most, in silence and in her own way. Which is why my taunt succeeded. How would any of us feel after earning our name and our Lord no longer alive to command us? Duzsia expected to be commanded by Lord Hob, she would have been very comfortable as a follower having never been in a position of leadership. She of all of us could have walked into the first wife¡¯s chambers, throttled Rexa and appointed herself first wife, but then she would have been in command of everyone and everything. Therefore, she turned to what she knew and took to drilling goblins so they could at least defend Lord Hob¡¯s vision of civilisation much to Rexa¡¯s relief I suspect.


    Mid-morning, we jogged out of the southern gateway of The Farm, with the weapons and clothes we could fetch within several heartbeats. No food, tents, bedrolls or supplies in any form. She set a cracking pace, our impromptu group reaching the foothills of the southern mountains by dusk. Lord Hob¡¯s wives, Duzsia, Luda and I still of reasonable condition, Milga tired and needing rest while Kor jogged into camp on dark guided by campfire light I suspect, grabbing food and crashing onto the nearest bedroll. The food, camping equipment and backpacks waited for us, including a choice of iron weapons. Duzsia had been busy while absent.


    The next day we reached the great cliff and found ropes conveniently hanging down ready for us, not one continuous rope but in stages which ended where a climber could rest. Duzsia led the way and we all followed. Kor managed to keep up due to Duzsia hauling an overfull backpack. No one questioned Duzsia, yet we wondered if Kor would last the entire roundabout trip.


    Keeping to the forest above the cliffs we backtracked north until reaching the Copper Village ¨C Head Village pathway. At dusk we crept across the open path and surrounding light brush, somehow Duzsia knew where she was going and we blindly followed, even wading across the stream, which the trail roughly ran parallel to. Once across we entered heavy forest almost immediately. I couldn¡¯t help feeling this was by design, confirmed when we found an abandoned camp, deep firepit and a couple of lean-to shelters waiting for us. Kor collapsed under a shelter and apart from light snoring we heard nothing more from him until morning. A shame, as Duzsia struck a fire and prepared our first hot meal of this trip. In the morning while we broke our fast, she explained her plan.


    Kor wouldn¡¯t be following us all the way.


    ¡°What?¡± he asks, as do we all.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°You are sworn to serve Lord Hob yet not a wife, former or present. If we succeed, I am still not convinced how this armour will change anything for the good, therefore we only continue if you agree with me that Kor will prepare a hiding place for the armour known only to him. That way when asked, under oath or threat of death we can all answer in good conscious we don¡¯t know where the armour is.¡±


    As the protests die down, none come up with an alternative, because all the others wish to go on the quest, and none can suggest what becomes of the armour afterwards.


    ¡°It is pleasing you have reached the same conclusion as I. To speak plainly, I believe the recovery of this armour is a folly, but Koria called my honour into question so here we are.¡±


    Their eyes turned upon me and for several moments I felt the weight of their judgement, yet at the time I knew the armour could make a difference. Looking back now, how right I was and how wrong at the same time.


    ¡°Kor, you remain here the rest of this day and tomorrow morning head out to find your hidden place and prepare a body-sized cavity at least. We should return in nine, possibly ten days to hand off the armour to you, any longer and assume us lost. You will need to decide your own future then,¡± says Duzsia.


    I reach over to Kor and hug him. ¡°Find a place with running water, anything of Lord Hob¡¯s does best in running water,¡± I add.


    ¡°And sunlight sister, don¡¯t forget sunlight,¡± says Luda with some excitement.


    His voice weak, he replies, ¡°I will try.¡±


    ¡°One last thing.¡± She captures our eyes in turn with hers. ¡°I will not be returning.¡± She needs to hold up a hand to quieten us. ¡°I am lost without Lord Hob to guide me and while I thought Rexa would be better placed to be First Wife I sense too much of Jotor in her, which means, her way or no way. When you return from the South, if all goes well, Milga if she agrees will report to The Farm that we are injured and need help at the pass into the other valley. When rescue arrives, I will have fallen from the mountain path, defending our retreat.¡± She smirks. ¡°Please feel free to embellish my final act of courage as my sacrifice will allow Koria and Luda to get clear and survive.¡±


    ¡°What about me?¡± asks Kor.


    Duzsia quirks an eyebrow. ¡°What about you? You can write your own future ¡­ did you fall with me? Did the rescuers find you with Koria and Luda? Or ¡­ and here it gets interesting, did you join your mother the Matriarch to see if you can make it work? She and Lord Hob¡¯s daughter will be crying her lungs out by now ¡­¡±


    ¡°Why did you release my mother?¡±


    Milga answers, ¡°Duzsia and I released your mother, the reason though belongs to Duzsia.¡±


    ¡°Call me sentimental, but purely for this moment. Parents and their children should be reconciled, life is too short for us all, especially with sudden death lurking around every corner. I didn¡¯t know my parents and while Zeb Stone Grim was a handy replacement he had his own family. Plus, I didn¡¯t know what Rexa would do with her, possibly wary of a tribal heir with Lord Hob¡¯s blood running through their veins and seeing a rival instead of an innocent babe. Given all goblins born of Lord Hob were females, the danger is probably less now, but I didn¡¯t know that then.¡±


    ¡°Do you think there is a possibility?¡± I can hear the pleading in Kor¡¯s voice, genuine heartfelt yearning. I assume all are blessed like Luda and I with caring parents, yet this is more a rarity than normal beyond the tribal lands of the Flint Arrows. With the tribal war that could be a result of our theft, there will be many children without a father and mothers without sons.


    ¡°You won¡¯t know until you return. If it helps, you can say you petitioned for her release, but given she has an heir by Lord Hob, and you have no ambitions to be Matriarch I don¡¯t see an obvious conflict.¡±


    I listen in admiration as Duzsia speaks her truths. Where is the awkward fun female goblin of barely a year ago? How could she doubt her ability to lead, handing off to Rexa who seems consumed with rulership as First Wife to maintain a selfish grasp on power?


    ¡°I have time to consider, thank you Duzsia the Relentless.¡±


    Duzsia waves her hand and smiles. We finish breaking our fast and leave Kor to her thoughts as we jog onwards according to Duzsia¡¯s plan reaching the northern river as it tumbles down the cliff providing us with an easy way down, over and around the boulders and a way across the river, swift water notwithstanding. Well before dusk, we make camp in the old-growth forest nearby. Ten Spears did at one time hunt this forest but since being converted to peacekeepers they no longer do, and we shouldn¡¯t accidentally run into them.


    The next morning, we head north, skirting the edge of the forest with the tall trees providing a pleasant shade as the sun rises throughout the day. As we lose our shade under the afternoon sun, we struggle up the foothills of the mountain range following a small stream until the start of the brambles.


    Duzsia doesn¡¯t pause, taking an axe from her backpack and hacking at the brambles cutting a door-like opening after inspecting a section before us. We hear her efforts well enough yet can¡¯t see her through the thickets. Before dusk, she returns to us.


    I point. ¡°That axe, is it ¡­ was it Lord Hob¡¯s?¡±


    She wipes some sweat from her brow and smiles. ¡°Yes sister-wife, a gift from Rexa when I declared I was going to explore the valley over, given the death of all their Hobs and where we are supposed to be now. The best part, she believes only she knows and our going there is her idea.¡±


    I chuckle. ¡°Her idea?¡±


    ¡°I simply posed the question about wondering what or who oversaw the valley now all their Hobs were slain. She agreed we should send someone to investigate and placing the axe in my hands let me know I would be Lord Hob¡¯s successor in all things martial and she was certain I would succeed and could go alone or take whomever I wanted with her blessing. If you look at things from her point of view, she wins any which way it ends. Failure and I and those with me are removed as future rivals, partial success with losses, a similar result while total success we learn if we need to defend our valley or not.¡±


    Luda steps forward. ¡°Did you see our babes? Were they healthy and happy ¡­?¡±


    My heart sinks and I know Duzsia shares my distress, mothers not allowed near their children and their father dead. This is not the Flint Arrows way and yet the Ten Spears who visited were in a bind, they swore an oath to Lord Farmer Hob and all recognised his First Wife inheriting that loyalty. They were following orders. Resistance would lead to bloodshed and then what? Where could a mother with a child run to? The Tribes would not offer any refuge, the valley over even less so ¡­ Initially, we were permitted to visit and spend time with them and then as the days went by, every visit meant Rexa had more work for us which meant our return visits became further apart.


    ¡°The healthiest and the happiest as they were all in the one house and seemed to recognise their father in each other. The bonding is obvious, such that the nannies overseeing them are in wonder. Rexa¡¯s son has his own nanny and is kept apart from them and if our daughters are any measure to go by, I suspect her son to grow into a giant.¡±


    ¡°Thank you Duzsia,¡± says Luda, while wiping her moisture-filled eyes.


    Trying to put on a bright face, I add some energy to my voice and ask, ¡°What now Duzsia the Relentless?¡±


    ¡°Welcome to our overnight camp. The opening is in a small grotto, so any searching for the entrance will take days of guessing. Please walk in my footsteps and follow.¡±


    Milga follows last of all and sweeps away our single file footsteps.


    Our camp is exactly that, a cleared space cut from the brambles about the size of Lord Hob¡¯s cabin with a low ceiling. Another hot meal, then bed.


    After breaking our fast, the hard work began and in turns, we wielded the iron axe of Lord Hob. There was no direct path as we needed to follow the contours of the mountainside and after two days, we reach the source of a river. Flint Arrows know this river well; it marks the western border of our tribal lands. I knew we started a fair distance from our former tribal lands but two days. No wonder Kor was asked to wait ten days. Duzsia, Milga, Luda and I enjoy the cool of the river naked until bedtime and even eat there by which time we are covered in wrinkles from the water. In the morning all the aches and pains of the days before were gone, much to Milga¡¯s envy.


    Our meals were hardtack and some of the longer-lasting foods, like cheese and apples, sadly no more hot meals. Three more days of hacking and we chanced upon the cave by accident. Lord Hob had told me a huge beast long ago visited our valley. So huge, the elder¡¯s cave marked where one foot landed and across the valley the sacred cave of the Flint Arrows would if his guess was correct, mark the other. He also thought two more caves should exist closer to the plains which would mark the placement of the rear feet. The cliff marked where the creature¡¯s huge jaws stopped taking another bite. He named the creature a machine called a planetary excavator. All these words were new to me, yet I had no reason not to believe him.


    Our brambles exit sat halfway up. A short effort would take us to within striking distance although, from the cliff face side, more effort would take us over the cave by cutting the brambles further into the mountain and working our way down the other side, the one closest to the Blood Bones tribal lands. We decided to cut over the cave and at the apex ran out of brambles. The sight before us was incredible. The vastness was impossible to describe. The typical mountain range didn¡¯t exist, into the next valley, a huge continuous slope now exists extending out forever.


    ¡°The view answers at least one question Lord Hob wondered about,¡± I say, without any weight to my words or talking to anyone in particular.


    ¡°What do you mean,¡± asks Milga.


    ¡°Lord Hob described a creature called a machine to me. The Planetary Excavator could scope up huge amounts of soil, the cliff face represents its last bite. Inside the beast a sorting would happen, keeping what it wanted and expelling what it didn¡¯t, and Lord Hob wondered where this discarded soil ended up.¡± I sweep my hand over what we see. ¡°I believe the creature sent the unwanted soil into this valley.¡±


    ¡°Could we simply walk down the slope?¡± asks Luda.


    Milga replies, ¡°Grass and low brush hold the slope together although I wonder why those of this valley haven¡¯t climbed the slope and as we can, look into our valley.¡±


    I ball up some brambles and let the mess tumble down the slope. At the edge of our vision the ball disappears, as in taken, not lost to our sight.


    We share a knowing look and take the easy passage across the top of the cave until we find more brambles and continue our tunnel until nightfall. While convenient to open near the cave entrance, goblin hearing would investigate any hacking so our exit, with door, was deliberately a safe distance away. Another night of sleep then a predawn waking. Milga would guard the exit, our exit. We could mark the place but then anyone, however unlikely, could take an interest as well. Duzsia insisted she stay given Milga carried her daughter. Duzsia led me and then Luda. All Flint Arrows, all betraying our tribe for a Lord Hob, not knowing to what end.


    Knowing there exists a cave entrance and finding the cave entrance are two different things entirely. After fumbling about taking plenty of false trails, mainly of them game trails, careless chatter drew us to the correct trail. As we crept along in pursuit, we overheard details. The four ahead of us, the relief guard. One new to her duty, two veterans, most likely husband, and wife pair and an experienced fourth. After much debate, the pair would guard the ¡°front door¡±, the new one the ¡°hidden nook¡± and the experienced one the ¡°sacred cave¡±. None of the names meant anything to us of course, although the hidden nook could be a challenge to find, given the name.


    The four new arrivals meet and greet the two guards at the front door, which isn¡¯t a real front door, simply a stone-lined narrow leading into the cave proper. Building a door wouldn¡¯t help, simply inconvenience as anyone could climb up either side and still gain entry. The two new guards take up their positions. The two former guards follow the two new guards deeper into the cave and we lose sight of them all in the shadow. Torch light glows now and again within so we obtain a general sense of which side of the cavern they use. Shortly after disappearing the former guards return to the front door carrying their backpacks and begin chatting with the husband-and-wife pair. The wait isn¡¯t long and two more stroll through the front door with their backpacks, some backslapping and the four former guards leave down the trail.


    ¡°Three archers and two targets. Koria, you target the male¡¯s throat. His silence is more important than death. While I will aim for the female¡¯s head and Luda her chest. We will seek her quick death. Iron arrows but remember we must recover them all and replace them with bone arrows,¡± whispers Duzsia.


    We rise from our hide, arrows nocked and drawn. The two guards are no longer... guarding. Have they gone somewhere?


    Duzsia waves us down.


    After a moment we share a knowing look as we don¡¯t need to voice the obvious.

 2.012 Stuck in the Past (2/2)

    Duzsia studies the ground, her brow furrowing. Shortly after, a curt nod and we know she has a plan.


    Why didn¡¯t I think of something? I still wonder about this now ¡­ we had accepted Duzsia as our leader, her exploits of victory and survival overshadowed anything any of us had previously done in Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s name. This would also explain Milga Stone Blood¡¯s agreement with anything Duzsia planned, because, I thought, without our Lord to support her position of authority, she now felt vulnerable, especially with motherhood upon her ¡­ My heart cried then, as it does now as I ponder, what of my daughter? What will she, with time, grow up to believe without her mother as a guide? How will Rexa poison my daughter¡¯s mind?


    I remembered how Duzsia¡¯s words broke me from my inner thoughts back then ¡­ just in time before tears grew enough to roll down my cheeks ¡­ This black contorts time, I know that, yet this memory is fresh. I needed to look at the ground back then. I needed to feign understanding with occasional nods to ensure my sister-wives didn¡¯t notice the moisture which had gathered around my eyes. Once again for the umpteenth time, I return to my past.


    ¡°Luda, sneak along the cave entrance towards the front door, I will cover you in case one of them appears from the high sides, while Koria will cover the front door in case they return. Use your instincts if you find them, you can even lure them towards us, just make sure you trip so we can release over you.¡±


    She nods and with a bow across her back and spear at the ready she creeps closer to the cave entrance. Duzsia and I rise with our bows nocked and drawn scanning the cave entrance and front door. I blink several times and succeed in clearing my eyes as Luda enters the front door. Duzsia and I share a glance. Doesn¡¯t she know she is now on her own? I should have questioned the choice of Luda, yet who else could have stood overwatch. This plan only worked as long as Luda remained in sight.


    We wait, occasionally sharing a glance, agreeing to an unsaid understanding between us. We stay until we know more.


    The silence holds with occasional birdsong, the wind in the trees and no more. Just as we are about to relax the tension on our bows, Luda waves us over to the front door.


    She places a finger across her lips, and we follow. A narrow way, tools marks between stretches of natural stone indicate the path has been smoothed and/or levelled. Off to the left is an entrance. Luda steps across the entrance, while waving behind herself, inviting us to enter.


    Under flickering candlelight, we take in an astonishing view. The husband is laying upon his consort, both with their pants down in the animal rutting position and pale green bottoms facing the doorway. Black blood oozes from a spear wound in the centre of his back, dripping off his body to join a similar stream tracking down his partner¡¯s waist. Confirming one thrust claimed both of their lives. We both swallow, neither of us believing Luda capable of such a strike and in cold blood, yet the evidence is before both of us.


    Edging up beside her, I whisper, ¡°Do we know where the hidden nock is?¡±


    Luda shakes her head.


    Duzsia whispers, ¡°I think I have a plan. I will try to imitate the wife¡¯s voice and call the young one, Gigia to come help. Did either of you pick up his name?¡±


    Luda and I shake our heads. I don¡¯t have another plan, so support Duzsia. ¡°When you are ready.¡±


    ¡°Luda draw your bow and back up the path. Your task will be to scan above us in case the young one hurries over the top. Koria, aim down the path, take the first clean release and I will try to as well although I will be concentrating on getting my voice right.¡±


    Luda and I are ready and then we hear Duzsia call out.


    ¡°Gigia, come quick my husband has fallen and cracked his head ¡­¡±


    The echo in the cavern is deafening yet hearing Duzsia say the words right beside me, I can¡¯t believe the effect. There is concern and worry in the timber of her voice, yet the wording is well-chosen avoiding an intruder alert otherwise the young guard and probably the experienced guard would come running armed and wary.


    ¡°Hold on,¡± she calls back. Her young high voice music to our ears.


    Shortly after, with light steps, she hurries around the corner of the path and has time to throw her eyes wide and then an arrow shaft sprouts from the right one, two-thirds of the shaft passing through. Her body flips backwards from the force.


    ¡°What is happening?¡± asks a male voice from above us.


    I scan above us and see no one. Behind us? How? Then a body drops with a thunk at our feet, the bone tip of an arrow protruding from the back of his skull. We recognise him as the experienced guard and not a latecomer much to our relief.


    Luda approaches us, slightly sheepish looking. ¡°He must not have seen me up against the trail wall until he was above you and when he turned to face me, I released.¡±


    ¡°Excellent marksmanship sister,¡± I say and pat her on her back. ¡°He must have run along the higher ledges or something and headed directly for the room ¡­¡±


    ¡°How did he know? I called once, the echo and he arrived only several heartbeats after the young one,¡± adds Duzsia.


    Luda sighs. ¡°Are you two that old already? He was giving her some tips ¡­ if you understand. They have what, one shift to make nice with each other?¡±


    Duzsia and I smirk and nod. The bone tip arrows are perfect, their death places are perfect.


    Duzsia places a hand on Luda¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Go high, either right or left side, probably our left side is best. Most look to their right first, their stronger handed side and the extra time should help. If you aren¡¯t spotted wait for them to enter the cave before you try to stalk them, we can¡¯t afford any runaways.¡±


    My sister nods and searches for a place to climb while Duzsia and I follow the path deeper into the cavern. Like the elder¡¯s cave, there is a higher platform within, like the hoof of a boar this machine creature must also have a hoofprint I reason. There are no stairs, so we search and find the ladder, placing it into convenient footholds. Both facts confirm we are in the right place. We also conclude there is no way the experienced guard stood here; he couldn¡¯t make the distance. Climbing the ladder, we arrive at a completely flat and level section of the cavern. In the middle is an outline of a person, approaching, our eyes settle upon a fading dull-white one-piece shirt and pants, yet more than that, the hands and feet have coverings, the head has a solid round covering, all strange. Duzsia taps my shoulder, and we reach for a glove each and under our gentlest of grips, we hear cracking and immediately stop.


    ¡°This has been here too long,¡± she says.


    Circling, I inspect the suit, trying to find out how it stands unaided.


    ¡°A single pole of some sort holds up the armour. Perhaps we could lower the entire armour as is onto a blanket and then carrying an end each, carefully steal it?¡±


    ¡°Does the pole need to be cut?¡± asks Duzsia while holding Lord Hob¡¯s axe and his bronze knife.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so because the pole is new. Set out the blanket and I will try to lift the pole and armour.¡±


    She nods while taking off her backpack to retrieve and then spread out a blanket. When I see it ready, I lift and with ease, the pole rises. From behind there is easy access to grip the pole as the armour is open somehow. As the pole clears the hole it jerks forward suddenly, and I catch the additional weight before the armour crashes into the ground. I watch Duzsia holding her hands out trying to help yet unable to touch and stifle a giggle, much to her annoyance. With careful strength, I lower the pole and armour onto the blanket. There are crunching sounds, yet we have no other option. Duzsia throws me a rope while she ties her rope to one end of the blanket and I follow her lead while she puts her backpack back on, axe and knife inside. Holding our ropes, we lift and carry the armour to the edge of the platform and then leaning over we lower our ends in harmony until safe on the lower ground. After we climb down the ladder, I decide to take a moment and place the ladder out of the way. Without climbing to check you can¡¯t be certain the armour is there or not and a search for the ladder will cause delay.


    We wind our way along the path back to the front door. Passing the lover''s room, we greet Luda laying above the doorway.


    ¡°Four more relief guards are on their way. When they didn¡¯t see the front door guards, they stopped to chat.¡± She swivels around on her belly. ¡°The four are still there. I wonder why they don¡¯t send for help. Obviously, something is wrong if the front door guards aren¡¯t on duty,¡± she whispers.


    ¡°Do they look like they are waiting,¡± asks Duzsia.


    ¡°Seems so.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps they know the husband and wife use this time for their lovemaking?¡± says Duzsia wrinkling her nose.


    I stifle a chuckle while nodding. ¡°Do we wait?¡±


    ¡°They are moving into the cavern ¡­ wait,¡± she whispers.


    We hear them chat, some laughter. Did someone tell a joke? I pick up a few words here and there, yet none make much sense as they fade away.


    ¡°They are leaving?¡± Luda¡¯s voice goes high due to surprise.


    ¡°Now,¡± says Duzsia. I pick up my rope end and she does likewise. ¡°Ease your way to the entrance Luda and warn us if anyone approaches.¡±


    We wind our way to the front door, peering into the forest from the shadow of the front door as best we can. Luda leaps over us to reach the other high side and then drops to her belly.


    After a time Duzsia asks her, ¡°Anything move out there?¡±


    ¡°No Duzsia, I think we should go.¡±


    Duzsia faces me and nods. She leads the way back up the forest trail branching off at the game trail we travelled in the morning.


    ¡°Wait,¡± hisses Duzsia.


    I look over my shoulder.


    ¡°I can¡¯t hear Luda following us ¡­¡± she answers my querying look.


    I bite my lip and feel my hands shake. I can¡¯t hear her either, yet I calm myself, no noise surely means no combat and therefore no death, no wounding. What if she was surprised?


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°Hurry,¡± says Duzsia. My face must show my angst. ¡°We will hide the armour with Milga and then return for her.¡±


    We can¡¯t stay here and possibly be caught, that wouldn¡¯t help Luda either. I lift the rope and follow Duzsia¡¯s lead, hurrying as quickly and as safely as we can backtracking our morning trail. After way too long we spy a shorter tree between two taller trees standing alone. We pause, don¡¯t all trees look alike, yet this feels right. Milga pops her head up from behind the smaller tree and with relief, Duzsia leads us around the three trees and into our brambles tunnel as Milga holds the doorway open. I swap the door for my rope and Milga follows Duzsia further up the tunnel while I exit and close the door behind them. I take up Milga¡¯s perfect watch position beside the smaller tree.


    Time passes, dusk is approaching when a hand drops on my shoulder. I glance back hopeful. You know, the sibling contest, younger sister sneaking up on older sister, yet Duzsia stands behind me.


    ¡°Do you want to go look?¡± she whispers.


    ¡°I know it would be folly, but I can¡¯t leave her without at least trying.¡±


    Duzsia nods. ¡°Milga and I will take the armour and wait for as long as we can at the river headwaters. Remember we told Kor to wait at most ten days.¡±


    My turn to nod. I hand Duzsia my backpack and empty my quiver of iron-tipped arrows exchanging them for Duzsia¡¯s bone tipped ones. Flint everything would be ideal now, but we couldn¡¯t think or take everything. I grab the back of Duzsia¡¯s head while her hands are full of arrows and force a kiss upon her lips.


    ¡°For luck,¡± I say and then trot down the game trail.


    With a reasonable distance yet to go, I slow down my pace and assume every Flint Arrows goblin is hunting for me. The night is upon me as I approach the cavern, or at least think I do. A rustle and then a body hit knocks the wind from me. I stifle a yelp; I don¡¯t need others joining this one as I try to wrestle the body off me grabbing at wrists to prevent any stabbing action. Then all the fight disappears from my assailant.


    ¡°Sister,¡± she hisses.


    ¡°Luda? Is that you?¡±


    I feel her finger across my lips and her hot breath upon my neck as she whispers in my ear, ¡°We need to leave.¡±


    My turn to breathe on her neck. ¡°How are we to see in the dark?¡±


    She rolls off me and then helps me up.


    ¡°One moment.¡±


    She returns bumping into me and then the narrowest of lights illuminates the game trail at our feet. I don¡¯t have a chance to ask any questions as my sister leads us down the game trail. She heads down the wrong path and I tap her shoulder and she backtracks several steps until we can take the other choice. The three trees appear before us, and I hurry her forward, my relief almost overflowing. I ask Luda to shine the light on the brambles and after more time than I would like I find the door and open it hustling Luda inside. Following her, my ears finally overhear what I thought but can¡¯t believe, a hunting party. I quickly close the door, threading in the cross brambles as best I can in the dark. Any light this close to the edge of the brambles in the dark would be easily seen, I think. In fact, I worry about shining the light further along, yet higher in the mountains, thankfully Luda realised as well because we are in complete darkness. I finish, certain the lock isn¡¯t as secure as possible, although I accept staying any longer won¡¯t change anything.


    I crawl on hands and knees up the tunnel eventually bumping into Luda who stifles her surprise. We continue in the darkness, taking the occasional scrape and scratch when the unseen tunnel bends. I tap her on the bottom, deciding we must rest until daybreak. We lay side by side for warmth and fall asleep.


    Upon waking I inspect Luda¡¯s candle lamp, a carved wooden enclosure, with a slot door. Clever.


    ¡°I needed to kill two more visitors, elders I think given their age and the fact their clothes were identical. Hiding their bodies took most of the time and then an entourage, giggling, for the most part, were upon me. They didn¡¯t enter the cave. I suppose waiting for the elders. I needed to sneak away in stages and when I finally thought myself free, I ran into you. Sorry sister.¡±


    ¡°They carried the lamp?¡±


    She nods.


    I pat her shoulder. ¡°Make your way to the river headwaters, with luck if you hurry, Duzsia and Milga should be waiting for you. Ask Duzsia to wait half a day if she can and I will follow. I must secure the bramble door properly, otherwise prodding the right side of the door could reveal our tunnel.¡±


    ¡°Be safe sister, I will wait for you even if Duzsia doesn¡¯t.¡±


    I ignore her tearing, turning away to race down the tunnel. Downhill is always easier, but you need to measure your steps and as I approach the door I drastically slow, stepping one foot at a time and listening. There are voices beyond the door, not clear, they are possibly in camp or holding a meeting. While I wait, I inspect last night¡¯s attempt. My blood runs cold, as I confirm the left side is bound well, the other not so much. With the right push, the bramble door would act like a proper door, except the swing will stop because the depth of the door is too great. But the exposed neat cut on one side will lead to further investigation without a doubt. I withdraw a length from the fake hinge side and thread the opening side. Four transfers in and I hear voices approaching and stop dead.


    ¡°Do we know where the elders are? Why they were even on the mountainside of the forest?¡± asks one.


    ¡°No clue, there isn¡¯t anything here of importance, old age, following an animal or finding some plants, who knows,¡± says the other.


    The first chuckles. ¡°What about the haunted cavern?¡±


    ¡°Nah, none of my troop are going anywhere forbidden, one of the other elders with his special guard should be investigating later today.¡±


    ¡°What of the elders.¡± A hear a cough. ¡°Entourage ¡­¡± They both release a boisterous laugh.


    ¡°The young girls have been asked to return to their parents ¡­¡± A loud chuckle. ¡°They can be initiated next season!¡± Again, with the laughing.


    ¡°You two! You haven¡¯t got time to laugh about the place, the elders are missing now get your troops searching.¡±


    I hear their rapid footsteps fade and feel relief. Then some mumbling. ¡°Erm at least they can¡¯t lose themselves up the mountain, bloody brambles.¡± Something? Probably his foot crashes into the bramble door and tangles. Cursing under his breath he pulls, and tugs and I need to hold the door in place. Finally, he frees his foot, swears, and stomps off. I work like I am possessed and thread the edges of the entire shape evenly. I would like to add more threads, yet the bone knife I have would fail to cut any lengths. I begin my climb back up the mountainside and reach the top late morning and race across the outside roof of the cave. Once across I stare at the brambles, they all look the same.


    I search for tracks, yet if Milga leveraged her skill I will be hard-pressed to find anything. I drop to the ground in defeat, the middle day sun bearing down upon me, no food, and no water. What are my choices?


    ¡°Sister!¡±


    The sound of her voice is wonderous. I turn to spot her head sticking out of a section of brambles and run to meet her.


    She is shaking her head at me, and I slow. She points at the ground and my multiple footprints.


    ¡°Water and then I will erase them?¡±


    After drinking the water, Luda helpfully hands me a bramble. ¡°Milga said she will inspect, so you better do a quality job sister, you know how she is with this stuff.¡±


    ---


    We arrive at the stream mid-afternoon as Milga kept sending me back out until satisfied. I find the armour lying in a pool of water, Milga and Duzsia have created a shallow rock pool by the river shore under sunlight although this late, the sunlight is almost gone replaced by shade from the brambles. I prod the armour and can instantly notice the difference between yesterday¡¯s fragile artifact and the solid armour of today.


    ¡°We will shift the armour to the shore overnight. I expect the water to be gone or used by then so we can use the blanket again as a carry in the morning. I didn¡¯t think it would recover yet it has to a certain extent,¡± explains Duzsia.


    ¡°Can I try an experiment? We would need to shift the armour into the sun more and hope the water inside is enough.¡±


    ¡°What experiment?¡±


    I stare into Duzsia¡¯s eyes. ¡°By laying the armour in water and under the sunlight you have proven, like all things to do with Lord Farmer Hob they are beneficial. So, I am now wondering about blood. Mine wouldn¡¯t be as strong as his, yet if the armour reacts the repair may be quicker. What do you say?¡±


    She smiles. ¡°There is no real cost to try. Grab a rope end and we will lift the armour across until fully in sunlight again.¡±


    We shuffle across, needing Milga and Luda to help due to the weight of the water inside. I inspect the length and width of the armour trying to determine an ideal spot. There is a sort of flat box thing at the waist, not armour because a half-deteriorated flap usually covers it by the looks. I ask for a knife and Duzsia hands me Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s bronze knife. I slice my hand and clench so the blood drips steady one drop following the next to land on this box. I am not certain if the water dilutes and disappears the blood or the blood is absorbed. As I stare at the armour in the fading sunlight searching for a sign of change, I notice my reflection in the clear see-through front half of the helm not realising then as I do now what awaited me. With help, we move the armour once more, so the dying afternoon sun shines down on the entire armour again.


    Still nothing.


    I attack the hardtack evening meal to relieve my frustration. I accept my blood wouldn¡¯t be as strong as Lord farmer Hob¡¯s, but no reaction. When all others are asleep, I roll about trying to settle and calm my annoyance, finally falling asleep late into the night. Consequently, everyone wakes before I do. Everything is normal, everyone is normal and going through the motions to break camp. Taking a bite out of a stale apple I stare down at the armour. Apart from the water drying up overnight, no change. Duzsia¡¯s call wakes me from my disappointment, and I take a rope and wave her forward. I don¡¯t think I have the wits about me today to lead.


    By late afternoon we reach the brambles exit near the wild forest edge, with the cliff not too far further west.


    ¡°Will we return to Kor in time?¡± I ask.


    Duzsia shakes her head. ¡°We could if we took the easiest ways, but we wouldn¡¯t get far before being asked questions.¡±


    ¡°Our food is running low also,¡± adds Luda.


    Milga steps forward gaining our attention. ¡°Hand me the axe, we should carve a tunnel in the brambles around the cliff. The mountains haven¡¯t been gouged out, so two more days, our food will last that long, and we will be in the high forest above the cliff, where no one has ever gone, let alone hunted. We will then have time to think, whereas standing here offers no safety or progress.¡±


    Duzsia shrugs and hands Milga the axe. We repeat our turns, eat the last of our food and two days later find ourselves facing the high forest, evaluating the thick undergrowth, and dense old-growth trees before us. All agree to skirt the edge of the mountain, keeping to the light forest outskirts of the high forest to make the best distance. We make camp again near the end of the day beside the first mountain stream we come across. The armour goes in, and we eat the last of our trail food.


    We wake the next morning to face a decision, where next?


    ¡°The headwaters of the northern side river must be close. Where it flows over the boulders is an easy day march on the edge of the forest, which would probably take two, maybe three days hacking through this undergrowth.¡± Milga waves at the forest before us. ¡°When we find a game trail we can follow and hunt, but we return to our trail always.¡±


    ¡°What about getting lost?¡± asks Luda.


    ¡°We will need to climb a tree, the nearby mountains will be easy to use to mark our position,¡± answers Milga, almost casually.


    ¡°Then we have a plan,¡± declares Duzsia.


    Three days later, carrying the hindquarter of a slain docile beast, we discover the upper reaches of the northern river. The other quarter fed us well, while the rest of the carcass had to remain behind, including the soft fur on a thin hide that interested the hunter in all of us.


    We follow the river east until we find a section aligned east-west so the sun never strays from the water and construct another rock pool to bath the armour in under full sunlight. Luda and I then set about constructing a lean-to for the night while Duzsia hunts for tomorrow¡¯s food and Milga prepares a firepit.


    Over a campfire, we roast the hindquarter of our first kill in this forest while Duzsia¡¯s kill is hung to bleed.


    Somehow, we all wear the same funny face; content, happy, free, a powerful mixture, the campfire light waving across them all. Then Milga adds breastfeeding to the mix. The mothers without our babes keep our sadness to ourselves forcing ourselves to share in Milga¡¯s joy. None of us suggests she should give up breastfeeding, because her child is past the usual age, we simply let everything be.


    ¡°We can still follow the plan.¡± Duzsia¡¯s simple statement breaks our serenity, her words forcing us to face our situation.


    ¡°What of the armour?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Simple, since I will be missing, presumed dead, I will stay with the armour until fully repaired and then dig a grave beside this river and once buried mark it with stones. Then I will be on my way. Milga can still run for help when south of The Farm, Koria and Luda can still be saved by my sacrifice, and I will still be gone.¡±


    That became our plan ¡­


    He calls me again, this time worse than the last, I resist. I deny him with every effort I can muster. I just need to outlast another. I didn¡¯t know that before, but I do now, the urge is strong and then there is a sudden release as if those tugging on the rope surrender. Another of his wives must have satisfied his call, it is the only explanation. If he called me directly by name, would there be no escape for me? Again, I feel the call and I avoid returning to him. Yet that means three wives have joined him now. How many did he have? Nine? Ten? I simply need to out will the others, until he calls no more.


    With endless time I should be able to forget the horrific visage of doom I glimpsed, shouldn¡¯t I? The reflected face of my father, then my sister, within moments of each other, each the same, stark, and devoid of hope. Somehow, I feel myself shiver with dread, or my mind remembers solely to punish me because I have no body in the darkness. The agent of their fates confirmation I have betrayed Lord Farmer Hob, my foolhardy attempt to achieve redemption leading instead to misery. Somehow a Warrior Hob once again stalked the valley and I don¡¯t know how, yet I am certain I am to blame.


    Why couldn¡¯t I have left well enough alone? I am truly my mother¡¯s daughter except I will be a selfish misguided manipulator for all time, instead of for one lifetime.

 2.013 Dumping during the Night

    Lord Torngul Heartsplitter trumpets his voice across the mid-afternoon crowd. ¡°I announce a tournament. The prize will be awarded to the most skilful, the most valiant and to the most loyal.¡± He pauses and the crowd leans forward in anticipation. ¡°The contestants will battle for six places within my Honour Guard, instead of four as now. Voria, Trela, Zergoa and my newest Drusia will need to compete for their places, so the field is wide open, and I invite one and all to compete.¡±


    His shadow shades me as I sit like a schoolboy in a small chair beside his larger and lavish throne chair upon a hastily erected dais, specially built for the announcement and to conduct the tournament over the next few days, depending upon the number of contestants. The only acknowledgement of me is the position of my chair, significantly on his right-hand side. I catch a few questioning glances my way, some obvious, most subtle. My observation of the crowd is equally inquisitive. Several groups gather, there are sub-groups aligned to them, but not publicly or at least not on this occasion. Signals vary from finger manipulation to several different clothing adjustments and messages passing by bumping into each other, accidentally of course.


    More of interest is the arrivals and departures from the audience. I can¡¯t associate names to faces, yet I do observe a curious fact; many in attendance at the beginning of Lord Torngul¡¯s speech who do leave, with few exceptions, shortly return. As for any new arrivals they all do leave after they make some form of contact with a group or subgroup in the crowd.


    There is some boosting, with an occasional group favourite stepping forward, taking a bow, and then demonstrating with a flurry of weapon swings and stabbings while throwing their bodies about why they should be victorious. Then, upon the breeze, mouth-watering flavours draw everyone¡¯s attention and the audience drifts towards the source.


    ¡°Eat and welcome to all!¡± Torngul shouts. Female hobgoblin servants wheel out from a nearby stone building spit roasts, the metal base covered in charcoal, while a bar with a turn handle skewers the roasted beast above the radiating heat. They stand by them to load up the plates of anyone who approaches them.


    Torngul shuffles back until he once again settles into his throne. Voria on his right hands him a beverage, while Trela hand feeds him shredded roast from the left.


    ¡°Let the games begin,¡± he whispers between mouthfuls.


    ¡°Do I detect a hint of enjoyment?¡±


    He clears his throat and leans into my ear. ¡°I am on a win-win. If this is an elaborate ruse by the High Priestess Rexa, she will bring this all down in her own good time. If not, all the better to serve Lord Farmer Hob once again. Either offers me the chance to wield the power I have been granted by the situation and when it ends I will either return as your servant in the future dispelling my delusions or be forever released from her machinations.¡±


    I swallow. I thought him convinced ¡­ ¡°Your attitude then is fatalistic, unconcerned the effect your actions will have upon my wives, one of whom is your daughter?¡±


    ¡°You say daughter and I do enjoy the illusion and moving forward I hope her to be real but, in the meanwhile, I will enjoy myself, although I do commit myself to support your aims in case you and I are real.¡±


    The wily old goblin had me convinced ¡­ yet what does that matter?  As long as he plays his part with loyalty, that is all I need.


    ¡°That is all I have Lord,¡± declares Trela.


    ¡°Good timing my dear. Make certain you collect samples from several of the spit roasts. It would appear some of our guests don¡¯t trust our cooking.¡±


    As she saunters off to do her Lord¡¯s bidding, I am certain I overhear Voria hiss the word ¡®slut¡¯.


    ¡°Jealously becomes you dear.¡± As he speaks, he grabs her wrist twisting until she has no option but to land on his lap. He then kisses her lips hard and long, his tongue disappearing into her mouth. Her face glowing green and after a moment of resistance, she returns his aggression. When their lips part he twists her wrist back and she jumps off his lap he slaps her leather-clad bottom resulting in a loud whack. For a moment silence descends over an already quiet crowd given their previous antics although the murmuring recovers with something new to talk about.


    Trela storms towards us, the dais hardly interrupting her stride with a plate of shredded roast meat in either hand, her eyes revealing her intent as she claims Lord Torngul¡¯s lips while straddling his lap with a plate hoovering either side of the throne. Torngul grabs at her chest armour, specifically the breast bumps and pushes her back. Her head leans forward, neck stretching until the distance is too great. She pouts.


    ¡°I expect my offer of meat to be reciprocated tonight, Lord,¡± she growls. Those nearest to the dais overhear her every word and as a result, another ripple of gossip spreads across the gathering as Trela resumes her duty.


    ¡°That will thin the challengers as they are now all aware of the extra duties, I expect from my honour guard. There were rumours, of course, you know, prior. I have simply decided to confirm them to remove any misunderstanding and avoid future tantrums.¡± With his elbows resting upon the armrests of the throne, he waves his honour guard forward until their thighs bump into the back of his hands. He immediately wraps a hand around their upper legs climbing higher until he reaches the apex of their legs. I notice, to their credit both of his honour guards blush green yet neither protest, instead they nibble on their bottom lips with the occasional lick of their tusks.


    I refrain from asking him if he is truly Zeb Stone Grim ¡­ I assume he will be more circumspect when Luda is present, maybe? Now though, there are none to restrain him, not even me as I am his favoured nobody sitting on his right-hand side to be certain yet sitting on a small low chair. More avail themselves of the food now, proven safe? As dusk falls the offer of wine is added to the drinks menu, until now, mead only.


    Mead enlivens the celebration, while wine, an uncommon drink in this valley, sends many into a drunken stupor. The number of hobgoblins asleep on the cobbled street accumulates as time ticks by. Lord Torngul only sips, firstly a mug of mead and then a glass of wine, while Voria and Trela aren¡¯t permitted mead or wine.


    A huge crunching whomp echoes behind us. Lord Torngul glances over his shoulder while everyone else still capable tries to focus on the pile of flesh now littering the cobblestone street.


    While I am still trying to comprehend, I hear Lord Torngul chuckle and crane my head up to face him.


    ¡°Seems my manor required some housekeeping.¡± He then sips his wine.


    Why do I feel he read the arrivals and departures in the crowd better than I did?


    --- Luda the nameless POV


    The light from a single candle holds back the gloom of night in the room.


    ¡°Here.¡± I hand Zoria one of my daggers.


    ¡°I am naked ¡­ a dagger doesn¡¯t change that.¡±


    Ignoring my sister wife¡¯s gripe, I creep towards the door and place my ear upon the bound polished wood. Zoria simply follows me, her footfalls loud enough for even an adolescent hobgoblin to hear. I would like to curse her, instead, I stay quiet. I jump to the non-hinge side of the door just in time to avoid the door bursting open and smacking me down. A shadowy figure charges through crashing into Zoria and with unerring aim places a dagger at her throat while Zoria¡¯s weapon skitters away, the shock releasing her grip.


    My dagger is around the intruder''s throat. At the same time, we relax our grips and back away quirking our heads. Even Zoria remains quiet. Our faces are largely in shadow, the single candle fluttering yet staying alight through the commotion. I instinctively identify the intruder as my sister-wife and as Zoria climbs to her feet I know somehow, perhaps by her open welcoming arms while frowning she is arriving at the same conclusion.


    Sheathing my dagger I declare, ¡°I am sister wife Luda.¡±


    Following my cue, Zoria says, ¡°I am sister wife Zoria.¡±


    Hands resting on her hips, the intruder replies, ¡°I am sister wife Izga, here to assassinate you mistress.¡±


    ¡°How am I your mistress,¡± asks Zoria.


    Izga shakes her head and sidles up against me her lithe body wrapping around my shorter goblin body like a snake her hands being especially familiar with my lumps and bumps.


    ¡°I am a hobgoblin, you are a hobgoblin, how can she, a mere goblin be your mistress?¡± demands Zoria now quickly changing her tune, fearing she is somehow missing what is due.


    Before I can speak Izga purrs, ¡°Because she captured me with ease, didn¡¯t slay me and forced me to face Lord Klug and fall into his arms. When he took me ¡­ I never knew such bliss ¡­¡±


    ¡°Once or twice,¡± snaps Zoria.


    ¡°That is enough is it not?¡± Izga quirks her head.


    Zoria cackles only stopping when she hitches her chest.


    ¡°I must apologise on behalf of sister wife Zoria, she has been serviced by Lord Klug every day and every night for the past several days and her mind is slightly addled from screaming too much, especially where she should be humble when conversing with another sister wife.¡±


    Zoria recovers sticking her nose in the air. ¡°I can¡¯t help it if Lord Klug desires me over all his other wives ¡­¡±


    My slapping her face interrupts her superiority, her hand grabbing at her waist for a non-existent dagger an unexpected reaction and a warning.


    ¡°Lord Klug takes protecting his wives seriously. Your servicing was to ensure his seed was plentiful to hasten your improvement. How can I say this not to offend? Erm, I can¡¯t.¡± I shrug. ¡°He cherishes and loves us all equally never be deluded to believe anything else.¡±


    ¡°Several days, day and night?¡± Her pitiful voice grabs our attention. Tears spring forth and run down Izga¡¯s cheeks. ¡°I have a single morning of lovemaking to sustain me and yet this ungrateful bitch in front of me has been serviced several times beyond my imagination ¡­ you wound me more deeply than any dagger sister wife.¡± Izga hugs me with a ferocious fervour.


    ¡°I ¡­ I, well how about we capture you and leave you trussed up to await Lord Klug¡¯s pleasure?¡± offers Zoria.


    ¡°Oh.¡± Izga releases me with a jerk. ¡°There are two more intruders in the manor tonight. Who would they be targeting?¡±


    ¡°How do you know that?¡± quizzes Zoria, the doubt in her voice plain.


    I snap a reply, ¡°Why do you have to ¡­¡±


    Izga¡¯s hand covers my mouth to muffle my words. ¡°When my mistress defeated me so easily, I learnt from her.¡± She points at her ears. ¡°Hearing. I practised every spare moment to improve ¡­ this is a waste of time, what do we do now?¡±


    ¡°You and I will sneak out.¡± Facing Izga, I point a thumb over my shoulder at Zoria. ¡°And leave the noisy one behind so we can surprise the two intruders.¡±


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    I feel Zoria¡¯s hand upon my shoulder, and I smile.


    ¡°You can¡¯t leave me behind and claim all the glory, I was once an accomplished huntress, I can sneak, plus I have sweated black ooze tonight which must mean Lord Klug¡¯s seed has cleansed my body and improved me beyond ¡­ well beyond either of you,¡± she huffs.


    I wipe the smile from my face and turn to face Zoria. ¡°If you can remember to be quiet, then you can follow several paces behind us and charge in when you hear any shouting or clash of weapons. Agreed?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sister wife.¡± I detect the sulk in her voice and allow it to slide for now. It dawns upon me though from her response Zoria is used to being threatened, she may even expect such leadership. Lord Hob never did trust her as a goblin and didn¡¯t know why. I think I do now ¡­


    I nod and with a hand on Izga¡¯s hip, I guide us both through the door and once a short way down the corridor, we pause to listen. With some satisfaction, I note Zoria crouches behind the threshold of the door, naked yet once again gripping a dagger.


    I overhear first, yet Izga glances at me a heartbeat after. Weapons clashing and then silence. We rush along the corridor and climb a set of wide stairs, our bare feet soundless upon the stone. With haste, we approach the double doors to Lord Torngul¡¯s throne room, both flung wide open. As we sneak a peek the assassins each have a garotte around the throats of Duzsia and Zergoa. Duzsia¡¯s hand inside the loop sustains her existence while Zergoa bashes her assailant against a wall trying to stun her attacker.


    ¡°Help Zergoa,¡± I whisper while pointing her out.


    I rush forward, twin daggers ready and position myself behind Duzsia¡¯s attacker. With two quick stabs my daggers pierce her biceps, so she loses strength in them, and I then stab her thighs, my daggers impale her flesh sliding past the bone and exiting out the other side. Duzsia swivels about and grabs for her throat. She finds all the fight has left the assassin and Duzsia gently lowers her to the floor, a face full of pain and bafflement staring back.


    I glance across at Zergoa who is massaging her throat. Her attacker is an unconscious heap laying on the floor. Izga leaps at me in celebration. ¡°I brained her, thinking you may want to ask questions. Yes?¡±


    ¡°Yes, exactly, although I prefer to wound.¡± My hand sweeps over my victim. ¡°But as always it depends upon the circumstance.¡±


    ¡°You got them!¡± growls Zoria. ¡°Without me.¡±


    I march towards Zoria and place my hands upon her hips gaining her attention. ¡°This time, yes. We could storm in because we knew you would be our backup. You understand?¡± I shake her hips even with her ardent resistance. Her eyes open wide as realisation dawns. My strength is at least equal to her, possibly stronger.


    ¡°You are strong, for a ¡­ for a goblin,¡± she gasps.


    ¡°I have been receiving Lord Klug¡¯s seed longer than you. Quantity is important, but regular donations are more so,¡± I add.


    I feel her sinewy arms wrap around me. ¡°Can I sneak in, to your room and be serviced regularly you think?¡± she whispers.


    I whisper back, ¡°That will depend upon Lord Klug, not I, sister wife. My advice though is don¡¯t be afraid to ask and don¡¯t sulk or whine.¡±


    Her kiss on my cheek is acknowledgement enough and I note she introduces herself to Duzsia and Zergoa who greet her in return. Following Izga¡¯s lead Zoria says hello.


    ¡°Nice timing sister wife,¡± says Duzsia while nodding at me.


    ¡°Credit belongs to Izga, who is supposed to be throttling me and instead overheard these two, sneak in.¡±


    ¡°Should we hold them until Lord Klug returns?¡± asks Zergoa while dragging the unconscious one until she rests beside the other. She then binds the other assassin¡¯s wounds to prevent the blood mess from expanding as much as anything else.


    Duzsia and I exchange looks and I wave my hand towards her, encouraging her to reply certain we are of like mind.


    ¡°No. We will question them now,¡± replies Duzsia.


    They both refuse to talk, even when Izga takes over from our squeamish efforts and taps a dagger point up under their fingernails.


    ¡°It seems Lord Klug will need to acquire another wife to receive any answers,¡± mutters Zergoa.


    Duzsia and I shake our heads at the same time and then smirk.


    I speak up first though. ¡°No sister wife Zergoa, no more sister wives. These two will die tonight.¡±


    Her eyes search out the faces of Duzsia and I, pleading.


    ¡°How many wives of Lord Klug do you count in this room, and you want to add another?¡±


    ¡°What about exposing this plot? They could have been targeting Lord Klug?¡± says Zergoa.


    I grab Zergoa at the hips and look up into her eyes. ¡°Lord Klug is with Lord Torngul, everyone knows this, so these two and Izga were to kill who they came after and no one else. Therefore, we slit the throats of these two and throw them out of Lord Torngul¡¯s manor as a message.¡±


    ¡°What about me,¡± stammers Izga.


    I nod to Duzsia. ¡°Your sister wife will draw her dagger across your neck until you bled, although avoiding any veins. Enough for us to believe you have died or would. We will bundle you up with these two and their bodies should cushion your fall to ensure you survive.¡± I smile a wide, bright smile in her direction.


    ¡°Cushion my fall, from what height?¡±


    I turn to Duzsia who replies, ¡°This floor, to be convincing. At worst you will be in pain if you fall badly, as long as you don¡¯t die all will be well. Make certain one, preferably both of their bodies are underneath you when you land.¡±


    Witnessing Izga gulp is a normal reaction, yet she doesn¡¯t realise the power of Lord Klug¡¯s blood.


    ¡°You, my sister wives, all believe this is best?¡± She surveys the room and receives a nod from each of us. The wounded assassin begins to yelp, probably imminent death the motivation. Zergoa reaches across and drags a dagger across her throat and the former unconscious assassin as well. She then approaches Izga who swallows and closes her eyes. When Zergoa is done Izga¡¯s throat bleeds well but eventually, the blood dries.


    We place the two assassins side by side and tie their opposing arms and legs together and instruct Izga to climb on top of them both, half her body weight on one and a half on the other. Duzsia and Zergoa grab one end, Zoria and I hold the other. We shuffle to the balcony and release. The two corpses stay as one, while Izga grips their armour. The sudden stop is loud, and we perch ourselves on the balcony to observe the mayhem as a result.


    After a short while, Lord Klug is the first to reach the bloody mess. He quickly recognises Izga and feeds her some of his blood by forcing her to bite his wrist. He slaps her away while untying the ropes and using them to separately tie the hands of the other two.


    A few of the more inquisitive hobgoblins join Lord Klug, with lanterns shining light on the scene.


    Lord Torngul joins the crowd, Voria and Trela clearing the crowd from his immediate personal space.


    Lord Klug looks up. ¡°Who did this skinny one attack tonight?¡± he shouts.


    ¡°Your goblin, Lord,¡± shouts back Duzsia leaning over the balcony.


    Lord Klug looks for confirmation from Lord Torngul who nods.


    ¡°I claim this assassin as my property to find out who sent her and afterwards, I will determine her fate.¡± With that said, Lord Klug throws Izga over his shoulder and feigns difficulty to stand but manages as he struggles towards Lord Torngul¡¯s manor¡¯s northern gate. Lord Torngul follows him with Voria and Trela close by. None inspect the bodies except for a casual look as all know none will want to claim them and assume the night goblins will clean up the mess like they usually do.


    --- Lord Klug POV


    ¡°Be still until we are in the manor,¡± I whisper.


    Lord Torngul pats my bodiless shoulder. ¡°I assume the other two were after Zergoa and Duzsia, such a waste given both will bow out gracefully. Still, the attempt means at least two of the contestants will profess loyalty to me yet report to another. Voria and Trela, I will be disappointed in you both if you fail to identify any spies quickly and efficiently,¡± he growls.


    ¡°Yes, Lord, none will escape our vigilance.¡±


    We continue in silence and part at the wide stairwell. I carry my compensation to my room and once inside close the door behind me. Zoria greets me, while Luda inspects Izga, and I lower her to the floor to make that easier. After wiping her throat, Luda fetches water and dribbles some into her open mouth. Zoria wraps herself around me and I am about to explode when Luda saves her.


    ¡°Zoria, fetch two or three full water skins, some fresh clothes, for yourself and Izga and prepare at least three bedrolls.¡±


    In the shadows I notice her mouth open and then close; she then rushes off as instructed much to my surprise. I place a finger under Luda¡¯s chin. ¡°You will tell me later, yes?¡± She nods then wraps a piece of cloth from her shift around Izga¡¯s throat.


    ¡°We noticed you fed her some blood, Lord. Can I suggest you offer her some seed tonight? She was awake when you reached her, we saw you offer her your arm. Yet now she is unconscious, and I suspect internal bleeding or organ damage ¡­¡±


    I nod and begin removing her soft leather armour, weapons, and clothes with Luda¡¯s assistance. She does murmur occasionally which is a good sign. Duzsia returns in fresh clothes and offers us a set for Izga, which I wave away and lifting her I place her semi-conscious body upon the bed.


    Staring into Zoria¡¯s eyes, I order her to sleep on a bedroll. I flick a wrist at Luda. ¡°On the bed wife, I may need some assistance.¡±


    She scopes up the three water skins. ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    ---


    I wake in the morning and understand why Izga lays still, due to her body trying to recover. I thought Luda would be the first awake, yet perhaps she has a hangover from the many recent night shifts. The strangest sight belongs to Zoria, she lays across the bed with my feet warming against her naked stomach and her arms especially entwined to hold them in place, while asleep. How? More importantly why?


    I rouse Zoria and order her to fetch enough food for all of us to break our fast.


    Once she leaves, I wake Luda. As she opens her sleepy eyes her face softens, and she places a delicate kiss upon my lips.


    ¡°Quickly, tell me about Zoria.¡±


    She rubs her eyes. ¡°You need to ask her about her past. She didn¡¯t have loving parents if she had parents at all. Whoever looked after her, treated her as vermin, she responds to orders. I believe your early rejection of her was an instinct response on your part. She is incapable of taking any sort of initiative beyond pursuing her self-centred aims. Order her, and you will soon realise what I say. How is Izga?¡±


    ¡°I am about to wake her. It would be useful if I am seeding her when Zoria returns.¡±


    Luda nods and smiles and we proceed like last night the timing is almost perfect, and I suspect Luda¡¯s hearing is the key. In fact, I now realise how she could do the same for the past several days and inwardly smile. Izga moves and moans underneath me this time and then I allow her to rest. To my surprise, our meal portions and drinks are set out.


    ¡°Thank you, Zoria.¡±


    She is about to accept the praise when she spills. ¡°Luda ordered me to. I am good at obeying, Lord.¡±


    Zoria is broken. She did tell me her story, long ago although I didn¡¯t pay much heed to any specific details ¡­ possibly a mistake then with ramifications now. I was too concerned she would seek revenge after I slew the Ranger Hob. My only takeaway at the time being he raised her. I recall several of my wives being missing also contributed to my many distractions then. How can I forget my inner Hob? What a mess I was in then. I remember some, maybe with this understanding, I can encourage her to go beyond doing what is ordered. She certainly displayed potential when first revealed in Torngul¡¯s Throne Room ¡­ maybe I read too much into that performance though? She would have sensed all those present were ¡°mine¡±, including herself. Did she believe the confrontation at the time a family squabble, her surprise appearance needing her to establish herself in the pecking order whereas before the Ranger Hob ordered and she obeyed? Now, afterwards, there are others, not of family, in a valley she isn¡¯t familiar with, and she, therefore, returns to doing what is ordered?


    I finish and decide to stay in, ordering Zoria to clean up the room and return the dishes. While Izga sleeps on one half of my bed I entertain Luda on the other half, and we fall asleep with my goblin wife snuggling upon my chest.


    ¡°Lord?¡±


    I hear the whisper this time, uncertain how many times she has already asked. My head turns towards Izga while wearing a welcoming smile.


    ¡°Water?¡±


    I nod. ¡°Zoria fetch water please, three mugs.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡± Her voice projection suggests she is or was laying on the floor.


    I kiss my spy while we wait. ¡°Who decided it would be a good ruse to throw you off the third floor of the manor?¡±


    ¡°Your wives, Lord. Upon reflection, the death of the other two and my remarkable survival would be a tale told for many years and your claim upon me sealed by attack upon one of your own.¡±


    I comb my fingers through her hair and her head rises so my fingers dig into her scalp. ¡°I will need to parade you around in chains and possibly a collar for a time, is that acceptable?¡±


    ¡°I live to serve,¡± she purrs.


    ¡°Water,¡± announces Zoria in a quiet voice as she holds each mug in turn to Izga¡¯s lips.


    After the third Izga thanks her sister wife and Zoria retreats from our sight. Luda shifts and I roll slightly so she falls off with a yelp. My reward, a playful slap on my chest. Izga¡¯s eyes plead on her behalf, glancing at my loins to make her request plain. My arm scoops and supports her as she slides upon my chest. I call Zoria to my bed.


    ¡°Lord, two approach our room, should we not dress at least dress to receive them?¡± whispers Luda.


    I grab the back of her head and bring her lips to mine. ¡°Do you recognise the steps or perhaps other noises to identify who approaches?¡±


    ¡°Are you testing me, Lord?¡± I nod. ¡°What can I expect for a reward if correct?¡±


    ¡°What do I receive if you are wrong?¡± I counter while caressing her nose with my index finger.


    She frowns, in that delightful quizzical way. ¡°You can take all of me whenever you wish, Lord. I am uncertain what else I can offer?¡±


    ¡°You must challenge Duzsia and Zergoa again and let them win.¡±


    As if stung she recoils from me. ¡°Lord! Lord? How can you ask me this, we are one apiece, the third round the decider ¡­?¡±


    I shrug.


    ¡°This is required for other reasons ¡­¡± Her words are more for her than me and I notice Zoria and Izga scrutinise our conversation.


    ¡°You are my clever goblin wife are you not?¡±


    She grins and licks her lips. ¡°Oddly, Zergoa and Voria approach Lord, although right or wrong I will lose tomorrow morning to Duzsia and Zergoa, but only just and only after I cause them pain.¡±


    ¡°You are that confident?¡±


    ¡°I will be after you lay with me this afternoon and tonight!¡±


    There is a knock on our door.


    ¡°Zoria, see who is at the door, please.¡±


    I am clothed in a naked Luda and Izga, yet Zergoa still tries to devour me with her eyes. Voria¡¯s gaze holds steady upon my face trying to avoid any indiscretion.


    ¡°Lord Torngul Heartsplitter wishes to discuss a private matter with you in his throne room. He requests you come alone.¡± Voria finishes and then slapping Zergoa on her shoulder leads her outside my room, closing the door behind her.


    My wives prepare me, and I march with some haste to meet Lord Torngul in my finest clothes. Duzsia and Trela usher me into the throne room and close the double doors behind. Lord Torngul lounges upon his throne and waves me to a seat on his right-hand side, a glass of wine rests waiting for me. After settling in the chair and taking a sip he clears his throat.


    ¡°Thalgora. All fear her, and none wish to marry her ¡­¡± he says and then takes a deep drink from his glass.

 2.014 Proposals and Wine

    I snicker. ¡°She is fearsome and unlike Shaza doesn¡¯t wish to marry, so at every opportunity, she plays to her reputation of ferocity.¡± I pause for effect and quirk an eyebrow. ¡°This new daughter more of a handful than your others, my former Master of Children?¡± I manage, with great willpower to hold back any inkling of riotous laughter.


    Zeb Stone Grim shakes his head as would a dog recently bathed wishing to speak his mind, perhaps issue a petty retort, yet he grimaces and pulls himself back from the brink. His face transforms ¡­ a satisfying smile grows ...


    ¡°You must marry her, or ¡­¡± I am certain all the colour drains from my face. ¡°Well at least tame her in bed?¡± he squeaks and from such a large man his high voice surprises me out of my shock.


    ¡°Are you letting your assumed authority run away with our sworn reality?¡± I retort. I slide my glass to the table. I don¡¯t dare take a sip of my wine in case he floors me with an absurd response.


    ¡°The powerful factions in the town know she must wed first, to someone, before they can make offers for Shaza¡¯s hand. Lord Torngul¡¯s gentle flower who scares no one and with whom an alliance of worth can be struck. Marrying Thalgora will raise your status in the town, just for being brave enough to do so.¡± I sense a genuine pleading in his voice. Is he or the Lord he impersonates, truly in a bind?


    I have one ace left to play. I pretend sorrowful eyes, a slight swaying of the head in true disappointment. His eyes narrow.


    ¡°I am already betrothed, made a promise to a certain female in front of her father that she would be my first wife, so, therefore, I can¡¯t in all honesty claim your daughter ¡­¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± he spits out through clenched teeth.


    He is really rallying to his new role, I must commend him, although I will save the praise for another time.


    ¡°Klaria, daughter of ¡­¡±


    ¡°I know of her,¡± he growls. At me! I think he forgets who sits before him, yet he is ¡®in the moment¡¯ and I can¡¯t help but continue my admiration for his oneness with the role. ¡°How could I not, I see her father every Council Meeting, she even attends some.¡± He rubs his chin. ¡°Explains her looking about all the time though ¡­ she was searching for you possibly.¡± He chuckles, clearly at ease. ¡°Well, that is an issue isn¡¯t it.¡± There is mirth in his voice, which I don¡¯t like, not at all. ¡°It could cost me, but I am certain with the correct inducement her father can be convinced to release you from whatever arrangement you declared, in haste, shall we say. As a loyal advisor to Lord Torngul, I am certain he will see reason, to have Thalgora married off before his daughter.¡± His eyes drift for a moment before returning to fix upon mine. ¡°The only tricky part will be disappointing him twice by denying his son, Kreldak, the hand of Shaza.¡±


    He lounges back into his chair, arms resting upon the armrests somewhat content and deep in thought it would seem given the furrowing of his brow.


    This can¡¯t stand. How would my wives deal with a raging Thalgora, and how does she deal with my needing to service them? Then there is the plain fact she isn¡¯t bound to me and the possible complications. I could drown her, yet that means she would follow me through various deaths and rebirths, for ¡­ ever. An angry, tall muscular female hobgoblin on the rampage. I shudder. Plus, I have enough bound wives and I suspect given the deaths of the two assassins, throats cut before being dropped over the balcony instead of being kept for me, indicates my wives agree. When I think some more, even the disposal over the balcony was a message of sorts! Could I separate a wife from several bound wives? What would the benefits be? As her husband, stepson of Lord Torngul, I would have more freedom if nothing else to travel about the valley and with that freedom I could explore and start asking discreet questions about Klugites, whereas now I am achieving nothing. ¡®Achieving nothing¡¯ the two words rattle around in my head, like buzzing flies.


    I slap my hands on the table and rise to my feet. ¡°I will meet her ¡­ but no promises, remember you answer to me, not the other way round as our current positions suggest. But!¡± I hold up a finger. ¡°I see the statecraft in this situation and feel an obligation to see if I can assist.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Hob, although I hope for the best. I am at an impasse in the town and without a desirable daughter to barter with, I have nowhere to strengthen my rule, well Lord Torngul¡¯s rule. I need to marry a daughter into one of the factions and hope she doesn¡¯t give birth to a son, who away from me will be groomed to usurp his father.¡±


    I nod. ¡°Why don¡¯t you marry?¡±


    The dark green of his complexion grows deeper and he clears his throat. ¡°I am beyond the age for siring ¡­¡±


    ¡°Zeb Stone Grim is, but Lord Torngul may have more than a couple of years, possibly several to birth an heir ¡­¡±


    He immediately shakes his head and then props and casts a side glance at me before hanging his head down. ¡°No more children from me Lord Hob, I couldn¡¯t take the heartache when we would need to leave them behind. It would be sudden, yes?¡±


    I can only nod. ¡°You would be able to live out your lives like you want this time though.¡±


    ¡°Would we? Wouldn¡¯t you be keener to return to continue your fight against Rexa? Two hundred years as best we can make out this time, what if only twenty years next time? Would not our bodies spontaneously die to release our spirits back into your service?¡±


    I swipe my glass from the table and throwback the remaining wine. I can¡¯t answer him, not because I don¡¯t want to, but because I don¡¯t know. What sort of half-baked leader am I that I don¡¯t know all the rules to this game? He could leave behind an adolescent heir, which would most likely mean his death or at least fought over and then sham marriage and death.


    Three loud bangs upon the floor draw me back to the present and I raise my head. Lord Torngul is on his feet, with a sturdy walking stick, or it could be called a stave and hurries, un-lord like, to the double doors. With one last cheeky grin, he is gone. I am certain he knew I didn¡¯t mean immediately ¡­


    Thalgora eases her way into the throne room, her hands gripping the door until the last moment. If not Duzsia and Trela I assume Lord Torngul rips the door from her to close it and with nothing hold she slaps her hands to her thighs, rigid and unmoving. Disturbingly I think I catch the clunk of a cross beam being dropped in place ¨C on the outside of the double doors.


    She waits beside the door in a long flowing sky-blue dress ¡­ which, I gulp, highlights certain bumps, curves, and musculature!  She glances behind herself occasionally, probably hoping for a miracle reprieve. Nervous? I pour a glass of wine and approach her holding the glass out, part sympathy, part apology.


    ¡°I ¡­ I don¡¯t drink wine,¡± she stammers while shifting and adjusting in her dress. I suspect the tight comfort of armour more to her liking.


    ¡°Trust me, it will help.¡± I offer the glass again.


    She takes the glass and opens her mouth wide. Those tusks of hers, solid, brutal. I recover from considering the intimidation value of them and reach for the bottom of her glass to draw the wine away from her lips.


    ¡°Small sips.¡± I lift my glass to my lips to demonstrate.


    She hisses, ¡°I know! I don¡¯t want to be here, the sooner you discard me the better ¡­¡± She sips lady-like as her green complexion deepens in colour.


    ¡°I am certain after some conversation we will discover our differences are too great and your father will then have to release us both,¡± I suggest.


    She shakes her head, stops, and takes another sip.


    ¡°What did he tell you?¡± I manage to refrain from growling, after all, she is simply a victim like me.


    ¡°If I don¡¯t embrace you, he will disown me or worse send me off with a merchant like a package of goods to be married off to the first male hobgoblin who can defeat me in combat.¡±


    I place my glass upon the long table and slap my thigh. ¡°How about we start there? One on one combat? You defeat me and then you can petition your father to accept the fact I am not even your equal, let alone your master and therefore an unsuitable husband.¡± I flash her my broadest smile.


    ¡°We have no weapons?¡± she responds, disappointment lacing her words.


    I hold up my hands and shake them. ¡°We have these, don¡¯t we? I would think my chances of survival would be at least slightly better than with real weapons.¡± I quirk my head deliberately.


    A slight smile. ¡°Perhaps.¡±


    ¡°You remove those chairs to the wall, and I will remove the others and then with your help, we will move the table out of harm¡¯s way, yes?¡±


    With easy co-operation, we clear the room and shortly after, face each other. One fight, winner takes all. I met her eager grin with a look of worry.


    She charges and as her hands reach out to throttle me, I lower my centre of gravity and dive forward to meet her. Once her hands fly over my head, my shoulder digs in under her rib cage, I allow her momentum to carry her forward while I lift. She flips over on her back and tries to suck air into winded lungs. Taking off my belt I roll her over and tie her hands behind her back. I then take her belt and tie her ankles.


    She recovers as I finish my hog tying and growls, ¡°You tricked me!¡± She struggles without success.


    ¡°I apologise.¡± I release her ankles and then her hands, climbing to my feet when done.


    She eyes me from the ground while sitting up effortlessly and refitting her belt. I can see why she intimidates; does she practice abdominal crunches? She offers me her hand and while I suspect a trick to be played, I am nothing but a gentleman and assist her to her feet.


    With a casual gait, she circles me. ¡°A second contest then?¡± she suggests. I assume aiming for a best out of three, win now.


    ¡°If you wish to. I apologise for my cheating in the previous round and as such, it won¡¯t count.¡±


    A nod and a smile. Then a scowl. ¡°Are you going to play another trick or fight fair this time?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°I fight to win, I will rely upon you to judge my tactics fair or otherwise,¡± I say.


    Crouching, one foot stepping over another, ready to spring forth she circles her prey. Unfortunately, that is me and I must prepare to receive her instead of admiring the tensing of her biceps and appreciating the steady rise and fall of her chest. She reaches out trying to grab my upper arms, but I skip away. She tries this same tactic several times until every second or third attempt is a feint. Before she unleashes her move, I attack her with mine. Instead of retreating I snap forward, my arms rise and batter away hers, spreading them. Growling at the afront she naturally draws her arms back in and during that moment my fist rabbit punches her throat. Gasping for air, her hands continue inwards going to her throat trying to find a way to help. Using my belt, I tie one hand draw it behind her back and tie the other. Then using her belt, I tie her ankles together and as she falls, I catch her, lowering this gentle flower¡¯s body to the floor.


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    Clearing her throat to catch a breath she growls, ¡°You cheated again!¡±


    I sigh and untie her ¨C again! Apologising while I do.


    After three more bouts in which I cheat to win, she stares at me. Cold, hard, and uncompromising. She reaches for her glass of wine and throws back the dregs. With her eyes upon me, she wipes her lips with the back of her arm. Every bout she has underestimated me and my skills. Now she must decide if she will continue to do so or not.


    ¡°One more bout.¡± She raises an eyebrow. ¡°Cheating is permitted,¡± she says.


    ¡°Are you certain Thalgora, eldest daughter of Torngul Heartsplitter?¡±


    ¡°I am certain young nobody who wishes to marry my name and climb on my shoulders to ascend from the wretched depths he finds himself in,¡± she snarks.


    I yell out a curse pretending her insult strikes at my honour. As she sets back to receive my charge, I stop, reach down, grab her foot and lift it to topple her. The look of shock on her face is glorious, yet she recovers and twists her entire body to release her foot from my grasp. As I release the first foot, her other foot kicks out, catching me in the chest. I feign trying to breathe, dropping to my haunches and she accepts my invite charging at me to take advantage. I play a different game now since she permits cheating. As she tries to bowl me over, I grapple her waist and we both end up sprawling across the floor. She doesn¡¯t expect my quick recovery and with that slight advantage, I slide to reposition myself on top of her and steal a kiss. Her surprise is complete and upon opening her mouth I quickly invade with my tongue and then withdraw.


    She flexes her abdominals to buck me off and as I agreeably dislodge, I grab for the thin shoulder strap securing her dress, the thin cord snaps easily. I glimpse her breast wrap, which matches the sky blue of her dress while enduring her scowling at me as she struggles to tie the ends.


    ¡°There aren¡¯t two ends, you will need to knot your dress and loop the strap around,¡± I suggest. I am nothing if not helpful. ¡°I will wait,¡± I add. I receive a grunt in reply.


    We face off once again and I try several times to grab for her right hand. With her looking there I make a grab for her left hand and twist her fingers. She immediately turns her body to relieve the pain and I completely turn her around until her bottom is on the floor. This time while she is trying to work out how she ended up there I release her fingers and with my hands now free grab at each strap and snap them both. I jump back clear.


    She swivels about on her bottom to face me, an arm holding her dress up. As she climbs to her feet, she leaves her dress behind. ¡°So be it, no dress.¡±


    As she shapes and circles, I do admire her breasts, the wrap forces a slight bulge at the top, while she doesn¡¯t wrap her loins, instead, wearing pantaloons in matching sky blue. Did someone advise her on dressing for this date? That would mean, she knew in advance and yet she didn¡¯t run, didn¡¯t refuse ¡­ How much control does Lord Torngul have over his eldest daughter? More than he leads me to believe or less and she is on some level, agreeable or at a minimum, curious.


    I allow her to wrestle me to the ground and as she sits astride my waist her face contorts and she glances behind herself to investigate what assaults her buttocks crack. At that moment, I throw her off and climb up on her waist, my pecker at three-quarter mast and obvious, regardless of the efforts of my pants to contain or control. She gulps for air, and I take that opportunity to release her puppies by slipping the breast wrap down. Now loose the wrapping unfurls with ease. She cups her breasts with her hands and stares at my eyes wide open. My turn to crunch my abdominals to steal a kiss and grab her free wrist. I twist until she can only relieve the agony by rolling off me while I climb upon her back. I don¡¯t release her hand holding it in place between her shoulders for insurance as I shift forward to avoid the worst of her heels slamming into my back. With my free hand, I reach back, grab and rip her pantaloons. Her kicking stops.


    ¡°Not like this,¡± she sniffs. With her head laying to one side, tears roll down her cheek.


    I slide off her, handing her breast wrap to her while I do and scramble to retrieve her dress to blanket her loins. Rising to my feet her words are full of disbelief.


    ¡°I am humbled, I admit I underestimated you. How can one so scrawny best me, not once but many times? You are right, when you fight the aim should be to win, nothing else truly matters if you don¡¯t dishonour your family while doing so.¡± She hitches her chest and wipes her arm across her eyes trying to clear away the tears.


    I must remind myself she is twenty-two for all her ferocity and I bend over and grab a loose piece of breast wrap to dab her eyes dry and earn a warm smile for my effort. ¡°You are welcome.¡±


    She looks into my eyes. ¡°Is this where you take me? Have your way with me in fact, is that what my father promised you?¡±


    I blush slightly. ¡°You know I have my own wives, several in fact. While I would enjoy exploring your body as I hope you would enjoy exploring mine, there is no need to if you don¡¯t wish to. Your father wishes us to wed, and I have no objections if you don¡¯t, although I must warn you behind closed doors, I must service my many wives and in public be seen with them when with you or not.¡±


    She keeps her own counsel, the silence lengthening between us while I suspect she chews over my words.


    ¡°Since you would have many wives, I would be free to do what I do now, without having to service my husband or pay him any day-to-day attention and when we do meet our pent-up desires could be released?¡± Her eyes sparkle.


    ¡°There could be such a convenience in our marriage I am certain,¡± I say.


    ¡°Then I must be totally honest with you. My father needs a male heir and until we conceive, we would need to devote as much time as possible to this. Do you still agree to marry me?¡±


    I place my finger upon her chin. ¡°I do. Although wouldn¡¯t Shaza and her betrothed be more likely in that regard?¡±


    Her face hardens. ¡°If I am married, I am the eldest and my son will follow my father. You must promise me a child, preferably male before my oh so pretty sister. On our wedding night perhaps?¡±


    ¡°How is a marriage conducted here?¡±


    ¡°Lord Torngul Heartsplitter must consent to the match.¡± She smirks.


    I think of a cheeky retort. ¡°Perhaps you should fetch your father immediately so tonight can be our wedding night then?¡±


    Head nodding and smiling she releases her breast wrap and flaps her dress out. I gulp and then shrug. I am certain my words, said or unsaid wouldn¡¯t have saved me from an immediate wedding ¡­


    ¡°Allow me.¡± I wrap her breasts and then offer my shirt for her to wear, a tight fit although serviceable. I remove my loincloth and with the remains of her pantaloons secure her modesty. Finally, the lower half of her dress is held in place by her belt.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she says.


    ¡°I would expect my bride to dress for the ceremony and possibly return my shirt?¡±


    She nods and scampers to the throne room doors, knocking upon them gently yet firmly. Her father, my Zeb Stone Grim, conveniently opens the door for her. She grabs his hand and drags him into the throne room to stand before us while his honour guard closes the double doors behind him.


    ¡°Marry us father, we wish to get to making your heir.¡±


    ¡°You have my blessing, my heartfelt blessing, go forth and procreate!¡±


    ¡°May I?¡± I reach towards his ears and at his nod, I remove matching gold bands. I try one on her marriage finger, needing to close the loop to ensure a snug fit. The gold bands aren¡¯t a complete circle, so anyone can open or close the gap to ensure a fit. It means, for my purpose, the one band can suit many. My band, I also need to close.


    ¡°Why do we wear these, husband?¡±


    ¡°They are the symbol of our union. When others see these bands upon our marriage fingers, they know we share a life with another, as equals, in a partnership.¡±


    She hugs me while laughing and smiling. Then all of a sudden, she grabs one of my hands and drags me in unseemly haste out of the throne room. We don¡¯t need to venture far to reach her room and once inside she closes the door and seats the crossbeam.


    Her chest rises as she takes in a deep breath. ¡°Take me husband and get me with child!¡±


    ---


    I manage to exhaust her, with enough strength remaining to still move. I release myself from her room and step into a hallway of shadow, several candles having gone out. In the gloom, a lantern dances towards me.


    ¡°Lord, I am glad you survived.¡± Luda covers her mouth to stifle a giggle.


    ¡°This was your father¡¯s idea, so don¡¯t blame me,¡± I whisper in her ear with conviction.


    ¡°We know, the entire manor knows due to your bride¡¯s pleasurable yelping and the entire town knows due to Lord Torngul Heartsplitter issuing a proclamation.¡± She pretends to shift the lantern into a better position to guide us, yet I know she has another question. ¡°Is she erm, is she one of us?¡±


    I tousle her hair. ¡°No. I will have certain duties to perform until a male heir is born, but largely she wishes to go her own way, allowing me to go mine and ours. What we can do now though is travel since I have standing and the protection of the Lord of the valley.¡±


    ¡°What about me Lord? I assume goblin slavery is still a burden I must endure?¡±


    ¡°I will need to determine how far my new standing will allow me to bend the rules. First things first I must ensure Thalgora gives birth to a boy.¡±


    She smirks. ¡°I am certain with the quantity of seed inside her if she doesn¡¯t then there is something wrong with her.¡±


    When we return to my room, Zoria and Izga are awake and waiting for me on my bed. Luda and I join them, and I embrace them all. Luda lays upon my chest while Zoria and Izga lay on either side.


    ¡°Lord, another crept along behind us, eavesdropping upon our chatter I am certain,¡± whispers Luda.


    ¡°Do you know who?¡± I reply.


    ¡°I suspect the beautiful second daughter of Lord Torngul. Perhaps her sister¡¯s pleasurable yelping made her jealous and given Zoria¡¯s chorus for several days previous she may fear she is missing out on something?¡±


    ¡°Go to sleep,¡± I playfully growl.


    ---


    ¡°Where is he!¡±


    A screeching, piercing voice echoes through, across, up, and down within the manor and probably beyond.


    ¡°Lord!¡± I feel a tap on my arm. ¡°Lord?¡± I feel a tap on my cheek, yet my eyes remain shut.


    Lord Torngul Heartsplitter can intercept the banshee of his advisor. He knew, yet he ignored, so now he must sort out my former betrothed.


    ¡°If not him, then you Lord Torngul! I know where you sleep, and my father tells me you ordered him to break my betrothal! You will face me, Lord Torngul! A bride to be jilted cannot be denied, true love!¡±


    In my semi-awake state, I hear the crashing of pots and yelps of pain drawing ever closer.


    Without opening my eyes, I mutter, ¡°Zoria, Luda and Izga, hold the door. If the banshee enters my bedroom you will go without servicing until I feel compensated for the anguish, she will most certainly inflict upon me when we are face to face.¡±


    Three bodies spring from my bed. I close my eyes and resume my sleeping in. Or at least try to.


    ¡°Stand aside you wanton wenches, or my bodyguards will make you!¡±


    ¡°The Lord is busy with important matters and doesn¡¯t wish to be disturbed, he will see you later today at your father¡¯s house. He promises.¡± Sounds like Zergoa¡¯s voice yet I can¡¯t be certain due to distance and the walls in between.


    The clash of weapons upon shields I do hear. Also, a yelp and a tumble.


    ¡°Take your bodyguard and see to her injuries. Lord Torngul will meet with your father today.¡±


    This is the second morning since my marriage, does Lord Torngul have the time? I thought the tournament was due to start today. I yawn. His problem I decide.


    ¡°A bride won¡¯t be separated from her true love, and I will fight for what had been promised me and hence, mine,¡± she screams. I then hear the fading sounds of stomping boots and decide the excitement is over for at least a while.


    Shortly after there is a polite knocking on my door. I roll over and nod to my trio, who with excess care slowly open and peek between the door and doorpost. They back away in haste while bowing their heads.


    Lord Torngul in full armour sweeps into my room with a flourish. ¡°You three will leave, now,¡± he commands.


    My wives glance at me and I reply with a curt nod. They file out of my room like obedient children and close the door behind them. Without even needing to check I am certain Luda is listening, with her ear hard up against the door.


    ¡°Get dressed Lord Hob, in your finest armour and weapons, ensure Zoria is as well, while your prisoner Izga, in suitable chains will also tag along. Luda must stay behind, too soon for a goblin in polite society I am afraid. Do you understand? We leave mid-morning.¡±


    ¡°This humble servant begs a simple question, where to Lord Torngul?¡±


    He props at the door, although his hand remains on the door lever. ¡°With the tournament, all the various factions of this cesspit are conveniently in town, and we must visit them all before visiting Klugak and his brood. And I mean brood, he has more daughters than fingers!¡±


    My jaw drops. ¡°Why must I attend?¡±


    ¡°You must demonstrate to all who don¡¯t believe that you have tamed my daughter.¡± He almost got away with the serious Lord tone, but at the end, he let slip a slur of devious delight. He was planning something!


    He flings open the door and Luda doesn¡¯t fly into the room, much to my relief. Then I notice Thalgora standing there in pleasant company! With my wives ¡­ chatting ¡­ overly friendly and when they glance at me through the doorway they chuckle in unison?


    As Lord Torngul marches off the four enter.


    ¡°You are correct Lord Klar, your wives are delightful, and I am certain we can share, after all my visits will have a sole purpose and then once achieved, I will be more of an occasional visitor ¡­¡± she purrs.


    Luda pipes up, ¡°I am certain if in heat you would have been well serviced last night dear first wife.¡±


    Thalgora returns Luda¡¯s sickly-sweet smile with her own. The fact Luda is a goblin, not particularly upsetting to my first wife for some reason.


    Zoria claps her hands. ¡°To work. Izga must have chains, but instead of vulgar large and heavy iron ones, we should use silver or better still gold. She is a prisoner because she desires to be, bound by her newfound love, stronger by far than iron.¡±


    Thalgora claps lightly, high energy laughter splitting her lips.  When she draws all our attention, she sobers up. ¡°She will be putty in your hands, my husband, as will I. They will see you have tamed me, as you have tamed every female within your reach. Zoria and I will dress to shock, but we will also adorn ourselves with weapons. Prepared to sacrifice our lives for yours, such is the depth of our love.¡±


    ¡°Not that we expect there to be such a confrontation,¡± adds Zoria in haste.


    Izga slinks across the bedroom towards me, crawling on all fours to cross the bed to reach me and wrap her body around mine. ¡°I will be smitten by you Lord. Your touch will drive me crazy.¡± She licks my cheek and I have no trouble cupping a breast while snatching a deep kiss.

 2.015 Meeting the Factions 1

    <h2>--- Lord Klar POV</h2>


    After thoroughly inspecting each other, including our escorts, Lord Torngul and I share a sly grin.


    In the cruck of his arm, he nurses Torngul¡¯s black boar head styled helm, while adorning his body is a full breastplate of boiled leather armour matching his body shape. The polish of the black lacquer mirror-like under the mid-morning sunlight now bathing his manor¡¯s courtyard. Matching upper arm rerebraces and lower arm vambraces shine just as well, while upper leg cuisses and lower leg greaves hold a deeper dull black for contrast and practical reasons. The legs would always be in contact with the flanks of his mount. On his hip, sword, and sheath. And the best part, my armour, is a match for his although my body mass is near enough to half of his. Both of us decide to wear soft black leather pants and hauberks underneath. This dress-up wasn¡¯t about protection; this was about projecting strength and lifting my position from nobody to being Lord Torngul¡¯s representative.


    Lord Torngul selects Voria and Trela as his bodyguards, the trio waiting for their boar mounts to be ready. Both bodyguards evaluate my escorts while they drape themselves over their Lord. Zoria in proper armour, several pieces being upgrades to her original kit, and a match give or take to the honour guard armour, yet not enough to be mistaken for one. Lord Torngul¡¯s daughter, Thalgora, selects soft black leather in the main, the exception being hard leather wrist guards. Zoria and Thalgora do compete in one area, both equip themselves with an array of weapons, swords, daggers, bows, and arrows.


    Zoria¡¯s lips slowly parting a silent first warning to us of Izga¡¯s sauntering arrival. Thin linen strips of various colours drape about her torso and limbs and various throngs of leather cord bind the cloth severely to her flesh to ask the question of onlookers, is her modesty intact or not. Thin, decorative chains of gold affix to her face, throat, breasts, and loins. Hand on one hip, favouring one leg she nonchalantly hands me a loose end of a golden chain.


    ¡°Drag your slave behind you master, I only live to obey you,¡± she purrs. This only works due to her lithe body shape. Her pert nipples protruding from her modest breasts provide ample evidence to me at least, she is enjoying every judgemental morsel of those staring down at her in the courtyard. She drinks in the various looks thrown her way from those who must accompany her and those of Lord Torngul¡¯s household assisting us, which range from wonderous to disgusting.


    Lord Torngul, Voria and Trela mount their Boars first in that order all wearing cloaks, which cover them from neck to toe. Thalgora, not to be outdone swishes her cloak and sways her hips as she approaches to mount the next readied beast. She pauses, wraps my cloak about my shoulders and stretches her warrior body against the shoulders of the beast while steading the stirrup. With this assistance my climb into the saddle is simple. With a smirk, she climbs up and into my lap. The rigid high ends of the saddle, front, and back force our lower bodies to mash together and I am certain by the smile on her face and the wiggling of her bottom this is a deliberate and wanton act. She then holds out a hand for Izga, now also wearing a cloak and with a confident flair swings Izga up and around to sit behind the saddle. I immediately feel the squeeze of Izga¡¯s arms as they wrap around my torso, worming their way in between my first wife and I. Zoria mounts a fourth, the female hobgoblin stable hand advising my wife the animal is the most docile and will follow the lead of my beast. She thanks the stable hand for her consideration. A small spontaneous thing, yet significant I believe.


    She catches me staring at her. ¡°What?¡± she asks. I shake my head and nod my beast forward using my heels.


    Our procession consists of Lord Torngul with his honour guard following, then myself and Zoria trailing. Many stop to pay their respects to their Lord by nodding, our cloaks adding to the mystery, yet also concealing our surprise. We amble south first.


    ¡°Husband, my father has informed me of the order of our visits and the first is Grimg Greenfriend¡¯s clan. They are responsible for the growing and harvesting of small crops, which they are very successful at, their village and farmlands are to the north. Lord Torngul counts them as a strong ally.¡±


    She playfully slaps my hand away from her breast which I discover to my delight is not bound and floats free behind the soft leather of her hauberk.


    ¡°Does this clan have many males? Ages? Who will we expect to be greeted by?¡± I whisper in her ear, deliberately nuzzling as I do.


    I hear a passionate sigh. ¡°I wish to threaten you to behave, yet you have truly broken me as I crave your attention husband. Know that all others, even us to a large extent will be unimportant, except for Lord Torngul and Grimg Greenfriend. They will make any introductions if required.¡±


    A feel movement from behind me and I shudder, trying to imagine what Izga may be trying to do as she withdraws her arms from around my waist and grabs at my shoulders instead, tugging even. Then her warm breath is upon my neck warning me of an incoming kiss. She continues her trail of kissing, ears, cheeks, bald head and finally my lips.


    Thalgora¡¯s eyes widen, and I brace for an emotional explosion, instead, she casts a kind set of eyes over my shoulder.


    ¡°Izga, be careful, the back of the beasts can be sensitive to them, with disastrous results.¡±


    Izga pauses from her kissing. ¡°Thank you, First Wife, I have my knees behind the back of the saddle and my feet are off the beast''s rump. I did question a stable hand earlier in the morning to check on my antics, although I appreciate your concern for me as I am certain your husband does as well.¡± And with that said, she nips my ear.


    ¡°Why do I deserve that?¡± I squeal.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t kissed your First Wife this morning, yet you allow your lowly slave to steal your lips, for shame master.¡± She giggles and then returns to her task.


    ¡°Such a demanding slave, husband, what shall we ever do with her?¡± She then cranes her head back and I take her lips in a deep passionate kiss, trusting the beast to continue to follow the other beasts ahead of us for a distracting moment.


    We arrive at a large non-descript stone building, three stories high and dismount. One of the two female hobgoblin guards out front, having disappeared at our approach, only now returns. They honour their Lord with a crisp bow each and wait for us to dismount, our cloaks about each of us.


    With Lord Torngul leading they open the wide front door, and we gawk at the lavish furniture of the greeting room. The guards leave us to ourselves.


    ¡°Lord Torngul, welcome. The Clan Head awaits your presence in the main chamber of the house,¡± says a female house servant, by all appearances. I suspect the real Lord Torngul would have skewered the servant for the afront, yet Zeb Stone Grim is of different stuff and instead waits. The servant knocks on the door and then pulls it open.


    Stepping through the doorway, his cloak about him we do likewise and follow.


    <h2>--- Grimg, Head of Clan Greenfriend POV</h2>


    ¡°He approaches ¡­¡±


    I hold up my hand and whisper words of calm. My guard swallows and breathes.


    A curt nod of her head, voice neutral, she starts again. ¡°Lord Torngul Heartsplitter and escort approaches while mounted, Clan Head Grimg.¡±


    ¡°Good. Please return to your post and greet the Lord.¡± Should I invite all his escorts in? That would be to recognise them, introductions made, and polite greetings would follow. Yet perhaps that would be prudent as the visit, while not official as confirmed by many spies would be due to his eldest daughter¡¯s marriage. I chuckle to myself and then sober up as the husband is rumoured to be the nobody male who has been accepted by the Lord of the Grassplains and no one knows why. I scratch my chin. Unless that was always the Lord¡¯s intent, bring in a stranger to marry off the violent one and then seal an alliance with the docile one.


    Another of my servants approaches, breaking my thoughts.


    ¡°I can confirm you are the first he is visiting today, Clan Head Grimg.¡±


    I wave her away. Appropriate, I muse. We have long been ¡­ friends. Why visit though? The announcement has been made, a great surprise to many of course and I am certain Clans are now plotting how to marry the docile one into their family, but to visit? The Lord could have requested our presence and around his grand table made the official introduction, bestow official recognition and be done swiftly. After all, none really care about who this unfortunate male is, who will be forever suffering for all of us¡­


    There must be more to this than a simple recognition ¡­ but what?


    As I lounge back into several cushions, my chair creaks yet holds. Several servants rush in and remove the grand table at the other end of the central room and chairs are set to fill up the space. Along the walls, four low serving tables are added. What is all this about?


    I close my jaw as my Head of Household bows before me.


    ¡°Clan Head, the Lord¡¯s company is many, and we thought to remove the table to allow the Lord as much space as he requires.¡±


    I nod and wave him away. He scurries off, snapping at the help.


    Eight chairs. We have always been the most loyal, and supportive. He visits us first with many from his household in tow. The visit is more than would be required for a wedding announcement, therefore more is to be expected¡­ Which means our reaction will influence his other Clan visits?


    ¡°What do you make of the Lord¡¯s visit?¡±


    He clears his throat. In a word disappointing. My heir must collect his thoughts¡­


    ¡°He does us great honour and he wishes to tell us something behind closed doors. Our secret to keep and therefore sell to other Clans if in our interest. Or with carelessness reveal to the other Clans so they can be better prepared when they receive him.¡±


    I hold back from nodding my head, I don¡¯t wish to grant him easy appreciation, even so, my heir seems more observant than I give him credit for.


    ¡°How many of our Clan should receive the Lord?¡±


    ¡°You and I, Clan Head and with seven in his party, one trusted servant who will greet them and then will knock as a warning, before entering. I will open and close the door when the servant¡¯s hands are full.¡±


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°You? Act the servant?¡±


    ¡°I simply wish to ensure our Clan can benefit from this visit. I would like to think the servant will survive the meeting also, but if she is careless then her life may be forfeit.¡±


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°Good. Select a suitable servant, pretty you understand, and explain her duty.¡±


    Leaving my side to obey, he pauses and peers over his shoulder. ¡°Clan Head, I would assume the Lord has broken his fast, so I will suggest he is served small tastes of our crops, a reminder of what we contribute and appropriate for the time of day. Yes?¡±


    I nod and manage to relax. As my heir grabs for the door handle, I ask, ¡°You don¡¯t you fear Lord Heartsplitter will slay us, given he outnumbers us?¡±


    Without looking he says, ¡°He would lose more than our Clan. Another Clan Head would be installed, and the Town denied our crops.¡±


    ¡°But what of our lives?¡± I retort.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t we also servants?¡± He opens the door and disappears through the doorway towards the kitchen.


    My healthy heart beats rapidly. My heir gets it, he truly gets it. Not long now and I can rest before my death. A living advisor instead of an old morose hobgoblin waiting to try to forestall death until the right heir is found and failing, picking the least incompetent with my final breath. I decide he will stand by me when we greet Lord Heartsplitter as two responsible evaluations are better than one when a power greater than yours visits.


    ---


    I eye the chair opposite mine. The high back an equal to mine, the cushion on the arms plump for extra comfort and the polish on the wood reflective. A fine visitor¡¯s chair, befitting a Lord. Two ordinary chairs are immediately behind. His bodyguards are well known, or at least these two are. Then two chairs on one side and three chairs on the other side, tapering back. Somewhat like an arrowhead, but I dismiss the comparison.


    My heir pats down his clothes which don¡¯t need straightening. Good. He appreciates my invitation to stay. There is muffling commotion from the front of the house, our guests have arrived. A knock on the door. I stand. The door seems to open by itself as Lord Torngul steps through.


    He sweeps his cloak back to reveal his full armour, breastplate, matching upper arm rerebraces and lower arm vambraces, all impressive as candlelight shines off the lacquer. The upper leg cuisses and lower leg greaves though are a deeper dull black absorbing the candlelight and subtly disguising the fact he has legs. I note the sword hanging from his hip and not much else as a fleeting thought of death enters my mind.


    He is crushing me in a welcoming embrace before I can react. ¡°Good health to you Clan Head Grimg of Clan Greenfriend. May your loins and crops never fail!¡±


    I draw in a deep breath as he releases me and open my eyes wide as Lord Torngul grips the shoulders of my heir and asks for his name without waiting for my introduction. This isn¡¯t proper protocol? Is this a different Lord? Yet how can he change in a matter of weeks? I spy those in his company behind him and need every measure of restraint to maintain a straight face as they drop their cloaks across the backs of the nearby chairs.


    ¡°Please Clan Head Grimg take a chair and let me explain.¡±


    His voice is behind me? I swivel around to find Lord Torngul relaxing in my chair. What? I can¡¯t command him to leave, can I? A subtle touch on my elbow awakens me from my stupor and I begin walking forward unaware of my destination until I am in his company.


    I land in his chair, my heir standing by my side.


    Lord Torngul slaps his thighs. ¡°Good! Good. Sitting amongst my company you don¡¯t seem out of place.¡±


    I mumble agreement yet not loud enough to drown out the heavy petting behind me. I recognise his daughter after an almighty effort to dispel my disbelief. She isn¡¯t wearing uncomfortable battle-weary armour like a badge as is her way. No, for this presentation her clothing of choice is made from supple leather while her eyes are for only one other, soft, and affectionate, the sole male who accompanies Lord Torngul. Where are her fiery eyes, gnashing of teeth and generally angry demeaner? Worse is another female hobgoblin, young, slim ¡­ fine gold chain disappearing, reappearing under and over her thin strips of linen. This isn¡¯t any clothing I recognise. Thin leather cord winds around her arms, legs, waist, and chest, cutting deep into her flesh¡­ her hands fondle his loins while her eyes wish to devour him. Thalgora tolerates this ¡­


    His two bodyguards, Voria and Trela I recognise without introduction. An odd third stands with the young male. Armour and weapons like the bodyguards, yet her eyes are also upon this male. Trying to look away, yet unable to. Jealousy? No! There is desire, she awaits her turn¡­ My eyes must be deceiving me, surely? How can this youth gather such female worship?


    Lord Torngul calls to me, ¡°First let me introduce Voria and Trela of my honour guard.¡±


    They step free of the chairs, bow to me, and then take up a position beside him. Beside him! As almost equals. A dagger blade would have trouble slipping between his shoulder and their hips. They are too familiar¡­ while I did attend the tournament announcement and hear various rumours during and after of their closeness, witnessing the intimacy upfront suggests the stories to be fact. The duties of the honour guards would be expanded! This is delicious! Those Clans seeking to place a spy amongst his honour guard would need to make full allowance for this new duty. Each visit to each Clan will be indisputable confirmation.


    ¡°Next is Lord Klar. Not a Lord of this valley yet he seeks to reclaim his rulership in another valley and is my honoured guest and now family.¡±


    He untangles himself from feminine limbs and strides out to stand before me, my first real examination. A curt nod. He is much younger than I first thought, barely an adult, regardless of the fine armour I am certain Lord Torngul has gifted him which he now wears. How could such a youth, stranger to this valley be of value? How did he win the Lord¡¯s acceptance and not simply be slain at first sight as a grubby upstart?


    ¡°I am grateful for Lord Torngul¡¯s unwavering support and now as a member of his family I hope to serve him in a greater capacity while I plot my return.¡±


    This is the announcement then, the true secret. This youthful stranger to the valley, Lord Klar will act in Lord Torngul¡¯s name, possibly venturing beyond the Town and in so doing at the very least report on the Clans or worse interfere. Many will want to see him disappear.


    ¡°As you know the search for a husband has been difficult, especially finding the one who can appreciate my daughter¡¯s unique qualities, an impossible challenge some would think. Lord Klar is that special one.¡±


    Thalgora saunters out to join her husband while leading a gold chain! At the end of the gold chain, head down is the slim female hobgoblin. I do a double-take; the gold chain attaches to her nose! Thalgora rests her head upon Lord Klar¡¯s shoulder, while the other curls at his feet like a goblin slave, yet she is clearly a hobgoblin. Why? How can this be? As an assassin wouldn¡¯t her pride welcome death before this... this, humiliation?


    ¡°Not introduction you understand, purely for an explanation, the one warming Lord Klar¡¯s feet is the assassin who was tossed out of my Manor and claimed by him. As you can see, more his plaything now.¡±


    I believe I can count the number of days on my two hands until Thalgora becomes a widow. Still, I imagine the nights until then bliss and feel a stirring in my loins for the first time in forever. My heir shifts his boots, and I don¡¯t need to check to realise his loins are equally if not more so, reacting to the display of pure lust before us both as the assassin¡¯s hands wander.


    ¡°Finally, there is Zoria, recently made a citizen of Hobgoblin Town who lost her partner to Lord Klar several days ago in a clash of two mighty warriors in which the victor stands before you today.¡±


    I swallow. Her predatory movement is both alluring and frightening as she positions herself behind him. This Lord Klar attracts threats into his bedchamber like a bee to honey. I am certain this Zoria plays the loyal admirer waiting to strike as does the assassin. What of Thalgora who none have previously been able to contain, let alone mollify the bottomless anger within her. Whatever his influence, it will be short and therefore tolerable until his unfortunate death.


    ¡°I thank you, Lord, for the introductions and erm, explanation. We have some light treats and drink if you wish to partake?¡± I ask, managing to project some semblance of normality as those around Lord Klar and he also returns to their chairs to join me. The assassin ensures I have a clear view of her while Zoria returning to stand behind Lord Klar allows my eyes, now full of lust to linger on the assassin while feigning to follow the bodyguard for as long as good etiquette allows.


    ¡°That would be most welcome, although small portions only as we have several visits before us.¡±


    My heir leaves my side.


    ¡°Can I ask who you intend to visit next?¡±


    ¡°Good friends I would hope.¡± He smiles. ¡°Clan Quickeyed and Clan Ironmonger.¡±


    Yes, both have been loyal to the Lord of Hobgoblin Town, present and past. The merchants need a strong stable town to return to while iron tools and weapons are important in peace and war, yet more profitable in peace, especially if the Lord can negotiate a win-win outcome for the merchants to sell tools and weapons outside this valley. My servant arrives and leaves two platers, one for Lord Torngul and his honour guard and another for the rest of us. Both rest on low side tables. My heir hurries the servant from the room and positions each low table closer to each group.


    I flash my Lord a cheeky smile. ¡°What of Clan Beastbane and The Eater Clan, Lord?¡±


    He picks off the plater before him, a slice of apple I observe. ¡°They will be for another day and possibly without some distractions.¡±


    The other clans, or more to the point, the suspect clans won¡¯t know the full truth. This will be his test of us. Can we be trusted to keep his alliance with this unusual youth a secret? I suspect he will reveal this in an optimal moment of his choosing and wishes to have our support when he does.


    ---


    After further nibbles and small talk, we gather in the front room and they wrap their long neck to floor cloaks about themselves. The last to do so is the assassin, I notice due to her nose chain, which they unhitch and tuck away. The subterfuge is complete. In public, they will once again be the respectable escorts of Lord Torngul, Lord of the Grasslands.


    My heir closes the front door behind them and rests his back upon that same door for support. ¡°What was that?¡±


    ¡°We need to keep what we have seen a secret. What of our servant, can we trust her?¡±


    He grins. ¡°I decided upon subterfuge. The servant is my younger sister. I believe we can trust her, but since I am head of our family line, I will agree to her death without protest if you wish.¡±


    I release a breath between my teeth. Such ruthlessness, family line sacrifice for the good of the Clan. I didn¡¯t think he had such good sense in him.


    ¡°Fetch her.¡±


    ---


    She stands before me, her fingers entwining and shifting her feet. I place my finger under her chin to lift her eyes.


    ¡°What did you see this morning, what is your assessment?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t see anything Clan Head, so how can I say anything.¡±


    My hand grabs and squeezes her chin, while my thumb and forefinger tug on her tusks. Her eyes close, tears escaping under the eyelids.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t being smarter than you are?¡±


    She tries to shake her head and fails. My grip is strong by design. I flash her brother, my heir, a questioning look. His face is stoic. My decision then.


    ¡°How can I trust a nothing like you to not sell out your Clan?¡± I slowly shake my head, tut-tutting as if stating my doubts aloud.


    She opens her eyes, releasing a flood of tears. Regardless of the pain, she tries to drop to the floor. With her hanging, I release my grip and shortly after she is around my legs. The image of Lord Klar similarly worshipped flashes before me and I am instantly full of lust.


    ¡°Yes, Clan Head, I am smart. My brother can vouch for me, even if I am nothing to him. I know how to keep a secret, I know the import, that Lord Torngul tests us,¡± she whimpers.


    I am about to open my mouth to issue the fatal order, looking at my heir to carry out my will when I feel her hands climbing up my thighs. Her face nudges my leg, seeking any bare flesh, licking with her warm tongue, scraping with her tusks, and nuzzling with her nose.


    ¡°I will not leave your side Clan Head, day or night to prove myself in your eyes.¡± Her pleading tearful eyes stare up from the ground, her servant¡¯s smock off one shoulder revealing flawless dark green skin. My eyes appreciate the play of green shading gracing her shuddering shoulder and then they drift downwards to drink in the top curve of an extremely firm breast also shifting in the same rhythm. Her erect nipple is the difference between the smock staying in place or falling away and lust clouds my thinking.


    I am Clan Head, and I can¡¯t believe the pathetic reasoning happening in my head! I am mature, not old. I am fit and athletic from working the fields all my life. After the loss of my wives, I am due companionship, no, overdue. Worse, which I can¡¯t even comprehend why, one glimpse of pure sexual domination by a youth a quarter of my age, somehow re-ignites my lust. Worse a willing accomplice is begging at my feet. For her life, perhaps, yet she understands the bed she is making.


    <h2>--- Lord Klar POV.</h2>


    ¡°What did you say to the servant?¡±


    Izga flutters her eyelids, her lips imitating a circle.


    ¡°You hung back when we left the main room, spill, now,¡± I demand, ignoring her pretend look of surprise.


    She humphs. ¡°Master, such forcefulness always wins me over.¡± She flutters her eyelids again. ¡°She was marked for death, so I instructed her on how to negotiate with her Clan Head is all. Simple girl talk, Master.¡±


    ¡°Simple girl talk?¡± I shake my head.


    ¡°And some clothing modifications of course ¡­¡±


    I offer my hand. ¡°Such as?¡±


    She grabs and I decline to heave her up.


    ¡°Such as?¡± I ask again.


    ¡°I slit her smock a little on the shoulder, so when favouring one side she could reveal her best assets and maybe I further advised her to remove her breast cloth and loincloth¡­¡±


    I hoist her up and around to sit behind the saddle and therefore me, upon the giant boar.


    ¡°Do you intend to advise and try to save all such unfortunates after every visit? Turning their Clan Heads into slaves of their lust?¡±


    ¡°Would that be such a bad thing? You enjoy me don¡¯t you Master?¡±


    I am certain she pouts behind my back but before I can answer, another does.


    ¡°She is a wonderful addition to our bed husband as is Zoria and what is more, I know you are well satisfied by them, so I have no fear of strangers taking you away, while as First Wife I can demand your attention when I require gratification.¡±


    ¡°Also, Master, I intend to collect on my worldly advice in the future. What do you think my saving of her life is worth to her?¡±

 2.016 Meeting the Factions 2

    We swing north, returning to the town crossroad and then head east.


    ¡°On one side is the rented stone house is Clan Hungry and on the opposite is our next destination. Clan Quickeyed,¡± says Thalgora in a matter-of-fact tone.


    ¡°The merchants,¡± I offer.


    She pecks at my lips. ¡°A reward for the student, my husband.¡±


    Approaching our destination, we observe a guard on his haunches in the doorway playing dice with another. Only when the shadow of Lord Torngul¡¯s boar falls across their game do they break their concentration and with looks of disdain slowly crane their heads ever upwards and open their mouths wide. Fortunately, perhaps, their eyes stall whatever words of dissatisfaction they intended to utter, and they bounce to their feet instead, grabbing for their sword belts trying to retie them about their waists.


    Lord Torngul slides from his mount, and steps through, knocking each guard against a door jamb causing them to fumble their sword belts. As we follow Lord Torngul, each of us makes the effort to disturb their recovery. Being last through, Zoria adds insult to their injury by closing the front door. Then we hear the crossbar slide down.


    The antechamber is empty, with a single door leading further inside the house, very similar to the other house which we just left.


    ¡°Stay in your cloaks until we find out what is going on here,¡± says Lord Torngul. He waves a left hand at Voria and points at the door. Then a right hand at Trela. Voria levers the handle and with a nod opens the door to allow Trela to storm in.


    ¡°I announce the arrival of Lord Torngul, be at peace,¡± she thunders.


    Hand on her sword hilt, Voria marches in to join Trela. Shortly after Lord Torngul saunters in, shoulders back, hands on his hips. I step forward to follow and an arm sweeps out across my chest.


    ¡°Hold husband, Lord Torngul needs to sort out the lax reception first.¡±


    ¡°Lord Torngul¡­ I apologise for this lapse in hospitality ¨C I beg your forgiveness.¡±


    We wait in silence while hearing the occasional scrapping of heavy boots. Pacing? Without any other option, we eavesdrop through the open door yet remain out of the direct line of sight.


    ¡°I expect to find Clan Head Krilzak in this house, but I am somewhat bemused by your presence here Clan Head Zinmog. You have enough challenges growing food to feed this valley, I didn¡¯t think you could spare any for the merchants to sell on your behalf.¡±


    Silence.


    Another voice, gruff and bold speaks up, ¡°Lord it is not like that, we erm, we of Clan Hungry are looking to import, contract an import with Clan Quickeyed.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± replies Lord Torngul, he draws the single word out.


    ¡°Surely Lord Torngul a transaction between one Clan and another is private to them¡­¡± says, I am certain, Clan Head Krilzak.


    ¡°Normally yes, although your guards are lax, your hospitably less than welcome and now I observe a room full of sulking, downcast faces. What am I to think? I depend upon the Clans to preserve themselves according to certain norms. So far both Clans before me are acting like secretive organisations of ill repute, unworthy of their charter.¡±


    ¡°Tell him, tell our Lord Torngul,¡± growls Clan Head Krilzak.


    A clearing of the throat signals his confession. ¡°We are contracting Clan Quickeyed to fetch several out of valley males, with a view to testing each to determine if any are more inclined than the other to beget male offspring.¡±


    I listen to his words and replay them in my mind. This doesn¡¯t make sense. Wouldn¡¯t the Clans intermarry or the like?


    Thalgora whispers in my ear, ¡°They are a desperate Clan, their crops hardly yield an excess of grain for them to sell in Hobgoblin Town, which means they have no way to purchase all the things they need. The rumour is their Clan is about to collapse. Male offspring will not help them, but they do think differently than most. They grow crops and their name is Clan Hungry. Wouldn¡¯t you name yourself Clan Bountiful or Plenty?¡± She shrugs.


    ¡°Lord Klar, enter.¡±


    I hear my name, yet it takes Thalgora nudging me aware before I enter the room. Alone. The first thing I notice is the number of hobgoblins present, mainly female like always, yet a significant number of males, mostly elderly I might add, yet the two Clan Heads while not youths, would be the youngest males present.


    ¡°Clan Head Zinmog, I have a proposal for you. Lord Klar will sow your females as well as advise you on the best way to turn your unproductive sham of a farm into something resembling a proper enterprise. What say you?¡±


    I gulp. What of Thalgora? Won¡¯t she be somewhat angry with this arrangement? I don¡¯t hear her scream in protest or the more subtle, objection, the breaking of any furniture¡­ What of me? What is Zeb Stone Grim planning by farming out my seed?


    ¡°Lord Torngul, you are most generous, but no offence, he is a youth. There are no well-earnt lines of wisdom and experience upon his face. The learned elders around us have arrived at what could save Clan Hungry and¡­¡±


    The stomping of Lord Torngul¡¯s boot intrudes upon his whining prattle.


    ¡°You may wonder why I have taken him under my protection, married him into my family. I will tell you why.¡± His gaze transfixes each of the Clan Heads in turn until their eyes look down. ¡°Linage! He is the youngest of four brothers. His line has no daughters.¡±


    Zeb Stone Grim allows several moments for his fantastic unbelievable lies to sink in while I gulp. I flick my eyes towards the door ¡­ is Thalgora going to charge in and protest the use of her husband in this way?


    ¡°I will guarantee his services, including the increase in crop yield if you obey his every instruction. Any dissent and this guarantee will be cancelled. He is a master at sowing seed.¡±


    I must admire the double meaning, yet again where is Thalgora? The two Clan Heads exchange glances. They have the pressure of their Lord, the impossible guarantee added to the mix and all they must do is accept a hobgoblin youth can, in the face of hundreds of years of proof go against the established status quo of plentiful female and few male births.


    Clan Head Krilzak steps back and settles into, what I assume is his chair. The high back is a dead giveaway. ¡°I don¡¯t see how you can lose Zinmog? After all your payment to me was always going to be a risk and Clan Quickeyed would not be comfortable taking over your farm for failure to settle for services provided.¡±


    That revelation stuns me. No others though, not even Voria and Trela, or they simply don¡¯t care. Lord Torngul had a suspicion, somehow and I need to find out how. Those in the room share quiet words, waiting. The pressure on Zinmog must be enormous and as I examine the room, I discover something obvious once seen. The merchants must have profits to burn judging by the fine clothes and shoes on display. The Clan Head is a prime example, clothes of silk or similar refinement, shoes of expert crafting, not boots. His ensemble of fashion is one of many examples. These all stand in contrast to the tidy, yet functional farm clothing of Clan Hungry. Clan Greenfriend, judging by the guards and the servant would be classified as comfortable at a guess. The guards at the door of Clan Quickeyed, were well dressed, yet as guards, unprofessional. Both Clans are broken in different ways in my opinion.


    Zinmog squeaks out a reply, which I suspect only goblin ears would be capable of hearing.


    ¡°Speak up Zinmog, with conviction. Say it like you accept it and be done,¡± growls Lord Torngul.


    ¡°We agree,¡± he declares loud enough for all to hear.


    ¡°Good. Clan Head Krilzak I will need a room, doesn¡¯t have to be large, preferably one door only.¡± Lord Torngul sticks his thumbs in his sword belt and rocks back on his heels waiting.


    I am as lost as Clan Head Krilzak, he is trying to understand why, and I am trying to predict what is going to happen next. Eventually one of his Clan whispers in his ear. I have no such confidant.


    ¡°There is a small room off this room. A place for long stays, luggage and other things can be stored there. It is empty my servants tell me.¡±


    ¡°Good. Zoria, enter and attend to your Lord,¡± commands Torngul.


    Zoria enters, glances about, and stands behind me, right-hand side.


    As we wait the door to the room is flung open and true to their word, empty.


    Lord Torngul scratches his chin. ¡°Add a bed, yes he will need a bed at the very least.¡±


    A bed? Is the seeding going to happen now? Am I to be some performing creature? What would drive Zeb Stone Grim to this action without discussion or warning? Is he warming to his role and thinks he is immune from my wrath? A quiet doom descends upon the room while we wait. The scrapes and bumps as servants carry the bed into the room are the sole destroyer of this silence. Scanning their faces, all the witnesses are in deep thought trying to comprehend the wishes of their Lord. I have no such confusion, mine is one of disbelief. Once the servants finish and leave occasional muttering becomes the norm as all wait for Lord Torngul¡¯s insanity to play out. More than once I share a questioning glance with him and he returns nothing.


    He marches forward, Voria and Trela follow, Zoria and I follow them and those in the way scatter.


    ¡°Inside Lord Klar.¡± He waves towards the doorway. With caution I step forward until I have no choice and cross the threshold of the door, immediately swivelling about to face the crowd.


    ¡°Stand guard Zoria. See that no harm befalls your Lord on your life.¡±


    Lord Torngul turns about. The crowd leans forward, eager for answers and I know they will hang on his every word. Not only is he their Lord, but also the conductor of this unusual circumstance and therefore able to satisfy their curiosity.


    ¡°Clan Head Zinmog, your first female hobgoblin please.¡±


    His face drains of colour. ¡°Lord these are my servants, yet they are mostly the wives of others in my Clan. I must ask what you intend to do with them.¡±


    I admire his bravery, in questioning his Lord. His Clan may be trash but the duty of a Clan Head runs deep within him.


    ¡°Are they with child?¡±


    He shakes his head slowly, frowning. He answers yet he wonders about the consequence.


    ¡°So, their husbands fail them? Select one,¡± growls Torngul. I think the fun in the game has finally gone for him or he is now playing a different Zeb Stone Grim game.


    ¡°No need,¡± says a feminine voice. ¡°I will volunteer, I am one of the few of Clan Hungry present, currently without a husband.¡±


    Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°No!¡± shouts Zinmog grabbing her by the shoulders as she advances toward Lord Torngul.


    ¡°I am certain the Lord has a masterful plan for our Clan father, and I will be the first and therefore lead by example as expected of a Clan Head¡¯s daughter.¡±


    He releases her, his hands grabbing for his head. If hobgoblins had hair, I am certain he would be pulling on it as well. I thought I was the lamb to some sort of slaughter, yet she is in Lord Torngul¡¯s power as much as I am now, we all are. Zeb Stone Grim gives nothing away in his facial expression. Grim and neutral.


    He grabs her shoulders, bending down slightly to do so and to look into her eyes. He then reaches forward to whisper in her ears. He straightens and releases her. She wipes a tear from her eye, nods and then marches toward me with a look of determination on her face. I stare as she pushes past me and into the room. She tests the bed for bounce and then casts a look in my direction.


    ¡°Get to work Lord Klar,¡± says Lord Torngul over his shoulder. Zoria places a lantern in the room and then closes the door and when the bar falls into place, it is like an announcement of certain doom.


    ¡°What did Lord Torngul whisper to you?¡± I ask.


    ¡°If I don¡¯t go into the room after volunteering, he would revoke Clan Hungry¡¯s charter.¡±


    ¡°That is...¡±


    She holds up a hand. ¡°Once you are done with me, I would beg to stay with you as he guarantees I will be with child, a male child.¡±


    ---


    I lost count of the number of females I serviced. My inner Hob ignited my breeding lust, and I released my will to him to excuse myself of any guilt. That was my theory of course. There was enough of my awareness remaining to note that while all the females dressed in similar clothes, they weren¡¯t all from Clan Hungry. Their females to a one had rough skin and ill-kept fingernails, while others I serviced were the complete opposite, with manicured fingernails, and soft skin. I suspect Clan Quickeyed procured some Clan Hungry smocks and added their females to my labour.


    Zeb Stone Grim knew what needed to be done during and afterwards. Zoria fed me a complete side of boar and several water skins of water. I read a sense of sadness in her eyes; she knew Zeb¡¯s manipulation of the situation was a game to him. His belief in this reality is tenuous, therefore unafraid of consequences. She also knew how it felt to be used, repeatedly. Lord Torngul¡¯s word came back to me, work, and that is what he did to me. I became a machine. I should be the one toying with Zeb Stone Grim yet on this occasion he decided to make a point. In this valley, real or not, he was the ultimate authority, and he would be having some fun with his growing appreciation of absolute power.


    Afterwards, Zoria washed me down, yet the stink of sex in the room did limit her success. I refused to dress in the leather clothes and armour I arrived in, Zoria again providing, fetching a simple linen shirt and long pants. A pair of sandals was added late. I swung a sack over my shoulder containing what I wore when I walked in and then nodded to Zoria to open the door.


    Taking my first step over the threshold spontaneous applause greets me and follows me to the anteroom and then into the morning sun of the next day. I blink my eyes. No boar mount awaits to speed our return.


    ¡°Lord Hob, we should return to the Manor,¡± Zoria whispers.


    I nod. ¡°Walk beside me, I don¡¯t feel so superior this morning.¡±


    She wraps her arm around my free one and as a couple, we walk towards the Manor, which isn¡¯t far away in distance, yet is now distant. Is Zeb going to continue to test the boundaries or was yesterday an aberration, a simple once-off amusing happenstance?


    ---


    The steaming water of the bath reaches into my aching muscles. I am managing my recovery with Zoria and Luda feeding and watering me while I wallow.


    ¡°Zoria told me, Lord Hob. I apologise on behalf of my father. I know his behaviour was odd and I can only hope this is a once-off,¡± whispers Luda, with tears running down her face.


    I ruffle her hair. ¡°I would feel somewhat better if I knew for certain his offering of me was a means to an end and not whimsy.¡±


    The back of Zoria¡¯s hand caresses my cheek. ¡°The plan of him showing you off as his new right hand and tamer of his daughter is now somewhat a nothing compared to the legend of your sexual prowess.¡±


    ¡°How is Thalgora? I expected her to erupt once she knew of her father¡¯s plan for me.¡±


    ¡°She has kept away Lord, Izga keeps her company trying to ensure she doesn¡¯t do or say anything against her father. She assures her you will recover and be as strong as ever, especially if she is by your side,¡± says Luda.


    A huge shout sounds outside the room¡¯s window attracting our attention.


    ¡°The early rounds of the Tournament,¡± offers Zoria. ¡°Since this is Lord Torngul¡¯s Tournament and only he can declare the winner, he must be present. Then afterwards at dusk, he spends time amongst his adoring subjects.¡±


    ¡°How many days have I been asleep?¡±


    A warm wet washer slides over my bald head. ¡°The short story is we stumbled back into the Manor, and I took you for a bath. Then to your room. Luda kept an eye on you while I scoured the Manor for food. Then between us, we fed you until you protested, needing no more. That was yesterday before the middle of the day, now dusk approaches. In between while you were sleeping, I told Luda what I knew of your ordeal. We both think it unwise to tell Duzsia and Zergoa, although Thalgora and Izga may have already, for all we know,¡± finishes Zoria.


    ¡°We should probably prepare for a quick getaway, just in case Zeb¡¯s mind unravels any further.¡±


    I hear a sniff and turn to see tears once again rolling down Luda¡¯s face. I reach out my arm and cup her cheek with my hand. ¡°He isn¡¯t the father you knew. The High Priestess still has a deep and everlasting hold on him it seems, and we can¡¯t do anything to help him.¡±


    ¡°I know. It still hurts though when you make plans because of him, not with him.¡±


    A hue and cry, the stomping of many boots echo throughout the Manor. Next, Trela bursts through the bedroom door. She shakes her head for a moment and then dismisses her confusion remembering I guess why she is before me.


    ¡°Come. Come right now, Lord Torngul commands you!¡± she yells, dark angry green sits under her eyes while she tugs at my arm.


    I stare at her. She is distraught. I assume Lord Torngul will be also and she is his messenger. I tilt my head.


    ¡°Voria is near death. Lord Torngul says you can save her, please I beg you, tend to her for me¡­¡±


    She knew and stood by while Lord Torngul played out his fun idea, she would know I would be reluctant¡­ I wait to see if there is an improved offer.


    She tugs at my arm trying to drag me out of the bath. ¡°Bastard! I will owe you, a favour, collect it at any time in the future, now come!¡± Tears roll down her cheeks, her hands attempt to cover her face as she bends over in pain, emotional pain I suspect. Stepping out of the bath Zoria and Luda wrap a simple long linen cloth coat about me and then I drag Trela to her feet.


    ¡°Lead.¡±


    She blinks and then sprints out the door and down the hallway, racing for the wide marble stairs and I am on her booted heels, my bare feet slapping down behind her. We arrive on the ground floor and burst through the open door to the kitchen. On the preparation table lays Voria, the cloth Lord Torngul holds on her neck black with blood and dripping. The neck artery.


    ¡°Save her,¡± he pleads with a face now flush with dark green, his eyes puffy and moist. He seems to care for this particular illusion in his false game.


    ¡°This is but a game is it not? The High Priestess teasing you, messing with your plans, trapping you into mistakes, this is all one big elaborate ruse. What care you for one of its players?¡±


    ¡°What is he saying,¡± screams Trela. ¡°He isn¡¯t making sense, the High Priestess of Klug and her sycophants have never ventured this far south, never stepped foot in this valley. Forget all that, save Voria. Lord Torngul says you can, now do it.¡±


    Zeb Stone grim releases his grip upon the cloth and heavy with blood, it slides from Voria¡¯s neck and onto the floor with a splat. The nick on her artery is tiny, yet a steady pulse of black blood leaks from the wound. Trela stares at Lord Torngul for a moment and then using a fresh cloth staunches the bleeding once again. Lord Torngul sits on the floor his knees up, his bloody arms resting upon them while he hides his face between his legs.


    I slice the palm of my hand and drip blood into Voria¡¯s open mouth. Her breathing is ragged and a sheen of sweat gathers on her face. Body shock? I squeeze and pump my fist to hasten the flow of my blood although I can¡¯t flood her mouth as I am relying on her instinctive swallowing reflex.


    ¡°Remove the cloth, I will place my hand on the wound.¡±


    Trela stares at me, shaking her head from side to side trying to make sense of my words.


    ¡°Do you want me to try and save her?¡±


    She numbly nods. I need her to remove the cloth, more importantly, I need to ensure she doesn¡¯t fight me. Any tearing of the wound would mean greater blood loss and I would doubt my chances if that happened.


    ¡°Remove the cloth,¡± I say in a gentle and soft tone, even though I want to scream at her.


    Slowly she removes the cloth and cups it between her hands. They come to rest upon her chest as she stares and tears anew.


    My bloody hand cups the wound and I can feel the weak pulse of the artery.


    Gloomy darkness bathes the kitchen and I sense more than see Trela, while under my hand Voria¡¯s pulse grows stronger.


    ¡°Trela, find another lantern or more candles, I need more light to check Voria¡¯s wound. We will also need water, as much as you can find.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s alive?¡± Her voice is high with wonder.


    ¡°Fetch light and water and she may stay that way, now hurry.¡±


    She kicks something but eventually, with cursing finds the kitchen exit.


    ---


    Whatever the source of feeble light previously, is now gone. The cloak of night covers us.


    ¡°You are not what you seem,¡± croaks Voria.


    ¡°Be quiet you still aren¡¯t far from death.¡±


    ¡°You are wrong, I will not die now. Your blood burns through me, multiplying, and devouring my feeble blood to do so¡­¡±


    ¡°You stupid woman, my blood is killing you now, we need water. What is taking Trela so long?¡±


    Light splashes through the kitchen doorway, growing stronger. At last!


    In the doorway, as I look up to check, I don¡¯t find Trela. Instead, my wife Thalgora stands there, lantern in one hand and waterskin in the other. As she closes the distance between us, I reach out for the waterskin.


    ¡°Why do you save one of my father¡¯s sluts after what he did to you?¡±


    ¡°She is not to blame for his actions. She could no more interfere with his design as anyone else who was present.¡± I lower my voice and soften the tone. ¡°Not even you Thalgora my wife. Not even you.¡±


    ¡°I wished to!¡± she shouts. ¡°You are my husband and I failed you like I failed my ¡­¡± She throws the waterskin at me and runs off leaving Voria and I in the dark once again. I place the waterskin beside her head and feel for her lips, dragging the waterskin to them. Gently I squeeze the waterskin to force water into her mouth. Half is probably lost, but half is better than none. She coughs occasionally but no more. Where is everybody, I ask myself? If only I could see in the dark¡­ I concentrate on the outcome and connect with my nanorobots to motivate them to do my bidding. In the meantime, slinging the empty waterskin over my shoulder, I lift Voria off the table and princess carry her while taking careful step after careful step to manoeuvre my way out of the kitchen.


    Using the low light available from almost spent hallway candles I head upstairs to the only water I know, my bath. On my way, I encounter no one, the Manor looks to be deserted. I push the door to my room open with my foot. My room is as deserted as the Manor. I lower Voria to the floor and by feel, strip off her armour and then her leathers, leaving her breast wrap and loincloth in place. I pick her up and lower her gently into my now lukewarm bathwater.


    I peer into the shadows of my room and confirm Luda and Zoria are not here, not sleeping on the bed or laying on the floor. I hold Voria¡¯s head clear of the water by nestling my hand under her chin, after a while I catch myself nodding off for tiny periods of sleep.


    Pressure upon my lips wakes me and blinking my eyes, I discover Voria¡¯s face, bemused expression and all staring back at me. The light of the false dawn invades my room confirming she still has her modesty in tack, wearing a breast wrap and loincloth.


    ¡°If you want to use my body, I am willing to surrender myself to you.¡± She flicks a knot somewhere and her breast wrap with slightly more encouragement falls away. ¡°I owe you my life, so the least I can offer is my body especially since after your healing I feel amazing!¡± Her loincloth disappears faster than her breast wrap and next she straddles me, finding what she is after. Apparently, my linen cloth long coat was never tied off or perhaps she untied the ties before she kissed me awake.


    My inner Hob blinds me to the present, perhaps a hang-over from the events two days ago? Maybe three? I have lost count. Her voice returns me to the present.


    ¡°Your seed is even more potent than your blood, and the pleasure involved in the extraction a definite plus,¡± she purrs as she climbs off me. The rising sunlight through the bedroom window frames her magnificent athletic body, a fine sculpture in dark green. She bends down and plucks her clothes from the floor tying them off one after the other. Then her leathers and finally her armour and I stare my way through the entire exhibition. She kneels beside me.


    ¡°Be a good boy and tie off my breastplate please.¡±


    I draw the leather cord tight and knot the ends.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t understand Zergoa¡¯s remarkable improvement, not so much in skill, more in endurance and speed and now I know the reason ¡­¡± She flicks my chin with a finger. ¡°And the source ¡­¡± She licks her lips, her tongue caressing a tusk in the process.


    I stare into her eyes and do nothing else. Hasn¡¯t she just betrayed her Lord for personal gain? Or did near-death recalibrate her view of things ¨C get stronger no matter the cost, even sacrificing honour and oaths.


    She jumps to her feet. ¡°I need to find my sword¡­ and Trela, I am certain I worried her, and I can¡¯t forget Lord Torngul of course. Umm, you should probably get dressed as I think we will be visiting more Clans today.¡±


    With that said she abandons me, her saviour, the one who brought her back from the brink of death. I shake my head, drag my bag of clothes and armour out of a corner, I or someone else left it in and start dressing. I am just about done when Trela races into the room.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Where is Voria?¡± she asks.


    Stomping my foot into a boot, I have my own question. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you return with water?¡±


    ¡°I did, well I asked Thalgora to, Torngul went quiet, still is quiet. He rocks back and forth on his bottom, hands around his knees in his room. We think he dismissed all the Manor¡¯s staff last night during his grief over Voria¡¯s death. But you saved her, didn¡¯t you?¡± A touch of worry reaches her voice.


    ¡°Yes, she paid me back and then left.¡±


    ¡°Paid you back?¡± Her head leans to one side.


    ¡°Had her way with me, took my seed inside her, that sort of thing.¡±


    Trela¡¯s hand covers her mouth.


    ¡°Considering what Lord Torngul put me through several days ago I am certain one lay with his honour guard won¡¯t bother him. It certainly didn¡¯t bother Voria while she took me when helpless.¡±


    ¡°She wouldn¡¯t, we are sworn to Lord Torngul¡­ why?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°Perhaps to show her gratitude to me for saving her life, although I didn¡¯t ask for any reward from her.¡± I take one step towards Trela. She retreats.


    ¡°I said one favour, but not that. We are, I am sworn to Lord Torngul.¡± She glances about the room. ¡°Where are your wives?¡±


    ¡°Maybe you can tell me?¡±

 2.017 Family

    <h2>--- Lord Klar POV</h2>


    Before Trela can answer, the aroma of a sizzling boar roast slams into our nostrils. Our stomachs growl in unison and we chase after the source, finding ourselves downstairs in the kitchen. To my surprise, the preparation bench is clean, unless you count the roast boar being cut up by Voria. Everyone else, Zergoa, Duzsia, Luda, Zoria and Izga lounge about, on a chair or on their bottoms, or against a bare portion of the kitchen wall. All sport dark green rings around their eyes.


    ¡°Where is Thalgora?¡±


    When no one answers, I grab a handful of roast cuts and head for her room. Knocking on her door, nothing, so I try the handle and push. The door doesn¡¯t budge. Crossbeam. Knocking again, I plead with her to open the door through the minute gap between door and doorframe. After more silence, I order her as her husband to lift the crossbeam. Scrapping and a thump. Finally. I ease the door open and once I shimmy in close the door behind me, lifting the crossbeam back in place. This is an eggshell moment. What can I expect from her?


    She sits up in her bed, watching me without saying a word. The low light of a lantern reflects off the tear trails running down her cheeks while her hands try to wipe the evidence away. I climb onto the bed beside her and wave a silver of roast boar under her nose and then upon her lips. She refuses initially until the combination of smell, taste, and hunger wins.


    ¡°Thank you, husband, I am sorry, I¡­¡±


    I place a finger across her mouth. ¡°Only Torngul Heartsplitter can control Torngul Heartsplitter, no one else.¡±


    She leans her head on my shoulder while wrapping her arms around my waist, and we rest in silence for a time. When I note her steady heartbeat, I decide the moment is right.


    ¡°In the kitchen. Who did you fail once before?¡±


    She hitches her chest and shakes her head.


    ¡°I am your husband. Talk to me. I will listen. Sharing your burden with me will help.¡±


    I allow the silence to build and then I lift the hand she has resting on my stomach to my lips and kiss the back of it. She moves her head in surprise to inspect the damage. I take the opportunity and kiss her forehead. Her hand touches where I kissed her, while her eyes search for mine. Once her eyes rest upon mine, I steal a kiss from her lips.


    ¡°Tell me, wife,¡± I plead. I kiss her nose.


    She slams her fist on to my chest and I brace for the assault. Her punches lack any genuine conviction or technique, and are harmless in the main but hopefully therapeutic for her.


    ¡°They ambushed our wagon. Goblins. From what I can remember, there were more wagons, the actual number I don¡¯t know. An arrow took our waggoneer in the eye. I know this because he fell back into the wagon where I hid at my mother¡¯s urging. His face was perfect, captured in surprise forever, except for the arrow shaft. I don¡¯t remember screaming. Maybe I did, or perhaps my mother screamed at me. We ran from our wagon. I think my mother tried to reach another wagon with their beasts still alive. As an adult, I now realise part of the ambush would have been to slaughter the beasts so no one could escape.¡±


    I feel her embrace me all the tighter and nuzzle my neck. I kiss the top of her head.


    ¡°Continue, wife.¡±


    She sniffs. ¡°Desperate, she upended an empty barrel over me, matching the several full barrels nearby. The smell of the barrels I remember to this day, beer. I am glad we drink mead and wine as my stomach would turn if I smelt beer again, I am certain. Anyway, several goblins surrounded my mother and, try as I might, I couldn¡¯t lift the barrel off me, yet through a knothole, I watched as cut upon cut from their spear thrusts drained her of blood for their enjoyment. When trying to push herself up onto her knees, their leader simply walked over to her and stabbed her in an eye, twisting his spear. With the jeering and howling, none of the goblins with their excellent hearing could detect my pleas to let my mother alone or my shout outs for help. I could do nothing, except witness my mother die a slow and torturous death.¡±


    If she did, in fact, call out, the goblins would have found her. Luda amongst hobgoblins proves that the hearing capabilities between the two races are vastly different. No, that didn¡¯t happen and yes, could that be her greatest shame? She couldn¡¯t scream in protest¡­ call for help?


    ¡°Are you certain as a child you screamed out to them to stop, called for help?¡±


    Her embrace loosens, yet before she can withdraw, I hold her to me. She shifts her body, squirming. ¡°Yes! Yes! Yes!¡± she pleads.


    ¡°You were a child,¡± I whisper, gentle. ¡°Only a child.¡±


    ¡°I did scream for them to stop, I did yell for help, I did, I did, I tell you¡­¡± Warm tears splash upon my chest.


    I pat her deep black hair. ¡°If you had, we wouldn¡¯t be together now.¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± she whimpers. ¡°But no one came to her rescue¡­¡±


    ¡°No. You cowered like a child should have. You hid like your mother told you to. You survived like your mother planned. There is no shame in that. Your mother¡¯s sacrifice ensured your future, and she would be proud of what you have become, of that I have no doubt.¡± I kiss her forehead.


    Her chest hitches and she releases, I hope, with each sob her self-torment, her inner denial. For my part, I hold her until sometime later the steady rise and fall of her chest suggests she finds her first serene sleep in many years.


    ---


    Movement on my chest wakes me. I look down upon glistening eyes, the moisture from recent crying.


    ¡°I¡­ I didn¡¯t scream.¡± Her eyes close and she swallows.


    I grab a cloth to wipe her nose. ¡°Blow,¡± I command. And afterwards, her face blushes dark green. Her eyes look deeply into mine while a hand slides across my cheek and down my neck to rest on my shoulder.


    ¡°That day I placed my hands over my eyes trying to wish the horror away¡­ then I heard the defiance in my mother¡¯s voice. She told them that someone would avenge her. She would die today, and they would die tomorrow. Fear in my heart, I managed to lift one eye and glimpse through the knothole in the barrel. I seared each of their goblin faces into my memory because I knew I would have to be that someone¡­ I owed my mother at least that.¡±


    ¡°Is payment complete?¡± I murmur.


    ¡°There are a few strays, second generation whelps from the last two families in the care of others as they are children¡­¡±


    My mind is at ease, given she draws the line at slaughtering children even though she had no qualms about leaving the children parentless. ¡°Job done?¡±


    ¡°I am trying to locate them¡­ they weren¡¯t with their parents when I visited. I only know the parents by face.¡±


    We lay in silence for a time. I am trying to comprehend the depth of her revenge while I do not know why she remains quiet.


    ¡°The first few were easy and difficult. Easy to find the male and his immediate family and then, of course, you notice once you have studied their faces as intensely as I have, their extended family. The round up and slaughter of them, the troublesome part, but not impossible. No. Not impossible. Just takes longer and I am almost done. The children can¡¯t breed, so with their deaths, I will have avenged my mother.¡±


    I need to force a breath into my lungs. She has extinguished an entire family tree, no, several family trees of goblins.


    She smiles. ¡°Other goblins would help me, you know. They would point out the few who escaped my wrath, to be certain I wouldn¡¯t mistake their family. Yet I knew as often as not I slaughtered goblins for their devious purpose, not always for mine.¡± She shrugs. ¡°A few less goblins in the world, who would care?¡±


    I thought for an anxious moment their extended family would care. I wonder, if a goblin child, witnessing the slaughter of their parents, would find the same motivation as Thalgora and come looking?


    ¡°Why do you tolerate Luda?¡±


    She kisses my lips and then shakes her head while smiling. ¡°I don¡¯t hate goblins, husband.¡± Her smile widens. ¡°I only sought revenge on those who slew my mother. They could have been hobgoblins. No difference, as I would have destroyed their family trees as well.¡± Her eyes find mine. ¡°Thank you, husband. My denial of the truth, of my cowardice, has always been a torment, still will be, yet I will seek comfort in your words to set myself free from my burden.¡±


    Is this the true source of her anger? I don¡¯t have more than a moment to consider the proposition as she climbs on top of me¡­


    ---


    A brief rest and she opens her eyes while I study her face.


    ¡°I should have done something for my husband¡­¡±


    I kiss her forehead. ¡°I wasn¡¯t dying, and you wouldn¡¯t have been able to do anything to change your father¡¯s mind. Maybe he has a greater plan, yet to be revealed, which is why he wanted me to do what I did.¡±


    She slaps my chest. I wince. Ouch.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make excuses for him. When I found him to berate him, he was in his room, rocking back and forth on his haunches, arms wrapped around his knees, ignoring everyone. I left him, escaping to my room, and have been trying to work out how we ended up this way ever since.¡±


    I reach around her shoulders and gather her closer to me. ¡°I believe your father didn¡¯t value anyone beyond himself, and perhaps with the loss of Brimsia, his lover, he re-evaluated.¡±


    I feel her head nod against my shoulder. ¡°He favoured her¡­ lover though?¡±


    I push through the discrepancy; I took a guess based upon the current Lord Torngul¡¯s grief for Voria and while I know Zeb wasn¡¯t present then, the Zeb of now seems to have gained a streak of power gone mad from somewhere, so I assume the echoes of Lord Torngul would be the most likely source and possibly include past feelings of attachment.


    ¡°He dismissed Duzsia and Zergoa from his bed and I think even you can agree, favours Voria and Trela in that regard. The entire tournament event is him trying to find other companions, expanding the few into the many and perhaps Voria¡¯s near death hit him harder than he could cope with?¡±


    I find myself trying to believe what I am saying, try to be convincing. Truth is, I doubt he, Zeb Stone Grim, believed in his rebirth and simply floated along with the new, but false reality he found himself in while looking over his shoulder in search of her, the ghost of his past, the High Priestess. But Zeb Stone Grim is Zeb Stone Grim, and he loves for keeps. Only he could stand by Suda the Faithful when all others would have strangled her. Real or not, his fear of losing Voria bringing a close and real consequence to his game and the High Priestess nowhere in sight to explain away the situation. I am still guessing yet confining himself to his room and refusing to take on his role once again a certain undeniable proof. What of the consequences, though? Hobgoblin Town? The Manor? For his associates, including me?


    ¡°Will he be ready to oversee his tournament today?¡± she asks.


    ¡°No, you and I will have to.¡±


    ¡°But the servants have fled or been dismissed. We don¡¯t know of today¡¯s events, the contestants, or the contests¡­ how are we to manage?¡±


    ¡°First, you and I, in our finest raiment, flanked by Duzsia and Zergoa, will represent Lord Torngul. In the meantime, Izga and Zoria will locate the Lord¡¯s household. I assume Dorgrav will be the key to that. Luda will keep an eye upon Lord Torngul and his household while we are absent.¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband, you are right. We have a duty to uphold in Lord Torngul¡¯s absence.¡± She releases me and scrambles from her bed, dropping her breast wrap and pantaloons, in fact catching her pantaloons on her toe and flinging them at my spellbound face. I grab them and inhale. She dances away from me, her naked body trying to seek comfort in the furthest corner of her room, away from my predatory advance.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    She holds her hands up. ¡°We don¡¯t have the time husband, I¡­ I, just teasing¡­¡± Giggling escapes her lips.


    I crash into her, my lips swallowing her mirth.


    Breaking our passionate kiss to suck in a breath, I growl, ¡°I believe you require more of my seed, to strengthen you, of course. The duty I must perform to deliver this bounty, a genuine sacrifice, an arduous burden, which I am willing to endure.¡±


    ---


    Arm in arm, we float through the kitchen doorway on a cloud of satisfied love and lust.


    ¡°If you had time for her, then you have time for me,¡± grouses Luda, issuing a curt nod and placing her hands on her hips.


    Bloody goblin nose, I inwardly curse. My other wives demand the same and yet as the sun rises, I know for certain an expectant crowd will gather outside of the manor through the morning.


    <h2>--- Lord Torngul POV</h2>


    Voria toys with her foe and glances in my direction for confirmation. I nod. This one is from Clan Beastbane and her death instead of defeat will send a message. I look up.


    Voria¡¯s sword stands upright in her foe¡¯s chest, yet she staggers back, her eyes seeking mine while her hand grabs at her neck. Blood seeps out between her fingers. I bolt upright from my chair and am by her side.


    ¡°I am sorry, Lord,¡± she whispers. I shake my head and cradle her in my arms and then lift. My eyes are upon her wound. Blood oozes out in pulses. He will fix this¡­


    ¡°The tournament is over for today,¡± I bellow.


    I glance about in search of Trela. She runs to catch us up as I hurry back to the Manor while nursing Voria.


    ¡°Did you see what happened?¡±


    ¡°No Lord, my eyes were upon the Beastbane Clan to judge their reaction as you requested¡­¡±


    ¡°Is she dead?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. My delay is due to checking to make certain, what of Voria?¡±


    Her hand is no longer on her neck and blood flows freely from the wound. ¡°A cloth, quick!¡±


    I hear tearing and Trela appears on my right-hand side next to Voria¡¯s head, holding a cloth against the wound.


    ¡°Her primary artery, Lord, a nick now, but soon it will burst¡­¡±


    I yell, ¡°Don¡¯t you think I don¡¯t know that?¡±


    While Voria murmurs nonsense, we hurry through the north gate and then to the kitchen. I lay Voria on the preparation table, ignoring the feeble protests from the kitchen staff present, my kitchen staff.


    ¡°Go find Lord Klar, only he can save her. Don¡¯t return without him.¡±


    Trela¡¯s eyes glance down, and I position my hand over hers and nod. The cloth sticks to her hand and rips away from Voria¡¯s neck. Blood gushes out.


    ¡°Bring me another cloth!¡± I shout. Who does? I don¡¯t know or care as Trela has fled by the time I look up. I place the cloth against her neck and the cloth fills quickly, too quickly, with blood.


    ¡°Voria,¡± I call. ¡°Voria.¡± Her empty eyes stare back at me.


    Another voice answers, ¡°She has lost too much blood Lord¡­ she is dead.¡±


    My eyes scan the kitchen and lock on the source of the voice. ¡°If she dies, you all die!¡± I scream at the kitchen staff.


    They keep their distance and edge their way around me; eyes wide with terror and once at the doorway, they bolt for their lives.


    ¡°Voria?¡±


    There is no response as dusk falls, and gloom claims the kitchen.


    I touch her cheek, and there is no response. The back of my hand feels no breath while under her nose. Blood continues to drip from between my fingers. Is she truly dead?


    Another is by my side. I spare a glance. Lord Hob. ¡°Save her,¡± I plead.


    I hear his reply, yet don¡¯t listen as my eyes are upon this innocent.


    I hear Trela¡¯s voice. Sweet Trela. Stepping away from my folly, I stagger towards the kitchen door, bumping into a wall instead, and slide to the ground. This is all pretence¡­ those who are mine are safe, only those against me feel my wrath. That is how the High Priestess plays her game.


    I don¡¯t understand. I need to rethink my plans, ensure Voria survives next time. Yes, I will know more the second time. My hands climb the wall, and my body follows. I fall through the kitchen doorway, stumbling towards the stairs and grab for a handrail to prevent myself from falling. Hand over hand on the handrail, and I climb closer and closer.


    Pushing open the door to my bedroom, I wriggle around and inside, using the doorjamb for support until my back is against the bedroom side of the wall. Reaching out, I close the door, close myself off from all the others. I need to think. I push off from the wall and crash onto my bed and bounce off to slide to the floor.


    I return to the beginning. Rexa orders the death of all the Blood Suns¡¯ bodyguards and no other wife objects. Some even join as the Ten Spears hunt them down in the days after Lord Hob¡¯s death. While the other wives are away on the hunt, she moves into Head Village, claiming the Head Hob¡¯s house and summons several of her favourites from the Farm to join her. The remaining wives protest, yet how can they understand the needs of a pregnant mother to be? When the Ten Spears return in triumph, she declares them the ¡°Keepers of the Peace¡±, reporting to her as First Wife. She has a village and an army to protect her now.


    Months later and Lord Hob¡¯s wives give birth, to female goblins, all healthy. Rexa, though, gives birth to her hobgoblin son, who she names Klugrath. So, he had much to live up to. Somehow Rexa survives her lower body being ripped apart during the birthing. A mystery then, I know how now. Lord Hob¡¯s blood. From Zoria Oath Keeper. Not only did she guard the goblin she swore to, but she also kept Lord Hob¡¯s blood in her care and for reasons only known to herself kept Rexa alive and then made her whole. I shake my head. She shared her story with me, Lord Torngul¡­ can I believe her while we are in this dream? Was she alone and scared because she wasn¡¯t pregnant? Other wives of Lord Hob weren¡¯t pregnant, yet he did not cast them aside, and Lord Hob confirmed a name upon Zoria.


    A burst of manic laughter escapes my lips. Rexa! She would have sown doubt in all of Lord Hob¡¯s wives. Tell them they were less and would need to prove their worth to Lord Hob¡¯s first wife. This was a tactic of Jotor, her false father. You never know what someone can offer until you test them to prove their worth. Questioning their worth also puts them on edge - which way will they fall? The Ten Spears would support her will, be that death for any dissent or banishment. Yes, no matter what Zoria said, Rexa would have magnified her fears, asked for proof of her worth and then reaped the benefit of Lord Hob¡¯s blood for herself and her son.


    Is that what she did to me? My hands shake and I clasp them together around my knees. No. I was confident. Lord Hob trusted me, even after my wife¡¯s betrayal and my daughter¡¯s poor judgement in following their mother.


    I ruled as Lord Hob¡¯s Speaker of Law, bringing in a bumper crop from the Farm, rebuilding Head Village while Rexa recuperated from childbirth. Didn¡¯t I? I have doubts. I remember finding out after the event she ordered from her recovery bed that Duzsia, Koria and Luda¡¯s children were to be sent to Head Village to be cared for. My protest, as Master of Children was dismissed. The custody of their children would keep them in line, of course. How could the new mothers flee with their babes? Then the threat if I continued to protest, Rexa would send the Ten Spears to shut me up. The stick. She instead urged me to direct my valuable energy in another worthwhile direction, to prove my value. The carrot.


    I counselled Koria and Luda to run the Farm to bring them out of their depression after losing their babes and for Duzsia; I suggested she train the militia and thought myself clever. Shortly after Rexa plotted to install Bekto, Zuxa and Lazsia to run the Farm, the three dimwits eagerly gave up their newborns for a sense of false power. Duzsia, Koria, Luda and Milga disappear for a time and when they return, we learn they have tried to explore the valley over and mourn the passing of Duzsia, yet I know Rexa rejoices. A named wife of Lord Hob, Duzsia the Relentless, dies. Somehow, I can¡¯t believe this. With Rexa¡¯s surprise blessing, my daughters and I, with a couple of crews, clear the land between the Farm and Head Village. Through this one act, I believe I demonstrate my value to her. I remember without knowing why being of value was important to me.


    Years pass, and Rexa declares herself High Priestess. Our daily meetings become weekly meetings and then monthly meetings and, finally, occasional meetings. I hear rumours. She either converts or slays all who come within her reach. So, I take an interest again in her coming and goings, needing to dismiss most of her spies from the work crews first to find some alone time. The first big event I attend in a long time is the celebration of Klugrath and his sister¡¯s fifth birthdays. As they line up on an enormous stage specially built for the occasion, everyone notices the obvious, much to the High Priestess¡¯ distress. I suppress a chuckle even now. When Klugrath lines up with his half-sisters, Karo and Ligia¡¯s daughters, even though six months younger than their other half-sisters, are average in size and height, and therefore not of Lord Hob¡¯s linage. Either no one noticed in the nursery, or more likely they were all too afraid to tell Rexa who, when she visited, doted on her son in his room and ignored the other children of Lord Hob. The occasion is a farce, yet seeing Klugrath, the biggest and broadest of them all, doesn¡¯t augur well for a peaceful future.


    The hunt for the traitors came next. Karo, Ligia and their birth daughters, Milga and her daughter, also a significant number of the potters and ironworkers, simply disappeared from the valley the night before. When Karo and Ligia came to me for advice and I sent them to Milga for help, I didn¡¯t realise the depth and preparation of Milga¡¯s departure or the eagerness of some of Rexa¡¯s former faithful had to escape her ranting.


    I continued to give advice. I realised Zoria would want to find new friends as Karo and Ligia assisted her in guarding the crippled goblin and were probably the only two wives she ever trusted. So, I suggested she start a company of her own, the Oath Guardians. They wouldn¡¯t need any skills except eyes and ears, so any Priestess rejects would be grateful for a secondary role in the great Klugite religion and left the rest to her. When they formed shortly after, that was confirmation enough that Zoria had some sort of leverage over Rexa, that something, even after years, was Lord Hob¡¯s blood.


    As time passed, I had fewer victories and more scrutiny. Spreading seed and farming techniques to the other goblin tribes in the valley was one, as I knew they would need the population to resist Rexa. Then, of course, there is the rumour I spread, based upon a secret truth. The father of Rexa¡¯s newborn son was her first son. As I lay incapacitated on a cobbled road in Head Village at dusk after an impromptu meeting with Klugrath, leaking blood from a gut wound because of a suspicious robbery gone wrong, I regret nothing.


    Is this dream of being Lord Torngul simply my imagination running wild during the last moments of my death? Has Rexa, the High Priestess, captured my soul, and she plays with my imagination to torment me forevermore? Am I reborn because of my soul link to Lord Hob? A link I didn¡¯t believe in, never believed in and yet I recognise Luda even though her body and her face are different. Dressed in new flesh, yet beyond doubt, she has the personality of my daughter. I am her father, I should know. I tested Lord Klar. To be a true Lord Hob, he would have to prove he could enter a seeding frenzy and he did so and more. And then there is Voria. Koria and Luda lived past my death, so I didn¡¯t suffer their loss, yet seeing Voria upon her deathbed forced me to face a similar loss. Not of a daughter but of a lover, one you care about more than yourself. My heart hurt. How can a dream simulate that?


    I feel arms embrace me and hear gentle cooing, reassuring me everything will be alright. I recognise her sweet voice. Trela. I remember shouting at her and yet her being here with me now must mean she forgives me. I didn¡¯t dream her into my room and her hot breath on my neck feels real enough. If this is a dream, then I decide to surrender to the expert illusion because I can no longer find the boundary to challenge the reality and I am tired of waiting for the High Priestess to take my life again.


    After a time, I hear the door to my bedroom creak open and then shut. I refuse to open my eyes¡­


    ¡°Lord, I am alive.¡±


    I sigh. Moisture fills my eyes when I open them. In a blurry realism, Voria stands, legs astride, before me in her complete battle regalia.


    Trela assists me in standing. Yet Voria doesn¡¯t approach. I tilt my head and frown.


    ¡°I need to confess to you, my Lord, of my infidelity.¡±


    I lean upon Trela, who supports me as if prepared. I glance her way and her eyes avoid mine. She knew yet kept silent. Is that a worse betrayal?


    ¡°Continue,¡± I say. My throat tightens.


    ¡°I willingly accepted the blood of Lord Klar. But for his intervention, I am certain I would have died. I took without his permission his seed to strengthen myself and become faster so I can serve you all the better yet acknowledge the manner of the theft is a betrayal of my oath to you and a dishonourable deed done to one you have added to your household. I will not do this again, yet only you can decide if I keep my place in your honour guard.¡±


    ¡°Do you have anything to confess to me, Trela?¡±


    ¡°No Lord. I am wholly yours and will forever be¡­¡± Her eyes fall away from mine and stare at Voria. ¡°I understand Voria¡¯s accepting Lord Klar¡¯s blood. Perhaps anyone would crave life on those terms when faced with death.¡± Her eyes find mine. ¡°I understand her need to improve, and his seed is potent. Many a time have we discussed Zergoa¡¯s improvement and while we didn¡¯t know her before now, we assume Duzsia has improved using the same method. I can see the attraction, yet betrayal is betrayal, although only you can determine the depth.¡±


    I know the benefit. My daughter and Duzsia conspired to ensure I consumed his seed, although I believe he didn¡¯t order or ask them to. It seems those around him take from him, just as Voria did.


    ¡°You realise that if you don¡¯t return to him, your improvement will be slight. Only over time with regular consumption will you aspire to the lethal level of strength and speed which Luda, Duzsia, Zergoa, Zoria and Izga have or will reach.¡±


    ¡°Who is Zoria Lord?¡± asks Trela.


    ¡°Briksia¡¯s real name, a long story for another time. Since you only have a fleeting taste, what say you now, Voria?¡±


    ¡°I am ashamed, Lord. I thought this single betrayal confessed would see me stronger and possibly forgiven. Now I am lost.¡±


    I hug Trela. Straightening, I stride forward and embrace Voria. ¡°Be at ease, my guardian. You swore an oath to protect me and preserve my life, even if this meant costing you yours. Nowhere in the oath is sexual fidelity asked for or presumed. Yet I will add you have chosen your bed and you are no longer welcomed back to mine.¡± I release her.


    She nods. ¡°I will miss you both¡­¡± She sniffs as a tear rolls down her cheek. ¡°There is no circumstance under which you would reconsider, Lord?¡±


    I laugh, a good lean back belly roar. ¡°None, dear Voria. His seed is like a drug. The more you partake, the stronger and faster you will become, and I know your competitive nature. It rules you and never is the time when you can deny yourself such a boon. So go to him with my blessing. With his seed in you, I am certain this will significantly enhance your ability to protect me.¡±


    Will her departure as my lover leave me yearning for her? Will her presence tempt me to lie with her one more time? I swivel about upon hearing sobbing behind me.


    ¡°What saddens you, dear Trela?¡±


    Her head rises, puffy eyes greet mine. ¡°I will be inferior. My loyalty and love could cost you your life¡­¡±


    ¡°Perhaps I should replace you with another if you hold such doubts. There are plenty of candidates still on the field¡­¡±


    Her head nods several times, while she slumps her shoulders and drags herself towards the door.


    ¡°Where are you going, dear Trela?¡±


    ¡°I am making way, my Lord. I live only to preserve your life. Therefore, I must leave so another can replace me in your honour guard.¡±


    ¡°Look at me Trela.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°Consider this my last command to you. Look at me, Trela.¡± I see her arms rise and fall and she turns, shaking her head and taking a deep breath. Her fingers comb through her long, fine black hair.


    ¡°Will you marry me Trela?¡±


    Her mouth goldfishes, while Voria jumps at Trela to embrace her, succeeding and lifting her.


    ¡°Did you hear Trela?¡± Voria screams with joy. Trela fights to be free and Voria lowers and releases her.


    ¡°You mean what you say, Lord?¡± Her thin, sweet voice full of hope.


    ¡°Yes, my love, it is time my daughters had more siblings to be jealous of.¡±


    I love them both equally, but I can¡¯t accept Voria back. Even as Lord Torngul, I am a one wife goblin, although I enjoyed, or perhaps my inner Lord Torngul enjoyed two lovers servicing him. Trela¡¯s logic was flawed, of course. Any additions to my honour guard would be no better or worse than her, unless they received Lord Klar¡¯s seed. Unless that was her point, she would never partake of his seed.


    My kiss presses upon her lips all the more when, in that moment, I realise the depth of her love for me. She assumed to be in my honour guard I would require all to be seeded by Lord Klar, which she wouldn¡¯t accept. I break off our kiss and chuckle.


    ¡°You, my dear wife, think beyond me.¡±


    Her face screws up a bit.


    I grab her shoulders.


    ¡°I wonder if Lord Klar would seed all my honour guard or not?¡±

 2.018 A Stroll in the Country

    <h2>--- Lord Klar POV</h2>


    My thin frame in Lord Torngul¡¯s enormous chair is oddly unnerving, yet I must continue the Tournament pantomime in his absence. Thalgora lounges on the right arm of the throne chair while using me for support, draping herself across my shoulders. Zergoa and Duzsia stand on my left and right respectfully while my eyes scan the still growing crowd under another fine blue-sky day.


    Black blood from prior matches decorates the battle circle, faint yet obvious as the next contest gathers interest. On the edges, female hobgoblins in full battle kit toe the line, a healthy space separating each.


    Slinking into my lap, shivering and sporting early morning goosebumps, a near-naked Izga joins us on the dais.


    ¡°We have found Dorgrav, and Zoria is escorting him to recover the rest of Lord Torngul¡¯s household. In the meantime, he has told us that today¡¯s contests are several rounds for those of no favour or fame to battle and earn Lord Torngul¡¯s notice to enter later rounds.¡±


    I wrap my arms around her lithe body, drawing Izga closer to snuggle into my embrace. ¡°What was yesterday, then? When Voria suffered an injury, surely not other no names.¡±


    Her warm breath caresses my neck as she speaks. ¡°No Lord Klar, they were the Clan sponsored or those with names. They now form the pool of contenders, who will combat the survivors of today¡¯s contest.¡± Her body shifts upon my lap, her head rubbing my shoulder. ¡°There will be enough rounds to ensure we end up with the same number of challengers.¡±


    Sixteen contestants assemble evenly around the edge of the battle circle. I climb to my feet. Izga adjusts¡­ she slides from my lap and slinks around behind me, yet her warmth and mine remain in close contact. ¡°No more,¡± I shout, gaining the attention of all.


    Full of confidence, I strut to the edge of the dais and raise my hands. ¡°By the command of Torngul Heartsplitter, Lord of the Grassplains, two will enter and I will declare the one who draws first blood or forces the other out of the battle circle the winner. The loser can appeal to those appreciating the contest and if they shout out sufficient support, I may declare them eligible to enter a later round.¡±


    Mumbling brews, yet there is no stronger dissent. Good. Everyone loves an underdog, and, in this way, additional rounds will be a certainty, ensuring the entertainment continues.


    I look over my shoulder at Zergoa. A leap and thudding landing announces her arrival into the battle circle. Strolling around to face each contestant, her eyes take in each hopeful challenger while offering them the open end of a barrel tucked within the crux of her arm. Each draws a chit from the barrel.


    ¡°Now that is done, those with the same number will fight each other. I call the two fours to begin. Other contestants take one step back from the edge of the battle circle.¡±


    A size mismatch to begin then. The larger with armour, while the lighter wears none. Wary of each other, they position themselves at opposite edges of the battle circle while facing me. A curt bow of the head from each, which I return. ¡°Begin!¡± I shout.


    The larger charges, shield leading, trying for the easy win. The lighter skips away with ease and keeps moving while teasing with her two-handed spear, which often rings off the shield of the larger one. After a time, the crowd shuffles about with an occasional shout for more violence and fist waving. The larger slows, sweat gathering on her brow, while the lighter continues her dance. Then, quick as a snake and entirely out of the blue, the lighter one wields her spear with one hand to extend her reach. The thin leaf spearhead pierces the top of her larger opponent¡¯s boot, drawing blood. The larger stops dead. While the lighter looks at me.


    ¡°A winner,¡± I shout, my hand pointing at the lighter female.


    ¡°No!¡± protests the heavier female. ¡°That is not real combat, that is a trick!¡±


    The lighter turns on her opponent. ¡°In real combat, I would use terrain and have you exhaust yourself trying to track down a ghost, except the ghost wouldn¡¯t target your foot.¡±


    With sword still at the ready, the larger contestant approaches the dais with ease, her wound no inconvenience. ¡°Lord Klar, I would petition the wound nothing, the drawing of blood to meet the rules of the contest and not the spirit of the contest. Would she be able to protect Lord Torngul?¡± She shakes her sword at the light contestant.


    ¡°We will never know until the moment it happens,¡± booms a familiar voice in the crowd. Lord Torngul throws back the hood of his full-length cloak while Voria and Trela hide their faces in the shadow of their cowls. The crowd inhales as one, while in lockstep Lord Torngul and his honour guard cross the battle circle and approach the dais. Both contestants bow their heads.


    ¡°Welcome Lord Torngul. I hope I haven¡¯t erred by starting the contest in your absence,¡± I declare. I must play my part, I remind myself.


    ¡°No, time is precious, and I have an announcement to make. First, though.¡± He points at the lighter opponent. ¡°Your win stands.¡± There is a weak cheer. ¡°Secondly.¡± He points at the heavier opponent. ¡°You can enter a later round and prove yourself more adaptable to the situation and the opponent.¡±


    They both bow again and disappear into the crowd. Lord Torngul steps up and onto the dais, while I and my companions take our leave, standing behind the throne-like chair.


    Torngul swivels about to face the crowd while Voria and Trela take up their positions behind him.


    ¡°I announce I have taken a wife!¡±


    The crowd cheers, a full roar of acclamation. He needs to downward wave his palms to silence them.


    He swivels on his hips and throws back Trela¡¯s hood and offers his hand to her, which she accepts.


    ¡°I name Trela Truehearted as my wife from this day forth!¡± He raises their hands as one and then uses the grip to swing her into his embrace. ¡°This, of course, means I am now short another in the honour guard and, unfortunately for me, my new wife forbids me, concubines. Therefore, as a marriage gift to her, my honour guard will be purely martial in duty and no more.¡±


    This announcement causes an uproar, with shouting about changing the rules mid-tournament. Again, he needs to calm the crowd with hand waving.


    ¡°I accept and acknowledge your protests. Hence, those who won through yesterday and now wish to withdraw may do so. Their defeated opponent can re-enter the Tournament. Those who declined to compete under the previous rules can add their name to the lists before dusk today and enter the Tournament. Are we satisfied?¡±


    Cheering greets his question. He nods and withdraws to his throne. Trela sits on his lap, while Voria takes up her position on his right. He snaps his fingers at Zergoa and Duzsia, who return to the throne and stand in line with the still hooded Voria, Zergoa on the left and Duzsia behind.


    He whispers, ¡°Lord Klar. You may leave now with my thanks.¡±


    I want an explanation and resist the urge to grind my teeth. Zeb Stone Grim seems his old Lord Torngul self again, yet calm. No, he took a wife. Does that suggest he has accepted the here and now as his new reality? His goblin wife truly in the past? Trela lounges about, her playful hands exploring his husband¡¯s chest, while Lord Torngul, face lacking frown and worry lines, seems to have found a balance. I can only turn away, this isn¡¯t the time and certainly not the place to confront Lord Torngul, even if I want to slap Zeb Stone Grim about¡­ With an arm around Izga¡¯s waist, we both jump from the dais onto the cobblestone street and leave Lord Torngul, his bride, his bodyguards, and his Tournament behind intent on returning to the Manor.


    On instinct, I glance up at a particular window. A window high above us in the Manor, with an excellent view and from which any could follow the tournament proceedings. Thinking I will surprise and somehow glimpse a waving Luda wearing an ear-to-ear goblin smile, I am disappointed. A curtain blocks any such nonsense. I further squeeze Izga into my embrace.


    Rounding the corner, we reach the north gate and meet Zoria on guard duty.


    ¡°No guards returned to his service?¡± I ask.


    Zoria¡¯s eyes flash to her right, towards the small guard¡¯s post built into the wall of the manor. Pulling the door open, I spy, trussed up inside a fleeting memory. Reaching in and picking her up, her eyes go wide, I suppose because of the ease with which I do so. I place a finger across my lips and then drop her gag.


    She takes a deep breath, and then motions to open her mouth wide. I raise my eyebrows. She closes her mouth slightly and tries to move her arms and legs, probably as a hint to me. I shake my head. Her shoulders slump and then she must reach a decision. She rises, chin up, shoulders back, as far as comfortably possible.


    ¡°My father sent me,¡± she announces. ¡°He wishes to invite you to our farm so you can begin transforming our farm into a success.¡±


    I flash her a devilish smile. ¡°Does he forgive me for servicing his daughter?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°He wanted to alliance betroth me. He feels more trapped now and has decided as much as it has cost him, he must take as much advantage as he can.¡±


    What this Clan Head¡¯s daughter doesn¡¯t suspect is I have experimented upon her. My wives and I have proven we can command or will the nanorobots to reshape and enhance the flesh bags our spirits inhabit, so keeping a modicum of self-control during the Hob seeding lust, I manipulated my seed. First, to the well-groomed females in the room, I urged fertility in one in every three and female conception only. For Clan Hungry and their females, I gifted fertility to every female receiving my seed and a male conception of one in every four. The Hobgoblin Town birth rate evidence suggests this outcome will be something momentous, which means I have nine months to leave this valley or face, I am certain, unreasonable demands for my seed. For the Clan Head¡¯s daughter, though, something special and I hope a reward for bravely stepping forward first. I instructed my nanorobots to conceive male triplets in her womb.


    I pick her up and turn her around to unbind her wrists; she rubs them while I kneel before her and untie her ankles. Rising to stand, she looks up at me and licks her lips.


    ¡°No,¡± I say.


    She sighs. ¡°Follow me. I have a boar and cart waiting.¡±


    ¡°I am not going now. First, I would like some company of my own and that may not be possible until tomorrow.¡±


    She kicks at the cobblestones. ¡°That isn¡¯t the plan. We leave now and reach the farm middle of the day. Gives you time to look around, provide some guidance and then we return just after dusk.¡±


    I grab her shoulders; she squeaks in surprise. ¡°New plan. We leave early in the morning, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day. We take food for at least three days, so we don¡¯t eat the last of your food because I will stay at least two nights.¡±


    ¡°What? Where will I go until then?¡±


    Her look of concern is rather cute and my hesitation to answer only makes her expression more desperate and my enjoyment increase. Releasing her shoulders, I say, ¡°Dismiss your boar and cart, and you can spend the required number of nights in our servants¡¯ quarters. I am certain there will be room.¡±


    ¡°Servant¡¯s quarters? But I am a Clan Head¡¯s daughter. There is a certain level of hospitality to be expected.¡± Her chin rises while drawing her lips thin.


    ¡°Return to your father¡¯s Stone Manor. We will pick you up from there,¡± I reply, enjoying every moment of our conversation.


    Colour washes over her face, a darker green I think impossible. ¡°Our Clan is no longer in Hobgoblin Town. I am the last and remained behind only to fetch you. My father expects me with you on the farm around the middle of the day.¡±


    Dorgrav pokes his head around the corner and immediately swivels about, trying to beat a hasty retreat.


    ¡°Dorgrav, come back, otherwise I will report your poor courtesy to Lord Torngul and, as you know, his mood hasn¡¯t been great of late.¡± I tap my foot and shortly after, his head pops around the corner again. I wiggle my finger at him and then curl it back towards me. He straightens and assumes the deportment of a Major Domo of Lord Torngul.


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    ¡°Yes, Lord Klar?¡± he tries to look down his nose at me, which fails as I am slightly taller now, I realise.


    ¡°No guards returned?¡±


    ¡°No, not that I tried hard. The various Clans hired them. Obviously, for their knowledge of the manor and once drained, they will be thrown out and back onto the streets. I am going to have a word with Lord Torngul em, at some future suitable moment and suggest we offer positions to those in the Tournament who didn¡¯t quite make the grade yet seemed competent enough.¡± His smug smile said everything.


    I didn¡¯t want to explain to him why that was a bad idea because I needed his help, so I simply mumble false agreement.


    ¡°Erm, yes. Well, I need a favour of sorts. Food for three days, two boar mounts prepared, and the north gate always closed unless someone known demands entry, for example, Lord Torngul.¡±


    His hands point in several directions at once while he turns his head in other directions, both actions independent of each other. I grab his shoulders, and he jumps in shock or surprise, possibly both. I release him.


    ¡°Stable hands prepare the mounts. Kitchen staff the food. The gate can be closed. When someone bellows to be let in, spy them from the battlement and if they are known, signal to the stable hands to open the gate. Yes?¡±


    He nods and dashes off.


    I notice Duzsia nearly bent over with laughter, only recovering her poise after I shake my head. I can only explain Dorgrav¡¯s indecision because of recent events and the resultant insecurity. It¡¯s not every day you go from a high position under firm rulership to crazy because a female honour guard is on the brink of death. Or is it the fact Lord Torngul valued a female hobgoblin at all? Male hobgoblins are important, females are expendable¡­ and now Lord Torngul marries again, but not to the one he fawned over. No, the other honour guard and she decides concubines are no longer permitted¡­ This would disturb one such as Dorgrav, one who has been in his Lord¡¯s service for many years and only recently has found the need to reassess. Ever since I joined his Lord¡¯s Manor.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Do you really want to know? I mean, while I am a Clan Head¡¯s daughter, do you really want to know?¡±


    I place my hands behind my back to prevent my grabbing of her again. ¡°Well, we will travel together, and I can¡¯t just call to you by saying ¡®hey you¡¯ now, can I?¡±


    ¡°Most do.¡± She shrugs and her eyes look around the manor courtyard for the first time. I sense I am in the way and take several steps to the side and offer an open hand, inviting her to look at all she wants. The stable hands prepare the boars, rubbing them down, throwing the saddles over them and placing a feedbag to their snout. Meanwhile, servants leave two double saddlebags on a table nearby.


    Two stable hands lead the boars towards us, only stopping to throw the saddlebags over the beasts. They hand off the reins. Before they escape, I remind them to close the gate behind us and only open the gate if someone high on the battlement above the gate signals them to do so. Simple instructions. What could go wrong?


    Izga joins me, while Duzsia, as punishment, shares with the Clan Head¡¯s daughter. We make good time with an allowance for the beasts to graze. Clan Hungry¡¯s farm is due west along a wide dusty path. We pass fields full of goblins. Slow, of different ages, underfed and without closer examination to confirm, probably ill-treated. There is at least one female hobgoblin overseer for every twenty goblins. Water is plentiful while no field lays fallow and every field grows the same crop, a corn stalk-like plant. Many are stunted, and I am uncertain what the goblins are achieving in the field.


    We reach the main farmhouse, an awning down one length sags. One section seems threatening to collapse before our eyes and the tall main doors seem fixtures, necessary to hold up the roof above them. There is a welcoming committee, including Clan Head Zinmog. We exchange pleasantries and I note none of my female conquests from the other day are present. The Clan Head¡¯s daughter is the only exception, who walks with us. The others, I assume, spy upon us from windows and doorways. I ask to meet with the Clan Head alone. His family is rightly nervous, yet I leave Zoria and Izga behind, as well.


    ¡°Do you have a new field anywhere on your farm?¡± I ask.


    He hangs his head down. ¡°We do, well, sort of. You must explain to Lord Torngul that we have to bend the limits of our charter, or we would all starve. Is that why you are here, to report on us?¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°I didn¡¯t know the charter included land boundaries, so let¡¯s keep pretending I don¡¯t know. Instead, take me to this new field.¡±


    His relaxing smile is a welcome change. I expect more awkward moments, but feigning ignorance seems acceptable to us both.


    ---


    A lazy river borders the virgin field, probably a light forest previously, as there aren¡¯t any huge tree stumps present. This is possibly not by choice; I suspect their tools are limited and what they have well worn out. Inspecting the field, I make an interesting find. I show a sample of the plant to the Clan Head.


    ¡°That weed grows everywhere and if the goblins are idle from other work, they clear it, otherwise we burn it. Why?¡±


    ¡°I need you to plant the weed, which we will call the bean plant from now on, in your poorest yield fields.¡±


    He takes his hat from his head and slaps the misshapen thing on his thigh, remaining dead quiet. He clears his throat and turns to another male standing with us. ¡°You heard him. Get to it. Now!¡± he screams.


    ¡°But¡­ but¡­ how?¡± his companion asks.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care, just make it happen, goblins, hobgoblins, young ones, find the shoots and transplant them, add water. Now get to it.¡± He turns back to me and plasters a false smile on his face.


    I recall Lord Torngul¡¯s decree, no dissent. Instead, he beats up his hat and then orders others to carry out my instructions.


    ¡°I will need twenty hobgoblins with your best farming tools. Until I see your farming tools, I won¡¯t know how best to use them.¡±


    ¡°Twenty¡­ em, twenty you say?¡±


    ¡°Yes, instead of one hobgoblin guarding twenty goblins, let one guard one hundred goblins. Who cares if they escape? I can assure you they won¡¯t run because whatever you feed them is better than they could find or hunt for off the farm, mainly because they wouldn¡¯t have the skill or energy.¡±


    He turns to another male.


    Before he speaks, I add, ¡°They need to be fit, young and healthy. Twenty. Plus, the best farm tools you have.¡±


    He sighs. ¡°Well, you heard him. Take them off guard duty if you have to.¡± Another of his clan runs off to do my bidding.


    I point towards the end of the field. ¡°We will dig a pond at one end of the field and then, from that pond, trenches. The soil from the trenches will pile up in between. We will use wood planks to dam between the pond and the trenches. When the pond water is high enough, we will remove the wooden planks and let the water run the length of the trench. Refill the pond and repeat for the next trench and so on.¡±


    He scratches his bald head. ¡°Well, sure beats waiting for the rain or carrying buckets to every spot.¡±


    ¡°You have a lot of buckets?¡±


    ¡°We certainly do, to water during high sun season.¡±


    ¡°What grain do you have in storage?¡± I ask, trying to convey a happy and light tone to my words.


    ¡°The best from last year¡¯s harvest. We may not have enough spare to sell, but we will eat well enough.¡±


    ¡°That is always good.¡±


    Hobgoblins arrive in ones and twos with various tools, some more useful than others. I notice the handles are short, goblin height, I suspect.


    I take Duzsia and Izga aside. ¡°Ask Lord Torngul if he can spare some coin for new shovels and hoes for the farm experiment, he assigned me. Hurry back with the tools or rejection.¡±


    They both object, yet I assure them I will be fine. After all, I am among friends¡­ I hope.


    I grab a shovel and demonstrate what I want them to do, which is dig a shallow ditch and toss the soil to the right to build a mound and try to keep a straight line. Five hobgoblin females set off on the task. Another ten use an assortment of digging tools to dig out a pond at the head of the rows. For the last few who arrive, I start them off digging more rows.


    ¡°Have there been any reports that your goblins have run off?¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°No, Lord, just as you predicted.¡±


    I nod. ¡°They could be braver tomorrow.¡±


    Duzsia and Izga return late in the afternoon, and I hand out the new shovels and hoes to the hardest workers as judged fairly or unfairly by myself. I didn¡¯t want to put the Clan Head in this position. As a neutral stranger to the Clan, I could weather any backlash.


    Before dusk, I bid our host goodbye and with Duzsia and Izga we strike out across the river and enter the light forest on the other side. We slaughter a boar and capture a sow. Izga leads the sow while Duzsia and I shoulder the boar hanging from a rough pole threaded through tied legs. We deliver the boar to the main farmhouse and tell the Clan Head to prepare a feast and gather several hobgoblin females to follow us back across the stream. As we lead the sow across, each of the female hobgoblins follows, follow carrying a shoat. Once the family reunites on the other side of the river, they follow their mother. The Clan Head constructed the pen of sorts as he promised, and we lead the sow and family into captivity.


    Observing our catch, the Clan Head shakes his head. ¡°The Beastbane Clan, when they find out, will be very upset.¡±


    ¡°Tell them to talk to me or protest to Lord Torngul. This is an experiment. Now we have roasted boar to eat.¡±


    He manages a tiny nervous smile but follows me, anyway.


    ---


    After the feast, the Clan Head leads us to our own cottage made from clay bricks and a thatched roof. He explains there is a main room with a smaller room off to one side. A hanging sheet of cloth provides privacy.


    I smile. ¡°Good night,¡± I say.


    His hands fidget and he steps back after stepping away. ¡°I don¡¯t wish to insult you, but to invite you into the main farmhouse would be too much temptation. Food especially, armour and weapons and¡­ the females who you serviced have spoken of your¡­ skill and afterwards¡­¡± His face turns a deep green as he forces his body away from the cottage entrance and hurries back to the farmhouse.


    ¡°You always leave an impression, Lord,¡± says Izga as she wraps herself around me.


    I shake my head at Zoria, who nods, yet doesn¡¯t stop holding a torch high to survey our immediate surroundings. I push the cottage door open, carrying Izga inside with me. Zoria follows with the torch, and we observe movement under the blanket of the only bed in the cottage.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t show yourself, I will stab you.¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t,¡± says a feminine voice. A familiar feminine voice.


    The blanket falls away to reveal the Clan Head¡¯s daughter, naked.


    ¡°Go back to your father, now.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ I offer myself¡­ forever if I must.¡±


    ¡°If I service you, what of the others in this clan? Won¡¯t they demand the same and when I say no, they will think you have told me not to? The solution?¡±


    She reaches for her plain linen shift to cover herself. ¡°They will harm or slay me¡­¡±


    I nod. ¡°Zoria, help her dress and ensure you escort her out, throw her if you wish to, but be sure to say words like, ¡®he has two, he needs no more¡¯ or the like for all the eavesdroppers who I am certain will be waiting.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t!¡± She jostles, trying to resist Zoria grabbing her yet failing. Zoria is faster and stronger than any Clan female and probably many Clan males.


    Zoria drags her to the cottage door, while her captive stamps her feet.


    ¡°Wait!¡± she says. ¡°Let me dress.¡±


    Zoria pauses, helping and then continues and they are both gone. I hear Zoria''s words and shortly after she returns. We make the best of our single bed and sleep.


    <h2>--- Izga POV</h2>


    Each time I receive his seed, I mediate to force improvements upon myself, hearing first, then night vision and now core strength. I wait by the cottage front door, listening. The occasional scuffing of boots fades to none. They would belong to the hobgoblins. More subtle noises carry on the night air, ones which make you doubt, yet certain, at the same time. I suspect these belong to the slave goblins of this clan. I can¡¯t imagine slinking out into the night through the cottage door. Surely the hobgoblins would keep watch, and possibly the goblins as well. Notwithstanding, the treasure they are after is inside the cottage, not outside, so I wait. Studying my Lord¡¯s prone sleeping body never grows old. He grows taller, his muscles stronger than their size and shape suggest, and he permits my clinging. I am certain others think I am being suggestive. What they don¡¯t know is how much I crave body contact after years of dedicated training devoid of affection.


    A scraping noise reaches my ears. Then a pause. I scan the cottage walls; they are a dull grey in my night vision, the edges around each brick a darker line. Another scrape and then pause. The patience of the interloper is endless. After a countless number of cycles, a small green head pokes through the cottage wall. The gap isn¡¯t a single brick, but several bricks still mortared together. Along one side, the bricks stick out hinge-like, allowing the door a limited swing motion. The goblin sniffs the air, drawing their face towards the cloth partition. One last look and the goblin steps over the foundation row of bricks and into the cottage proper.


    My feet hook over one rising roof pole, while my hands grab over the next. These are two of eight which radiate out from the central support and upon which the thatching rests. My core muscles hold my body level and parallel with the floor. Underneath me, the goblin takes another step, reaching for the dagger belt I deliberately left dangling on the back of one of the two rickety chairs in the cottage. The goblin lifts the prize and pauses. I tied the belt around the seat of the chair so a quick snatch and grab would cause the chair to crash. They take another step and feel for the buckle.


    I free my feet and control their descent while releasing the curl of my arms. I am behind the goblin when they sniff. As they turn, my hand is over their mouth and my dagger pokes at their midriff.


    ¡°Quiet, or you die,¡± I whisper as I release my hand slightly.


    The goblin freezes. ¡°I was curious, mistress, nothing more.¡±


    I shuffle around, with my goblin captive still in front of me, until I face the brick door. I assume one would be inside and pass anything worth stealing out to another waiting outside. If I am wrong, no harm is done.


    ¡°How many with you?¡±


    ¡°None, mighty mistress. This dumb goblin is alone¡­¡±


    Disarming self-depreciation? I push my dagger until I am certain I draw blood. ¡°The door of bricks suggests something different.¡±


    Her, I am fairly certain it is her, nods.


    ¡°Call them in,¡± I whisper.


    Her head shakes from side to side. ¡°None, but the first is to enter. A single loss instead of many.¡±


    Warm tears roll over my hand. ¡°Well, that is disappointing. Perhaps I should simply slit your throat and push your corpse through the door and close it. I am certain your body won¡¯t be there in the morning, or anyone mourn your death.¡±


    The goblin''s body shivers. ¡°Yes, mighty mistress, I am nothing, a miserable creature¡­¡±


    ¡°Name?¡± I ask. ¡°I like to know the names of all I slay.¡±


    ¡°You do!¡± she squeaks. ¡°You do, mighty mistress?¡±


    I grab her throat and bend down until I can whisper in her ear. ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Nudia, mighty one. I am happy to die under your blade and at last be free.¡±


    ¡°I like your name, so I have decided you can live if you leave now.¡±


    Given her goblin name, I am certain now my guest is female. She tests my grip by trying to move. Her eyes look over her shoulder as an arm¡¯s length separates us. Another step and she can duck through the brick entrance. She pauses.


    ¡°I will need to take something with me, mistress, if you wish for your life-giving to remain a secret. None will believe you let me live.¡±


    I throw her two apples, which she deftly catches and secrets in her threadbare shift. Then she is gone, except for a single hand which closes the brick door and before being caught vanishes, yet the door continues to close until blending in with the wall. I place a leaning chair against the brick door and then another against the cottage door, just in case, and climb into bed.


    ¡°Did you have fun with Nudia?¡± asks Lord Klar.


    Why should I be surprised he is awake?


    ¡°Not sure, Lord. The goblins obviously operate at night and have, over time, made secret ways into the cottages to steal what they need and remain undiscovered.¡±


    I ruffle her hair. ¡°The goblins built the cottages, still build the cottages. They can¡¯t steal a great deal, otherwise, someone would notice their thefts, and any suspicion would fall upon them worst of all. Make sure you find Nudia and when you do, I will ask the Clan Head for a goblin to keep our cottage tidy. We will parade her and several other possibilities and, by some miracle, we will select Nudia.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±

 2.019 Clan Talk

    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    We break our fast in the cottage and equip ourselves before walking into a bright blue sky dawn morning. Approaching the main house, we notice several hobgoblins scrambling out of sight, and while odd or perhaps amusing, we continue.


    Our twenty hobgoblins from yesterday scramble to line up in front of the main house, effectively blocking the entrance to the ramshackle building. Last to join us on parade is the Clan Head, who bows before me on arrival.


    ¡°We are ready, Lord.¡±


    They have the new tools in hand, and none have gone missing. Amazing.


    Today is much like yesterday, except by the end of the day, the pond and field are ready and tested. I exhausted most of my help, hobgoblins with digging and levelling, while goblins, bucket by bucket, kept refilling the pond after each test. To keep my promise, I had a word to the Clan Head and a selection of goblins were lined up so we could choose one to clean my cottage.


    After much inspecting and chatter, my wives pretend to argue over their first choices and instead settle for the third they chose from the line-up. The Clan Head dismisses the remaining goblins, who trudge back to wherever they shelter and eat. Several groups of female hobgoblins loitering until the end of the day also leave shortly after. I assume to witness for themselves a hobgoblin Lord accept a goblin inside his cottage.


    Dusk is due, so we take Nudia with us on our boar hunt and return with the same result as yesterday, although I would have stayed out all night if needed to ensure a triumphant return.


    We deposit Nudia in our cottage to clean while we feast upon the boar for another night. Many of my female Clan partners watch me yet don¡¯t approach. Zoria¡¯s warning proving effective. I make excuses to the Clan Head, and we retire early to our cottage as I need to question my goblin servant.


    Nudia had been busy. We left nothing of value behind, so theft wasn¡¯t available to her and as we entered, we found her standing beside a made bed in a tidy, swept out cottage.


    ¡°All is clean, master and mistresses,¡± she says, chin up.


    I throw her a slice of roasted boar, which she grabs and tucks away in her clothing. I shake my head and point at her. She opens her mouth to speak and then closes it, sinking her teeth into the slice of roasted boar instead. I dangle four more pieces before her eyes, which open wide, and she momentarily forgets to chew.


    ¡°My wives tell me some goblins like yourself seem to be fed adequately, while others aren¡¯t much more than skin and bone. Why?¡±


    She chomps again on her boar, eyes blank. She swallows the last and then casts her eyes down. Trying to search for a believable lie in the brick flooring of the cottage, I suspect. After a time, she looks up. ¡°I¡­ can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Who can?¡± I reply while pulling her towards me by grabbing her threadbare shift. Fortunately, she doesn¡¯t resist, otherwise, she would probably stand naked before me.


    ¡°Late tonight. I will lead you to him.¡±


    I nod and point to a corner of the cottage. ¡°Sleep there.¡±


    I assume during our sleep she will sneak out to make the arrangements.


    ---


    In the dead of night, Nudia wakes us and with haste we dress and follow her out of the cottage¡¯s secret door, which she closes behind us. Dashing from cottage to cottage, we reach the edge of a former old-growth forest, now mainly brush and saplings in between rotted out cut stumps to mark the places of once mighty trees. Much to Nudia¡¯s surprise, we follow her with ease, Izga and Zoria¡¯s night vision a match or better than mine. As for Nudia, once in the forest, she must need to follow abstract signs given her frequent pauses; a peculiar grouping of stones, a marking on a tree, or perhaps the dark shape of the tree itself. I deduce there isn¡¯t one marking type or location but several, and only together do they lead anyone true. Eventually, we breach a wild unkempt hedgerow and discover a low campfire. A single goblin squats adjacent, taking his ease by prodding twigs forward to control the flame''s height and hence the amount of light. I spy countless other goblins nearby concealing themselves in the night''s dark thinking they hide from us.


    ¡°That is far enough,¡± he hisses from under a cowl.


    I hold my hands up. ¡°We are here to talk, nothing else,¡± I say.


    ¡°What would a hobgoblin Lord want to discuss with a wretched goblin?¡± His tone being deliberately hostile.


    I fold my arms across my chest. ¡°I have questions like, why are there fed and unfed goblin slaves in this hobgoblin clan?¡±


    ¡°Some decide to resist, while others don¡¯t,¡± his curt reply. ¡°If that is all, then begone.¡±


    I resist the urge to leap over the campfire and throttle him and instead ask, ¡°Resist what? It seems the hobgoblin clan is as much defeated as the goblins they call slaves.¡±


    ¡°Because they are useless and don¡¯t listen.¡± His poking of the campfire with a stick causes the fire to blaze up for a moment. Anger? Frustration?


    ¡°The goblins here weren¡¯t always slaves, were they?¡±


    ¡°In this valley, yes.¡± He pokes the fire again and looks up. ¡°We are descendants from another valley where Lord Farmer Hob taught us the ways of farming. Tales from our elders say he was, mostly, fair unless you betrayed him. For our wisdom, the hobgoblins belittled and punished us upon arrival and we couldn¡¯t escape, so we¡ª¡±


    Lord Farmer Hob¡­ I almost lose my breath and am thankful he continues talking so I can recover. Zoria and I glance at each other and then, as if stung, look away.


    ¡°What do you know?¡± he hisses, while climbing to his feet and shedding his cowl with a snap of cloth.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± I say.


    ¡°Liars! All hobgoblins of this valley are lairs, and untrustworthy.¡± He shakes his head while storming away from the firelight.


    ¡°Name your elders,¡± I whisper, desperate to avoid bloodshed. With him close, I am certain the lurking goblins won¡¯t risk attack, well that is my theory and hope.


    Without turning to face me, he rattles them off. ¡°Rexon, Xegok, Dexeg, Gexazek and Jenat, the original five appointed by Lord Farmer Hob.¡±


    ¡°Lord Farmer Hob appointed each of them only after he broke Jotor, the Head Goblin of the Farmers for betrayal. As you say, he hated betrayal most of all. I know little of their history except for their names and how they oversaw the fields granted to them. Except to say, he assigned Gexazek a virgin field and, through hard work and perseverance, excelled.¡± The last about Gexazek is guesswork. But if the legend venerated five, then all must have succeeded or near enough, so, over time, the telling of their deeds would have grown into success, as each goblin generation told the next. This is how legends worked, inconvenient detail, always the first casualty, something as a GPA I have witnessed across multiple planets, races, and cultures, and always the same. Therefore, five names, five successes. If there were four names, then the fifth failed badly enough to be dropped from the legend. This is a goblin legend specifically about success, skill, and triumph. Whether they realise it, their food growing nurtured the start of goblin and hobgoblin civilisation.


    Silence. Then the level of rustling from leaves grows above that due solely to a simple wind shift. With my night vision, I spot twenty, possibly thirty goblins, male, female, and children edging their way forward from behind our host. I assume similar numbers from the other directions.


    His voice calls to me. ¡°The legends say the High Priestess of Klug struck all memory of Jotor, the Head Goblin of the Farmers from existence, his name never to be spoken of again under threat of death. His death well before the conquering of the valley by her son, Klugrath the Vanquisher, and the beginning of their subjugation of and preaching into other valleys. So, an ancient secret of Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s valley, which few would know to tell others.¡± His face whips around. Across the campfire, flames dance in his eyes as he stares up at mine. ¡°How does a hobgoblin know of the breaking of Jotor?¡±


    She would do that, I guess. Rexa hated him, and she would hold a grudge, although wiping his name from history was an extreme and spiteful measure. Still, this goblin is waiting for an answer and all I have is Milga Stone Blood. She always planned to leave the valley and I can only hope she succeeded beyond all expectations and established her own colony.


    ¡°I was born into Milga Stone Blood¡¯s settlement. They tell the correct history of Lord Farmer Hob, so none will forget.¡±


    Gentle humming issues from between their lips and all the goblins surge forward. Izga and Zoria turn to me, and I reply with a curt shake of my head. They flow around my wives, who may as well be tree trunks, obstacles in the way, no more. I unfold my arms to free my hands as the mass centres upon me. In reverent turns, they lay their hands upon me and withdraw to allow others to do the same. At the end, our host meets me eye to eye while laying his hands upon my chest, over my heart, lingering, possibly contemplating, and then steps back. All the other goblins by then have retreated into the dark while Izga and Zoria, with weapons still sheathed, once again standalone.


    ¡°We honour the sacrifice of your mother¡¯s mother. While I doubted you, others felt a kinship which you have proven by words. The first-born hobgoblins from Milga Stone Blood¡¯s settlement would have cost their goblin mother their lives. A necessary sacrifice if the Klugites are ever to be stopped.¡±


    I am taken aback, as I don¡¯t deserve their sincere sympathy. I am fake. All I can reply with is a thank you while my mind shifts to escape the guilt, dwelling instead on his last sentence. Has the birthing of hobgoblins become the de facto arms race where goblin mothers pay the ultimate price or once paid the price? Whatever has changed to give them a chance of surviving I welcome, otherwise, I will forever be the reason for this waste of life. How many mothers have I indirectly slain?


    ¡°What of the females with you?¡±


    His curious question brings me back to the present. ¡°What of them?¡±


    His head tilts slightly, questioning perhaps? ¡°Ask them to kneel before the campfire, please.¡±


    I don¡¯t see I have much of a choice and here I was thinking I had gained their trust, and we were all friends¡­ I wave Zoria and Izga closer to the campfire and by design position them in front of me resting a hand on each of their shoulders. A shuffling noise alerts us to a new arrival, a bent-over elder crone of a goblin, milk-white eyes needing to lean on a gnarled wooden staff after each step. All remain quiet in her presence and time passes slowly until she faces Izga. Her head moving up and then down as if her eyes functioned, but how could they?


    She grapples for one of Izga¡¯s hands. I feel Izga wince and then observe an ooze of black blood leaking from her thumb. The crone licks the thumb and takes a deep breath. Her body shivers while her head lolls about upon her shoulders. In a hoarse voice, she declares, ¡°This one is of this valley, a mixture of many bloodlines. Ha!¡± She shakes her head once and then tastes Izga¡¯s fresh blood again. ¡°Her strongest linage is of Relentless, yet also Keen Eye, and now diluted to unimportance. Common, because she is a bred spy of The Eater Clan, like her mother before her.¡± She licks her lips and draws Izga¡¯s blood a third time. ¡°Yet her blood is strong, tasty.¡± A long cheerful smile and she seems done. Then she sniffs, and crouching forward slightly, she sniffs again until her nose hovers over Izga¡¯s loins. She turns to face the shadows and says, ¡°I think her master knows this, as I smell his seed upon her.¡± While Izga wilts, the crone turns back to face her and reaches for her crotch and squeezes. I hear Izga whimper, yet she remains stoic, to avoid disgracing me. ¡°You are his common hobgoblin bitch, aren¡¯t you, young one, hoping to rise on his deeds and escape your unimportant linage?¡± She releases her grip and Izga exhales. ¡°Know your blood will always reveal you as common and no more.¡±


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    Salacious snickering laughter whispers over us. Izga¡¯s body slumps, her head down. How I wish I could comfort her, drag her up into my arms and tell her she is of worth. To keep the peace, all I can offer is a comforting rub and a squeeze of her shoulder. My inner Hob, though, rises, wishing to rip the old crone asunder. There is no explanation. Is he defending Izga? Does he consider the crone has denigrated my property and, hence, by association, me? I urge him to calm as there are too many goblins to defeat without loss and another the crone is determined to assess.


    She shuffles across to Zoria, nee Briksia.


    More prepared, Zoria endures the unnerving inspection and doesn¡¯t react when the crone stabs her thumb, yet the ceremony and theatrics are the same. I don¡¯t dismiss her blood tasting; goblin sense of smell is extremely sensitive, and it wouldn¡¯t be an enormous leap to assume their sense of taste is similar. Yet, surely some conclusions must be guesswork as much as mine were regarding the farming legend.


    ¡°Ah, yes, one of the first, a progeny of the three daughters and the three tribes we hail you.¡±


    Zoria tilts her head. ¡°The three daughters and the three tribes?¡±


    ¡°You only know your mother and father, I guess because to know anymore, as a hobgoblin, would be dangerous. The Klugites consider certain linages as proof of betrayal, others of disloyalty, subtle distinctions but the punishments differ, and their Priestess test all the hobgoblins they can. They aren¡¯t always at hand, so a hobgoblin¡¯s ignorance can delay their death. You, my dear they would sacrifice to Lord Klug.¡± The Crone casts a venomous look at Izga. ¡°She, they would try to recruit into their cult, like most of the impure hobgoblins in this valley.¡±


    She leaves off patting Zoria¡¯s hands and cracks a smile while looking about. I am certain her eyes can¡¯t see, but she completes her blind scan into the dark. ¡°For goblins, though, no one cares what we remember.¡±


    A sound wave of snickering rolls around us as a natural and perhaps well-practised ritual. My sight, though, reveals the goblins ¡°pass off¡± the snickering to the group beside them and so on, creating the effect.


    ¡°Can you tell me, please?¡± There is thick emotion in Zoria¡¯s voice, and I wonder why.


    The old crone squeezes Zoria¡¯s hand and, after a warm smile, speaks, ¡°The three daughters of Duzsia, Koria and Luda played a trick on Klugrath before he became Warrior Hob and earnt his despicable name.¡± The forest settles into silence as if listening as well. ¡°They challenged him to avenge the death of Koria Keen Eye, wife of Lord Farmer Hob, his father, by slaying goblins in the Southern Valley. Unknown to him, each daughter aligned with one of the three tribes there to incite his lust. He seeded all the females of the three goblin tribes he could find. Again, a trick, the daughters ensuring he would only find those goblins who were willing, as they convinced the elders of those tribes, they needed to birth stronger goblins and what better than to steal his seed? There wasn¡¯t enough to quell his lust, his loins proven as vigorous as his father¡¯s. Truly his father¡¯s son.¡± She pauses and we wait for what¡¯s next¡­ ¡°He seeded the three daughters as well, which they had no choice but to endure as no goblin, male or female, could stand before him and hope to defeat him. Yet, for all his faults, he felt a deep sense of guilt after laying with his half-sisters and he fled back to the Temple of Klug to escape them and his deed. While the tribal female goblins would birth goblins, the three daughters knew they would birth hobgoblins because although they were goblin in appearance, they were by birth half-hobgoblin, their father being Lord Farmer Hob himself. They knew.¡± She points to me. ¡°Like his mother¡¯s mother, they would die in childbirth. Yet their mentor tells them a deep secret, praise be to Zoria Oath Keeper, may none forget her name, venerated by all.¡±


    Repeatedly the entire gathering murmurs, ¡°Praise be to Zoria Oath Keeper.¡±


    Izga looks upon Zoria with awe, while I decide she has a bigger tale of her past to tell me.


    The crone raises her hands, and the chanting quietens. ¡°Zoria Oath Keeper shared the secret of Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s blood, not only favouring male children but also healing goblin mothers after hobgoblin childbirth.¡± Somehow the crone¡¯s eyes narrow as she studies Zoria¡¯s, well Briksia¡¯s, face. ¡°All the hobgoblin children of the three daughters have one unique trait from their father, thick strong tusks and you are no exception, yet you are more than you seem.¡± She blinks slowly and then shakes her head ever so gently and examines Zoria¡¯s face again. ¡°No, something in your blood addles me. Whatever I thought I saw, is now gone. I am tired, yes, that must be it.¡± She waves a hand at Zoria, shifting her body, preparing to leave, and then hesitates. She reaches for Zoria¡¯s thumb again and draws deeply until she appears catatonic.


    Her white eyes blink open. ¡°You, my dear, are a wonderful surprise, of the Southern Valley yes, yet not of Relentless, Unnamed or Keen Eye lineage. No dear, as much as your master¡¯s other bitch is low, you are of the highest high, Oath Keeper lineage. Know that this tribe will defend you to our last breath because any Klugite who finds you will peel the skin from your body over many days until the bliss of death takes you! For Zoria Oath Keeper, in their eyes, committed the ultimate betrayal by gifting others the sacred secret of Lord Hob¡¯s blood.¡± She shuffles away without speaking another word and, after a good while, disappears into the dark of the night.


    Under my hand, I feel Zoria shiver uncontrollably and I draw her to me, curling her around by the shoulder so I can see her face. She looks away. ¡°I am fine. Izga needs you now¡­¡±


    The goblins crowding us also retreat into the night. Our host tries to join them. I release Zoria, who darts away to guard the cut and place my hand on his shoulder. He jerks to a stop under my grip.


    ¡°What if I commanded the Clan Head to heed your advice on farming? Free those goblins willing to assist?¡±


    He spits on the ground. ¡°Your command will last until you leave and then we would return to be nothings. We survive on what you call beans and a white round dirt vegetable we dig up and try to spread where we can.¡±


    He stares at my hand on his shoulder, and I release my grip. He ambles away into the dark like the rest of his goblin tribe and we are alone. I grab for Izga, who tries to rise and flee to Zoria, thinking my release of the goblin provides her with the same opportunity. Crushing her struggles in my warm embrace, whispering sweet words of praise and comfort, her free-flowing tears represent emotional release. Zoria returns to us and hugs her from behind. Izga¡¯s hitching chest and weeping continue. I have an idea that could help her, yet I must remain silent while within the range of goblin ears, so all I can tell her, again and again, is nothing has changed between us.


    Zoria leaves us to check the surroundings, while I continue to nurse a sobbing Izga. Through all this, Nudia remains. Is this because she is a loyal or sworn servant, or does she need something from me and is determined to wait forever if necessary?


    The Crone¡¯s last words need explaining and since Nudia waits with endless patience, perhaps I can extract some knowledge from her? Over Izga¡¯s shoulder I ask my goblin servant a question, ¡°Nudia, where does your tribe hail from?¡±


    She smiles. ¡°Will I be able to stay in your cottage overnight if I tell you?¡±


    I contemplate beating the answer out of her, except my standing as a hobgoblin birth mother killer would probably take a hit, so I must give in. I close my eyes and nod.


    ¡°We are all descendants of the Daughter of the Matriarch¡¯s Colony. Do you know who the Matriarch was?¡±


    I do, of course, but I shake my head as I need the updated legend-based history lesson.


    ¡°The tales say the Matriarch united the remaining goblin tribes in the valley and in a great host, they attacked the army of the High Priestess, yet on the verge of victory they suffered defeat. A loud horn blast sounded and from between the opening gates of Head Village, Klugrath, as the Warrior Hob strode forth in the Great Armour and vanquished all who stood before him. The tribes retreated but couldn¡¯t escape because the High Priestess¡¯ army divided before the first battle, half as a rearguard slowly retreating to Head Village, playing for time while the other half hid amongst the forest along the southern river. With perfect timing, this second half crept into the hills behind the combined tribal army and prepared an ambush, to slay or capture those defeated trying to retreat or, if by some miracle they won, to crush them when most would flush with victory and at ease. Why do I tell you this, you ask?¡±


    She smiles and looks at me with the delight of knowing a secret and pausing for suspense. I shrug.


    ¡°To show the insight of the Matriarch. Her daughter, now of age, prepared the Grim Weavers to resist if the worst happened. She prepared refuges and food caches in the Grim Weavers'' tribal lands. She gathered any survivors from the battle and from other tribes when attacked to rally them in their tribal forest lands. The search and destroy mission by the High Priestess¡¯ army was long and bitter with many casualties. Upon finding an enclave of females, her son, overcome by lust, seeded every female present, including the Matriarch¡¯s daughter by Lord Farmer Hob, another half-sister. When drawn away with his troops by another battle, she rallied all the survivors and, with no other choice, heroically leads them onto the Plains and, after many close calls, reaches the Southern Valley to warn them of the coming doom. She tells them that Klugrath, now Warrior Hob, will seed any female he can, as he has with her and those females with her, to raise the babes as fanatical Klugites. Praise be to Zoria Oath Keeper. They tell her of Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s blood and provide her with a sample which she must grow in volume. She leads her survivors and some from the valley as far south as seven months¡¯ travel will take them, settling in a near-empty valley to give birth to her hobgoblin son.¡±


    She finishes spreading her hands open like a performance ending.


    ¡°So why did your tribe leave the Daughter¡¯s valley?¡±


    She kicks at the ground and sways. ¡°Our elders say we were searching for someone in particular and thought in this valley we would find him. Instead, enslavement and then being shunned were our rewards.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± I ask. Oh, why did I ask? It is late and we all need sleep¡­


    ¡°A male hobgoblin with proven lust haze, who will seed us¡­¡± Her eyes scan my body from bottom to top.


    ¡°Why? You aren¡¯t half hobgoblin.¡±


    ¡°Well, yes, we are. What you don¡¯t know is that Xorbrim, son of Zoria Oath Keeper, is our forefather,¡± she says, bursting with pride. ¡°Why do you think us so prideful and unbent by those who would suppress us? We are of the Oath Keeper line and will never die easy, which is why we don¡¯t sulk like the goblin curs of this valley. We find our own food, keep our strength hidden.¡±


    I glance at Zoria and catch her wiping tears from her eyes. My movement stirs Izga, who leaves my embrace to comfort Zoria, I suspect. Fortunately, Nudia¡¯s wide-open eyes are only for me, seeming to suggest she just realised she said too much to a hobgoblin.


    ¡°If, for example, I agree, you will all die in childbirth¡­ erm like my mother¡¯s mother,¡± I add. I shake my head. ¡°I couldn¡¯t bear such a catastrophe.¡±


    Her arms wrap around my waist. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t say, yet because of the tragedy of your birth, I must. Upon the birth of a female goblin in our tribe, their mother must grow from her own supply, another portion of Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s blood. If fate blesses her daughter in the future to carry a Hob babe, she will live beyond childbirth.¡±


    I gulp. Two things. The first is a misunderstanding of mine. Her wide eyes were of hope and the second, an impossibility, my blood has become an archaic childbirth potion. They must feed the nanorobots somehow to make them multiple with volume, and this becomes a dowry of sorts with the technique taught from mother to daughter. The sole purpose of which is to birth more hobgoblins than the High Priestess of Klug and her cult to prepare for a great battle yet to come. Even Klugrath seeding the southern valley was preparation, goblins to give birth to other goblins with the hobgoblin gene, set like a time bomb to birth hobgoblins even if the mother must die doing so. Eventually, the two populations will meet. This is a mess¡­


    Her head continues to rest against my chest. ¡°Please Lord Klar, I beg you, my tribe begs you¡­ we need the one for all of us, so we can maintain our lineage.¡±


    Zoria and Izga wrap me in their embrace as well. Zoria, with tearing eyes, kisses my cheek, while Izga pats both of our heads. I sigh in defeat. Zoria and Izga kiss me, lingering, passionate kisses, which Nudia doesn¡¯t notice, yet hears and looks up.


    ¡°Does this mean yes, Lord Klar?¡±


    I want to scream as I don¡¯t understand why Zoria and especially Izga support this craziness. ¡°This means yes.¡±


    ¡°We are ready.¡± She takes my hand and tries to lead me elsewhere. I stand my ground.


    ¡°Now?¡± I shake my head. ¡°It is late. Wouldn¡¯t tomorrow night be better?¡±


    ¡°No, Lord Klar, now, we beg you to seed us now. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?¡± She waves her hand, and my eyes follow. A short distance away is another campfire and multiple goblin in size shadows move about.


    Why me? I bury my face in my hands. Am I trying to hide? She tugs at my arm. I rub my eyes and growl in futile defiance.


    ¡°Lead on,¡± I say.


    We arrive at the next campfire, which Nudia throws dirt upon to extinguish. Beyond is another hedge, and she leads us through a discrete cut away. Within, a blanket spread surrounds a low campfire. Cosy. Duzsia and Izga stand guard at the entrance, now stuffed with freshly cut brush. Nudia shimmies out of her shift and lays down on the blanket and pats a space beside her. I take one last look at my wives and join Nudia. Once I am standing beside her, several female goblins, all naked, join us, removing my armour piece by piece.


    I release myself fully to my inner Hob. The carnal haze is healthy for my sanity as the faces and deeds done to their bodies by me blend with minimal individual recollection.

 2.020 Bait

    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I startle awake because of the sharp sounds of birds chirping and a cool breeze caressing my naked loins. My bedding is at least clean or clean looking. My armour and weapons are in a neat pile nearby and hedges hide me from casual observation. So far, so good.


    Where are my wives? I dress myself and as I lash and tie the throngs of each piece of armour in place, my anger grows. Kicking through the wilting brush gate, I stomp off into the forest. Mid-morning would be my guess, given the length of tree shade, therefore late.


    Each step takes time and allows me to think as my throat runs dry. I stop and take a huge swig of water from one of several water skins I found with my armour and strung across my shoulder. Where am I going and why? I throw my head back and finish the first water skin. What would storming into the Clan village achieve? Yelling and demanding¡­ My wives would not have left me without covering for me. I upend the second water skin and drink. The village isn¡¯t the proper destination, nor the new farming land, otherwise, I would be there already, first thing, like yesterday and the day before that, after breaking my fast at sunrise. No, I must have decided something else was more important and delegated my wives to supervise the planting¡­


    ¡°Nudia,¡± I call.


    I guess she would be the only one my wives would trust as a go-between and since I attended to her entire tribe last night, there would be a more than decent chance that I have some favours owed to me.


    ¡°Yes, master?¡±


    I locate her by listening, easing her way through a tangle of brush off to my right. An exaggerated delicate hand push against a branch here, then an overly generous sway of the body around another branch there, all in slow noise-making motion¡­ What is going on with her?


    ¡°What did my wives tell you to tell me?¡±


    She flicks her eyelids and places a hand on her heart. ¡°Do you think they would trust me with such secrets?¡± She giggles.


    I grab her by her linen shift and growl, ¡°I am not in the mood for games.¡±


    She dangles limp and unrepentant. Her bright morning smile irritating in the extreme. Is she drunk or something? Her hands reach for my neck, while her head strives towards mine.


    ¡°Stop this!¡±


    ¡°Is your seed special or every hobgoblin¡¯s seed special?¡± She quirks her head, goofy smile in place.


    ¡°The message?¡±


    She shrugs.


    ¡°Which way to the river?¡± With nothing else to guide me, I believe the easiest thing to do is capitalise on some boar hunting and stir up trouble.


    She rolls her head about, which eventually settles in a direction, pointing this out with a limp hand.


    I lower her to the ground. Her body is jelly, boneless, and sways.


    ¡°I was greedy.¡± She giggles.


    I release my grip on her shift when she seems stable. ¡°How so?¡± Don¡¯t ask me why I asked her. All I have is an urge to return a polite conversational response, a throwaway question not expecting an answer.


    She giggles again. ¡°You took me three times, Lord, filled me right up to overflowing. You did every...¡±


    My hand is over her mouth before she can finish. Dropping my hand and taking a step away, I pause and then shake my head at her lidded eyes and flirtatious dreamy smile. What is done, is done, I decide. I half sprint, half jog away from her in the direction she pointed to. Middle of the afternoon I hear the tumbling of water through the forest and hurry, eager to cool myself and drink fresh running water. My nanorobots still crave replenishing after last night; no, this morning¡¯s activity. How many did I service?


    ---


    ¡°I am better now,¡± I say to myself out loud.


    Loincloth only, my bare feet cool in the running water and my nanorobots feast. There is also a secondary purpose, my appearance of vulnerability, deliberate, as I am trying to attract a certain prey. Nudia¡¯s appearance beside me is a surprise. When I left her, she could have easily bumped into a tree and knocked herself out before doing anything sane.


    ¡°Are you here to assist or annoy?¡±


    She snuggles against me. ¡°I apologise, master, except your seed is¡­¡± I feel her head do circles on my arm. ¡°Is wonderful. We convinced the old crone to sample some, and she keeled over, her eyes wide open. We thought her dead and then she demanded more¡­ Her son, the one you met at the campfire, was called to drag her away.¡±


    Oh sheet, now what has my seed started, or to be more exact, the nanorobots contained within?


    ¡°Start skinning my boar.¡±


    She separates from me and looks about. ¡°I don¡¯t see or smell one Lord, also, even if I did, I don¡¯t know how.¡±


    ¡°Fetch my boots. I guess we will have to hunt for one¡­¡± My broad smirk is a reward in itself.


    ¡°Does that mean you forgive me?¡± Her pleading eyes look into mine once she stands.


    ¡°Possibly. Depends on how well you act as bait.¡±


    She fetches my boots. ¡°How? I won¡¯t attract boars, master, will I?¡±


    Grabbing the pair, I add them to my cloak, currently full of my weapons and armour, and tie a knot by gathering the four corners together. I shove the bundle into her arms and scoping her up; I stand and begin fording the river barefoot, wearing a loincloth.


    ¡°Lord, please don¡¯t drop me. I¡­ I will drown. Please don¡¯t let me drown. I carry your valuable seed, your future lineage, your hobgoblin child.¡±


    I could reply, suggesting, for example, the fertile females of her entire tribe do, and losing one is probably insignificant. I remain silent initially because I want to avoid any conversation as I am uncertain of her state of mind, but then I think of another reason: I don¡¯t want to know how many goblins I seeded, how many sons and daughters I have conceived.


    Middle of the river, I place her upon my shoulders, the depth eventually reaching below my nose before reducing and we are across. Perfect. There will be no quick retreat, anyone can trap us. How could I make such a basic mistake? I shiver, of course, yet the sun¡¯s warmth is pleasant and fast-acting as a gentle breeze dries off my body before the wind chill becomes a significant factor.


    Plucking her off my shoulders, I then drop to my haunches and look into her eyes. ¡°I need you to trust me.¡± She slowly nods. ¡°To hobgoblins, you are worthless, so if, by chance, one captures you, don¡¯t resist.¡± She nods again. ¡°I promise to rescue you if need be, but I am certain it won¡¯t come to that. They will ask you to say and possibly do things, do them. Nothing you do will place me in any more danger than I place myself.¡±


    ¡°Master?¡±


    I take my cloak bundle from her. ¡°Remember, you are bait, nothing more. Do nothing more. Now run through the forest nearby and try to find me a boar.¡±


    ¡°Master?¡±


    I undo the knot and release my armour and weapons. ¡°You feel stronger, faster now? More than yesterday?¡±


    She grins and twists her body slightly. ¡°Yessss, my wonderful master.¡±


    ¡°Well. Let us test this out. Off you go then.¡±


    She dashes off and then halts before entering the brush proper, taking a long look back at me. Her threadbare shift flapping in the breeze as if waving goodbye. I armour up as I hear her yell and crash through the forest in an ever-widening semi-circle from my position. I chuckle. This will probably chase any boars further away if they don¡¯t simply ignore her, yet she isn¡¯t a bait for boars.


    Blowing on the fire pit embers to make them glow, my head looks up when her yelping stops. Contact then, and I am sprinting along the river shore.


    ¡°Master! Help! I am trapped! Please come quick.¡±


    Her ever-increasing semi-circle accustomed me to distance and direction. I am reasonably confident I can run along the river and circle wide to approach her captors from the landward side. This should avoid any ambush set for someone rushing in from the riverward side, which is my ideal goal.


    ¡°Master! Help! I am trapped! Please come quick.¡±


    This will rely on speed. I must arrive before they suspect I either have no interest in their goblin captive, a very reasonable assumption for a hobgoblin or worse, I am playing a trick of some sort, which I am. With my nanorobots sated by water, my body rejuvenated by rest, I push myself to an athletic extreme¡­


    ¡°Master! Help! I am trapped! Please come quick.¡±


    Her voice is also a measure of distance. The closer I am, the easier to hear and the more cautious I approach, exchanging speed for stealth.


    ¡°What was that?¡±


    Laughter. ¡°Probably all the game, which her yelling and stomping disturbed before we caught her,¡± replies a second.


    ¡°Master! Help! I am trapped! Please come quick.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, he will approach from the river,¡± says a third.


    I creep forward.


    ¡°Master! Help! I am trapped! Please come quick.¡±


    ¡°He isn¡¯t coming, she is worthless to him,¡± the first grumbles.


    ¡°Maybe he isn¡¯t as dumb as we think. He stalks forward rather than crashing through the brush¡­¡±


    Laughter.


    ¡°A town hobgoblin? A youth at that?¡± offers a fourth voice.


    ¡°Well, he slew and captured boar two days running.¡± Back to the first voice.


    They have set up well. Nudia, legs and arms are bound, tied to a stake in the ground in the middle of a game trail. A hobgoblin watches her and is also the rear guard. Another hunter positions himself further along, on my left-hand side if charging in from the river. Then further along again, where the game trail curves, waits another hobgoblin on either side, with bows ready for an opening volley after I dash past them. All hidden from anyone approaching from the riverside direction with eyes forward.


    The rearguard has my dagger around his throat before he realises much else. ¡°Quiet or death?¡±


    He swallows with a gulp. I feel like asking them to ¡®take me to their leader¡¯, but I fear the meaning of my request would be lost in translation. I drag him back out of his cover and then nudge him forward, towards Nudia. Her ears, of course, have heard my words to my prisoner, so she keeps yelling as per their instructions.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    I cut the leather cord tying Nudia to the stake while hiding behind my prisoner, who I have forced into a crouching position. I hold his dagger steady in my left hand while she saws at the leather cord binding her hands.


    ¡°What are you doing there, Gorgrin¡­ what the!¡± He leaps from the cover spear at the ready. ¡°Zolag and Zorg, we have company.¡±


    Nudia¡¯s hands are free, and I leave her with the dagger and pay more attention to the three now gathering before me. Zolag and Zorg, mm, twins? They have their bows drawn at me, yet Gorgrin, bless his generous girth, easily shields my slim, youthful body from them. The spear-carrier tries to edge off the game trail.


    ¡°Stay on the trail, otherwise Gorgrin here will bleed.¡±


    ¡°Stay behind me, slave. Use your ears. Any others?¡±


    Nudia casts me a venomous look, and then I grin. Her face transforms, and a knowing look rolls down her face.


    ¡°No master, this pathetic slave can hear no others, except a distant boar rutting.¡± Her rutting comment and salacious grin are a return serve for my slave remark, and I need to stifle a chuckle. Her legs are free, and she holds the dagger as if trained to use the weapon, although more of a sword stance. I shake my head and because of her fumbling act, the weapon falls to the ground, which she then picks up awkwardly.


    ¡°Stab your master and we will free you,¡± shouts the spear-carrier.


    I sigh in his direction, and he shrugs in reply. ¡°Is there anyone important I can discuss a deal with, negotiate terms?¡±


    ¡°We are Clan Beastbane snotling, we don¡¯t gather for an evening to chat about our day, we hunt for days on end and return when our sacks are full of game and not before.¡±


    I whisper to my captive, ¡°Is he the smart one?¡± I then say aloud, ¡°I am certainly feeling less of a hobgoblin now given your scathing description of me, so well done to you. Now, who can I speak to?¡±


    The twins release the tension on their bows and chuckle.


    ¡°Shut up you two,¡± shouts the spear-carrier, turning his head towards them. ¡°You do better if you think you can.¡±


    I whisper again, ¡°I could remove him from your clan, so his seed doesn¡¯t spread to infect others. Simply nod and I will throw your dagger at his ear, which he kindly shows me.¡±


    His head shakes once. ¡°He is Clan Head Jarlgren¡¯s son, Morgren. I doubt the Clan Head will suffer your existence if you slay him.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± I let his dagger fly.


    Morgren staggers and stares back at me and then collapses.


    ¡°Sheet!¡± shouts the twins in unison as they rush over to Morgren.


    ¡°Is he still alive?¡± I ask. ¡°I am counting on him having a thick skull to go along with his dull brain.¡±


    Their heads bob up and down, and their faces display an extreme amount of relief, to the point they fall back on their bottoms, wiping their brows.


    ¡°What are they doing? Why aren¡¯t they at least pretending to guard against me?¡±


    ¡°If you take their lives, their deaths would probably be fast, clean. His father would skin them alive if they died while under their protection.¡±


    That seems a more than adequate answer, I decide.


    ¡°Why are you being so informative?¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°I am one of the many bastards of Jarlgren. I hoped to rise when he does.¡± He nods in Morgren¡¯s direction. ¡°But alas, I doubt my chances if a whelp, such as yourself, can outsmart the four of us.¡±


    ¡°Slave, bind his arms and legs.¡±


    ¡°Master?¡±


    I go to kick Nudia but miss deliberately, of course. ¡°Stand still when I need to punish you for disobedience!¡± I growl.


    She dances away, a leather cord in her hands towards Morgren. Zolag and Zorg lean forward, I assume, trying to stand.


    ¡°Sit back, both of you.¡±


    They frown. Wondering what I can do to stop them from grabbing my slave and threatening me with her death or offering her in exchange for Gorgrin. Then it occurs to me, could ¡®gren¡¯ apply to legitimate sons, while ¡®grin¡¯ to bastards. Just need confirmation now.


    ¡°If you capture her, you will need to kill her, because I won¡¯t surrender my position for her. Just pissed off, as I will need to purchase and train another goblin slave,¡± I say. They relax.


    Once bound, Nudia skips back to me. ¡°Did I do good master? Did I?¡± I try to kick her again, without success. ¡°Aw, master, I deserve encouragement, at least sometimes¡­¡± She drops her bottom lip.


    My prisoner turns his head towards me slightly. ¡°Are you certain you trained her, right?¡±


    ¡°It is a fine line. Train them only to obey and they do nothing unless you tell them directly. Offer them some latitude and with the sass comes some independent thought.¡±


    ¡°Zolag and Zorg, make a stretcher for Morgren, please.¡±


    They stare back at me, so I explain the construction. By the time they finish, Morgen murmurs and rolls about, eyes blinking. Before he even tries to struggle against his bonds, I tell him to stop. Zolag and Zorg shift him onto the stretcher.


    ¡°Can I trust you not to do anything stupid? In exchange, if I make a deal with Jarlgren, I will cut you in as best I can. I don¡¯t know him, so I don¡¯t want to offer you anything without limits.¡±


    Gorgrin doesn¡¯t answer for a time as we watch the twins gather weapons and backpacks and place them on the stretcher as well.


    ¡°You are not who you seem, are you?¡±


    ¡°Of course, I am,¡± I reply.


    During his thinking time, his head was down, ever so slightly. I glance around his body and at his face and follow his eyes. He has been watching Nudia all this time.


    ¡°You are not her master. She is your willing, perhaps wilful servant. Perhaps does more on chilly nights¡­¡±


    Nudia¡¯s head snaps around to catch us both staring at her. ¡°What master? I am busy helping you with your grand plan. See, I help load the stretcher.¡±


    ¡°The offer still stands, although if you harm her, you will find out about the depth of our relationship,¡± I murmur.


    ¡°In that case, I not only agree to accept your offer but also swear blood oath loyalty to you,¡± he grunts.


    Blood oath loyalty¡­ What is that? Do I ask?


    ¡°Zolag and Zorg, over here,¡± he calls. To me, he whispers, ¡°Release me please and return my dagger.¡±


    Nudia looks my way and I nod. He takes a sidestep as Nudia places his dagger in his hand, handle first. An answer to his questioning look can come later.


    ¡°I have agreed to swear a blood oath loyalty to¡­?¡±


    ¡°Lord Klar,¡± answers Nudia.


    He smiles at her. ¡°To Lord Klar and I wish for you to bear witness, I do this of my own free will.¡±


    In unison, the twins shake their heads. ¡°Jarlgren, won¡¯t be pleased. While he doesn¡¯t treasure his bastards like his acknowledged sons, he could still acknowledge you, given time. Are you certain you wish to bind your fate to this youth?¡±


    ¡°There are several bastards older than me and several bastards younger than me. Above all Clan Heads, this world blesses my father with sons. I am going nowhere waiting, so yes, I have agreed to bind my future to Lord Klar.¡±


    They snicker. ¡°Well, at least you know his reputation if you need any females seeded, although according to the stories I expected him to be¡­ erm, larger? Older? Anything but the hobgoblin standing before us.¡±


    Nudia¡¯s face twists and before she voices her opinion in my defence, I reach out to slap her. Which she dodges.


    ¡°I am decided. I just need you to bear witness.¡±


    They each lay a hand on his shoulder and murmur agreement.


    Gorgrin slices across the palm of his hand to draw blood, and I follow his lead. His hand, larger than mine, swallows mine in a firm grip. Our handshake ¡®hangs¡¯ for an awkward amount of time as he tries to best me without success. I apply enough strength to match his only and even this surprises him. Then we release, no words exchanged, simply a witnessed mixing of blood and we are done.


    ¡°Grab the stretcher and lead on Zolag and Zorg,¡± I say.


    As they hoist the stretcher, Morgren speaks. ¡°You are a fool, Gorgrin. Our father will not be pleased and look at what you have bound yourself to and who you now call your Lord. Gorgrin!¡±


    My blood oath-bound partner ignores his half-brother. With a furrowed brow, he concentrates on placing one foot after the other. I glance at Nudia, and she places a hand over her mouth. I have shared seed and blood with female hobgoblins and goblins. Without knowing I shared seed with one hobgoblin, but Gorgrin, I am certain, is the first hobgoblin I have shared blood with.


    The twins lower the stretcher and swap facing. Morgren now looks ahead, not behind. He complains and subject Zolag and Zorg to cursing and threats which they ignore and continue. We climb into forested foothills by the end of a long day and call a halt before dusk. Nudia races to collect firewood, while Zolag and Zorg fish out cured meat and what I know as potatoes.


    Nudia takes over the cooking, surprising me as much as my willing and unwilling companions with the pleasant taste and solid consistency. With full stomachs, we swig water from waterskins and relax around a blazing campfire.


    ¡°Gorgrin, watch the twins and Morgren while I take my slave into the night and beat her for her insolence today.¡±


    ¡°Err, yes Lord.¡±


    Nudia and I reach the edge of the campfire when she stops. I take another step and turn to face her.


    ¡°Master, if you pound my loins senseless, I promise to be a better slave tomorrow!¡±


    I am speechless, as in no words. I go to shape my hands to throttle her and drop them, striding into the dark instead.


    ---


    ¡°Gorgrin, this is a mistake. Allow the twins to ambush him and his slave, free me and I will speak to father on your behalf.¡±


    ¡°I have sworn a blood oath of loyalty. If I break this, none in Clan Beastbane will trust me. Most will try to slay me on sight. There is nothing you or our father can offer to improve my situation. I am all in with Lord Klar. There is no turning back for me. You know this, why do you waste your breath?¡±


    Moments of silence pass by.


    ¡°I can¡¯t return to father like this. I will be a laughingstock. My brothers will remind me until the end of my days how a whelp captured me. And you two, why did you let this happen?¡±


    ¡°When he threw the dagger, we thought the worst, everything else unimportant¡­¡±


    ¡°No, no, no! You feared my father and the bringing of a corpse back to him. Instead, you bring a trussed-up son, like an animal, to be tamed. What would I give now to have simply ignored the mad yelling goblin¡­?¡±


    Gorgrin speaks up, ¡°Your younger half-brother Vormgren did.¡±


    ---


    ¡°They say no more, master.¡±


    I kiss Nudia on her forehead and suffer her pouting. ¡°Let us return. I wonder how I can free Morgren yet trust him not to do something stupid?¡±


    ¡°He seems slow for a Clan Head¡¯s son¡­¡±


    ¡°There was a younger half-brother who ignored you, which means, given our pace, he could be in ambush ahead of us, or, if smarter than Morgren raced ahead to ensure they gather sufficient numbers to overwhelm us. We must be on our guard from now on, slave.¡±


    As we approach the camp, Nudia comments, ¡°I could do with another pounding master. I am certain to misbehave in the future and if you are dead, you won¡¯t be able to punish me.¡±


    Gorgrin almost loses his balance he is laughing so hard. The twins gaze at Nudia and I, dumbfounded as we close in on the camp. I take a spot around the campfire and get comfortable. Nudia leaps into my lap, curling up like a pet.


    ¡°Zolag and Zorg, what can I make Morgren swear upon so that if I free him, he won¡¯t do anything stupid to force me to kill him?¡±


    ¡°Nothing Lord Klar. Blood Oath Loyalty is absolute. Anything less depends on honour.¡±


    Morgren growls under his breath, ¡°Do you doubt my honour? I will swear to you, Lord Klar, I will not break any peace with you until after you have spoken to my father.¡±


    ¡°Zolag and Zorg, do I have to bind you both tonight? Or will you swear to act with honour? If attacked by anything, I think we would all be safer with your bows.¡±


    ¡°We swear to keep the peace and defend the camp, Lord Klar.¡±


    ¡°Good. Please take the first watch and last watch. Gorgrin can take second, while I will take third. Ensure the campfire remains alight throughout the night.¡±


    Nudia bounces up from my lap and rushes to our bedroll, holding up a blanket to allow me to settle in with ease. Without checking, I am certain four sets of hobgoblin eyes look on with distasteful envy. How could any proper hobgoblin invite a goblin into their bed?


    ---


    ¡°They approach, master.¡±


    Pre-dawn. So predictable.


    ¡°At least ten, master,¡± whispers Nudia.


    ¡°Have you been wishing beyond hope, while awake, in your dreams for better hearing, my slave?¡±


    ¡°Yes, master.¡± A sniff.


    ¡°At least ten? Is that the best you can do?¡±


    ¡°They are stealthy for hobgoblins, master. Clan Beastbane hunters, I am certain.¡±


    I pat her head. ¡°Alright, sneak close to Morgren. Cut his bindings and ensure you keep a dagger to his throat.¡±


    ¡°Yes, master, I created a hide amongst the backpacks near his neck and head while you were on watch.¡±


    I pat her head again. As she slinks off, circling Zolag or Zorg, I wait to be captured.


    ---


    The cold steel slides across my throat and I remain perfectly still.


    ¡°Wake up or never wake up,¡± growls my assailant.


    ¡°Hello,¡± I answer with a chirp in my voice. ¡°My name is Lord Klar. What would your name be?¡±


    ¡°Clan Head Jarlgren and you have held my son captive for one heartbeat too long.¡±


    I ease myself into a standing position. Two other hobgoblins grab an arm each and I join Gorgrin, Zolag and Zorg, who stand in a group looking down upon Morgren. Six hunter hobgoblins stand beside us, Jarlgren off to one side, while three others stand in the shadow beyond the campfire light. What do we have to fear here, I wonder?


    ¡°Stand, son, and greet your father,¡± says Jarlgren.


    ¡°Not just yet, father.¡±


    ¡°What? Are you injured? I will flay this Lord Klar alive if¡­¡±


    ¡°No father, I have a dagger point in my ear! One thrust and I fear for my life.¡±


    His voice cracks¡­ Did Nudia draw some blood? I put my hand up¡­ slowly.


    Jarlgren notices and turns to face me. ¡°What do you know?¡±


    ¡°I need you to swear on your honour that you will hear out a proposal I have for you. After which, well, I guess, we can renegotiate?¡±


    ¡°If I swear this, you swear to remove the knife from my son?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°What if I decide here and now, to slay you, accepting the loss of one of my many sons and perhaps legitimising Gorgrin to replace him?¡±


    ¡°That is your choice. My offer has no value to you until you have heard it, so I will accept my fate because I judged the great Clan Head Jarlgren poorly.¡±


    He strokes his chin. ¡°Clan Head Zinmog doesn¡¯t speak highly of you. Clan Head Krilzak believes you have swindled him in some way, yet is hard-pressed to prove what he feels in his very bones is true.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe Clan Head Jarlgren gives a cured hide toss what other Clan Heads think or believe. He makes up his own mind based upon his own judgement.¡±


    His smile is predatory, teeth just so, eyes piercing, lining up the kill¡­


    ¡°I swear on my honour to hear out your proposal for the freedom and life of my son,¡± he states. Looking around, he then adds, ¡°You of my personal hunt will all bear witness and attest to my part.¡±


    They grunt in unison, and then he flashes me a fake welcoming smile. I think I prefer the predatory one. I expect to be eaten with that one and can prepare. What does a fake welcome mean?


    ¡°Slave, drop the dagger and join your master.¡±


    Morgren jumps away from the backpacks and races to his feet while back-peddling from the stretcher. I feel Nudia hug me, her arms around my waist, clinging, yet her eyes are down, and she is silent, not a quip or a single word from her.


    Clan Head Jarlgren takes a step back and then, recovering in a split heartbeat, returns to his original position. ¡°You have a pest with you?¡± he growls, his eyes squinting.


    ¡°What you call pest, I call cook, foot warmer, footrest, campsite attendant, decoy, bait¡­¡± I pause. ¡°I am certain there are more uses, but they escape me for now.¡±


    He interrupts his look of disgust to check on his son, who keeps glancing at my pet pest, off and on from afar.

 2.021 A Win-Win Proposal

    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°What are you doing over there?¡± growls his father.


    There is some cautious shuffling and skirting of the camp and shortly after, Morgren stands beside, yet slightly behind his father. An apologetic nodding from son to father finishes the reunion, much to my amusement, which I keep to myself.


    Jarlgren folds his arms and rocks back on his heels. ¡°As promised, I will now hear your proposal.¡± Three of his personal hunt face me, while another three, position themselves behind me. It is at this point, that Gorgrin steps between two of his former Clan Head¡¯s personal hunt to join me, back-to-back.


    ¡°Gorgrin?¡± I hear the questioning and sense of betrayal in Clan Head Jarlgren¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Yes, father,¡± Morgren chirps like a fool. ¡°Your bastard has sworn blood oath loyalty to this young Lord.¡±


    ¡°Quiet Morgren. Gorgrin, is this true?¡±


    ¡°Yes, father. Zolag and Zorg bore witness to my free will.¡±


    Jarlgren¡¯s eyes fall heavy upon Morgren, and I sense the question he craves to ask dies on his lips because the answer would probably yield embarrassment instead of clarity.


    Our camp rests on a modest knoll, with a mix of clearing, light forest, and heavy forest all around. With the rising sun behind them, another Clan Beastbane group, their leather hunters garb, long knives, and bows a match for the Clan Head¡¯s personal hunt attire, lope through the long grass towards us. What will this arrival add to the mix? The Clan Head¡¯s widening smile and Morgren¡¯s slumping posture suggest a great deal.


    One of the six raises his hand. ¡°Father!¡±


    Jarlgren glances at Morgren but again doesn¡¯t ask, which means this newcomer must be a specific younger half-brother.


    ¡°Welcome Vormgren,¡± says Jarlgren.


    After embracing his father, he embraces Morgren. ¡°Good to see you alive, brother. I contemplated a rescue but decided given your captors were heading deeper into father¡¯s lands, he would be better able to intercept and plan your freedom.¡±


    ¡°Yes, thank you brother, your instincts are remarkable.¡±


    With an arm around each of their shoulders, Jarlgren says, ¡°As promised, I will now hear your proposal.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Clan Head. Once we return to your steading and I am well-rested, I am certain I can present my proposal and answer any of your questions in the best possible way.¡±


    His face drops while he clears his throat. A frown. He is considering what he can say to demand a resolution now. Perhaps he is shy about inviting strangers into his home?


    ¡°You will say your proposal now or never.¡±


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°I have returned your son to you. Should I have held him indefinitely?¡± As he is about to open his mouth to speak, I continue, ¡°I thought to build trust between us, so I released him immediately into your care upon your arrival.¡± Opening my hands, I try to project a kind face. ¡°I know a father¡¯s love for his son is endless and separation would have weighed heavily upon you.¡±


    He grunts and glances at Morgren, his jaw shifting as if trying to dislodge a foul taste.


    ¡°Same goes for my proposal. If poorly presented, you could reject my plan and your sworn oath doesn¡¯t carry beyond that point, which means you could simply slaughter me. I must be able to prepare and present the best version of my proposal, especially since I now have two other lives who rely upon me.¡±


    Morgren¡¯s eyes go wide with wonder. My audacity? Vormgren schools his reaction, yet the corners of his mouth rise slightly, perhaps in appreciation of my argument. My attempt to stay alive for a while longer, to the annoyance of his raging father.


    Jarlgren covers nothing up! ¡°Clan Head Krilzak is correct. I feel as if I have been taken, yet the specifics elude me.¡± He grunts as if trying to cough up something repulsive. ¡°Right then. Bring your blood oath sworn and, if you must, the vermin. Keep up. If you fall behind, I will consider you are trying to escape, which will break your side of the oath.¡±


    ---


    I bend over, my hands resting on my knees while drawing in deep breaths. I violently cough to disguise changing my point of view every so often. My eyes take in everything I observe of his steading. The Clan Head disappeared into his hall upon arriving, his two sons following him. Their hunters rest in two groups away from us and I note some yet to arrive. Meanwhile, female hobgoblins are now running water to them, ignoring us. Nudia did well. Her short legs meant she needed to take three paces for every two of ours and she rests at my feet recovering. Gorgrin grins at me off and on between deep breaths.


    ¡°Why are you so full of joy, blood oath sworn?¡± I ask.


    ¡°I should be flat on my back, like the twins.¡± His hand flicks lazily in their direction. ¡°Don¡¯t overestimate my capabilities, Lord. I freely admit, pride is holding me up right now, but also something else.¡± His eyes narrow, and after a curt nod, he continues. ¡°After mixing blood with you, a strangeness overcame me. I thought myself poisoned somehow. At each rest, I drank water as is usual, except I needed more than usual. I needed to satisfy what I thought was an endless thirst. And now, I remain standing even after several of my father¡¯s personal huntsmen have been felled like the twins or are still to arrive.¡± His eyes beam with pure joy. ¡°If this is the sole moment of triumph, I share with you Lord, know beyond doubt I am content as my father set a cracking pace.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, he has that effect,¡± quips Nudia, while stroking her belly.


    Gorgrin¡¯s eyes fall on Nudia. The silence between them drags out to be almost awkward and yet Nudia knows when to say nothing.


    ¡°I admit I am my father¡¯s son and he taught me goblins are vermin. But I am sworn to serve Lord Klar, and I have observed your cleverness and your bravery and now your stamina. To the best of my ability, I will protect and support you, I swear on my honour.¡±


    ¡°As I will you,¡± she says right back.


    His face scrunches up, trying to comprehend, I am certain, how a goblin could possibly protect and support him, a giant hobgoblin bastard son of a Clan Head.


    ¡°You will soon appreciate our goblin,¡± I retort. ¡°Nudia will hear a hobgoblin long before a hobgoblin can see her. You can whisper instructions and be certain a goblin has heard them when few others will. She acts her part well, either the helpless victim and disobedient slave as required, yet always shows her true metal when needed most, either a brave accomplice or stalwart companion.¡±


    ¡°I understand, Lord.¡± He bobs his head.


    ¡°Good, I suspect now will be an ideal time to snoop about the place. Gorgrin, please show me about the steading and feel free to add any information, rumours, and guesses. Don¡¯t decide its usefulness, leave that to me.¡±


    He picks up his pack, while Nudia picks up our shared pack.


    Corral, then slaughter yards, salting shed, storage shed and finally the steading, which I decline to enter. We observe two hunting groups return, all male hobgoblins. The game they bring back is young, and not plentiful. Drawn faces with dark green circles under their eyes and every step, a labour, no bounce, no signs of joy given they are home hints of long-term exhaustion. Signs of many fruitless days in the wilds and too few at rest on the steading. The females, in contrast, are under-worked as the hunters can¡¯t supply enough meat, which leads to mischief. A couple of groups tried to distract Gorgrin and Nudia to allow another group to corner me alone, a vulnerable youth, and have their way with me. Only the first group was close to success and that was purely because of the surprise of the unexpected.


    Upon dusk, our time was up. Earlier, Gorgrin showed us to his thinking spot, a flat rock outcrop overlooking the steading at around roof height. We took advantage to rest and observe. The general dispersing of hobgoblins about the steading a hint they were searching, and we didn¡¯t need to think long about who for. After almost making our way back to the steading proper, I deliberately went left instead of right, like Gorgrin and Nudia, so the searchers would find us. Nudia sighs because of my deliberate spoiling of her efforts.


    ---


    Our finder leads us straight into the steading proper and then into the eating hall. A long table made of one tree trunk by the looks runs the length of the hall, with Clan Head Jarlgren at the head. A vacant place setting at the foot of the table calls to me. Along one side, sat shoulder to shoulder male hobgoblins. Along the other side sat female hobgoblins with a generous space between them. An odd arrangement and I wondered where an additional male would sit, as there wasn¡¯t any spare place available on their side of the table. Following my guide, I seat myself at the foot of the table, while Nudia squats on the floor nearby, yet away from the table. Gorgrin is on my right, although this means he sits with the females, perhaps a tangible hint of a future seating crisis for Clan Beastbane. Somehow, this amuses me. The arrangement doesn¡¯t seem to bother him though, at least outwardly, and I can¡¯t read his mind to know the truth.


    A bevy of female hobgoblins serve, at least one for every two at the table and they lay three roasted boar carcasses evenly along the length of the table, with some token vegetables as garnish. The Clan Head receives his portion first and then others. I am far from an honoured guest as I am the last to be served and instead utilise my time to observe. Is the meat diet the secret to their above normal yield, although still poor, of male births? Each server slices huge portions for the males, while more modest portions with vegetables are for the females. They do so without instruction, so I assume their usual process.


    My server¡¯s bright smile and ample cleavage reduce me to putty. To her questions about what to serve me, I reply with wide-eyed, nodding, quips complimenting her prominent feminine features and goofy smiling while staring long enough into her eyes to entice her to bloom a deep green blush. I glimpse the Clan Head¡¯s face through the crook of my servers¡¯ arm to ensure he accepts my youthful ogling as fact, aligning with his preconceived opinion of youth in general, I suspect. His current view of me overriding the fact my cleverness captured his son and forced him to listen to my proposal within his steading, instead of on top of a windswept knoll in the middle of nowhere.


    The Clan Head slams down his two-prong fork and knife and declares, ¡°I refuse to eat in front of it.¡± His finger stabs at Nudia. ¡°Get rid of the vermin immediately!¡±


    None move, so I whisper, ¡°To me, slave, hurry.¡± Upon arrival, she scampers under the table between my legs. I slice and fork another mouthful of boar into my mouth as if nothing of import just occurred, while my eyes deliberately bounce along with the sway of my server¡¯s bottom as she leaves the hall.


    A grunt from the Clan Head and shortly after, the general clatter and chat of dining resumes.


    Servants clear the table and when done, the Clan Head stands, metal mug in one hand while flourishing his other. ¡°You are now rested and fed so, I believe the time to present your proposal is upon us.¡±


    I stand and my eyes scan first one side and then the other side of the long table. I take a moment, appearing, I hope, deep in thought.


    ¡°Clan Head Jarlgren, while talking in front of your entire family, could not please me more. I would suggest a smaller audience. I ask this because the proposal will take time to gain momentum and perhaps others, upon hearing the details, could act first and establish themselves before us. Benefiting by stealing our opportunity.¡±


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    His eyes dart towards Vormgrin and then study each of his male progeny. ¡°All leave except Vormgrin.¡±


    I expect protest, yet none do, including Morgren. All give their father a curt nod and file out of the hall, the servants following behind.


    ¡°We are alone. I trust Vormgrin, as he has proven the best of them all so far.¡± He takes a sip from his cup. ¡°Your proposal and I will brook no further delay!¡±


    I place my hands behind my back and stroll to the halfway point of the table. ¡°Your hunting grounds are near exhausted and after years of slaughter, there are fewer mature game animals to breed for the next generation. While the hunting is the providence of the male hobgoblins and fortunately or oddly, Clan Beastbane has a significant number of males, their exhaustion after each hunt is plain to see. It now takes longer to make fewer kills.¡± I point out several animal trophies, heads mounted on the hall walls. ¡°When was the last time Clan Beastbane hunted animals of these sizes?¡±


    His hands grip the edge of the long table and his muscles bulge. The weight of the table is too great, of course, yet his internal rage is plain to see, while Vormgrin lounges back.


    ¡°The first solution is straightforward. New hunting lands.¡±


    Jarlgren releases his tension with a loud outburst of cynical laughter. ¡°We have tried grovelling at Lord Torngul¡¯s feet without success.¡±


    I suspect they ask for more land, which would imbalance the tens of years of Clan land allocations.


    ¡°Don¡¯t grovel next time. State the facts plainly in a missive which I will carry to present your words to him. Such as, if he doesn¡¯t grant new hunting lands, then there will be less meat, year upon year, and he will need to explain to the good people of Hobgoblin Town why. If it is a case of too much land for one Clan, offer to give up your poorest grants, the ones decimated. Your hunters will know which ones.¡±


    Slumping back into his chair, his face sobers up somewhat. ¡°Clan Beastbane have owned the grant over these lands for many generations and you say give them up, no not that, simply swap them for other land?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± I pause. ¡°That or continue to fail until there is no Beastbane Clan.¡±


    He chews on an empty mouth and waves me on.


    ¡°New lands are only a temporary fix because you simply don¡¯t want to meet the current demand you want to exceed the demand and instead of the excess driving prices down in the valley, you want to trade with merchants who will sell outside of the valley.¡±


    His eyes take on a shine as he straightens in his chair.


    ¡°In your land swap, you will ask for some grass plains lands, but and this is the big but, it must be next to permanent water. A stream will do, a river is better. Because on those plains you will cultivate boar, to begin with, because I assume some or many in the valley train the beasts the Lord Torngul owns?¡±


    ¡°That will be difficult,¡± says Vormgren, with an idle scratch of his cheek. ¡°The Eater Clan capture boar from the eastern forest, only when ordered to by Lord Torngul. They then, in ways only known to themselves, train the beasts.¡±


    ¡°What makes the eastern forest special?¡±


    Father and son exchange looks. The younger explains, ¡°Many who venture into the eastern forest never return. Apart from being an ancient growth forest, rumour is that the very shadows will strike you down. The proof is impossible to come by because no one has found the bodies of the missing.¡±


    Jarlgren continues, ¡°The Eater Clan have a secret which allows them to round up and capture one or two beasts every so often, without harm and that is all anyone knows.¡±


    ¡°Interesting,¡± I murmur to no one in particular.


    The Eater Clan, with Izga¡¯s help, needs further investigation. I know they take care of Hobgoblin Town, but they seem to have ¡®other duties¡¯ beyond what anyone would expect. Something to attend to later. I need to cover off another step of my proposal now.


    ¡°For now, the primary aim is to breed a ready supply of boar, by claiming a grass plains land grant near permanent water. Build large corrals and stockyards and capture as many wild boar sows as you can as startup stock. Trade some of your stock to one of the nearby farming clans for feed grain, the lower quality which they can¡¯t sell or if they do, they don¡¯t get a good price for the effort of growing it.¡± I tap a finger on the table, considering if I should or should not add a twist to the plan. I look upon father and son. They project interest, so I roll the dice. ¡°Is there a farming clan that shares a border with your hunting grant?¡±


    They both laugh as one. ¡°Yes,¡± answers Jarlgren. ¡°I think you know the Clan Head, Zinmog.¡±


    That I do, more a goblin than a hobgoblin, let alone Clan Head. ¡°Would you object to gifting him an adjacent land grant?¡±


    They push back their chairs. Have I angered them that much?


    The younger places his hand on the forearm of the father and they draw their chairs back in.


    ¡°For nothing?¡± whispers Jarlgren.


    ¡°Short term nothing, long-term repayment of the favour. They, like you, have exhausted the land grants they depend on. They can¡¯t extend into the grass plains, no water, they can¡¯t extend east, another farm clan, they can¡¯t extend north, no water and rugged forest. North-west, part of your existing land grant is their only chance, I believe.¡±


    ¡°What do we gain?¡±


    ¡°To rejuvenate the soil, they will need to plant beans, too many beans and perhaps another clan who need to feed boar could relieve them of their excess.¡± I smile, splaying my hands wide. ¡°You gift a land grant. Lord Torngul, because your holdings are now reduced, assigns you a new land grant. That should be a quick transaction. Again, I offer to present the missive on your behalf. You just need to decide if you want to expand your hunting grounds first or try to establish your boar breeding first. I am certain you can negotiate with Clan Head Zinmog to plant beans in the land grant he gives up and if by some accident, boar happen to overrun the fields occasionally, oops.¡±


    ¡°Like you say, oops,¡± says Vormgren. He glances at his father, a smirk on his face.


    ¡°Let the other Clans digest the change for a year and then offer to give up existing land grants for new ones, which further your aims.¡± I swallow as I know my next words will challenge tradition and I need to keep my nerves in check. ¡°If you expand your hunting land grant, start training your female hobgoblins as hunters.¡±


    Both stand up, kicking their chairs back to crash into the walls of the room.


    ¡°Never!¡± shouts Jarlgren, the veins in his neck pop out, black and throbbing.


    ¡°Consider what I say.¡±


    He shakes his head and marches around the hall, every step a crushing stomp. I sidle backwards along the table, edging towards my chair. Vormgren remains at the table, yet his rapid breathing suggests he may breathe in more than breathe out and puff up until bursting.


    Several times, Jarlgren approaches my position and then turns away, deep green fury upon his face. I suspect he voluntarily checks himself, not unintentionally wanting to do me harm. I lounge back in my chair and wait for the storm to pass. He approaches again.


    ¡°Hunting is sacred to the Beastbane Clan.¡± He lowers his fists. ¡°Male hobgoblins have honed this craft over generations, father and son tradition passing on a lifetime of skill.¡± With his anger in full flight, he manages to steal a look at Vormgrin. "No female may touch, let allow own and practice with a bow, spear, or knife. This is simply not our way, has never been and never will be.¡± He grinds out the last sentence between gnashing teeth.


    I lean forward to rest my elbows on the long dining table. This is going to be a hard sell, but I must try. ¡°You know, when I left Hobgoblin Town, females were fighting for a chance to join Lord Torngul¡¯s honour guard. They can do this. Ask your hunters if they need to rest. If they rest, who will hunt? While strolling around your steading today, there were too many females contributing nothing while eating your dwindling food stores. They need to be made productive.¡±


    His head quirks, an instant snap like motion. Reminds me of a chicken head¡­ flicking.


    ¡°They are yours.¡±


    I blink and glance at Gorgrin for confirmation. ¡°What did you say?¡±


    ¡°We will gift them to you instead of payment by coin or the like. You will petition Lord Torngul on our behalf to gift a hunting land grant to Clan Hungry in exchange for a virgin hunting grounds land grant. You take our excess females as payment and breed boar with our blessing.¡±


    I slump down in my chair. This isn¡¯t sane. How can many lives simply be given away?


    ¡°Your generosity, Clan Head overwhelms my Lord. I agree on his behalf. We will only accept family groups or orphans, so they do not burden us with too many young, too many elders and too few able to work.¡±


    ¡°Your Lord¡¯s win-win proposal is welcome!¡± I then witness them clasp hands at the forearm. ¡°Also, since you have presented your proposal and I considered slaughtering you afterwards out of spite for threatening the life of my son, I add allowing you to live as part of our agreement.¡± His smile is one of generosity and delight. I can only figure, training female hobgoblins as hunters was a step too far, against deep intractable tradition, yet having fewer mouths to feed is a more acceptable and immediate solution, which will probably mean his hunters can take a rest as well.


    Gorgrin leans across the table and looks into my eyes. ¡°Leave the details to me, Lord. I will ensure the families which they gift to us are reasonable. I estimate this will take five days, maybe six. Where shall we house and feed them afterwards?¡±


    My mind is still reeling and swirling, five days. Maybe six? ¡°I am not sure,¡± I mumble.


    ¡°Master?¡±


    I look down upon Nudia, cheeky supportive Nudia, and smile. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Would you be able to liberate your seeded goblins and their families from Clan Hungry so they can join you and your female hobgoblins wherever they end up?¡± she whispers, her eyes filling with moisture.


    The Clan Head¡¯s joyful voice draws my attention. ¡°See you in the morning. Ask a servant and they will show you a spare room to sleep in.¡± Father and son and their fading laughter are my sole reprieve from needing to answer Nudia immediately. How did this plan go wrong? How did I end up being responsible for more lives, more females?


    ---


    I am uncertain how I ended up in a room to sleep overnight so I could wake up the next morning, but that is where I find myself instead of being slain and my spirit wandering the void. I am a GPA, a veteran of many missions and yet a primitive hobgoblin outsmarts me. How? Nudia nudges my lips with salted meat, which I open to chew on. This repeats until she offers me water from a wooden mug which I drink without thinking, simply going through the motions. Then she tugs at my arm. Again, and again. I feel like swatting her away until she destroys me with her pleading eyes, and I climb to my feet instead. She slaps each piece of my armour in place and ties the leather throngs to ensure, I assume, I am presentable. Gorgrin, she informs me, went out into the steading at dawn to announce the migration and I am expected to at least present myself as the figurehead and confirm that Lord Klar is indeed accepting responsibility for any who wish to leave.


    When I step out the front double door of the steading, bright sunlight illuminates a wall of female hobgoblins of all ages waiting for me. They occupy the full frontage of the steading and at great depth. Where will they stay? Who will feed them? Their eyes are full of hope. Contrary to the rise of bile in my stomach, I plaster a welcoming smile on my face.


    Gorgrin leads closer and whispers in my ear, ¡°Many more than I thought have shown interest Lord, perhaps your tour of the wider steading yesterday was a positive introduction.¡±


    Positive in what way, I ask myself, as I am certain my pecker shrinks and tries to hide when I consider the obvious. ¡°Isn¡¯t this too many? Clan Head Jarlgren can¡¯t afford to lose this number, can he?¡±


    ¡°He will decide. Be aware that I asked for five days because there are Beastbane villages deeper northwest, and they will need time to make the journey here and decide.¡±


    ¡°There could be more?¡±


    ¡°As I said, the Clan Head will decide exactly how many.¡±


    A heavy hand lands on my shoulder. ¡°Nice turnout on a nice day. Wouldn¡¯t you agree, Lord Klar?¡±


    ¡°How many families?¡± I say in disbelief.


    ¡°Oh, at least what stands before you now, I should think. Some of my hunters are going to claim some as family stock, which if they do, they must support by hunting while their family works on the steading. A return to balance, as it were.¡±


    How can I reduce this number? ¡°Aren¡¯t you concerned about being attacked? Who will defend your land grants?¡±


    He chortles. ¡°None want the wild forests and hills, Lord Klar. If some misguided attacker does, well, we will send a runner off to Lord Torngul while we hide our families and pick off the trespasses from ambush or stalk them at night until rescue arrives. Hunt them like prey, have some sport and such.¡± His eyes wander off into distant thoughts¡­


    ¡°You have thought of everything then¡­¡±


    His eyes return to meet mine. ¡°Yes, with fewer mouths to feed, the pressure on my hunters to bring home game, the pressure on the animals to breed and the pressure on the Clan to provide Hobgoblin Town will reduce. I am glad after our meeting and feel extremely generous, so please don¡¯t doubt the magnitude of your payment. Oh, and I will be certain to speak highly of you to other Clan Heads, you have certainly won me over¡­¡± He raises a single finger beside his head and shakes the digit.


    All of his words carry a full weight of joy, as he can see an easy return to his clan¡¯s glorious past. By the time I think to answer him, he is out of earshot, chatting to Gorgrin. I note way too much agreeable head nodding from my blood oath sworn and wonder what I don¡¯t know.


    ¡°For what it is worth, Lord Klar, I liked your entire idea. Teaching the female hobgoblins to hunt, is farfetched but everything else is of merit. When I am Clan Head, I will speak with you again, I am certain. I would like to trade our meat outside this valley and be rich, but I am patient and can wait. For now, I will get to live in the glory days of our Clan once the animals restock and grow. Enjoy the hunt once again and I am certain my father will be there as well.¡±


    Vormgren saunters off, another I have made happy. Oh joy, I say to myself. A small hand tugs at mine and there is some relief as Nudia has my hand and not a random hobgoblin child. She leads me amongst the families. They introduce themselves by family name and ask where they will go if they join me. The first few answers are vague and then I decide to the sheet with them. Lord Torngul needs to issue a land grant to his daughter, my wife. From there I talk about breeding boar and preparing the meat for trade in the valley and beyond the valley, although the second part will be many years away, I caution. Only after lots of hard work, I add. Some are cautious, few outright reject the plan, and most are supportive, at least to my face. I celebrate the rejections most.


    Gorgrin meets me middle of the morning and looks me up and down. ¡°Lord, I thought you would have been gone by now? I have heard of your plan, so you need to secure the land grant on behalf of your wife, Lord Torngul¡¯s daughter!¡± He winks and his elbow knocks into mine. ¡°The sooner the better, I would think.¡±


    ¡°He was waiting for me. Apologies Gorgrin and master.¡± She stands beside me, our pack upon her back and a smile on her face. ¡°Come on, master, time to go. Gorgrin knows his Clan and knows what we need.¡±


    I appreciate Nudia covering for my lapse. I should have left as soon as possible, yet my mind is still wrapping itself around the number of lives I will be responsible for. Aren¡¯t I supposed to be hunting down Rexa, or at least returning to her valley and dismembering her, erm, my cult?


    ¡°Log coming up, master, you need to step high¡­¡±


    Step high¡­ yes, in more ways than one, it seems.

 2.022 Civilisation

    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    The distraction of observing the large orange molten circle of the sun setting over the Clan Head Zinmog¡¯s shoulder encourages me to tune out while listening to his complaints, yet his whining finds a way.


    ¡°They insisted I waste my best grain for the planting. Threaten to report me to Lord Torngul if I didn¡¯t. Why did you leave them with me? They said they acted with your authority. Is that true? I erred on the side of caution and believed them, but is that true? Now the Clan¡¯s grain store has an imbalance. Not enough good grain and too much poor grain and too many mouths to feed. The situation is impossible.¡± His finger presses into my shoulder and I set my eyes upon the affront. He reclaims the digit immediately. ¡°You need to fix this, Lord Klar, you need to fix this now!¡±


    Again, the solution points to reducing the number of mouths to feed. Do I want more lives to be responsible for? As I open my mouth to reply, the answer, like with Clan Beastbane, seems to be yes.


    ¡°I will purchase goblin slaves from you.¡± His mouth drops open, and I think I have caught him off guard. ¡°Fewer mouths to feed and with the money, although I may pay for them with grain, either way, you will eat well and will need fewer guards so those former guards can work the fields and earn their food.¡±


    He closes his mouth slowly but adds thought lines to his forehead. ¡°How many goblins do you want?¡±


    ¡°How many like Nudia?¡±


    ¡°That surly, obstinate bunch, too many. They don¡¯t die out like the others.¡±


    ¡°That is good. They will need to work or starve.¡±


    He cackles. ¡°You are going to get them to work where Clan Hungry has never been able to make them do more than they wish? Take them all. Leave us the more pliable ones. They do the same amount of work without the attitude.¡±


    ¡°Price?¡±


    A sly smile crosses his lips. ¡°Replace the grain your wives forced us to plant, and I believe both of us will win.¡±


    I don¡¯t know if this is a good deal, because I don¡¯t know how many slaves I am buying. Annoying, although Nudia wouldn¡¯t want anything less than her entire tribe, so I don¡¯t have a choice. ¡°Done, I think. I will need to check that I can either purchase replacement grain or pay you in coins or a mix of both. Although I ask for one concession.¡±


    ¡°And that is?¡± he asks.


    ¡°If the crop yields more than is typical for your farm, the extra or additional yield counts as part of my payment.¡±


    ¡°If by some miracle it does, then, yes, I agree. As long as you pay. Coin or food, including excess yield, or both. I need to tell my Clan we eat well again in the following months.¡±


    I rub my chin. ¡°Can I pay in monthly deliveries? That way I won¡¯t drive up prices with my requirements and you won¡¯t need to store a year¡¯s worth of grain and possibly lose some to pests.¡±


    He holds out his hand and we shake. As simple as that and I gain responsibility for more lives¡­


    ---


    Zoria and Izga walk ahead towards our cottage while I place a gentle hand on Nudia¡¯s shoulder to slow her. ¡°How many in your tribe?¡±


    She doesn¡¯t turn to face me. ¡°Master¡­ many more than Clan Hungry knows about. They stay hidden in the brush and light forest on the edges of the farmed land, yet we rotate them so they can live amongst the rest of us from time to time.¡±


    ¡°How many?¡±


    Her head falls. ¡°The number isn¡¯t exact¡­¡±


    ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°Maybe four hundred?¡± she says, her voice low. I drag her head about with my finger under her chin. Her eyes dart about.


    Why did I agree with this? This begs another question, the answer of which I am certain will horrify me, especially when I consider the birthing yet to yield its bounty. ¡°How many did I seed that night?¡±


    ¡°Master, I don¡¯t want to answer. You may get upset.¡±


    Upset? Did my voice betray me? Well, let me remove all doubt then. I growl and grab her shoulders.


    ¡°Master, you are hurting your favourite Nudia¡­¡±


    ¡°Tell me.¡±


    ¡°One hundred and¡­¡± Her eyes try to escape mine, so my hands skip from her shoulders to grab her head. ¡°Seventy, possibly a few more. Maybe all didn¡¯t hurry to join in through the night.¡±


    I release her head and try to do a calculation in my head. Male plus female and one or two children, at least twenty percent too old, thirty percent too young. I estimate one hundred mature females or thereabouts, so the number doesn¡¯t make sense. ¡°How can so many females be at maturity out of four hundred?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t need that many males, master.¡± She takes a step back and I growl. ¡°As soon as they are mature, they are trained to fight, and march out of this valley as merchant guards or mercenary bands or occasionally spies. The survivors report back every few years. You must understand you seeded mothers and their daughters that night. The entire clan has been waiting for such a miracle. This valley.¡± She spits on the ground. ¡°If our forebears only knew of their loathing of goblins beforehand, but Hobgoblin Town is deep within the valley, too far for a migrating tribe to outrun pursuers once so far within, so we became slaves and bided our time, maintaining our visible numbers, sending away our males and hiding our growing numbers.¡±


    I recalculate, one male to three females, leave too old and too young as they are. My estimate becomes one hundred and fifty females, still short. The ratio can¡¯t be one male to four females? No, more like one male to seven females¡­ ¡°You must continue as you have in the past. When I return with the land grant, you will need to parade a balance of males, females, and children, but at most, two hundred and fifty because that is what Clan Hungry could believe your numbers to be.¡±


    ¡°Yes master, will we do as you say and prepare for your return.¡±


    My inner Hob chuckles and salivates. Instead of walking away, he pushes me to kiss her forehead. I receive a pout in response. Moments before I was throttling her, she wasn¡¯t even going to receive a kiss! What did she expect?


    I jog after Zoria and Izga and meet them outside of our designated cottage. Zoria on one boar and Izga on the other.


    ¡°I asked Zoria to teach me to ride husband. This common hobgoblin wishes to make herself more useful, so she isn¡¯t worthless.¡±


    I refrain from commenting and instead mount her riding beast. I push her slim frame forward in the saddle when I do. She leans back, resting against my chest, snuggling.


    ¡°Lean forward and release the reins, wife.¡±


    Her body tenses and I sense she wants to speak. Protest? Instead, her shoulders slump forward and she makes a mediocre effort to shuffle her hips forward. I dig my hands under her firm skinny bottom and toss, turn her. As she lifts off the saddle, I grab her hips and draw her back into the saddle, now facing me, her legs dangling over my thighs.


    Her coy eyes find mine, and I reward her with a warm smile. ¡°You need to do three things while we journey back.¡±


    ¡°Anything, husband, I am prepared to do anything to prove my worth¡­¡±


    ¡°Work out how to release my pecker. Expose your loins. Last, but not least, urge your nanorobots to refine your blood to make Relentless the dominant linage and then the sole linage, once I gift you seed on the journey home.¡±


    Her arms wrap around my shoulders, and she buries her face in my neck. Shortly after, warm tears run down my chest.


    ¡°Lord Klar!¡±


    I glance over Izga¡¯s shoulder, spotting the Clan Head¡¯s daughter.


    ¡°Yes, no name Clan Head¡¯s daughter?¡±


    ¡°Will you be returning? Ever?¡± She advances towards the boar, her eyes glancing at the beast until she grasps my leg and sighs in relief.


    To the top of her head, I say, ¡°I must conclude the purchase of the slaves. Beyond that, I have no plans to.¡±


    She looks up with pleading eyes, ¡°My name is Rozmoga, after my father, but most of the Clan call me Roza and when you return, I ask you to ask my father for me. I wish to be your wife as Zoria and Izga are¡­ Please?¡±


    Izga¡¯s body twitches minutely and I am certain Zoria internally screams.


    I pat her hand and then lift her light green appendage from my thigh. ¡°I have other wives, too many other wives who are already feeling neglected. You would be my wife in name only. There would be no promise of time together, sharing joys and celebrating our lives. You deserve better than what I can give.¡±


    She withdraws her hand from mine, her eyes filling with moisture as she does. ¡°You don¡¯t want me then? Am I too ugly? I promise to be a dutiful wife. Obey your every command.¡±


    I lean towards her from the saddle. ¡°None of that. Find yourself a partner who will cherish your qualities and can be with you always. You deserve nothing less.¡±


    Nudging the boar with my knees, the beast peels away from the daughter of Clan Head Zinmog, who stares at my leaving. My last parting look at her fills with nothing else except her tears rolling down her cheeks. I reach beyond Izga for the reins and encourage the beast into a trot. Zoria reins her boar in to match my pace and we ride side by side for a time in silence.


    A warm set of lips caress and then kiss my neck while a set of hands work ferociously at the leather lacing binding my trousers around my waist¡­


    ---


    ¡°Izga, please take both beasts and unsaddle them after you lead them to water. Don¡¯t return to us. We will find you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband.¡± She spares a glance for Zoria, who bites her bottom lip. I suspect with that reaction; Zoria knows what we are going to speak about.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I wait until I believe Izga is out of earshot and then face Zoria, who wilts under my gaze.


    ¡°When were you going to tell me you gave birth to a hobgoblin son and survived?¡± My attempt to control my emotion is everdently unsuccessful as she trembles and takes a step back. To her credit, she maintains eye contact.


    ¡°In time, Lord. My story is complicated. I need Koria here as much, if not more than Luda to fully explain my actions and be believed. You forget I am the wife who never was, the mother who never could be, yet trusted with two secrets wrung from my soul by utterances from your dying lips.¡± She drops her head. ¡°I never thought to see you again, our relationship the briefest of any before and since I would guess.¡±


    ¡°Who is the father?¡±


    Her lidded eyes lookup. She shakes her head from side to side, jaw shut tight.


    ¡°I will not ask again,¡± I growl.


    She lifts her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. ¡°Klugrath.¡±


    His name hits me like a spacecraft. My son? Why would he? What twist is this in her tale?


    ¡°Explain.¡± I can only articulate a single word. More words are beyond me as my heart races.


    She wipes her tears away with the back of her hands. ¡°The three daughters were pleading with him, trying to guilt him to avenge Koria. The idea was for him to slaughter as many of the goblin tribesmen as possible. This was my plan, though, not theirs. They were to forewarn the three tribes and, as one, draw him into a trap. I hoped that his overconfidence would lead him to his death. He visited me earlier in the day they left with him. I was shocked, thinking he somehow knew I sent the three daughters to him, and they had let slip the details of the trap, but he didn¡¯t. He pleaded with me to escort the three daughters, protect them and their goblin sons, while he slaughtered to avenge Koria Keen Eye.¡±


    ¡°When did they have sons, and to whom?¡±


    ¡°All in good time, husband. Your three daughters devised their own plan, discarding mine. They didn¡¯t think Klugrath could be lured away from Head Village without him asking his mother first. Koria¡¯s daughter pleaded to the point of throwing herself at his feet, speaking to his ego and with him recently turned eighteen, she exploited his need to prove himself.¡±


    ¡°The old goblin crone didn¡¯t mention death, though¡­¡±


    ¡°No. Your three daughters contacted the elders of the three tribes like they were supposed to. Yet instead of slaughter, they tempted Klugrath into a lust haze. Son like father, so he would seed as many female goblins as possible to breed stronger goblins for the battles to come. At the time, no one understood how hobgoblins came into being. All thought each valley had a limit and they would simply walk in after a while to replace the vanquished. None did. After Klugrath¡¯s sixteenth birthday, much changed.¡±


    She crosses her legs and squats down on the grass. Leaning over, she rips a length of grass and begins folding the length over and around.


    ¡°Why did you stop talking?¡±


    She looks up. ¡°This is the part where you do or don¡¯t believe me. Where, if present, Koria could vouch for what I tell you. Some parts are, well, unbelievable.¡±


    ¡°You are the Oath Keeper, and I must believe you would not break your naming.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, husband, but I suggest you sit as well.¡±


    I cross my legs to mirror her and lay my hands on her knees. ¡°Continue.¡±


    ¡°Rexa falls pregnant.¡± My hands squeeze her knees and when she winces, I release my grip. ¡°Zeb Stone Grim spread the rumour that Klugrath was the father. While Rexa is conveniently in seclusion, resting while pregnant, someone attacks and robs Zeb Stone Grim while walking along a street in Head Village after being summoned by Klugrath. It was the first robbery in sixteen years. The reason the rumour had any strength was because Klugrath seeded many. Bekto, Zuxa and Lazsia are three and they birthed female hobgoblin babes and died in childbirth because a selfish Rexa wouldn¡¯t reveal the secret of your blood and prevented me from intervening. Klugrath also seeded the daughters of Duzsia, Koria and Luda, yet they were smart and starved themselves and gave birth to goblin sons.¡±


    I lean forward, our faces a hand width apart. ¡°The sons they kept with them when they went with Klugrath into the Southern Valley, his sons?¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband. But don¡¯t you see? They had already laid with him. The legend suggests he seeded them against their will.¡±


    ¡°Where they smart, or did their mentor give them certain advice?¡±


    Her face flushed dark green. ¡°I may have told them and suggested that only with your blood did Rexa survive giving birth to Klugrath, although I left out the part where¡­ where I assisted her.¡±


    My lungs in an instant empty of breath, and I can¡¯t draw any in. A horrific moment of disbelief catches my mind. I can¡¯t think. Then I feel a slap on my face. I blink and see Zoria¡¯s tear-filled eyes. ¡°You need to understand. You left me with a task, and you acknowledged all your wives before your death, and they all were about to give birth. I needed someone who owed me something and Rexa¡¯s body was being torn apart¡­ I didn¡¯t think she would be the bitch she became. Please, husband, I beg mercy. If I would have known, I would have done nothing¡­¡±


    My mind is back, yet breathing is still difficult. Except for Zoria Oath Keeper¡¯s intervention, we could have avoided this future. My mind wonders about the possible alternative future.


    Her lips press on mine and then her face withdraws. ¡°Within the boundaries, Rexa set against me, I tried to make amends every single day afterwards. Every single day.¡±


    ¡°You were the keeper of my blood. I assumed you would share it equally amongst my wives, yet although Rexa hated Jotor, he taught her well in conniving and manipulation. Rexa, being the only one of my wives to have a Hob babe, would have confirmed her status as First Wife. I am certain she wouldn¡¯t let that power slip through her hands.¡± As much as I regret it, can I blame her?


    She releases a long breath. ¡°You understand? You¡­ you¡­ forgive me?¡±


    ¡°Does anyone else know you saved Rexa during childbirth?¡±


    ¡°There was Rora, Head Goblin of Childbirth, and a couple of her helpers, but they, erm, disappeared. Rexa demanded as First Wife, all the Ten Spears swear loyalty to her. Some refused, but after the birth of the male Hob and her survival, none did and those first few who swore before the birth became her most trusted, especially the Ten Spears led by Keja, the slayer of Koria. She didn¡¯t live long to celebrate. I made certain of that.¡±


    Her grim grinding words spoke of revenge taken. ¡°How¡­ how did Koria die?¡±


    ¡°Bravely. But that is her story to tell, not mine, husband, and we are already way off track. Poor Izga will wonder what has become of us.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Please continue.¡±


    ¡°Just one last thing, don¡¯t feel your wives let you down by not fighting to resist Rexa. She ensured they wouldn¡¯t. Her Ten Spears, the ¡®Keepers of the Peace¡¯ were commanded to take all your children from their mothers for safekeeping, so they could be cared for together with baby Klugrath.¡±


    ¡°Bitch! So, Duzsia, Koria, Luda, all of them?¡±


    ¡°She broke your wives when she took their children, and each tried to cope in their own way. Talk to them who have returned to you. Ask them to tell you their sad story. I don¡¯t know much as Rexa made certain I adhered to my oath and, in isolation, kept watch over the crippled goblin.¡±


    I feel moisture gather in my eyes and murmur, ¡°I will, I promise.¡±


    She holds my hands. ¡°Shall we continue?¡±


    I take a deep breath and nod. My inner Hob growls. He never was a fan of expressing feelings.


    ¡°The three daughters gathered the goblin maids from the three tribes in the village behind the Southern Valley pass. When Klugrath sauntered in, they practically threw themselves at him and he discovered your special power, lust haze. The three daughters willingly took part as well because, unknown to me, they had a plan. They assumed their mentor would share if asked, your blood with them to ensure they would survive birthing a hobgoblin babe. They wanted revenge on Rexa for what she did to their mothers, they knew no goblin could get that revenge while Klugrath protected her and shortly Rexa would birth another. Unknown then, her second was also her last as she was nearing forty years, near the end of life for a goblin, not prime of life to fall pregnant, yet your blood otherwise kept her alive.¡±


    ¡°The three daughters took their three goblin sons, their three hobgoblin sons they survived giving birth to, I assume, male hobgoblins, and began their lineages?¡±


    ¡°Yes. They hid away in the Southern Valley until Rexa and Klugrath invaded, but that¡¯s another story. Mine continues simply. Klugrath raped me. He took me last, his sanity returning enough for him to gloat. ¡®He would finish what his father never started¡­¡¯ I believed his sole intention, regardless of what occurred in the valley, the slaughter of goblins or seeding of goblins was always to take me and the true reason he agreed to the three daughter¡¯s plan. Something which he could never do while I remained within the walls of Head Village. I was a wife his father never touched.¡±


    I embrace her and she is silent. No sobbing, not even crying. I separate us. ¡°You don¡¯t need my comfort?¡±


    She bites her bottom lip. ¡°I have already cried a river of tears over what happened. He deserves no more from me. We both believed that given my age nothing would grow, he would have his conquest and that would be all.¡±


    I shake my head. There is still an impossibility. ¡°But how did you, a tribal goblin, give birth to a hobgoblin son?¡±


    She sniffs while hitching her chest. ¡°It can only be because of your blood. As I said, I thought myself too old to become pregnant, thinking while Klugrath seeded me, his efforts would be in vain. Yet your blood, which I had been sipping daily, like Rexa, matured his seed, making up for the fact I didn¡¯t have hobgoblin heritage, even ignoring my age, same as Rexa, to give me a hobgoblin babe. I hid away in my Order¡¯s tower, keeping company with the broken goblin. My Order kept my secret and when I survived the birth, they thought me blessed beyond reason. When I asked them to secret my child out of the valley, too many volunteered and I had to make them draw lots. I weaned my son at six months and then two of my order secreted him out of the valley using the pass to the Southern Valley. The goblin tribes there still remembered me from Klugrath¡¯s seeding of their females. From there, I know no more, until when I learnt he founded his lineage, a joy, a dream come true because it meant he reached adulthood. The only sad part is he never saw his mother again.¡±


    This time she does burst into tears, and I embrace her. There is still one part, which I decide not to tell her about. The nanorobots require influence. The will of the host to direct them to purpose otherwise, they simply ¡®carry on¡¯ in a general host well-being way. Deep down, Zoria willed for a hobgoblin son, in her dreams the moment after my death, while saving Rexa when she gave birth to Klugrath, while pregnant and alone in the tower or perhaps during her rape; to reap some compensation from his callous assault. More than likely, all of them. To finally be equal to my other wives.


    We hear the snorting of the boars and while she tries to free herself; I refuse to release her. Izga must have decided we had had enough time.


    I suspect Zoria doesn¡¯t truly understand her achievement. Because the impossibility of a tribal goblin giving birth to a hobgoblin would require not only steel-eye determination but also wishing for the impossible, Zoria needed to believe the birth of a hobgoblin son would heal her deep regret. Zoria, the tribal goblin, couldn¡¯t birth any hobgoblin child, fortunately for her, the nanorobots heard her and because of the saturation of them within her body could answer. For Rexa, the nanorobots performed the lesser task of defeating her age, although only once. Maybe she lacked belief in the years after.


    Izga hangs back at a distance, wanting to return, yet knowing from my embrace of Zoria that we aren¡¯t yet ready.


    ¡°We must return to Lord Torngul so I can continue with what fate has decreed, no matter my objection,¡± I say into her neck. I note her goosebumps. Did my breath tickle her neck?


    She shakes playfully, a deep green blush rises on her face. ¡°Lord Klar,¡± she purrs.


    I hold her at arms¡¯ length. ¡°I am sorry¡­¡±


    She returns an adoring smile as her hand caresses my cheek. ¡°You have granted me another life, a chance to prove my loyalty and worth.¡± Her blush spreads to her neck. ¡°A chance for loving intimacy¡­¡±


    I embrace and release her as I climb to my feet. She looks up through eyes of devotion and I offer my hand. ¡°It is time then,¡± I say.


    ---


    With relief, we pass through the outskirts of Hobgoblin Town. Izga, being diligent, has milked my seed for the entire journey and while I suggested she turn around in the saddle, to be less obvious, she declined. Her hands and lips continue in their efforts to entice and restore my pecker to vigour, yet I am not quite the voyeur she thinks I am, and once foot traffic surrounds us and takes an interest, my lust retreats.


    The arena is empty; the stage is no more. Did the tournament conclude in our absence? If so, it will mean several fresh faces to meet within the manor. First, though, we need to present ourselves at the north gate, which we amble our beasts towards.


    A dust cloud closes in upon us fast, on an interception course, in fact. Zoria and I exchange glances and use our knees to halt our beasts. Izga¡¯s head turns right and then left to sight the same dust cloud.


    ¡°A boar rider, several, in fact,¡± I say.


    As they slow, I recognise the riders. Family Klugak. Father, son, and several daughters, although one, fixes her eyes upon me. With the events of the last few days, I refuse to imagine what this means. Fate will reveal to me whatever this twist is, I am certain.


    ¡°Hail Lord Klar, well met,¡± Klugak says with deference while reining in his beast. I note his entire family does likewise with competent skill.


    Since when did I earn his respect? ¡°Well met, Klugak. I hope Lord Torngul and Hobgoblin Town are both in order and you don¡¯t rush to intercept me on some errand of doom?¡± The polite chuckle I try to generate doesn¡¯t escape my lack of enthusiasm¡­


    He smiles. A fawning smile? ¡°No, all is well. Lord Torngul has his honour guard, and the town basks in his wise rule.¡± I notice Klaria trying to edge her beast forward, yet her sisters hamper her efforts. Defeating her because of numbers.


    ¡°Then why meet me in the middle of the street?¡±


    ¡°I would ask a boon before you meet Lord Torngul.¡±


    I note he schools his eyes to stay on me, his head trying to shift to look elsewhere, yet his neck muscles lock up, to prevent the lapse.


    ¡°A boon?¡± I embrace Izga so I can look past her body with ease and examine Klugak. He shifts in his saddle¡ªcould be something, could be nothing.


    ¡°I would offer you Klaria, my eldest daughter in marriage, Lord Klar. You have had quite the effect upon her. Talks of nothing else since you took her lips¡­¡± He coughs a father¡¯s cough. Embarrassment? ¡°Her family would, of course, offer a substantial gift of goods and coin to ensure you will maintain her in the manner she is accustomed to.¡±

 2.023 A Great Deal of Trouble

    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I can feel Izga twitch within my embrace and I am certain Zoria is equally trying to hold back the urge to vomit and hold her tongue. Why the interest? Enough time hasn¡¯t gone by to confirm pregnancies¡­ What am I missing?


    ¡°I am already married and as you can witness, I also have several concubines. While your daughter is beyond delightful, you would need to ask my wife, Thalgora, if she would accept another, not I.¡± I try to smile and fail as a scream distracts my effort.


    ¡°You¡­ you¡­ took my lips, spoke of claiming me when you were worthy. Now that¡­¡± Her mouth clamps shut.


    Izga whispers, ¡°Her father.¡±


    The cold freezing stare of her father is in complete contrast to anything I could have imagined past or present, the visage a glimpse only before resetting into a respectful half-smile for my consumption.


    Does Hobgoblin Town credit my exploits amongst Clan Hungry and Clan Beastbane too highly? Elevating them to some sort of mighty triumph? While I acknowledge our journey back was leisurely, spies would still need to exhaust themselves to return ahead of me and report. Yet, this family of some import pressing an off-the-cuff claim of marriage provides evidence that everyone else, but I, knows something, that I should.


    ¡°We will address our request to the wise Thalgora, Lord Klar. Please lead on and we will follow.¡±


    Is he brave or foolhardy? Does he want to ask Thalgora? He definitely knows something and now in his company, I cannot ride ahead and find out, or maybe not.


    ¡°Zoria, please ride ahead and announce my arrival. I wouldn¡¯t want to surprise Lord Torngul.¡± I force a chuckle. ¡°And be archery target practice for his new honour guard.¡±


    She nods and kicks her beast into a trot, while I ensure my beast keeps a leisurely pace. Klugak shifts in his saddle, and glances at his family and I know, he is trying to think of a way to hurry us all along. He settles on small talk and between times advances ahead of me, but not by a disrespectful distance. This means occasionally he needs to rein in his beast, allowing me to catch up. Twice I look behind us and note that his family, including Klaria, trail well behind. What this means is anyone¡¯s guess.


    One of the two gates opens. Standing on each side are hobgoblins I recognise. Voria, who somewhat makes sense, and Dorgrav, in leather armour and short sword sheathed on his hip, which makes no sense.


    I amble my boar through the open gate before me and hear the creak of the gate close as I pass through. Klugak¡¯s voice, loud and clear, protests behind me, which I ignore as Duzsia and Zergoa greet me. Izga swings a leg over and then slides from the saddle to land with grace. I follow suit with more of an elegant thud.


    My wives embrace and release me, Duzsia and then Zergoa. Their eyes hint at where I should turn next. From within the manor proper, Thalgora, in full battle gear, strides towards me, hips swaying and eyes bright.


    She envelopes me. I should be up in the air, fighting for breath, and I thank my nanorobots that I am not as we tussle for ascendency in our embrace.


    ¡°You have been absent too long husband, I and my loins crave your attention,¡± she whispers.


    I swallow and release my hug, expecting her to do the same. ¡°Should I not see Lord Torngul and report my findings?¡±


    ¡°Spies have already done so, although if you wish you could probably offer more nuanced detail¡­¡± She releases me, only to grab my hand and lead me into the manor. There is almost a skip in her step. A skip?


    ¡°What of Klugak?¡± I ask.


    ¡°We will ask him to return later. Family business first.¡± She winks.


    ---


    With a leg over one chair arm, Lord Torngul sits astride his throne while his arm embraces Trela¡¯s hips. On each side are two female hobgoblin strangers in full armour, swords sheathed on their hips. A matching pair to the two who opened the twin doors for Thalgora and I to enter.


    Lord Torngul¡¯s head cranes left and right and with a flick of his wrist, the two guards nod and march towards the twin doors. They pass through, and both doors close behind them with a clang.


    ¡°You have been busy, Lord Klar. It seems from the reports you reap great personal benefit instead of favouring your Lord.¡±


    I approach Lord Torngul and hand-off the now useless, I suspect, missives from the two Clan Heads.


    ¡°All will depend upon your generosity, Lord Torngul.¡± I glance at Thalgora, who is currently hanging off my right arm.


    He smiles while petting the hand of his wife while looking deeply into her eyes. Is this an act or¡­ love? Perhaps I need to test the waters.


    ¡°We have private matters of importance to discuss¡­¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°Our wives can witness our discussions, as anything we say will go to the grave with them, I am certain.¡± His wife bends and kisses him on the top of his head, while Thalgora strangles my arm even more.


    I want to pace, to think, yet my wife is more than an anchor, an immovable pillar. ¡°Clan Hungry is useless, Lord Torngul. I have tried to offer them enlightenment regarding farming, yet I am certain it will take multiple follow-ups to ensure they continue as shown. All they needed to do was listen to their goblin slaves, yet they dismissed their advice.¡±


    ¡°Are those the ones?¡± Trela¡¯s eyes glisten as she asks. ¡°The ones you have purchased?¡± She snickers.


    I drop my shaking head to stare at the floor. ¡°Zinmog demanded the replacement of his good grain, objecting to its use in the sowing of the new field. After being unconvinced about the future benefit, I agreed to replace his grain, yet not for nothing. We haggled over his slaves.¡±


    I feel her breath on my neck as I hear her whisper, ¡°Husband, that is not what we were told.¡± She then kisses my ear as cover, I suspect.


    The spies were exacting then. Somehow, their reports are accurate beyond belief, especially about my business.


    Lord Torngul clears his throat. ¡°And how do you intend to pay for these slaves, Lord Klar?¡±


    ¡°There is no rush. I have a month of days. I convinced him that one lump sum of grain would cause higher prices, meaning less grain for him, and incur waste from vermin during storage. Therefore, I need to supply grain or value in coin in monthly portions.¡±


    Lord Torngul releases his wife and sits forward. ¡°I am your sponsor in all things. If you cannot pay, then this manor will need to pay to ensure our honour remains intact.¡±


    I wonder if the role of Lord Torngul has gone to Zeb Stone Grim¡¯s head. I acknowledge our wives aren¡¯t privy to our actual relationship, yet his performance is starting to annoy, especially if this continues¡­


    ¡°Never fear Lord, shortly after three months of days, the new grain will be near ready and the validation of my technique will convince him he owes me, not the other way around.¡±


    He settles back into his throne and Trela rests her bottom on the throne¡¯s arm this time while wrapping her arm around her husband¡¯s shoulders. ¡°How much extra grain do you think your technique will yield?¡± he asks.


    ¡°If he continues to water the crop, as I have shown him, at least three or four times. Enough to cover my debt and, depending upon your interpretation of our deal, more besides. Possibly enough to have him indebted to me if you wish.¡±


    Lord Torngul pats his wife¡¯s legs. ¡°See dear, never doubt Lord Klar and his ways, which is why I sponsored him, and which is why he will always have the benefit of any doubt. Forget rumours, ask him directly.¡±


    I deliver a shallow bow. ¡°I won¡¯t betray your trust in me, Lord Torngul.¡±


    ¡°What of Clan Beastbane?¡± he asks.


    ¡°The deal with them depends entirely on you, Lord.¡±


    He throws his wife a look of satisfaction and then waves a hand at me.


    ¡°Exchange of land grants. Clan Beastbane gives up a land grant near Clan Hungry, in fact, the only farmable land available to them, and they surrender a low crop yield land grant in exchange. You grant Clan Beastbane a new land grant, north and east of their present holdings. Then you grant your daughter a land grant, as a marriage gift.¡±


    Thalgora¡¯s hand around my arm shakes. She needs to clamp down on my flesh and I am doubtful any blood reaches my fingers now.


    ¡°Land grants to the Clans is neither here nor there as long as neither increases.¡± He rubs his chin. ¡°A land grant to my daughter could be seen as nepotism¡­¡±


    ¡°Or a wedding gift?¡± I offer.


    Trela leans down and whispers in Lord Torngul¡¯s ear. His eyes widen on a nodding head.


    ¡°Do you have a particular land grant in mind, Lord Klar?¡±


    I describe an area of plains between Clan Hungry and Clan Greenfriend with a river flowing through and describe how I will capture wild boar and build pens to hold them within reach of water and feedstock. He asks how Clan Beastbane would judge my endeavour, and Jarlgren¡¯s missive clarifies my rights in that regard.


    Trela¡¯s light laughter rings out until she sobers up. ¡°So that is true as well. You have over a half a clan of female hobgoblins to wrangle, to go with your tribe of rebellious goblins. How will you manage?¡±


    ¡°My wife.¡± I receive a kiss on the ear. ¡°My concubines and perhaps some hobgoblins, Lord Torngul considers surplus, such as Voria, who I saw on gate guard duty, will assist.¡±


    ¡°You wish to take my daughter and expose her to hardship, the hardest of all, the establishment of a new settlement?¡±


    ¡°If she is willing?¡±


    Thalgora goes from hanging on to me like someone drowning to a loving partner, all gentle embrace, and soft caresses. In a soft voice, she says, ¡°I am willing to follow my Lord anywhere, father.¡±


    ¡°Then so be it! I will have Dorgrav draw up the deeds of land grant, although I won¡¯t deliver the wedding gift until you can think of a name that I can grant you. After all, we must adhere to tradition.¡±


    A name? Of course, an earnt name of any who hold a land grant no matter how small or large. First things first.


    ¡°About Dorgrav, Lord Torngul.¡±


    Something or someone smashes against the double doors. Three of us draw weapons. Trela grabs a sword from behind the throne. Lord Torngul and I edge our way towards the doors, exchanging glances to the sound of multiple blows. I nod to Lord Torngul and reach up and turn the handle. The doors burst inwards, and several female hobgoblin bodies and one goblin body flood into the room, sprawling across the floor. Lord Torngul jumps back, while a tangle of arms and legs wrap around my legs, and I need to plant my feet to remain upright.


    ¡°Is this sprawl how my honour guard represents me? Explain yourselves and do so quickly!¡± bellows Lord Torngul.


    I don¡¯t recognise any of his honour guard. Luda, Izga, Zoria, Duzsia and Zergoa I recognise. It appears the last two were late on the scene as they stand in the doorway, mouths open, taking in the chaotic scene.


    ¡°Lord, we protected your right to privacy when this goblin demanded to interrupt you. She went away when she realised her strength was nothing against your four honour guards. Then she returned with them.¡± She points out Izga and Zoria. ¡°After a moment of explanation and our refusal, they tried to force their way in. That is what you heard, Lord.¡± She takes a knee, as do her three honour guard sisters. Izga and Zoria meanwhile check for bruises and scrapes, oblivious to the ramifications of their transgression. Duzsia and Zergoa attend to Luda.


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    I stare at Luda and shortly after, Lord Torngul quits his pacing before his honour guard and does likewise. Light and dark blotches decorate her green skin, her hair a tangle, dark green underlines her eyes and there are scratches on her forearms. These are the obvious physical signs¡­


    ¡°Out! All out, except Luda and Lord Klar. Out!¡± He attempts a kick at one of his honour guards. She scampers away to avoid his blow. The double doors slam shut. Zeb Stone Grim and Lord Farmer Hob look down upon a pitiful sobbing creature trying to curl herself into an even smaller ball of flesh.


    I crouch and whisper in her ear. ¡°Two days, Luda. Will we leave the manor, we will leave Hobgoblin Town and you will be another goblin amongst many more, able to enjoy your freedom, join us in whatever risky exploits await you and your sister wives in my name¡­? Do you hear me Luda? We will all be there to support you.¡±


    A pitiful whine escapes her lips. ¡°You both left me¡­¡± She digs the fingernails of her right hand into her left forearm and draws blood.


    I lean forward, my hands wide, trying to scoop her up and she skitters away until she reaches the shadow under the long table.


    ¡°What can we do to make this up to you?¡± asks Zeb Stone Grim. My heart sinks as I am certain her reply will be impossible to meet.


    ¡°Never leave me,¡± she spits out, with a venomous tone in complete contrast to her broken sobbing.


    Zeb recoils and searches my face, I suspect, for a magic answer.


    I point towards the double doors and grasp Zeb¡¯s arm and take him in tow. We knock once and one of the two doors cracks open. Lord Torngul pushes through, and I follow. The door closes behind us. I land a hand on the shoulders of Duzsia and Zoria and flick my head toward the doors. They grimace, step forward, open the doors and enter the room. Lord Torngul¡¯s honour guard secures the doors.


    ¡°Zergoa and Izga pack everything. We leave before first light tomorrow. Offer Voria a place with us.¡± I glance at my wife and then whisper in her ear. ¡°If I marry Klugak¡¯s daughter Klaria, he will gift us a bounty in coins. I said you would decide, and they need to ask you.¡±


    She pats my shoulder, ending with a light squeeze. ¡°Leave negotiations to me. I will order servants to pack my things so as not to delay our departure, husband.¡±


    Lord Torngul occupies the space made available by Thalgora¡¯s departure. ¡°Will Duzsia and Zoria be able to succeed where we have failed?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°Zoria can tell her of my plans, while Duzsia can explain why she needed to live the life of an outcast¡­¡±


    Lord Torngul¡¯s four honour guards shift about and fiddle, resting their hands upon the pommels of their swords and then correcting the positioning of their fine hard leather armour, only to return the armour to the original position several moments later. Trela furrows her brow, resting on one leg and then the other and I sense she is going to say something she shouldn¡¯t, like watching a person about to jump off a cliff and you are too far away to stop them. All you can do is yell and hope they hear you.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know goblins could even¡ª¡±


    I snatch her sword from her grasp.


    ¡°Why did you do that?¡± she squeals.


    ¡°How many more do you keep behind the throne?¡±


    She rests a hand on her hip. ¡°Why is that important now?¡±


    ¡°Humour me. Small talk while we wait for my two concubines to comfort my third, who is equally precious to me.¡±


    She raises her eyebrows and glances at Lord Torngul who returns a severe look. Her bottom lip trembles in response and she faces me.


    ¡°We¡­ we have one sword, one spear, one dagger and¡­ and a bow with at least five arrows, I think.¡±


    ¡°Correct Mistress,¡± offers one of Lord Torngul¡¯s honour guard.


    ¡°Good to know. I wonder if you could track down Thalgora and make sure she doesn¡¯t negotiate with her sword instead of her words?¡±


    ¡°She went to negotiate?¡±


    ¡°Yes, discussions are probably well underway at the north gate.¡±


    ¡°North gate?¡± She glances at Lord Torngul.


    He grabs her shoulders. ¡°An excellent idea. Support my daughter. She faces the entire family of Klugak alone, so your support would be invaluable.¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband.¡± Her eyes dance between him and I and then she leaves, hesitating the once only to glance back before descending the staircase.


    Lord Torngul points out two of his honour guard. ¡°Follow her, just in case.¡±


    There is an air of relief on their faces as they hurry off. The two who remain grimace and stay at their post.


    There is a knock on one door and the honour guard pair crack both open. Under Zoria¡¯s arm, a cloak about her, Luda limps out of the room. Zeb Stone Grim surges towards his daughter. Duzsia waves her hand in his way and then rests her hand on his chest. His eyes glare at Duzsia, but the distraction is enough. Duzsia withdraws her hand and follows Zoria and Luda down the wide staircase. Zeb once again steps out to follow and I rest my hand on his shoulder. He props and then turns his burning eyes on me.


    ¡°We can discuss your concerns in private, Lord Torngul,¡± I say while waving my hand towards his throne room.


    He grunts and stomps through the open doors. I follow and glance back, confirming his honour guard secures the doors. He is trying several unique positions on his throne when I face him.


    ¡°She is a goblin, Lord Torngul, not the daughter of Zeb Stone Grim. Zoria and Duzsia should be able to comfort her.¡±


    The eyes of a father, full of fear and concern, stare back at me. ¡°Will she recover? I didn¡¯t know, yet I should have. Who could endure being locked away for days on end?¡±


    ¡°Prisoners.¡±


    ¡°She wasn¡¯t a prisoner¡­¡± His words trail off as realisation hits him.


    ¡°In this valley, goblins are lower than livestock. Although unusual, perhaps we should consider Zoria¡¯s suggestion. Take the chance, Luda dying and hopefully returning, ideally in a hobgoblin body, if possible, maybe for the best.¡±


    He shakes his head from side to side. I wonder if I should position myself to catch it in case it flies off his neck. ¡°Impossible. Death is not something to do lightly. The void, the black, is not a simple place to survive and keep your sanity.¡±


    I approach his throne. ¡°Which makes her falling into a pit of hopelessness all the stranger, given she survived the void as well as any of my other wives and yourself.¡±


    ¡°You think something else eats at my daughter?¡±


    I scrap a chair back from underneath the long table and sit. ¡°On my trip to Clan Hungry, I learnt much about the days after my death, my wives and some of their goblin children. When adults, they tried to resist Rexa in their own ways. Duzsia, Koria and the biggest surprise Zoria seem to be remembered, yet none recall Luda. Your death would have been difficult for her, Koria¡¯s probably more so, and it seems she faded into obscurity. From what I can tell, Duzsia and Milga left the valley while still relatively young, while Rexa allowed Luda to live out her days. Why?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps my youngest daughter, being unable to gain her name when others did, still weighs on her. She, of all your original wives, is alone in that.¡± Tapping his chin, he continues. ¡°Earning a name is important to hobgoblins in this valley, and perhaps elsewhere. A goblin tradition which they adopted to regulate land ownership and importance and so a further reminder of her failure. Klugak the foremost example and his craving standing in for hers.¡±


    ¡°You believe Zoria¡¯s tirade about Luda?¡±


    He slumps low on his throne. ¡°Some of what Zoria said about all of us holds a level of truth, I am afraid. At the time I thought my influence on Rexa was important and for a few years she deferred to my judgement, yet in balance, I must admit my presence was insignificant overall. Rexa had too much Jotor and not enough Lord Farmer Hob.¡±


    ¡°How did you die, if I can ask?¡±


    ¡°I am glad to hear you don¡¯t think I died of old age. Well, I assume you don¡¯t.¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine Zeb Stone Grim dying without creating some sort of fuss first, plus you told me you died before both of your daughters when you first returned to me in Lord Torngul¡¯s body.¡±


    The sad nod of his head touches my heart, always the one trying to do his best, but females, Suda the Faithful first and then Rexa, always undermined him.


    ¡°I thought myself clever. Thought none spied upon me and maybe to begin with it was the case¡­¡± His head cranes up to the ceiling and then slowly lowers. ¡°I encouraged the tribes to grow grain and described to them the techniques you taught. Convinced them they needed more goblins to counter Rexa. Rexa caught on, of course, because as the years passed, the other tribes didn¡¯t barter for as much grain.¡±


    ¡°That hardly seems a killing offence¡­¡±


    He waves a hand at me, a sly smile upon his lips. ¡°She didn¡¯t like it, but what I had done was done and I explained farmers don¡¯t fight as well as hunters and she would have more worshippers in the end. I thought my prediction was an excuse to escape death, but this is what largely happened, it seems. No, my unforgivable crime was telling everyone her second pregnancy was beget by laying with her son.¡±


    I know my mouth opens, yet words refuse to escape. His finger under my chin wakes me from my stupor.


    ¡°Did you know that for a fact?¡±


    He settles back on his throne. ¡°A good guess. She would want another hobgoblin son. To make that happen, she needed to sleep with a hobgoblin. Anyway, Klugrath summoned me to a useless meeting and while walking the streets of Head Village heading home, I was alive one moment and then ascending into the black the next.¡±


    ¡°None mention this second son,¡± I muse.


    ¡°Only Zoria, Koria and Luda of your wives could tell you about him if he lived. We know Rexa survived, of course.¡±


    ¡°One last thing.¡± I pause, waiting for him to straighten and pay me his full attention. ¡°What was the Lord of the Manor act on my arrival and not dismissing our wives?¡±


    He chuckles. ¡°I am glad my acting was convincing.¡± With both hands, he rubs his face. ¡°This is difficult to admit because I thought I found true love with my first wife, yet Trela drives me crazy with her devotion, so in short Lord Farmer Hob, I was intent on impressing my new wife. There is no other reason. I can assure you that the land grants will be done, a land grant to Thalgora as well, in your name, of course, because she is female.¡±


    ¡°You hinted this could be trouble?¡±


    A lazy shrug. ¡°Worst case, I would need to grant each of the clans an additional land grant for balance and as an unspoken apology. I will try to delay until you harvest your miracle crop because that alone will silence any detractors.¡±


    Instead, I am about to turn to leave and think of another question. ¡°What do you know about The Eater Clan?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t laugh. His lips draw thin instead. ¡°Clan Head in Sakvorpa, the only female ever to earn her name. Her clan keeps the streets clean, trains boar riding beasts when requested and all trades and vendors must register their business with her clan, which I am certain means they pay her a fee. All other clans defer to her in Hobgoblin Town, and while she stays within her land grant, no other clan makes any noise about her and her clan.¡±


    ¡°Her work crews are goblins?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and I have heard a rumour she has spies everywhere.¡±


    ¡°Are they the ones who reported on my every move and conversation while absent?¡±


    ¡°Difficult to say. Dorgrav tells me, often, what he finds out, whether I want to know or not. Because of your exploits, he is on guard duty, so I can get some peace. He didn¡¯t protest, I suppose in his current guard position, anyone passing by can drop notes or engage in a brief whisper.¡±


    My turn to smirk. ¡°With your permission, I will prepare my goods and chattels and take my leave, Lord Torngul.¡±


    ¡°Not so fast, Lord Klar. What of your name?¡±


    ¡°The Peacemaker?¡± I offer.


    He chuckles, near enough to full-on laughing with tearing eyes. ¡°Perhaps, The Lusty would be more accurate.¡±


    I wait while he collects himself. ¡°The Farmer?¡±


    He sobers up in an instant, shaking his head. ¡°Lord Klar the Farmer? Too like Lord Farmer Hob, therefore a definite no. I see this as protecting you from yourself, Lord Hob.¡±


    Do I really want the name of Lord Klar the Lusty, even if substantially true, given my actions in this valley? The name would be ridiculous. Other Clan Heads could jest and make fun of my name. The only upside, is that it would be disarming?


    ¡°Once named, can you award me a new name, after some noteworthy deed or significant change?¡±


    ¡°Mm, uncertain. I can try to rename you, but what holds will depend upon the deed. What do you have in mind?¡±


    ¡°Start with Lord Klar the Lusty. This may take pressure off you granting the other Clans an additional land grant because you can always retort, that I will never go beyond the one land grant with a name like that as who will rally around Clan Lusty?¡±


    ¡°Possibly¡­¡±


    ¡°Then I am named Lord Klar the Fertile after Clan Hungry brings in my bumper crop. Similar but different.¡±


    His hands grasp the arms of his throne. ¡°Then when those pregnant by your seed give birth, the true meaning will be obvious to all.¡±


    ¡°Or sooner, when bellies begin to grow¡­¡±


    He quirks his head and then his eyes hunt for mine. ¡°You intend to leave this valley before your seed bears fruit!¡±


    ¡°Possibly, probably. Some results will cause a great deal of jealousy, I suspect. Certain Clan Heads would demand my attendance before them, not for an explanation, but servicing.¡±


    Lord Torngul leans forward. ¡°What results, exactly, are you expecting, Lord Klar?¡±


    I strum the table with my fingers. Do I tell him everything?


    ¡°Clan Hungry. If they keep those I seeded well fed, will yield an extremely high number of male hobgoblins.¡±


    He slowly nods, consuming my words. ¡°How will they feed the influx of births?¡±


    My retort is quick. ¡°By following my farming technique.¡±


    ¡°Continue as I know there is more, Lord Farmer Hob. There always is.¡±


    ¡°I suspect Clan Head Krilzak planted several of his females in the procession, gambling on them falling pregnant, so I decided to either plant impotent seed in them, or if I felt genuine feelings of motherhood, willed female hobgoblin births only.¡±


    He springs out of his chair and his face is but a hand-width from mine. Then he remembers our actual relationship and withdraws, pacing the length of the room instead.


    ¡°There are three outcomes. Birth of a goblin and shame for the female hobgoblin, after all, the male can¡¯t be at fault.¡± He pauses and pivots to face me from across the room. ¡°By a wide margin, the most common outcome is the birth of a female hobgoblin, which everyone always expects.¡± He resumes his pacing while shaking his head. His mouth opens and then closes. He glances in my direction and sighs. ¡°The exception, the rare birth, is a male hobgoblin. Even previous partners cannot assume they will birth another male.¡±


    ¡°Erm yes,¡± I mumble.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you see? You have destroyed this norm with Clan Hungry and worse¡­¡± He slumps back onto his throne while staring at me. ¡°You have proven you have control over your seed by denying the same bounty to Clan Quickeyed.¡±


    ¡°I never seeded Clan Quickeyed, well, officially. A coincidence that their participants made up the failures, but their numbers will be averaged against Clan Hungry, so while my portion of males is impressive, I also had failures and female births.¡±


    ¡°I fear, Lord Farmer Hob, that your ruse is somewhat thin. Lord Krilzak is not so foolish as to not recognise when he has been duped and use that for revenge and, if possible gain.¡±


    Silence pervades the room. Do I tell him about the goblins?


    ¡°You must leave before any are born, although you will need to sneak out. No farewells, no fanfare. Here one day, gone the next and yet they will still try to find you, especially if Clan Hungry birth many males. To date, Clan Beastbane is the only exception, and theirs is modest, tolerated because they are few in terms of clan size and considered uncivilised.¡±


    Clan Beastbane has few hobgoblins¡­ I would have thought their numbers the equal or more of Clan Hungry. Did the poor harvest restrict Clan Hungry compared to the other Clans, perhaps? Clan Head Jarlgren could count on several sons, recognised and unrecognised. Did he, in fact, seed all or most of the females in Clan Beastbane to gamble on male births with a sort of alpha male pack mentality? After all, the blame for failure couldn¡¯t fall on males and previous success with a partner to birth a male didn¡¯t guarantee future success. Is that why he was so keen to be rid of excess females? He had seeded them without success, and therefore, they have proven worthless to him.


    I cough. ¡°What would you say if I told you I have seeded all the female goblins I have purchased from Clan Hungry?¡±


    ¡°Then I assume the mothers will die in childbirth and we will have to care for many screaming hobgoblin babies.¡±


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°This tribe of goblins swear they have the linage of Zoria Oath Keeper in their blood and have a technique using my blood, handed down through the generations to ensure the mother survives.¡±


    The knocking of a hobgoblin''s head against the solid wood of a throne backrest results in a dull sound. Unexpected. I would have thought, without hair, the hobgoblin skull would produce a crisp knocking sound instead.

 2.024 Everybody Else

    <h2>---Thalgora, First wife of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°Open.¡±


    Voria does as I command; she knows her place. No longer a favourite with father and uncertain of her future beyond gate guard.


    ¡°They wait a respectful distance from the gate, maintaining a vigil, even though we said we would fetch them, Mistress Thalgora.¡±


    I ignore her, yet from the corner of my eye, I notice the slight nodding of her head. Good.


    Stepping through the gate is like a signal to Klugak¡¯s family as they rush forward. On foot, though. Their beasts are nowhere to be seen, so I assume back in their stables. Content with their eagerness, I wait under the shade of the manor¡¯s gatehouse.


    ¡°Greetings Thalgora, honoured first wife of Lord Klar,¡± says the snivelling Klugak with a slight bow of his head.


    Giving deference to a female. I see the struggle within him, his neck stiff, yet not unyielding when trying to obtain an advantage for his family. I need to tease out the advantage he seeks, of course, as expected of a first wife, as expected of a wife of Lord Klar.


    ¡°My Lord Klar mentioned your request, and advised me I would be the final arbitrator.¡± I fold my arms across my abundant chest. ¡°Convince me why I would allow another to share in my Lord¡¯s attention.¡±


    She, Klugak¡¯s daughter, Klaria tries to step forward and fails. I assume her family restrains her, as my eyes are solely for Klugak. Being eye to eye with a male is not unusual for me, although on this occasion a clear advantage.


    ¡°Lord Klar declared a certain interest in Klaria, in front of many and as a family, we feel there is an implied obligation and being a Lord, his honour would be best served, to follow through. To his benefit and those of his household.¡±


    Obligation? Honour? I chuckle. ¡°His honour? Do you call his honour into question? If that is all, then I believe we are done. There will always be a few who wish to believe the worst. I am certain my Lord¡¯s future deeds will put to rest any doubts and gather more to him at the same time. His name is on everyone¡¯s lips. Lord Klar is on the rise.¡±


    I make to pivot and feel the weight of his hand on my upper arm. My eyes burn into his hand, and he releases as if scolded.


    ¡°I apologise if I overstep. Perhaps listening to advantages would be a better place to start?¡±


    I rest a hand on the pommel of my sword and force some wrinkles upon my brow, feigning thought.


    ¡°Continue.¡±


    His eyes dart to my sword hilt and then return to face me. ¡°We have made plain Klaria¡¯s dowry would be generous, perhaps more than enough to cover any financial commitment that Lord Klar may have to Clan Hungry, for example. I am certain she will be a diligent wife to Lord Klar and obey the wishes of his First Wife.¡±


    Klugak bows to someone behind me. I resist looking, because either my father, Lord Klar or perhaps Lady Trela has arrived. He would low bow to no one else.


    ¡°Welcome Lay Trela,¡± he says while his eyes range beyond her.


    ¡°I am alone, although Lord Torngul sends two of his honour guard with me for reasons I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°We protect the ones we love, Lady Trela.¡±


    I resist the urge to vomit, while Lady Trela chitters. She was once one of his honour guards, was she not? Uncompromising, a warrior of great skill and yet out of her armour she is all softness and falls for the simplest of flatteries.


    The chitter ends like a sword cut and with a hardness in her voice she says, ¡°While not my daughter by birth, I would not stand by and witness in silence any taking of advantage of my Lord¡¯s Thalgora.¡±


    His hands fumble over themselves. ¡°Perish the thought, Lady. I am also a servant of Lord Torngul and in this negotiation, as in any other, I act always for his benefit as I will clearly demonstrate.¡±


    To the detriment of his family and his ambitions? I wait to hear his convincing argument, the one which will benefit us all. Trela is also somewhat of a surprise.


    ¡°I assume you have discussed a dowry?¡± asks Trela.


    ¡°Yes, Lady. One which would probably clear Lord Klar¡¯s debt with Clan Hungry.¡±


    Lady Trela glances at me. My turn then.


    ¡°Well, step forward.¡± I eye off Klugak¡¯s daughter.


    Klugak reaches back and waves his daughter forward. She wears a simple one-piece blue linen shift, with bangles of silver on both wrists. Rightly so, her chin up arrogance wilts under our combined gazes. Shining black hair frames blazing orange eyes. Izga¡¯s eye colour. I wonder if they are similar in other ways.


    My eyes need to look down as my thumb and pointing finger grasp her tusks. I toss her head slightly, which she doesn¡¯t resist.


    ¡°Open.¡±


    Her mouth opens and after turning her head slightly towards the sun, I note her teeth look sound at least. Releasing her tusks, I stroll behind her and note her body tense up. I lift the back of her shift and note her bubble bottom. Lord Klar has many bottoms to choose from, mostly taut and athletic. Would this variation amuse him?


    ¡°Untie your loincloth.¡±


    I hear her gasp and decide to elaborate.


    ¡°Your father has probably seen you naked before. Your brother wouldn¡¯t care and everyone else here is female.¡±


    A sniff and the loincloth drops. I lift the shift again and grasp a good meaty chunk of one bottom cheek and then knead her flesh. Would Lord Klar delight in the difference? I release her flesh and continue my stroll until we are face to face again. Her face and neck carry, a fading green flush.


    Looking down her cleavage, I estimate mine are still bigger, yet her breast wrap disguises the shape.


    Lady Trela¡¯s voice calls from behind me, ¡°We haven¡¯t got all day! Unwrap your breasts, girl, and then off shoulder your shift so First Wife Thalgora can assess them.¡±


    A tear bubbles from each of her eyes as she loosens and then allows her breast wrap to fall. One of her sisters reaches forward and gathers both the loincloth and wrap. She wriggles her shoulder free from the top of the shift to allow her breast to be revealed. This one is an unforgiving cone shape, topped by a nipple, which, as I massage the breast, grows firm. Her light green blush returns, spreading to her cleavage. Revealing the second breast results in a stronger blush, but otherwise, the breasts are near identical.


    I take a step back. Her sister offers her the loincloth and breast wrap, which she slaps away, straightening her shoulders instead. Good, she chooses her battles. To defy me would mean the end of negotiations and probably expulsion from her family, yet to choose her state of dress or undress in this case well within her authority. The outline of her hard nipples under her shift is further confirmation, or simply a sexual reaction.


    ¡°Her body would intrigue Lord Klar, who has an abundance of athletes yet no gentile ladies. Grab a sword from your brother, dear.¡± With the ease of many times, I free my sword from its sheath and take guard.


    ¡°What? No! I forbid placing my daughter in any danger,¡± says Klugak while stepping between me and her.


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Does she have any great skill?¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°No, of course not. She will be at your mercy.¡±


    ¡°No. My skill will ensure her safety. What say you, girl?¡±


    Her slim fingers rest upon her father¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Let me do this, father. We both knew this wouldn¡¯t be easy.¡± His hand rests upon her fingers, while his eyes try to wish me dead, and then he steps aside, head down.


    She takes up a guard position, lower than she should, yet adequate. More than Shaza, my useless sister, can accomplish at any rate.


    ¡°Ready?¡±


    She nods.


    I feint left and strike right. There is a clash of steel. A good eye, not easily misled and although my blow is half strength, she doesn¡¯t drop her weapon. She waits. I strike high and instead of bracing her weapon to receive the blow; she charges forward. My free hand grabs her wrist, bringing the flat of her weapon to bear upon her chest while I lower mine upon her neck. She gulps.


    Stepping back, I have her weapon in my left hand and mine in the right. I throw her weapon to her brother, who snatches it via the hilt from out of the air and cleanly sheaths his sword while I sheath mine.


    I break the silence. ¡°None will expect you to defend your husband.¡± My eyes settle on hers. ¡°Being able to defend yourself until he can rescue you will be enough. Otherwise worrying about your safety may force him to take foolish risks and lead to his death because make no mistake once we leave the safety of the manor, many will seek Lord Klar¡¯s death for many reasons known only to those who assail him.¡±


    With intensity, I scan her face, which hardens instead of going wide-eyed or any other tells of fear. I glance back at Lady Trela, who returns a tiny nod.


    ¡°Now tell us why you want to wed your daughter to Lord Klar.¡± As he opens his mouth, I raise my hand. ¡°You have one chance in this, so don¡¯t hold back, don¡¯t scrimp with the truth because beyond everything else is motive. Any future wife or concubine will be loyal to Lord Klar first, second and third and if found wanting, be disappeared.¡±


    ¡°I am proud of all my children. I have raised them to be proud of their family and to commit to any family they marry into. I am hopeful, that once Lord Klar realises the joy and devotion of Klaria, he will share this with Lord Torngul.¡±


    Lady Trela steps forward. ¡°To what end?¡± she half growls.


    Klugak places a hand on Kreldak. ¡°In time I would propose my son marries Lord Torngul¡¯s daughter Shaza.¡±


    I stagger back into Lady Trela. We are both struggling for breath. She is the first to recover.


    ¡°You place too much importance on this to reach for that, I am afraid, Klugak. Lord Torngul will only reveal his plans for his daughters when they need to be revealed. I have made many suggestions myself and each one angered him. So, I don¡¯t make any suggestions now.¡±


    He smiles a knowing smile. ¡°I am well aware of Lord Torngul and his way with things.¡± He casts a kindly glance at his daughter. ¡°My daughter falls easily in love and when Lord Klar took her lips, she gave him her heart. While not my plan for her, I accept her wish, yet still try to turn this to benefit her family. So, mine is the future risk. In the present, Klaria marrying Lord Klar is no risk. He will gain a devoted wife, I am certain.¡±


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Come here, girl.¡±


    Klaria takes a last look at her sisters. Her hand slides down the upper arm of her brother and she advances. Her father embraces her, reluctantly releasing her.


    I crush her into my chest. ¡°Welcome to the family of Lord Klar, Second Wife. Tonight, a wedding, then a bedding and in the morning your family will drop off your worldly possessions because we begin our journey to Lord Klar¡¯s land deed and a new rough but exciting life!¡±


    ¡°Father?¡± she squeaks.


    ¡°Have you changed your mind?¡± I ask.


    I feel her head shake from side to side in my arms.


    ¡°Then what?¡± I release her to speak.


    ¡°I am so happy!¡± The tears in her eyes shine like diamonds.


    <h2>---Lord Torngul Heartsplitter POV</h2>


    I ordered food and in silence Lord Klar and I, sitting at opposite ends of the long table, eat.


    Needing time to think, while not letting him out of my sight, meant sharing a meal. He doesn¡¯t realise the level of the exposure because of his actions. The fact he can perform a lust haze was suspicious enough and I now regret my part in bringing that capability into the open, even if by accident. I didn¡¯t think traits of Lord Farmer Hob would transfer into Lord Klar so ardently. My original intent was to exhaust him after a modest number of seedings, he retires, which should have then removed any interest in him.


    The number of spies beating a path to my door via Dorgrav proving the level of interest within Hobgoblin Town, and probably beyond, is instead at an all-time high. Once the pregnancy rate and then the birth results become plain, only a mad person could guess what comes next. Now, we have the possibility of goblins giving birth to hobgoblins. The scum of the valley reaching well above themselves and the only reason for this is Lord Klar. This can only end in bloodshed, I fear. He sits there oblivious. His solution, is simple, leave before the valley descends into chaos. Doesn¡¯t he appreciate the destruction he will leave behind? The death and sadness?


    ¡°You must make the pregnant goblins leave the valley,¡± I say.


    ¡°Must I?¡± He raises his head and quirks an eyebrow.


    ¡°Yes, for the good of the valley and even then, I don¡¯t know if that will be enough. The sudden disappearance of goblin slaves will have its own consequences. Especially for their master.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate your concern, and I know I have miscalculated somewhat. The goblins probably a step too far in hindsight, yet I confess I am a sucker for emotional blackmail.¡±


    Before I can think, I throw my apple core at his head. His hand snatches my missile from the air, although his wide-eyed look assuages my anger somewhat.


    ¡°This is serious Lord Farmer Hob! The entire valley will be in an uproar and looking for your blood if they can¡¯t secure your seed.¡± I rest my head in my hands, elbows on the table. ¡°How long before rumour spreads beyond this valley of a hobgoblin who has lust haze, able to birth male hobgoblins and able to birth hobgoblins from goblins, where the mothers survive?¡±


    ¡°When you say it like that, Lord Torngul, I believe we have a problem.¡±


    He tries for a deadpan reply, yet a leakage of humour lines his words. Humour?


    ¡°What makes you think this is a ¡®we¡¯ problem? I am your sponsor, but once away from this manor, I can say your deeds are your own.¡±


    His reply of joyous laughter is an aggravating salt in my concern. I slap the table. He stops laughing and stares at me.


    ¡°Zeb Stone Grim, you serve me. Your role in this life doesn¡¯t change this, nor will any future role. So, the ¡®we¡¯ I mentioned is between master and servant, now and possibly forever. To assure you I take our present situation seriously, I will offer the beginnings of a plan, and I warn you this is only a start because it isn¡¯t perfect in any way.¡±


    ¡°Yes, thank you, Lord. I await your wisdom.¡± My hands spread out wide before me. My mocking hits home as I hear the grinding of his teeth.


    ¡°The goblins will give birth. They will survive and the babes will be attributed to the Clan Beastbane females.¡±


    I chuckle. The more I try to rein in my nervous mirth, the louder it grows. His slap on the table awakens me, and I stifle my last chuckle with a cough.


    ¡°Tell me then,¡± he demands.


    ¡°You wanted to leave before the birth of any babes. How will you prevent spies from seeing goblins with growing bellies? How will you convince the hobgoblin females to accept goblin babes, even if hobgoblins? They are an easy three that come to mind¡­¡±


    ¡°As I said, this is the beginning of a plan, no more.¡± With his fork. he shifts his food about on his plate.


    ¡°The most grievous risk is the goblins. You need to send them into hiding. This will simplify the other¡­ issues, maybe,¡± I offer.


    ¡°They will feel betrayed but may understand. What about so many slaves leaving the valley at once, as you said?¡±


    I grin. ¡°Like your plan, only a beginning.¡±


    His riotous laughter is a joy and relief for both of us. A knock on the door interrupts.


    I glance at Lord Klar. After his nod, I say, ¡°Enter!¡±


    Lady Trela and my daughter escort a hesitant hobgoblin female who I recognise. Klugak¡¯s spawn.


    ¡°Father, I would have you marry Klaria, the eldest daughter of Klugak, to Lord Klar with my blessing.¡±


    I wonder what that weasel is after with this marriage. My thoughts tumble over, trying to make sense of this arrangement. I glance at my wife and her slight nod confirms her agreement, so I am certain I will receive a full explanation in time. Lord Klar now stands beside me. Was my distraction that long? Is he eager? Klaria¡¯s eyes are only for Lord Klar. Is this what one kiss does? Her body shakes, yet this isn¡¯t fear. Her smile confirms this is nervous anticipation.


    He holds an arm out to her, which she grabs and rests between her bosoms, a green blush spreading from her face down her neck. Her linen shift cannot smooth out to disguise her erect nipples underneath. I glance at Lord Klar who wears a warm smile, his eyes for his bride to be.


    ¡°As Lord Torngul Heartsplitter, Lord of the Grassplains, I proclaim you husband and second wife. Go forth and may your marriage be bountiful!¡±


    She offers her lips, waiting with closed eyes. Lord Klar swoops in and takes her offering, picking her up in the process and carrying her off, lips still locked together.


    <h2>---Klaria, Second wife of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I remember the layout of the manor and as I blink to remove the overwhelming delirium I feel in this moment; I am certain we are not heading for any of the bedrooms. Yet I know I am safe in his arms. I have no explanation and when I described my afterglow to Clan Head Durlarg after Lord Klar took my lips; he assured me Lord Klar must therefore hold a more than casual blood linage to Kluggoth or possibly Klugrath and I should be happy. This would also help explain some of his lusty feats, he advised. His waggoneers had travelled a great deal throughout the southern reaches of the valley and the blood of Rexa¡¯s sons was rare this far south, but not impossible, he explained. So, while I had always hoped for such a linage, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine such a blessing to come true.


    Laying my head on his shoulder, I still swoon. The goblin witch The Runner Clan keeps smelt my blood and declared me, not a child of Klugak even though his name is a hint at an impossible linage, but of Klugrath, first son of High Priestess Rexa, glory be her name and may her holy war against the non-believers deliver us all to worship the one true faith.


    The gentle lapping of the water breaks my remembering trance. We are in the bathing room?


    ¡°Why are we here, husband?¡± Goosebumps rise on my forearms when I name him my husband and I revel in the certainty Lord Klar and I are meant to be.


    ¡°To bathe, of course!¡±


    In an instant, I am flying and then splash. Once I sink, my hands and legs shoot out in all directions, trying to find up and hopefully air.


    ¡°Relax.¡±


    His single word overcomes my panic and while I sink, I realise which way is down and draw my legs underneath me and then once my feet find the bottom push up. As I return, his powerful hands are around my waist and I am giddy with delight. Shortly after, his lips are upon mine and I feel our connection again and force my lips against his while my tongue tries to explore the inside of his mouth. Before I succeed, his arms extend out and we separate.


    ¡°Do you trust me, second wife?¡±


    ¡°Yes! Yes! Yes!¡± I have no other answer. I am his, and he is mine, and I have never felt closer to another male or female. Clan Head Durlarg tried to explain once but needed to shrug, ending with the words ¡®you will know when you know¡¯. I am there now, I am certain. I wish I could do the impossible and will the goblin witch here to taste Lord Klar¡¯s blood. It would be wonderful if his linage was also Klugrath¡­ Given my attraction to him, Clan Head Durlarg suspected such a truth.


    My next breath draws in water¡­ I struggle, yet with firm hands, he holds me beneath the water. More water fills my lungs and then darkness.


    My spirit drags upon my flesh as it leaves, irresistible. I wish it back and yet a stronger calling separates us. Then I am spluttering and coughing water out of my lungs, drawing in quick sharp breaths in between. I blink. I am still in his arms. An icy shiver runs down the length of my spine. I recognise this water ceremony from the single holy text the waggoneers of The Runners Clan could procure, although not without cost, as frequent splatters of blood are found within the pages and certainly on the cover. This can only be performed by a Priestess of Klug. I try to look about. Is a wife of Lord Klar a Klugite Priestess? One even Clan Head Durlarg doesn¡¯t know about?


    ¡°You, in part, understand what this ceremony is, don¡¯t you?¡± he asks.


    I slowly nod, aware someone has ownership of my spirit. I sense my spirit is before me, inside him, yet I know this to be impossible¡­


    ¡°I choose service, Lord Klar. That is what you offer, otherwise, death is it not?¡±


    ¡°I accept your service.¡±


    My Spirit returns to me like a warm glove and yet I know as fact a faint replica is within him. Him? There is no Priestess. As our connection becomes one, I forget to breathe.


    ¡°I am not a Priest or Priestess¡­¡±


    ¡°You are Lord Farmer Hob, Lord Klug.¡± Warm tears roll down my cheeks. This explains every attraction I have had to him. His son¡¯s blood flows through my veins. I am some distant relation, yet blood is blood.


    Cloth tearing brings me back to the present. My linen shift is no longer covering my body¡­


    ---


    The fire in my blood is real. My loins hold a warm glow within because of his seed. There is a subtle improvement in my hearing and sight¡­ How is this all possible? I must tell Clan Head Durlarg! Lord Klug walks amongst us. In the ceremony book, there is a written tale that describes the night Lord Klug touched the High Priestess Rexa. Convinced he was trying to find his way back, she foretold a great prophecy. If enough of the faithful earnestly worshipped him, they would draw him to them. Has the prophecy come true?


    A gentle breeze caresses my skin, and only then do I realise I am high and dry out of the water, yet still in the bathing room. I try to climb to my feet, and one slips out from underneath me, and I land heavily on my bottom. I check my foot. A black ooze covers the heel and arch. I wipe this away with my hand and bubbles of black pop out from my green skin. This spreads to my legs, arms, chest, and no matter how much I wipe off, more pops out of my skin to replace the loss. I sob. Joy turns to anguish. How will Lord Klug accept me now?


    ¡°There, there. No need to sob. Lord Klug is cleansing your body, although the normal reaction to his seed usually takes several days.¡±


    She slinks lower, bouncing effortlessly upon her haunches, all the while observing me. Her slim, lithe body is unmistakable. One of The Eater Clan assassins, now I assume a loyal concubine of Lord Klug. I need to understand the pecking order in Lord Klug¡¯s harem as I aim to be Head Wife or Head Concubine, whichever holds the most influence over Lord Klug. So, for now, I play the vulnerable fresh addition and flash her a trembling insecure smile.


    ¡°The lines on your forehead ripple ever so lightly when you are deep in thought, so if you are planning any betrayal of Lord Klug or skulduggery against your sister-wives you best school that tell, away.¡±


    I swallow. Then I realise the improvement in my hearing and sight, and this is immediately after the ceremony. How further advanced are his other wives? Is there a limit, which means I could, in time, catch up?


    ¡°You must be careful around Thalgora. Lord Klar has not subjected her to the ceremony. All his other wives have been. Once you have sweated your impurities, you will bath and dress.¡± She tilts her head towards a pile of clothing. ¡°Then you will follow me. You will not talk. You will not ask questions. There is much to do tonight, and questions can wait until we are travelling. Understand?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± I hold out my hand. ¡°I am Klaria, you are?¡±


    ¡°The one you must obey.¡± She climbs to her feet and looks down at me. ¡°Lord Klug has enough bound wives. He doesn¡¯t need another which he knows, yet he added you. I am certain he will explain in the fullness of time, but for now, you need to be on your best behaviour, otherwise, the other wives may decide to reduce Lord Klar¡¯s harem by one.¡±


    Wrath boils up from the pit of my stomach. Who is she to talk, scum from the street, no lineage, trained as a weapon for a Clan which doesn¡¯t give a fig for their pet assassins, only success or failure? Now she has lucked out, ceremony bound to Lord Klug. Who is she compared to me? I carry his son¡¯s lineage within my blood. How can any be closer?


    ¡°Do not threaten me, you skinny assassin bitch. In my veins is the blood of Lord Klug¡¯s first son and I ooze black sooner than all others because my blood is close to his.¡±


    She tosses me a dagger, which I catch, surprising myself with the ease at which I complete the feat.


    ¡°I will give you a free swing.¡± She spread her arms wide, her dagger still sheathed at her waist.


    I am not a warrior, yet I sense the strength of Lord Klug within me and in one smooth movement, I rise and plunge the dagger into her chest, hoping against all hope I impale her heart. My arm halts, the dagger point pierces her skin, and a trickle of black blood runs underneath her linen shift.


    Pain. My nose explodes, and blood runs from at least one nostril. A wet smack. Double the pain and my eyes water. Then my head jolts to first one side and then the other until she drags me up by my tusks to look into her eyes. I have no strength in my legs! Where does her strength come from¡­? I know the answer, of course, and beyond my control, I leak.


    ¡°Your blood doesn¡¯t count for boarcrap. Only his blood and seed do and all his wives except for you have consumed his blood and seed in volumes too great for you to catch up. Finally, one wife can¡¯t deliver murderous intent on another. We can beat each other up well enough, but murder seems impossible.¡±


    I feel the skin and flesh between my breasts part, hot blood dribbles from the wound, reaching my belly button and lower. My eyes go wide. She said no murderous intent, didn¡¯t she?


    ¡°That was to repay you for cutting me.¡±


    She drags my face lower until my eyes are between her cleavage. Her shift carries a black stain, drying as the blood flow has stopped somehow.


    ¡°We heal quickly from minor wounds, so I expect your chest and nose will be as good as new in the morning.¡±


    She releases me and I collapse in a tangle of arms and legs while thinking, didn¡¯t she just prove my sister-wives couldn¡¯t end me? Oh, wait. There is one who could¡­ Thalgora has a reputation for being rash and if all of them barked at her about me, she may try to solve the problem with her sword and then say sorry.


    Within a covering of oozing black sludge, I swallow down my rising bile.

 2.025 Leaving the Manor

    <h2>---Izga, Concubine of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°Bathe and get dressed. Hurry, we have work to do, sister-wife,¡± I growl. Her blood! In her veins flows the blood of Lord Klug¡¯s son, blah blah. Well, she is nothing, I tell myself. Nothing. I have absorbed much of Lord Klug¡¯s seed and have manipulated and enhanced my body and senses. More recently, I have purified my blood to an honourable lineage. I am more than her equal, more I say.


    Yet, the outside world reality is different, the goblin wise woman and her verdict on my blood named me insignificant, which cut deep. As a concubine of Lord Klar, I rose, and then the blood verdict of a tribal goblin brought me low. Lord Klar¡¯s advice, to refine my blood, was a lifeline, yet I wouldn¡¯t be able to allow the wise woman to read my blood again because of the impossibility. None can change their blood. An entire goblin tribe, one which whom we will share the land, will know I have no worthwhile linage.


    I wonder what the wise woman will make of her blood, though. Lord Klug¡¯s sons would surely be like a taboo or a holy enemy, or some such. Perhaps a bleeding wound when near the wise woman would provide an answer to that question. But why would Lord Klar marry her? Maybe the keep your enemies close theory.


    ¡°I am ready, sister-wife,¡± she says. The meekness in her voice is unbelievable, but what can I say?


    ¡°I am certain you can lead us both to the middle floor bedrooms, western section.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sister-wife.¡±


    Off she toddles, all meek and apologetic, and I follow close behind, trying not to vomit.


    The open door is an invitation, and without hesitation, she enters as if she owns the room. So much for knowing her place. I follow and discover, like her, that none we expect to greet are present. I pick up sheets off the floor and throw them on the bed. Kick loose clothes into a corner. Do we wait?


    ¡°There you two are. Come on down to the stables. We are finishing preparations, beasts, and luggage,¡± says Voria of all people.


    Before I can ask for an explanation, the former honour guard disappears.


    ¡°It seems you don¡¯t command her even though she would be but a servant of Lord Klar,¡± Klaria snipes.


    I hold back the urge to clip her behind the ear and rush out of our former bedroom instead, leaving the shrew to decide for herself.


    Holding back the night pre-dawn, hanging torches cast a yellow waving light on the stable area. Six beasts are being saddled before my eyes by the stable hands. Thalgora is amongst them equally helping and ordering them about, with Voria joining her. Lord Klar would need to mount one beast. Thalgora, a given for a second and I assume much to my disgust Klaria would mount a third. Zergoa another. Zoria and Duzsia the last two? This means I will need to double, as will Luda. What about Voria? Does she follow on foot?


    ¡°We aren¡¯t ready, Lord. The day will break before we are, so we must make alternative plans,¡± says Dorgrav, his open hands waving about, eyes full of concern shifting between the stables and Lord Klar.


    Luda leans on Lord Klar, the back of her head resting on Lord Klar¡¯s chest. I so wish to be there. His arms wrap around Luda and cross over her chest, while his head shakes in absolute denial. ¡°She will not make the journey inside a box.¡±


    His growl stills the entire courtyard. While all I see is Luda¡¯s hardening nipples rise beneath her linen shirt and her thighs draw together. I so wish to be there.


    ¡°None can spot a goblin on the streets of Hobgoblin Town from dawn to dusk. There is no other way,¡± Dorgrav whines.


    ¡°Thalgora!¡± shouts Lord Klar, while his embrace squeezes and rubs against Luda¡¯s chest. Flaming torchlight flickers over Luda¡¯s face, revealing her glistening lips. Is she drooling?


    Thalgora pops her head up from within a stable stall and then rushes to her husband. ¡°Yes, husband?¡±


    This fierce muscular female hobgoblin warrior, taller than many, male or female, who terrifies most who meets her, does Lord Klar¡¯s bidding with the eagerness of an innocent maiden, eyes full of adoration. I fully understand, yet can¡¯t explain why she does. For me and my other sisters, our spirit link is an unbreakable bond of devotion. What binds her so completely to him?


    Lord Klar releases Luda and vaults into the saddle of his beast.


    ¡°You are in charge.¡± His words are absolute. Thalgora grows taller somehow and all in the stable area pay attention. I simply shiver with envy. ¡°See, everyone is ready and leaves as soon as possible. Luda and I will wait for you on the road beyond Hobgoblin Town.¡±


    ¡°Are you certain, Lord? To ready, another beast won¡¯t take long¡­¡±


    He leans down, his fingers worming their way through her hair to pull her closer. An admiring glance into her eyes, and then he steals a passionate kiss from her lips. I touch mine as he replies, ¡°Another beast will mean leaving some goods behind. Even my beast, travelling light will force some reorganisation of the remaining loads.¡± He grabs Luda¡¯s willing hand and hoists her up to sit before him, while a light green blush spreads across Thalgora¡¯s face.


    ¡°As you command, husband.¡± She waves him on and then, looking at the gate, shouts, ¡°Open the gate!¡±


    While wondering who I will ride with, my eyes stare off into the gloom around the opening gate and, by chance, discern movement. I slip into a nearby shadow and creep towards my quarry. The shadow of Lord Klar¡¯s beast aids my haste. As the guards pull the gates closed, a stone hitting the inside wall draws their attention. Utilising the distraction, my quarry, a stable hand, slips through the open gate. I don¡¯t have time to answer guard questions and in a heartbeat; I slip through the open gate and pursue her.


    I crouch and peer around the corner of the gatehouse pillar. The builders set the gate back a way so defenders can drop nasty stuff upon any attackers beating on the gate itself. My quarry sidles along the northern wall, heading west, whereas Lord Klar and Luda headed east. Is that good or bad I wonder?


    She turns south once the northern wall of the manor ends. I sprint to reach the same corner and peer around. My quarry chats earnestly to a goblin gang and then one goblin runs off south. The other goblins produce a ladder from somewhere and it doesn¡¯t take a genius to realise their intent. I race back to the gate and tap on the thick hardwood with the pommel of my dagger.


    ¡°Who goes there?¡±


    ¡°Izga, a concubine of Lord Klar, open is his name, please.¡± I hope begging politeness will encourage questionless haste instead of ranting and raving at the persons who, at their whim, will or won¡¯t decide to open the gate.


    The gate cracks open and one of the guard¡¯s faces peers out. She smiles as I am certain she recognises me and as soon as the gate opens wide enough; I am through and racing into the manor heading for the western side, the second floor. I pass several closed doors before reaching the open door to our room at the end of the long corridor. Am I too late? Has he climbed the ladder already and is therefore gone, or did the ladder reach to the third floor? I doubt myself when low chatter alerts me to others in the room next to ours. Are the walls that thin? What about our intimate moments with Lord Klar? I shake my head. Not important now. Do I burst in? No, I need information, not a fight, therefore capturing the stable hand is my priority. I race down the corridor, to ensure I settle behind the handrail post at the top of the circular stairs well before the stable hand exits his room. My gaze fixes on a single closed door, and all I can do is lay in wait.


    Having second thoughts, I spring from my hide and put out the nearby corridor candle. I then slink back against the handrail post into a deeper gloom.


    After the hurry, there is a wait. What is keeping her?


    If I hadn¡¯t been there, I wouldn¡¯t have believed it. The former stable hand who steps out of the room next to ours now wears the livery and armour of a manor guard. I shake my head and then my eyes open wide. She strolls down the corridor, checking the closed doors. My body coils up, ready to spring. I study her routine; check door handle, nod, move to the next, repeat. While standing in front of the door closest to the stairs, I pounce, my dagger¡¯s edge caressing her throat.


    ¡°Who do you report to?¡±


    ¡°Help!¡± she yells.


    She is calling for help. How does that work? I have caught her in an act of betrayal, haven¡¯t I?


    I hear them before I see them. Two of Lord Torngul¡¯s honour guards are the first to respond. Their splendid black embossed and hardened leather armour shines under the flickering candlelight within the manor until they close on me and my captive. One of the honour guards glances at the dead corridor candle above us.


    ¡°Get this mad person off me. I was checking the doors, and she put a dagger to my throat!¡±


    The honour guards recognise me, yet not in a good way. I remember smacking one in the face and dragging the other with an abundance of roughness off Luda.


    ¡°She was a stable hand,¡± I protest. They exchange doubtful looks. ¡°She reported to a goblin gang along the west wall and then they used a ladder so she could climb back into the manor and then I guess she changed clothes and armour.¡± My words tumble from my lips, why I am trying to defend the truth when she is the guilty one?


    ¡°Where did she do this quick-change act?¡± asks one, while crossing her arms.


    ¡°The second last room.¡± I flick my head towards the door.


    ¡°You just wait here with your prisoner. We will search the room and return.¡± They exchange smirks. They think the situation is a joke of some sort and I have somehow gone mad¡­


    My prisoner waits without resistance and doesn¡¯t even raise a sweat. She must know her stable hand clothes aren¡¯t there. Perhaps that was the reason for the chatter, deciding on risk, leave them, take them. Discuss what to do the next time if there were no clothes in the room? Perhaps with Lord Klar gone, there won¡¯t be a next time. This means the guard intends to resign in a few days and return to her true master.


    ¡°We must ask you to release our manor guard. The room was empty, and we needed to unlock the door before entering.¡±


    I hesitate. What can I say? I glance at the pair of honour guards. They both favour one leg with hands upon the pommel of their respective swords. I withdraw my dagger. My prisoner rushes towards the honour guards while rubbing her neck.


    ¡°My shift is almost done. I think I will retire for the night to recover. Can you cover this floor until my relief arrives?¡±


    ¡°Yeah sure,¡± drawls one of the honour guards.


    My prisoner takes her leave, no rush, taking a superior saunter down the circular stairs. My eyes follow her until she disappears from view. I bend over from a blind punch to my stomach. I control tumble down a couple of steps to escape their easy reach while remaining in a ball of agony, trying to draw in a breath.


    ¡°That¡¯s for earlier.¡± I feel her foot on my hip and then a sharp push. ¡°That¡¯s for the inconvenience now.¡±


    I tumble down the wide stairs, and with my head tucked in, I should only suffer a few bruises if they don¡¯t follow to continue the punishment. I stay as I am until I hear them exchange trash talk and snicker at their jokes.


    As I climb to my feet, I feel a tap on my shoulder. My head cranes around, and I exhale in relief. Thalgora.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°We have been searching for you.¡±


    I tell her about my encounter with the stable hand spy who turned into a manor guard who I assume has now escaped.


    ¡°And father¡¯s honour guard didn¡¯t believe you?¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter now. I would like to know who the spy reported to.¡±


    ¡°You can stop wondering. Given she reported to night goblins, I am certain Clan Head Sakvorpa of the Eater Clan is her master.¡±


    ¡°When do we leave?¡±


    She crosses her arms over her chest. ¡°We should be able to leave now, but one of the loaded beasts became lame. The boar needed to be unloaded and then another made ready. Also, the stable hands, most were helpful, a couple worse than useless, which is why I jumped in to help and direct.¡±


    Of course, Clan Head Sakvorpa. How could I overlook her hand in all of this? I curse under my breath. ¡°These inconveniences smell of deliberate delay. The spy to report when Lord Klar left the manor alone with Luda, an essential part of her plans.¡±


    ¡°I am needed to hurry this along. How do you feel about following our husband? I will make up some excuse for your absence in case other spies wait to report on us.¡±


    ¡°Can I borrow your water skin? Otherwise, I am ready.¡±


    Thalgora hands me her waterskin and our hands touch. ¡°Be careful. I am certain Lord Klar would grieve over your death.¡±


    Returning to our room, I borrow three sheets and knot them together as I make my way to the eastern side of the manor. I hear the two honour guards, and before they see me, I wait in the shadows for them to pass by. Afterwards, I find a convenient window, tie off the sheet rope and shimmy down the wall. Picking up a rock, I toss it through the open window. Nothing. After several more rocks, the honour guards peer out of the window. They find the bedsheets and haul them back into the manor. I wait until they once again scan the surroundings and then sneak off, keeping to the shadows of the surrounding town buildings. Heading east means as the sun rises, dawn''s shade will provide ample cover, yet I believe the town will be well behind me by then.


    <h2>---Thalgora, First wife of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    Astride our boars, we amble out of Hobgoblin Town utilising the eastern packed dirt road, needing to shade our eyes against the post-dawn rising sun. Klaria, as the second wife, insists she rides beside me, while Duzsia and Zergoa ride as the next pair, and Zoria and Voria ride as the last pair. Voria was fortunate that the lame boar had made a miraculous recovery as we were preparing to leave, otherwise, she would have been walking.


    Looking under my shading hand, I see, yet I don¡¯t believe it. I raise my arm to signal a halt while observing four nondescript goblin slaves hauling a hobgoblin upon their shoulders. Their threadbare clothes and skinny bodies are typical of goblin slaves in this valley, recognisable at almost any distance. Those riders on beasts following mine flank me on either side and as one we rest our hands upon our saddle pommels and observe. At some point, one or more of the goblins look up and at different times, they drop their portion of the body to run, resulting in an awkward, comical collapse. I chuckle at them, at least. They do have a plan though, scattering in four different directions, disappearing into the long grass on either side of the road.


    Their daylight presence was a surprise. Yet by the laws of the valley, we were no longer in Hobgoblin Town.


    As one, we nudge our boars forward until the face-down female hobgoblin is beneath our gaze. Duzsia and Zoria throw the reins of their boars to Zergoa and Voria and slide from their mounts.


    Duzsia and Zoria roll the body over and take a step back. The left eye socket is a mess. Zoria peers forward.


    ¡°Arrow to the eye,¡± she reports, the obvious. ¡°Either the goblins have taken the arrow as a trophy, which I doubt, or more likely, the archer has recovered the arrow for re-use. Something an archer would do when facing many foes and still fighting or after winning the melee.¡±


    Duzsia sinks to her haunches. ¡°This seems like something Lord Klar would do, the accuracy of the archery alone. The corpse in tight-fitting black, soft leather suggests an assassin though. They would not want to challenge anyone in an open one-on-one melee and yet from the wound, they faced their slayer.¡±


    ¡°Mount up, we will hurry on,¡± I growl.


    Is Lord Klar in danger and this is his first fallen foe? So much time has passed, and I asked Izga to scout after him. Have I sent her into the same trap they set for Lord Klar? Duzsia and Zoria are so matter of fact about this corpse, I don¡¯t understand their complacency.


    The second group of four goblins spot us before we see them. The advantage of the sun behind them, I assume. They are haring off into the long grass by the time we notice them. We didn¡¯t even see them drop anything and as we ride forward under a rising sun, there will be no need to dismount. The female assassin lay on her back. Again an empty black and bloody eye socket stare back at us.


    ¡°We must hurry.¡± I urge my beast forward. After several heartbeats, I sense I am alone. I glance over my shoulder and discover my sisters are where I left them, including Voria, the ungrateful bitch. Last time I risk the wrath of my father on her behalf, she can walk next time. Wheeling around, I ride back and rein in before them.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear your First Wife? Plus, Lord Klar left me in command in his stead, and I say we must make haste.¡±


    What is wrong with them? Don¡¯t they believe Lord Klar is in danger?


    ¡°I doubt anyone can slay Lord Klar,¡± says one of them in a pompous voice.


    I look about for the source of the voice. Klaria? What would our newest sister know, which I don¡¯t? I witness the colour drain from the faces of my other sisters. They have a similar misgiving or do they since they disobeyed me as well? A frown on her forehead. Voria seems as lost as me.


    ¡°What Klaria is saying is that Lord Klar is an accomplished archer. The assassins aren¡¯t sneaking up on him, which suggests he is in a strong defensive position,¡± says Duzsia.


    ¡°Also,¡± adds Zergoa. ¡°Luda accompanied him, and she is the sneakiest of goblins.¡±


    ¡°I am also certain our goblin sister has had her fill of Lord Klar¡¯s seed,¡± snipes Klaria. For a reason, that is pure mystery, trying to make a point I don¡¯t comprehend. I know Lord Klar¡¯s seed is invigorating, having received my fill frequently, but how does that make a significant difference to Luda? Klaria¡¯s statement, though, seems to suggest an implied meaning of some importance to those who already know something, given the lack of further explanation.


    I feel several pats on my shoulder and swivel to face my comforter.


    ¡°As our newest sister, Klaria seems slighted as we all know Lord Klar is proficient in love making and receiving his seed is an honour and a pleasure,¡± says Zoria with heavy emotion in her voice.


    ¡°That is¡­¡±


    Zergoa slaps the rump of Klaria¡¯s boar before she can finish. Duzsia, Zoria and Zergoa burst into riotous laughter, while Voria chuckles. Klaria shows off her riding skill and is quick to regain command of her boar, while Zergoa digs in her heels and rides out to meet her. Duzsia and Zoria nudge their beasts forward, which means I must turn my body in my saddle to witness the confrontation.


    Duzsia and Zoria¡¯s laughter drowns out whatever chance I have of eavesdropping on Klaria and Zergoa¡¯s shouting match. I nudge my boar forward and turnabout. As I approach Klaria and Zergoa, their faces glowing green, they run out of words.


    ¡°We must hurry to Lord Klar, yet first we must break our fast First Wife,¡± says Duzsia.


    Zoria continues, ¡°The sun continues to rise and if we continue, depending on when we will be blind to any ambushers waiting for us. Stopping to eat and prepare will allow the sun to rise some more and ensure we ride to the rescue and not ride into whatever situation has or hasn¡¯t befallen our Lord.¡±


    Somehow, I feel handled. Lord Torngul, Klugak and, to a lesser extent, Dorgrav would try the same tactics to soften my rough edges or curb my rasher solutions, which in the main involve the spilling of blood first and last. I remember their machinations trying to restrain my efforts to hunt all the goblins who murdered my mother. And their goblin relatives, of course. After all, the dead can¡¯t bother you and their deaths can gift you a worthwhile bonus. The deaths can make other family members braver than they are, thinking some misguided notion of honourable revenge will protect them. Instead, they present themselves to you. This saves a great deal of time as you don¡¯t need to waste any effort to identify and find them. This eases any frustration you may suffer while wasting time searching for the cowards.


    Perhaps I should remain agreeable, allow my sisters to believe they have handled me. That way, it should be easier to find some alone time with Klaria. The fresh, and I believe insecure and beyond a doubt proud, new second wife may talk and, if I belittle her ego with choice word games, reveal more than she should.


    ---


    After breaking my fast on cheese and an apple, I sip on a morning wine, deep red, fruity and sweet. A rare wine, an indulgence to be certain, which I carry with me because of a simple circumstance. The Manor is no longer my home. I sigh with over-the-top delight. This, I decide, is my bait. Voria I remember has partaken in wine drinking, while Klaria, never. Klugak forbid the entire family if I remember correctly. Most children want to do what their father has forbidden them. I hope Klaria is the same.


    ¡°Are you going to share?¡± asks Klaria.


    I raise an eyebrow in her direction. ¡°Didn¡¯t your family pack and gift you with all manner of goods and chattels?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Her eyes lower as she whispers, ¡°My father didn¡¯t permit wine. We all suspected his opposition because of the expense rather than any other reason.¡±


    I thought, like Klaria, her whisper low enough, yet Duzsia, Zoria and Zergoa all burst into laughter. Only Voria presents a quizzical face. Klaria¡¯s face turns bright green and rising to her feet, she flees from our sight. I shake my head and chuckle. This, I know for certain, is my chance. None before presented an opportunity, like when we staked out the boars or unpacked our stores to break our fast, as one of the three would make it their business to help or be nearby, to offer advice, even if obvious. For an unknown reason, I failed to convince them they had handled me. Their protective behaviour, though, more than anything else, convinced me there is a secret to uncover. Voria, though, seems as clueless as I, and for that reason alone, I am glad she travels with us. She will represent the ordinary, a mere servant of Lord Klar and I presume unaware of his or his wives¡¯ secrets. Her reactions will provide me with a guide to measure against. The first being she didn¡¯t hear Klaria¡¯s whisper as I expected, while the three did, somehow.


    With well-practised skill, I pour a glass of wine for each of my sisters and Voria. Except for Voria who knows and sips, they down their second glass as I leave them another bottle, feigning the need to relieve myself. I make to leave and then return several heartbeats later for my glass with a chuckle, raising my glass in salute.


    Walking away from camp, I am deliberate in my choice of direction. The same side of the road as Klaria yet further along. Klaria, I suspect, will find me, as she wouldn¡¯t have run far, and I have a sneaky suspicion she watches our camp even now wondering who will care enough to find and console her. For bait, my hand holding the half-full wine glass sweeps about, forward and back while the neck of a second bottle protrudes from my carry bag. To her, wine is the forbidden fruit, the cause of their laughter at her expense. If I have misjudged her, at the very least, I will use the time away to drain the glass and my bladder.


    Not too far from the road, I stomp a circle in the long grass, then drop my pants and squat down on my haunches. I take a sip and wait.


    ¡°Can I hold your glass?¡± Her quiet, begging words are music to my ears.


    ¡°Certainly. Please take a couple of sips. As Second Wife to Lord Klar, you are no longer under your father¡¯s thumb.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she says.


    As I hand off the glass, she radiates a wondrous smile. Her fingers are firm and secure around the glass as if she holds a life-changing treasure and, perhaps to her, she does.


    Two quick sips and then she nurses the glass close to her chest. I think her body even sways. Delight? Joy? She can¡¯t be drunk yet, could she? Surely not.


    ¡°Finish. There is another bottle.¡± Reaching into the carry bag resting beside me, I retrieve the bottle, pull the bung out, and set the bottle on the ground. Her shoes shift closer.


    ¡°We must allow the wine to breathe first. Our patience, I am certain, will be its own reward.¡±


    She grunts and then empties my glass of wine down her throat.


    I pull up my pants, pick up the bottle, and climb to my feet. My eyes meet hers. She offers the glass and I pour her a mouthful. Her face sours and it takes all the control I have not to laugh. ¡°Drink, but don¡¯t swallow. Swish the wine in your mouth.¡± As she does, I continue, ¡°If the wine is good, swallow. If not, spit it out.¡±


    She guzzles and straight arms the empty glass towards the bottle. I fill the glass. In knowledgable company I would, of course, half fill the glass, but I sense her urgent desire for more.


    ¡°Your father would, I assume, be yelling at you now, would he not?¡±


    She wiggles a finger. ¡°He, erm.¡± Hic. ¡°He. I would tell him a truth to his face.¡± After a firm nod, she takes another sip.


    ¡°Perhaps you should try your words with me first, so you can be certain of your message?¡±


    She raises a finger and blinks. ¡°Father! You are not my father, never was, never will be. Which means I could¡¯ve had wine whenever I wanted to.¡±


    I reply in a deep voice. ¡°Of course, I am your father.¡±


    She smiles and nods. ¡°Good.¡± Hic. ¡°We can pretend.¡± One hand secures the glass of wine, while the other shifts her breast wrap, a casual adjustment as she corrects her posture. ¡°My loyal friend had my blood read.¡± She closes her eyes and remains silent.


    I need to nudge her along; it seems. ¡°That is a snivelling goblin practice. No daughter of mine would taint her family''s honour so.¡±


    ¡°Foolish petty male,¡± she gasps. ¡°I am a descendant of Klugrath¡¯s line.¡± Bending over slightly, she waggles her finger before her face, forgetting I am certain I tower over her, her waggling finger lines up with my breasts instead of my face. ¡°The son of Lord Farmer Klug himself, who walks amongst us!¡± Her hand flies up to cover her mouth, while her eyes perform a slow shift left and then a slow shift right.


    Does Klugrath or Lord Farmer Klug walk amongst us? Lord Farmer Klug, is that the same hobgoblin as Lord Farmer Hob, the master of farming, the father of civilisation? The Klugites worship a god, a Lord Klug from which they take their name. Are these three names for one hobgoblin or three different hobgoblins? Well, Lord Farmer Hob and Lord Klug can¡¯t walk amongst us if the legends are true, so perhaps this other hobgoblin, Lord Farmer Klug, lives amongst us?


    ¡°Boarcrap,¡± I snarl, casting off any pretence.


    She straightens, rocks back somewhat and then wobbles before regaining her balance. ¡°You doubt.¡± Hic. ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°Of course, you second-rate hobgoblin bitch trying to marry up from a desperate family of no name,¡± I curse her with venom in my voice.


    She downs the last of the wine drops the glass and launches herself at me, fists flailing in all directions. ¡°Take that back,¡± she shouts.


    ¡°What if I don¡¯t?¡± I parry her feeble assault and then grab her wrists with ease, my eyes challenging hers.


    ¡°Take that back, or once I consume enough of Lord Klug¡¯s seed, I will beat you into a bloody mess until dead and become First Wife and none will blame me because you aren¡¯t special, erm no spirit thing.¡± I release her due to shock. She takes an unsteady step back, the wobbles returning while breathing deep and long.


    Lord Klug? Seed? Aspirations to be First Wife. Because of Lord Klug¡¯s seed, she can beat me to death? What does the spirit thing mean? Does she worship Lord Klug as a god, and during a Klugite ritual, she can gain his seed somehow? Is Lord Klug someone real, and she is therefore disloyal to Lord Klar? No, I thought Lord Farmer Klug was the one who still lives. None of this makes sense. My hands cover and then wipe down my face.


    She falls while trying to sit, ending up in a tangle of arms and legs. With deliberate, careful effort, one limb at a time, she draws herself into a proper and dignified sitting position. She glances at me and then bursts into a shower of tears.

 2.026 The Ambush

    <h2>---Thalgora, First wife of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°We heard shouting,¡± says Zergoa. Duzsia and Zoria appear together, flanking her.


    I am tempted to ask them some questions. But why listen to hearsay when you can ask the source?


    ¡°It seems wine likes Klaria, but Klaria can¡¯t handle wine.¡± I stride off towards the boars, which I assume are in the care of Voria. Someone who I believe is in the dark as much as I. Each step I take inflames my anger. Pausing, Voria and the boars insight, while behind me I hear them struggle with Klaria through the long glass I decide to quench my anger. I wrap my mouth around the lip of the wine bottle and guzzle down the contents like a cheap mead. Wiping my mouth using the back of my hand, I flip the bottle into the long grass and decide my anger can wait until I meet Lord Klar.


    ---


    The road ahead cuts through a sprawling expanse of brush. Thus, we reach the end of the grass plains. Beyond this point are the farmlands, the hills for hunting and then the mountains for mining. As we approach the boundary, I spy a couple of hobgoblin corpses on the road ahead and call a halt. The other boar riders rein in beside me until we span the road, six boars abreast. We lean forward on our saddle pommels and evaluate the scene before us. Klaria again surprises me, staying quiet although sullen with a slightly pouting look. She also appears none the worse after throwing down more than half a bottle of wine, when etiquette defines half a glass as sufficient in polite company.


    ¡°While dramatic, I don¡¯t believe a six-boar charge down a road with ambush possibilities on either side is the best course of action,¡± offers Voria.


    ¡°Would Lord Klar have ridden this way?¡± asks Klaria. I try to hold back a sigh. Why would she even speak, given her delicate situation with the three and drunken humiliation earlier this morning?


    ¡°Yes, Second Wife,¡± I reply. ¡°Luda is with him. Also, given we are away from the manor, I can reveal I sent Izga to trail behind them on foot as well. She found a spy in the manor who reported Lord Klar¡¯s leaving to someone unknown.¡± I hold back my logical suspicion, as they have enough information for now. I know this is petty, yet if they can have secrets, so can I.


    ¡°What do you suggest we do, First Wife?¡±


    I inwardly smile because of the weight of sarcasm in her words. She certainly has gumption. ¡°Well, it depends upon your boar handling skill. But if you can ride your beast and lead our five, we warriors will armour up, carry shield and sword, and advance on foot five abreast before you and hope to survive any ambush which awaits us or locate either Lord Klar, Luda or Izga before then.¡±


    ¡°Be at ease on that account, then. All in my family ride boars and we would take turns leading them away to be stabled. This will be no different.¡±


    Her air of superiority almost makes my stomach turn, but if she can do as promised, I can tolerate a bit of snark for now. ¡°Excellent. Duzsia and Zoria string your bows, one on each flank scanning the brush. Zergoa, Voria and I will advance up the centre with sword and shield.¡± I considered a boar charge, such a glorious thing to be a part of. Unfortunately, ambush aside, our beasts, weighed down with boxes, bags and chests, wouldn¡¯t be able to gather much speed for the charge.


    As we advance, the sun is high enough to illuminate the road and brush ahead without blinding us. Perhaps I have misjudged my sister-wives'' motives for delaying? Boarcrap to that I decide!


    ---Lord Klar POV


    During our amble through town, my cloak shrouded us both. An abundance of caution, I know, but I didn¡¯t want to raise the interest of any goblin crews and, more to the point, the hobgoblins commanding them trying to earn citizenship. An unlucky encounter with one, trying to leapfrog others for citizenship, could cause an unnecessary entanglement.


    On the outskirts of the town, I open my cloak a way and kiss the top of Luda¡¯s head. ¡°I apologise for leaving you behind.¡±


    Her chest hitches. ¡°Duzsia tried to explain¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t compare the valley¡¯s estimation of your worth with my certainty of your worth. You are my wife, were my wife in a past life, and will be my wife in a future life. Nothing can change that.¡±


    She wipes her eyes upon her sleeve. ¡°Are you certain Lord Farmer Hob? I remember you returning our spirits, Koria and mine. At the time a punishment, yet given what we now know, a permanent severance. You could, in one swift ceremony, extinguish our spiritual bond. Casting a useless wife aside, this useless wife.¡± Her sobbing tears at my heart. Fear and doubt ebb through our spirit link. The strength of her feelings hits me, turning my stomach. Is our body contact the key? The duration of our joining? Or is this simply a recognition of our mutual connection and trust?


    I push back her fear and doubt, willing warmth, and love through our mutual bond while utilising my knees to steer the boar. One of my arms cuddles her waist while the back of the hand of the other arm caresses her cheek. Her cheek leans into my hand. Her hands surround my arm at her waist as we continue for a distance along the road, content.


    Her body goes stiff as if waking from a nightmare and my immediate thought is, have I somehow caused this change?


    ¡°There are many, husband. It is as if they lined the road to lie in wait and are now gathering as we trot forward.¡±


    ¡°Smells like an ambush or an insistence of a meeting waits for us ahead and these are a precaution if we decide to turn back, turn off or otherwise halt. I suspect they will also ambush those who we expect to catch up to us.¡± I draw a drink from my waterskin, while my knees draw my boar to a halt. Her elbow strikes my chest without apology, and then she leans back and then forward.


    ¡°There is still enough of the night for a slippery, sneaky goblin to work her way behind them and strike them down, one by one, husband,¡± she whispers. ¡°Can you tie off your wife¡¯s armour, husband?¡±


    ¡°Are you certain you are up for this?¡± I ask, while I hug her into me and tie off the various leather throngs of her stiff leather breastplate.


    ¡°This I am up for, being alone for days, not so much.¡± Did I detect some gentle humour in her voice?


    ¡°How about a minor change of plan? Circle around, avoid, sneak, hide, whatever it takes. I need you to spy upon and identify who is behind our ambush so that even if I perish, you can report to Lord Torngul. He can then know who he must be most careful of and ultimately plot to defeat.¡±


    ¡°Perish?¡± she asks.


    ¡°I promise I will not die easy. First, I will string my bow and cover your escape. Which way do you think is best?¡±


    ¡°I will go back along the road, taking advantage of any cover. Those across the road will be a road width further away on one side. Night and shadows will take care of the rest. I am ready when you are my husband.¡±


    ¡°I will sight and release at some trailing beside us first and then when I take a few nearer the road, that will be your signal.¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband.¡±


    ¡°Hang off the side of the beast until you find an ideal spot to hide and wait.¡±


    I hang my waterskin about the horn of the saddle and draw my cloak about me and Luda. Her goblin body contorts and slides over my groin and thigh until coming to a new rest, to hang off one side as we agreed. Her hand and fingers claw at my inside thigh for purchase. A most agreeable technique for us both, I am certain, as my groin twitches in response. I swallow and with my knees, nudge the beast forward.


    A short way further along, I note her taunting grip releases my thigh. My beast and I amble forward and after several heartbeats, I draw my bow from its pouch and get to stringing the weapon while on the move. I then slide off on the wild brush side, reach behind me and lift off a quiver of arrows, hitching them to my hip. Drawing and knocking an arrow, I scan the brush for a target, finding none. I then scan ahead, then behind. None. I look under the beast between erm, yes, his legs and release. The female hobgoblin stands for a moment and then collapses with a quiet gurgle. I am uncertain why they don¡¯t simply rush me, sure a few will die, but numbers matter¡­


    My hands grab the reins of my beast and together we stroll further along the road while I scan the brush. I spot a shape moving through the brush and release. My night vision was refined enough to differentiate between essential features, especially the neck and eyes. As new targets reveal themselves, I release an arrow again and again until they are slain or take cover. Back along the road, I find another target and release. Peering around the rump of my beast, I catch a couple of new targets trying to cross the road in the open. They seem as much surprised by their deaths as the first one. I notice a depression ahead and drag on the reins of the beast to get him moving once again until I reach my last stand hole. I have a clear view between the legs of the beast without having to bend down and my line of sight ahead and behind along the road is good, while I can still cover the brush on my side of the road. Your move ambushers.


    <h2>---Luda, Goblin Concubine of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I draw brush and sticks over me while I scrunch down in a goblin-sized depression beside the road. Across the road, I am blind. All I can observe is back towards town or the brush beside me. I hear them before I can spy on them as they creep along in the brush. I admire their skill. They are slim like Izga and I am certain their stealth skills were taught to them from an early age like her. I am just as certain they wield daggers like her as well. These aren¡¯t assault-type troops, though, more like beaters or chasers to flush the game out during a hunt. While this may work with beasts, I am certain Lord Klar is no beast.


    One assassin takes a step, landing beside my hole and then a brief yelp escapes her lips as an arrow shaft impales her throat. Her hands rush to the arrow shaft and wound, yet blood flows freely. She gurgles while trying to draw in air and drops to her knees. Her eyes open wide as she notices me and then she falls away to lie in silence. The light of life in her eyes fades, something I can observe, much to my surprise, which I attribute to my night vision. The how is beyond me, yet this closeness to someone dying is real and haunting. I need to force myself to take a breath.


    With her dead eyes observing me, my hand snakes from cover, reaching for the arrow shaft. Lord Klar¡¯s arrow. I decide I should collect these and somehow return them to him so he doesn¡¯t run out, otherwise when his quiver is empty, what will he do?


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    I hitch my breathing as my eyes fly wide open, witnessing a glow growing in her dead eyes. A gurgle. Her eyes slow to close and open. Another gurgle. My hand darts forward grabs the arrow and pulls. Her head shifts forward, the arrow remaining secure. The glimmer of light in her eyes is no more.


    My hand recoils to land upon my leather breastplate. The throbbing of my heart penetrates the stiff leather racing against my rapid breathing. The female lying dead before my eyes, Lord Klug¡¯s kill. Zoria¡¯s words return to me. Lord Klug should simply keep killing until all his wives return to him. Was that Koria trying to join us? Was that, or could that have been, her new body? I was too slow. I have killed her again. Tears flood my eyes as my hands try to cover my face and somehow hide my shame. How could I have not realised?


    The night passes me by. Does Lord Klar know? Does he realise, with these slayings, he could return Koria to me? How can I make this happen? Remove the arrow immediately after death? Water?


    ¡°Azgrinia¡­¡± There is sorrow in her voice. I sink back into my goblin-sized hole. A shape looms over the body of the slain assassin. ¡°I will slice him until he bleeds from every limb and then I will gut him, so he dies slowly, sister.¡± She rises and looks about and pauses as if she finds what or who she is looking for. ¡°Puzsia, you goblin scum make certain a crew fetches her body. Any abuse of her flesh and you will pay,¡± she growls. She crouches, a kiss on her fingers, which then touches the corpse¡¯s lips. She whispers goodbye and then, staying low, creeps into the brush.


    If my husband¡¯s theory is correct, given time, they should follow up behind him and pass right by me. When the time is right, I will circle wide around them and hopefully find the real ambush site and the mastermind. My thoughts of Koria, and my deliberations, unknown to me, consume a great deal of time. How long? The goblins? There will be no escape if they live through my attempt to slay them. I need to leave my hiding place behind, including what may have been.


    On hands and knees, I ease my way out of cover and slide over the hobgoblin corpse. My touch to confirm the body dead, I tell myself. I listen. Silence. I wrestle the arrow free of the corpse¡¯s neck and then scan my surroundings until my eyes spot the remains of a skinny tree trunk. Low to the ground like a lizard, I shift one limb at a time, hand, foot, hand, foot, all the while listening. My eyes scan the ground before me to avoid noise-making obstacles. I am in the log''s shadow when I overhear a discussion.


    ¡°You heard her. We need to recover this one, all careful like.¡±


    I hear one of them spit.


    ¡°Don¡¯t do that. What if one of them sees you?¡±


    ¡°Pah, they are all gone forward now after the young Lord.¡±


    ¡°I wish we could be up at the front, not to fight, but to be there when she blows the whistle.¡±


    ¡°Have you never seen the beasts react to a whistle?¡±


    ¡°Nah, always clean-up crew for me. Like now really.¡±


    ¡°It is a sight. They buck and jump, short run, stop. I haven¡¯t seen a rider yet who doesn¡¯t fall hard, and she simply walks up and places a sword at their throat while those with her bind their hands and legs. Simple.¡±


    Husband! Do I warn him? He didn¡¯t say he would ride forward. He wanted to advance enough so those following would pass me by and give me my chance. I wait for them to lift and haul the body away. Their grumbles and swearing provide me with enough noise cover to make my way into the brush. Shortly after, I follow in the footsteps of an assassin, their skinny bodies still taller and slightly wider than mine, so I make good time until I find a corpse. Did Koria try to return to this body, I wonder? I remove the arrow and then traverse the brush to locate another assassin trail.


    ¡°How many left?¡± gripes a voice.


    ¡°Us three, we lost two, both arrows through the throat, under cover of the night out to one hundred paces. None have ever seen archery this good, even in daylight.¡±


    ¡°Well, the cost doesn¡¯t matter to her, so we must see to our survival.¡±


    ¡°But he has stopped, dismounted. And no one has spotted his goblin plaything since he dismounted. So, she could be anywhere.¡±


    ¡°Probably hiding in a deep dark hole asking for her mummy if the reports on her are accurate.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, our spies in the manor certainty made sure her stay was a mind-disturbing one.¡±


    They snicker at my expense, and I grind my teeth. I thought I imagined everything¡­


    ¡°After she cleaned up two of the Mistresses¡¯ guards and freed some goblins, her death in the manor would have told everyone the manor was unsafe, so driving her insane was the next best thing. So, yeah, I imagine she is sucking her thumb somewhere, the Lord probably throwing his only liability away.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    I don¡¯t hesitate after slaughtering the first two and unsheathe a third dagger.


    ¡°No¡­¡±


    And slash in a wide arc.


    The good thing about assassins is they always carry daggers. Two crouching bodies now splay forward, the hilts of daggers sprouting from the back of their necks. While the third wears a new smile across her throat from ear to ear.


    I collect several cleaner daggers and decide on a new progressive plan. Follow the assassin''s trails and assassinate who I find. I am certain at some point they will lead me to the mastermind as well, so my husband can¡¯t scold me for disobeying him in everything. Plus, if I slay them, my sister won¡¯t try to return and fail. The fact she is trying means she can and somehow, I must encourage Lord Klug to slay another when his wives can better care for the kill after death.


    <h2>---Clan Head Sakvorpa POV</h2>


    ¡°What do you mean, you don¡¯t know where he is?¡±


    The one before me must have drawn the short straw. Several other assassins hang back, afraid to admit their failure.


    ¡°The dark outline of his beast is plainly in sight, with occasional snorting. Yet, none are now brave enough to break cover long enough to confirm if he is still beside his beast or not.¡±


    A lifetime devoted to their skills as assassins, and all I receive for my care and nurturing of them is failure. I slowly crane my head up to look about and study the dark sky above us, and then down until my eyes lock onto my messenger, who during that brief interval grew a sweating brow. ¡°I just checked. It is still night. You are telling me no one can peer out from behind cover, under the cover of night and confirm he still occupies his hole or not?¡±


    ¡°No, Mistress. He hears us approach and lays in wait or sees us before we see him somehow. The first and second who tried ended up with an arrow in their eye.¡±


    ¡°The first and second who tried?¡± I grab her tusks and shake her head. ¡°Are you telling me none have checked since? How long ago? Why?¡±


    Excuses! He is a male, which means something, of course, but a skinny youth, who to date does most of his fighting with his middle leg. There have been no reports of his martial prowess, except for that one market bloodletting, and the report suggested luck more than skill. His wives, yes, all accomplished in one or more skills, especially his goblin¡­ especially his sneaky, eavesdropping goblin, but we fixed her. Perhaps she hid with him¡­ His goblin could probably hear their approach and warn him. That would make some sense, at least. Yet my spies reported her broken.


    She shuffles about. I resist the urge to slap her and instead flick her back by push-releasing her tusks. ¡°Only the last of the three checkers near survived Mistress, the arrow entering one cheek and exiting the other.¡±


    ¡°Your companions didn¡¯t pop up beside him, I take it?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°No, Clan Head, we are at the limit of our night vision, yet given the skill of his archery, it is as if he sees us clear as day.¡±


    I could round up a goblin to confirm his location, yet given the assassins are being slain through the throat or eye, the evidence suggests he lays in wait for them, perhaps not under or near his beast though. Could he and possibly his goblin be closer to the brush than we think? The assassins would spy out his beast to get a general direction and then look below and around, I suspect. This would allow an archer more than enough time to train their bow for such an exacting release. After all, I trained my assassins to pull off a similar feat, although three hits from three, with one not perfect, is still an impressive demonstration of accuracy. Then throw in the night, and I suspect I have underestimated my prey. This also means my spies don¡¯t see as clearly as they should and perhaps they no longer need their eyes.


    My assassins. The night was the reason they didn¡¯t bring their bows. They could snag on the brush breaking their silence, was the theory. Now, who came up with that drivel? I swallow. Somewhere, I am certain someone is laughing at me because, bows or not, he sees them before they see him. My assassins would only die while carrying another unused weapon.


    ¡°Use the heads of the dead as decoys and draw him to release until he runs out of arrows.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡± She plays with her hands, so I wait yet again. ¡°His quiver should be empty, about five deaths ago, as most quivers hold twenty-five arrows, give or take.¡±


    Not twenty-five arrows, my dear assassin. My spy guaranteed she near emptied his quiver as she packed his mount. Still, does that translate to mean ten or fifteen deaths? That can¡¯t be true. I refuse to believe that is possible. Yet my blood boils and before I realise my hands are around her throat. I growl into her face. ¡°What does that matter? Use heads of the dead, although remove any arrows first, of course.¡±


    She gasps for breath, and I throw her to the ground.


    ¡°Yes, Mistress,¡± she squeaks as she struggles to stand.


    She doesn¡¯t flee to do my bidding, choosing instead to stand before me, her head down. ¡°What?¡± I snap.


    ¡°Very few, well almost none we find with arrows, Clan Head,¡± she says, her halting voice low between trembling lips.


    ¡°Go.¡± I fling an arm out toward her companions. Someone is helping him, returning his spent arrows. There can only be one. A sneaky, not so depressed as we thought and therefore not so useless, goblin.


    She scrambles away from my immediate sight to share my words with her accomplices and most likely calls me names behind my back. So be it. After some chatter, they leave together. Dawn isn¡¯t far away, and I need him to advance, preferably on his beast, but as I scan the mercenaries I have hired, four groups, a male leading four females I am still confident they will be more than enough to handle one young uppity Lording, tricks, or no tricks. I must remove all support for Lord Torngul until he is utterly alone and ripe for the taking. Especially since he believes his manor is a place of safety. By the slimmest of margins, I hold back my laughter. I am certain any spontaneous laughter while standing alone would cast doubt on my authority and to regain that would involve tedious and useless bloodletting.


    ¡°What do you report?¡±


    From the shadows, he whispers, ¡°His goblin has disappeared Mistress, most believe she is in hiding, too scared to fight, or he has sent her away somehow to protect her.¡±


    ¡°You heard her,¡± I hiss. ¡°She found the dead without the arrows which slew them. He has help, and it can only be his goblin. She isn¡¯t cowering. Where have the clean-up crews recovered most of our dead?¡±


    ¡°The northern side of the trail, Mistress, from arrows.¡±


    ¡°Take goblins off clean up, fetch more from Town if you must, but tell them to fan out on the northern side of the trail and slow walk towards us, stabbing every bush, looking behind every tree and searching under every rock. They are goblins. They should know how and where goblins hide. He cares for his wives, so her capture could prove beneficial. Now go.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡±


    My Head of Goblins is a useful creature. He enjoys lording himself over my goblin subjects and I can depend on his success when given a task. Although, I may have confused guile for intelligence since he didn¡¯t conclude as I did that the goblin bitch must be helping her Lord. Nevertheless, I am certain he will find her and with her as bait; I am equally certain Lord Klar will reveal himself. Maybe that should have been the play from the beginning, especially after Izga proved such a failure. An assassin of mine somehow defying her training and succumbing to someone else¡¯s absolute thrall.


    I recall their faces, especially the twinkle in their eyes as my spies took great delight in describing in overflowing detail her vocal carnal satisfaction when subject to his middle leg. Such enthusiasm for lust was difficult to accept as a mere subterfuge to gain his confidence.


    If I had a choice, I would have sent another, but the new commission required an immediate report.


    Losing Izga to him should have been at least a caution. None should be able to steal from me, none. Yet, I can¡¯t allow this to be personal. This is business, first, second and third. My advisors convinced me that her betrayal was a freak anomaly because of incomplete training, nothing else. With the benefit of hindsight, sending a virgin to a sexual predator was always going to end in tears. Him the fiddler and she the fiddle. He somehow awakened a hidden, perverted vice within one of my better assassins, suggested my advisors.


    Staring into the night sky, another thought strikes me. I wonder if I should have instead considered the impossible theft of my servant by him, absolute evidence not to underestimate him and not a mere glitch? Would I have been more cautious, and waited for more reports? Ifs and maybes, the torment of the indecisive. I must instead keep moving forward and strive for success.


    Izga, Izga, Izga, you were always different. After all, what mother would leave their baby on a doorstep with a note which simply read, ¡°Turn her into a weapon to feed death.¡± A challenge which I accepted and embraced as inspiration to expand my business from solely spying to include assassination and, until this moment, without regret.


    I wrap my arms around my shoulders to stifle the shiver running down my spine. This setback will not end me or my Clan, I swear.

 2.027 Daggers in the Dark

    ---Izga, Concubine of Lord Klar POV


    ¡°You¡¯re late,¡± says an arrogant voice off to one side of the road.


    I slow my jog to a walk.


    ¡°You need to run, not stop,¡± snarls an unfamiliar voice, although this time I discover the source. A sweeping glance and I discern four goblins resting by the side of the road. The corpse of a female hobgoblin with a crudely tied blood-stained bandage around her head lays between them, serving as a table of sorts. They must feel safe and somewhat brave because common knowledge says the night vision of a hobgoblin is poor compared to a goblin. The goblin slaves believe they can see me, but I can¡¯t see them.


    ¡°Clan Head Sakvorpa assigned me a special mission, so I believe you are the ones who are up to no good or at least being lazy. So, hurry off before I tell the Head Goblin.¡± Name dropping is always useful in situations like this. The Mistress isn¡¯t especially cruel towards them. In fact, they are beneath her notice. The Head Goblin has an entirely different view.


    ¡°We meant no harm,¡± another says in a shrill voice full of panic. ¡°We are gathering all the dead from the northern side of the road, so they will probably need there you most.¡±


    A pleading voice adds, ¡°See, we helped set you on the right side. Tell the Mistress, tell the Head Goblin. We are going now.¡± A hasty quiet ruckus begins and then ends.


    I continue jogging until I spy the brush rising in the distance and dart across the road to the southern side. Once across, I take cover amongst a convenient pile of rocks and discover several trails into the brush to choose from. My fellow assassins must have gathered here first. The cover certainly drew me, so why not them? From here, each must have cut their own trail into the brush. I follow the one closest to the road, which shortly ends beside a split tree trunk with a perfect view. I then follow a cross pathway that joins another trail running parallel to the road and I follow it. Same again, leading to an observation position. A cross pathway and then a parallel trail. As Lord Klar rode his beast along the road, the assassins must have shadowed him and, slowly over the distance, gathered. At some point, I suspect he will reach the ambush site, then those following would be in a position to cut off his retreat or prevent any rescue party from reaching him. Should I be worried? Their plan seems masterful¡­


    One more observation point along, a tumble of rocks with a narrow viewport and I spy a riding boar, with a feed bag about its head. Looking up and down the road, I spy in the general direction of Hobgoblin Town at least two corpses laying halfway across the road. Lord Klar¡¯s mischief?


    Their mutterings warn me of their approach. I assume they are going to use the observation point and so hide in the undergrowth directly behind. Where they must stand, where I just stood. Their arguing grows louder as I settle into cover.


    ¡°Why must we observe?¡±


    ¡°Because like I have told you, orders are orders.¡±


    ¡°Better to observe instead of trying to cross the road and end up dead.¡±


    ¡°Well, stay here while I check on the others. If anything moves, one of you finds me, while the other stays.¡±


    Silence and then, shortly after, conversation. ¡°Glad she has gone. No talent simply in charge because she is older.¡±


    ¡°Whatever. The boar¡¯s tail swishes, that¡¯s it¡­ Eh?¡±


    The observing assassin manages to half turn towards me, exposing her neck, which I take advantage of. I bend my knees and princess carry the guard assassin¡¯s corpse down along the trail and roll her into the undergrowth. Then fetch her partner, deciding to undress both and pose them in an intimate position. The Clan Head would deny any such affection and punish those caught. I wonder what she would make of this scene, two assassins while on a mission being slain while in a half-naked embrace. I return to the observation point and decide to lie in wait further along the trail. The third assassin, on return, would find the observation point abandoned and immediately be cautious. The spray of blood from hitting the neck artery of the observer is also an issue.


    Crouching down, I wait with a sturdy tree limb in one hand.


    The third hurries along the trail and I thrust my tree limb between her legs, catching and tripping her. As she tries to use her arms to stand while shaking her head, I jump on her back and flatten her to the ground again.


    ¡°Silence or death?¡± I ask while slipping a dagger about her throat.


    She nods her head.


    ¡°How many assassins are on the mission?¡± I whisper.


    ¡°At least forty I know of.¡±


    ¡°Why is the Mistress hunting Lord Klar?¡±


    ¡°Because he supports Lord Torngul of course.¡±


    ¡°She has never had the ambition to be Lord of the Valley. Why isolate Lord Torngul?¡±


    ¡°Is that you Izga?¡±


    I slap the back of her head. ¡°Answer my question.¡±


    ¡°Another has the ambition and the coin.¡±


    Using the breast wrap from one of the two lovers, I gag her mouth. With the other breast wrap, I bind her wrists and, using a loincloth, I bind her ankles. I carry and deposit her between trails and then brain her with the pommel of my dagger. I place a finger on her throat and find a pulse. There is a slight chance of death, but I can¡¯t risk her alerting any other assassins, even if she chose silence instead of death. I sigh with relief. My honour remains in tack, in the purest form. She decided silence; therefore, I am honour bound to preserve her life and not deliberately slay her.


    The groups of two, one intently observing while the other is guarding against danger, are easy pickings because they believe all their enemies are on the road, not stalking them from behind in the brush. The one guarding isn¡¯t guarding, of course, but taking a nap, complaining, fidgeting with a weapon, a rock, a stick, anything to relieve the boredom. Assassins are creatures of action. Name the target, complete the mission, and return. This wasn¡¯t an assassination mission. When I found three assassins, I knew after a time the third would need to visit another observation point, so I would murder the two and wait along the trail for the return of the third. Lord Klar¡¯s seed made me faster and stronger with heightened hearing and night vision. I utilised those advantages to the maximum clearing the southern brush of assassins by dawn. Eighteen assassinations. Huh. Must have been forty all up, not the number on this side of the road.


    ---Luda, Goblin Concubine of Lord Klar POV


    Peering through the brush, I await his signal. A wink in the night, which only my night vision can see, and I scamper toward him. The final distance is a lizard crawl, on my hands and feet until I snuggle underneath his cloak. His body warmth is like a return home, more, it is a welcome. A brief lingering, and then I take the arrows tied to my back and refill his quiver. This time, six to add to a cache of three.


    ¡°How many left?¡± he whispers.


    ¡°Between us, so far, we have made at least fourteen corpses, husband.¡±


    His hand pats my head, his fingers then worm their way into my hair to messuage my scalp, and I am in bliss. Such a simple show of affection, yet I know this absent gesture of his is genuine.


    ¡°Have you found our enemy?¡±


    I know I should have by now, yet his quiver was down to three arrows. He shows no concern.


    ¡°I would rather ensure your live, husband.¡±


    His hand leaves my head to allow his arm to embrace my shoulders. ¡°That wasn¡¯t the plan, wife.¡±


    ¡°Three arrows?¡±


    ¡°More than enough. Do you think they could defeat my sword? Or my dagger? I will hear them despite their skill before they can close and therefore hunt the hunters.¡± He squeezes me with affection. ¡°Now go, do as I bid. I assure you I am difficult to slay and knowing who hunts me is more important.¡±


    I extend my hand until I cup his cheek. His warm eyes glance down and shower me with love. Then they turn hard and I almost flinch.


    ¡°I do as you command me, Lord. I will not fail you.¡±


    ---


    He, like most small creatures who creep about in the shadows, is always alert. Suspicion keeps a goblin in the harsh hobgoblin world alive, and he isn¡¯t any different. More than once, I need to freeze. I know I hadn¡¯t given away my position. He simply exercises caution, frequently. Stopping, listening, his eyes scanning every bush, every shadow.


    From the shadows, he whispers to his female hobgoblin mistress. Her red eyes glowing with anger and frustration, yet with him, a concession. A conversational tone, still master and servant, yet respectful.


    ¡°What do you report?¡± she whispers. Once again, I thank Lord Klar¡¯s seed for my excellent hearing.


    From the shadows, he whispers, ¡°His goblin has disappeared Mistress, most believe she is in hiding, too scared to fight, or he has sent her away somehow to protect her.¡±


    Having excised that slur with blood already, I restrain my murderous urge and continue to listen.


    ¡°You heard her,¡± she hisses. ¡°We find the dead without the arrows which slew them. He has help. It can only be his goblin. She isn¡¯t cowering. Where have the clean-up crews recovered most of our dead?¡±


    ¡°The northern side of the trail, Mistress, from arrows.¡±


    I gloat. They are yet to discover my corpses then.


    ¡°Take them off clean up duty, fetch more from Town if you must, but tell them to fan out on the northern side of the trail and slowly walk towards us, stabbing every bush, looking behind every tree and searching under every rock. They are goblins. They should know how and where goblins hide. He cares for his wives, so her capture could prove beneficial. Now go.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡±


    There is no point in following him. I know what his task is and the chance of being captured or slain by an overcautious goblin is great. Better simply to hide and observe his mistress and her force of hobgoblins, who wait in hiding for my husband. Shortly after her Head Goblin leaves, she joins one group of hobgoblins. What amazes me most is she doesn¡¯t have a personal guard or even a couple of escorts. Is she that confident in her skills?


    I am about to move, mainly to avoid the goblins, who at some point will beat the brush in the area I am currently hiding when I overhear a faint scrape. Instantly, I freeze my body in place. Slowly, I crane my ears in the noise''s direction. Another scrape, these noises aren¡¯t loud or obvious, in fact, the masterful quality of the stealthiness is to be admired.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    My night vision glimpses a shoulder, the shade of cloth an almost perfect match for the vegetation. She has outrun at least one goblin shadowing her. Are these one of many goblin guardians and they now reposition to protect her? Without my caution, I would have been none the wiser and possibly dead now, if not at least revealed. My body becomes statue-like. When I am certain they crowd around her again, I allow a silent breath to escape between my lips. At least four guard her, although I admit this is an estimate as I can only observe from my current position. This would, I reckon, be a minimum to watch over her from every direction. I am intrigued she employs goblins¡­ could she have trained them as assassins also?


    I shift from my position, circling behind the ambush, uncertain how I can assist if Lord Klar falls into her trap.


    ¡°Ugh, do you mind?¡± whispers a voice from under my boot, which I immediately shift.


    Ground cover shakes and shifts. It would seem I have stepped upon her buttocks as her goblin face turns to meet mine.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I whisper.


    ¡°It seems great minds think alike?¡±


    I quirk my head.


    ¡°I assume you intend to spy on them the same as me and have identified this is the best position. I can occasionally glimpse her goblin bodyguards when they change position, have a clear view of the road, and can observe three of her four hobgoblin groups.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ well yes. A word of caution. Goblins will overrun the brush to the west at some point, searching for me.¡±


    ¡°Good to know. Our watcher observed them leave Hobgoblin Town at dusk, but we don¡¯t know who they intend to ambush. Would you know?¡±


    Who is this female goblin? Should I trust her? Their watcher? Who are they?


    ¡°Why should I trust you? What if you are a ploy, pretending to spy on the ambushers, but lay in wait as a lure for spies to capture or slay them?¡±


    ¡°Huh, never thought of that. What a delicious double blind, or perhaps triple blind.¡± Her brow furrows. ¡°Pretend to spy to appear an ally, yet secretly a trap which protects the ambush, or even a camp. I like it, I like it a lot.¡±


    Our conversation falls silent as we recall where and what we are doing and instinctively check to ensure we are still safe.


    ¡°Perhaps it is best for both of us if we separate?¡± she offers.


    There is much to be said about an enemy of my enemy is my friend, yet what are the chances of meeting another in the middle of an ambush?


    ¡°Why do your people spy on them?¡± I whisper.


    ¡°My people? Interesting phrase. We are goblins. That Clan Head in particular harvests goblins to enslave them. We simply try to free them, allying with whomever we can.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps one of your allies is one of my friends?¡± I offer.


    ¡°Or perhaps you are fishing for the names of my allies to betray them? Somehow, I don¡¯t fully trust someone who can think of a triple blind¡­¡±


    ¡°We are at an impasse, then?¡± I offer.


    ¡°I believe so, sorry.¡±


    ¡°Well, if I can prove myself by helping you, small or great, in the future, I will.¡± I don¡¯t wait for an answer as I creep away from her position.


    The false dawn rises behind me as I settle into position, needing, like her, to bury my body under leaves, while placing my head inside a bush. Her position is the superior one. I can observe the road, two of the four groups, one of those, the one she can¡¯t observe, not that this matters much. I can sight the Clan Head where she currently waits, but none of her bodyguards reveals themselves to me.


    A buzz arouses my interest, and yet I cannot identify the source. I wait and confirm the buzz is advancing directly towards me or in my general direction. Difficult to determine while in my current position, so I shuffle backwards out of my hiding spot and chance a cautious peek toward the buzzing. Twenty or maybe thirty goblins are bashing the brush with sticks, the thwacking and slapping generating the buzz-like noise.


    The enemy of my enemy breaks cover and bolts on an angle towards the road. A direct path would take her perilously close to the groups of hobgoblins, while a more indirect path would take her closer to the goblin beaters who are sweeping behind the ambush site. The sweep will overrun my position as well and soon. The goblin beaters are rushing forward, while at least one of the hobgoblin groups chases the enemy of my enemy¡­


    I don¡¯t break any cover completely, yet hurry while keeping low to make the best use of the cover I can because silence is no longer necessary. I plan to intercept her escape path on the assumption she knows an escape route and I have none.


    She is well ahead of her pursuers when I catch her up.


    ¡°Oh, welcome. I wondered when you would join me.¡± There is unbridled joy in her voice. ¡°Left!¡±


    I veer left, and she follows as a volley of arrows passes through the line we were running.


    ¡°Right!¡± I adjust and run hard, although I stay with her.


    ¡°Dive!¡± I follow her to the ground, and a flight of arrows passes over us. Then she is up and heading right and I am on her heels.


    She runs down an incline and then up the other side. As we reach the top, several goblins join us. She and them then drop their shorts and wiggle their bottoms at our chasers. A volley of arrows drops short of our position and her display of defiance. I completely forget my life is in danger, trying to comprehend her game.


    ¡°Flash your green bottom, at them,¡± she half yells, half giggles.


    I stare at her, trying to decide if she is mad or some genius.


    Then I hear multiple chunky splats. My ears guide my eyes, and my legs turn to jelly for a moment. Hobgoblins writhe on the downward slope of the incline. Three are still, another five nurse a thick spear of wood through their torsos, another one is screaming, his upper leg dangles, and two others don¡¯t appear wounded yet are bent over, holding their stomachs. A goblin visits each and silences them.


    ¡°Quick,¡± she says while pulling on my arm and she races while I stumble down the incline. A flight of arrows impales the high ground where we once stood. Where I once stood, and she flaunted her bottom. The other goblins flee back from where they came.


    The young springy trees resume their natural positions. One by one, up to three goblins pull back on the tree, while a fourth goblin cuts the attached blood-stained log, with a sharp spear point like end, free. Once free, the holding goblins using a count to coordinate release the tree, which thumps the ground and after some back and forth resumes its natural position once again.


    ¡°How did you know they would follow? How did you know this gully and the trees would be in the right place? How?¡± I mumble.


    ¡°There is always someplace where we can set our traps and lures. Some are more ideal than others, of course, and we weigh risks against rewards. This time, we have been successful. There have been other times when we have underestimated our foe. But we must continue, regardless.¡±


    ---Clan Head Sakvorpa POV


    ¡°Call them back!¡± I yell my order, yet we have no one to obey.


    The leaders of the two remaining mercenary groups look over their shoulders at me, the archers lowering their bows. I wave at them to return to me. Since dawn, no assassins have reported in and now the goblin beaters are charging forward in a wave, armed with beating sticks against an unknown number of foes.


    How did they turn my trap against me? How did they know where I would set my ambush?


    ¡°Mistress, we must leave.¡±


    His earnest voice wakes me somewhat from my stupor. My loyal Head Goblin. I pat his shoulder. As much reassurance for me as for him, I suspect.


    Breaking cover, we hurry across the road and crash into the brush on the southern side of the road. The mercenaries clear a single file path, taking turns to keep up the pace. My bodyguards, I know, will need to break cover and follow. They will return with me or find me later, otherwise, their immediate family will suffer for their disloyalty.


    ¡°How did this happen, Master Goblin?¡±


    ¡°The hunters became the hunted Mistress.¡±


    I wanted to stop and slap him silly, yet I know, if not now, I could do so later after I reach the safety of my fortified manor.


    ¡°Explain.¡±


    ¡°Assassins don¡¯t make good ambushers. Assassins need to hold on to the initiative.¡±


    ¡°All they had to do was to observe and escort the prey, close off his retreat, and watch for reinforcements or rescuers. How hard can that be?¡± I growl under my breath.


    ¡°Their eyes were on the road. None expected to be attacked from behind, Mistress.¡±


    ¡°Behind? Arrows in the neck and the eye aren¡¯t strikes from behind!¡±


    ¡°No. I don¡¯t think they, whoever they were, had a plan, which made our situation worse. While we were trying to slay the Lord beside the road, two enemy assassins slew our assassins while they were observing him from the brush on either side of the road.¡±


    ¡°You know this how?¡±


    ¡°I followed the beaters and for every assassin''s death by arrow, another was slain by a dagger, typically from behind and with complete surprise. They didn¡¯t have time to wield their daggers or put their arms up to deflect any attack. The exceptions were throat slashed, which takes skill and speed, as you know, Mistress.¡±


    ¡°What of the assassins on this side of the road?¡±


    ¡°The assassin, single, knows you, Mistress.¡±


    I stop my distasteful flight and grab at his shoulder. Instead of squeezing until I make him buckle in pain, I release my grip and hurry on. ¡°How can you be certain?¡±


    ¡°Again, surprise attacks, yet the assassin made time to pose many of your slain assassins in amorous positions, their corpses half or fully naked.¡±


    I grind my teeth and crack the bones in my neck, using my neck muscles alone. One of mine.


    ¡°I found one alive, tressed up, gagged. Their honour code Mistress, she must have chosen silence or, in other words, betraying three truths for her life. I removed her gag so she could beg.¡±


    Their code. An insidious, spontaneous thing from many years ago, before I eliminated any internal competition in that regard within my assassins, or I thought I did. It permits failure to survive, which endangers others because a chain is only as strong as the weakest link.


    ¡°What will be the impact on our services from this mission failure?¡±


    ¡°If we assume the loss of all the goblin slaves beating the brush, those remaining will not be enough to service Hobgoblin Town. Initially, we will keep up an appearance of delivering, but as we work them hard, they will die from exhaustion. The fertilisation by burial service will need to be suspended. We will need to blood green assassins or forgo contracts. The risk there, of course, is mission failure. We guarantee our service, therefore we must hold back our few surviving veterans to clean up after any failures, Mistress.¡±


    ¡°Are you certain that is all? There are no further consequences?¡±


    ¡°We have failed our sponsor. An ally of Lord Torngul still lives. We may have a loyalty and morale problem among the remaining assassins.¡±


    He states the obvious, yet how can I blame him? I asked. No, that is being soft. I need to work out my frustration and whipping the flesh off his back is exactly what I need. I am certain we both must feel the pain of failure in our own way.


    --- Koria Keen Eye POV


    I successfully resist. The first. Then another calling urge taunts me, and no sooner do I see this attempt off than another tries to summon my spirit and with willpower, I resist again. The fourth calling in what seems quick time is irresistible, and my spirit spirals out of the black and into the dark reality of night.


    I struggle for breath; a distant gurgle reaches the ears of the body I am taking as my own. Hobgoblin. Female. I know this instinctively. Does this knowledge originate from the nanorobots in this body? They connect my spirit to this body as much as this body quests for a new life after its recent death. The nanorobots attack the wound site; they work around the foreign object puncturing the flesh. My lungs burn, and I don¡¯t have the air to gasp as my spirit separates from this flesh. The once active nanorobots fall away, lose their excitement, and then as they slide into hibernation, I rise. My spirit glimpses upon the desolate corpse, an impaling arrow through her throat. A quick death, a good death, I lament. A moment later, the black welcome my spirit back.


    The fifth calling is terrible. As the nanorobots respond to my spirit presence, I will them to cease. After a brief struggle to search for life, the impossible ends at my insistence. I suspect a brain injury terminal to recover from, yet I can¡¯t eliminate the nagging unlikely possibility the nanorobots obeyed me.


    The sixth and seventh are much like the fifth. Brain injury, from an impaling arrow to the eye and my command of the nanorobots improving. The seventh corpse dies the moment after my spirit enters and as my spirit returns to the black, I can linger. Perhaps there is a minimum time my spirit can remain to claim a new body? Dark leather pants, shirt, and gloves, skinny. Many daggers about her person. Confirmation, an arrow impales her eye.


    I return to the black, and a moment later I descend again. I have no remaining will to resist. Are the summons occurring so often, I can¡¯t resist? Or is the accumulation of summoning overwhelming?


    The eight I reverse everything. I feel my spirit enter the body and immediately after; I rally the nanorobots to the wound site, my brain. My nanorobots strip resources, water, blood, and flesh from other parts of this awakening corpse until they make my old brain cells whole. The head and shaft of the arrow remain, and the corpse dies again. From this experiment, I know, that regardless of the number of times I am summoned, I can instruct the nanorobots. They do as my will bids and therefore, if I so desire, I can reject body after body, forever.


    The ninth suffers from an arrow to the throat. I stand the nanorobots down until I glimpse another. A goblin peers into the corpse¡¯s eyes. Celebrating her kill? My spirit shudders as my enquiring gaze finds a familiar spirit behind the peering goblin¡¯s eyes. I command the nanorobots to action. Luda. I have no doubt. I spur my nanorobots on, sacrificing flesh and blood to heal. Withdraw the arrow sister, I beg in silence, my throat unable to speak without swallowing blood. I know this because I tried and failed. I return to the black without remembering the journey. Did I fall unconscious before death took me?


    There isn¡¯t an immediate tenth. My sister, I am now positive she lives. Participating in a battle of some sort, one which produces many deaths with the capacity to call me. Only Lord Farmer Hob can call me, each kill is his invitation to me. Confirmation is undeniable, and I must accept this truth. My sister lives in his presence. Can I? Has he forgiven?


    The tenth calls me. I am willing, and my spirit is aggressive as I infuse and take control. Marshalling the nanorobots, I locate the wound with their help and put them to work. Extensive gashes through both cheeks, bones of the lower jaw in pieces, nasal passage full of blood, and I celebrate. No arrow shaft.


    I blink, climb to my haunches and finish removing the crude cloth bandage around the lower half of my head. The blood. What price has this body paid to recover?


    Pain. Sharp into the flesh. Slicing through, nicking my vertebrae, and penetrating up into my brain. My nanorobots educate me automatically, answering my wordless question of what and where like they did when I took ownership and asked. I guess they remember trying to pre-empt and be helpful. For my contribution to the analysis, I advise them this is an expert strike from an assassin or hunter and then my spirit flies free. A dagger remains in my corpse. I glimpse that much as I rise. If I could weep, I would. I don¡¯t need to look into the eyes of my assassin now to recognise her spirit. Luda.


    There is no eleventh call. Is that it? Called to a brief life and then death? Will I never see his face again? Will I never be able to plead my case?


    No! He must kill again! This can¡¯t be my last chance?

 2.028 Goblins! What are they good for?

    ---Luda, Goblin Concubine of Lord Klar POV


    A wave of goblins floods past our position, down the incline, across the shallow gully and up the other side to disappear into the brush behind us.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t attack us?¡±


    She casually smirks. ¡°No, they are running towards their freedom.¡±


    ¡°Where is that?¡±


    A shrug. ¡°Exhaustion, then thirst and finally starvation.¡±


    I take in their faces, young, old, middle age, male, female and then I study her face.


    She giggles. ¡°Furrowing your brow is not a pretty look for you.¡±


    I open my mouth but don¡¯t know what to say. Her apathy for fellow goblins is plain.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about them.¡± She places her hands on my shoulders briefly and I need an effort of will to resist shying away. ¡°Some of my tribe will follow them and guide them. Save their lives once the euphoria has subsided and they need to feed themselves. When the sudden truth hits them, they don¡¯t know how after so long being trough fed.¡±


    Her disdain for them is obvious. Why does she treat me better than them?


    ¡°I must return to my husband.¡± I blurt out the words when a simple goodbye would have done as well.


    ¡°He is one lucky goblin, I am certain,¡± she says, while placing her hands on her hips.


    I easily imagine her hearty ridiculing laughter. I nod. Curt and to the point. Incapable of a clever rebuke or even a simple rebuke towards a goblin so full of confidence and in undisputed command.


    My retreat from her presence is more of an undignified rout. I flee. My legs slow when my body bursts through a hedge and the road underfoot. The memory of her parting, derisive smirk haunts my mind still. Backing into the brush beside the road, my hands grab fistfuls of hair. I release my grip before I rip and instead issue a low, hissing chuckle. With my strength, courtesy of Lord Klar¡¯s seed, my effort would quickly result in the loss of all my hair. She used bluff and bluster. If we ever came to blows, she would be nothing. If we ever meet again, our exchange of words won¡¯t be so one-sided, I decide.


    Feeling better, I skirt the edge of the road, sticking to cover in case there are a few strays of Clan Head Sakvorpa still lurking about. My heart fills with joy as I spot Lord Klar¡¯s boar down the road. Yelps of protest from across the road spoil my moment. Crouching back into some bush, I remain still while scanning the brush across the road in the cursing''s direction. Breaking from the brush across the road is a goblin, in a tan-green soft leather outfit including a hood, shirt and breeches, resisting every step forward. The pusher is someone I recognise, Izga, showing off a broad triumphant smile.


    I dash across the road to join her, peering into the brush behind them in case the noise of her prisoner has drawn any other goblins or hobgoblins loyal to Clan Head Sakvorpa, yet none show. Was I being cautious, or did I doubt my sister-wife¡¯s skill? Her waving arm distracts my thoughts and I follow her gaze. Lord Klar turns about at the urging of others and waves back. Frantically, I wave as well. What am I doing? Competing against my sister-wife for scraps of his attention? Am I that insecure? Am I playing mind games against myself now?


    Jogging into view, are the rest of our sister-wives, in full armour, swords and bows at the ready. They reach Lord Klar first and each receives a hug and kiss in thanks, while Izga continues to prod the reluctant captive towards them, a loop of rope around the prisoner¡¯s neck. I watch from a distance as Lord Klar and our sister-wives mount their boars and nudge them towards us.


    On a road leading east, Izga and I look up at Lord Klar and our sister-wives riding their boars, wondering who will offer us a lift.


    ¡°Zergoa, you will guard our captive, place her before you on your saddle, and swaddle her with your cloak, and we will all pretend to do the same for some imaginary treasure. None must be able to observe we have a prisoner with us. When you dismount, they are a part of you, nothing less,¡± commands Lord Klar.


    ¡°Yes, husband,¡± she replies. Izga throws her the rope, and she lifts the captive onto her beast and settles the rigid goblin body before hers on the saddle.


    Then Lord Klar simply offers me his arm and I race to him with love in my heart and a broad smile on my face.


    ¡°You must be mine then,¡± says Thalgora to Izga, who accepts the offer.


    ¡°And Zergoa, for your prisoner¡¯s benefit, if they make a sound, you can slice off a finger each time,¡± he says.


    At a leisurely pace, an amble on boar back, we continue along the road until dusk. The stunted and sparse crops on either side of the road are more than a hint. At the end of this day, we are on Clan Hungry land. Dismounting, my sister-wives set up camp in the failing light while I scout around our camp to ensure we haven¡¯t somehow gained any interlopers. Lord Klar trusts me to perform this duty. Sight, hearing and smell I have been refining after receiving his seed.


    Finding camp is too simple an exercise. Follow my nose. Thalgora hands me a plate of fried eggs and cured boar on my return. My sister-wives and I are wondering about this obvious sign of our presence, yet all remain silent around the campfire while eating our fill.


    All eyes are on me as I am the last to finish. Klaria grabs my plate and when she returns, her eyes join mine. Our cloak bundle struggles every so often, testing. A rope ties off the gathered ends of the cloak to make an impromptu sack with our prisoner inside. Lord Klar stands off to one side of the bundle and nods toward Izga.


    Izga does the honours, releasing the prisoner from Zergoa¡¯s cloak. Before the prisoner can think, let alone move, Zergoa¡¯s sword rests on its shoulder. Izga gets busy, peeling back the assassin¡¯s clothes. There are several layers, different colours on reverse sides, enabling the wearer to best match their clothing with the natural surroundings they operate in. Ingenious. Izga stops to preserve our now revealed female prisoner¡¯s modesty, leaving her wearing a breast wrap, which covers a modest pair of breasts and a loincloth. Izga pushes the prisoner down until she sits. Our prisoner¡¯s eyes skit about as Izga ties her legs and then her arms, dragging them behind her back first. Zergoa¡¯s sword lifts from her shoulder as Izga stands over her.


    ¡°You are a personal bodyguard of Clan Head Sakvorpa, aren¡¯t you?¡± asks Izga, using a pleasant conversational voice.


    She spits in Izga¡¯s direction, which Izga adroitly dodges. ¡°And you are the traitor, Izga!¡± she retorts in defiance.


    Lord Klar¡¯s skinny and youthful body takes one swift step forward. His hand is around the bodyguard¡¯s neck before any of us can blink, lifting her off her feet in one smooth motion. Not only I, but the other wives recoil slightly and then swoon, as we drink in his strength and poise. The prisoner goes limp, her eyes bulging. I am certain her mind is trying to reconcile the anomaly. His skinny body could perform such a casual display of strength.


    ¡°I have had a bad day,¡± he rumbles. ¡°Being ambushed, taking cover in a hole for most of a night and swallowing dust has left me unhappy. While my wives may prefer you answer our questions without protest and thereby avoid any delightful suffering at my hands, something inside of me hopes you will be stubborn and require violent and painful persuasion.¡±


    Tears roll from her eyes and create tracks through the road dust on her cheeks.


    ¡°What duties do you and your fellow bodyguards perform for your Mistress?¡±


    She sobs and hitches her chest. Lord Klar¡¯s grip must have relaxed enough for her to breathe.


    ¡°We are to secret ourselves near to her and intercept any assassination attempts. When not on duty, we train neophyte assassins or test ourselves against each other.¡± She closes her eyes and exhales.


    ¡°Goblins protecting a scheming dishonourable hobgoblin bitch. I find your loyalty exceptional, commendable.¡± I am certain Lord Klar, as do we, his wives, notice she doesn¡¯t protest his name-calling, which means¡­ ¡°Why are you and your fellow bodyguards so loyal?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ She will slay them if she finds out¡­¡±


    ¡°We best make sure she doesn¡¯t find out then,¡± growls Lord Klar and I tingle within. Klaria licks her lips, her tongue playing with her tusks as it sweeps over them.


    ¡°She holds our families. Brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers¡­ our children, whomever we hold dearest to us.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°We¡­ we don¡¯t know. They bring them to us, blindfolded, unannounced, to prove they are alive and tell us they are being well treated.¡±


    ¡°Where do you and your fellow bodyguards sleep?¡±


    ¡°If not guarding the Mistress outside of her manor, then inside her manor, where we share a common room. Before you ask, there are six of us. All escorted her today.¡±


    ¡°How big a failure for her was today?¡±


    She shakes her head, which suddenly stops. I realise Lord Klar¡¯s grip once again presses on her throat. Her hand rapidly taps his arm. His grip lingers before easing.


    With tears escaping shut eyelids, she draws in an audible breath. Klaria straightens her posture and leans forward, eyes bright. She is enjoying the suffering of another; it seems.


    ¡°So many goblins gone will mean she will have a tough job keeping Hobgoblin Town clean.¡± She sniffs back, leaking snot. ¡°So many assassins dead will mean apprentices will have to be used.¡±


    ¡°Open your eyes.¡±


    She cracks her eyelids open and then fully opens them. I guess she realises nothing has changed.


    ¡°That¡¯s better.¡± Lord Klar draws her closer until a hand width separates their noses. ¡°Are apprentices likely to succeed when sent on missions or fail?¡±


    Klaria crosses her arms, the palms of her hands upon her breasts and, if I am not mistaken, wishing those hands were Lord Klar¡¯s.


    ¡°Although well trained, a veteran accompanies them on the first few missions, which can¡¯t happen now. The, the Mistress guarantees success, so, so I assume the loss of apprentices will happen.¡±


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Was this an ambush for me?¡±


    She turns her head away as best she can. He shakes her entire body, while growling, ¡°Keep silent. I like this game.¡±


    Klaria¡¯s hands pause, trying to drop to her lap, yet the light from the campfire would reveal her wanton display and they instead return to kneading the flesh and nipples of her breasts. No other sister wives are visible to me, they are behind me or in the shadows beyond the campfire light, which, being so close, distorts my night vision. They are further away and fully able to view what is happening; I am certain. Interrogation, Lord Klar style. A youth with the strength and power beyond what his years or bulk would suggest. Lord Torngul looks the part, while Lord Klar is the part behind a fa?ade of youthful innocence. In a contest, I am certain my father would be at Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s mercy.


    Her arms flail about, trying to tap his forearms while screaming, ¡°Yes! Yes.¡± Tears fall from her eyes as his shaking stops.


    Klaria¡¯s hands drop to lap.


    ¡°Who was going to pay her for my life?¡±


    Her hands wave at Lord Klar, while her head shakes from side to side. ¡°I promise on my child¡¯s life I don¡¯t know. Her sponsor is another Clan Head, that I can tell you because his guards protested being separated from him as we did when separated from her.¡±


    Lord Klar stares at her. Then, straightening his arm, he slowly examines her every curve, up and down. His predator''s eyes turn my will to jelly, and I need to check myself or I would be naked in a flash in his embrace. I am certain, unknowingly; that she draws her thighs together.


    ¡°I am prepared to release you now, but I want to ensure you survive your next meeting with your Mistress. So, suppose you didn¡¯t return immediately because you followed me. What information would see you rewarded instead of being slain?¡± The kind tone in his voice is warm and inviting, as expected from a sympathising youth. Klaria¡¯s jaw drops and her hands pause.


    The eyes of Lord Klar¡¯s prisoner fall upon those in front of her. I realise, almost breaking into laughter, she can see into the dark, at least a small distance as the campfire light is slightly behind her. I wonder what my sister-wives are doing to themselves, hopefully, nothing. Klaria¡¯s secret is safe because our prisoner doesn¡¯t have eyes in the back of her head. Her desperate eyes fall upon me, seeking confirmation or promise of honesty or both, wondering if our husband speaks the truth or is simply getting her hopes up so he can cruelly crush them.


    ¡°He means what he says,¡± I reply to her questioning look. ¡°He punishes those who are our enemies, yet protects those who prove loyal.¡±


    Swallowing, she says, ¡°If I could propose a way for a single assassin to reach you and slay you¡­ Lord.¡±


    ¡°Mmm, well, always the dream of my enemies, I am sure. Perhaps we should string this out a little, after all, the answer to her dilemma after one observation of me, by a spy of hers, would be unbelievable.¡±


    He releases his grip and allows her to stand. She stumbles and his free hand shifts to support her while he removes his noose of fingers from around her neck. Once she is steady, he swivels her about and frees her hands.


    ¡°How about this? You followed us to Clan Hungry, to learn what is probably already common knowledge. We came here to part pay for the goblin slaves I have bought. We then plan to lead them to our modest land grant. You overhear some of my wives grumbling about the rough conditions, no roof over their heads, scarce food and so on, and you believe one may be open to bribery.¡±


    Our prisoner slowly nods and with that encouragement, Lord Hob continues, ¡°Failing that, an additional goblin among many will probably go unnoticed, which will allow a goblin to spy upon me and my wives. You can provide simple directions to my land grant. This means you can probably return to us for an update on our story, but don¡¯t volunteer, of course. Bargain hard, say you need to see your family before you go in case you don¡¯t survive. Complain you haven¡¯t been in the field like this before or for a long time. Think of other excuses on your journey back.¡±


    He reaches down and frees her legs. We all realise at once, that she could easily bolt, yet our Lord simply rests on his bottom, and leans back, his straight arms stretching out behind him, supporting his upper body. She swivels about to face him, biting her lip.


    ¡°You are going to free me? Like you said?¡± She checks the faces of those in front of her and then bursts into tears. Our Lord reaches forward and gently embraces her, whispering words of comfort and support in her ears. After a time, they separate.


    ¡°They love you, don¡¯t they, each one of them? You would sacrifice your life for any one of them and they would sacrifice their life for you¡­ This is easy to understand given what you have shown me, even the lowly goblin you cherish¡­¡±


    ¡°Is the story enough to keep you alive?¡± he asks.


    She wipes tears from her eyes. ¡°She won¡¯t trust me. Another or perhaps two others will follow me to observe my loyalty.¡±


    ¡°Accidents can happen.¡± Even my heart warms to his kind smile.


    ¡°Do I leave now?¡± she asks as her eyes peer into the night.


    ¡°Pick a camping spot not far away, but plausible, so if she interrogates you, you can describe the view into our camp and how we spent the night.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡± She takes an uncertain step and looks back. Then another. One more. At a distance, Lord Klar calls her back. With a bright green face, she dresses. Leaving for a second time, she quickly disappears into the black of the night and beyond the range of our night sight. Not long after, she returns. Within what I suspect is the viewing distance of her night sight, crushing the ripple of doubt growing amongst all of us, except Lord Klar, I am certain.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t we ask her name?¡± I ask no one in particular.


    After a brief tut-tut, Lord Klar replies, ¡°To know her name would mean we met our spy face to face, and that didn¡¯t happen, of course.¡±


    ---Lord Klar POV


    When I next meet our Eater Clan spy, I will ask her how she described to Mistress Sakvorpa our night of love, passion, and debauchery. I needed to make up for my neglect of some, remind others I hadn¡¯t forgotten them and, from a purely efficient functional point of view, strengthen others, including Voria. And find time in the night to sleep. Although I must confess, Klaria fell into a category of her own, especially when I told her that the prisoner¡¯s well-trained assassin goblin ears would have heard every stifled moan and salacious stroke of self-gratification during her interrogation. After all, mine did.


    This alone time with each of my wives and concubines provided the opportunity to prepare them for exposure to our goblin companions and their fanaticism over linage. Instructing each of my entourage as appropriate in a hushed whisper to refine a single linage of blood within. None knew what the linage was of course, but better one strong linage than the mixed linage of Izga and suffer being ignored. I am certain none of Nudia¡¯s goblin tribe would take any orders from my assassin, purely because of her impure bloodline. With Izga, I made her a promise. Somehow, we would work around her situation now that her blood was pure. I also informed her of a special mission she must undertake. A mission only she had the skills to complete for me. I didn¡¯t realise at the time how she would make me pay for building her up so.


    Our meeting with Clan Head Zinmog went smoothly enough. I suspect our more than obvious camping on the edge of his land grant provided him with plenty of warning of our pending arrival. Nudia kept her word, exactly. Two hundred and fifty goblins, typical ratios of adult males and females to children. Somehow, she wasn¡¯t one of them. How the Clan Head didn¡¯t miss her presence mystified me. Unless to him, goblins are vermin and like cats of the same species, they all look the same to him, even if one of them meows differently.


    I traded the slave goblins for a bag of coin, the equivalent of one month¡¯s worth of grain. Clan Head Zinmog also received his land grant document from me, which he immediately waved above his head in celebration without breaking the seal. I thought he would invite us to eat with him, instead, an awkwardness developed, and we simply mounted up and left, two hundred and fifty goblins slaves following behind us, silently, on foot. I headed directly for the river, where Nudia and I crossed not so many days before and where Izga would start her mission. By mid-morning, I had tested three potential fording places, the first time caused a huge stir amongst the goblins and Klaria, after the third, they accepted I must know what I was doing or left me to whatever fate my actions would or wouldn¡¯t bring down on me.


    We left the farms of Clan Hungry behind by the middle of the day, and while I knew we were now on my land grant, the river still didn¡¯t reveal a place where we could force a crossing in reasonable safety. As I survey the grass plains on our side of the river and cast my eyes across the other side of the river, I notice the rise of the land. The goblins take my moment of distraction to decide to fuss about. The chat rises, some laughter from children mostly and then cooking fires and the smell of food wafted across the mass gathering. I guess we are stopping here for a time.


    ¡°Duzsia, the number of goblins?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord, you are correct. Throughout the day, our numbers of slaves have swollen. Fortunately, they didn¡¯t forget to bring enough food with them.¡±


    ¡°Good to know,¡± I say. ¡°If anyone needs me, I will be down by the river, testing the depth.¡±


    ¡°When the food is ready, I am certain one of your wives will find you and, after some agreeable begging from you, feed you.¡± I catch her smirk and chuckle in reply.


    ---


    I wade into the river and shortly after the water is swirling around my throat and I am not halfway across.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    I recognise her cheeky voice instantly. Nudia. Without looking, I reply, ¡°I¡¯m uncertain if I can entrust you with such secrets.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps I am mistaken. My tribe tells me you like taking dips in the river, been doing so since you led them from Clan Hungry.¡±


    I swivel about in the water to face her. ¡°Refreshing, don¡¯t you know?¡±


    ¡°Possibly. I prefer at most waist-deep myself.¡±


    ¡°Well, jump in and I will meet you halfway?¡±


    ¡°How about I race you to the other side?¡±


    I study her face and then glance behind me. Her mocking laughter draws my attention and I wade towards the shore.


    ¡°You little sneak, you have found a ford already, haven¡¯t you?¡± I call out as I advance upon her.


    ¡°Of course, what else is a girl to do while waiting for the father of her child to return?¡±


    I scoop her up and swing her around. She flings her arms out, her head back, recklessly giggling like the goblin children playing back at the camp. Dizzy, I stop and gently embrace her.


    ¡°I noted two hundred and fifty goblin slaves. An exact count waited for me. Did you have to make the number exact?¡±


    ¡°A number is a number. Would two hundred and forty-one have a different meaning? Would that change the number of coins in the bag you gave the Clan Head? Plus, there is a lesson for you. The hobgoblins of this valley don¡¯t count goblins as partners, even the more knowledgeable goblins, such as my tribe.¡±


    Her tribe? Is she a chieftainess or was she speaking in general terms? I shake my head. ¡°No, I guess not.¡±


    ¡°Let me show you the ford I found for you.¡± She grabs my hand and tugs me while I smile and resist as another goblin rushes toward us.


    ¡°You!¡±


    Nudia sobers up immediately. ¡°We meet again, perhaps introductions are in order?¡±


    Luda slams into my body, wrapping her arms around my naked waist above the loin cloth. ¡°May I introduce my wife, Luda,¡± I say.


    Nudia¡¯s smile doesn¡¯t dim. Instead, she introduces herself, ¡°I am Nudia of Zoria Oath Keeper linage and I carry the child of Lord Klar.¡±


    Luda¡¯s body slumps against mine. Any jealous, possessive, or joyous energy within her is now gone. She is my wife, yet Nudia will give birth to my child. I understand her distress and I intend for my wives to fall pregnant when the time is right.


    ¡°You are no stranger. Forgive my rudeness from before,¡± whispers Luda.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t to know, and it is proper to be cautious when you meet a stranger lurking about an ambush.¡±


    I reach down to my clothes and armour and start dressing while leaving the two female goblins to size each other up. On our journey to meet Clan Head Zinmog, our conversations recalled our ambush exploits and, while I suspected Nudia and Luda had met, only now do I have absolute proof. Nudia meows differently from other goblins.


    Two sets of hands fuss over me, each trying to claim an unknown prize because of their efforts. Luda¡¯s hands feel their way around my waist as she helps tie off my armour and energy, returns to her body as she snuggles into me once done. Luda takes a step back, an amusing smirk on her lips. She competed to deliberately tease Luda, to make her feel insecure for her enjoyment.


    Her eyes on her competition, Luda forces a light chuckle. ¡°Did you round up all the Eater Clan goblin slaves? Would have been a task and a half I would imagine.¡±


    ¡°Yes, fairly certain. Sixty-two, I think.¡± The politeness of her reply covers for the obvious irrelevance she has for other goblins, which Luda didn¡¯t pick up on.


    ¡°Are they in the camp now or yet to join us?¡± asks Luda.


    Nudia bursts into laughter, slapping her thigh, her face going a deep green. ¡°They are from this valley, without linage. We would never taint our blood with the likes of them. No, we snuck them into the slave houses of Clan Hungry. While Clan Hungry isn¡¯t perfect, they aren¡¯t deliberately cruel, they simply don¡¯t care, whereas the Eater Clan will sacrifice slave goblins to meet a contract if they need to. They have a better life now and their loss weakens The Eater Clan, our original enslavers. Double the fun.¡±


    I am¡­ I don¡¯t know. I feel Luda tense up and through the spirit bond we share, a mutual confusion. Aren¡¯t all goblins the same? Of equal value at least to each other? While I want to ask as many questions as required, to understand, I have a more urgent need.


    ¡°Show me to the ford, will you, Nudia?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Klar, follow me!¡± She drags out the last word. Happiness? Celebration?


    As she trots off in front of us, we have time to recover and share multiple glances. My inner Hob laughs long and hard at my expense. His return after being quiet for so long is a shock I don¡¯t need besides Nudia¡¯s revelation. Then I realise his return is because of the shock I felt after hearing Nudia¡¯s revelation. My settlement will contain over four hundred like-minded goblins, proud defenders of their lineage, looking down on other native goblins as much as hobgoblins look down on any goblin, linage or not, in this valley.

 2.029 A Swirl of Futures

    ---Gorgrin, Blood Oath Follower POV


    I toss the few remaining coins I have in my hand. When my father demanded payment for food, the females belonged to my Lord, yet when counting ownership, they belonged to my father. He won¡¯t allow any to leave without first securing the extra land grant as promised. I trust my Lord; my father has a lower opinion of such a youth.


    Pushing the door to my room open, I trudge once again down the hallway and through the main double doors of the manor and out onto the field of misery. Their eyes are upon me, in an instant. Questioning. Is today the day they leave? The least I can do is visit each camp, face them, listen to their woes, try to console them, and provide further vague assurances we will leave shortly.


    Trekking back to the manor, near the end of the day, I need to sigh as my half-brother strides with determination toward me.


    ¡°Father says, you must pay for food for another day. Today is another day closer to being the last for your Lord to collect on his arrangement. If your Lord fails, then father will take his claim to Lord Torngul and demand compensation.¡±


    His smug countenance is an irritant, yet one I must endure. I hold my fist full of remaining coins out, waiting for him to open his hand to receive them. This has been our ritual for the last few days, yet I know I am short of the agreed amount and when he counts them, he will know the same. I drop the coins into his palm and his vicious smile tells me he already knows.


    ¡°You are short, Brother. Enough for dinner tonight and perhaps we can prepare a surprise meal to break their fast in the morning.¡±


    ¡°That is enough for both meals as you know,¡± I growl.


    ¡°Not according to father,¡± he retorts.


    I stomp towards him, lowering my shoulder into his as I pass him. He scrambles to keep his feet, the coins in his hand spray-free and he curses me under his breath as I make for the manor. My hands lean upon the double doors, and I pause instead of pushing them open. I believe a certain special place awaits me; this is my third evening wait in a row. If my Lord sends an agent, they will most likely meet me there. If the Lord arrives personally, he will simply stride up to the manor house, state his case and claim the females. I am certain he will know where I am and fetch me before he leaves.


    ---Izga, Concubine of Lord Klar POV


    Squatting on Lord Klar¡¯s shoulders, my lower half-naked, purely because of mishap, of course, I wonder if, with effort, I could hold the same position from the front. I imagine my naked buttock on his chest and my exposed loins in his face.


    Cool water splashes upon my face, and I flick my head.


    ¡°What was that for, husband?¡±


    ¡°Mischievous thoughts.¡±


    Was he able to determine my intent through our spirit link? ¡°Thoughts?¡±


    He chuckles. ¡°Not exacting, yet enough to sense you are comfortable on my shoulders while I wade across the river, but you plot¡ªsomething.¡±


    After his last word, his body dips. Wild bubbling river water washes over his neck and swirls around my bottom and thighs, the coolness quelling the heat in my loins. ¡°Husband!¡± I yelp.


    I resist the urge to slap him as I am certain my punishment would be swift. He rises and we continue our wading of the river. He assured me he and Nudia, a goblin, have waded across at this location. Assurance or not, I would have done his bidding in total disregard for my safety. I am an assassin, to be utilised as he sees fit. I lick my lips. His concern, though, is touching. Further across, the depth of the river increases and once again my loins bathe in cool river water. This time I don¡¯t yelp. Shortly after, he rises out of the river with me on his shoulders. We are clear of the nasty water at last and arrive safely on the opposite bank. Before he can swing me down, I slide from his shoulders, using his chest as the pathway of choice. Awkward yet confirmation of sorts as my ankles lock, allowing my legs to swivel around his neck, while my abdomen crunches, bringing my loin close to his lips while my hands grab for the back of his head.


    I greet his accusing eyes with my best beaming, salacious smile.


    ¡°This is what you had in mind?¡±


    I nod while holding my smile.


    ¡°We have an entire entourage of goblins and hobgoblins on the other side of the river. I assume intently watching us.¡±


    I pout. ¡°I will be several days away from you, Lord, and you are a loincloth away from being naked.¡±


    ---


    I crouch within the undergrowth, listening and sniffing. Nothing. I dip my hand into my backpack and draw out a length of dried meat and a matching slither of cheese. Casually chewing, I recall my husband¡¯s attentions, the hard uneven river stone underneath my half-naked body a harsh bulwark against his trusting, and I shiver in delight. More importantly, I was alone with him. Not next in line or finishing up because of another waiting or sharing. All mine, and he granted our coupling a generous amount of time. Rubbing my belly, I wonder. Am I jealous of Thalgora?


    The snap of branches grabs my attention. By repositioning my head several times, I glimpse between the foliage, beyond my hiding place. A deer buck stumbles, an arrow jutting out of the animal¡¯s hindquarters. After some quick work, a hunting party of five hobgoblins slaughter their catch. Along with another, larger animal, they hoist them on their shoulders using lengths of wood, each catch swinging underneath by their tied legs. I appreciate the simplicity and convenience.


    Lord Klar provided me with directions, well landmarks in truth to reach Clan Beastbane. Following these hunters will probably be more reliable. Decided, I allow them to lead well ahead of me. Over the course of a day and night and avoiding two of their ambushes, they act as my unwitting but suspicious guides to their Clan manor house. Their gut is telling them ¡®something is out there, possibly following them¡¯. I ensure there is no proof.


    From my top branch perch, the manor house and the surrounding steading are under my gaze. Large beams of round wood, one on top of the other, form the walls, while they made the roof using long sheets of bark. Amazing. There are other buildings, but none as impressive as the manor house. This is the manor house of a Clan, unlike the sagging old collection of timber that makes up Clan Hungry¡¯s manor house, I decide.


    The other surprise is the number of female hobgoblins. Does Lord Klar know?


    Perhaps because of the recent warm dry weather, or simply because there aren¡¯t enough houses, many women camp out on a common grass-covered area out front of the manor. Some are under cured leather tents, while others make do with a blanket over a suspended branch held up by two rickety branch frames. A few, mainly family groups of a mother and female children, huddle together around a campfire with no cover at all. A restless malaise is on them. They are waiting without an end in sight.


    I finger the leather roll hanging around my neck on a cord of leather. I suspect their Clan Head awaits the written confirmation on the parchment wrapped within. My Lord made this hand-over difficult for me though. I need to identify his sworn companion Gorgrin by deed. He should be the male hobgoblin, caring for the female hobgoblins, protecting them, feeding them, and providing shelter while waiting. Also, I must deliver the leather roll to Gorgrin without the Clan Head or any of his Clan knowing of my presence. I need to wait for the night, that is a given. Trust in my hearing and night sight to avoid detection. I also need to will and wish some co-operation from Gorgrin. He must know someone is going to contact him, shouldn¡¯t he?


    ---Koria Keen Eye POV


    I rise to return to the darkness. Rising and falling are simply labels for my mind to cope with my spirit existence and the real world. The truth is unknown to me. The spirit world seems to play along and understand my intent. This I decide is all I require to functionally comprehend the position I find myself in. How do I think such big thoughts? Where is the Flint Arrows goblin?


    Tentatively at first, I resist. This resistance is the opposite I have been attempting while within the blackness when he called me. Willpower, pure and simple. Yet I ascend. I recall my resistance when refusing his call and the blackness providing an anchor of sorts, a place familiar and of belonging with which to cling. Something which developed over a countless and unknown duration. Here I was trying to remain in an actual place I hardly knew now. Failure explanation is easy, simple. Yet returning to the black without being able to explain to him, is intolerable.


    What have I got to cling to in the real world? Typically, my spirit possesses the body of one recently slain by his hand. Why this works as a draw or awakening I don¡¯t know for certain. A plausible explanation is the elimination of their life, causes the fleeing of the corpse¡¯s spirit and his mark of death upon it, to draw me or his wives. I try to sense for the tenth corpse, the nanorobots, and the corpse¡¯s blood. The attempt feels like a hand trying to grasp an ever-fading presence, a cloth trying to wipe down dust but never able to contact the surface of the furniture or object subject to cleaning. Frantic, I cast my desperation in a wide arc. Everything, anything. I continue to rise.


    A subtle jolt. A sense of myself, in the real world. Where? Did I truly discover this, or did I imagine salvation because of hopelessness?


    I find myself, a dim tag, a shadow of a shadow.


    I strive toward this potential presence, is this my future anchor? The darkness is approaching. I strive to claw myself further away, reach for this glimmer of an anchor. The anchor remains in place and my willpower latches onto this hope. My techniques and efforts to remain in the blackness, are now useful to draw me back into the real world. I know now, that I can¡¯t simply resist or repel the drawing of my spirit back to the darkness. Possible salvation requires me to strive towards another destination, even if a shadow of a shadow.


    I neither ascend nor descend.


    ---Dorgrav, Major Domo POV


    ¡°If you wish to remain in your position, you must find and bring to me all the spies in the manor. You hear me?¡± says my Lord and Master while crushing a parchment in his fist.


    The timbre of his voice shakes the strength from my knees, yet I must remain upright.


    ¡°Yes, Lord. I will need c-coin to loosen the lips of the small rodents, and erm, who do we trust?¡±


    His smile is predatory. ¡°The three in my throne room and no others.¡±


    I swallow. ¡°Would I be able to call on Lady Trela to assist occasionally Lord?¡±


    His eyes linger upon his wife until she blushes and under any other circumstances, my heart would fill with joy, now though I must expand my role into deeds and skills unknown. I grasp for any help he allows me.


    ¡°I am certain she will be able to provide counsel at the very least,¡± he replies, without facing me.


    ¡°Thank you, Lord. I strive to please.¡±


    The Lady approaches me. Why?


    ¡°Firstly Dorgrav, we must recruit several new staff.¡±


    ¡°We do,¡± I squeak. Why can¡¯t my voice behave? I separate my hands, my cap in my left hand only, to stop my display of nervousness.


    ¡°Who can we trust in the manor?¡± she purrs.


    I know the answer to this question, the corners of my mouth rise. ¡°Us three Lady.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    My cap hand almost joins my right hand until with effort I keep them separate. ¡°What guarantees us our new staff will be loyal, Lady?¡±


    Her smile matches my Lord¡¯s. Predatory. ¡°Because we know where a great many hobgoblins, na?ve of Hobgoblin Town are or will be loitering. We could entice such innocents to serve in this house and you, good Dorgrav, we entrust to fetch them.¡±


    ¡°Me, Lady?¡± I swallow. ¡°Where can I find these na?ve servants?¡±


    Her hands cup my face, while her eyes burn out mine denying me the opportunity to enjoy the warmth of her attention. ¡°Why on Lord Klar¡¯s land grant of course? We are aware he will shortly be responsible for many female hobgoblins and perhaps some would prefer our manor instead of his rough start. We simply need to find out.¡±


    My hands play with my cap. I would need to leave Hobgoblin Town. Never have I ventured beyond the town limits. I hold back my tears of panic. ¡°I, I am uncertain, Lady.¡± My eyes inspect my boots. ¡°Travel beyond Hobgoblin Town?¡± I shake my head slowly from side to side.


    His voice draws my attention against my will. ¡°I will send two of my honour guard with you, for protection.¡±


    ¡°But we agreed we can trust no one else?¡±


    ¡°Now, now,¡± she says. ¡°Not regarding manor loyalty, but in protecting you, certainly. Because if they fail to return with you, the Lord and I will ensure we capture them, torture them, and only then, slowly allow them to find the sweet embrace of death.¡±


    But I will still be dead, is my worrying thought. I nod as words fail me.


    ¡°Good,¡± he says. ¡°You leave in the morning so take the rest of today to prepare and I will select two of the honour guard so they can also prepare.¡±


    I feel the bag before I realise what she gifts me, and she rewards my questioning face with an explanation.


    ¡°You may need the coin to lure them into service. Proof that we are serious. Recruit as many as you can, while replacing everyone in the manor would be ideal, I doubt you can entice that many.¡±


    As I wander through the open double doors of the throne room, which close behind me automatically as well, courtesy of Lord Torngul¡¯s honour guard, I wonder as I take a last look at the floor, walls, and ceiling of my home since a boy if I will return. After following my feet for a time, I stand before an asleep granny. Her eyes fly open, and I almost jump out of my skin.


    Her warm thin hand pats mine. Comfort. From this simple contact, I decide I am not alone. From this simple contact, I decide I can trust granny. Against everything the Lord and Lady have advised, I explain my task and what the Lord¡¯s solution is. Why do I do this when the Lord and Lady say to trust no one? Her kind caressing reminds me granny is this manor, surviving multiple Lords and Ladies and her warm knowing smile radiates care and patience. She is content to listen, and I need to confess to someone my fear of probable failure. These emotions make perfect sense to me, instead of logic, more the pity.


    Her skin and bone hand rest upon mine now, the patting done with, it would seem. I need to lean forward, my ear in front of her mouth as she whispers the names of the servants, I must rid the manor of. She confirms some are simply lazy, while certain the others are the spies I am searching for. I ask how she knows, and she simply touches her nose with a crooked finger.


    I stand tall. Not all the servants then. Twelve certainly, seventeen if I need the manor rid of the lazy ones as well. I weigh the bag of coins in hand, several coins less now, because of paying for granny¡¯s consultation and consideration. No obligation, simply exercising my free will to reward. There is more than enough for some Clan savages, I am certain. The breaking of them into the ways of civilisation may prove more expensive¡­ One step at a time I tell myself.


    I stride forward with a new sense of purpose talking myself into believing I have a real chance of success.


    ---Lord Klar POV


    We follow behind a laughing, jumping and cavorting Nudia. She is on top of the world as she perceives things. As best as I can determine we are heading out of the valley, although we are nowhere near the actual opening onto the plains. On our right, the river spreads into a catchment, a large pond, or a small lake at the base of a rise of land. The river found a way around, a path of least resistance as water always does, this time a shallow and wide out-pour. Further along, the river resumes a more natural flow, faster on a narrower riverbed.


    Nudia is kicking at the flowing water, and she steps across lightly. Halfway across she calls back to us.


    ¡°My tribe found stones to line the crossing because mud is yuck, you know.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t wait for an answer as she waves us on to follow. Luda and I cross the ford and join Nudia on the rise of land on the other side of the river. This is an amazing hillock. Perfectly defensible, once we construct a wall of any sort to break up any uphill charge thinking to overrun the place. I scan the horizon in each direction, taking in the landscape and planning locations for a fort, village, and farming lands. Then I listen to what Nudia is saying.


    ¡°¡­ your manor location is important. We will wall off the entire hillock, one gate facing the ford and another facing the fields. What do you think, Lord Klar?¡±


    Her eyes search for mine, while I pretend to contemplate every word, including those I didn¡¯t hear.


    ¡°Where does your authority come from, to design my future land claim?¡±


    She blinks. The light green skin of her forehead gathers as she shakes her head while turning away from me. Her eyes land on Luda, who is ignoring both of us, content to gaze upon the wide-open spaces or nothing at all for all I know.


    Several steps down the smooth hillside slope, and a hand catches my wrist.


    ¡°I apologise Lord Klar. I made certain assumptions.¡± A certain cautious enquiry is in her voice. My question was unexpected, in truth, even by me, simply a response to ensure I had a future say in the layout of my demesne.


    With the help of the slope, I can rest an elbow comfortably on my knee allowing my eyes to meet hers. ¡°This valley believes in its very bones that any goblins on my land grant are my slaves. While I dislike being a slave master, I will insist on being the master of every goblin and hobgoblin on my land grant. I will listen to all, but the final decision will always be mine.¡±


    ¡°But you don¡¯t understand,¡± she says.


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Please explain.¡±


    She pauses. Her eyes inspect every facet of my face I suspect. I catch a smirk from Luda who now rests on her haunches higher up the hillock.


    ¡°We have been searching for a home in this valley for generations, searching for a single father for generations and both are at hand. We, no, I, became a little excited. That is all. Of course, Lord, I and my tribe are your slaves, yet given your farming of our loins we thought our relationships much more mutual and agreeable.¡±


    My disbelieving laugh is convincing enough given the look of dismay on her face. ¡°The farming of your loins was at your insistence and my reluctance. My enslavement of your tribe was at your request, not my instigation. We are here, on this hillock because of your plans, not mine, yet I am now responsible for your entire tribe, but only on your terms.¡±


    She slowly nods her head. ¡°I see.¡±


    I grab her chin in my hand, drawing her face close to mine. ¡°You will explain to me now, all the plotting and scheming your tribe currently undertakes. All the groups you have knowledge of or manage, even if likely outside this valley.¡±


    Between my fingers I feel her head move in agreement.


    ¡°I need you to be certain of what I need you to tell me. If, for example, I discover something you know now, but because of omission or me not asking the right question you withhold, carrying a child or not will not save you from my wrath.¡± I release my grip.


    ¡°As you wish Lord Klar. Everything.¡± She swallows while I settle my buttocks on the hillside. ¡°We torment, interfere, harass The Eater Clan, who we consider our sworn enemy. They are the Clan, which originally enslaved us, so we can never forgive. They still enslaved some of our tribe¡¯s descendants. We spy on the other Clans where we can without risk, but they have never been as important to us.¡± She lowers herself and shuffles in to sit beside me. When I don¡¯t object, I feel her hand and arm snake their way around my arm drawing us closer.


    ¡°The males we send out in mercenary bands, some traders. We hear occasional news but in the main, we send them out with the expectation of them never returning, especially if they have fathered non-pure children.¡±


    ¡°Will your males remain now?¡±


    I feel her arm strangle mine. ¡°Lord, all your children will remain and bring you glory. Our uncertainty is over.¡±


    ¡°I see. Continue.¡±


    ¡°We made it our business to learn about all your wives.¡± She pauses and I feel her head turn. After a moment her head leans against my upper arm. ¡°Luda. Can you explain Luda, Lord?¡±


    ¡°What of her?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes, I think you know much and other times I feel you know so little.¡± I meet her eyes with mine. ¡°She is of this valley, yet from the Goblin Village¡­¡±


    Somehow Nudia believes this is enough information. I shake my head.


    ¡°See, how can you not know?¡± She humphs. ¡°They don¡¯t leave. Ever. Yet one travels with you and shares your bed. How? Why?¡±


    I throw my head back in sudden realisation, covering my ignorance with a chuckle. ¡°A small thing really. I saved her life.¡±


    ¡°We have tried that.¡± Her eyes bore into mine. ¡°With others of the village, I mean.¡±


    I pat her small hands squeezing my arm. ¡°They declared her dead from an arrow wound. Given up by all except her mother. So, I applied some healing plants, bandaged the wound to prevent further blood loss and the over the next several days dripped water into her mouth. Once she opened her eyes, they were all like, amazed and in awe. Unusual reaction, yet in the end, her mother insisted.¡±


    ¡°Days, you say.¡± She turns to find Luda. ¡°Luda, can you show me your arrow wound? The one Lord Klar cared for, to save your life?¡±


    Luda climbs to her feet in one smooth motion and strolls over to block our view of the mountains and forests towards the east while pulling back more clothing than is necessary to reveal corded muscle, her abdominals, especially. In male terms a pissing contest. I remember Duzsia¡¯s arrow wound to the chest healing to perfection, Luda not as fortunate. Her lingering death from a gut wound was a factor I suppose. For now, useful.


    Nudia turns Luda¡¯s body slightly to face the western sunlight to illuminate her flesh and as I peek over her shoulder, I appreciate why. There is a wound, yet you need to know where to look to find the blemish.


    Nudia¡¯s fingers glide over the wound site. Luda giggles. ¡°How much seed has Lord Klar put in you?¡± Luda¡¯s giggling stops dead.


    I reach around Nudia and pat down Luda¡¯s clothes. ¡°Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°Many of those you farmed Lord Klar immediately noticed subtle improvements, different for each, different in extent, yet none missed out.¡± She points a finger at Luda. ¡°Here we have a long-term, shall we say, a fortunate receiver of your seed with what we now know was a mortal would, which is almost whole as if no arrow actually impaled her.¡±


    Has the miracle cure become more important than the impossibility of a valley village goblin leaving her village?


    ---Clan Head Sakvorpa POV


    My eyes look down upon the merchant bowing before me with a certain amount of disgust. He insisted on delivering a message from his Clan Head and given my recent failure; I felt obliged to receive him. My pet goblin hands me the scroll and I break the seal.


    Send all from your sight, except my messenger.


    Clan Head Krilzak.


    I tap the scroll into the palm of my other hand while keeping my eyes on the visitor. With a nod, I could have him slain and disposed of as if he didn¡¯t arrive. After all, the large rug on which all my guests wait while before me is there to assist with absorbing leakage and allow discrete body removal. My servants then retrieve a duplicate rug from storage as if nothing happened. But no. I am certain Clan Head Krilzak would have had witnesses confirming he reached and entered my manor. I could simply ask him to reveal his secret in front of witnesses, but why when I expect chastisement, which will require a response if my Clan is privy to the insult.


    I flick my eyes across the room and each of my guards trots out, closing the grand doors behind them.


    ¡°We are alone, say what you have to say.¡±


    A quick nod of his head. ¡°May I approach? I have another scroll to present to you.¡±


    I scrunch up the first and allow the parchment to drop beside my throne as I place my arms on the armrests and allow my hands to drape over the ends. We are alone, why can¡¯t he simply speak his Clan Head¡¯s wishes, this drawing out is frustrating.


    ¡°Approach.¡±


    He remains supplicant as he creeps towards me, the scroll leading the way. I grab the scroll when within reach and he immediately scurries back to the centre of the large rug, the exact spot we invited him to wait on, in fact.


    If you wish to make amends, you only need to ambush and slay Lord Torngul¡¯s messenger and escorts, who will shortly leave Hobgoblin Town to recruit more staff for his manor. We must prevent this in case they accidentally dismiss several key staff of great import to ourselves.


    Clan Head Krilzak


    Arising from my throne, parchment in hand I can¡¯t help but think Clan Head Krilzak¡¯s request is a statement of the obvious. Requesting my Clan to act is unnecessary, given as he says our mutual investment in the Lord¡¯s staff. A glance back at his messenger and then I stroll towards the roaring fireplace. Evidence is best destroyed. I scrunch up the parchment and my throw lands the ball of evidence in the centre of the flames. The parchment burns well enough, although as I shake my head trying to make sense of several doubts, did the flames change colour briefly? I rush back to my throne and scoop up the other parchment and staring into the flames, throw the first message. A brief blue-green tinge and then yellow-orange. I swivel about on my heel and face his messenger.


    The light from the fireplace reveals a face without expression, even though my bodyguard has plunged a dagger into his back. I know my bodyguard has prevented the assassin from slaying me because a heartbeat ago the dagger he was about to strike me with, clattered to the stone floor of my throne room. Before me, his upper body falls away. Did my bodyguard somehow cut his body in half? I twist my head to one side and spy my bodyguard equally frozen trying to comprehend reality. Then he bends over growling in pain. My eyes flash wide and then cold steel pricks my belly button and I lower my eyes. I hear the thump of my bodyguard¡¯s corpse smack onto the floor.


    ¡°Good to have your attention. I didn¡¯t appreciate your bodyguard slaying my partner, so an eye for an eye and all that.¡±


    A scar runs across the face of the goblin holding the dagger at my waist. Courtesy of the firelight, I notice fresh black blood dripping from his weapon. Able to see passed my intruder, certain facts clear up some confusion. My bodyguard assumed as did I the messenger was one thin tallish hobgoblin, when in fact, comical or not, one goblin, in a complicated harness sat on the shoulders of another. A harness that could and in fact now is a quick release.


    Another prick of his dagger draws my attention. ¡°Worked it out yet?¡±


    ¡°Yes, ingenious, although not without risks.¡± I nod towards his dead companion.


    ¡°He assured us you didn¡¯t keep a bodyguard with you when in your throne room. So, he needs to pay for that oversight.¡±


    While I could assume that he is Clan Head Krilzak, my gut says no. Someone who knew of my failure took that opportunity to gain an audience and satisfy my expectation that Krilzak would want to meet and ask questions.


    ¡°I assume my asking who sent you would yield a lie or nothing?¡±


    He chuckles. ¡°How could you believe anything I would tell you?¡±


    True. Any name given could be true, false, a misdirect. Even under torture, some assassins are skilled enough to sell a convincing version of the truth. It is why we train my assassins under the pain of torture.


    ¡°So, what now?¡±


    ¡°We wait.¡± He flicks his knife towards the far side of the fireplace.


    ¡°Are you certain we can¡¯t wait on my throne? You could sit on my lap. I promise not to bite,¡± I purr. I sense he is a true professional, but never harms for a girl to try.


    ¡°No. I prefer a corner of your room, where perhaps a servant sweeps occasionally but otherwise no one gives a damn.¡±

 2.030 A Tumult of Reality.

    ---Gorgrin, Blood Oath Follower POV


    ¡°I didn¡¯t need your help. A few more words and¡­¡±


    ¡°Pfft!¡± she spits. ¡°The one in the middle wanted your death, otherwise why bring armed company?¡±


    Far right and far left, my brother¡¯s two bodyguards lay out cold upon the stone shelf of my special place, unconscious from precise blows to the back of the head instead of dead. Her handiwork. My arm is around my brother¡¯s neck while holding up his sleeping body, my handiwork. The felling of his bodyguards was enough of a distraction for me to spring forth and grapple him into submission instead of pushing a blade through his heart. Possibly, my last brotherly favour to him.


    She removes a leather cylinder from about her neck and thrusts the container towards me. What I have been waiting for, I am certain. ¡°My mission was to hand this to my Lord¡¯s sworn follower, Gorgrin, and tell him to return.¡±


    I release the headlock on my brother and allow his body to slide to the stone to join his conspirators. My eyes inspect the three sleepers. ¡°What of these?¡±


    ¡°You have an important dinner to attend to and a land grant to award. I will take care of these¡­¡± Dagger in hand, she waves the weapon over the sleepers as I receive the long-awaited missive from her other hand.


    Tapping the cylinder on one palm, I ask, ¡°You won¡¯t murder them, will you?¡±


    ¡°They are your foes, are they not? If you let them live now, won¡¯t they seek revenge in the future?¡±


    Her smirk irritates. Her lithe female body is an abomination yet alluring because I have seen none like it before. Most annoying, though, is her air of confidence.


    ¡°One is still my brother¡­¡± My words are frail and weak as I realise her cold, hard truth. My brother is here only because I pushed him to the ground in front of everyone, especially females. His stalking of me to my place of solitude deliberate and calculating. His intent? To make me pay in some way, for his embarrassment, his loss of reputation.


    She chuckles and I focus on her face, trying to read her intent or meaning.


    ¡°Is sleeping between males taboo in your Clan?¡± My face screws up. What is she asking? ¡°Do males have sex together?¡± she blurts out, trying to hold back laughter.


    ¡°No! Of course not.¡± I feel my shoulders square up as I straighten my posture. ¡°There is an abundance of females to sate any male¡¯s lust.¡±


    She props a hand on her hip and shakes her head. ¡°Inclination and abundance, doesn¡¯t exclude one from the other.¡±


    What is she talking about? The males of this Clan have many or had many females to meet their demands. So, what else is there?


    She pouts and in a playful, childlike voice says, ¡°Never mind. One day, you will work it out.¡± Then there is a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, despite dusk darkening our surroundings. ¡°Leave them to me. I am certain others will find them alive and well, although they may wish themselves dead.¡±


    My eyes drink in her abnormal female shape, well-defined muscle groups and long black hair in a single plait. She isn¡¯t a soft, male dependant female of Clan Beastbane, that is certain. Her soft leather pants and tunic, both black, hug her body, complementing her dark green complexion. A creature of the night and shadows who, I am confident, would revel in committing any and all skulduggery under its cover. She sheaths her clean dagger. How easily could blood coat the blade, instead? Is she death? Where did my Lord find such a creature?


    I shake off any misgivings. Her loyalty is a given, as is mine. Sparing a last glance for each of her toys, I hurry away. I abandon my brother to her without guilt. He played his hand and lost. Never will I return to this stone slab and this realisation hits me harder for reasons I can¡¯t explain or admit. Slowing for a moment, I need to wipe something out of my eyes. Shortly after, I hasten towards the manor to complete my Lord¡¯s business at tonight¡¯s dinner.


    ---


    The servants clearing the long table is a signal of sorts to my father, who stands and takes one last long look about the room.


    ¡°I know your brother would have enjoyed making this announcement, but in his absence, I am more than willing to do so myself.¡± As he kicks back his chair and rises, his eyes find mine. Cold, hard, and unforgiving, as is his way. ¡°At first light, I will consider your Lord delinquent, our agreement null, and make a claim on Lord Torngul for compensation. What say you?¡±


    I slap the leather cylinder on the table. My attempt at the dramatic succeeds as all eyes, including those of the servants, are on me. I lean over the table, the fingers of my hands steeple, propping up my arms on either side of the container of the unknown.


    ¡°Contained within is your land grant, father. Once proven to your satisfaction, do I then have your leave to fulfil my obligations to my Lord and guide his property to him?¡±


    He flicks a hand at one of my other brothers. His chair scrapes back as he stands. One last glance towards my father and he advances towards me. Close enough, he stretches out his hand. I straighten and step back while sweeping my hand over the prize. He leans forward, grabs the cylinder, and then hurries back to my father. Was that me not so long ago?


    I raise my empty glass to a servant while waiting. She fills the glass with a full-bodied red wine and a warm smile. The delay is because my father is trying to connive and rework his agreement with my Lord and not appear to be spiteful or petty, simply trying for appearance¡¯s sake to gain more benefit for the Clan. Unfortunately, for my father, Izga, my Lord¡¯s assassin assured me, that the parchment within contains detailed instructions with rights and obligations in plain words.


    As my father¡¯s face turns bright green to near glowing, I know he is almost done. My brothers around the table notice as well, of course, and shy away from the impending explosion.


    ¡°Begone at dawn. You and his property can break their fast when well away from this Clan¡¯s Manor. They will forever be outcasts.¡± There is a simmering growl to his voice. Far more tempered than I thought possible. His chair clattering to the floor and his stomping from the room is his last hurrah. My family shuffles out of the room shortly after and I am alone unless you count several servants who still line the walls waiting at attention.


    I hold my empty glass up, and shortly after, I am once again sipping.


    First one, then another, kneels beside me. Emboldened by the first two and my failure to scold them, the other four gather around me.


    ¡°Lord?¡±


    I hold up a hand. ¡°I am no Lord. An honoured servant perhaps, but no Lord.¡±


    Her trembling voice is all the sweeter as she continues, ¡°What direction will you be leading your Lord¡¯s property out of Clan lands?¡±


    There are several paths, although they all fade to nothing a short distance from the manor as the various hunting parties who use them scatter to favoured hunting grounds. The one exception is the indirect stream path, which merchants take to avoid getting lost when seeking to trade with the Clan.


    ¡°We will chase the sun, a direct line west until we find the river and then south until we find the new settlement of my Lord.¡± I take another sip, savouring the wine and my next task. I can finally share good news to brighten their waiting faces.


    A head nuzzles my thigh. ¡°Would you welcome or shun others, if they happened, by accident, of course, to come across your herd?¡±


    I push my chair back with a loud scrape. ¡°Your Clan Head has already nominated those he considers my Lord¡¯s. I, on my Lord¡¯s behalf, could not knowingly accept others.¡±


    As I leave the room, my ears pick up on their excited chatter. It seems they have correctly interpreted the meaning of ¡®not knowingly¡¯.


    ---


    After dinner, I visit each campsite with a torch in hand to push back the night. I loiter with every huddle of female hobgoblins waiting before the Clan Manor House and inform them we leave at dawn and will need to worry about breaking our fast when well away. There is concern. Some hold this within, others ask questions and as I visit the last camps, I know my news and answers have arrived before me. The gentle din of preparation and packing lingers behind me as I return to the manor. I need to pack all my worldly goods. I realise, I think for the first time, that my fate lies beyond my Clan and from now on has nothing to do with the will of my father.


    ---


    I force march my Lord¡¯s herd well into the morning before I allow them to rest only because we can do so beside a gurgling brook that flows across our path. After drinking my fill and topping up my waterskin, I dangle my bare feet in the cool running water. None of my Lord¡¯s property approaches me. They await my orders and keep their distance even though during the days of waiting I thought they got to know me and I them. I shake my head and then, to my surprise, a gaggle crowd around me.


    Their ages vary, some mothers, others ripe for motherhood. Five in total.


    ¡°Who is she?¡± asks one.


    I blink. ¡°Who is who?¡±


    ¡°The skinny one. The one who demands and slaps down any who doesn¡¯t give her what she wants.¡±


    Another adds, ¡°She is a stranger amongst us, a wretched, confused creature, a male female hobgoblin.¡±


    ¡°Izga?¡± I ask.


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t say her name, except she claims she is a wife of Lord Klar and what belongs to him is hers for the taking.¡±


    ¡°What is she taking?¡±


    ¡°Claws,¡± several of them answer as one.


    ¡°Claws?¡± I furrow my brow. ¡°Where is she now?¡±


    I draw my feet out of the stream, shaking them. Before I can do anything else, a couple of my Lord¡¯s females wipe my feet and begin lacing up my boots around them. As I observe their attentions, they blush bright green.


    Stomping my boots and nodding, much to their relief I wander off in the direction they are all pointing towards.


    ---


    Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    She nods towards another lump of wood, and I hunch down and draw back some cut, leafy branches to reveal a club. Although protruding from one end are five claws, as if they always belonged, embedded.


    ¡°You know, acquiring the claws for your hobby has angered most of your husband¡¯s future concubines?¡± She doesn¡¯t seem to react, too busy. ¡°What do you intend to do with these?¡±


    ¡°Most whined the claws were tokens of love from their hunter consorts or fathers of their children, precious and to part with them would break their hearts.¡± She spares me a glance. ¡°Yet, none fought me or even forced me to wrestle them free from their hands.¡±


    ¡°You told them you were Lord Klar¡¯s wife. They would have been too afraid to defy you.¡±


    Her light chuckling and swishing of her head from side to side is a denial?


    ¡°I only said that when almost done, because one of them asked, ¡®who do you think you are¡¯ and I told them. After that, they simply handed me what I asked for. Before, I needed harsh words and intimidation, but none fought to resist me. My husband is certain to be disappointed.¡±


    Now, I am confused. ¡°They are docile. They will do their Clan Head or Lord¡¯s bidding. How can this be disappointing?¡±


    ¡°You have travelled with Nudia?¡±


    I nod.


    ¡°Did she seem docile and eager to do her Lord¡¯s bidding? Did she also think for herself?¡±


    ¡°She certainly wanted his seed!¡±


    She is about to wave her hand at me. Instead, she rests her hand on her knee and exhales a deep sigh. ¡°What did Lord Klar see in you?¡±


    Her eyes are skyward. Did she just insult me then? ¡°What do you mean by that?¡± I growl while taking a step forward, ensuring my shadow crosses over her, completely forgetting she is a creature of the night and shadow.


    ¡°You realise you are the only male. The only non-wife Lord Klar has included in his grand plan?¡±


    This rocks me back onto my heels. I never gave my unique honour a single thought. How can I be the only male? Why? What did Lord Klar see in me? Initially, I thought he wanted to annoy my father by stealing one of his bastard sons, but what would that achieve? Did he want a powerful male to protect him? Yet, this skinny female youth dealt with my brother¡¯s bodyguards with skilful ease. Then why?


    ¡°I see you are hurting your brain, so perhaps I can offer some insight?¡±


    Her cheeky smile almost brings us to blows, and then I recover my control. ¡°Go on,¡± I growl, trying to recover my smarts and my manhood.


    ¡°You are of Clan Beastbane. You know their ways, their skills. The females are from Clan Beastbane. If they were males, how would you be treating them?¡±


    That is easy to answer! ¡°Their fathers would teach them bushcraft. Tracking and then hunting,¡± my smug reply.


    ¡°You better get started then. There is one of you and many of them and first you need to teach them they are no longer Clan Beastbane females but Lord Klar¡¯s concubines and as such, he expects them to meet his ambition.¡±


    I cough. ¡°But they are females¡­¡±


    ¡°I am a female and yet I am certain I could beat you in an unfair fight and, for that matter, a fair fight.¡±


    I scoff and then draw back my lips, remembering how she dealt with my brother¡¯s guards. ¡°What makes you so certain?¡±


    ¡°I have fed on Lord¡¯s Klar¡¯s seed and utterly believe in his future, willing to sacrifice my life if necessary. The females of this herd, when seeded by Lord Klar, will also awaken to his truth, and that is where you come in. You must train them in the ways of Clan Beastbane, while my fellow wives will train them to wield weapons and survive combat.¡±


    I chuckle. ¡°Are we going to war or something?¡±


    Her fists clench and her biceps tense. Is she going to punch me?


    ¡°We are going to peace. But preparing for war.¡± She tilts her head; I assume, waiting for me to think this through. I have nothing. ¡°Why do you think Nudia clung to Lord Klar?¡± Her yell of frustration cuts my salacious smile short. ¡°Beyond the obvious!¡±


    She wanted something, of course. What did she want? For herself his seed was obvious. Something for her tribe?


    ¡°She wanted something for her tribe?¡±


    ¡°Finally.¡± She places her second claw club next to the first and catches my eyes with hers. ¡°You could say this another way. She found in Lord Klar a way to advance her plans.¡±


    My mind awakens, but there is a wrinkle. ¡°Why fawn after his seed once she gained his trust?¡±


    Her smile descends into depravity for a moment. Why does she get away with such low thoughts? ¡°His seed is its own reward but from aligning with Lord Klar, he has seeded her tribe and they are now all but free, only nominally his slaves for appearance''s sake, so the entire valley doesn¡¯t unite and punish all involved in the deception. But don¡¯t forget she is following her plan and once Lord Klar goes too far, his way or becomes unnecessary, then differences may come to harsh blows.¡±


    ¡°Female goblins? And by your reckoning, they should be our Lord¡¯s loyal subjects because they swooned over his seed.¡±


    ¡°Over four hundred like-minded, united by persecution, blood fanatical female goblins who also have an unknown number of goblin mercenary companies plying their trade beyond this valley and have been for years.¡±


    What have I bound my future too? I survey the camps and try to remember their numbers from the visits while they waited on the field before Clan Beastbane manor. There are at least three hundred. Of those, best case, two hundred would be of fighting age if they agreed to be trained. I assume they have a choice? Do they?


    Shoulders back, I take a step towards the centre of the camp. No time like the present to assess, especially since we are well away from goblin ears.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you want to know?¡± she calls out.


    I look back over my shoulder and spy the clubs. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°While you have been cooling your feet, I have been scouting. We are being stalked by several hunting parties, courtesy of your father, I think. Anyway, tonight I will visit a few and pretend to be a beast. I suspect some claw wounds will be required.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t kill any of them. I don¡¯t want to leave a trail of bodies behind us and provoke my father.¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°While I will try my best, no promises. I believe your father has already breached any supposed peace. What does he hope to gain from harassing our leaving?¡±


    ¡°He is angry and doesn¡¯t know why, given the deal is done, exactly as he agreed. He isn¡¯t used to win-win deals.¡±


    ¡°Or.¡± She smiles while licking her lips. ¡°He or others in the Clan found your brother and his bodyguards in a less than acceptable embrace against the cold.¡±


    I want to ask, but then I don¡¯t want to ask. With a grunt, I decide that is in the past. The future is more important and I resume my march towards the centre of the camp with a determination of purpose. A face distracts me. When I try to find the face again, I can¡¯t. Several tents of familiar faces contain one or two unknown faces, and my steps drag. I shake off my doubts, raise my hands and call all to me.


    ---Clan Head Sakvorpa POV


    As I turn, the cold steel of his dagger presses against my ribs. ¡°Backwards please.¡±


    Shuffling back in silence, I still wonder what we are waiting for. The death of his partner, notwithstanding, I am certain he intends to escape with his life, but how? How am I still alive and not already a corpse? I feel a familiar shiver and numbness. From these signs, I realise this show is the oldest of all time. I place my hand over my mouth to stifle a cough.


    The doors to my Throne Room crack open. A familiar slim hobgoblin figure slips through and the doors close behind them. After some scrutiny, they land upon me and my assailant. He positioned us in the corner where the wall with the fireplace and the wall with the doors meet. The last place it would seem anyone first entering this room inspects, especially if they desire to sit on the throne.


    ¡°You are still too young, daughter. You reach above yourself.¡±


    ¡°Says she, who in one mission has devastated our position amongst the Clan Heads. We live now because no one knows the true extent of your failure.¡±


    I nod towards my intruder. ¡°His like takes preparation, planning. Are you telling me you knew days or weeks ago I would fall far enough for you to sweep in and take over? Are you that good at reading the future?¡±


    She smiles. ¡°I will admit to some convenience, but to cut a long story short, I have made an alliance.¡±


    I go to speak and need to draw a deep breath instead. My hands reach for my throat, I loosen the collar of my finely tailored shirt. I gulp for air while dropping to my knees.


    My daughter approaches me and drops to her haunches as I now sprawl across the stone floor labouring for breath. She lifts my chin, stares into my eyes, and says, ¡°I think I am ready.¡±


    Her mouth forms an O and from her throat, a squeak issues and then the light from her eyes fades. I withdraw the long hairpin from her ear, the round length of silver now black with her blood.


    ¡°This is awkward,¡± he says as I feel the press of his dagger at my ribs, a short thrust away from my heart.


    ¡°The two-part poison on the parchment, your idea or hers?¡± I ask while drawing my knees under myself to rise to his height, somewhat surprised when he allows me to. He must believe I am his only chance of escaping death and, therefore, decided to play nice as his first gambit.


    ¡°Carrying the antidote to that exact poison luck or foreknowledge?¡±


    I slowly crane my face about to meet his. ¡°I carry the antidote to all my Clan¡¯s poisons on me, just in case. Although some, due to long and conditioned exposure, I am immune to.¡± I can¡¯t keep the pride I feel out of my voice and, in the end, embrace my achievement.


    ---Lord Klar POV


    ¡°Who or what are you really, Lord?¡± asks Nudia, her eyes searching within the depths of mine.


    Behind Nudia, Luda vigorously shakes her head. Asking who I am, I could, with confidence, explain away. Luda¡¯s sad eyes are begging me. Asking what I am suggests a deeper suspicion. Luda¡¯s eyes fling wide open as I am certain the furrowing of my brow and the setting of my chin clearly hints; that I need to find a drastic solution. My seeding of their entire tribe was the first clue. The widespread abnormal health qualities were the next and finally, Luda¡¯s recovery from certain death was the last proof. While the telling of how, not the entire truth, the way we explained, suggested miraculous survival from near death. Three coincidences, one too many.


    Nudia¡¯s head tilts to one side. She is smart enough to recognise my change in mood from my facial changes.


    Before I can decide on a solution, my hand is around her throat, her eyes bulging an instant after. Luda''s hands join Nudia¡¯s, trying to release my iron grip.


    ¡°Lord, you can¡¯t slay her. How would you explain her death? Nudia found us a perfect home. This is a moment of shared triumph.¡±


    My heartbeats tick by while Nudia¡¯s face darkens before me, the light in her eyes fading. Not long after, her hands flop down, and her body goes limp.


    ¡°Lord, how can you explain her death? Her entire tribe will ask why. Lord!¡±


    I feel her slap and my face snaps around. Tears roll down her face. While inside me, deep down is a genuine heartfelt satisfaction I haven¡¯t tasted for an extremely long time. The joy of throttling of a goblin to death. Is this how I truly feel or is this his feeling? But, he has been quiet for so long.


    My reaction to this dilemma makes no sense. Sure, Nudia presented a threat, but accidents could and do happen¡­ Then his boisterous laughter rises from the depths of my soul. My inner Hob roars back into my existence, choosing his moment. Her question unsettled me, my mind busy thinking through denials and solutions, a plausible escape from her accusation which would not only satisfy her but also her entire tribe of four hundred. He reached from his silent depths to shatter my indecision.


    Before Luda can slap me again, I press my lips to Nudia¡¯s and exhale a breath into her lungs. Straightening, I push down on her chest and then breathe down her throat again. My inner Hob salivates, revelling in my desperation. I repeat. Her body remains limp. I curse my inner Hob and repeat. Several cycles of breathing and pushing down upon her chest pass and I rest. Luda immediately takes over.


    Perhaps I have crushed her throat? Twisted her neck? Do I know the limits of my strength? Do I perfectly recall my actions when he propels me into action? My inner Hob rejoices.


    ¡°Lord Farmer Hob, I am returned to you. Koria Keen Eye has much to confess.¡±


    My inner Hob and I didn¡¯t expect the return of my last wife and the shock of her reincarnation sends him scrambling into hiding once more. My arms fold around Nudia¡¯s body in a gentle embrace. I blink my eyes to sweep away the beginnings of a tear in contrast to Luda, who openly sheds many.


    Nudia¡¯s arms flex and her legs kick out. ¡°Release me, murderer! What have you done to me? Get this other out of my head!¡±


    I fling Nudia¡¯s body away. In jerks and starts, it attempts to crawl away, failing as a leg, and then an arm strikes out in a random direction, causing a collapse. The body¡¯s head bit by determined bit turns to face me. Through gnashing teeth, words escape. ¡°Seed. This. Body. Lord. We fight¡­¡± The head turns away with a snap, the body collects itself to once again crawl.


    ¡°Koria and Nudia in the one body, Lord?¡± asks Luda, her face almost white.


    Did I murder Nudia, summon Koria and then revive Nudia? How could Koria answer so quickly?


    ¡°Now, Lord.¡± While I have been busy trying to make sense of this impossibility, Luda has dragged Nudia¡¯s now stripped body before me. There is no alluring mystery, no romantic interlude, she is naked and where I must service, clear and available.


    ---


    We lay on the vibrant green grass covering the hillock, gazing into the west. The three of us are content to watch the bright orange globe of the sun sink slowly below the horizon. The stream flowing over the ford below us gurgles a relaxing tune while Luda lays in the embrace of my left arm, and Nudia nee Koria lays in the embrace of my right arm.


    After a while, I ask a question. ¡°Is Nudia still present?¡±


    ¡°She is an inner voice, angry one moment, sad the next.¡± Koria¡¯s reply is wistful and, I suspect, uncaring. After all, who is Nudia to her? Do I miss Nudia?


    ¡°I know the feeling, although mine is perhaps less on feelings and more on impulses.¡±


    ¡°Lord?¡± asks Luda.


    ¡°A long story for another time.¡± I curl my left arm to squeeze Luda in a reassuring hug. My head turns towards Nudia. ¡°How did you know my seed would give you control of her body?¡±


    ¡°I am your wife, was your wife, became your wife again. Have birthed your child. Your seed belongs to me when given, not her. The ultimate proof, her unborn, responded to me. This broke her more than any other single thing.¡±


    I stare up at the stars. Should I ask?


    ¡°How did you arrive¡­ so quickly?¡±


    Her hand drifts across my face, cupping my cheek. ¡°My spirit or soul lingered in this world after your last death summons¡­ I didn¡¯t want to return to the black.¡±


    The sadness in her words is obvious to me and given Luda nestles deeper into my arm, I am certain she senses the same in her sister. Exchanging no further words, we agree to a long silence.

 2.031 The Behaviour of Others

    ---Clan Head Sakvorpa POV


    ¡°Given the demise of my client, perhaps we can renegotiate in good faith?¡± he asks.


    So, am I to believe my daughter raised the coin by herself to hire an expert assassin? I suspect her new alliance partner funded most, if not all. A gamble, then? If my daughter succeeded, he would claim the agreed payoff, whatever that was, and if she failed, he would, with grace, write off the loss. No one enjoys losing coin¡­ The only question is who? The letters would seem to implicate Krilzak, yet he is my co-conspirator to disposing of Lord Torngul and too obvious. Maybe, if a loss, my doubting Krilzak is the fallback payoff? The more I consider this, the more I doubt he would gamble on a snivelling daughter of mine. As merchants of the plains, he trained them from birth to read people to ensure they secure the best possible bargains. Honouring an agreement is in their blood; they would rather die than break such a binding.


    His ever-present dagger reminds me I should solve my immediate problem first. ¡°Would this negotiation include buying your freedom?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± he replies. ¡°I have several options. Murder you, knock you out and tie you up or tie you up if I thought your yelling would provide a sufficient distraction. Fortunately, or unfortunately, your Clan members are beyond jumpy and on edge now and, I believe, prone to overreact. Kill before talking, for example. Therefore, I am prepared to listen to any reasonable proposals.¡±


    I flash him a pleasant smile. ¡°Good, I suspect my daughter has a loyal few watching and waiting for her triumphant announcement. It may disappoint them when the sole survivor is the assassin, and he tries to escape retribution, especially theirs.¡±


    He clears his throat. ¡°Yes, something like that. Your offer?¡±


    I giggle with dizzy delight. ¡°Your freedom for an introduction to your master.¡±


    ¡°No. Take my life now.¡±


    I sigh. ¡°Don¡¯t be so dramatic. An opening offer only. What can you offer for your life?¡±


    ¡°A special gold coin.¡±


    ¡°Gold coin? Are you mad?¡±


    ¡°You need to listen. A special gold coin,¡± he retorts.


    I grunt. ¡°Explain special.¡±


    ¡°You may, within reason, request a mission.¡±


    ¡°Deal!¡± I swivel about, offering my hand.


    ¡°Deal?¡± His face is blank, and then furrow lines form on his forehead. He suspects¡­ something. Blinking, he accepts my hand, and we shake.


    His dagger disappears into the folds of his clothes, and he tosses a gold coin in the air¡ªan easy, graceful catch.


    Once I climb to my feet, I toss the gold coin back to him. His eyes flashing wide is a special reward as I stroll to my throne. ¡°I need you and yours to assassinate Lord Klar. You can, of course, try to take him alive, but dead is good enough.¡±


    ¡°Are you certain? A simple slaying of a young upstart could be a waste of our services?¡±


    I swing onto my throne and place my arms along the armrests, my hands curling around the ends. The armrest provides familiar emotional support, reassurance, and comfort¡ªthe empty hide beneath my seat, the designated place of my bodyguard, not so much.


    ¡°No. I suspect he will be a challenge and worthy of your freedom,¡± I reply with a coolness of certainty.


    ¡°My Guild Master will determine worth and value. If he considers the mission too dangerous or has a low chance of success, he may instead indenture me into your service for a time. Is that acceptable?¡±


    I release a cackling laugh. ¡°If the choice is still mine, I will send you on the same mission. Although you could name what you require, which can assist and ensure success, I promise to provide.¡±


    ¡°Can I perhaps trouble you for an escort from your manor?¡±


    There is an eagerness in his voice. So disappointing.


    ¡°Guards!¡±


    The doors to my Throne Room open, and two of my four guards enter.


    ¡°You!¡± I point to the one on the left. ¡°Escort our guest out. No harm is to come to him.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡±


    My guest glances at the corpse of his companion. Or maybe the fancy contraption? Then his eyes search for mine. ¡°You asked for your freedom,¡± I say. ¡°We will return their bodies to the ground. The gadget is mine to study, and I offer my thanks.¡±


    A curt nod, and he hurries away behind my guard.


    ¡°You.¡± I point to my remaining guard. ¡°Arrange for the disposal of the two corpses. Ensure you position the goblin on top of my daughter¡¯s corpse in such a way to suggest he is using her for his pleasure, clothes optional. Ensure her face is on display and guards are ready to catch any witnesses who are, shall we say, displaying excessive emotion. Ensure they join the subject of their emotion in the same dirt hole.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡±


    I eye my guard from head to toe. Armour, weapons, and clothes are standard Clan issue. There are no personal touches, no frivolous embellishments. Plain.


    ¡°For every sad and possibly crying witness your dressing up of the corpses reveals, I will pay you a gold coin. How does that sound?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mistress, I will endeavour to do my best and not disappoint you.¡±


    ¡°Good, yes, very good.¡± My encouraging words and my offer mean nothing. Her face remains stoic, non-emotional. I resist the urge to shake my head and instead carry on. ¡°As for the corpse of my bodyguard, return the body to her family and once buried with honour, her family is free to go since she has completed her service.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡±


    I wave her away with a flick of my hand. Once the doors are closed, I have time alone to think. Perhaps I should start with a missive to Clan Head Grimg Greenfriend for purchasing some goblins. I flip open one armrest and reach in for ink and parchment. This also reveals my emergency nest egg of small gold ingots embedded in the arm''s wood. All accounted for. Once the armrest is closed, I flip open the other armrest and fish out sufficient gold coins from the cavity beneath to ensure I pique his interest.


    Street cleaning is so menial and tedious, yet any failing there would expose me to questioning, and I must avoid questions, especially from Lord Torngul.


    ---Lord Klar POV


    ¡°What do you need to confess to me?¡± I ask Koria as the last rays of the setting sun fade.


    Her body rolls onto mine, her pigeon chest breast squishing against my chest while her leg wraps over and around mine. Eyes down, stroking my chin, she says, ¡°Disloyalty. Falling for my mother¡¯s lies instead of trusting in you and our bond. The horrible hollowness afterwards.¡±


    Luda has never voiced such an apology. Why does Koria feel the need to unburden herself? I remain silent and passive, not even grunting acknowledgement or disagreement.


    ¡°After your death, we completed your quest, Lord Klug.¡± Her head snuggles into my shoulder. Is she chasing a rewarding pat or words of praise? ¡°We recovered the armour from the Flint Arrows and then hid our prize where none would think to look.¡±


    Several questions spring to mind. One specifically about the armour, for example. If what others have said is true, the armour didn¡¯t remain hidden, yet I sense now is not the time to interrupt. I want to know every instant she felt she betrayed me and what she did to make amends. A cool evening breeze reaches the other side of my body, and a glance confirms Luda is no longer warming my side. She sits upright, the black waterfall of her long hair filling my view.


    ¡°I should have led your wives against Rexa, yet pregnancy and the loyalty of the Ten Spears to her as the first wife would have made any assault bloody and uncertain. I am sorry.¡± She sniffles. ¡°Instead, we slunk away to The Farm and left her in charge of Head Village. Bartered grain with the goblin tribes to keep the peace and without fan fair birthed your children.¡± Her hand caresses my cheek and then drags my face over to look at hers. ¡°Why don¡¯t you say something? Yell or scream, at least.¡±


    ¡°Continue.¡± A single-word response is all I offer her. Cruel? She carries a burden of guilt. I aim to listen for as long as it takes for her to apologise to herself. Their mother is gone, as is their father, which leaves me as their sole constant going forward. Therefore, I need them to release their past, so our future is about the future.


    Her leg squeezes against mine, and her hand''s unmistakable balling on my chest alerts me. ¡°The Ten Spears visited The Farm under order from Rexa. They shattered our peace when they took your children from their mothers. Their explanation, the absolute imperative to raise all your children together¡­ Do you hear me, Lord Klar? Do you care?¡±


    I feel her chest hitch against mine and can¡¯t help using my arm to wrap her closer to me. Luda cannot stifle her sobbing well enough. Her pain I would warrant as raw as Koria¡¯s, yet she doesn¡¯t seek the comfort of my embrace. Her weak, reedy voice sobs, ¡°Hostages to begin with and then taught to worship Rexa." Luda¡¯s head drops.


    ¡°Sister, having returned to Lord Farmer Hob long before me, I imagine you have lived a different, more satisfying life now. I must accept the past is the past which I cannot change and look forward to the future.¡± A light kiss on my lips, and then she continues, ¡°I won¡¯t forget those who fought by our sides though and completed the impossible with us, like recovering the armour with Milga, Kor and Duzsia.¡±


    ¡°Except Kor,¡± Luda says, with an absent, dream-like air about her.


    ¡°Yes, except Kor.¡± Melancholy weighs down on her words. ¡°There at the start, unable to keep up and returning to the Matriarch in disgrace.¡± A pause, possibly to collect her thoughts. ¡°I can still taste the satisfaction in denying Rexa. We thought she may have sent her own expedition, but she never did.¡±


    Luda turns to look over her shoulder. ¡°Why did Duzsia leave us?¡± Tear tracks run down her cheeks. Her hands mess with her hair, trying to conceal them without success.


    Koria is like an automaton now, bereft of emotion. ¡°She thought her work in the valley done, her oath to Lord Farmer Hob complete and believed Rexa would never allow us to raise our children. Duzsia wanted to warn the world of Rexa¡¯s madness instead of staying with us. Her decision wasn¡¯t to punish us, sister, but to save herself and others if possible.¡±


    Luda draws up her knees, flinging her arms around them and then takes up, rocking on her bottom. ¡°Her leaving emboldened Rexa even more¡­ The Ten Spears feared and respected Duzsia. While Duzsia intimidated Rexa.¡±


    To my great relief, Koria chuckles, the first of such in a while. ¡°She feared her so much she declared we would hold a huge celebration to honour her death instead of the sombre mourning everyone expected. You, Milga and I are the only ones who knew the truth. She still lived and escaped using the mountain gap north of the Flint Arrows¡¯ tribal lands. If only we could have told her many years later, Duzsia''s possible return would have haunted the first wife in her dreams.¡±


    ¡°Our morose acting was so convincing she didn¡¯t question,¡± adds Luda. I like to imagine, out of my sight, Luda cracking a slight smile after speaking those words. I hope she did.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°No, sister, she wanted to believe Duzsia was forever dead. As for acting, I drew on my pain of losing my child to her.¡± Her warm tears soak through my clothes.


    Luda growls. ¡°No more, sister, I can¡¯t survive any more memories.¡± Her hands surround her head. ¡°This second life hasn¡¯t been all happy bliss for me like you think. I have been surviving on the memories of my host. The mother and daughter love they enjoyed, trying to find some peace. So please, no more.¡± Luda climbs to her feet and hurries off, wiping tears from her eyes with a last fleeting look between Koria and I.


    ¡°Why did Zoria leave you to die?¡± I ask. I can¡¯t allow Koria to shut down and Luda¡¯s state of mind is another concern when I thought my goblin wife was content.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t she explain?¡± She shakes her head and answers her own question. ¡°I guess not.¡±


    Koria plays with my fingers dangling from my arm around her chest. ¡°For months, we were smuggling out Klugrath¡¯s pregnant victims, denying Rexa more fanatical followers. After many successes, a group betrayed us to Rexa instead. Half of the group pulled out, which should have alerted us. They were the traitors. I drew our pursuers away while Zoria escaped with those we escorted. Milga had left the valley years before.¡± She snickers in delight. ¡°Taking most of the ironworkers with her, which displeased Rexa a great deal. The shortfall forced her to delay her plans without a reliable supply of iron weapons and tools.¡± Her voice lowers. ¡°Then Rexa had our father assassinated while walking the streets of Head Village. Someone had been spreading rumours regarding the unsavoury intimacy between Rexa and her son Klugrath, and she blamed our father. Luda didn¡¯t accept our father¡¯s death initially until she lit his pyre.¡± Koria sits up and wipes her face down using her hands. She tries to force a smile. ¡°I decided I would go out in an act of worthy sacrifice. A better fate than being caught and tortured by Rexa. Also, Zoria held some influence over Rexa and to preserve that, losing my life, I decided I was an acceptable exchange.¡±


    I suspect the use of my blood for healing after birthing a hobgoblin babe, and long-life properties are the sum of her influence. ¡°Didn¡¯t your death leave Luda all alone?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and no. After our father¡¯s death, Luda withdrew to The Farm, raising bees and harvesting honey. She shut down. Now I have time to think., I believe I am the foolish one. I still wanted revenge.¡±


    ¡°And release?¡± I grab her hair and contort her body, to position her face in front of mine.


    Tears form yet do not spill from her eyes. ¡°Yes! In those last moments on the wall, I wondered if Duzsia or Milga had found a better future. You don¡¯t understand, Lord, I was alone. Then upon death, I entered the black and realised your promise of spirit return was true for the first time. I knew my past would need to be explained on my return, and I was ashamed. I didn¡¯t do enough, and then, when offered a heroic escape, I took death. Are you satisfied now? After death, I would be free of Rexa and an impossible fight. I ran away. Is that what you need to hear me say?¡±


    I release her hair. She turns her body about to lie on mine, her hands reaching for my shoulders so she can slide her goblin body forward while on mine. With a hand behind her head, I guide her closer. Our lips meet, and I take what is mine and more with unrepentant savagery.


    ---Nudia, Suppressed Spirit POV


    I listen to her words from my mouth, which we also share mind to mind. Am I to believe the spirit of Koria Keen Eye has stolen my body? Am I to accept the hobgoblin who seeded my tribe is Lord Farmer Hob, Lord Klug, the one revered by the Klugites, our sworn enemies, the everlasting foe of Zoria Oath Keeper? She talks of Milga Stone Blood, Duzsia the Relentless and even Luda as if they once knew each other, names from legend, each held in high or low regard depending on the storyteller. These impossibilities should burst my heart wide open. Fortunately, I am not in control of my body.


    How can I resist one who saved Zoria Oath Keeper, the origin of our lineage? What Oath test is this? Her calling to his seed and taking command of my unborn, crushing absolutes. Wait! On the night of the great seeding, the hobgoblin he called Briksia especially quiet, in awe. The Crone proclaimed her of Oath Keeper linage. Could the truth be that she is the returned spirit of Zoria Oath Keeper? Is that possible?


    I must struggle free. My tribe needs to know¡­


    ¡°Behave.¡±


    One word from her, Koria Keen Eye, and my will falters. Why?


    ¡°I would like to ask questions, understand?¡±


    Her presence within me is like a fortress, walls high and wide, and I am tiny. Helpless. Time passes. How much time, I am uncertain. Then I sense the flood of his seed. Euphoric. Invigorating. Controlling.


    ¡°Once again, we have satisfied our Lord. With that, my control is once again absolute. But, if we agree to tell the truth, we can ask each other questions.¡±


    ¡°You own me. How will I know when you tell the truth?¡±


    The vibration of her powerful spirit shatters my resolve. I know she draws on his seed while she denies me.


    ¡°I may not be Oath Keeper, yet I will swear on Lord Klug¡¯s name to speak only truth.¡±


    I try to contain my excitement¡ªthe truth. From a legendary past life, from the memories of one who once lived.


    ¡°Could Briksia be Zoria Oath Keeper reborn?¡±


    She shudders. Why?


    ¡°I didn¡¯t realise there were others returned to him.¡±


    Her presence flees. With her leaving, instantly afterwards, my presence becomes an incapacitated spark. Her fear blankets me.


    ---Koria Keen Eye POV


    My new goblin body stiffens. Fortunately, Lord Klug and I lay apart on the grass, enjoying the afterglow of our coupling, and he is none the wiser. The revelation that other wives of Lord Klug have been reborn is¡­ a shock. Which wives? Those in name only and not pregnant? The pregnant ones? No, it would make more sense for those he spirit-captured. Have they told him the fate of the others? What do those spirit-captured think of my past?


    I climb to my feet and look at my husband. ¡°I should return to her tribe.¡±


    He rolls over and props his upper torso up with his arm bent at the elbow. ¡°I apologise.¡±


    I kink my head, and a smile is his answer.


    ¡°I should have returned your spirit to a corpse. Not a half alive, half dead tribal leader of some sort, which I haven¡¯t yet worked out of what.¡±


    ¡°I should have accepted your first invitation instead of¡­ you know, being afraid.¡±


    ¡°Go. They will expect you,¡± he says with a calm softness.


    As I begin a stuttering walk down the incline of the hillock, I hear voices in the wind. I pull up and strain my ears to catch the words.


    ¡°Here¡­ along¡­ water.¡±


    I concentrate and strain my hearing to encourage greater eavesdropping. For a heartbeat, his seed stirs within me. I ignore this odd sensation as joy upon joy, the speakers'' words in the night''s dark form proper sentences.


    ¡°We can¡¯t wait in the stream, fool. We either wait on this side of the ford or cross,¡± says a crackling, impatient voice.


    ¡°Yes, venerable one.¡±


    ¡°Hobgoblin hearing is a failing. With care, we will be across the river and be able to confront him for answers while he is alone. You are certain of this?¡±


    ¡°Yes, venerable one. Each wife has one from our tribe trailing them, and the goblin wife left his side after dusk. Only Nudia is with him.¡±


    ¡°We will know soon enough if Nudia¡¯s loins have befuddled his judgement.¡±


    Their voices are from her body¡¯s past and present, Nudia¡¯s tribe. I must let Lord Klug know how they put him down and reveal he and his wives are being followed. Also, if I could see them, I could point them out to Lord Klug¡­ Why can¡¯t I see them?


    ¡°Do we lift?¡±


    ¡°Yes. If you drop me into the cold water, I will curse you no matter what.¡±


    A fresh voice joins the conversation. ¡°When will our mercenary troops return venerable one?¡±


    Mercenary troops? How big is this tribe which Lord Hob has allied with?


    ¡°That is a good question. When we left our former masters, I sent a pigeon. Therefore, the message will wait for their arrival.¡±


    ¡°The tribe can¡¯t underestimate this hobgoblin youth and his many wives. While I have confidence that we could overwhelm them, our losses would be many. Our mercenary troops adding to our numbers would prevent him from even thinking of such resistance; therefore, we will be in control. Holding some of his wives as hostages if necessary.¡±


    They don¡¯t talk like staunch allies. Do I report back to Lord Farmer Hob or continue to spy?


    ¡°We still need to play the long game. Any false moves and an entire valley of hobgoblins would unite against us. Which means you must remain hidden for a time, yet.¡±


    Who would need to remain hidden? The whispering male voice was goblin-like but also deep enough to be hobgoblin-like. My mind skims the surface memory of my host. Shock, surprise. Hobgoblin.


    ¡°As you advise. What of his blood?¡±


    ¡°We will contrive a way of tasting. We must, as his prolific seeding and the invigorating properties are more like Klugrath from legend than a nobody hobgoblin youth. His linage will reveal the truth.¡±


    Four goblin shapes pop out of the darkness. The black of the night somehow recedes. I don¡¯t question the miracle. In between the four is a bent-over fifth shape. The venerable one? Wait, Klugrath? Why do they compare him to Lord Farmer Hob? I remember him trying to seed the female goblins of The Farm, but we fixed that by ensuring all the eligible females were married and with plentiful food, they could sire a child of their own. Then, he tried Copper Village, but the potters, coppersmiths and ironsmiths there treated the female goblins as their partners. The females found the ore, and the males worked the ore. He ignored their protests, and shortly after, Milga exploited and convinced most of them to follow her and escape the valley.


    ¡°I assume he will have an accident if unsuitable, but what of those born from his loins?¡±


    ¡°They will refine their blood like always and given his seed, even if they start fifty-fifty Oath Keeper and his lineage, I am certain by the day of their first bleeding they will be Oath Keeper or close enough.¡±


    ¡°They followed the ancient teachings to manipulate their births?¡±


    ¡°Yes. There may be a few slip-ups. I don¡¯t have the patience to teach like I once did. But all females? Are you still certain of your choice?¡±


    Choice of birth? What magic is this? Did Zoria Oath Keeper teach this? Wait! I¡­ I can ask her, can¡¯t I? Briksia is her now if Nudia¡¯s guess is correct. I can¡¯t wait. Why haven¡¯t they all talked to each other?


    ¡°Female hobgoblins will be less threatening and expected. How many did he seed successfully?¡±


    She chuckles, coughing twice. ¡°All of them.¡±


    ¡°Over two hundred hobgoblin females. A good portion could have been male given that number.¡±


    Oh, Lord Farmer Hob, so many¡­


    ¡°The mothers choose during conception. Change is impossible now.¡± Her response is absolute and sharp.


    ¡°Yes, of course.¡± I detect, knowing the obvious, frustration in his voice, the first such uneven uttering by him in their conversation so far. His follow-up question, once again in a normal tone. ¡°Can we conceal so many newborns?¡±


    ¡°Along this river, we will create additional concealed settlements in the forest like we did when guests of Clan Hungry. The females will be adults before anyone knows of their existence, as the hobgoblin clans of this valley will avoid this distasteful goblin territory, I am certain.¡±


    The question and answer between the crone and the hobgoblin, after dusk beside the river, is strange on many levels, given the implied secrecy. They must have absolute confidence in their seclusion or feel strong enough to defeat any who discover their plot. My hearing picks up their words as If I am standing beside them now, yet learning about their plans fills me with the dread of capture. I can¡¯t seem to drag myself away to safety¡­


    ¡°You feel safe enough with your four bodyguards?¡±


    His voice draws my sight to the left of the goblins. He towers over them. Hobgoblin. My host freezes my body in place. I feel myself fall forward. I concentrate and break her physical procession in time to force my left foot forward and catch myself. The slope of the hill proves to be my enemy, not my friend. Their goblin ears are almost certain of hearing a goblin body roll end over end down the side of the hillock. I shake off the near disaster.


    ¡°Yes. Now go back into hiding. While his ears are hobgoblin, her ears are goblin and revealing you before the return of the mercenaries could cause her to question her purpose.¡±


    ¡°Question my purpose!¡± Her rage rips through my conscious mind. I don¡¯t understand how she can¡­


    ¡°Think foolish wife of Lord Farmer Hob, Lord Klug. You have consumed his seed, improving my body. You hear them chat beyond what is typical for a goblin, and I would consider my hearing excellent, to begin with. Your eyesight now penetrates the ink black of night at a range abnormal for any goblin. This is his seed. The only explanation. What is he?¡±


    ¡°None of us know. He appeared to us like any other hobgoblin. One which my tribe, the Flint Arrows, slew by crushing his chest and yet he returned. Through a ceremony, he captured our spirits and married us beyond life and death, it now seems. His present body differs from the one he wore when we first met him.¡±


    Why do I feel the need to answer her question? I try to shake my head and fail.


    ¡°Know, Koria Keen Eye, legend or not, the shock of losing my body is over. The ownership of my body is once again a contest.¡±


    I quickly think, ¡°Only until I consume more of his seed.¡±


    ¡°Yes. This is why I would like to negotiate a truce between us. I swear on my linage I won¡¯t betray your occupation of my body if you allow me a voice in our actions. What say you?¡±


    I could run through probable reasons, but I suspect she could listen in any way¡­


    ¡°Why?¡± I ask, my blunt thought.


    ¡°You heard her. They have a secret that could question my purpose. I wish to uncover that secret.¡±


    I ask the obvious question. ¡°What is your purpose?¡±


    ¡°My male hobgoblin child will one day lead our tribe back, and he will vanquish all the Klugites in the sacred valley.¡±


    There is a touch of the dramatic in her reply, and I can¡¯t comprehend why. Is her son going to be a great warrior? A great war leader? Are goblins and hobgoblins going to flock to him, fight, and die for him?


    ¡°I sense your doubt. It will not dissuade me, especially from someone who takes my body for their convenience,¡± she continues.


    We hear the quiet footfall slashing of water and break out of our discussion. After a brief mental exchange, we rush her body back to Lord Klar.


    On our way back, Nudia informs me of the names of Lord Hob¡¯s current wives. She describes more wives than my assessment could account for if they needed to be spirit-captured. Did he gain more? The flattened grass shows we are where we should be, but no, Lord Hob.


    We race over the hillock and spy Lord Klar, stepping out distance lengths in the dark.


    ¡°Are you certain he is right in the head?¡± she asks.


    We cautiously approach him in time to witness him bash a stake into the ground using his fist.


    ¡°Do I appear convincingly mad?¡± he asks while bashing another stake without looking up. Did he hear us approach?


    ¡°Don¡¯t answer him. He doesn¡¯t want an answer, I am certain.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I reply. I catch and release her derision.


    ¡°Good. I assume you are here to warn me of her arrival?¡±


    About to open my mouth, he waves me to silence.


    ¡°We will walk to meet her, and if she asks, we can say with a modicum of honesty we were staking out the hill.¡±


    As a couple, we stroll to the crest of the hillock and spot the venerable crone and her four bodyguards. My superior night sight catches her bemused look, which does not surprise Nudia and I.


    ¡°What were you doing, Lord Klar?¡±


    A nervous chuckle escapes his lips. Is he acting?


    ¡°Nudia proposed a certain layout, which differed from my plan, and I wanted to measure and compare. We didn''t start until late afternoon, and the night somewhat spoiled my efforts. I must thank Nudia for her help without complaint, which I am grateful for. I didn¡¯t hold her from other duties, did I?¡±


    ¡°No Lord, no duties to speak of. I am looking for a tribal stray who should be in her tent by now, not measuring a hill in the dark.¡±


    ¡°In that case, I relinquish her to your care.¡± I deliberately wrap an arm around her shoulders, squeeze, and release.


    Unless I specifically looked, I would not have noticed the crone¡¯s subtle sniff. Mission successful then.

 2.032 Housekeeping

    ---Gurg, Vender of Stone Corner POV


    ¡°Father, why must we hide from goblins?¡±


    My son, my innocent son, tall and robust, yet not an adult. He doesn¡¯t need to learn this lesson personally.


    ¡°They are mercenaries, killers, who long ago lost any feeling for other goblins, holding none for hobgoblins, either. Now go join your mother and guard our hidden stock.¡±


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we display all our goods?¡±


    ¡°They know what they what, and every vendor here knows what they what. An unnecessary display of other goods would cause them, erm, confusion.¡± I grab his shoulders, point his body toward his mother, and gently shove. With slow steps, and an occasional glance over his shoulder, my son eventually disappears, and I hope to stay by his mother¡¯s side.


    A modest dust cloud approaches the marketplace over low dry grassland. The grassland borders the extreme edges of the great plains, where long grass and enormous beasts roam. They migrate North to South or South to North depending upon their needs. Several large troughs of water surround the market in the hope some riders will stay out of the marketplace. Each troop has a master of coin, and they usually barter with the vendors to keep the troop¡¯s mounts from invading.


    I clasp one hand in the other as three riders approach my stall. None dismount. Their mounts snarl, and great dollops of drool drip from their jaws to splat on the stone of the open-air market plaza. I hear them chuckle at my expense, of course, yet one of these wolves they ride could bite my head off.


    ¡°Steel weapons?¡±


    A long scar runs across one cheek, splitting his top lip at one end, a torn half ear at the other to highlight his hard, grim eyes. Not the master of coin then; he is the troop leader.


    ¡°You are the Leader of the First Troop, I see,¡± I say with as much bravery as I can muster. His leather armour carries their sign, a carving of fangs resting on crossed spears. However, the third has a carving of a claw that looks like fangs. Did the fourth troop disband or suffer disastrous defeat?


    ¡°Steel weapons? Do you have any for sale? All I see here are copper and iron weapons. A sparse collection at that, as if some goods are missing.¡±


    ¡°It is¡­¡±


    The second falls silent after suffering the troop leader¡¯s withering glance.


    The master of coin then, good at numbers and bartering, but also too accepting of what he sees.


    ¡°Well, times have been tough. Copper is easier to work while finding and smelting iron is a rare skill and steel more so again.¡±


    ¡°What is your knife made of?¡± He leans forward in his saddle. ¡°Unsheathe the weapon.¡± His beast¡¯s head waggles at me while opening a slobbering mouth full of sharp teeth, including long canines.


    I can¡¯t. I forgot to exchange it for the iron knife I saved for this occasion. My hand wraps around the handle, and I look up. An iron spear point courtesy of the third waves about in my face. A drop of saliva from the troop leader¡¯s beast splashes on my countertop. Revealing the knife means several things. These goblin riders will know someone nearby makes steel weapons, if not in Stone Corner. Given my lapse, they will expel me from Stone Corner to wander the valley in search of a safe place to vendor my goods. This lapse means my family will live in constant fear.


    There is no good delaying the inevitable.


    ¡°Sud Guts Ripper, for what reason do you grace us with your presence?¡± asks a deep, gravel-like feminine voice over my left shoulder. Left shoulder¡­ means¡­ the steps. She is from the plateau, a Stone Blood descendent. Why? The goblin mercenaries have visited before and not drawn a pure Stone Blood from their lofty perch. I slide my knife slowly back into its sheath as all three goblins and their beasts now gaze over my left shoulder.


    ¡°How much will you sell your steel armour for?¡± he hisses.


    ¡°Not my sword or knife?¡± I can almost hear the delight in her words, yet her deep voice blurs the delivery. His lips curl up, the deep green of the healed scar removing any friendly intent. I take what I can. A pretend smile is better than him threatening anew. My boots shuffle sideways, and at a hand¡¯s width at a time, I edge my way clear of these two opposing forces, heading towards the far-right end of my table.


    ¡°Even pregnant, you can wield a sword or knife, armour, though, not so much.¡±


    ¡°I am not pregnant,¡± she replies. Why do I sense she misses Sud¡¯s slight?


    He reaches for his loins. ¡°One bedding by me will correct your situation, I am certain.¡± His companions leer. Sweat breaks out on my brow.


    ¡°Your goblin appendage wouldn¡¯t be able to satisfy the sexual needs of a hobgoblin such as me, but I thank you for your tiny offer. This revelation still doesn¡¯t change the fact Stone Corner doesn¡¯t sell steel weapons.¡±


    He spits off to one side while my heart leaps in my chest as the far-right of my table looms nearer.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t sell steel weapons and armour to goblins, you mean!¡± he snarls.


    ¡°Now calm, please. Otherwise, I will have you tossed out of the market or exiled from Stone Corner. Then you will have no opportunity to receive a message we have received for you.¡±


    The three exchange looks of hope. Hope? His face softens somewhat as a fake smile not dominated by his scar decorates his lips.


    ¡°A message?¡±


    ¡°I thought you might be pleased.¡±


    She waits. She is taunting them.


    ¡°What did the message say?¡± His smile slips for a heartbeat, but after a brief struggle, it returns.


    ¡°Are you certain your companions and a humble hobgoblin vendor can hear such an important message?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± His reply is immediate, which must mean something. Is this pre-arranged?


    ¡°An odd message, one word, return. I am certain this means¡­.¡±


    The three spur their mounts about and race back to the rest of their troop.


    ¡°Return to where I wonder,¡± I voice without realising.


    ¡°Their females, we believe. You have served them for as long as anyone here. No females fight with them or travel with them.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, erm¡­.¡± My eyes find hers, even though I am on the verge of an accident. Steel shoulders, steel vambraces and greaves gleam. Polished, hardened black leather armour contours her athletic body perfectly. Before me stands a heroic giant of a female hobgoblin, or so she seems.


    ¡°Like all first daughters, I adopt our founder¡¯s and my ancestor¡¯s blessed name, Milga Stone Blood. Some comment I have inherited her sense of humour, but I leave such frivolous comparisons to others.¡±


    Milga Stone Blood was a goblin, which this current female hobgoblin ancestor beside me seems to brush over. Also, if the one and only statue of the founder of Stone Corner is to be believed, she was an archer dressed in hunter¡¯s soft leather, without a single piece of steel armour on her.


    She whistles and waits. A troop of ten wolf-mounted goblin hunters and huntresses gallop by¡ªevery rider a statue lookalike, armour, weapons, and facial resemblance. I glance sideways at my guest, humble in my ignorance. Only where have they been hiding such elites?


    ¡°Not all Stone Bloods are hobgoblin, and those who are goblin honour our ancestor, for there is a prophecy that once again one shall establish a profound true hobgoblin partnership.¡±


    I swallow. ¡°You don¡¯t believe the rumours Krilzak Quickeyed and his thieving merchants spread, do you?¡±


    Her broad smile fully reveals her long, sharp tusks, white, perfect, with graceful curves¡­ my loins stir. ¡°It is written that Lord Farmer Hob was different, beyond hobgoblin. Krilzak Quickeyed complains about his liege Torngul Heartsplitter like he always has, but recently he mentioned another, Lord Klar. Not a Lord of his valley, he assures everyone, yet trusted by his Lord and young. That, of course, could be unusual but not something to be investigated.¡±


    ¡°You mean¡­ you mean you believe Krilzak¡¯s incredible story about this hobgoblin youth being able to seed an entire clan of hobgoblins?¡±


    She pivots, and both of her heavy leather gauntlets thump down on my shoulders. My eyes need to look up, and my loins shrivel as her tusks dominate my attention. ¡°Lord Farmer Hob was a farmer of grain and planter of his seed. Lord Klar may or may not be the same, but I mean to find out the truth.¡±


    I don¡¯t move or think until she takes the first step of the endless staircase. They say it takes a good part of a morning to climb to the top of the plateau, something I will never know for sure. I curse my Stone Blood father under my breath for laying with a common no-name stray, my mother and condemning me to eke out a life at the feet of the plateau instead of living the life of a full ancestor on the roof of the plateau.


    I wave towards our flimsy accommodation. I know my hidden wife and son look out for my signal. Shortly after, they push a small loaded cart out of our family tent while I wait. There isn¡¯t any rush. The mercenary goblins¡¯ arrival tends to destroy any same-day trade. As I cast my eyes out towards the plain, I wonder. How many who remember Lord Klug have also listened to Krilzak¡¯s complaints about his liege but, for their purposes, are trying to determine the nature of his liege¡¯s companion? How many powerful hobgoblins or goblins, like Milga Stone Blood, will send minions to investigate? Would this Lord Torngul¡¯s valley welcome a humble merchant selling steel weapons, or would the reception be more violent, taking what I have over my dead body? I survey Stone Corner and decide on safety first. After all, we do not trade steel weapons and armour to Krilzak and other merchants. We only sell Stone Corner steel to skilled trustworthy hobgoblins, no exceptions.


    ¡°Gurg?¡±


    I swivel about, and three familiar faces receive my groaning welcome. These are the get-rich-quick trio, all half Stone Blood like me. Traders like me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be like that, Gurg,¡± says Zogor, while Sawmok and Vorgvo chuckle in support.


    Arguing won¡¯t dissuade them, so the easiest path is to listen to their offer, pretend to consider the merits and then reject the day after.


    ¡°What do you have for me this time?¡±


    ¡°Ten Stone Blood Steel arrowheads and five Stone Blood Steel spearheads!¡± says an excitable Vorgvo.


    ¡°We are sending our sons with them, following in the wake of the Stone Blood Riders. They will clear the way, and if certain steel weapons end up elsewhere, they could have dropped them in battle.¡± Zogor¡¯s eyes open wide, head bobbing fiercely, trying to encourage my agreement.


    ¡°And the best part, we will pretend to make sales of the goods in Stone Corner in the next few weeks, covering our tracks.¡± Sawmok¡¯s hands try to grab for air in celebration of their cleverness.


    I cover my face with my hands, and when I remove them, they are still there.


    ¡°What if your sons are robbed? Either on the way with the steel weapons or returning with their load of gold?¡± I ask.


    Their three broad, confident smiles have me wondering. But knowing these three, the wait for the answer will be forthcoming in less than a heartbeat.


    ¡°We have dipped the steel weapons in copper!¡± Vorgvo announces in triumph.


    They must read the doubt on my face as Zogor pulls out a sample from somewhere I don¡¯t want to know.


    The piece isn¡¯t what I imagined. No bright all-over copper coverage, more of a scattering, taking the gloss off the steel with flecks of copper here and there. A poor treatment, although if only permitted a glance inspection, buyers wouldn¡¯t know what they were purchasing. Will that be good enough? What if their son¡¯s lives depended on this ruse?


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°They would be amongst several other copper and bronze arrows and spearheads, and if questioned, our sons will claim they are failures of some type, hinting that they could sell them for a discount. No warrior would trust his life to such uncertainty, and no robber would either.¡± Sawmok rocks back on his heels, his chest swelling.


    ¡°Mmm,¡± I manage in response. ¡°What about the pile of gold they will need to keep hidden when returning?¡±


    ¡°Gems!¡± exclaims Zogor. ¡°When they have enough coin, they purchase gems. We are certain that the true Stone Bloods will purchase gems to set into rings and the like. What better way to add to their silver crafting?¡±


    ¡°Where do they hide the gems?¡±


    The three traders glance about and then tap the side of their noses. ¡°Our secret for now. I am sure you will understand,¡± replies Zogor.


    My wife and son arrive, and I dip my hand into two boxes, one after the other, and hand over my contribution to their mad scheme. My wife opens her mouth and then shakes her head, striding away, dragging my son with her. She doesn¡¯t want to witness my folly, given what I have said about these three. I risk goods, but as my too young son disappears with his mother among the other stalls, I won¡¯t risk him. The eager three who laugh and joke before me, welcoming me to their foolproof scheme, have more to lose in this folly than they realise.


    ---Nudia and Koria Keen Eye POV


    ¡°Do your loins have him under control, young one?¡± asks the crone.


    ¡°Don¡¯t answer yes,¡± advises Koria. With a great deal of effort, I don¡¯t roll my eyes or otherwise reveal the stupidity of her advice.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she replies. I need to conceal my surprise.


    ¡°At certain times, I believe so, and then at other times, less so.¡± I look up at the crone. She is riding in an unusual new carriage, a chair with long poles on either side. ¡°I believe he has too much choice.¡±


    ¡°We could arrange for one or more of his wives to have an unfortunate accident.¡±


    I causally shake my head. ¡°He has distractions beyond his wives, and unfortunately, he doesn¡¯t have any repulsive perversions, which would cause others to pause, that I could offer myself for.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunate.¡±


    ¡°Who is our best cook? Not one who prepares the same thing well, time and time again, but the one who experiments and, given she does, will occasionally turn out non-edible food but more often serve a dish beyond special?¡±


    ¡°Food?¡± There is a pause, and then she cackles until she coughs.


    ¡°I reason he can take goblin or hobgoblin partners whenever he likes. He must eat, which so far has been functional, to live. Now he is about to build his clan manor and fortification. Perhaps quality food and brewing will interest him, whereas before, he didn¡¯t have the time or inclination. What would this cost us to try?¡±


    We pause at the ford, and she leans over and pats my shoulder. ¡°What will it cost us? Nothing really, and if he chokes to death on the tasty food or simply makes him fat, both outcomes work to our advantage.¡± She straightens, and her thoughts drift off for a moment. ¡°We could also add poison easily.¡±


    My hearing plucks the words from her lips with ease. I am sure she meant to keep those last words to herself, a thinking whisper. Then there is Lord Klar. While the crone isn¡¯t aware, both Koria and I know Lord Klar waits within listening range. The request for food is a joke in truth, but as he said, why not if the tribe can provide it? I may have to tell him about the possibility of poisoning, though.


    She licks her fingers. Lord Klar¡¯s bleeding palm makes sense. His patting my shoulders makes sense. While I shouldn¡¯t be able to, my eyes penetrate the dark of night and observe her eyes roll back, and her body stiffens under her heavy robes. She savours the taste of his blood. The silence drags on, and her four chair bearers share a nervous glance with me, and when I offer no reassurance, they fix their eyes on the prostrate elder. She is in danger of sliding out of her chair, and as a precaution, they lower the chair.


    The elder¡¯s salacious moan causes the four male chair bearers to turn away in embarrassment.


    ¡°He must have added his seed to the blood,¡± I share with Koria to resolve the confusion dominating our union.


    ¡°His seed does this?¡±


    ¡°I suspect, only to the crone. Her taste can detect a blood¡¯s lineage by natural or supernatural means. I don¡¯t know which. When Lord Klar seeded my tribe, we needed to drag the elder away using force. He is mischievous.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps he is, but I think he has a plan. If you were as old as her, denied the usual means of sexual gratification, and you discovered another way, would you take it?¡±


    I swallow. Is that Lord Klar¡¯s intent? Get her addicted to his seed? I sniff my shoulder. My head fills with the aroma of his seed. I am confident there is blood in the mix, but I suspect only enough for the colour to pass casual inspection. The crone¡¯s nose would be equal to mine or better. She knew what tasty treat awaited her, and she still did! Dipping a piece of cloth in the river, I wring out the water and then mop up the leftovers on my shoulder. Like magic, her mouth opens after waving the damp cloth under her nose. I stuff the cloth into her mouth, and she sucks on the wet mix without delay.


    ¡°What if she remembers or worse accuses you of, well, I don¡¯t know, something?¡±


    I mentally chuckle. ¡°I will say it was the only thing I could think of to make her drink, thinking her thirsty. The next time will be water.¡±


    There are two next times; she awakens when I dip the cloth for a third. Her rapid breathing prevents her from speaking, or perhaps embarrassment? Are the elderly easily embarrassed?


    ¡°Raise the elder. We will cross the ford and return to the tribe as I believe we all need our rest tonight,¡± I say.


    The four chair bearers snap to the task and, to a certain extent, throw caution to the wind as they hurry across the ford and enter the tent village of the tribe. Shortly after weaving between an assortment of tents, we stop before the biggest. A couple of female goblins in robes wait at the entrance. By this time, the elder can step out of her chair, and her two waiting apprentices guide the frail goblin into her tent proper. The four chair bearers disappear in an instant, and I am alone.


    ¡°What now?¡± asks Koria Keen Eye.


    ¡°You know, most goblins revere you as a legend. I don¡¯t understand why you aren¡¯t more, well, to put it plainly, in charge?¡±


    ¡°We have an agreement, don¡¯t we? But I know what you are asking. You have heard my story. Does my reality live up to my legend?¡±


    I consider my reply. Words have power. ¡°You need to forgive yourself. No one has defeated Rexa. My tribe has been working towards her defeat for generations, and none are certain we will succeed. But we must try. You tried in your way, and as the only person there living every moment of every day, only your judgement counts. But regardless, you must forgive yourself because, unlike most, you have another chance. I can only hope my flesh is up to the task.¡±


    ¡°It is. With Lord Klar¡¯s seed even more so.¡±


    By this time, I find my tent and crawl inside.


    ¡°We will keep shifts. I will stay awake first If you don¡¯t object, with the last of Lord Klar¡¯s seed, I will improve your body¡¯s sense of smell as I believe sight and hearing are superb,¡± says Koria.


    I thought we would both fall asleep, yet sharing control is a natural extension of our body sharing. The body will be at rest, but it seems both of us can use the senses. ¡°As long as we devote Lord Klar¡¯s next seed to taste. I want to see if I can detect lineage within the blood.¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡±


    ---Gorgrin, Blood Oath Follower POV


    At Izga¡¯s urging, we spend several days in the forest, by my reckoning Lord Klar¡¯s forest. Indeed, my father¡¯s hunters no longer stalk us. The exact reason eludes me, of course, but Izga wounding them, hunting outside of their Clan lands, and the need to hunt for food for their clan are three good reasons to give up on shadowing female hobgoblins the Clan Head doesn¡¯t want.


    The females ply their existing trades, crafting bows and arrows and hardening the arrow tips in a fire. Izga explains spears are simply bigger arrows, and while failures occur, a pile of stout spears grows beside the bows and arrows. Izga sends me out trapping. I think for the food value, but the females descend on the carcass for sinew and gluing compounds to finish the bows.


    Izga insists every female, from the youngest who can walk to the oldest who can walk, must contribute. After some questions, she sorts them into roles, and we continue our march. We also suffer several desertions. Izga tells me she expects this and declares that it is better now than later when we need to depend on them.


    Mid-morning, we clear the forest and spy a rise in the distance. Goblins infest the site.


    ¡°How did you know where Lord Klar would establish his manor house?¡± I ask, inspecting Izga from head to toe.


    ¡°Me, scout. You big lug in charge.¡± She darts to one side to avoid my playful swat and then skips away down the line. Izga also insisted the families march in line, youngest to oldest, with the single females at the end to shepherd any strays back into line. It occurs to me she gives a lot of orders for someone who isn¡¯t in charge.


    As the four lines of females exit the forest, excitement grips them, and they rush forward onto the grass plain. I begin a count. I recognise some faces and need to swallow to resist the urge to call them out. Several families are feral, where there should be none. These are Clan Beastbane families who lost their male provider and, instead of begging for food or finding another male, opted to live in the forest and make do. How they heard of Lord Klar¡¯s migration is anyone¡¯s guess. Then I am confident I spy a Clan Ironmonger family amongst the many, who dress in cloth, not skins and furs. I look about in semi-panic searching for Izga and don¡¯t find her. What I do see are several more Ironmonger families, though. I drop to my haunches and try to think. Clan Ironmonger claims the hills and mountains beyond the forests and shares a border with Clan Beastbane. A rumour could have quickly spread. The big question is whether these families ran away or their Clan Head¡¯s urged them to leave. I am also sure some of the Clan Beastbane families are not solely those nominated by my father. There will be consequences, I am sure. As the lines finish exiting the forest, several of the single females are skinny creatures, which immediately remind me of clan Hungry hobgoblins. How can that be? They would have had to wait in the forest, ambush-like, to join the line. Why didn¡¯t any other females alert me?


    My eyes scan the four lines of female hobgoblins, now my Lord¡¯s subjects, and I am confident they number over three hundred. As I contemplate that number, the forest comes alive around me. Yelps of joy break out right and left of me. Ones and twos; and at times, more sprint to add themselves to the existing lines. My jaw drops. Then I jump as a hand slaps my back.


    ¡°Found some strays. You like?¡±


    Izga.


    ¡°Where do they come from? You know we have Clan Ironmonger and Clan Hungry families amongst that lot, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Many females are sexually unsatisfied in this valley.¡± Her belly laughing doesn¡¯t relax me.


    ¡°I am serious! How do we feed this number for a start? Will he really, you know, service them all?¡±


    ¡°Clan Hungry will begin their bumper harvest shortly, and I know Lord Klar plans to visit Clan Greenfriend to negotiate something.¡± She smirks. ¡°He enjoys seeding.¡±


    ¡°His tool will fall off!¡±


    ¡°Well, if it does, you, as his Blood Oath follower, will need to satisfy any female disappointment, I would think.¡±


    I shudder and face her. I splutter, ¡°That is not¡­.¡±


    She slaps my chest. ¡°You should see your face. Lord Klar has serviced over three hundred goblins over a long night and into the next morning. Others assure me he can continue if we have animal flesh for him to consume. So, in short, you are off the hook, although your hunting skills will be a great help.¡±


    ¡°He must have enormous balls,¡± I say idly.


    I climb to my feet when no more females stream from the forest, and with Izga beside me, we hurry forward, eager to learn of our next duty.


    ---Lord Klar POV


    The glorious sight of four almost endless lines of female hobgoblins marching towards my inhospitable hillock fills me with possibilities. Once trained, they will be a counter to the goblins currently present and, depending upon the time they take to arrive, at least force the goblin mercenaries to consider any action against me before they do. The goblins toiling on the hill pause in shock and take several long looks. After a time, they continue.


    The full roll call of my females, except for Izga, stand by my side or, in Luda¡¯s case, stand in front of me. Thalgora is on my right, and Klaria is on my left. Duzsia the Relentless and Zoria Oath Keeper with Klaria. Zergoa and my special guest Voria with Thalgora.


    ¡°Thalgora, as my first wife, you are in charge. Duzsia, Zoria, Zergoa and Voria will command one-quarter of the new members of our clan. We will need hunters and soldiers. Whoever doesn¡¯t make the grade will be under Klaria, my second wife, who will ensure they carry out all domestic duties, including planting and harvesting.¡±


    ¡°What about me?¡± asks Luda in a quiet voice.


    I kiss the top of her head. ¡°You and Izga need to stay by my side. Although occasionally, I will need you to solve special problems for me.¡±


    Izga and Gorgrin assemble the new arrivals in the grass fields before the hillock, and all their eyes are on me. I raise my hands to quell their murmuring, and once all are quiet, I step forward.


    ¡°I welcome you all to a fresh beginning. You must work to remain, and everyone must toil or learn a skill. There will be no idle days, at least to start. We must secure our clan first. We are fortunate that a tribe of goblins is also part of our clan. Your personal view of them and other hobgoblins will remain your personal view. We are all one clan, and any disloyalty I will treat harshly.¡±


    With my hands behind my back, I stroll down the hill towards them. I stop and fling an arm out behind me. ¡°The hobgoblins on the hill are my wives or close associates. They have skills which they will teach you. You must learn them, or if you have the skills already, you must improve them as quickly as possible. For now, I need honesty.¡±


    I survey those sitting on the grass before me, gaining eye-to-eye contact as often as possible. ¡°Remain seated if you are supposed to be here. Those of you who perhaps got lost and accidentally ended up here but wish to stay, please stand.¡±


    Glancing over my shoulder, I wave to my entourage to join me. Two families stand, Clan Ironmonger by the looks.


    ¡°Let me ask this question differently. If you stand now, I can negotiate with your Clan Head for your release. If you don¡¯t stand now and your Clan Head sends others searching for you, I will allow them to take you.¡±


    After much looking around, several other families stand with the first two and then the numbers spill. I estimate over one hundred have abandoned their clan.


    ¡°Form two lines, one in front of my first wife Thalgora and another line in front of my second wife, Klaria. They will write your name and clan name down so I can begin negotiations.¡±


    My wives step forward, and those standing make their way toward them. I notice Izga and Gorgrin standing behind the crowd like two proud parents.


    ¡°Lord Klar!¡±


    I search for the caller amongst those standing and instead find a flailing arm of someone sitting. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°What of us ferals? Yes, we know what you all call us, and we are proud of your name for us and our independence. Clan Beastbane cast-offs, left to fend for ourselves, but perhaps old Jarlgren will want us back?¡±


    ¡°No. I claim you all as mine now and forever. In fact, assemble on my right in your own group, as I assume you needed to trap, hunt, fish, or forage to stay alive on exhausted lands.¡± They slowly, at first and then with more confidence, gather. ¡°On my lands, you should be able to use your skills to reap large harvests to feed not only yourselves but others of your new clan as well.¡±


    There is no mistaking them. Their body odour is strong: wild hair, cured, uncured hide clothing, and footwear. Once seated, their eyes follow me.


    ¡°Those who have tents, please set them up close to the river, to the south or on my left. If you have room to take in others, please make an offer to anyone who remains seated.¡± Half of the crowd shuffles towards the south.


    ¡°Zergoa and Voria count up the family groups who remain. I need an estimate of the number of tents required.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord,¡± they reply.


    ¡°Luda, find Nudia for me, please. We need to know if they have enough extra tents or not.¡± The goblin settlement opposite the ford of mud brick and thatched one-room houses grows daily. The number finished, and the number started is in equilibrium, and the perfect rows of cottages of their future village multiply.


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    I wave at Izga and Gorgrin to join me. Time for Izga¡¯s investment in a particular Clan Head¡¯s concubine to bear fruit, literally and figuratively. The concubine should be able to advise us of his limits, needs, and wants. All the advantages I need in my pending negotiations.

 2.033 My Home on the Hill

    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    By now, the goblin clan will learn of the new arrivals. I hope they recalculate their position in our alliance of circumstance. As Gorgrin approaches, a broad smile on his lips, I grab his forearm, and he holds mine, and we shake and wrap each other up in a masculine hug and release shortly after.


    ¡°You survived each other, which is a good start and given the numbers, somehow a rumour must have spread about my new settlement.¡±


    Izga launches herself at me, and I catch her on my hips as her legs wrap around me, and we embrace. ¡°Lord, it has been many days.¡± Her pouting completes a sorrowful picture of misfortune.


    ¡°Later, we have work to do,¡± I reply as I allow her to slide down and lean against me on her two feet.


    Within goblin earshot, we exchange reports. Izga and Gorgrin¡¯s assessment of the new recruits and my plans for the further development of the manor and the surrounds.


    ¡°Husband.¡± Chin up, Klaria thrusts several pieces of parchment towards me. As I receive them, I glance at and admire the thin spiderweb-like writing.


    ¡°Your second wife excels at ink craft, while your first wife excels at swordcraft, husband,¡± says Thalgora, her voice reverberating just below a growl. I note she adjusts her grip on the pommel of her sword. A sign I believe of self-control, not taking the simple solution and running her sword through my second wife.


    Klaria¡¯s hand rests on Thalgora¡¯s right hand and slides alongside her sister-wife. Thalgora wins on height and body mass, yet Klaria milks sympathy, her beaming orange eyes staring until Thalgora glances down in acknowledgement. ¡°Also, a masterful organiser is our Thalgora. She shuffled the newcomers into their Clan, so each piece of parchment has the names from one Clan, saving my delicate writing hand now and you time later.¡±


    Did I luck out here? Thalgora, to my amazement, reluctantly tolerates this interloper. I imagine somewhat like a pet dog accepting a pet cat curled up, the larger spooning the other. Gorgrin grunts. His warning is unnecessary, but appreciated as he warns me of an approaching goblin delegation.


    ¡°Thalgora, find one hundred amongst the new arrivals to train as soldiers. All ages. If you want to prove your worth to me, I need at least ten who can hold a weapon and not look foolish in the next seven days.¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband.¡± Her voice lifts from growl to delight. She pivots and races away, gathering Zergoa and Voria.


    ¡°Gorgrin, start with the ferals, but add any others who can and begin hunting. We will need meat, fat sinew, and hide. As fast as we can slaughter.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡± He glances over his shoulder, and his nose wrinkles slightly.


    ¡°I will talk to them about their grooming. Wait with me.¡± His face relaxes. ¡°Izga, greet our guests, direct them to the top of the hillock, and advise them I will be there shortly.¡±


    She pecks my cheek and glides away. I hope, in some small way, her impure blood linage will annoy them and perhaps cause them to drop their guard.


    My eyes fall on Klaria. ¡°Find any farmers or would-be farmers in those left. Send me any who can prove they can read and write.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Husband.¡±


    ¡°Gorgrin, Duzsia and Zoria with me.¡±


    ---


    They rise as one massive stink cloud of sixty or more. Mothers with teenage daughters. Several singles. None are old, and none have babes in their arms. These are the ferals, and as I approach, a delegation of three breaks away from the crowd, and the general chat dies simultaneously.


    They could be triplets in dress, a large fur over the head poncho and another front and back fur piece tied at the waist like an oversized lap lap. The lengths vary depending on the size of the creature the fur came from. One displays a good portion of her waist, where the poncho bottom edge doesn¡¯t drop enough to meet the lap-lap. The size of her breasts is an obvious and significant contributor to the circumstance. Another has leg thighs exposed because of the narrow lap lap she wears. In contrast, the last has none of those exposures and, given her proud chin and forwardness, has somehow been elected, thrust into, or claimed leadership.


    ¡°I am known as Durrilsia, Lord Klar. I speak for all the ferals, and we will contribute to your clan if¡­¡±


    She can¡¯t continue because my fingers are around her throat. Her words of superiority and lack of humility spoil what was, until then, a fantastic day of achievement. Her hands, of course, beat on my forearms. My grip tightens. Gorgrin, I imagine, is behind me in a state of shock. Duzsia and Zoria step forward as the other two ferals take a nervous step forward. Apart from bashing me or charging me down, they are helpless. Their action is nothing beyond moral support, certainly not self-sacrificing loyalty.


    As she drops her hands, I loosen my grip. I am certain finger marks will be on her neck for many days.


    ¡°Who am I?¡± I ask Durrilsia as I drag her larger, well-toned body closer until we are face to face. I overhear the ferals releasing a breath. They, and especially her, think of me as a teenager. Which, for all appearances, I am.


    ¡°You. Are. Lord. Klar.¡± Each word is an effort to speak.


    ¡°Do not mistake my youthful appearance for a lack of strength.¡± I release my grip further. ¡°I am Lord Klar, and if you remain in my clan, you do so according to my need. You need to decide now if you want to stay or go. But let me say I plan on building greatness here, and to do that, I need loyal subjects who contribute so all can benefit.¡± I drop my hand from her neck and step past her to address the group. ¡°Do you want more for your daughters than you had? Do you want, eventually, a safe place to live, plentiful food and a Lord who protects you?¡±


    Most in the crowd nod, but if the response is genuine or not, only time will tell. ¡°Face me, Durrilsia, Leader of the Ferals.¡±


    Her head is down, and I place my finger under her chin. ¡°You will need your superiority and pride in the days to come. Just don¡¯t assume because of my appearance, I am weak. If Lord Klar is weak, why do Gorgrin, Duzsia and Zoria call me their Lord and follow me without hesitation?¡±


    She drops to one knee. ¡°I am sorry, Lord Klar. Punish me if you wish, but spare everyone else. You are right. I thought you as an upstart youth, ripe to beat on¡­¡±


    I guess why someone would mention beating to someone they have never met before. ¡°I am not your former partner. Even if you could beat on me, what would he care?¡±


    Her eyes lift to meet mine. ¡°I¡­¡±


    ¡°Do you have a daughter?¡± I hold out my hand for her to grab. Her hand stays for a moment and then accepts, and I raise her up.


    ¡°No. He blamed me.¡± Lips drawn back, frown lines. Her face darkens. A combination of pain and sorrow.


    ¡°Did you try with another?¡±


    Her eyes open wide. ¡°Another? Males don¡¯t grow on trees, Lord.¡±


    ¡°It could have been him, not you?¡±


    ¡°His other wives had children¡­¡±


    ¡°Well, even lightning strikes nearby occasionally.¡± Duzsia and Zoria snicker behind me. ¡°His other wives probably decided they would try another instead of facing exile like yourself.¡±


    Her mouth drops open, and then slowly closes. ¡°His first wife had two children, the others like me barren. They fell with a child not long before my exile. In fact, he threw their success at me to wound me.¡±


    ¡°Do you want me to test your loins now?¡± I offer, successfully maintaining a straight face.


    She looks over her eyebrows at me and then towards the crowd. ¡°Now, Lord?¡± Her hand searches under her poncho for her abdomen. A curt nod, decision made as tears well up in her eyes.


    I sniff. ¡°Perhaps a bath first, no offence, but there is an unpleasant aroma which clings to you.¡±


    She wipes her eyes and throws me a smile of relief. ¡°You would have taken me?¡± She stares at me for a moment. ¡°You are the brazen one, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°No. I am Lord of my Clan, and all will obey me.¡±


    She closes her eyes. ¡°Lord, our hair will always smell, the tangle.¡±


    Dreadlocks, with a side serve of twigs and dry leaf. ¡°Lack of hair has never bothered me,¡± I smirk. I reach for my dagger and open my eyes, fixing them on her hair.


    She swallows. Slowly kneels. I grab a handful of her deep black tangle of hair and begin slicing. I avoid drawing blood, although my reserved touch leaves tuffs of hair behind as I stand back to inspect.


    Duzsia steps forward, surprising me. She has a small knife and trims more delicately and precisely. Once done, I rub my hands over Durrilsia¡¯s bald head. She purrs. This is not a trick of my hearing. I lean down and lightly kiss the crown of her head.


    ¡°Lord¡­ I am overwhelmed. Please give me a moment before I need to face the rest.¡±


    I grab her shoulders and hint at standing. She climbs to her feet. ¡°You don¡¯t need to.¡± I turn her around.


    Before us, each of them is cutting away the dreadlocks of another. I flick my head at Duzsia and Zoria. Armed with knives, they move amongst the crowd despite the smell. I will need to reward them later.


    Durrilsia¡¯s two companions drop to their knees before me. ¡°Durrilsia, join the rest, lead them to the river, and bathe. When done, find Gorgrin, Duzsia and Zoria and begin hunting. Tell your ferals that they will vote on the five greatest hunters amongst them, and if Gorgrin and my wives agree with their judgement, they will lie with me tonight.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Klar. Do I¡­¡±


    ¡°You may claim my promise from today, and if you are in the top five, once again tomorrow night.¡±


    She bolts, almost knocking her two companions over. I get to work as a hairdresser, conscious I don¡¯t have Duzsia to tidy for me. Finishing, I give the other companion a small knife while I cut her dreadlocks. That way, she is close cutting the first.


    Gorgrin clears his throat. ¡°Lord, I believe Izga¡¯s diplomatic skills have been exhausted. Goblins on their way.¡±


    ¡°Do they look annoyed?¡± I whisper.


    ¡°Oh, certainly, Lord.¡±


    The first companion is done, yet she remains on her knees. I rub her head and kiss her crown. ¡°Fetch me two more ferals. Now go, hurry.¡±


    The crone is on her chair, and the four goblins on each end of two poles do well to keep her from tumbling out as they crab their way down the slope of the hillock. Izga remains at the crest of the hill, observing until I wave her away and tilt my head towards Thalgora. She nods in acknowledgement and jogs off.


    I finish the second companion, and I speak before she can say a word. ¡°You are finished, but remain in pretence that you aren¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡± Her breathy reply is a surprise, but I have no time for questions. The two new ferals are young teenagers. The dark green blush on their faces tells me all I need to know. I glance at the first companion who accompanies them. She is about to speak, and I shake my head slightly. I position the two newcomers on their knees before me, a slight breeze carrying their scent away. I continue to trim the second companion. Heavy breathing from the other two is loud in the scheme of things, and if I can hear them, so can the goblins about to join us. Maybe this is a blessing¡­


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The crone remains in her chair, and the four male goblin bearers lower the chair, allowing themselves a rest, while Nudia and another male goblin stand on either side. For a moment, I wonder where Luda is.


    ¡°Welcome, elder. What can your Lord do for you?¡±


    Her mouth sours, yet strictly speaking, she and the entire tribe are my slaves, and every hobgoblin in this valley would enforce my right with much vigour. Whether it is my welcome, the trip down the hillock or both which has given her pause, she doesn¡¯t berate me, maintaining her composure instead.


    ¡°The numbers of hobgoblin females, Lord. How do we ensure they don¡¯t eat more than is their due?¡±


    I pat the heads of the two new ferals kneeling at my feet. ¡°These are our hunters. Once ready, they will bring back enough kills to support our immediate needs. Others will begin digging farm lots, which either they or goblins will plant. Our crop will be late, but should be near enough ripe before the cold returns. Any shortfall I have coin for.¡±


    ¡°The numbers. There was a certain concern, you understand.¡±


    I cut a section of dreadlocks off of one newcomer. Her sensual yelp draws everyone¡¯s attention. My eyes remain on the crone, noting she places a hand over her mouth, trying to disguise herself licking her lips. For my part, I caress the teenager¡¯s cheek while trying to gather in another bunch of knots. She whimpers. Her offsider, a sister for all anyone knows, glances at her and then stares up at me. The original companions squirm, closing their legs. One awkwardly shuffles while kneeling beside me. The other while standing before me, behind the two teenagers.


    Throwing a clump of dreadlocks to the ground, I reply, ¡°No need for concern, although I admit the number joining us more than my original expectations, especially the wild ones once of Clan Beastbane and now mine.¡± I caress the shaven side of my subject¡¯s head and feel her tilt into my palm, moaning.


    ¡°Wild ones? Is that your new name for them?¡± She wrinkles her nose. ¡°Not ferals?¡±


    ¡°They are mine, so I would name them. The name Wild Ones is appropriate. Hunters in the wild and ardent lovers in my bed.¡± I toss another clump of dreadlocks to the ground.


    The two teenagers hold hands, mouths firmly shut, while failing to suppress their sighs of desire. The companion behind them drops to her knees, her face wild with desire. Only Gorgrin and I can appreciate her desperation. I can only imagine the same look on her companion as I feel her shift on her knees to lean against my thigh. There is a mystery here. Am I the first male to pay them any attention? Long abstinence? Or, as Lord, grooming them, even in this rough fashion, is more than purely functional to them.


    ¡°They are fortunate¡­¡± She expels a breath. ¡°To have a generous Lord who genuinely cares.¡±


    ¡°Is there anything else?¡± I ask with all the innocence I can muster as I finish cutting off most of the first teenager¡¯s hair.


    She clears her throat. I feel an arm snake around my leg. ¡°Seeding.¡± I flash her a look of surprise. Holding a palm-facing hand up, she continues, ¡°Several goblin females missed your erm blessing on that night, and I was wondering if, as our Master, you would service them?¡±


    I pass a knife to the companion behind the first teenager. Her shaking hand grabs the knife and begins finishing the first teenager¡¯s haircut. All this while I chew over her words. I am their master now. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to drag them away, even for a moment, from either building cottages or digging the foundations of the manor¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes. Both noble tasks, yet I presume only a moment of your time?¡±


    I release a deep belly laugh, finishing with a broad, cheerful smile. ¡°I will send some hobgoblins to assist your goblins with both building projects. I will not permit them to be idle and told them they must learn new skills. Building skill is as good as any other, and we need shelter, which reminds me.¡±


    She holds up a hand. ¡°Yes, Luda asked. We have many tents to spare, and your new subjects are welcome to them. But, as you say, building cottages will see us all out of the cold faster.¡±


    I position the second teenager, turning and holding her head to one side and cut off a clump of hair. ¡°Can Nudia remain and choose those hobgoblins most suited to building? We can guess, of course, but better to have the right ones first off as best we can determine.¡±


    She nods while glancing at Nudia. Then she taps one of her chair bearers. Once up and ready, she faces me.


    ¡°Lord, we have caught a stray goblin snooping about. What do you want to be done with him?¡±


    To assess my handiwork, I stroke the shaven side of the teenager¡¯s head and ask, ¡°What does he claim?¡±


    ¡°He warns of travellers in danger, yet he refuses to say who they are until he meets the one they instructed him to meet.¡±


    With my dagger in my hand, I point to my chest. ¡°Me?¡±


    She nods. ¡°We think so, but none recognise him, and his blood is mixed.¡± Her mouth chews as if trying to dislodge a foul taste. ¡°We think he is an opportunist at best, Lord.¡±


    I continue my harvesting of the briar patch. ¡°Gorgrin, escort the elder and drag back this dreg of goblin kind for me to question.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    As he escorts the crone up the hill, I notice four sets of eyes on me.


    Nudia quips, ¡°Are you going to service them or leave them on heat until you do, Lord Klar?¡± Three of them squirm. The fourth, bolder than the rest, licks her lips. ¡°You must admit their desperate lust got to the elder. She was determined not to reveal our prisoner, to hold him for a further concession, yet here we are.¡±


    I finish cutting the prominent dreadlock clumps of the second teenager and look up at Nudia. ¡°I suspect she will recover my seed from the goblins I service?¡± I raise my eyebrows.


    ¡°I am certain she will. The lust of your subjects reminds her of her need. Ensuring she stayed in favour with you.¡± Nudia chortles. The unusual style of laughing is familiar¡­ Koria.


    My thoughts turn to my four new subjects.


    Nudia questions on my behalf. ¡°Can you trust these four with our secret, Lord Klar?¡±


    I pat the heads of each. ¡°Well, only you and I know, and we will tell no one. So if I find your slain body anytime soon, then one of these will be to blame, and since I will be outraged, I am certain I will simply slaughter them all in the most painful way I can imagine.¡±


    The one I am patting trembles. The other three visibly so.


    ¡°Shoo now, Wild Ones, bathe in the lake, take these clothes, and return to your Lord when done. I just happen to have a tent with me,¡± hisses Nudia.


    They all look at me. I nod, and they scamper off, racing each other to the lake, discarding their furs well before the water¡¯s edge and wading in.


    ¡°Have you found any clues about the hobgoblin from last night?¡± I ask.


    ¡°No, we haven¡¯t and¡­¡± She rubs her heels on the grass. ¡°We can share my body, so one of us is aware during the night. There is late night, early morning movement about the camp. Still, no conversations, so we suspect they are had elsewhere, Lord.¡±


    I stroke my chin with a thumb. Izga and or Luda need to lurk about the goblin camp tonight from a safe distance. Yet, I suspect any meeting will be in the strip of forest on either side of the river, probably north since I placed the hobgoblin tent camp to the south of the ford. The Wild Ones, I will camp north of the ford, but not before I learn some more.


    ¡°Is this a good place for a tent?¡± The humour in her voice alerts me more than the words, and I spare a glance in the lake¡¯s direction. One of my new subjects, dressing on the run, is returning. I shake my head and wave her back. Stopping confused, she looks over her shoulder and then back at me. I wave her back again. Plodding, she joins the other three in the lake.


    ¡°Are you teaching life lessons again, Lord Klar?¡±


    ¡°They are one. The sooner they realise that fact, the better. That way, if one strays, the other three should try to save themselves from the betrayer by running to me and revealing the traitor.¡± I wave to Nudia to follow, picking a spot halfway between the group of Wild Ones finishing their haircuts and the river proper, where they are to wash themselves instead of the lake. As more of them notice, they break away from the group, ensuring they walk past Nudia and I. After one does, they all pause, offering to assist with the tent, which I graciously decline. I wave the four back several times when they try to return with fewer than all of them. The Wild Ones are all in the river amongst the tree line when the four finally realise what I want. Duzsia and Zoria, following behind the group, join Nudia and I, and we prepare for the four¡¯s return.


    ¡°You know, Lord, when you have serviced these four, the others will look on with sad eyes and askance?¡± says Duzsia.


    ¡°Duzsia, I am certain Lord Klar has a plan,¡± quips Koria.


    ¡°What of Durrilsia and her speech of reward for hunting?¡± asks Zoria Oath Keeper using a sincere voice.


    ¡°Thank you for your support, Koria. I appreciate your positive words, especially while the other two loyal wives doubt my method.¡± I pout and raise my chin, pretending superiority.


    ¡°Lord!¡± they protest.


    The four Wild Ones wade from the water, pausing once in their new clothes, their eyes on me, and I wave them on. They squeal in delight, the older two and the teenagers.


    ¡°What are your thoughts, Lord?¡± asks Koria.


    ¡°Whimsy. Now. I thought to seed these four fully, but perhaps simple pregnancy or not is my choice now, given the others will at least ask for the same service.¡±


    I feel Nudia¡¯s hand on my arm and face her. ¡°You mean to say you have a choice?¡±


    ¡°I prefer a different term, control. A female, only requires one sperm to fertilise her, and once the race is won, we waste the others. So, instead of wasting seed, control allows me to only put several into the race each time and not an entire load.¡±


    ¡°But the entire goblin tribe? They each only received a single sperm. All of them couldn¡¯t stop chirping about how much seed you gave them, how they felt stronger afterwards¡­ Myself included.¡±


    I draw Nudia into an embrace. ¡°When one says something, the others will confirm, regardless of their truth, to compete. Before I succumb to the lust haze, I can control the quantity of seed, if a recipient will fall pregnant and, if so, the sex of the child.¡±


    ¡°Why do you tell us now, Lord,¡± asks Zoria.


    ¡°Because while not safe beyond destruction, we are safe enough.¡±


    ¡°But what of the stories? What of us?¡±


    I gaze into Duzsia¡¯s eyes and share a warm smile with her. ¡°You are my wives, my seed strengthens you, and so I deliberately share my strength with you while ensuring you don¡¯t fall pregnant, although once we finish the manor, that may change.¡± I let a sheepish smile slip through my guard. Their bright, glowing faces are my reward. ¡°Others, I have also seeded with a full load and chosen to beget with child. Thalgora and some goblins and, before them, the hobgoblins of the Clans. Once I enter the lust haze, though, I lock in my preference, pregnant or not and if pregnant, male, or female child, because those who I lay with while under a lust haze receive few actual seeds because I must last the distance.¡±


    There is a silence as the four Wild Ones draw closer.


    ¡°We are especially favoured then, Lord,¡± says Duzsia.


    ¡°You are my wives. Although I also favoured Nudia and others I thought I had a bond with or sympathy for.¡±


    ¡°So, those few spread the rumour of great revitalisation and strength?¡± whispers Nudia. ¡°Including myself.¡±


    ¡°And others, of course, whether or not they feel the same, confirm the illusion so as not to feel less or miss out. Regardless, they will all begin to show if pregnant, and that is further confirmation. Otherwise, how would a male last a day or more with multiple partners?¡±


    ¡°The meat?¡± asks Zoria.


    ¡°That is still required. I still need to maintain my strength!¡± I belly laugh. The four Wild Ones hesitate when near to us, their jogging slowing, sharing cautious looks. I wave them on, and favourable smiles return to their faces.


    ¡°Hello, Lord.¡±


    Izga?


    I look over my shoulder and then receive her in my arms and on my hips. ¡°What have I done to earn your company?¡±


    ¡°A spy.¡±


    I drop her to land in front of me. ¡°Explain.¡±


    ¡°When the ferals charged the river, a female hobgoblin was slow to join them. Dressed her in furs like them, permitted her hair to be cut off, but there wasn¡¯t a hunter¡¯s grace about her when she finally made her move.¡±


    My face questions Duzsia and Zoria. ¡°They all smelt and looked the same. Apologies, Lord,¡± says Zoria.


    ¡°Continue,¡± I grumble.


    ¡°Thalgora spotted her lingering and sent me to investigate.¡±


    The story isn¡¯t complete. ¡°What did she overhear? Where is she now?¡±


    ¡°Certainly, your last conversation.¡± Her face darkens. ¡°She is behind the tent.¡±


    My four Wild Ones join us, faces twisting in confusion, given they only overheard half the conversation. ¡°Join Izga and I. You may know who the stranger is.¡± I don¡¯t wait for their reactions, striding around the tent instead, eager to meet this interloper. I thought my wives would detect and prevent such lapses with their heightened senses. Maybe the smell was too overpowering because of their improved senses.


    A face-down corpse-like body, hands and legs secure, waits for me. I push on the body with my boot, and with a yelp, the body, which I note is pregnant, rolls over. Surprise quells my building anger.


    ¡°What is Zinmog¡¯s daughter, feral at that, snooping on my land?¡±


    ¡°Lord. Lord¡­ I¡­ have been exiled. My father sees enemies everywhere. He has chased many family members, distant and close from his manor. He swears, somehow, you have tricked him.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± I shake my head. ¡°What have or haven¡¯t I done?¡±


    ¡°Lord, would you untie me?¡± She rolls over slightly to show her tied hands.


    Placing my hands on my hips, I say, ¡°Not just yet. What did you overhear?¡±


    Her eyes tear. ¡°That you favoured me or thought we had a bond?¡±


    I glance at Izga. ¡°In all the conversation, that is what you heard?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. I swear. I am alone, and to hear your words¡­ While my father places no value on me, others would still think I am worth ransom. Why do you think I hide amongst the shunned¡­ smell like this, embrace these rough furs? A Clan Head¡¯s daughter, while not as valuable as a son, should be due some comforts, and yet for many nights now, I have gone to sleep under the lights in the sky.¡±


    ¡°Many nights? Didn¡¯t we bid each other farewell recently?¡±


    She drops her head, and tears flow down her cheeks. ¡°He did what he said he would.¡± Lying back, she says, ¡°My sister and I look similar.¡± She hitches her chest. ¡°He said he would replace me with her. I am truly dead to him now. Lord, I throw myself upon your mercy. Please.¡±


    ¡°Explain how he thinks I have tricked him?¡±


    ¡°The crop grows too well. He believes no such thing is possible and there is some kind of magic at work. His greatest fear is the grain will disappear overnight after toiling for days to bring the harvest in.¡±


    Fear of the unknown, change. Clan Hungry fails because of being set in their ways and not wishing to bend, even slightly, to anything else, let alone going from subsistence farming to secure farming, producing an excess that can be put back into next year¡¯s crop as seed or sold off. What to do with her? She can¡¯t remain a feral. They will have new clothes as soon as I can find some, and her pregnancy will continue to bloom. The skinny Clan Hungry females will spot her and recognise her immediately or eventually and be tempted.


    My silence prompts Izga. ¡°I can take care of her, Lord.¡±


    I ignore the gasps from our four Wild Ones and our captive. ¡°It would solve many potential problems¡­¡± I sigh and growl. ¡°Fortunately for her, I am a kind Lord and a pregnant female I can¡¯t slay or ordered slain. Untie her hands and feet while I think some more.¡±


    Four warm bodies move closer to mine, and they assume I am agreeable by not objecting. Four sets of everything entwine and caress me.


    ¡°We will never betray you, Lord,¡± says one of the older Wild Ones.


    ¡°Our lives are yours, Lord,¡± says one teenager immediately after, which the present context makes little sense, but I don¡¯t have time to debate the finer points.


    I unbind myself from them with care. ¡°Return to Duzsia and Zoria.¡± They slink away, trying for sexy, but my eyes and mind are on the slightly showing daughter of Clan Head Zinmog. She raises her arms to embrace me, and I step back, shaking my head. ¡°Move closer, and I will order Izga to slay you and save myself further angst.¡±


    She drops her arms and pouts. ¡°As you order, Lord.¡±


    I glance at Izga, who is silently smirking. After my withering look of betrayal, she clears her face of emotion and shrugs.

 2.034 Our Home on the Hill

    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°Are you taking me to Lord Klar?¡± squeals a distinct goblin voice, still a way off.


    I haven¡¯t resolved the problem at my feet, and another is wailing at me. This was to be bliss. Watching others work, build my manor and service whomever I liked. Sigh.


    ¡°Did you say something, Lord?¡± asks Izga.


    I slow shake my head. Somehow, I need to hide her face and disguise her pregnancy. I need to buy myself some time.


    ¡°Izga¡­¡± I drawl. ¡°Grab the bindings and make one long length. Then tie one end around her neck.¡± I notice Mazgia, daughter of Clan Head Zinmog, begin to open her mouth and growl at her. ¡°We will lead our pet on her hands and knees.¡±


    Izga, I notice, bites her lip to contain her laughter while the face of the Clan Head¡¯s daughter darkens.


    As I lead our pet around the tent to join the others, the four Wild Ones are about to comment until I stare them silent. Gorgrin raises an eyebrow and then pushes forward a tiny goblin. Not a youth or child, a short male adult. His long nose reminded me instantly of a particular valley, a certain village and a couple of goblin females fated to die while trying to birth hobgoblin babes. This is the first I have encountered a long nose goblin in this valley.


    ¡°Will you stop staring, please? I know there are few of my like, but you can be polite. You only need to try,¡± grouses a voice.


    I blink. There is a pool of moisture in each eye I didn¡¯t know about until that moment. Duzsia looms up in front of me, her hand on mine, taking the lead of my pet. ¡°I will rescue you from this inconvenience, Lord.¡± She kisses both of my eyes and then my lips.


    Clearing my throat, I shift forward to one side to make room for Duzsia while advancing on our diminutive guest.


    ¡°You have a message for me?¡±


    He eyes all those around me. ¡°What of these? I was told to tell you alone.¡±


    ¡°If any betray me, I will know, and they will die a horrible, painful death. The message?¡±


    ¡°As you wish.¡± He takes one last scan. ¡°Know that Lord Torngul Heartsplitter, Lord of the Grassplains, has sent Dorgrav, his Major Domo and two Honor Guard to visit you to request a favour. One in the manor believes the Lord¡¯s enemies will ambush them before they reach you and sent me ahead to beg you to protect them.¡±


    ¡°A trap, Lord?¡± says Zoria.


    I drop to one knee. ¡°Who has sent you?¡±


    ¡°A friend of Lord Torngul he didn¡¯t know he had.¡± Perhaps he reads something in my eyes because his following words surprise me. ¡°Please don¡¯t strangle me. Fetch his daughter instead. She will vouch for me, and hopefully, that will be enough.¡±


    I climb to my feet. ¡°Zoria¡­¡±


    ¡°No, Lord, allow me. I know what she was planning for the day,¡± says Izga.


    I nod, and she sprints from my sight, her lithe, athletic body distracting me until Gorgrin clears his throat.


    ¡°Right,¡± I mumble. ¡°Gorgrin, Duzsia and Zoria lead these Wild Ones back to the rest. Our previous plan will need to be postponed. Hunt until they are exhausted. Stay out overnight if need be.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord,¡± says Gorgrin as he jogs off. The four Wild Ones flash me glum looks yet fall into line, with Duzsia and Zoria following in an easy-loping gait.


    ¡°What do we do with her?¡± asks Nudia, holding up the leash.


    I face our guest. ¡°What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Nobody. You can call me nobody and leave it at that. I am only revealed before you because I am paying a debt. I don¡¯t choose to be here, mistrusted, and thought less of.¡±


    Is he some sort of super spy? With a modicum of effort, he could easily pass as a goblin child, yet what about the nose? Nudia and I collapse the tent while waiting for Thalgora and Izga to return, and then we wait some more. I notice our guest now sits, yet the height difference between sitting and standing is almost nothing, or so it seems.


    He stands as my ears pick at least two jogging towards us, and my eyes fall on Thalgora and Izga sprinting towards us. Are they racing? The answer becomes apparent as Izga leaps at me, wrapping her legs around my waist, her panting chest hitting mine as her lips crash into mine. Her hands run over my head, soothing my baldness.


    Izga withdraws with a squeal, and Thalgora marches forward after putting my assassin to one side. My first wife embraces me, her lips and tusks entangling with mine.


    ¡°She is quicker, but I am long lasting, Lord,¡± says Thalgora through heavy breathing.


    As Thalgora releases me, my arm lingers around her waist, and I swing her around with a gentle touch so my first wife stands beside me. A warm glow ripples down her face.


    ¡°This herald says you can vouch for him.¡± My free hand waves towards him.


    She humphs. ¡°None know Long Nose, Lord. A few know of him. He is a trusted messenger, and some mention other skills.¡±


    I am satisfied for now. ¡°Who would want to ambush Dorgrav?¡± I feel Thalgora wriggle slightly in my embrace. Did she make plain some concern?


    ¡°Someone who wants to weaken Lord Torngul, your sponsor, I believe,¡± he replies.


    I grunt, part frustration, part controlling my urge to strangle him. ¡°Who is the friend Lord Torngul doesn¡¯t know?¡±


    He leans, favouring one leg. ¡°I have told you what you need to know. There is no ruse or falseness. What I was told to tell you is in good faith. Can I go?¡±


    While wishing to know more, I wave him away, and he darts off, staying low. The long grass conceals him after several heartbeats.


    ¡°Hello Mazgia,¡± says Thalgora, with an unmistakable undertone of wonder.


    I return my attention to Thalgora, who is now on her haunches with one hand under Mazgia¡¯s chin, trying to study my pet¡¯s face. Mazgia¡¯s ears turn dark green while she wiggles her head to free herself from Thalgora¡¯s grip.


    ¡°Enough, First Wife. You are acquainted then?¡±


    Thalgora, returning to her feet, is like a cat stretching after victory, overboard with pleasure. ¡°While sons are more important, the eldest daughter is usually a significant envoy for a Clan Head. Mazgia is no exception, so seeing her on all fours like a pet is amusing. I can¡¯t wait for the explanation, husband.¡±


    For all her civility, there is a twinkle of the huntress in Thalgora¡¯s deep red eyes.


    ¡°Does she have a near twin look alike? She says her father has promoted her sister in her stead and cast her out.¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband, they are twins. Their birth slew their mother, not that their father shed a tear at the time if the rumour is to be believed.¡±


    ¡°Are twins rare?¡± I ask.


    ¡°She and her sister are the only ones well known in this valley. Elsewhere, who knows, maybe Clan Head Krilzak and his merchants could tell you tales of others.¡±


    ¡°Nudia, hand the pet¡¯s leash off to Thalgora. Ask the crone to give you permission to lead a band of goblins in search of Dorgrav and his escort and try to protect them without them knowing you are. I assume she hates Clan Head Sakvorpa most, so tell her the ambushers are her last few servants in a final desperate bid to hurt Lord Torngul.¡±


    ¡°And when we find out they aren¡¯t, Lord?¡±


    I flash her a hungry grin. ¡°I am certain you can torture whatever truth you need to convince those with you of this truth. But be wary. If not her, then I hope if she has a mysterious ally, they are behind the ambush, so knowing who that is would be extremely useful.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. Being my idea, I am certain the crone will bless the raid.¡± A snap bow, and she jogs away.


    I squeeze Thalgora¡¯s waist. ¡°Would you be able to hide our pet amongst those you train?¡±


    Her hand caresses mine on her hip. ¡°No, husband. She made her disguise from fur and dirt. I have no Wild Ones, and her pregnancy will be revealed once out of her furs. A pregnant Wild One would be difficult to explain, and then questions would follow.¡±


    After kissing her, I say, ¡°Return to your teaching. I need those few I asked for as guards to carry off a pretence.¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband.¡± As my arm falls from her waist, she says, ¡°Keep her.¡± She points at Izga. ¡°Away from your loins, as I wish to claim you tonight.¡±


    Izga places both of her hands on her chest, throwing a convincing look of shock at the same time. ¡°Perish the thought, first wife. I will never usurp your rights.¡±


    Thalgora grumbles and jogs away toward a hundred or more female hobgoblins drilling on the grass plain under Zergoa and Voria¡¯s watchful eyes.


    I am confident my next order will please Thalgora and displease Izga. As far as I can see, there is no other choice, so I say what needs to be told quickly.


    ¡°Izga, take our pet back to the forest for seven days, and teach her survival.¡± I hold up my hand to forestall her protest. ¡°Then return with her, and we should have a cottage to hide her in and for me to reward you.¡±


    Izga pouts. ¡°Seven days, Lord?¡± Her eyes fix on my loins.


    ¡°For you only, I will try to visit at least one or twice.¡±


    Her focus returns to my pet. ¡°Well, you may as well stand and follow me. Keep up, or I will take out my frustrations on you.¡±


    I am alone for the first time in a while.


    ---


    ¡°Where the heck is he?¡± growls a female voice.


    In response is a gentle reply, ¡°She said towards the fields.¡±


    ¡°Shut up you. You are the reason we lost sight of the tent. It was there when we were on the hill but gone because of you and your lameness when we finally reached the bottom and stood in front of a wall of tall grass.¡±


    ¡°I am sorry, but I am trying to go as fast as I can.¡±


    ¡°Come on, girls, stick with your mother. We will find him. We have to.¡±


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


    I listen to the conversation; my guess is these are all the hobgoblins who can read and write sent to me by Klaria. Stretching out, I continue to lie on my back, the tall lengths of grass surrounding me bending because of a light breeze. Underneath me, the tent flattened grass provides an adequate if not perfect bed and every heartbeat alone a joy.


    ¡°What is that over there?¡±


    ¡°Where over there, lame leg?¡± A couple of childish giggles reach my ears. ¡°Where?¡± shouts a now familiar voice.


    ¡°Put one of your daughters on your shoulders, maybe?¡±


    Some rustling. ¡°Come sweet. Well, help lame leg. It¡¯s your idea.¡±


    ¡°I see a flat square, mother.¡±


    ¡°Good girl. Keep pointing the way. Hang on to mother¡¯s dress, Shiliga. Otherwise, we will never find you in this grass.¡±


    ¡°I am older than Tigliga, mother.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but shorter, and we need¡­¡±


    Her voice drops to a whisper, but my hearing picks up her last words, ¡°To keep pretending, because he will take you and your sister otherwise, such is his endless desire.¡±


    ¡°His what?¡±


    ¡°None of your business, lame leg. You have the best defence of all of us. None would touch a lame thing like you.¡±


    ¡°Why do you need to be so cruel?¡±


    With her pitiful voice, the pain resonates and tugs at my kind side.


    The grass parts. Two adult female hobgoblins and two teenage female hobgoblins, one on her mother¡¯s shoulders, burst into the grass-squashed square. I sit up.


    ¡°You¡¯re a teenager! I thought we were meeting a mighty Lord by the way everyone talked and went gar gar at the mention of your name. What trick is this?¡±


    My single regret. She is too far away to strangle.


    ¡°If you stay, I may eventually meet your expectations.¡± The mother and her daughters don¡¯t react. The lame female hesitates at the edge of the clearing. Did she detect the subtle threat in my voice, ignoring my words? If so, perceptive, or maybe a learnt skill trying to avoid situations of violence or danger given her lameness.


    The taller yet younger daughter slides from her mother¡¯s shoulders. Each daughter holds their mother¡¯s hand as they approach, although standing back a safe distance.


    ¡°You can hardly be seventeen growing seasons! Come on, girls, we need to seek employment elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°Leave your daughters,¡± I say.


    She turns back to face me. ¡°What did you say?¡±


    ¡°Leave your daughters.¡±


    ¡°They are too young and need their mother.¡±


    I share a hungry grin with her. She flinches. ¡°I can test your words by simply slaying you where you stand.¡± I drop my voice and growl, ¡°Leave your daughters.¡±


    Griping her daughter¡¯s hands, she drags them to her bosom. ¡°They are mine. You can¡¯t have them. I have heard talk about you.¡±


    ¡°I notice the fine cloth weave of your dress, the cut, stitching and embroidery. Your daughters, though, wear coarse sacks in comparison.¡±


    She glances at each and then chin up retorts, ¡°They grow too fast, no point in finery yet. What do you know about raising children? You are one yourself!¡±


    ¡°Then I would suggest I know them better than you. Leave your daughters.¡±


    ¡°We stay together. I will stay.¡±


    I climb to my feet, yet don¡¯t advance. She edges away, dragging her children with her. Their passive resistance is the last signal to me they are ready to leave their dominating mother.


    ¡°How can I permit you to serve me when you don¡¯t respect me?¡±


    ¡°One has nothing to do with the other. I can read, write, do sums, and look after purchasing and selling. Truly, you won¡¯t find better than me.¡±


    ¡°Why did you leave Clan Ironmonger?¡±


    She snaps back, ¡°The Clan Head lusted after my daughters! There, you happy now for a mother to reveal her greatest fear?¡± Her daughters, in unison, drop their jaws and glance at each other behind their mother¡¯s back. This is news to them, possibly.


    I release a loud belly laugh and stumble forward. ¡°Then you have placed your daughters out of the frying pan and into the fire. Isn¡¯t my reputation as bad or worse than Clan Head Bolgrav?¡± Part of my mirth stems from the fact I guessed correctly. She and her daughters are from Clan Ironmonger. Their dresses were a strong hint, but we had some strays from other Clans.


    ¡°Rumours only. I am one who will always decide for myself. Everyone knows that.¡± She throws her chin into the air, and while in such a pose, I ease myself closer.


    ¡°Am I to forget your first words to me, then?¡±


    She blinks. Her eyes remeasuring the distance between us. Instead of talking, her lips tremble, and her flight instinct kicks in. Her daughters become anchors. Deliberately or because of their own surprise, not expecting their mother to turn and run is challenging to discern. The actions or lack of action make no difference.


    My grip twisting her neck about, we face each other. ¡°Leave your daughters. Go now with your life.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t need to sort through any subtly. I have directly threatened her life, and now she must decide.


    Dragging her daughters to her in an embrace, she tears. I note that the youngest daughter is as tall as her, while the oldest, yet shorter, lines up with her mother¡¯s eyes. The mother mumbles words of comfort and then glares at me, venom in her words. ¡°I will find my place, and when I do, I will return for my daughters, boy Lording.¡± She spits in my direction, then turns about and hurries off, her sniffles loud and clear.


    ¡°Shiliga and Tigliga, I presume.¡± My eyes meet theirs, and then I lock onto the third female. Her eyes evade mine as she glances about. I suspect looking for a miracle. ¡°Join us. I assure you I won¡¯t bite.¡± The two daughters giggle.


    ¡°You. You would have killed her?¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°Cowards, when given the option, run before death. I don¡¯t know why she left Clan Ironmonger but choosing a Lord with no manor and new lands smacks of desperation to me, and I am the Lord!¡±


    ¡°Do you consider me desperate, then?¡±


    ¡°Possibly, but you didn¡¯t leave in body and mind after my speech. She was looking for an excuse to give herself a push because she was desperate and couldn¡¯t justify another move to her daughters.¡±


    She limps closer, her left foot at a seventy- or eighty-degree outward angle.


    ¡°What of your skills?¡± I ask the daughters.


    Like a pair of fine-tuned parrots, they recite their list. ¡°Reading, writing and sums. At Clan Ironmonger, we started doing the running into the mines to estimate stockpiles by grade, weight, and volume for valuation.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I am the same, except I would not like to balance the books.¡± Her eyes dart towards her limp leg and then stare straight ahead.


    Time to rip the wound. ¡°How did you break your leg?¡±


    Her eyes fix on mine. ¡°How did you know it was broken?¡± She shakes her head and waves a hand. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. My previous employer thought I stole from him, and I decided to run. He decided I should never run again.¡±


    ¡°If you were innocent, why did you run?¡± I know the question is stupid, but I must keep the conversation going.


    Her face darkens, and I glimpse her inner fight, and then she returns to acceptance. ¡°His son, the favourite second child, was the thief. My word would count for nothing compared to his. His eldest, a daughter, knew the truth but bargained my fate down from death to a life of servitude. Then, late one night, after many, I was thrown into a sack and kidnapped. After some words and clinking coins, several faces greeted me after they released me from the sack. I found out from them they were seeking a new life with a new Lord, and here I am.¡±


    ¡°You are from Hobgoblin Town?¡±


    A curt, fearful nod.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t journey with the Wild Ones. Who did you journey with?¡±


    Head down, she studies her hands.


    ¡°Who?¡± I ask again, subduing my growing anger.


    ¡°Clan Greenfriend, Lord, Clan Greenfriend. I thought them odd to want to leave their Clan, yet they¡­ when they thought me asleep, they talked about getting seeded by you and then returning to their Clan for their reward.¡± My face must show my anger because she slides back a step. ¡°That is all I know, Lord, I swear.¡±


    ¡°I am not angry with you. You are the messenger. I have met Clan Head Grimg in the presence of Lord Torngul no less, and they seemed the best of friends, allies even.¡±


    ¡°They are Lord. His best friend is simply chasing the same seed that Clan Hungry was gifted and Clan Quickeyed by deceptive means gained.¡±


    I turn away from my three recruits and take a short stroll around the clearing. With Izga¡¯s inside concubine spy and Clan Greenfriend using deception to gain my seed, perhaps my negotiating hand is vastly more potent than I thought. Do I need to wait for an escort to impress? Do I simply turn up with a few wives on beasts and negotiate?


    ¡°Are you certain you aren¡¯t angry with me, Lord?¡±


    I wave a hand. ¡°Messenger only.¡±


    What is my seed worth? How far can I push Clan Head Grimg? Will I make my seed produce results immediately? Once and done as it were? Product guarantee perhaps, if not pregnant, return to try again? That should raise the initial price. Bonus for males? Defiantly, although not all males. When I seed the Wild Ones, the same. Too many males from one source of seed would threaten my freedom. Now for Dorgrav¡¯s visit, who I am told is a messenger for Lord Torngul. Depending on what he requires. I tap my chin. Could this be exchanged for some decent armour and weapons for my additional guard? Yes, I nod to myself. The entourage to visit Clan Greenfriend will be me, several wives, and my extra guard, negotiating from a position of strength and security.


    I look up to see three sets of eyes on me and return a carefree smile. ¡°Come on then, my scribes, time for me to introduce you to your tasks. You will work from inside a tent, for now, a cottage and then an office in the manor. As such is the growing pains of a new clan.¡±


    ¡°We understand, Lord, and I am¡­ I am thankful you welcome me into your service,¡± my limping scribe says.


    ¡°Your name?¡±


    ¡°Solgia, Lord.¡±


    ¡°Well, Solgia, hop onto my back.¡±


    ¡°Lord?¡±


    ¡°I command you to get on my back.¡± I crouch down, and after a couple of tries, she settles, and I rise.


    ¡°Shiliga and Tigliga, Solgia and I will race you to the top of the hill. If you win, name your prize. If we win, I will allow Solgia to name a prize. Ready? Go!¡±


    Dashing through the long grass, I lead, then fall back, chase the two daughters, and circle them. Giggling reigns supreme as we approach the hill. We need to race around an extended length of dirt ditch, as wide and as deep as I am tall, at the base of the slope of the hill. The goblin work crews stop and gawk, shake their heads and resume their toil in my name. My legs power up the hill slope, leaving the daughters further and further behind. Looking up and near the crest, another ditch. Narrow and along the length, I spy several logs, sharp points on one end, bound, lying flat. I pause as a goblin commands a goblin and hobgoblin crew to pull the portion of a new log wall into the ditch. One-third of the log length disappears, leaving twice my height as a wooden wall. The crew shovels heavy soil into the ditch while some hold the wall erect.


    Distant giggling calls me, and I race after the daughters who have taken advantage of my distraction. Near the top, I catch and scoop up one daughter and then the next with my other arm, leaving Solgia to hold on by strangling me, and therefore all four of us arrive at the same time. I kneel and release the daughters while Solgia slides down my back. In the direction of the ford, the goblins have excavated the hillside to present a sharper slope. While construction is yet to begin, another palisade wall will be atop this peak and surround a modest bailey, serving as my manor. While wood isn¡¯t long-lasting, this is a compromise between something soon or nothing for a while. I am aware that the birthing time for the beneficiaries of my lust is approaching. My concern is the unknown valley-wide reaction, regardless of alliances now.


    Two female hobgoblins skip and giggle around me, while the third smiles and claps in time. Only now do I stop thinking about the future to enjoy the present.


    ¡°Three winners. What prizes would you ask for? I will try to grant them.¡±


    The two daughters pause in thought.


    ¡°Lord, you aren¡¯t tired?¡± asks Solgia.


    ¡°Young, healthy and fit,¡± I say, and her eyes fall on Shiliga and Tigliga, their faces glowing with sweat and chests heaving, drawing in breaths.


    ¡°If you say so, Lord.¡± She leans closer and whispers, ¡°I know I am not¡­¡±


    I lay down and prop myself up on one elbow. ¡°Name your prize.¡±


    ¡°Would you sleep with me, Lord? I know I am forward, but no male would ever consider me, and I see this as my only chance.¡±


    ¡°Do you wish to have a child?¡±


    Tears stream down her cheeks while her head nods with dangerous vigour. I place a hand on her cheek to slow her down. ¡°We will see what can be done.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    ¡°Us also, Lord. With child.¡± Two sets of bright, eager eyes stare at me.


    ¡°You are children yourselves. What would you know of parenthood?¡± I reply.


    ¡°We are eighteen and twenty, Lord. Our mother never allowed us to grow up, protecting us from many marriage offers. We aren¡¯t the prettiest we know, but our potential husbands found value, like you, in our scribe skills.¡±


    I glance at Solgia.


    ¡°They could be Lord. Once out of those sacks, they call clothes.¡±


    I roll to my feet. ¡°Enough of promises for now. Time for scribes to learn how to erect a tent.¡±


    <h2>---Thalgora, First wife of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°Your nominations?¡± I ask.


    ¡°What does he want them for? Aren¡¯t we enough?¡± says Zergoa, and she doesn¡¯t disguise her wounded pride.


    ¡°I believe my husband is preparing for a show. He wants them well enough trained to hold a sword without looking useless. He will depend on us to truly defend him if they attack him.¡±


    ¡°Ceremonial then?¡± offers Voria.


    Zergoa faces up to Voria, drawing her lips back to reveal the full height of her tusks. ¡°What? In the rags they wear and the wooden swords they wield?¡±


    My hands slam down on Zergoa¡¯s shoulders. She tries to shrug them off. ¡°They won¡¯t be competition for his loins, sister-wife,¡± I whisper in her ear and then release my hold before she turns violent.


    ¡°That isn¡¯t the reason,¡± she snarls.


    Voria chuckles. ¡°Speak for yourself. I must await his pleasure, so I need no more competition.¡±


    I follow Zergoa¡¯s narrowing eyes and turnabout as she now looks behind us. My eyes narrow as well while I grind my teeth. My husband is playing enjoyable games with three females on top of the hillock, seemingly without a care in the world. Shoving down any doubt, my hand caressing my growing belly, reassuring me of my value to him.


    ¡°How long? Thalgora?¡± A touch on my arm distracts my eyes from the fun on the hill. ¡°Thalgora, how long to go?¡± asks Voria. ¡°One season and some of another?¡±


    How long? What did the goblin midwife say? Two full seasons at least, even though I have shown so soon. Why I asked? Why? She wouldn¡¯t speak until I throttled her. I was so full of pride, my belly growing large and quickly. So easy to imagine the future warrior hobgoblin I would birth for my husband.


    ¡°At least two seasons, maybe more.¡± My voice is dead.


    ¡°That can¡¯t be¡­¡± The awe and shock in Zergoa¡¯s voice are a painful reminder of my impossible situation.


    ¡°What can¡¯t be?¡± asks Voria. Her innocent, na?ve question almost causes me to laugh with abandon, except I am too sad to.


    ¡°If I am carrying one child, it can¡¯t be.¡±


    ¡°You are carrying two?¡± With a tenderness I didn¡¯t think she felt for me, Zergoa¡¯s hands wrap around my upper arm, her eyes trying to find mine. I look away to hide my growing pool of tears.


    A hand grabs my tusks and forces me to look up. Usually, I would resist and resent such an assault. Usually.


    ¡°Why can¡¯t it be?¡± asks Voria, her eyes pleading for an answer.


    The words are stuck. If I say them, I must face them and my fate¡­


    ¡°Thalgora, First Wife of Lord Klar, is carrying twins. Without complications, this means long labour. For reasons unknown, there are always complications¡­¡± says Zergoa with authority.


    My hands cover my face. ¡°Three.¡± Try as I might, I can¡¯t disguise the flow of tears running down my cheeks, the salt taste on my tongue stinging my pride.


    P.S. If you read my story on any website besides Royal Road and Scribble Hub, the website has copied my story without my permission.

 2.035 The Plans of Others

    <h2>---Nudia and Koria Keen Eye POV</h2>


    ¡°Ten female hobgoblins in a steady jog head towards the woods,¡± says a goblin scout.


    I drag her to me, and we share a warm embrace. She is one goblin scout of several we sent out trying to determine the direction and strength of the attackers sent to capture or slay Lord Torngul¡¯s emissary.


    ¡°Is this the only place of ambush? Seems convenient,¡± says Koria in my mind.


    I withdraw my scoffing. ¡°There does seem to be a handiness as the effort to drive a road through the brush, compared to a slightly longer road around, makes little sense unless, like all others, there was a drive to make all roads straight.¡±


    ¡°Gather the others and lay an ambush in place, hurry.¡±


    The scout takes off, and I jog after her. The thirty goblins with me know what we need and work quickly to prepare the ambush site. I study the edges of the woods or bushland, searching for the hides. My Lord Klar enhanced eyes and the fact I know what I am looking for reveals the positions. All face outwards, ensuring excellent lines of sight on the surrounding grasslands. A screen of five scouts protects our rear and spy on the three we are covering. In the last report, they strolled along the path at their leisure, leading their riding beasts without a care in the world.


    Meanwhile, two lines of five female hobgoblins wearing matching green cloaks and iron skull caps jog ever closer to us. A few goblins wait on their bellies in the tall grass, although their positioning is a fair distance away. There isn¡¯t a path for the attackers to take, so the assumption was they would skirt the edges of the brush. This wasn¡¯t wrong once spotted, but we couldn¡¯t take the chance they would circle wide and rush the three riders from ahead. I imagine the three riders counter-charging to meet the threat, but then what?


    I draw on my bow, as do those with me. One hundred paces or thereabouts is the optimal range for our short bows. The strain creaks on the layers of glued wood, an encouraging crooning. As one, twenty-five arrows release on the line of five joggers closest. Groans and gasps, and then we draw again. A single shout and the two lines form a circle of nine behind shields, the tenth writhing on the ground an arrow through one side of her cheek and out the other side. The other twenty-four arrows yield no return.


    ¡°Allow me,¡± whispers Koria. Her presence dominates my body. My fellow ambushes await my command to release because more arrows don¡¯t seem to be a solution. I notice them shift about, sneaking sideward glances. Several arrows ¡®stuck¡¯ in our targets, and those targets simply swept the edge of their round shields across the shafts to clear them.


    I hear my bow creak on the drawing, as do others. Koria Keen Eye utilising my body releases. A wet thunk and one of the four facing us pauses and then topples backwards, the arrow¡¯s feathers sticking out of the hobgoblin¡¯s eye. The arrow threaded between the skull cap¡¯s bottom rim and the round shield¡¯s upper rim. I draw in a breath, as do those around me. My stomach dances with excitement as the mission goes from difficult to possible.


    Without a word, our prey shuffles to close the gap, yet Koria is quicker. Her next release is equally fantastic and surprising. Through the gap in the circle, her arrow flies into the back of the neck of a hobgoblin on the far side. The shaft strikes below the skull cap¡¯s rear edge, through the cloak¡¯s heavy material and above the edge of whatever arrow-proof armour they wear, which deflected our initial volley. The body falls away, causing a murmuring within the circle until one of them curses for silence.


    ¡°Let them wait for a while, as they are on an urgent mission and will need to move or fail. Our next volley will be at their feet. A difficult moving target, yet normally boots are made of leather.¡±


    While I am attentive to Koria¡¯s words, I also notice the cautious glances from my fellow ambushers. While we practice perfecting our archery, those two releases show an expert or master level of skill. Indeed, more than I have been capable of in the past. Added to this was Koria¡¯s drawing of the bow and arrow release technique. A subtle difference from mine, yet one fellow archers would notice¡­ and notice they did, given the results of the first release.


    ¡°I apologise. I have drawn too much attention on us?¡± Koria, of course, senses my concern.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know yet.¡±


    ¡°My ego. The second release should have simply hit the skull cap¡­¡±


    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    The cottage reminds me of the one we stayed at in Clan Hungry. Clay brick walls, eight outward radiating wooden beams supporting a thatched roof, thin cloth separating the main room from the bedroom, or more appropriately, the bed nook. The door is the sole difference, not of wood, hung hide instead, privacy without security.


    The crone greeted my arrival into the goblin village as a sign I was here to seed the few I missed. Not entirely true, but given the situation, I took advantage of her presence, acquired the supplies for my scribes, and sent them back to their tent on the hill.


    The hide door sweeps aside. Is this the last? I ask myself.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be so surprised, Lord.¡±


    The entry of the crone is a complete shock¡­ I manage a curt nod while dragging a cloth across my naked loins.


    ¡°There is another, but she refused, so I believe your duty is done.¡± The last word hangs in the air, an askance about it.


    There is no inclination on my part to indulge her. She can get what she wants second-hand. ¡°I will take my leave.¡± My strides are long and direct. I cast the door flap aside with a slap as I escape to breathe fresh air. I hear her quiet snicker, which drives me to further haste. My grim determination melts as a chill breeze reminds me I am short of my usual clothes. As I turn about to fetch them, I remind myself to find Luda and Izga. They need to be sent on a special mission. Spy on the crone tonight and find out who the hobgoblin is.


    I crash into a hobgoblin. Recovering first, I grab at him and save my victim from sprawling across the ground. Behind him, two females suck in a deep, whistling breath.


    ¡°I am alright, Lord.¡± His eyes look down and then up again into mine. ¡°Perhaps clothes first? Lord?¡± asks Dorgrav.


    As if on cue, the breeze picks up. One of Lord Torngul¡¯s bodyguards hands my fallen sheet to me. The slow extension of her arm coordinates with her and her fellow bodyguard¡¯s admiring looks. Allowing them their fun, I wait and, once surrendered, wrap the cloth around my loins and head back to the cottage.


    Once inside the cottage, I drop the sheet and wrap my loincloth about my nether reaches.


    ¡°Allow me, Lord Klar,¡± says one of Lord Torngul¡¯s Honour Guard.


    ¡°No, allow us.¡± They approach, licking their lips until both playful tongues settle on their tusks.


    I brace for accidental pampering. ¡°What are you doing here, Major Domo Dorgrav?¡±


    His face brightens, given my acknowledgement of his importance. ¡°Lord Torngul sent me on a mission. He thought because of his patronage of you and given the abundance of female hobgoblins, he was certain would be attracted to your service.¡± He draws a breath. ¡°You could ask if any wish to serve Lord Torngul. He offers a small stipend, room, meals, and at least one day of free time every six.¡±


    I look over my eyebrows. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be selling the deal to any of my followers I present to you? If any?¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t believe so. I believe Lord Torngul thought you would be more generous if I stated their service conditions first.¡± His hands fiddle.


    ¡°How many?¡± I need to crane my head around a bodyguard as she ties off the leather throngs of my shirt.


    ¡°Tw¡­ twelve, although seventeen would be appreciated. Erm, Lord.¡±


    Her hands pause and then resume. She didn¡¯t know, yet there didn¡¯t seem to be a secret about the requirement as Dorgrav spoke in front of them. Or does he lack the necessary awareness and caution?


    I stamp my foot into one boot and then the other while returning her smile as she crouches at my feet, holding my boots in place.


    ¡°Ladies, I assure you Major Domo Dorgrav will survive, but I need to scold him somewhat for his bold approach. Please leave us.¡±


    They both glance at Dorgrav for confirmation. The fear in his eyes is real, but he manages a nod of ascent. Lord Torngul must have him on a succeed-or-die mission, which means the Major Domo shouldn¡¯t trust anyone, including Lord Torngul¡¯s Honour Guard.


    Once the door flap sweeps back, I grab Dorgrav, who yelps and drags him to the bed nook. As he is about to protest, I shake my head.


    ¡°We whisper only. So, tell me the full truth before I strangle you.¡± A hand, feeble and slow, rises and points towards the door. ¡°I tell them only what they need to hear, as should you, by the way. Not the entire truth the entire time. Spill all you know before I throttle you.¡±


    He squeaks. ¡°Lord Torngul suspects spies in the manor. I talked to granny, who by means unknown knows who they are. Twelve, she says. But there are five more who are lazy, and she said we may as well kick them out while we are at it.¡± Granny? The old goblin who sat outside our room. Perhaps he senses my confusion. ¡°She was the one who kept an eye and ear on your room.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t leave him with many loyal servants to teach the new servants?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know a great deal about the how. He says he wants new ones, not tainted by Hobgoblin Town, the country bumpkins who can be trained. One who can cook would be handy. Another not afraid of the beasts, but the rest, young, will do.¡±


    ¡°Alright, stay here for the night, and I will fetch you in the morning to see if any are interested.¡±


    He glances towards the door. ¡°What about the Honour Guards?¡±


    I look about the cottage and smirk. ¡°Tell them to sleep on the floor while you take the bed.¡±


    He sniffs, and his mouth turns sour. ¡°You certain there isn¡¯t another less lustful smelling cottage?¡±


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    I almost take pity on him, almost. ¡°This or under the night sky.¡±


    His hands fiddle again, and he looks about at a loss.


    ¡°I take my leave, Major Domo.¡± His hands brush up against my upper arm, which I ignore. Once outside, I find the two bodyguards tending three riding beasts. ¡°He is ready for you.¡±


    I head towards the ford. Dusk is closing in, but I need to ensure Luda is ready to spy on the crone before then so she can secure a suitable position. Nudia/Koria would be helpful also, although I somewhat regret sending Izga on a spoilt-brat-minding mission.


    Overhearing groans and crumbles, I head south along the river. On the opposite bank, tents of hobgoblins. On this bank is a gaggle of goblins handling armour and weapons, occasionally dragging a piece to the river and returning.


    They fall silent as I approach, and Nudia stands up amongst them. Her frown clears, and she meets me before I have a chance to inspect their efforts thoroughly.


    ¡°Your spoils, Lord. The crone instructed us to clean them of blood and prepare them.¡±


    I smirk. ¡°They couldn¡¯t be adapted for goblin use?¡± I quirk an eyebrow.


    She returns a joyful smile. ¡°Not really, although on first look, you would think so. The metal armour is many fine links, while the leather is supple. Underneath is a heavy bedding-like layer. Our arrows were useless, Lord.¡± She leans in, while waving me to lower my head. ¡°Koria¡¯s archery, though, was their doom.¡± She bites the inside of her cheek. ¡°I am under suspicion, Lord, her archery skill superior to mine, and many now question and glance in confusion at me instead of offering congratulations. I know some told the crone about my great archery.¡±


    I pat her shoulder and straighten. ¡°We will sort something out. For now, what do you have for me?¡±


    ¡°Ten sets of quality armour, with close weave cloaks. Both are beyond this valley to craft. The leather armour and undercoats, while possible to be crafted here, are unlikely. Their swords and shields are good quality as well. One last thing, one survivor.¡± She flicks her head toward a tree, and in the shade, they splayed a female hobgoblin against the trunk. I assume her arms and legs are drawn back around the trunk and tied off. Her body hangs.


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Is she dangerous?¡±


    ¡°She survived an arrow through her cheeks and was left behind by the rest of the troop when they dashed to complete their mission. Koria suggested we target their boots, which we did, but it would surprise you how many arrows landed into open screaming mouths while they squirmed on the ground hanging on to their feet.¡±


    I look into her eyes, open my mouth, and then shake my head. Ten sets of armour, therefore nine slain. ¡°All of them but her?¡±


    Her face crumbles slightly. ¡°Volleys of twenty-five arrows, Lord¡­¡±


    My eyes forgive her while my hand caresses her cheek. ¡°Are you busy, or do you wish to assist?¡±


    ¡°Assist!¡± Her broad smile is a beacon.


    Black blood oozes from the matching holes in her cheeks. Her head rises as we approach. The tip of one tusk is missing, and two dry tear trails run down her face, one side missing the cheek hole, the other collecting.


    I am sure she swears or curses us. Unfortunately for her, any venom in the words is lost as the cheek holes distort what she says. A solution is at hand as I place two leaves to cover them both.


    ¡°How did I deserve this goblin bitch? Look at my face! My tusk¡­¡±


    ¡°Perhaps we could come to an arrangement.¡± Her eyes catch mine. ¡°I can¡¯t restore your tusk, but I am fairly certain I can mend your cheek holes.¡±


    She spits. A leaf floats away from a cheek, and I fold my arms. I think she tries to say sorry. What the heck, I go with that and replace the leaf.


    ¡°So, I assume you ask me questions, and on the outside possibility I believe you can heal my cheeks, I tell you all I know?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, sounds farfetched, doesn¡¯t it?¡± A causal nod of my head confirms my words. ¡°Why take a slim chance like that? Best you certainly stay as you are. My goblin friend and I will simply torture you until you tell us something useful.¡±


    ¡°Do you want me to fetch some sharp and pointy things, Lord?¡± says Nudia with an abundance of eagerness.


    I notice our captive shiver. ¡°Oh, look,¡± I say while pulling out a slim knife, a hair or two on the blade. ¡°This should work. I think we can turn those holes into an almost ear-to-ear smile.¡± I twist the knife back and forth while advancing with an evil grin on my lips.


    ¡°Cure. I choose the cure. You cut my cheeks anymore, and I will survive until I starve, unable to hold food in my mouth long enough to chew.¡±


    I drop all happiness from my face and glance back at Nudia. ¡°Such a shame.¡± I drop my knife-wielding arm and stow the weapon. ¡°What can you tell us? I assume you work for someone?¡±


    ¡°Who do you think most able to find and buy our armour?¡±


    While I suspect an obvious answer, I am not guessing. She needs to be telling. ¡°That is for you to answer.¡±


    A long sigh. ¡°Clan Head Krilzak Quickeyed, his merchants, travel the valley, and if something is out there, he is the first to acquire it.¡±


    ¡°And the plan?¡±


    ¡°All slain, their beasts taken as well, if possible.¡±


    My hand caresses back imaginary hair. Extreme! ¡°Slain?¡±


    ¡°Yes, they were on a mission to change things in the manor.¡±


    ¡°Spies?¡±


    Her eyes flash wide for a moment. ¡°Yes, spies. Not only his, of course, but he couldn¡¯t be selective, as all were to be turned out.¡±


    I wonder if Dorgrav blabbed, because I am missing how their mission¡¯s purpose leaked. ¡°Who found out?¡±


    ¡°Who found out?¡± Her face turns, and she frowns.


    ¡°How did Krilzak know his and other Clan Head spies were being replaced?¡±


    She tries to shrug and fails. ¡°Maybe the two Honour Guards escorting him told or grumbled to others about their mission, and Krilzak¡¯s spy found out and made more enquires. I am guessing now, though. Do we still have a deal?¡±


    ¡°Are you a virgin?¡±


    The question opens her eyes in a flash. ¡°Whoa, what sort of question is that?¡± she hisses. Suppressing the need to yell, yet still needing to convey her disgust.


    ¡°I need to administer the cure for your wounds, meaning I need to lie with you.¡±


    Her chest develops a rapid rise and fall. ¡°There aren¡¯t many males, you know, and training takes up much of my time. Then we must spar. Of course, they permit us time to sleep and eat, but beyond that, a morning here or there is all the free time permitted to us.¡±


    My chuckling rises as she lists her excuses.


    ¡°Shut up!¡±


    My hands pat the air. ¡°Calm down. You may scare someone. I understand. So, the short answer is yes.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she pouts, settling her chin on her chest.


    ¡°A few more questions.¡± She lifts her chin and stares at me. ¡°Do you wish to give birth, and if so, a male or female?¡±


    Tears spring from her eyes. She examines Nudia¡¯s face, which nods. ¡°Male, please?¡± she squeaks.


    ¡°Do you wish to enjoy our coupling or quickly done?¡±


    ¡°Enjoy?¡± The surprise in her voice is complete. ¡°Mother always cursed the male who took her¡­ savage she named him, not that he stayed to guide me into adulthood.¡± She closes her eyes, and nodding her head is enough confirmation for me.


    ¡°Free her. She will need time to recover.¡±


    ¡°As you wish, Lord. I will untie the knots, though, as the rope is of excellent quality.¡±


    What isn¡¯t of excellent quality? Perhaps a merchant will be my future vocation, I muse. A shape falls towards me, and I catch her upper body by instinct. Her panting breath fans my neck while a gentle mewing seeps out between her lips. I believe Nudia takes her time releasing the rope around her ankles, but eventually does. I hoist my prize on my shoulder and haul her further along the riverbank and deeper into the forest.


    I curse under my breath, and my prize shifts. ¡°Forgotten something, nothing for you to worry about.¡± I didn¡¯t tell Nudia/Koria to spy, and I didn¡¯t remind Luda. I hope at least Luda remembers, or best case, the crone doesn¡¯t meet with anyone tonight.


    ¡°Now remember,¡± I add. ¡°I can assist, but you must wish with all your heart, night and day, to want your mouth to heal. Will you do that?¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course, to rid myself of this wounding, anything.¡±


    ¡°Good. Don¡¯t forget. I don¡¯t like my seed wasted.¡±


    Her body shivers, hopefully in anticipation.


    <h2>---Goblin Crone, Keeper of Secrets POV</h2>


    ¡°Put me down. I dislike being your sack of goods,¡± I say, losing patience with him.


    I know he chuckles as his knees bend and I slide from his back. For this meeting, I can¡¯t trust the four who usually cart me about.


    ¡°When will your tribe suspect your long walks are for a different purpose?¡± he rumbles.


    ¡°Never, I hope.¡± My eyes penetrate the gloom sufficiently to guide him¡ªthe shadows and darkness in the northern forest after dusk beyond his hobgoblin¡¯s sight. The river gurgles in the distance, and while curious to know if he can hear the same or more, I resist asking the question.


    ¡°How did the ambush requested by your Lord go?¡±


    I grunt and then spit. ¡°Well enough, although some disturbing news.¡± I find a log and squat down, resting my aging bones. I expect my body to protest. Not a single twinge.


    ¡°What?¡± he asks.


    Was my surprise that obvious? His seed. Could that be the explanation? I feel the warmth rise on my face, yet he can¡¯t detect my blush as night conceals my embarrassment. I must confess and climb to my feet to face him, swallowing in preparation.


    ¡°I have taken a liking to his seed.¡± I release a deep breath and await his judgement. Silence. ¡°I sampled from the several females he serviced today and¡­¡± Why is this difficult? What does it matter how I obtained his seed? ¡°My body is not as sore. My bones don¡¯t ache as much.¡±


    ¡°This confirms a number of suspicions.¡± He turns away and paces. Is he rejecting me? The tribe? Is he turning his back on us because of my wanton indiscretion? I wander off to the opposite side of the clearing, my heart hammering in my chest. Am I running away into the night in case I die from this? To be all alone? ¡°The characteristics of his seed remind me of another¡¯s. Have you tasted his blood?¡± He swivels to face me.


    My heart stops. I hold my breath. Wait, how does he know where I now stand?


    ¡°You can see in the dark?¡±


    ¡°Yes. And hear as well, if not better than most goblins. Except for the ones who have consumed his seed, I suspect.¡±


    What does this mean? My mother and her mother and so on always spoke of our benefactor, keeping an eye on us but never staying long. He would seed our tribe in days past, yet my mother¡¯s generation was the last and always begetting goblins. Writings tell that initially, we goblins of Zoria Oath Keeper spawned hobgoblins, and equally, they all died fighting her. Or any survivors mercilessly hunted down.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± My voice squeaks because none of my ancestors has ever asked. Nothing has been written. The goblin tribe of Zoria oath Keeper simply reasoned we were special to have a mighty benefactor.


    ¡°How many times have I been asked, and yet, perhaps, near the end, your ears will hear the truth? Extasy and lament will be my gift to you if you ask to know one more time.¡±


    ¡°No, Lord, you mustn¡¯t!¡± Two voices rise from the shadows, and two female hobgoblins storm forward, bursting from cover. They must have been still as rocks; I reason to avoid detection. Or full of his seed. Does the seed just invigorate, or does it allow more?


    I focus on the two arrivals. They are almost identical, with long black hair, more muscular than lithe, tusks long and wide of girth. Their armour and swords are of high quality¡­ beyond the crafting skills of anything I have seen.


    ¡°Meet Yalozansia and Argrovsia, my bodyguards.¡±


    ¡°Lord,¡± they yelp while I fall back to land on the log. I am sure my jaw is working on speaking yet failing.


    The two of them rush to my side, one places a waterskin to my lips, and I sip. The other, with gentle strokes, rubs my back.


    ¡°I apologise. You, of course, recognise their names?¡±


    I nod in panic. ¡°They are the names of the two Oath Guardians who secreted Zoria Oath Keeper¡¯s baby son from her valley. It is because of them our tribe exists. How can they still live?¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t, unfortunately, and I am sad every time I think of them.¡± He thinks of them. How can he think of them? ¡°They are my daughters, their mothers, my former bodyguards. Their mothers, my former bodyguards, and so on.¡±


    He drops to his haunches before me. My head swims about in shock because of the implication. ¡°You¡­ you are?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Matriarch of the Oath Keeper Goblin tribe. I am the son of Zoria Oath Keeper, and you are the first to know and meet Xorbrim the Undying.¡±


    How? Why? Who?


    ---


    My face is wet as I flutter my eyes open. Above me hover three sets of eyes. The kind smile on the lips of one of them is a warm welcome.


    ¡°I knew one from my mother¡¯s lineage would not die from shock!¡±


    He chuckles. How can he now chuckle after almost killing me with this secret of his? ¡°How?¡± I croak from between thin lips.


    His kind smile demands my forgiveness, and my face softens despite my attempts to remain harsh.


    ¡°Most mothers would send their son off with a blanket and a favourite toy. Instead, she gifted me a barrel of Lord Hob¡¯s blood, pure, undiluted, and two young Oath Guardians to secret me out, tell me of my mother, and eventually become my wives. Then after one generation birthing hobgoblin females.¡±


    My head tries to comprehend. ¡°Over two hundred years, even Rexa is aged, they say, withering and wrinkled¡­¡±


    He caresses my shoulder. ¡°You forget she lived as an ordinary goblin for several years before consuming Lord Hob¡¯s blood. Diluted blood, in fact. Another gift from my mother to the one we all loath. While I, from birth, sipped at Lord Hob¡¯s pure blood and my daughters sipped to enhance themselves. While I protested and made the offer each time, they are sworn to protect, not to accompany me forever and refused long life.¡±


    ¡°So, it is true. Zoria Oath Keeper is our saviour.¡±


    He stands, yet I notice the tears form in his eyes. ¡°Yes, and no. She was alone in the beginning, a wife few knew about and not with child. The other wives of Lord Hob were more secure in their future, so she clung to Rexa. Zoria is the reason Rexa lived through birthing her hobgoblin son, Klugrath. Only when Rexa became a power-hungry First Wife did she realise her error. When grown, Klugrath raped my mother, which, unknown to him, produced me. My mother hid her pregnancy by secluding herself in the Oath Keeper Tower. Her disappearance suited Rexa also, by all accounts. Are you disappointed?¡±


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 2.036 The Deeds of Others

    <h2>---Goblin Crone, Keeper of Secrets POV</h2>


    Yes. I wish to scream and shout, but I hold back the urge with great effort. Can I tell my tribe our lineage is traitorous yet seeking amends? He squats on the ground, a deep sadness in his eyes as pooling tears threaten to overwhelm them and flow down his cheeks.


    My hand reaches out to his cheek. ¡°No. Your mother gave us a grand purpose. You have supported us for generations. I avow we are your mother¡¯s avengers, known or unknown to her at her death.¡±


    ¡°She knew.¡± Our eyes meet. ¡°In later years, Rexa suspected she had given the secret of Lord Hob¡¯s blood to others, and she had her son fetch her. Between the two of them, they tortured her.¡± His face flushes green as he forces himself to say the following words. ¡°Flaying her skin and then restoring her skin with Lord Hob¡¯s blood until she could take no more pain. Duzsia, Koria and Luda, I am certain, never knew their goblin daughters by Lord Farmer Hob gave birth to male Hob¡¯s after also being raped by Klugrath. My mother shared the secret of Lord Hob¡¯s blood so they could survive childbirth. Under pain of torture, she revealed this to Rexa.¡± He wipes his hands down his face and then swallows. ¡°Satisfied, she then ordered Klugrath to hack off my mother¡¯s head to ensure her death, Lord Hob¡¯s blood or not. She never found out about me but despises my mother for sharing the secret, which is why she hunts and slays all of Zoria Oath Keeper¡¯s line when found.¡±


    I grab at his two bodyguards for support. High emotion, low emotion, disappointment, and joy run through my aging body. My eyes search his sad face, and I chuckle. Then I laugh wildly. They suspect I have gone crazy, and yet the three wait for me to recover, which after a while, I do. Lord Klar¡¯s seed flows through me, and maybe this explains why an old crone like myself has survived his storytelling. ¡°She must know of you because without an heir, how would Zoria Oath Keeper spawn a linage?¡±


    I watch his face drop. He missed such simple logic, and in a way, I am glad. The long-lived aren¡¯t perfect, which is a relief. This also removes some of the aura of mystery around him, which makes him more approachable. Like everyone else, he is simply trying to do his best.


    ¡°What became of the three male Hobs of Duzsia, Koria and Luda¡¯s daughters?¡± I ask while he tries to recover.


    He glances at his two bodyguards. ¡°My protectors found or were gifted directions to Milga Stone Blood¡¯s settlement. A plateau of great height and isolation. Oath Guardians visited, but the only news they shared was the conquering of the southern valley by Rexa and Klugrath. Rumour was Luda¡¯s daughter rallied a goblin tribe and escaped to the mines, caving them in behind them. Since none have tasted the blood of her lineage, the assumption is they have perished. What became of the other two, I know not.¡±


    Have I tasted Luda¡¯s lineage? I can¡¯t remember for sure. Duzsia and Koria, I have, which means they survived somehow, somewhere. I feel a warmth, Duzsia the Relentless and Koria Keen Eye. Their bloodline still lives. Who cares about the nameless one?


    ¡°What now? Why do you reveal yourself to me now?¡±


    ¡°My seed fails, Matriarch. Many attempts to beget daughters from my daughters and nothing. Given the rumour and evidence, perhaps this Lord Klar and his seed, is more potent.¡±


    The shallow sniffling from both of his bodyguards doesn¡¯t escape my hearing. They would submit to another laying with them because they are Oath Guardians. He is their life¡¯s mission and for no other reason. They have not thought beyond the present. What will their daughters do to fall pregnant?


    ¡°Are you still undying?¡± My words are almost a whimper. Am I afraid of the answer?


    His head shakes slowly from one side to the other. ¡°My seed failing is probably the first sign. Physically I am weakening, but I believe I am still superior to most hobgoblins.¡± His hands wrap around mine, drawing them to his chest. I feel his strong heartbeat. ¡°Is this answer sufficient?¡±


    ¡°You are still the living son of Zoria Oath Keeper. This tribe and I would follow you into the jaws of defeat if you requested.¡± I climb to my feet, lean forward, and wrap my thin arms around his neck. My tears roll down my cheeks and splash on his shirt until damp.


    He rises with my arms around his neck. His hands grab my waist, and we are eye to eye. ¡°Matriarch, how do we secure Lord Klar¡¯s services for my Oath Guardians?¡±


    I bow my head slightly. ¡°Well, while I admit I am a glutton for his seed, I saved some for a future meal.¡± He lowers me to the ground as gently as a doting father. I grab two clay bottles from my robe¡¯s deep pockets and present them. He kisses my forehead and hands a bottle to each of his bodyguards.


    ¡°Now?¡± they ask.


    ¡°Perhaps I should get you both in the mood first?¡± he suggests with a cheeky wink.


    His recovery from heartbreak is rapid or perhaps another sign someone long-lived doesn¡¯t dwell on the present as they will have plenty of time to make amends or reap revenge as required.


    ¡°I will take my leave. We will talk again, I am certain.¡± I try to make haste and succeed. Surprising myself, I find an additional bounce in my step.


    <h2>---Nudia and Koria Keen Eye POV</h2>


    ¡°Our tribe know of Yalo and Argro, Koria. They are the most virtuous of all Oath Guardians, the saviours of Zoria¡¯s son. And her son still walks amongst us!¡±


    ¡°We must return and tell Lord Hob. This is our chance while they fuss over the crone and her fainting.¡±


    Yalo and Argro settle her body on a bed of leaves and wipe her brow with a wet cloth. Xorbrim the Undying observes without moving except to catch a look from Yalo.


    After a time, the old goblin wakes, and I inwardly curse Nudia. We could not retreat from under the leaves and from within the brush soundlessly enough to avoid detection from three sets of improved ears. I assume from observing his bodyguards that Xorbrim the Undying¡¯s seed is as potent as Lord Klar¡¯s for enhancement, at least.


    Internally we hug as we hear of Zoria¡¯s suffering, something she has never mentioned. As one sister to another, I must tell Luda of her daughter and her grandson, although I wonder about mine and Duzsia¡¯s grandsons.


    ¡°They are going to apply Lord Klar¡¯s seed?¡± I can¡¯t keep the thought quiet, sharing with Nudia, yet sense her equal feeling of desecration.


    The crone leaves the clearing, making a new way through the undergrowth because of her small body. Somehow, unless I am mistaken, she heads off on an almost direct route towards Goblin Town. Xorbrim and his bodyguards wander off arm in arm. I assume to find a secluded clearing in the forest to do their business.


    ¡°Now we leave Nudia.¡±


    There is dissatisfaction in her thought speech. ¡°Who said we needed to follow her tonight? Who? We wouldn¡¯t be here except for me insisting.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I know, and I am certain what we have learnt will satisfy Lord Klar. Why risk following them? You want to see how others have sex?¡±


    I feel her distaste. ¡°No, for after-sex talk. They will feel secure and in bliss, their tongues loose. He has lived for two hundred years at least, and his bodyguards haven¡¯t. Maybe he will reminisce?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­¡±


    The pain is brief.


    I float free of Nudia¡¯s goblin flesh. The bright light I know well draws me away from this world. A pulse of green, and instinctively I know Luda¡¯s spirit flies free, taking a different path. Sharing her body was intimate, beyond knowing or even possibly loving another. As she rises, there is no deviation. Therefore, I am confident she has no light to head to, no second chance. I fight and try to resist. The light draws me. I desperately search for Lord Farmer Hob, trying to grasp for and establish our shadowy, thin link. I continue to rise towards the light, and then like reaching the end of a rope, a tug holds my spirit in place, and I hover. Below, Yalo peers over Nudia¡¯s body.


    Secure because of my connection with Lord Farmer Hob; I reel in the tether to inspect. Argro and Xorbrim join her as she finishes cleaning Nudia¡¯s blood from her sword.


    ¡°Nice killing stroke, Yalo,¡± says Argro.


    ¡°Yes, well hidden, but light brush and leaves offer no protection from Stone Blood Steel.¡± Yalo sheathes her sword. ¡°Father-husband, how will the Matriarch take the news of her death?¡±


    He crouches down and pokes Nudia¡¯s head, which rolls free. Decapitated, and I can¡¯t scream or avenge her. ¡°She carried a Hob child, but the Matriarch thought her cockiness and reputation in the tribe exceeded her value. The Matriarch also thought her too close to Lord Klar, and given we find her here spying, confirmation. She, like several others, would not have survived childbirth when their time was due. Her death simply earlier. The tribes¡¯ purpose and unity take priority over individual whims and delusions.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t she move or otherwise try to escape my blade?¡± asks Yalo. Xorbrim and Argro exchange looks. ¡°Didn¡¯t she, as you have said, hold a certain reputation in ambush and forest craft beyond the fact goblin hearing would have at least given her some warning?¡±


    Argro waves a hand at Yalo. ¡°More like asleep, distracted, or her mind dreaming about Lord Klar and his potential reward for her spying.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps, truly odd though,¡± says Yalo.


    Argro faces Lord Xorbrim. ¡°So, our total loss is one Hob babe?¡±


    ¡°Yes. On her ride here, the Matriarch also mentioned how Nudia somehow gained an extraordinary skill in archery. Not an improvement, a great leap. An arrow in the eye, an arrow splitting the difference between the rim of a helm and Stone Blood chainmail hidden under a cloak.¡±


    The bodyguards share a chuckle, Yalo the first to speak, ¡°We can do that, Father-husband.¡±


    ¡°No doubt. Except she did this at an incredible range and the arrow missing bone both times, impaling the target.¡±


    ¡°What? Koria Keen Eye or Vuzsia Dead Eye like?¡± gasps Yalo.


    I shiver at their mention of my name. Do I truly live on?


    ¡°I would say more Koria Keen Eye like myself,¡± says Argro. Both Yalo and Xorbrim stare at her. She places her hands on her hips. ¡°Vuzsia¡¯s feats, if the tales told are true, were always close releases.¡±


    Argro slaps Yalo. ¡°What was that for?¡± she yelps.


    ¡°You forget the one hundred paces release at the last battle. Her arrow impaled the eye of Armour Hob.¡±


    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t. The Armour Hob, for reasons unknown, wore no armour unless you count his leather apron. No wind. The sun was behind Vuzsia and, therefore, in his eyes. She never repeated this feat. When she, like a few others of the remaining Flint Arrows, defended their lands, all did so with short range, stop and prop releases. To then dash away.¡±


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡°Are you saying Vuzsia got lucky?¡± retorts Argro.


    ¡°Wives, enough. Both archers are long dead, and while many have tried to claim their titles, none have. This means Nudia¡¯s feat, not once but twice, is beyond luck. The only explanation is Lord Klar¡¯s seed.¡± He shares an intense stare with both.


    ¡°Will you help us apply his seed, Father-husband?¡±


    He chuckles and wraps an arm around each of their necks. Yalo pauses, causing the three of them to stop.


    ¡°What about her corpse?¡±


    He winks. ¡°You and Argro can bury her after, assuming you have any strength left.¡±


    They slap his chest, and he chuckles. I declare I need to avenge my host, Nudia, especially since my pride placed her under suspicion. In her name, I endure their coupling and hope the reason we stayed, their pillow talk is worth her sacrifice.


    ¡°Well,¡± he asks. He lays naked on his back, their necks in the crook of his arms.


    They lower their eyes and whimper. ¡°His seed is virile Father-husband.¡±


    He chuckles. ¡°I am not threatened by a youth with vigorous seed daughter wives. The truth is more important. Perhaps we need another goblin so you can compare killing strokes?¡±


    Yalo faces him, a dazzling smile on her lips. ¡°Can I?¡±


    I notice Argro¡¯s body shiver as she turns towards Xorbrim. ¡°I have a feeling we are being watched, father-husband.¡±


    ¡°Far be it from me to ignore a wife¡¯s feelings, so ready yourselves wives for a hunt.¡±


    So much for pillow talk¡­ I didn¡¯t notice before, but as they dress, they don armour like the ten¡ªheavy woollen coat, chain, and leather. Concealing the chain between the coat and soft leather would suggest to any observers they wore simple soft leather armour, at best. As Nudia¡¯s archers found out, any chest hit, for example, wouldn¡¯t find flesh, maybe not even leave a bruise.


    They pat themselves down, and he inspects. As one, they stare through me or my presence. If I held a bow, I would have dropped it. If running, I would have tripped. As for a hovering spirit, I lose my concentration, and after a momentary loss of distance towards the light, Lord Klar¡¯s tether draws me back to him.


    <h2>---Luda, Goblin Concubine of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I shift my bottom again. There is a tree knot which, while ideal to hold me in my position in this tree, stabs at my bottom, putting the entirety to sleep. Settling again, I recall how I ended here, high on a tree limb, hoping tonight would be the night.


    I had to search for Lord Klar, didn¡¯t I? Special mission, he told both Izga and I and yet nothing except him on the hill erecting a tent with what I eventually found out to be his scribes. I didn¡¯t so much look as listen, the snickers of the goblins beside the river ringing in my ears as they pointed towards the forest beside the stream.


    As their snickering faded, her yelps of pleasure increased.


    He heard me approach, deliberate on my part, like a polite excuse me, perhaps. Anyway, him being naked, my sister-wives being naked, simply an acceptable normal. One more naked female neither here nor there, and I am confident he had finished more than once before my arrival, and I was right, of course. My single thought was wondering why she deserved his attention while leaving his wives wanting.


    She tried to hide by clinging to him, yet nothing could conceal the ugly holes in her cheeks. He suggested I venture into the northern forest early. Perch in a tree; the higher, the better and observe. There was also no need to intervene as the essential thing was to discover the crone and the hobgoblin stranger¡¯s meeting place if it existed. I paused, thinking I should say something. His attention returned to pleasuring her, so I left to follow his command.


    The sounds of the forest come alive as dusk descends. Nothing or no one draws my attention until night. Two of them, I am certain, their stealth almost perfect, yet a subtle scuff here, a heavy footfall there, and I can hear their progress. They need to rustle leaves. Cover? Camouflage? Then the dragging of a log for a moment, then nothing. The other one must have picked up the end of the log. I edge my head around the tree¡¯s trunk and push my face through leaves and foliage until my eyes spot them. They are female hobgoblins by the size of their breasts, nesting within a bowl of leaves and brush, like my position, their heads amongst the foliage. The difference, they are on the ground with a heavy log shielding them. In fact, most without basic forest craft would probably walk the length of the log and never know two lay in wait underneath.


    A male hobgoblin arrives in the small clearing under the observation of the two female hobgoblins, and a goblin slides from his back. The crone! It seems like my job of spying is done. However, I must wait, of course, for them to leave. To eavesdrop is effortless, though.


    Woah, Yalozansia and Argrovsia are his bodyguards. So? They saved Zoria¡¯s babe. He is that babe! Xorbrim the Undying. What a simple way to earn a name. Am I jealous? In a word, yes. Did the crone faint? Heart attack? They fuss over her until she wakes. Pity. Maybe her death would serve Lord Klar better. Oh, poor Zoria, all alone with Rexa, her only choice. My plan was best: returning to the Farm and caring for the bees. No, I can¡¯t tell anyone about the bees because she found me and while drunk on my mead, I betrayed everyone. Yet she said her mother, The Matriarch of the Grim Weavers, had a plan. I silent chuckle. Well, that plan didn¡¯t go well. Otherwise, we wouldn¡¯t be in the mess we are now.


    What did they say? Zoria saved Rexa from childbirth death! She is more a traitor than me! Somehow, my guilt becomes lighter because Zoria could have let Rexa die in agony and pain. We could have all avoided the miserable lives her living inflicted on us. Worse, while Zoria plotted for and against Rexa, the First Wife of Lord Hob declared my daughter a traitor, banished to eke out an existence in the Southern Valley with my grandson by Klugrath. A grandson I never got to see, let alone play with and help raise. I am certain I could have been a splendid mother yet denied by Rexa. I allow my tears to fall.


    I shiver. Torture, then Rexa hacked off Zoria¡¯s head. Is that the fate of all traitors? I must avoid that. I need to earn my name in this life. I must. Then, of course, there is the oath I made to this life¡¯s mother. She trusted me to see her daughter¡¯s name made famous. Her daughter¡¯s name, not my name, Luda¡­ I blot out the rest of the world for a moment. I didn¡¯t think about that consequence. I am Luda, yet this body belonged to another, and her name will gain any title I earn. Recalling my last lonely sunset, the bees buzzing around me after I freed them then as now, Luda, daughter of Zeb Stone Grim, will once again die without earning her name. I wish to feel the stings of my bees once again and find release.


    Wait, my daughter? She disappeared into the mines of the southern valley. Why do such a thing, foolish, desperate girl? None of her lineage? She perished in the dark, alone, starving. Did she pay for her mother¡¯s betrayal?


    Their words reach and alert me. Lord Klar¡¯s seed! The crone has no right to share, especially with those two. Let them feast on Lord Farmer Hobs¡¯ two-hundred-year-old blood. She is leaving. They leave, and then one of the bodyguards winks at the other and, breaking his embrace, they skirt the clearing. Both crouch low and weave their way towards heavy brush, a mountain of dry leaves on one side, which even now dances on the wind. I withdraw my head and push through the foliage on the other side of the tree trunk. The bodyguard who circled the shorter distance now stands in the brush, her hip holding back a long branch, sword drawn. She nods to the other, who draws her sword and steps boldly into the clearing again. A diversion? Lord Xorbrim the Undying remains where they left him.


    She swings her sword downwards, cleaving any thin branches until she strikes into the pile of leaves on the ground.


    A wet darkness sprouts from where she slashed. The darkening spreads. He hurries forward and looks down. A head rolls aside, and I catch my breath. I shove my hand into my mouth to prevent the horrific scream from trying to escape. My eyes sting. The face. I recognise the face. Nudia. Oh no, Koria leaves me alone again¡­ With effort, as if my life depended on it, I held back a sob while they chatted and celebrated. When did she sneak by me to lie in wait? Did my eavesdropping distract me? Why didn¡¯t she detect the hobgoblins and move or simply defend herself? Can Nudia and Koria argue and remain aware of their surroundings? I think I know the answer now and take a deep calming breath.


    A scuffle. I freeze. Another, closer. Do they know where I am? Don¡¯t look up, I inwardly chant. No, I recall now they did plan to get ready to make busy. The male promised to prepare the females to steal Lord Klar¡¯s seed. Their nest is beyond my tree. There is a minute window through the foliage, where parts of their writhing bodies show and then vanish. I don¡¯t relax. Gathering what little courage I have; I need to peer through the foliage as they have gone silent. The need to know where they are, overrules my good sense to stay still.


    Three sets of eyes meet mine. For a heartbeat, they lock me in place, and then I break free. How can they spot me? The distance, the foliage¡­ I strain my ears filtering out known noises, concentrating on their noises. Nothing. Do I risk another look? Their three sets of eyes haunt me now. I remember their intensity sucking out my very life. No, I can¡¯t look and wrap my arms about my chest. I rock forward and back. Will I die again before earning my name? Break an oath to a mother? Didn¡¯t I beg for a release moments ago? Traitorous though I am not, I am loyal to Lord Klar. I am sure there will be another time to confess and ask for Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s forgiveness.


    After a time, I couldn¡¯t stand not knowing any longer. If my fate is to join Nudia and Koria, so be it. I edge my face forward. With effort, I keep my eyes open. Somehow, I sneak a look and withdraw my head. Too quick, I admonish myself. My hands cover my face. I must remain hidden. No, I must know. I lean forward until the gap and force my head to stay. No sets of eyes, no hobgoblin male or female limbs or torsos. Where are they?


    Random noises in the forest are my sole company. My listening detects neither them nor anyone else, yet I remain where I am, safe on a tree limb.


    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    Stroking Thalgora¡¯s growing round belly amazing me every time. She demanded my attention this night in a frenzy of lust until sated. Exhaustion finally called her to sleep. As I close my eyes, there is a tug of annoyance. Like hearing a sound, but you know you haven¡¯t. I shake my head and close my eyes again. The annoyance grows until I believe my headaches, like the noise, are an echo. I doubt they happened.


    This game repeats until I sit up. The frequency of false feelings reduces but doesn¡¯t stop. I lay down, and immediately I feel an intense barrage of false feelings, ear buzzing and headaches. I sit up and then climb to my feet. The false feelings are still present yet tolerable. I fetch and dress in my clothes and head towards the tent flap. The false feelings are overwhelming and drop me to the ground. I squirm and crawl. The torment reduces. Holding my head, I crawl towards the bedroll and once again, my hearing and mind suffer a hammering. Withdrawing the intensity eases.


    Crawling in a few different directions rewards me with pain. The sole direction of relief is toward my armour and weapons. I can take a hint. The goblins carted all the cleaned weapons and armour to the top of the hill, and at dusk, my wives and I fitted ourselves out. Strapping my new sword to my waist, I take a tentative step towards the tent flap, and nothing torments me. Once out of the tent and into the night, I follow the only pathway down, passing the tents of my wives and concubines. After passing the first, the pain in my head drops me to my knees.


    Squeezing my eyes shut, I nod to whoever knows and mumble, ¡°Stop, I understand, don¡¯t go alone.¡±


    My tormentor approves of Zergoa and Voria to accompany me. Thalgora, I don¡¯t disturb, and Klaria must remain behind. My hunters, Gorgrin, Zoria and Duzsia, are away with the Wild Ones. Luda is probably sitting high in a tree, bored out of her mind, and Izga I commanded to look after a spoilt brat. Leading my wives across the ford, I am painfully discouraged from visiting Goblin Town and Luda. I discover the only pain-free direction is north along the river.


    Much to my regret, I miss taking a game trail, yet I make up for my mistake by backtracking. The buzz in my ear, my choice between my two punishments, becomes intermittent. The buzzing picks up as I follow the game trail. I take longer strides, and immediately my head explodes in pain. I crouch, and Zergoa and Voria join me.


    ¡°I believe we are here. Wherever here is, whatever here means. I believe we need to proceed with caution,¡± I whisper. I nock an arrow while Zergoa and Voria drag their newly gained shields from their backs and draw their new swords.


    Taking point, with Zergoa and Voria flanking me, we crab forward, crouching as low as we can.


    A slight buzz. Look left, another buzz. I look straight ahead, to be certain, another buzz. I swallow and look right, but nothing. There isn¡¯t a trail. Instead, broken-off twigs and branches signpost the way, unavoidable if the creature responsible was the size of a hobgoblin. Although the night air is cool, sweat runs down one of my temples. The three of us in a single file can follow without needing to break any foliage. I take point once again.


    I crouch in cover. My eyes scan a clearing ahead. Maybe the size of two goblin cottages in area. Zergoa leads, shield covering her crouching body and then Voria. As they break cover, I join them, my bow ready. There is another forced pathway into the clearing. Zergoa and Voria head towards the opening. A buzz sounds in my ear.


    ¡°Wait.¡± I scan the clearing and then the edges. Underneath a log, a bowl of tossed fresh and dry leaves, a couple of depressions. Further along the perimeter are a clump of dark leaves. I take a step towards the log and receive a buzz. I then change direction and, crouching, head towards the clump. Zergoa and Voria seal the other opening with their bodies behind their shields.


    I rummage around in the wet leaves and find nothing. Sniffing them reveals recently dried blood. Dragging my tongue across one, I taste, yet I don¡¯t recall any exacting flavour, if that is the correct word, except to know this is goblin blood, not hobgoblin.


    My mind immediately asks the question; Luda or Nudia?


    With purpose, I stride towards Zergoa and Voria, surprising both as I push passed them. I mean to end this mystery quickly and efficiently.


    Three empty bedrolls greet me. I check the warmth of the campfire, recent. Voria uses her sword to flick back a blanket while Zergoa crouches to study another. I scan the forest and receive a buzz. My eyes face the river.


    ¡°Zergoa and Voria, with me,¡± I hiss.


    The broken-off twigs and creased leaves are obvious to me now. The path is as clear as a road, and while I want to charge and slaughter, a steadying hand rests on my shoulder. I glance back. Zergoa bites her lip and shakes her head slightly. I take a deep breath. We make ourselves the living embodiment of stealth, our progress cautious and meticulous.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 2.037 Relatives - You dont get to choose them

    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    Our quarry, seemingly without a care in the world, faces the river, calmly tying off his loincloth.


    Without looking, he says, ¡°The youth, Lord Klar, I assume?¡± He bends over to pick up his heavy woollen overcoat. ¡°Oddly, I didn¡¯t hear you. Fortunately, a change in wind direction gave your scent away.¡± The coat over his body, he bends over and reaches for the chain. ¡°The Matriarch likes your seed, you know.¡± He flicks the mass of metal out and dives his head inside. A wiggle of his body, and the chainmail settles on the coat. Zergoa nudges me. She is concerned I am being mesmerised by his talk, allowing him to prepare. I shake my head at her.


    The green of his skin is a multitude of shades. Like the repairs have started, but his body needed the agents of repair elsewhere and therefore couldn¡¯t finish. Good muscle mass and definition are on display, and his body maintains a certain level of flexibility, as shown by how he so efficiently dresses in his armour. Although, this routine being familiar would also be a contributor. With his back to us, he is now lacing his leather armour. In between, he gives me a rundown on the Matriarch and the goblin tribe. Mainly self-congratulations on how he helps them from time to time, and they provide him with a place to rest. I assume all of this is to prove that we share a common interest in the tribe and are working towards the same goal. I use this time to plant my bow and several arrows nearby, then ready my shield and sword.


    He ties off his sword belt and swivels to face us. ¡°Three? You share the same scent. Therefore, I assume you both lay with him and absorb his seed.¡± His knowing smirk annoys, yet neither Zergoa nor Voria responds.


    ¡°Your name?¡±


    He cocks an eyebrow. ¡°I am not important enough to trouble you with my name, Lord Klar. After all, establishing a new Clan must demand much of your time.¡±


    I flash him teeth and tusks. ¡°Who did you slay in the leaves, and where is the body?¡±


    His thumbs rest in his sword belt, and he rocks back slightly on the heels of his boots. ¡°No chit-chat, straight to the point, yes? The rush of youth.¡± His head looks to the sky, yet I notice his eyes dart towards his shield and then return to focus on me. ¡°I have killed no one for many days, and I swear on my mother¡¯s life.¡± He holds a hand to his heart.


    True or false? If true, then he travels with others. His delaying tactics make more sense because even armed and armoured, his back to the river. To survive, three opponents would be a challenge. If false, he has ice water running in his veins. Such is the level of confidence he exudes or the acting skill he projects.


    ¡°A witness then? An innocent bystander who can identify the guilty party?¡±


    He scuffs his boot on the muddied rocks underfoot and, while doing so, edges closer to his shield. I sense the tension in Zergoa and Voria as they suck in deep, steady breaths to relax. ¡°Left, right now,¡± I whisper.


    One shuffle, a smooth sweep of his hand, and he makes a grab for his shield. As he looks up to sprint away, Zergoa awaits, sword and board at the ready, blocking him. Voria advances from the left while I advance to hold the centre.


    ¡°Leaving?¡± I ask. ¡°This Lord of this Clan¡¯s lands demands to know your name,¡± I growl.


    ¡°Xorbrim,¡± he replies.


    ¡°Lineage? I assume the old crone will have tasted your blood, you, being such a valuable ally of the tribe.¡±


    He pretends to chew for a heartbeat. ¡°Zoria Oath Keeper, of course. Otherwise, the Matriarch would have rejected me.¡±


    His relationship was beyond friendship, as he called her Matriarch while I deliberately described her as an old crone, and he took a moment to consider his response.


    An arrow strikes and hangs limp from his sword arm¡¯s shoulder. The arrow¡¯s force pushes his shoulder back, yet he recovers quickly, using his round shield to sweep the arrow away. Another arrow sticks out of his thigh, and a backward sweep clears the dangling projectile.


    ¡°Die you murderer,¡± screams a barely recognisable voice from on high, I assume in a tree.


    ¡°Is that Luda¡¯s voice, Lord?¡± asks Zergoa.


    I didn¡¯t answer, but I knew she would be near as I sent her north to spy. Initially, I thought the corpse could have been hers, but I told her to spy from height, not from the ground, so unlikely. Her mission was to observe from a distance and report back, which required her to survive. While the slain goblin could be anyone, in my heart, given Luda¡¯s arrival, I knew the blood was from Nudia. I want them to explain and tell them they didn¡¯t need to place themselves in such danger. To simply enjoy Nudia¡¯s cheekiness¡­ Remember, Koria, try to reconcile more of what happened. The storm of arrows allows me to recover, yet one final question bothers me. Why did Koria allow Nudia to creep so close to the meeting place? I will probably never know, and now I have lost both. They probably tracked or trailed behind the old crone and then, once reasonably confident of a direction, raced ahead, looking for a suitable meeting place. After arriving, they would have found a place to hide and watch from. Somehow, they were spotted and didn¡¯t know.


    Arrows continue to rain down on him. He crouches to present a smaller target, his shield covering more of his body.


    ¡°Can you call the archer off?¡± he asks.


    ¡°She names you a murderer and probably needs to vent some ill feelings towards you, which, when she arrives, will probably be a good thing, don¡¯t you agree?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t answer, and shortly after, the rain of arrows stops.


    ¡°I suspect you will meet your accuser soon,¡± I quip.


    ---


    ¡°One of his two bitches slew Nudia, Lord. No call to surrender, just¡­ just decapitation!¡± screams Luda. Her green skin glows while spittle flies from her mouth.


    He flashes a friendly smile. ¡°See, a witness and true to my word. I didn¡¯t slay the traitress spy.¡± His gaze homes in on something behind me. I assume Luda, and then his eyebrows rise. ¡°I suspect your goblin needs to confess herself, and I wouldn¡¯t want to¡­¡±


    ¡°Stay!¡± I growl as I look behind me. Luda cringes, bent over as if punched in the stomach, her bow limp in one hand, ready to drop to the ground instead of supporting her. Her last arrow falls from her other hand. My shield arm sweeps her to me, and childlike, her head hangs down. ¡°What have you done to her?¡±


    Again, he flashes a friendly smile. ¡°Me, nothing. I can recognise the heavy burden of guilt in anyone, and she has it bad.¡±


    I need to hold her up as her knees buckle. We discussed her mother. All forgiven. We are away from Hobgoblin Town; she is amongst other goblins and free, as my wife, to roam amongst hobgoblins. What am I missing? Now is not the time. She will need to endure while I deal with this Lord of Zoria Oath Keeper.


    ¡°Surrender or my wives will make you.¡±


    He scrutinises Zergoa and Voria and smiles. All I want to do is wipe that confident, friendly smile from his lips! ¡°Three against one, and you may have been a challenge boy, two females against me? I will take my chances.¡± His sword twirls, a combination of wrist and grip manipulation, a show to intimidate. He charges Voria on his left, leading with his shield. At the last moment, she squats, leans back and then throws her foot out, clipping his ankle. She ends up on her bottom, helpless, while he sprawls forward. He twists his body and places his head behind his shield for protection as he crashes into the stone and mud of the riverbank. Zergoa¡¯s sword slides across his throat as he climbs to his feet.


    At about the same time, I feel cold steel rest against my throat.


    ¡°Sorry, Lord, I have failed you,¡± whispers Luda, her tearful eyes searching for and finding mine.


    ¡°Yes, I didn¡¯t think we could sneak up on a Lord and his pet goblin, but today has been full of goblin surprises.¡± The shrill voice of my captor rings in my ears, full of victory.


    Another adds, ¡°I propose a trade, your Lord and his useless goblin for our Lord?¡±


    Voria climbs to her feet and brushes off clumps of mud while sizing up the interlopers. Zergoa disarms her prisoner while I feel my jailor draw my sword free.


    He sits on his shield; I notice as he greets those behind me. ¡°Your timing is perfect, my daughters.¡±


    ¡°Yes, father, a howling, screaming goblin shouting murder before dawn is certain to attract attention.¡±


    ¡°What say you, young Lording, a trade?¡±


    Crap, crud and curse his entrails. Is there another way out? Will I have to let him go? What is the price of his vanity? ¡°How about a fight to the death?¡± I offer, somewhat grasping for a solution. Zergoa and Voria have enough presence of mind and trust in me to hold their tongues. My captor, though, sucks in a deep breath. I command my nanorobots to prepare for speed and agility.


    ¡°Death is serious business? What is in it for me?¡±


    ¡°I mean to slay one of your daughters for the death of Nudia. Decapitation would be my preference. I would think the easiest way to achieve that justice would be over your dead body.¡± My turn to smile. ¡°If you slay me, then the three of you walk free. I swear it, and my wives will uphold my oath.¡±


    Zergoa interrupts, ¡°I believe they owe you two lives, Lord Klar. The life of Nudia and her unborn Hob child.¡±


    ¡°Good point. I will claim the lives of both of your daughters once I slay you unless you slay me first.¡±


    At least his smile fades as he glances behind me. I don¡¯t know what the difference is between losing one or both if he is dead and unable to mourn or celebrate their lives. Perhaps the end of his line? Yes, a plausible explanation. With one alive, his lineage would continue. He is of Zoria Oath Keeper lineage, and yet given his concern, perhaps he is more.


    I niggle. ¡°If you put up a stout fight, my wives could persuade me to execute only one of your daughters and breed the other to replace the lost babe.¡± The cold steel on my throat presses, and I feel a rivulet of my blood snake down my throat.


    ¡°Such confidence in one so young.¡±


    I detect a nervous tremor in his voice. ¡°Do you accept or decline?¡± I raise an eyebrow. ¡°On my Clan Land, we will always know you as Xorbrim the Craven if you decline,¡± I smirk. ¡°I will ensure the tale of your cowardice spreads far and wide.¡±


    ¡°If you survive, young Lord,¡± he replies. His fake smile attempt fails this time. ¡°How do we proceed? Trust?¡±


    ¡°Lord Klar!¡± calls a masculine voice. Distant and yet close. My eyes search the opposite bank of the river, and I spy Gorgrin waving his axe wildly above his head in the pre-dawn. Five wild ones flank him on either side. I wonder in an instant where Zoria, Duzsia and the other wild ones are, but any answer would also inform my unwelcome company.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°You are running out of time, Lord Xorbrim, as I suspect my servant will bring me reinforcements and tip the odds in my favour.¡±


    ¡°Yes, your hunters. Warriors, they aren¡¯t.¡± His upper lip curls. ¡°At most, they will get in the way and pay with their lives. Otherwise, they will scream when they witness the first spurt of a companion¡¯s blood.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps. Let us conclude this. If your daughter returns my sword, I will advance on you as you will advance on me after the return of your sword.¡±


    He climbs to his feet and positions his shield on his arm while holding out his hand for his sword. All this time, his eyes never leave me. I hold his gaze without flinching. Without hesitation, we advance. He doesn¡¯t charge, and neither do I. We do the time-honoured circling dance, feinting with our swords and raising our shields to block as required. His movements quicken, and I speed up my own to match and meet his strikes. Sweat builds up on both of us as dawn rises.


    I flick my sword towards his face. He leans back and drags his shield up to deflect my stroke. I halt and drop. My shield edge strikes the top of his boot and then up to block his return strike. His grimace is reward enough, his limping retreat confirmation.


    Allowing him a breath, he rewards me with a quip. ¡°Nasty trick.¡± He tries to stretch out his foot to relieve the pain, his level of success unknown to me as I press forward, leading with my shield, sword on high, seeking an opportunity. He retreats, trying to buy himself time. Our shields clash, and swords meet. I feint with my sword, trying to stab his foot and he jumps back using his shield arm for balance. My shield edge slants forward and strikes under his chin. This draws blood and a shout of pain. My speed is superior because of my nanorobots, or more especially, my command of them.


    ¡°Slay him, Lord, so we can execute the murderer of Nudia,¡± screams Luda as I catch sight of her pacing behind me.


    Looking up at Lord Xorbrim, I instead notice his daughters briefly reach and squeeze each other¡¯s hands while standing behind him. He launches a sword and shield attack, which, on most, would have placed the defender in a tight spot. I meet his sword with my shield and turn my body enough to avoid the snake-like strike of his stabbing sword. His eyes open wide while his sword and shield drop their guard slightly.


    ¡°No one can move so fast.¡± He throws his shield off his arm, and his sword shortly follows with a clatter. ¡°You have been playing with me, revealing enough to thwart, but in reality, you could have defeated me at any time. What are you?¡±


    ¡°I am Lord Klar, and you and your daughters are my prisoners. One of you will die for the murder of Nudia, a Zoria Oath Keepers tribe goblin.¡±


    Luda jumps about, clapping her hands. ¡°Justice! Justice for Nudia!¡± Zergoa and Voria disarm our three guests, taking the extra step without asking to bind their hands behind their backs. From the brush beside the river, several tens of wild ones rise and advance towards us, bows drawn. From within their ranks, Duzsia the Relentless and Zoria Oath Keeper emerge, and I open my arms in welcome. They each hug and release me, to stand on either side.


    ¡°Where is Nudia¡¯s body?¡± I shake one of his daughters by her tusks.


    The other answers for her, ¡°What does it matter? Wolves or other wild animals have probably dragged her away by now.¡±


    I slap the smart grin from her face. Her head snaps about, and she loses a tooth. My other hand still holds her sister. ¡°I will make this easy for you. Answer the question, or your smart-mouth sister will die now. Where is Nudia¡¯s body?¡±


    With my eyes, I try to drill into his daughter¡¯s soul.


    ¡°Why do you welcome an agent of Rexa into your arms, Lord?¡± asks Xorbrim.


    All greeting celebrations end, and silence awaits my reply. I thought Duzsia¡¯s body was a bounty hunter, although a sidekick and a pathetic one to the male bounty hunter, yet Xorbrim recognises her.


    ¡°She is an agent no more.¡± Yet, I know my grip on his daughter¡¯s tusks relaxes slightly as the question catches me off guard.


    ¡°Rexa and her Priestesses brainwash their agents. She will betray you, Lord. I witnessed this done before.¡±


    Zoria breaks free of my embrace and faces Duzsia¡¯s accuser. ¡°I am pure Oath Keeper blood, and I say she is loyal to Lord Klar, and that is the end of it.¡±


    With the lapping of river water as a backdrop, Xorbrim and Zoria stare at each other.


    I feel a tug on my arm. Luda is crouching at my feet, and I would need to bend down to hear her whispers. Do I? Or should I intervene in the staring competition? She tugs again, and I bend down to join her.


    ¡°Xorbrim is Zoria¡¯s son, Lord. Among the Oath Keeper goblin tribe, they know him as Xorbrim the Undying as he has been suckling on Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s blood since he was a babe, and his two daughters are also his wives.¡±


    I straighten and drag Zoria back into an embrace using my sword arm, force-marching her and Duzsia at pace and away from the accuser of one and son of the other. I trust Zergoa and Voria to guard the prisoners. There are also over fifty wild ones. Not all of them, then, so I hold on to some hope the rest are still out hunting. Is hunting really important now? I ask myself. The tangle of relationships I have discovered swims about in my head until they are a whirlpool of irreconcilable conflicts. Blood, blood will need to be spilt to settle this, and I will be the poorer in the end.


    ¡°Zergoa, take one of his daughters and ensure the Wild Ones find and recover Nudia¡¯s body, please.¡±


    I continue to walk along the riverbank with my shield arm around Duzsia and sword arm around Zoria. I need time to think, although I note that the headaches and ear pain have gone. Have I done everything as bid, or is the agent behind those afflictions now satisfied and returned from where they came from?


    <h2>---Izga, Concubine of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°Give me a dagger, at least,¡± she hisses.


    My eyes are on the threat, yet if I don¡¯t answer the foolish farmer¡¯s hobgoblin, she will protest louder, regardless of the danger. ¡°No. As a helpless pregnant female, they will capture you. As a dagger-wielding hobgoblin, they will see some fun.¡±


    Five female hobgoblin leather-clad huntresses, long knives in sheaths on their hips, each with an arrow nocked in their bows, thread their way through the forest a short distance off. The concern is they are following a two-day-old trail. Our trail, well, to be more precise, the trail of a farmer, the pregnant one who moments ago fretted and then a heartbeat after argued, she required a dagger.


    ¡°What are you going to do with your share of the reward?¡± voices one of them.


    ¡°Quiet back there. The trail may be old, but that doesn¡¯t mean they aren¡¯t about.¡±


    Thankfully, their loose chatter had alerted me to them earlier, my mind on hunting game for dinner while my prisoner asked twenty questions about her future.


    ¡°Are you afraid those five will capture you and take you away? Never to be seen again?¡±


    Her bottom lip trembles. ¡°Of course. Why would you ask such a thing?¡±


    ¡°So, if I told you, you must stay here, hidden under leaves and branches, to be safe. You would stay until I killed them and returned?¡±


    Her eyes dart towards the distant five shadows and then at me. ¡°You swear to return. You won¡¯t leave me here¡­ not knowing?¡±


    I grab her shoulders. ¡°You know how we always left our camp in a roundabout way?¡±


    She nods, remembering.


    ¡°Well, they aren¡¯t. But I need to be there to take advantage, and I work best alone. You understand?¡±


    She nods again. There is a resignation in her eyes, and I hope this is genuine, not me seeing what I want to see. I point to the hollow between the tree roots and scatter dead branches and leaves over her after she settles herself.


    With a nod, I circle away until I pick up their trail.


    ---


    Ahead, the leader signals a halt. Then she points at one and snaps her hand to the left. She repeats and sends another to the right. They slink through the undergrowth, the sunshine unable to outline them as they keep to the shade. She signals another forward, and she keeps to the trail. The last, a surprise, she swivels about and almost catches me out. Left, right and central, with a lookout towards their rear, which means the leader must be archery over watch.


    I wait for a scream. There are three chances.


    My back is against a tree trunk, the bow ready, arrow nocked. The blood-curdling scream sounds and I step around the trunk. The rear lookout turns her head to look over her shoulder, and I release. As my first arrow flies, I reach for another upright at my feet, nock and wait.


    The lookout chokes out a scream as the arrow pierces her chest. The leader glances towards her, and as she raises her head to follow the arrow shaft back to me, my second arrow impales her chest. She stands for a moment, and I doubt. Then her bow drops from her hand, and she stumbles backwards. I nock another arrow while charging down the rough trail.


    The lookout coughs out black blood, her eyes wide and tearing. If she is not dead now, her death is inevitable. Stepping around her, I find the leader¡¯s bow. I drop into a crouch, and my eyes scan the woods.


    A rustle of leaves and I dive away in the opposite direction. A short sword swings down, and the blade embeds into the tree root I crouched behind with a thunk. In a prone position, I release my arrow. Her mouth wide to scream swallows my arrow instead. I would have been proud of my aim at any other time, except we were barely one body height apart.


    Another scream sounds out, and I consider luck is on my side. I set one trap along the trail, walking it repeatably to give the false impression of use. Then set a trap on either side, assuming that others would run to aid the one trapped. The other traps I set around the camp on obvious paths of approach. My hope there was, as others ran to investigate the victim on the main trail, the other traps would strike them down. Only on the main trail leading into the camp did I set a deliberate trap for any rescuers.


    Keeping under cover and avoiding the trail, I ease my way forward.


    ¡°Don¡¯t leave me.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t be long, and if I can get help, the two of us should be able to pull you out of the pit. Keep binding your feet.¡±


    With her footsteps thumping in my ears as she discards stealth for haste, I time the swinging of the tree branch to perfection. My sudden appearance and the follow-through swing after springing from behind the tree trunk are artistry. My position wasn¡¯t far from the pit trap, but on an obvious path, she would need to take to run to help the other screamer.


    I throw my lump of wood away and stare at her unconscious body, her face in bloody ruin, admiring my effort. I snap awake and bind her wrists and ankles and then continue her journey for her.


    Hanging upside down, one ankle in a loop of rope, the huntress tries again to crunch her abdomen and swing her long knife at the rope. I could, of course, release her to fall, but where would be the fun in that? She is tiring. With a scream of determination, one almighty effort and her blade parts the rope, and she falls, landing hard. She shakes her head. My knife, shortly after, rests across her throat.


    ¡°Are you going to make me kill you, or will you behave yourself?¡±


    Her eyes blink. ¡°I will behave.¡±


    I tie her hands behind her back and push her forward until we reach the bloody-faced huntress. She drags and carries her companion until we reach the pit trap, and I peer over the edge. In a corner, two feet in bandages, squats a hunched-over hobgoblin, the pit stakes surrounding her like prison bars.


    I hear her noisy approach. Even the tied huntress beside me does. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you stay where I told you to?¡±


    ¡°There were screams¡­ I thought if you were in trouble, I could help.¡±


    ¡°To hear those screams would require you to follow me,¡± I retort, trying to hold back my anger. Lord Klar would be extremely disappointed with me if she died, yet she doesn¡¯t heed my advice.


    ¡°I waited a while¡­ I knew you would hear me otherwise and send me back. I only wanted to help¡­¡±


    ¡°Stupid marks like yourself are why we usually succeed,¡± says the huntress at my feet.


    ¡°Well¡­ not stupid¡­ your chit-chat warned us of you, so there!¡± her childish response.


    ¡°Mazgia? Is that you?¡± echoes the voice from the pit, with no trace of pain in her voice. ¡°Ouch, crap.¡±


    I peer over, and she is trying to stand. Why? I check on Mazgia, who doesn¡¯t speak, which is unusual. Tears flow down her cheeks. Her bottom lip trembles when she notices me looking, and she points towards the pit.


    ¡°Mor¡­ Morgia?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sister. I didn¡¯t know we hunted you, honest.¡±


    Mazgia wipes the tears from her eyes. ¡°You know why I cry, sister? You know why?¡± Strength returns to her voice.


    ¡°I said, I didn¡¯t know. You must believe me. We are twin sisters! Our bond is forever.¡±


    The huntress on the ground glances up and nods. To herself, I believe, but her confirmation is good enough for me.


    ¡°Is she a rival? Do we slay her now and leave her corpse as a warning to others?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± yelps Mazgia and Morgia as one voice.


    I feel like slapping some sense into her, but I refrain. ¡°Your father exiles you, asks, bribes, or makes your sister pretend to be you. He has second thoughts and decides you are better off dead than alive, and he asks your sister to do the killing but sends help with her to make sure of the job. How am I doing, Morgia?¡± I notice the huntress at my feet squirms ever so slightly. Is there more?


    After a pregnant pause, Mazgia peers over the pit¡¯s edge and asks, ¡°Well, sister, was that the plan?¡±


    I kick the huntress at my feet. ¡°The rest of the plan now, or I¡¯ll throw you into the pit.¡±


    ¡°We were to capture Mazgia. Ask Morgia to slay her, and when she refuses, follow their father¡¯s orders and murder both. But we wouldn¡¯t. We would have sold them into slavery instead¡­ twins, you see.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± yelps Mazgia and Morgia as one voice.


    The huntress wiggles and twists, her eyes searching. ¡°What have you done with Arggsia and Qilroga?¡±


    I quirk an eyebrow. ¡°Your leader and her companion?¡± Her sorrowful nod expects the worst. ¡°Dead by now, I suspect.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t need to kill them. They had ransom guarantees on them, as do I and Shazzola. We are worth more alive than dead.¡±


    I bend down until our faces are a hand¡¯s width apart. ¡°I prefer my opponents dead. That way, they can¡¯t seek revenge.¡±


    I catch her movement, but the best I can do is grab at her leathers. As I fall into the pit from her leg strike, I take her with me. A twist and I hold her underneath me as we fall, and a black, bloodied stake erupts from her chest when we stop. Morgia rises, hobbling towards me, and my knife is out, shooing her back.


    ¡°While I am down here, do you want me to finish Morgia?¡± I flash Morgia a predatory smile, and she sinks back into her corner.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so. I need time to think. Can you get out of the pit?¡±


    I slice off the tip of a stake closest to the wall and make a jump for the wall. My fingers don¡¯t grab the edge, but a foot lands on the top of the stake. Limbering up several times, I then spring for the lip of the pit, scrambling until my elbows rest on the edge. I then swing my torso, so my foot grabs the edge, and I roll. Climbing to my feet, I spot Mazgia pacing and hear bloody face moaning.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 2.038 Brutal Solutioning

    <h2>---Izga, Concubine of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    Her indecision suits my purpose as I complete a stretcher, two long skinny tree trunk lengths with cross pieces to keep them separate. The leather armour of the dead threaded over the long lengths to provide the bed. Bloody face watches my every move, remaining silent with a dark green growing black bruise developing across her forehand. The weep of blood slowing to nothing some time ago.


    ¡°Fetch a rope. Time to rescue your sister.¡±


    Mazgia stops, pivots, and stares at me. ¡°I haven¡¯t decided yet¡­ Death is so final.¡± There is a tremor in her voice.


    I climb to my feet. ¡°Lord Klar will decide. Now, fetch the rope.¡±


    ¡°Am I going to die like the rest of my companions?¡± murmurs bloody face.


    ¡°You will be useful. Stay useful and you will live longer,¡± I retort.


    After bickering and then bartering, we trek through the forest at night towards Lord Klar Clan¡¯s hill. Morgia strapped to the stretcher, Mazgia on the rear arms, and Shazzola on the front arms of the stretcher. Whatever supplies and booty I choose hangs from those arms or lays across Morgia, while I keep a step slightly behind Shazzola, whispering her directions and cautions. She questioned how I could see in the dark and I hinted to her questioning wasn¡¯t being useful.


    After countless rest breaks, we find ourselves one more group, although smaller than most gathering before Lord Klar¡¯s hillock. The assembly is like the first day, yet a more organised disorder, as many made their way towards where they thought they should be.


    As the three accompany me limp and complain while closing in on the hillock, the hum from the chat of many already there grows. Purely because of our arrival or by coincidence, Lord Klar rises from a large throne-like chair and spread his arms out over the crowd, gesturing for silence. At his feet, bound and gagged, a male and two female hobgoblins. My sister-wives stand in a semi-circle behind my Lord in full armour, swords drawn, while off to one side the old crone squats in her carriage box, arms folded.


    Given the grim faces on most standing there and the three captives, not a celebration then, I assume.


    Lord Klar eyes the gathering and I like to think our stretcher isn¡¯t the only reason his gaze lingers in our direction.


    ¡°We are here to witness justice,¡± he begins. ¡°We will hear from both sides, the accusers, and the defenders, and then I will pass judgement. As Lord, my word, is final.¡±


    Oh, that is different. As Lord, he should simply do what he believes is right. Why allow others to sway his mind or cloud the path towards the obvious result? After all, those of simple mind won¡¯t understand the intricacies, better to make simple statements, like the prisoner did this and now dies. Everyone learns then the consequences if they repeat the prisoner¡¯s crime. All this does is to allow the prisoner to deny their guilt and appeal to any of those with weak minds for salvation. When Lord Klar arrives at the obvious conclusion, the weak minds will hold doubt. Every time Lord Klar holds such an event, this doubt will grow. The innocent will deny because they aren¡¯t guilty of the crime, but what does that matter? It is the lesson to the others, which is important. The guilty will deny because they want to avoid paying for their crime, yet they get this unnecessary chance to voice their denial and, therefore, spread unhelpful doubt. No good can come from this, I am certain.


    Luda speaks first, which I didn¡¯t expect. ¡°I witnessed one of Xorbrim¡¯s wives slay by decapitation, Nudia, while she lay in the forest. One of Xorbrim¡¯s wives led Zergoa to Nudia¡¯s decapitated body. Xorbrim and Lord Klar fought to the death to determine guilt. Xorbrim surrendered instead to avoid his fate, so he must pay now. Both of his wives¡¯ lives belong to Lord Klar, one for the death of Nudia and the other for the death of her unborn hob, babe.¡±


    Luda¡¯s green complexion glows with rage, yet her voice, while certain and strong, holds a passionate, even temper throughout.


    Whether on her own initiative or because of a signal from Lord Klar, the old crone rises from her carriage box and ambles along until she finds an agreeable centre. She glances at Xorbrim and then turns away to face the sea of faces, goblin, and hobgoblin alike.


    ¡°Nudia¡¯s ambush of the assassins sent to slay Lord Torngul¡¯s emissary, a remarkable feat of never-before-seen display of archery. How was this sudden and miraculous improvement in skill possible?¡± The old crone shuffles to the left. ¡°Why was Nudia laying in the forest? That question needs an answer.¡± The old crone spreads her open hands at her hips. ¡°Because she was a spy!¡± the old crone raises her voice, and the gathering listens. ¡°She was in the forest, full, no, overflowing with confidence to the point she didn¡¯t believe herself ordinary. She didn¡¯t believe herself one of us.¡± I notice her eyes linger on her tribe, the Zoria Oath Keeper goblins. ¡°Did she answer to a different master?¡± The old crone shuffles about for several moments. I suspect she waits for the slow thinkers to catch up to her line of thought. With a sudden snap of her arm, she points at the male hobgoblin. ¡°Xorbrim, like any other placed in the same situation, slew his skulking enemy. Her actions proved herself an enemy of our tribe as none of our tribe sent her out to spy.¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± a shout calls from the crowd of goblins, others follow and then one speaks, ¡°Her archery kills suddenly Koria Keen Eye like! Her actions, nocking an arrow, drawing back the string, her grip, not hers. I should know I trained her like I did many in our tribe. She was as if another controlled her actions.¡±


    Murmurings grew louder, worse, agreeing head nodding spread across the many, especially the goblins. Lord Klar¡¯s smile fades from his face. My hands grip the handles of my daggers and I witness the same apprehension in the eyes of my sister wives.


    The murmurings clarify into words¡­ ¡®she was a spy,¡¯ ¡®spies deserve death,¡¯ ¡®she wasn¡¯t Nudia any longer,¡¯


    Lord Klar stands. Only now do I realise his height, his stature as his hands wave downwards, signalling calm. Stubborn at first, the talk amongst the crowd quietens. Has Lord Klar lost the confidence of the crowd? Of his subjects?


    ¡°So, all believe Nudia, once a courageous and clever protector of tribe Zoria Oath Keeper goblins, is no longer of your tribe and therefore her death of no concern?¡±


    Agreeable goblin voices backing her, the old crone speaks, ¡°Yes Lord, she is no longer of the Zoria Oath Keeper tribe. Her death is just reward for her crime of spying.¡± Even from this distance, I sense perverse satisfaction in her voice, so Lord Klar will certainly detect the same.


    ¡°No!¡± screams Luda. ¡°She was our sister.¡± Luda points at Xorbrim, wrist and ankles in bindings, sitting on the ground at Lord Klar¡¯s feet. ¡°He slaughtered her. He deserves death. He fought a duel to the death and instead of dying, threw his weapons away like a coward to survive. Lord Klar, Xorbrim deserves the death he avoided through cowardice, while his sister-wives deserve whatever mercy you grant.¡±


    There is a gleam, a twinkle in the old crone¡¯s eyes and, like a killing blow I know is coming, which I can¡¯t avoid the downward swing of, I wait for her retort.


    The old crone now points at Luda. ¡°Your sister, your spy!¡±


    Simple words, easily repeated and easily understood. The goblins quickly take up the chant and crowd forward.


    ¡°Quiet!¡± growls Lord Klar. The crowd obeys. The old crone¡¯s jaw drops.


    ¡°Lord Klar,¡± appeals Luda. He stares her down, not only into silence, though. Her body loses all will and wilts until prone and out of my view.


    Nudia belonged to no one. The goblins accepted her death because of their suspicions of her. The crone¡¯s words confirming this rejection of her. Luda, in her emotional outburst, claimed her as one of ours. Your sister, your spy.


    ¡°Nudia was, as far as I knew, still a member of the Zoria Oath Keeper tribe. Like all those who belong to the tribe of Zoria Oath Keeper goblins, you are my slaves, my property and only I hold all rights over my property. Xorbrim slew one of my slaves without my permission. When offered noble combat to decide his guilt or innocence, he fled his certain death.¡± Lord Klar''s eyes linger upon the old crone. ¡°Therefore, Xorbrim and his wives are mine to do with what I will. This judgement is final, as is my right as Clan Head.¡±


    The goblins step back while around me, the Clan Beastbane ferals, nock arrows and advance.


    Xorbrim throws his head back, issuing full, bellowing laughter. He stops once he gains everyone¡¯s attention. ¡°You forget, Lord Klar, my surrender to you was because you, like Nudia, aren¡¯t ordinary. As a veteran of many battles and a survivor, I don¡¯t apologise for wanting to live instead of dying. But!¡± Somehow, he rises, straightening his body, perhaps. ¡°For a youth, your prowess with a sword is exceptional, beyond what it should be, otherworldly, in fact. I surrendered instead of facing certain death from an impossible foe. So, who are you, Lord Klar?¡±


    Slit his throat, Lord, why do you hesitate? This is like a bleeding wound, which only a killing blow can stop.


    ¡°I am Clan Head. I order all my goblin slaves back across the river and to remain in their village until I need them.¡±


    The goblins search for guidance from the old crone. She dallies, not indecisively, more like calculating. Does she give up the field or press the confrontation? Perhaps she values this Xorbrim more than any think, what did Nudia overhear? What does Luda know about him?


    Given a signal I don¡¯t see, Duzsia the Relentless, Zoria Oath Keeper and Zergoa step forward to position themselves behind Xorbrim and his sister-wives. Lord Klar whispers, Zoria Oath Keeper and Zergoa swap position, so Zergoa now stands behind Xorbrim.


    The old crone motions to turn away and then pauses. I, like her, wonder why Lord Klar swapped Zoria and Zergoa? Aren¡¯t his wives all equal? What is better about Zergoa guarding Xorbrim? Or is reverse thinking required here? What is bad about Zoria guarding Xorbrim?


    She waves her goblin tribe back, waiting for them to turn away and slowly recede from earshot. Lord Klar¡¯s hobgoblins relax and calm settles over the camp. I nudge Shazzola forward and we begin our climb up the hillock when I freeze.


    ¡°Know, Lord Klar, Zoria Oath Keeper¡¯s tribe will never suffer the death of Xorbrim. He is, unknown to many, our protector. For generations, he has guided us. You hear me, Lord Klar, generations. His true name is Xorbrim the Undying. He is the son of Zoria Oath Keeper, and he will not die today or tomorrow and, slaves or not, we will rise up to avenge him if you take his life.¡±


    As she turns away, she, like everyone else, hears Zoria¡¯s dagger drop loose from her hand to land in one of Xorbrim¡¯s wife¡¯s lap. She then leaps on Xorbrim, wrapping her body around him. Zergoa and Duzsia, the quickest to react, try to pull her off. Yet, shortly after they give up, once they realise she isn¡¯t trying to kill, instead she is being protective. Xorbrim tries to resist, failing. His daughter-wives lean their body weight into Zoria, which she ignores. Zergoa and Duzsia soon right both and hold them.


    Luda rises, her face blank instead of in surprise. She knew!


    The old crone cackles. ¡°I will leave our guardian in your wife¡¯s devout protection and affection.¡± With that, she ambles away, occasionally snickering to herself.


    Lord Klar and his wives, including myself, gather around Zoria and the three prisoners.


    ¡°Thalgora and Voria see to the training of our future hobgoblin army. Likewise, Klaria, see to the tilling and planting of the fields before the opportunity passes and we all court starvation.¡± His grim face accepts no rebuke, and the three named leave to gather their charges and continue his long-term plan. Zoria climbs to her feet, her face glowing green. ¡°Gorgrin, lead out the wild ones and continue hunting. By the end of this day, the aroma of seared game needs to overwhelm everyone¡¯s nostrils.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord,¡± he says and as quick as can be gathers the wild ones to him and leads them towards the forest.


    Xorbrim¡¯s smile is never ending as Lord Klar speaks, and I wish for nothing more than to widen it with my dagger.


    ¡°Xorbrim,¡± says Lord Klar, grabbing our attention. ¡°Choose one of your daughter-wives.¡±


    Zoria¡¯s eyes fill with tears, while Xorbrim¡¯s face freezes. Awakening to the peril in Lord Klar''s cold harsh words, he slowly shakes his head from side to side.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Zoria displays a certain affection for you, but such a condition doesn¡¯t extend to your wives and even if it did, I would make her choose. If you don¡¯t choose, both will die gurgling on their own blood.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to do this,¡± he gasps. His first display of desperation?


    ¡°Why don¡¯t I need to do this?¡±


    ¡°They¡­ they are the direct descendants of the two Oath Keepers who secreted me away as a babe, who chose mortal lives and the birthing of heirs to protect me. They are of equal unlimited value to me.¡±


    ¡°Their loss then, one or both, at least equal to the loss of Nudia to me?¡±


    His head lifts. ¡°She was your spy, then?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I reply. ¡°Luda was my spy. Nudia was but a keen amateur as her death proves,¡± says Lord Klar, a sadness in his voice. ¡°Now, choose.¡±


    His head sways. ¡°I cannot.¡±


    The sliding of Lord Klar¡¯s dagger from its sheath is loud in the silence. The morning sun rises. We can hear Thalgora and Voria shout orders on the wind, the distant wail of the riding beasts as they pull at ploughs and yet we know, familiar sounds or not, our husband has drawn his weapon.


    For whatever reason, Zoria hovers near Xorbrim, yet she glances at both of his wives. She wants them all to live; I realise.


    ¡°Release me, Lord Klar. I will lead them away, the three of them. The goblins will fall into line, and you can complete what you have started,¡± begs Zoria.


    ¡°What makes you think you can convince them without revealing truths best left alone?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Her hands drape across his shoulder. ¡°I can¡¯t give up this chance, Lord.¡±


    ¡°Come,¡± he says, and we all follow. Duzsia and I drag Xorbrim¡¯s wives by their collars, while Lord Klar drags Xorbrim with Zoria, all the while playing nervously with her hands. A dead looking Luda tags along. Making our way through the hobgoblin tent village, the rushing river a short time after flows before us.


    Lord Klar leaves Xorbrim by the shore, while calling Zoria to him as he steps into the river. The reverse ceremony is quick and as Lord Klar breathes life into our former sister-wife, I realise our bond is no more. She spits water out of her lungs and splutters back to life to live out her days in the body of Briksia, the last of her line from the Southern Valley. Duzsia hands off the collar of Xorbrim¡¯s other wife to me as she leaves my side to approach Zoria. A last farewell, perhaps, although I didn¡¯t think they were especially close.


    ¡°You performed the Klugite Priestess ritual. How do you know of it? What is truly going on here?¡± says Xorbrim. His head cranes about searching for an answer in our faces after finding none in Lord Klar¡¯s.


    ¡°The body of Briksia belongs to another,¡± says Lord Klar as he faces Xorbrim down.


    ¡°No,¡± I yelp in surprise, drawing life into even Luda¡¯s dead eyes.


    Duzsia doesn¡¯t stop at drawing her blade across Zoria¡¯s throat. To the horror of us all, she continues until she holds Zoria¡¯s head by her hair, free of her body, which slumps back into the rushing water of the river. The corpse polluting the river with a stream of black blood.


    ¡°I told you, you can never trust an agent of Rexa! Zoria spoke in her favour, defended her, and look at her reward,¡± says Xorbrim.


    ¡°Why?¡± asks Lord Klar.


    ¡°She will reveal anything to convince him, regardless of any promise. I learnt long ago secrets are best kept, not shared.¡±


    Luda, for reasons only known to herself, edges away from the river. Is she in shock? She stumbles.


    ¡°I am the one at risk, not you,¡± says Lord Klar while staring at Zoria¡¯s dead eyes. Duzsia senses his focus and flings Zoria¡¯s head into the river.


    ¡°Risk?¡± Duzsia tilts her head. ¡°You play this as a game. You summon us to your side, and we are your loyal wives. I, for one, am diligent in this role, yet if we don¡¯t finish what needs to be done this time, I assume there will be another summoning?¡±


    In the brief silence, Xorbrim opens his mouth to speak and then slowly closes again. The furrowing of his brow signals his confusion, given Duzsia¡¯s double speak. Her talk, though, seals the small nagging voice inside of me which always doubted Lord Klar could summon my spirit back to him after the death of my body.


    Lord Klar approaches Duzsia and relieves her of the bloody dagger. ¡°What I am building here is to ensure her end, I assure you.¡±


    ¡°Then why release Zoria? Why not instead simply slay these three, destroy the goblin slaves when they find out, or slay them in their beds before then and continue?¡±


    ¡°Zoria needed to reconcile her past without my ownership shadowing her. I thought to give her that chance. As for the goblins, I don¡¯t wish them ill and they could be valuable allies in the battle ahead.¡±


    Duzsia turns away from Lord Klar and kneels beside the river to wash her hands, exposing her back to him. Deliberately I wonder? When he doesn¡¯t move, she says, ¡°Softness will not hasten us to our goal. Revealing our secrets will endear no one to us. They will shy away in fear instead.¡± She climbs to her feet and swivels about. ¡°You are all powerful, and yet you entertain those beneath you. Grab your power, rally those who would listen to you, and go crush her.¡±


    ¡°Do we know where she is? The number of those loyal to her. Her enemies?¡±


    ¡°Who is ¡®the she¡¯ you are referring to,¡± snaps Xorbrim. His frustration plain. The snippets of information from eavesdropping were not enough for him to put any pieces together. Given I am one of Lord Klar¡¯s wives, even I struggle to follow their debate. Lord Klar swivels to face him while Duzsia strides forward until she stands beside Lord Klar, hands on her hips.


    Lord Klar and Duzsia exchange glances while he hands her bloodied dagger back.


    With a flash of impossible speed, Duzsia stabs at Xorbrim twice. The image of his gaping eye sockets burn themselves into my memory as his body falls back. I feel his daughter-wives tense. They are trying to comprehend the death of their father-husband as am I. Shortly after; I hold the collars of flopping heads, their throats cut deep given the spurting of blood, but not severed as their spines continue to support their skulls.


    ¡°You can let them fall now Izga.¡±


    I hear his voice, yet until his hands touch mine, I can¡¯t move. As the body¡¯s fall away, Duzsia takes her sword to them, the one perfect swing shearing through both necks, their heads flying towards the river to land with a squish on the shore.


    ¡°Luda. Pick up their heads,¡± says Lord Klar. ¡°Luda! Isn¡¯t this what you wanted?¡±


    She pushes one of her feet after the other and collects the first by her dark hair and then the second, releasing them beside the headless corpses.


    ¡°Now, tell me of your third guilt before I throttle you,¡± he demands as his fingers squeeze and release around her throat.


    ¡°I am to blame.¡± Her words are soft, yet my superb hearing picks them up. I realise his seed and blood have made me into someone more than I could have dreamed of. The price? Follow him, without question. ¡°She got me drunk on mead. My mead. From the honey of my bees. I enjoyed tending to my bees. Of all your loyal wives, I was the last, without a name, alone. She made her quest sound not only exciting, but righteous. Yet, I knew secrecy was best.¡± Her eyes search out Duzsia, who nods in agreement. ¡°My mead was for others, not me, and as I drank more, her words made more sense, so I told her. I told Kor where we hid the Flint Arrows¡¯ ancient armour. When I recovered from my stupor days later, the news came of Rexa¡¯s victory. Her son wearing an armour, which made him impervious to harm. An armour, which sealed the fate of everyone.¡± Her shoulders slump and any energy in her body flees.


    Lord Klar staggers back while releasing her. Duzsia runs to comfort him, while I stand, my mouth wide open. The tales talked about Rexa¡¯s champion. In many a battle, he would be the sole survivor, his fighting prowess and his faith in Lord Klug supposedly protecting him from harm. The truth is more real and terrifying, invulnerable armour. Is our mission hopeless?


    Lord Klar is weakly shaking Luda when I finally collect myself.


    ¡°If you told Kor, how did Rexa end up with the armour?¡±


    Luda wasn¡¯t present. Her flopping head proof enough.


    ¡°Leave her be Lord, our business is across the river,¡± says Duzsia, a cold hard edge to her voice.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we gather others first?¡± I say, my stomach a ball of nerves.


    She giggles, like a child. ¡°As a recent wife, you underestimate Lord Klar¡¯s full battle prowess.¡±


    He stands on his own two feet. ¡°You think me capable of slaughtering pregnant goblins?¡±


    ¡°But Lord, they will always be disloyal. They will revenge the death of Xorbrim.¡±


    ¡°No. The old crone and possibly her second in charge are the key. Xorbrim was her secret. She waited for the tribe to leave before announcing him to us. So, her death will remove that threat.¡± His hand grabs at Duzsia¡¯s tusks. ¡°But if not, then we will do what we must do.¡±


    She forces her head forward and nuzzles into his chest.


    ¡°Each of us, grab a corpse, stuff the head into their clothing, if necessary, as we must drag their bodies away from the hobgoblin tent village and find a depression or dig a burial pit. After all, when we spread the rumour of Zoria¡¯s betrayal, how she snuck in and freed them to run away with them, no one can find their bodies and spoil the tale.¡±


    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I shiver as I dress in my armour. The swim across a narrow fast-flowing river, naked except for a loincloth which the current threatened to take every stroke still vivid. Yet, not as stark as watching Xorbrim¡¯s body rapidly decay before our eyes once Luda decapitated the corpse. I suspect the overloaded nanorobots finally gave up. Even with his eyes out, they fought to resurrect him. A legacy benefit of over two hundred years of sipping Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s blood, my blood. Which raises another question. Where did they keep their stash? Too late to ask them now, I muse.


    Izga is the last. She dangles from the rope strung across the river, nudging her bundle of clothes and armour before her.


    An elbow jabs at my ribs. ¡°What are you staring at, Lord?¡±


    The joy in Duzsia¡¯s voice is infectious and I reply, ¡°Admiring the wife with easily the best naked body of all my wives.¡±


    She tackles me to the ground and shortly after, Izga¡¯s wet and shivering body joins us in play. Luda crouches a way off and my hand beckons to her. She shakes her head. I try again.


    ¡°Izga, go grab Luda.¡±


    Luda jumps to her feet and looks about to search for an escape. She gives up. We are here in secret. Where can she run to?


    After our tumble, I ask Izga to go point, with Luda remaining firmly by my side. Duzsia ranges out before us, yet behind Izga. The plan is simple. Find the biggest tent or building. Those who knew for certain are now all corpses. Perhaps hasty slaughter has a downside. My inner hob roars back to life with a strong and defiant no. Long time old friend. Time to swing my blade more often than not.


    We considered simply walking in, but inquisitive goblins would probably gather to us. Another variation was a possibility, but there wasn¡¯t a reason for Lord Torngul¡¯s emissary to return, hence stealth. Luda took pains to warn us. What about the many goblin ears? Impossible. I hoped for some sort of miracle which we got, kind of.


    The building furthest away from the river were abandoned. Our first surprise. The biggest building was in the centre of the goblin village, not unexpected. As we darted from empty cottage to empty cottage towards the village centre, we discovered the reason. Hearing her speak before seeing her.


    ¡°I have set discord within our Clan Lord¡¯s house. Either he will need to spill blood or at the very least one of his wives will trade in her loyalties. More I can¡¯t say.¡±


    Several shouts of ¡®how do you know¡¯ and ¡®explain¡¯ go unanswered.


    Under Izga¡¯s guidance, we take a path to the back of the biggest building in the village. Or hope being this is her residence. The clay between the logs is fresh, the cement-like mix between the foundation bricks likewise. With our new stone blood steel swords, we dig out the cement from between the bricks where they meet the logs.


    ¡°Don¡¯t leave the village until told we can as our Lord¡¯s mind is frail, possibly far from stable,¡± she announces and then chuckles. ¡°He is in a state of shock, not grasping the extent of his true power.¡±


    ¡°Are we leaving?¡± shouts a voice.


    ¡°Net yet,¡± her reply. ¡°If possible, we will leave with his blessing. Him willingly releasing us from slavery.¡±


    Cheering.


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I cannot say yet am hopeful.¡±


    ¡°What of our warriors?¡± shouts a voice.


    ¡°Silence,¡± she calls. ¡°Now, back to your cottages and wait for further word. None leave the village.¡±


    The leather hide door flaps aside. I, like my wives, tense as we lurk in our respective hiding places because, unlike most leaders, she doesn¡¯t gather a great deal of goods and luxuries about her. There are robes hanging from pegs in the walls, several hanging rugs, some wooden chests, a prominent chair in front of a firepit and multiple beds with privacy curtains around them.


    ¡°Are you certain all we need to do is wait?¡± asks a male voice. Familiar. The one who introduced me to the tribe and requested I seed them.


    ¡°Yes. You weren¡¯t there. One of his wives threw her body around Xorbrim, seeking to protect him. Most odd, yet useful for us if she abandons Lord Klar.¡±


    There is some scuffling about. ¡°What of our warriors?¡±


    ¡°The signal has been sent. It depends how far away they now ply their trade, so we must bide our time.¡±


    ¡°Numbers?¡±


    ¡°I tire of your questions. I have no answers for you, as the return call has never been given before.¡± Even I hear the exasperation in her voice.


    ¡°Over one hundred though, surely?¡±


    ¡°At least, now go. Ensure all remain in their cottages, as we need to wait out the change I have put into motion.¡±


    ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡±


    ¡°Shut up and join the old crone. I want to ask some questions,¡± hisses Luda. She wanted to do this, confront the crone. A goblin-on-goblin confrontation wouldn¡¯t, I believe, cause alarm, and Luda would have many reasons to pursue the crone and her avoiding detection ¡ª understandable.


    ¡°My dear girl, one yell from me, and your life would be forfeit,¡± snarks the old crone.


    ¡°Not before I slit his or your throat, perhaps both. So, sit down, both of you, on the ground.¡±


    Duzsia didn¡¯t want to play any games. Quickly in, slaughter, and then out. The out was always going to be the challenge I explained to her.


    ¡°Ask your questions, girl.¡± The crone¡¯s voice is tired and basically fed up, by the sounds of it.


    ¡°Who is Xorbrim, truly? No one can live for two hundred years.¡±


    The crone chuckles. ¡°He is the son of Zoria Oath Keeper and to be such, he is over two hundred years old. You either believe this or you don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Why did you abandon Nuda? She was a sworn member of your tribe?¡±


    ¡°Lord Klar¡¯s seed seduced her,¡± hisses the crone.


    ¡°Like you?¡± retorts Luda.


    ¡°Never!¡±


    ¡°Is that why you don¡¯t use a walking stick anymore? Does gobbling his seed explain how you are now able enough to climb into and out of a carriage? There is also a spring in your step which hasn¡¯t been there for years, I suspect.¡±


    ¡°Grandmother?¡±


    ¡°Oh, shut up. What about it? I made a small sacrifice to better serve my tribe. Something the likes of you won¡¯t be able to understand.¡±


    ¡°What, so the returning goblin warriors will see a spry crone? One capable of leading the entire tribe, not simply the pregnant females?¡±


    This was our chance to get valuable information, the other questions asked and answered to a large extent. What would the crone reveal now that Luda shared her consumption of my seed with her grandson? Him shocked by her action.


    ¡°They would need a firm hand. They roam far and wide, slaughtering at the behest of others, and now must serve the tribe. If Lord Klar denies us freedom, I am certain four hundred goblins screaming for hobgoblin blood will convince him it would be easier to release us instead of dying under their swords.¡±


    ¡°Grandmother¡­¡±


    His words stick in his throat as I stroll into view, discarding the cloth partition from around one bed as I rise from the necessary squatting position.


    ¡°I thought I smelt a certain stink, Lord Klar, but your pet goblin¡¯s arrival lured me into a false sense of knowing the source.¡±


    She leans one hand on her grandson¡¯s shoulder, preparing to stand. ¡°Stay. Now be a good crone. I would have some questions of my own.¡± I approach her and her grandstand, looking down on both.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she huffs.


    Luda shifts to one side, making way for me, the crone ignoring her as I lean forward.


    Luda¡¯s dagger plunges into and remains sticking out of the old crones eye. My wife catching her body as the life inside extinguishes. Her grandson opens his mouth and Izga¡¯s dagger draws a black line across his throat.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 2.039 My Plans

    <h2>---Gorgrin, Blood Oath Follower POV</h2>


    ¡°What do we have here?¡±


    The crowd of the wild ones separate before the commanding tone of my voice. Two female hobgoblins, neither in armour, argue with Durrilsia, while a third, strapped to a stretcher on the ground, tries to shout over both. The stretcher carries more than a hobgoblin with bandaged feet. Multiple sets of armour and weapons lay across the frame, prizes from battle, perhaps? I double-check, glancing at the one on the stretcher and finding her face again on one of the two standing. On hearing my voice, the third tries to shove her way clear, her frantic eyes darting about, searching for a way out through the circle of wild ones hunters and failing, of course, as they push her back towards me.


    ¡°The twins accuse the third of being an assassin. The Lord¡¯s sister-wife Izga slew the other assassins, which is why the stretcher holds more than a body, and she returned with the surviving assassin so the Lord could ask her questions,¡± reports Durrilsia.


    I glance up at the hill, and the huddle of Lord Klar and his wives continues. Interrupting may not be in my best interests, mainly because we must hunt.


    ¡°Durrilsia, pick two who use a knife or dagger well and leave them with me.¡± I point out two in the crowd. ¡°Ty the hands of both to the arms of the stretcher, so they behave while we find a place to hold them until Izga returns.¡±


    The captives protest, of course, until I slap them. I need to wipe the blood off the back of my hand after slapping the accused assassin across the mouth. She is lucky I didn¡¯t aim high to open the bruise on her forehead. The twin cringes and slinks across to take her place at one end of the stretcher. The other still has some fire in her but allows the Lord¡¯s wild ones to tie her hands.


    Durrilsia returns and presents two mid-age females. I nod, accepting her judgement.


    ¡°Lead them to the hunting grounds of yesterday, and I will catch up once I have found a place to hold these three.¡±


    ---


    Circling the hill, the hobgoblin tent village comes into view. The warrior and farming hobgoblins have mustered out to do their duty before my wild ones or perhaps resuming where they left off before being called by Lord Klar. The tents are empty. Not a single hobgoblin wanders about as neither Thalgora nor Klaria tolerate absence. While searching at one end, I notice Lord Klar and his entourage arrive at the other. They are dragging the three prisoners into one of the larger tents.


    Do I wait?


    They make my decision for me as the entourage exits the tent one by one. Duzsia, Izga and Lord Klar each have a prisoner hoisted high on their shoulders. Luda seems to be in some daze as she dusts their tracks leading away from the tent. I swallow. Covering your tracks can mean several things, yet it is best not to gain a sense of curiosity when a Lord does so.


    ¡°What do you think that means?¡± asks one of my wild ones escorts.


    ¡°That we should unsee what we just witnessed,¡± I reply, trying to make my voice dry and flat. ¡°Come.¡±


    I lead them towards the downwind side of the tent village. Once beyond the last tent and amongst the beginnings of the riverside forest, the stink of the latrine trench reaches my nostrils, which means we are close. I stroll away from the stretcher and signal the two wild ones to join me. After they arrive, I point back towards the stretcher, which their eyes instinctively track towards. My dagger catches the first wild one below the rib cage, and as she falls, gasping, she draws the attention of the second. My now withdrawn, bloodied dagger strikes upwards, stabbing from under her chin.


    The assassin, her eyes, previously following my every step, no longer looks over her shoulder. As a witness to both of my murders, she now pulls and twists her hands to loosen the bindings. The wounded patient twists and turns her head, attempting to see behind her and try to understand why her twin sister is in silent shock.


    As I approach the assassin, she hears the crunch of my boots on the gravel, and her face turns towards mine. Her eyes grow dull. ¡°There is nothing I can offer in exchange for my life?¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°You can¡¯t unsee what you have seen. A secret isn¡¯t a secret if more than one person knows.¡±


    With her hands bound, I strike upwards under her chin. Her death is instant and as her body collapses, so does her end of the stretcher. The eyes of the injured twin catch mine, and as she opens her mouth to scream, I plunge my dagger into the convenient cavity.


    ¡°I, I saw nothing,¡± squeals her twin while tugging at the ropes binding her hands. The strength of the desperate allows her to drag the stretcher half a hand width.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know of your importance, but I doubt you being alive will be more important than Lord Klar¡¯s intended plan for the three captures he has secreted away. So, quiet now.¡± I grab her forehead from behind. She takes rapid shallow breaths, her eyes wide and only then do I notice her baby bump. I hesitate for several heartbeats, swallow, and then do what I must as I slide my dagger upwards from under her chin.


    The stretcher holds the weight of the five of them. I assume Izga¡¯s construction. The ruts in the ground are deep as I drag the load away, but the latrine is close. I dump each body head to toe along the length of the latrine trench. The booty and stretcher follow as an additional layer to dissuade anyone interested in digging in the stink. Backfill with dirt is last. I am almost certain the next user of the latrine will complain there isn¡¯t much length left and report another trench will need to be dug.


    After inspecting the ruts, I decide not to cover them. Instead, I fetch river stones and place them equal distances apart along the entire length. Assessing my effort, I wonder what the next user of the trench will think. Something more concerning is the sight of Duzsia, Izga and Luda crossing the river by suspended rope, pulling their naked selves along its length under the watchful gaze of Lord Klar. I contemplated cutting this end to cover their tracks, but that would only reveal the presence of another, which they may feel they need to track down and silence.


    ---


    ¡°Where are the two I sent with you?¡± asks Durrilsia when I find her.


    ¡°I needed to leave them with the stretcher. They can find Izga and let her sort the three prisoners out. How goes the hunt?¡±


    ¡°Better than yesterday, although we are straying close to Beastbane Clan land by my reckoning.¡±


    I scratch my head. ¡°We don¡¯t want trouble, so tell them to hunt further along the length of the river.¡±


    She jogs off, and I relax. I had removed all my clothes and inspected them for blood while beside the river. There were a few spots here and there, but nothing river water couldn¡¯t cleanse. With my laundry finished, I then jogged back, allowing the damp clean-ups to dry under a rising sun.


    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    Izga, Duzsia and I escort the old crone out of the goblin village. She insisted on walking. Several goblins peer out of their cottages, retreating instantly when spotted by the crone, who immediately waves them back.


    Instead of wading across the ford, we descend into the forest on the goblin village side of the river. After a short time, we reach the spot where I shared a tryst with a certain hobgoblin assassin who, I hope, remains under watch.


    Luda removes the crone¡¯s robe from her body, including all the usual trinkets and the spare staff we found. While Luda dresses in her armour, Izga keeps watch. Duzsia and I dig a hole, sharing a smile. Burying the crone¡¯s clothes, trinkets and staff completes our mission. The goblins will discover a confusing scene in the crone¡¯s cottage. Both crone and grandson sit on the ground, he between her spread-out legs. The grandson sits, resting his back against his grandmother¡¯s chest. Her hand, though, clutches a blooded dagger that rests on his chest below a gaping throat wound. His hand, midst of reverse thrust, holds a dagger sticking out of her eye.


    Late morning while climbing the hillock, I pause as do my wives to witness an amazing sight. We share chuckling and playful smiles as Gorgrin jogs by in the distance; we assume to join the wild ones in the forest after some urgent errand.


    A not-so-pleasant sight is Dorgrav, Major Domo of Lord Torngul and his two escorts steaming up the hillock, making a beeline for me.


    I cross my hands in front of me and wait. My wives assemble behind me. Dorgrav needs to head left first to find the way past the first trench and then veer right to find the gate through the start of the wall directly below us. We wait in front of a pair of gates, attached unfortunately to an incomplete wooden log wall, which is our last defence. Inside are our accommodations, a part-way completed double-storey wooden construct.


    ¡°We were to meet today, Lord Klar, and while I know there have been priorities, this day is almost done, and I will be late to report to my Lord and your sponsor, Lord Torngul.¡±


    His two escorts are holding back a third. As I try to peer around him, he stamps his foot. ¡°Her! You can have her back as well. All she does is mewl about you and how you have pleasured her, ruined her for other males and so on.¡±


    On release, the assassin runs towards me and grabs my leg. With a loud exhale of breath, she crashes to the ground in a foetal position struggling to breathe. I raise an eyebrow while glancing over my shoulder at Duzsia.


    ¡°What, Lord? I was going to use my sword but didn¡¯t know her value to you.¡±


    I paint on a pleasant smile and face, Dorgrav. ¡°Follow me, and we will make a selection.¡±


    We visit Thalgora first, and several choose the civilised life of Hobgoblin Town, likewise when we visit Klaria.


    ¡°What about the wild ones, huntresses, aren¡¯t they?¡± asks Dorgrav.


    Turning to face him, with deliberate doubt across my face, I ask, ¡°What would Lord Torngul want with huntresses?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± his hand flicks towards the female volunteers, ¡°They wouldn¡¯t be afraid of beasts and Lord Torngul has several which need constant tending.¡±


    ¡°To save us all some unnecessary walking about, how about one or both of your escorts return to your camp with the females you have now? My wives have other duties they can attend to, leaving you and I to find the huntresses¡¯ camp.¡± I wave a hand towards the distant forest.


    ¡°I will return with my escorts to the lake and trust in your judgement, Lord Klar.¡± His eyes scan the tree line, and his lips curl up. ¡°There is much to prepare for our return journey in the morning, you know.¡±


    I clap him on his back. ¡°Yes, there are always preparations to be made. Can you also keep an eye on the assassin until I return? I can hardly go searching in the forest with her in tow.¡±


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    I turn to face my wives as Lord Dorgrav, his escorts, and new additional help fade into the distance.


    ¡°We have some clean-up. The rope across the river?¡± One end of the rope trails in the water, but the end on the hillock side, of course, remains tied to the tree trunk, and discovery will only be a matter of time.


    ¡°I will attend to that, Lord,¡± says Luda


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°You certain?¡±


    ¡°We buried the dead. They can¡¯t do me any harm now. Plus, with your permission, I will take my time. I need to do some thinking.¡±


    ¡°Go with my blessing.¡±


    As she darts off, Duzsia and Izga draw closer to me. Duzsia is the first to speak. ¡°Is she, well, stable?¡±


    ¡°Are any of us,¡± quips Izga.


    ¡°Her realising she needs time is probably a good sign,¡± I offer as I grab Izga around her lithe waist. ¡°What of the pregnant daughter of Zinmog?¡±


    ¡°She is a twin, and it seems their father substituted one for the other. He sent assassins after Mazgia, and her twin, Morgia, needed to deliver the killing stroke as a test. He paid the assassins to murder them both if she didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Where are they now?¡±


    ¡°In all the excitement, I sort of left them with the wild ones, so perhaps ask galloping Gorgrin when you visit their camp.¡±


    Duzsia bends over, unable to control her laughter, while I crack a smile. Izga looks on innocently.


    ¡°Enough, Duzsia. Given you are in a cheerful mood, find the hobgoblins who assisted the goblins with building our manor fort and put them to work. Try to complete all the walls in case the mercenary goblins make an early appearance.¡±


    ¡°Do we have to worry?¡± asks Izga.


    ¡°If they catch us out alone, then yes. Anyone of us surrounded will eventually fall, so if you find yourself outnumbered, run until you can find a place to guard your back. I hope it will never come to that for any of us.¡±


    Duzsia lays her head on my shoulder. ¡°Do you regret releasing Zoria, Lord Farmer Hob?¡±


    ¡°No, and yes. I am certain there was more she could have told us, but I suspect her son would have been more useful. Two hundred years of continuous living in this world.¡± I shake my head.


    ¡°It matters not, Lord, for all we know, he spent his years spying on his mother¡¯s goblin tribe and ventured nowhere else.¡±


    ¡°I have a task, so I will leave you and Duzsia to lament missed opportunities!¡±


    With that, Izga gallops off, trying to imitate Gorgrin¡¯s jogging technique before reverting to her own. From a distance, she appears to glide across the grass field.


    ¡°I am jealous, Lord.¡± I shift my shoulder to look upon Duzsia¡¯s face. ¡°The way she captives you in almost everything she does¡­¡±


    ¡°That may be true.¡± She slaps my shoulder. ¡°That is probably true.¡± Another slap. ¡°Whatever her gifts which attract me, she isn¡¯t you. Duzsia the Relentless will ensure I follow the path I need to take. Complete whatever actions are necessary and embrace the consequences come what may. At the river today, you earnt the biggest endorsement I have. You awoke my inner hob.¡±


    ¡°Inner hob?¡±


    I draw her into my embrace. ¡°He is my original body¡¯s owner, and somehow he travels with me even now, although more distant, yet violence, especially towards goblins, always brings him roaring back to the fore.¡±


    ¡°Does his presence explain some of your more violent moments?¡±


    ¡°Some. He isn¡¯t an excuse for my actions, but he certainly approved of your direct solutioning!¡±


    ¡°What do you need from me, Lord?¡±


    I release my embrace. Using my hands on her shoulders, I hold her out before me. ¡°Am I that obvious?¡±


    ¡°No. If the task was easy, you would have told me by now. Instead, you butter me up with a tale about your inner hob and hug me close. I am not one of your other wives, I know our sole mission is to destroy Rexa and the religion she has raised in your name, and everything else is secondary. While I am being forward, forget about Zeb Stone Grim, Koria Keen Eye and Luda, especially their feelings of guilt. The more you make an allowance for them, the worse they will become. Remember, I know the family.¡±


    ¡°Have you been sitting back watching all this time?¡±


    ¡°By whatever miracle our rebirth is, we don¡¯t have to conquer Rexa in this lifetime, but we must make progress because when we return, our previous efforts should make finishing the task slightly easier. These weapons, for example. They are Stone Blood, which means Milga has had a hand in making them possible. Her most obvious legacy is the founding of a permanent settlement that has lasted over two hundred years to permit the refining of weapon crafting. Wherever that place is, we should make her settlement our base of operations. We visit valleys from there and discover allies or foes.¡± Her face blushes, and tears well up in her eyes.


    I wipe the tears from her eyes. ¡°What can you tell me about valleys, allies and foes, Duzsia the Relentless?¡±


    She sniffs. ¡°Argh, still with the tears.¡± She again needs to wipe them away with the back of her hand. ¡°I left Rexa¡¯s valley because I knew to defeat her would require numbers, an alliance of many valleys. A single valley would fall to her every time. So, I journeyed north and spread the word about Rexa while teaching the goblin tribes who would listen how to grow crops so they could grow more goblins.¡± She takes a breath while I sweep back her hair. ¡°Tribal goblins¡­ ugh, I remember them being so primitive. Some welcomed me, some tolerated me ranting about Rexa while I taught them to grow crops and others demanded mortal combat for me to stay.¡± She turns away from me, and my arms drop from her shoulders.


    ¡°I thought I had disposed of all my enemies, relentless, you see, making certain of their deaths after early on allowing a few to live, only to face them once again when healed. The son of one of my enemies ambushed me in a valley I thought friendly. I made the mistake of relaxing. Defeating him cost me a serious leg wound, but I was in a friendly valley, so I made for the settlement I helped found. Instead of a welcome, I hobbled into a trap set by one of the first opponents, who I didn¡¯t slay and didn¡¯t seek revenge after healing. He instead followed my journeys gathering the sons and sometimes the daughters of those I had defeated and slain. He had quite the gang of vengeful cutthroats when he confronted me. Needless to say, a much older Duzsia, the Relentless, wounded and surrounded, didn¡¯t survive. They took delight in striking me from behind, shallow wounds, bleeding me out slowly. Oddly, the nanorobots of yours, I now realise prolonged my torture. None of the villagers warned me because he had murdered them all. The one who ambushed me was supposed to report back, but they correctly assumed he was a hothead and prepared for my arrival, anyway.¡±


    ¡°I am sorry.¡± I had nothing else. She died alone, like Luda, yet she didn¡¯t wallow in Rexa¡¯s valley and lamented her circumstance.


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t need to be sorry. After all, I would like to revisit those valleys and see if anything good has grown from the seeds I planted two hundred years ago. Also, my death taught me an important lesson, one which, until you summoned me back, I didn¡¯t think I could benefit from. The lesson is about the long game. I can¡¯t even remember his name, but he spent at least twenty years plotting my downfall. That is relentless, and I can¡¯t do any less since I have the name. So, tell me of this mission, which I assume has a high probability of me not returning.¡± She flashes me a confident smile and then playfully slaps me out of my dopey look.


    ¡°You must accompany Major Domo Dorgrav back to Hobgoblin Town and hand Lord Torngul this note.¡± I offer the note, which she accepts. ¡°He will provide you with a couple of homing birds. You then need to travel to the mouth of this valley and stand watch. If I could afford to send two wives, you would have split up, one travelling North and the other South, but I can¡¯t. You need to send a bird when you spot the return of the mercenary goblins to warn us. Then work out a way to assassinate as many of the leaders as possible before they reach us.¡±


    ¡°I assume if I can only assassinate one, it should be the overall leader?¡± She raises an eyebrow and smirks.


    ¡°Your judgement is my judgement. Take what you need with my blessing.¡±


    ¡°As you command, Lord.¡± She kisses each of my cheeks. ¡°Given I am going forth to almost certain death, I would ask I do so full of your seed. And I mean full and then some, as I have stolen clay bottles to fill, courtesy of the crone.¡±


    I nod slowly. With smooth, well-practised movements, she rapidly undresses before me. My view improves with each passing heartbeat. My mind instantly compares the lithe form of Izga with the full-bodied, muscular form of Duzsia. Given I don¡¯t need to decide between one or the other, I consider myself lucky. More so when she gracefully lays her naked body back while curling her come hither finger at me.


    ---


    ¡°Are there two, Gorgrin?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Yes, Lord, they are returning to camp now. Sisters, apparently.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± I lay a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Izga tells me she was remiss in leaving a stretcher and three female hobgoblins behind in the company of wild ones. Do you know where they are now?¡±


    ¡°I know where I left them, Lord.¡± He places his thumbs into his belt. ¡°They should be under guard in the hobgoblin tent village as neither Thalgora nor Klaria wanted them, even truss-up and harmless.¡±


    ¡°When was this?¡± I ask. I am flirting with the possibility he or they could have been witnesses to something they shouldn¡¯t have.


    ¡°Late morning. I saw you and your wives on the hill but didn¡¯t think I should interrupt. Visiting Thalgora and Klaria was a great waste of time. Then I needed to waste more time trying to convince the two wild ones to stand guard when all they wanted to do was hunt and prove themselves to you.¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°Something about being one of the top five hunters for the day to earn a special reward from you?¡±


    I clear my throat. ¡°Yes. I probably owe rewards from yesterday, and I assume today will produce another five¡­¡± I turn on my heel, thinking to leave and then remember why I needed to stay.


    ¡°Do you wish to reward them now?¡± he asks.


    ¡°No!¡± I yelp and then settle. ¡°No, tonight will be soon enough. Send them to the hill.¡±


    ¡°As you wish, Lord.¡±


    Halfway back to the hillock, I remember I should be in the company of two wild ones. Oh well, I am confident they will find their way to the Major Domo and his tent.


    <h2>---Duzsia the Relentless, Concubine of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°Major Domo, I need a word with the assassin.¡±


    He puffs himself up, believing he is important, thinking Lord Torngul¡¯s honour guard protects him. All they do is make him feel safe, yet we know a Clan Head sent ten assassins to murder him. Does he know the assassin in his care was one of them?


    ¡°Well, irregular, but you, yes, keeping her out of our way will greatly assist.¡± He waves his arm, flicking his hand behind him.


    I catch their looks of disdain before they can blank their faces. His borrowed honour guards are perhaps over their assignment, and now they need to sleep another night in a small tent. Probably the last straw.


    A hand on each upper arm, and she is thrust in my general direction. The honour guard immediately swivels about returning to the interior of the tent.


    ¡°Thank-you. I will be certain to mention your cooperation to Lord Klar and Lord Torngul.¡± I then copy the honour guard and grab the assassin by her upper arm and lead her away through the knee-high wild grass until we are far away from everyone.


    ¡°What is this about? I thought you¡­¡±


    I slap her. She opens her mouth again to speak, and I slap her again. ¡°If you speak without being asked, the next slap will rip open your healing wounds.¡±


    Her hands fly up to protect her cheeks, and her sad eyes watch my hands. Once satisfied, we are far enough away, I pull on her arm, and we stop.


    ¡°What if I said I could offer you an opportunity to gain Lord Klar¡¯s favour or die in the attempt?¡±


    Her jaw opens, only continuing when I nod. ¡°Anything. His touch is magical. His seed heals. He promised me my cheeks would heal, and a thin growth of skin now grows over the holes.¡±


    ¡°Good. Then you can join me on a possible suicide mission. How do you truly feel about that?¡±


    Her hands drop to her sides. ¡°I am not keen to die because how will I collect any reward?¡±


    ¡°Drink this.¡± I shove a clay bottle at her.


    ¡°What is it?¡± She sniffs, and her eyes roll back. The clay bottle reaches her lips, and she downs the entire contents in several loud gulps. Licking her lips, she pauses for only a moment. Her tongue dives into the depths of the clay bottle, slurping until the inside is pristine clean, I would think. Her face flushes green. ¡°Sorry, but I know that was his seed. How could I ever forget.¡±


    ¡°I have more.¡± I hold my hand up. ¡°But you need to earn your next bottle.¡±


    She rolls the empty clay bottle in her palm. ¡°Earn how?¡±


    ¡°You must be loyal to me in Lord Klar¡¯s absence and accompany me until we are far from Hobgoblin Town, and I can explain the mission.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t trust me to keep a secret?¡± Her head lifts. Did she just grow a spine?


    ¡°Can I? I don¡¯t even know you, except you have certain combat skills, and of ten assassins, you were the lucky one to survive. Do you owe any allegiance to your former employer?¡±


    She drops to the grass and folds her legs under her. ¡°He will probably want to know what happened, and then when he learns of our failure, probably torture me for fun.¡± Her chin rests on her knee-braced arms and hands as she pouts.


    ¡°How old are you?¡±


    ¡°Eighteen growing seasons,¡± she replies with a cheer in her voice.


    ¡°How did you become an assassin?¡±


    ¡°I have been training since I was five, and this last mission was my first. The more experienced ones were supposed to ease me into it all. But, you know, they are all dead now because of sneaky goblins. And anyway, Lord Klar is more important to me, although my employer may try to find me.¡±


    I walk away. She is too young, regardless of any skills they may have trained her in. She would lack real-life decision-making. Anything not considered in the plan would throw her, placing all with her in danger.


    Her footfalls betray her. No stealth skills, then? As she wraps her arms around my shoulders, I sidestep and duck under her reaching arms, grabbing at one and then twisting the limb until she slams her back into the ground. A rush of air escapes her lungs, and she tries to suck in some air. Her eyes water.


    ¡°That, that wasn¡¯t nice,¡± she gasps after a long while.


    ¡°That is why you can¡¯t come on this mission with me,¡± I retort.


    ¡°You can train me. They have ordered me to learn all my life¡­ please?¡± She licks her lips. Does she miss the taste of him already? The Major Domo mentioned her simpering¡­


    ¡°Have you spilt blood?¡±


    Her eyes close, and she takes a deep breath. ¡°I have wounded others in practice¡­¡± She opens her deep brown eyes, hope overflowing from them.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 2.040 Are these still my Plans?

    <h2>---Duzsia, the Relentless, Concubine of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I stare at the young, sheltered hobgoblin assassin. She is probably more warrior than an assassin, yet na?ve all the same. While another on this mission would be useful, is she that second?


    Throwing her my spare blade, I curl my fingers at her. My invitation. ¡°If you can make me work to defend myself, maybe I will reconsider.¡±


    I flash twin daggers at her and bend my knees slightly. She returns me a predator¡¯s smile as she flips to her feet, sword in hand.


    An overhead strike is her opening. She assumes her weapon reach is an advantage. I dart back. Bending her knees, we circle; she lunges forward, occasionally testing my reactions. A slash and thrust from her break up any rhythm in our dance. I cross-dagger, parry and attempt to twist the sword from her grip. After an instant of surprise, she re-grips. She doesn¡¯t strangle the hilt, only a firm grip. Good. With a grunt, she wildly slashes¡ªher first sign of impatience. I swerve behind the arc of her swing. My left-hand dagger snakes out, striking her upper arm, and drawing a trickle of blood. She retreats a step and resets her stance¡ªmy turn to be surprised. I thought I would now be defending a flurry of revenge strikes¡­


    ¡°Why do I feel you can strike me at will?¡± she says. The back of her hand wipes sweat from her brow as the linen cloth of her sleeve darkens with a blot of blood.


    The sun blazes down, and the only relief is an occasional gust of cooling breeze. I sense my Lord¡¯s nanorobots working inside me, their ¡°noise¡± loud as they busy themselves to cool me under my heavy coat, chain, and leather armour.


    She comes at me again, trying to dance around me, exhausting me because of the weight of my armour. I entertain her by taking deeper breaths and slowing my efforts to face her. She strikes. I guide the flat of her blade across my forearm, the armour protecting my parry of finesse. With my other hand, I smash my fist into her forehead as her head follows through.


    This rocks her back on her heels, and she shakes her head.


    ¡°How? How did you do that?¡± she mumbles.


    ¡°Reflexes¡­¡± I reset my stance. My daggers in hand, they float between us, waving about and ready.


    Taking a practice swing with the sword, she then narrows her eyes. A deep breath, and she steps forward, leading with swings, stabs and slashes, aiming not for my body but for my daggers. I need to work because she gives up on a single winning strike and settles for a contest of will and endurance, looking to deal me a wound here and then there. She takes advantage of her reach and keeps moving around me, her linen shift absorbing her sweat while striking out with the sword. This is her best set yet. The blade flows, acting as an extension of her arm.


    With sweat dripping off her, she sucks in several deep breaths and comes to a standstill. Sheathing a dagger, I move in and wrestle my sword free from her grip. She drops to the ground, her head down.


    ¡°You did well,¡± I say.


    Her head slowly cranes upwards. ¡°Well? I didn¡¯t draw a drop of your blood.¡±


    ¡°What did you do with his seed your drank?¡±


    Her head slowly collapses to one side. ¡°Do?¡±


    Perhaps the effects are yet too subtle for her? I know Lord Hob must have planted a significant quantity of seed in her to encourage her body to heal the holes in her cheeks. I grab her tusks and shift her head one way and then the other to inspect the wound. She tries to resist but surrenders when she realises I have the strength to insist.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at them.¡± She tries to pout.


    ¡°They are closed, a thin skin grows over them, and flesh is filling, inside to out. How many times did Lord Klar fill you with his seed?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I lost count.¡± Her face flushes bright green.


    ¡°Yes, he can have that effect if you overindulge. What did you do when he left you?¡±


    ¡°Did as he said. I laid all night in the shallows of the river. I thought him mad, but he threatened never to lie with me again if I didn¡¯t obey him.¡± Her sheepish look swallows up whatever pride she has left. She is his. Her want for more has become a need, regardless of any self-awareness.


    ¡°And in the morning?¡±


    ¡°At sunrise, I was to find the Major Domo, break my fast and wait for him.¡±


    ¡°And you felt no different?¡± Am I wrong? Surely after such a volume of seed in such a short time, even if busy healing her cheeks, she would feel something extraordinary¡­


    ¡°I¡­ well¡­ this is not easy.¡± She pants. ¡°I craved his touch, wished for his child to sprout inside me.¡± She glances at her loins. ¡°I still feel his presence within me. You probably think I am mad, but I do. He calls to me, and my loins heat¡­ I burn for him.¡±


    ¡°Concentrate on his presence within you. Instead of thinking like a desperate, abandoned slut, take command and direct them to heal your cheeks. Imagine your face as it once was.¡±


    She looks up, her mouth open. I draw my hand back, and she closes her mouth, nodding. I almost chuckle as she squeezes her eyes shut. Is this her trying really, really hard? I shake my head. Eighteen seasons, I remind myself.


    She whistles a breath from between her teeth. ¡°That is better¡­ I mean, the thought of his touch is good, but the thought of my cheeks healing is better, so when we next meet, he will see me whole.¡±


    ¡°Up! We must introduce ourselves to the Major Domo as his travelling companions.¡±


    Her brown eyes sparkle and a joyful smile crosses her lips. She attempts to rise and then falls back down. ¡°A moment, I assure you, only a moment¡­¡± Her voice is weak.


    ¡°Imagine yourself rested and your muscles ready¡­¡±


    She quirks her head and then squeezes her eyes shut again. After several heartbeats, she climbs to her feet, her head down. In a quiet voice, she says, ¡°His seed is your source of power as well. Why you never tire and, and whatever else?¡±


    ¡°Yes, lust is pure frustration. If you want to catch his eye, command his presence inside you to improve yourself. Now we must go.¡±


    ¡°Everyone says he favours the skinny wife, but you aren¡¯t¡­ skinny and, well, while young, I have too much muscle to ever be slim.¡± Her hands hold her modest breasts. ¡°These are smaller than even yours¡­¡±


    I throw my head back in full-throated laughter.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to make fun of me¡­¡±


    I grab her tusks and drag her entire body forward. ¡°He has plenty of seed to go around, and he likes all shapes and sizes. Such is his lust.¡± I shake her head, using her tusks. ¡°Improve yourself using his seed. Show him value.¡± I release her. ¡°The fact that he spent so much seed on you amazes me, so he has a plan for you. You must take all the time between now and when he calls to improve yourself. I am certain he doesn¡¯t care if you live or die, but with every improvement you make, your survival chances will improve, and you may end up in his arms forever.¡±


    ¡°Forever? What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Have his child, of course¡­¡± I cover my slipup well enough, I believe, as I gather her to me and force-walk her back to the Major Domo¡¯s tent. Time to tell the Major Domo he has two more in his escort. Two wild ones jog towards the lake, pausing on seeing us do the same. I glance at my apprentice. ¡°Let¡¯s race them. Remember to command his presence inside you¡­¡±


    She returns a curt nod, and we break into a sprint, as do the two wild ones.


    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°How is the wall building progressing?¡± I ask Izga, who, in her way, slinks seductively in my presence, one arm resting on the gate post above her head to stretch out her twisting body. Her linen shift clings to her sweating body, her nipples firm and threatening to defeat their material constraint, and all the while, she pouts.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t forgotten me, Lord, have you?¡±


    I drag her face to mine, using her tusks. Instead of being offended, she melts into my forceful demand for her attention. ¡°The walls?¡±


    ¡°As you commanded, Lord. They are completing the one around the manor first.¡±


    Beyond the hill, shouting and protest, murmurs of murder and demands for justice drift from across the river. Zoria Oath Keeper tribe goblins on the march.


    ¡°Return my assassin to me now. Skirt around the hill while I face the approaching horde.¡±


    Her body straightens. The acting is over as her face loses all softness. ¡°You want to face them alone?¡±


    ¡°I am innocent, am I not?¡± I wink and then make a direct line for the ford; well, I need to criss-cross down the hill first, avoiding walls and trenches.


    ---


    The lead goblins are about to step into the ford when I hail them.


    I rest my hands on my hips. ¡°Hold! I will tell your crone when you can leave your village. Return immediately, or I will hold her to account!¡±


    Several goblin voices shout, ¡°you can¡¯t¡±, and then the mob quietens. Three female goblins in white robes step forward, their eyes red. One of the three speaks. ¡°The crone is dead!¡±


    ¡°Why? How?¡± I shout back, raising my balling fists into the air. My eyes scan the goblins with an intensity few cannot shy away from. The river water now laps at my knees.


    The lead white robe glances back at the two with her and takes a deep breath. ¡°She was last seen in your company, Lord.¡± Her words hang in the air. There is a heavy expectation as all await my reply.


    ¡°Negotiation!¡± I shout. I draw a parchment from inside my leather armour and wave the document above my head. ¡°You will find my signature on the document. It waits only for the crone and the Oath Keeper goblins to complete certain tasks, and I will declare the tribe free. She was my guarantee.¡± I lower the document. Bowing my head, I add a slight shake and mumble under my breath. ¡°Who can guarantee our agreement now?¡±


    I am acutely aware that the goblins across the river will hear my words. Their response is quick.


    ¡°Can I read the agreement, Lord?¡±


    She asks her Lord. This is a good sign as she, whoever she is, still acknowledges our obligation to each other. I wave her forward using the document, and shortly after, she appears before me. I hand over the document, then, taking heavy steps, I retreat to the hillock side of the ford and drop to the ground. Holding my head, I try to perfect a forlorn, brooding figure, contemplating a severe loss. The discussion across the river only occasionally rises into a loud debate, which is quickly hissed down by the majority. I sense the crone scarcely shared her plans because they direct most of their ill will towards her.


    ¡°Lord!¡± I slowly raise my head. ¡°May I approach?¡± asks the lead white-robed female goblin.


    I wave her forward while remaining seated. As she fords across the river, I estimate I will need to look up into her eyes. Perfect.


    ¡°Lord, the document is a revelation. Your promise of freedom is most generous, and while I am not the crone, I am her senior apprentice and now, by the common will of the tribe, her successor.¡± She almost reverently hands the document back to me, certainly with great care. ¡°There is no timeframe? Is that right?¡±


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


    I shake my head from side to side. ¡°Yes. A list of tasks, which once done, means your tribe¡¯s servitude is over, and none in this valley can return you to slavery.¡±


    Her eyes dart about and then settle on mine. Perhaps she is braver since she can look down on me. ¡°Lord Torngul, his signature is missing.¡±


    ¡°A mere formality to ensure other Clan Heads don¡¯t contest the tribe¡¯s status. As I am sure you know, Lord Torngul¡¯s Major Domo camps near the lake. What you may not know is Duzsia, my concubine, will leave in the morning with him and take this document with her for Lord Torngul¡¯s signature.¡± I crack a gentle smile. ¡°I am certain you have noted how his name and the space for his signature are somewhat squeezed in above mine and the crone¡¯s names?¡± She nods. ¡°Well, the crone insisted his signature needed to be added. She went to great pains to explain it wasn¡¯t because she didn¡¯t trust me. The crone wanted protection from other Clan Heads.¡±


    While tempted to flatter the memory of the old crone with words of how tough she bargained and her standing her ground during negotiations floated about in my head, I dismissed them. The goblins could decide how they remembered this change in their circumstances and who was responsible.


    ¡°Lord?¡± Her hands play with the edges of her robe. ¡°A further consideration.¡± She swallows. ¡°Would either of your wives, Thalgora or Klaria but able to accompany the tribe when we earn our release to ensure none can try to call our freedom into question as we leave the valley?¡±


    I climb to my feet, and she steps back. Her eyes glance up and then down, staring at the ground between her feet. ¡°Thalgora will most likely be heavy with child. Klaria, possibly. If either is indisposed, I will accompany you. How does that sound?¡±


    She jumps up and down on the balls of her feet, her hands flailing about, trying to find purpose. She then latches them around my waist. Bouncing back almost immediately after realising her forwardness.


    ¡°Return to your tribe. When do you believe they will attend to their work?¡±


    She quirks her head.


    ¡°I thought perhaps some time to mourn the loss of the crone?¡±


    ¡°She will burn tonight. Tomorrow the tribe will return to work, Lord.¡± With that said, she turns on her heel and hurries back across the ford, pushing into the crowd. Several heartbeats later, a cheer and then, as one, they head off toward their village.


    Her arm sliding around my neck is my first hint of her presence. ¡°That went well, Lord Klar.¡±


    ¡°Yes. The crone¡¯s mysterious death is a small price for them to pay in the end. Their freedom is far more important.¡± I wrap my arm around her slim waist and stroll back to the hillock. ¡°You will observe their work, ensure other, loyal hobgoblins assist them, learn from them.¡± I drag my finger down the length of her nose. ¡°This is important, Izga, just as important as your presence when overseeing the construction. You must eavesdrop on their conversations to ensure they don¡¯t conceal surprises from us. Xorbrim was unexpected, and I don¡¯t wish a repeat.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    I release her, and she takes the hint. As she runs off, I slap her bottom, perhaps firmer than I intended, as her yelp carries a touch of pain. Dusk is trying to conclude, the yellow of the sun filling the western horizon.


    Her walk is uneven yet improving. ¡°You may approach if you feel brave enough to do so,¡± I offer in a soft, kind voice.


    ¡°Lord. I didn¡¯t intend to interrupt. I take walks for my leg, my healing. There is no need to talk to me.¡±


    Her hasty shuffling reaches my ears. She is looking to retreat into obscurity.


    ¡°Your idea was masterful,¡± I say.


    ¡°Nothing, Lord. I serve. I only wish to serve you well and remain safe, and you are a kind, Lord.¡±


    ¡°Still, I believe a reward is due. You only need to ask.¡± Her shuffling freezes, and sobbing replaces the former. ¡°I don¡¯t intend to force you to accept a reward if you don¡¯t wish to¡­¡±


    ¡°No, Lord. My sobbing is from overwhelming happiness. I, well, when you explained the document¡¯s purpose, I thought Lord Torngul, as a late addition, would add story and weight to the document, but I never believed you would agree. I had two versions prepared, just in case.¡± She pauses. ¡°The second is in the fire, Lord. I assure you, and as you requested, my apprentices were busy with other tasks.¡±


    ¡°You follow orders, show initiative. You deserve a reward.¡±


    Her arms drape across my shoulders while her fingers walk down my chest. Tears wet my neck. While doing my best to maintain her embrace, I swivel about to face her. Her light green completion in the fading light is magical. Perhaps the moistness from the tears on her cheeks is responsible. I forget that as her desperate, passionate kisses try to own my lips.


    She breaks for a deep breath. ¡°Take me, Lord. I claim my reward.¡±


    <h2>---Klaria, Second wife of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    Under the morning sun, I inspect the cultivated fields, dropping to my haunches occasionally to scoop up a hand full of soil. Crumbling the dirt between my fingers each time, I try to give off the impression that I know what I am doing. What I am doing is simply imitating what I have observed the goblins do. When asked, they informed me they tested for moisture in the soil. Whatever, I am alone and therefore making myself available.


    A bird call causes me to pause. I grab at the soil again.


    ¡°You have the confidence of Lord Klar?¡± says a voice from within the forest. His words are loud enough to travel far, yet I have ensured all who could overhear work in new fields far away.


    ¡°Yes. Why do you even ask?¡±


    ¡°My Master and your sponsor feel somewhat ignored, given your hasty departure and subsequent lack of contact. This is¡­¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± I hiss. ¡°What do you think I am doing now? Checking dirty, useless soil for fun? No, I hoped one of my sponsor¡¯s servants would take advantage of this opportunity. Lo-and-behold, one does, and instead of exchanging pleasantries and plans, he accuses and derides. Now behave as you should and report the wishes of your Master.¡±


    Birdsong and the rustling of leaves accompany me. I don¡¯t regret my tone. After all, who does this servant think he is?


    He clears his throat. ¡°Have you been able to confirm Lord Klar¡¯s lineage?¡±


    ¡°No. There was a goblin crone, but she and her grandson somehow came to blows. They killed each other in a most bizarre way, not that her cooperation was a given, anyway.¡±


    ¡°You must taste his blood. Your strong bond with him should reveal his blood lineage and confirm alignment with yours. My master must know.¡±


    I don¡¯t need Lord Klar¡¯s blood to know who he is. While I respect my mentor, loyalty to him is nothing when I know who I am married to, who couples with me and strengthens me with his seed. ¡°Why the urgency? We have only recently arrived, and there is much to do. Idle questions beyond present emergencies will sound suspicious. Understand that I don¡¯t fear Lord Klar. It is his concubines, who vie for his attention, and backbiting is in their blood. I would make myself a target of their venom.¡±


    ¡°You must settle the question. Other Clan Heads are acting against Lord Klar, and my master needs to know if he needs to interfere with their plans to protect Lord Klar or assist in their plans to remove a pretender. Do you understand now?¡±


    Remove a pretender. His words cause my head to swim.


    ¡°Do you understand?¡± he hisses, calling me out of my thoughts.


    ¡°Yes. I will try over the next few days and hope I don¡¯t raise any suspicion. How can I contact you again? I can¡¯t loiter in this field every day.¡±


    ¡°I cherish the wisdom of my master. He thought you would have difficulties. Watch for waggoneer visits in the coming days, at least once every couple of days. They are regular visitors to Clan Greenfriend, but will call in on this fledgling clan to offer trade or purchase goods.¡±


    ¡°Who should I contact?¡±


    He chuckles. ¡°They will contact you. I must go now. I would think you have been checking this soil for too long.¡±


    There is a quiet rustling of foliage, and I can only believe my acute hearing is a boon from Lord Klar¡¯s seed. I am envious of his other wives and their plentiful consumption; from now on, I will not waste a drop. I will task every donation of his seed to improve every facet of my existence. A voice startles me.


    ¡°Daydreaming, second wife?¡±


    I don¡¯t need to look up. In fact, I scoop up a soil sample instead. ¡°Thinking about how we can water this soil is my present concern, first wife.¡± Climbing to my feet, I stretch out my arms, using the diversion to look about to confirm we are alone. I command my stomach butterflies to be calm.


    ¡°Do you truly know about soil?¡±


    I hear the disbelief in her voice and choose to ignore it and her question. ¡°What is the real reason for your visit?¡±


    Whether by chance or design, her shadow engulfs me as she closes the distance between us. ¡°We have unfinished business, I believe.¡±


    I raise my eyebrows. ¡°Business?¡±


    She pats her big belly. Her death sentence if the rumour about her having twins is true and yet such a glorious death? Birthing the twins of the reborn Lord Klug. We are barren no matter how much he ploughs his other wives and me. I don¡¯t understand, yet I can only assume this is because of his will. As much as Thalgora, by his will, is pregnant. The effort to resist rubbing my stomach takes all my self-control.


    ¡°Spirit link is a word you said in the past. You also mentioned a name, Lord Farmer Klug, and his being reborn. Your father isn¡¯t your birth father, and in fact, your blood is of the Klugrath lineage. Time for answers, second wife.¡±


    ¡°Ask Lord Klar. I have no secrets from him. He commands my silence in these matters, and I would suffer death before I reveal anything to anyone.¡± I allow the soil to slip through my fingers. A breeze carries the now dust away. Is this my end, I wonder.


    ¡°As much as I want to know the answers, I respect your oath to Lord Klar to keep your truths as I do, and I suspect all his concubines do. For example, have you seen Zoria since yesterday?¡±


    I slowly shake my head. How did I not notice? She could be on a mission for Lord Klar. Nudia, though, Lord Klar explained. Why is an annoying goblin worthy of mention, yet a missing concubine doesn¡¯t rate a word?


    I voice my theory. ¡°The surrender of Xorbrim and his two wives and then throw in the old crone¡¯s death yesterday, and he wanted to ensure we knew the truth in case others tried to spread rumours? While you raise Zoria¡¯s disappearance, what of Luda? Is she self-reflecting? Is she the exception, an intellectual goblin?¡±


    To my delight, Thalgora chuckles. ¡°Yes, our Lord Klar commands unconditional loyalty, even if he subjects us to mystery and secrets.¡±


    ¡°Why do you visit me? The truth, please,¡± I ask.


    ¡°I am having triplets. My death is certain.¡± Her eyes bore into mine, and I resist the urge to buckle at my knees. ¡°You will become the first wife. As such, you must become more than you currently are. At the very least, you need to learn to defend yourself.¡± She lays a gentle hand on my shoulder. ¡°As I said, when your family first proposed your marriage, he can¡¯t worry about your safety and his own. I would like you to train in sword and shield, either after your other duties or during the day under Voria, while I pretend to command the farming. After all, as is plain, I am out of shape to wield a weapon.¡±


    ¡°You aren¡¯t that out of shape, first wife,¡± I reply.


    ¡°No?¡± Her hand drops from my shoulder, and she paces about me. ¡°You need the time to get into shape because I fear my birthing of Lord Klar¡¯s heirs will be sooner than full term. I have Lord Klar¡¯s blessing in this, although I made the change all about me and my condition.¡±


    Behind me, I hear the tingling of water. I don¡¯t look. ¡°We will swap tomorrow. I will advise my hobgoblins today.¡±


    ¡°I thank you for not turning around. They press on my bladder something cruel, and I can¡¯t always hold back the urge to empty.¡±


    ¡°You take all the romance from pregnancy first wife¡­¡±


    The warmth in her chuckling is a surprise, as is this gentle side to her? No consideration for goblins, though, and given her mother¡¯s plight and her witnessing the tragic event, understandable. Understanding and becoming closer to Thalgora are two different things.


    <h2>---Luda, Goblin Concubine of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°And look at what we have here!¡±


    Lost in my thoughts while pulling the rope in, I hear them now well enough.


    ¡°Her fishing line is rather more like a rope. I wonder how she believes she can catch anything?¡± A feminine voice?


    Their chuckling and laughter ripple through the several attackers, closing in on me. I arbitrarily choose the one who interrupted my solace. With a burst of speed from a standing start, I am leaping at him, my dagger free from its sheath and sweeping towards the large pulsing vein in his neck. I am certain I hear his blood pulsing as easily as I see his pulse rate increase.


    His hands grab his bloody neck as I kick off from his body and land on another nearby. A female, eyes wide, fumbling for her sword. The crook of her arm reaching for her sword provides a step as I crouch and sweep my dagger across her neck. As her hands reach for her neck, my other foot perches on her shoulder, and I kick off to land smoothly behind her. With that momentum, I dart into the thickets and shrubs of the forest proper growing beside the river.


    ¡°What was that?¡± screams a female voice.


    ¡°A goblin?¡± queries another female.


    ¡°Well, she took out two of our own easily enough. Time for payback,¡± says a third.


    ¡°You want to go after that? She isn¡¯t any goblin I have met before,¡± says a fourth between breaths.


    ¡°She had surprise on her side. She is just a goblin,¡± retorts the third. ¡°Now put your balls back in place, ladies, and draw your weapons. It is goblin hunting time.¡±


    They should have listened for me instead of chatting. They follow my exit path while I observe from cover far away. My positioning is perfect as they expose their backs to me while forcing their larger bodies through the brush in a single line. As the last follows, I dash across the small clearing and leap on her shoulders, sweeping my dagger at the neck of the male in front of her. She squeals and raises her sword to stab over her shoulder. I am gone, jumping down while dragging my bloodied dagger down the side of her head. The leather of her skullcap saves her ear, yet what they all lack is sufficient protection for their necks. I nick her artery and dart off to find cover. Of course, their gurgling on their own blood earns me curses from the surviving two. I hear chopping and more cursing, and then the two survivors burst back into the clearing from a bush next to where they entered. The bloody and still-standing corpses of their companions blocking their retreat.


    ¡°Just a goblin, you said,¡± hisses the last female.


    The male slaps her down. ¡°Hold her off while I go fetch another team. Can you last longer than the others?¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t I return to camp, and you try to last longer than the others?¡±


    ¡°Because I outrank you. That is why!¡±


    She snarls while approaching him. ¡°Our leader died from an ambush under the dagger of a single goblin. You and I are¡­¡±


    My arrow pierces his neck, the arrowhead either piercing her chest or just short. She catches his collapsing body and then pushes the dead weight from her.


    ¡°Do you want to live?¡± I ask from the forest cover.


    Sword out, she faces one way and then another. ¡°They¡­ they were careless. I am ready for you and your tricks¡­¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem certain.¡± I sneak away.


    She turns at the sound of my voice, either a good guess or good hearing.


    Her eyes dart about, occasionally peering into the undergrowth when my eyes can once again spy upon her and the clearing after re-positioning.


    I consider a leg wounding, yet her hard leather armour seems to provide sufficient coverage, and she moves too much. Do I slay her? My eyes inspect the first two. A net spills from one backpack, while another has a pole with a loop of rope at the end. Weapons to capture? Hanging from her belt are three balls, all connected by lengths of rope.


    ¡°Why do you hunt here?¡± I ask.


    She faces me, or at the cover, I hide behind.


    ¡°We smelt blood.¡±


    ¡°How can hobgoblins smell anything except the stink of their arses?¡±


    She straightens. ¡°We are the Klugite Hunters.¡±


    While I am confident, that means something to someone¡­ Did they smell the graves of Zoria, Xorbrim and his two daughters? They would all be of Oath Keeper blood, wouldn¡¯t they?


    ¡°One sniff, and you hunt, then kill?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ludicrous. We capture them, and our pet goblin tastes their blood. If Klugite, they die.¡±


    ¡°And if not Klugite?¡± I ask, pushing for an answer.


    ¡°We have expenses, and we captured them. You cross the swords.¡±


    Cross the swords? There is no need for deep thought or wonder. They sell them into slavery.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 2.041 Luda

    <h2>---Luda, Goblin Concubine of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I sneak off deeper into the forest and wait. Her patience is such, it is mid-afternoon before she makes a break from the clearing. I keep her footfalls within earshot and try to ensure my scent drifts away from her. She didn¡¯t confirm whether she could smell, not that I had blood on me, mine, or theirs.


    Their main camp isn¡¯t far away, which makes sense. She waited until she could return with some daylight to spare. Her arrival draws out several of her friends, shall we say? The majority are female hobgoblins. Stiff leather armour and similar weapons with a tendency to stand together in groups, no, not groups, teams. Five and six seem to be the typical number of members, with at least one male. A huge hobgoblin pulling an old limping female goblin alongside him by a chain commands everyone¡¯s attention.


    She reports in, and even with my hearing, I can¡¯t eavesdrop. I don¡¯t wish to creep any closer and risk detection, so I wait and observe. His bellow of outrage, though, is plain. Immediately, two teams bolt from the camp, one running north along the river, the other south. He holds her up by the neck, her legs flailing. After deeply biting her lip, he paints her face with her own blood, using his tongue. Holding her away from him to assess his work, he shortly after flings her aside. A third team rushes in to strip her body except for a linen shift, and they add her to the end of a hobgoblin slave coffle. None in the coffle object or even tease her. Being a former chaser, now captive, is nothing to them. Beside them runs a goblin slave coffle, which barely notes the addition to their shared misery. They lack hope.


    At dusk, the two teams return, and I settle in to take a brief nap. My next move will be in the dead of night.


    Whispering creeps into my dreams. I try to ignore the interruption, and then, slowly opening my eyes, I dispel the notion I am dreaming.


    ¡°How many?¡± hisses a voice.


    ¡°Fifteen and the leader,¡± says another.


    Both are close to where I lay. I assume a good hiding place for me is also a good hiding place for someone else, and this spot has the advantage of a good view of the slaver camp.


    ¡°Are you certain the tribal goblins will follow us in?¡±


    ¡°They want to rescue theirs as much as we want to rescue ours.¡± He pauses, then shrugs, I suspect because of his next words. ¡°That is as far as we can trust them, and they say they have scouted the camp to confirm.¡±


    Their footfalls alert me to the fact as a group, they advance and converge on the slaver¡¯s camp. Several small campfires provide enough light as much for the hobgoblins standing watch and for the new arrivals. I am tempted to join them, yet I hold a suspicion. If the goblins have scouted the camp, they have underestimated the number of slavers. Goblins or not, they can smell the attackers if the wind throws their scent in the wrong direction.


    The goblins sneak into the camp well enough and quickly take out two hobgoblins on watch. The rescuing hobgoblins sneak through the gap and immediately dash to the tents. They soon exit, faces displaying various forms of confusion. The goblins have disappeared into the night. Four teams of slavers materialise from separate directions, and as the rescuers try to run, nets, pole loops, and those balls tied to ropes fill the open space of the camp. The balls interest me greatly. Around one leg or two, the rope between the two balls entwines to slow or trip. When a hobgoblin trips, a slaver jumps on their back, trussing them up as quick as can be, hands behind their backs and then ankles. There are a few dead on both sides. Some rescuers did not wish to live as slaves and sold their lives dearly.


    The goblins return from the shadows. With a confident snarl, the huge hobgoblin hands off the goblin slave coffle to them as well as several other rope-bound goblins. I assume the slavers held the scouting party separately somewhere. The goblins cautiously retreat from the slaver¡¯s camp, and I can understand their mistrust, but I suspect hobgoblin slaves are worth more than goblin slaves, so to the slavers, a pure value transaction.


    The slavers break out a drink that isn¡¯t water but isn¡¯t wine, either. I wait until the camp settles after most teams crawl back to their tents if they can¡¯t walk. With the goblins free, why am I still here? There is the possibility the slavers could come sniffing around Lord Klar¡¯s camp, and I am confident he would chase them away. They could venture into other Clan lands and practice their craft. I could stop them now and save many from misery. Or, unknown to me, they are now planning to leave the valley at first light. My decision comes down to a basic choice. If they live, they will continue to practise their trade, and if I do nothing, I will share a minor portion of any future blame.


    I sneak by the watch, taking advantage of their respective blinds as they patrol the edge of the clearing where brush and bush stick out here and there. My plan is simple. Enter each tent and murder the slavers I find in their sleep. If I am discovered, I will bolt for the forest. Their snores attract me. I figure those snoring will be deeper into a drunken sleep and the most likely to slip quietly into death. I prefer a dagger thrust through the eye, but all the slavers don¡¯t sleep on their backs. For those who don¡¯t, I slide my dagger across their throats while placing my hand over their mouths. The downside of this method? The gushing of frothing blood.


    ¡°Wake up, you shit!¡± A thump follows the words. Change of shift, I suspect. I lie low amongst my dead tent companions and await the eruption. If I bolt now, with the watch returning to the centre of the camp from all points, one of them may get lucky. Usually, the watch would expect their relief to find them. Those on guard duty must have become impatient.


    ¡°You check the other tents. You rouse the boss. While I feed the campfires, you two keep your eyes open.¡±


    During his shouting of orders, I slice an exit into the tent canvas. Stealth, a slow and quiet exit, is my aim. A slaver sticks his head inside my tent and rolls each sleeper over. Coming to the last, he expects the same, of course, and in that moment of discovery, my dagger impales his eye, securing his silence. I am concerned by the meaty thump and freeze in place for a moment to listen before exiting the tent. Staying in the shadows, I creep behind another tent and wait.


    ¡°Shithead, what the hell are you doing that takes so long?¡± His boots scuff and stomp towards the tent I have left. During this time, I slit the canvas on the tent before me. Instead of entering, I fade back into a nearby light brush. During daylight, my hide would be useless. In the dead of night and subject to searching hobgoblin eyes, I am confident the leaves are enough to break up my body outline. My dark leather blends with the night and shadows cast by the campfire light.


    ¡°Shithead is dead,¡± he whispers. I can only assume he informs the two hobgoblins nearest to him, who have their eyes peeled.


    ¡°What is going on?¡± I recognise his deep, growling voice, the leader.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t he tell you?¡±


    ¡°No, he said you would and to come quietly. Something is up.¡±


    I assume their leader doesn¡¯t treat the bearer of bad news well.


    ¡°We have an intruder.¡± He pauses. I can only assume he swallows long and hard. ¡°They have visited each tent and, as near as we can make out, slaughtered them all in their sleep.¡±


    ¡°What!¡± Thumping and gurgling follow. Silence, and then a body crashes to the ground.


    ¡°You are now promoted. Search each of the tents.¡±


    I hear the noise of his progress. He rolls over each of the dead and kicks some. The flaps of the tents open and close. Then noises emanate from the tent in front of me. There is a silent pause, and I crouch low and drawback on the bowstring. A hobgoblin head peers cautiously through my tent slit. I release my arrow; my sister would be proud of me as only the feathers protrude from his eye socket.


    ¡°What was that?¡±


    I hear a slap. ¡°You idiot, don¡¯t you recognise an arrow hitting soft flesh,¡± growls the leader, who then spits. ¡°Alright, whoever you are, you have my attention. What do you want to go back into whatever hole you crawled out of and leave us be?¡±


    He has two left that I know of and a chained crone, probably tethered somehow in his tent. There is the oversized hobgoblin coffle across camp near his tent. I listen as if my life depends on it.


    ¡°Come on now, don¡¯t be shy. We can make a deal!¡±


    I am sure they are guessing where I am, but since most of them have died in their tents, one hobgoblin approaches from the right while the other approaches from the left. They meet, inspecting the corpse of their newly promoted watchman.


    ¡°Shit, an arrow through the eye.¡±


    ¡°Do you think he would have seen it coming?¡±


    The first stares at the second while grinding his teeth. His feeling of disbelief is unmistakable, building and threatening to explode.


    ¡°Seen it coming! What sort of question is that, you snot? He was my friend.¡±


    The second pushes the first back and out of his face. ¡°Meant nothing personal, but an arrow to the eye, you know¡­¡±


    The striking fist from the first lands on the jaw of the second. ¡°Did you see that coming? No, I guess not, since I didn¡¯t punch you in the eye.¡±


    The second massages his jaw. ¡°I told you I meant nothing personal.¡±


    The first lands a second punch, this time in the second hobgoblin¡¯s eye, sitting him back on his bottom. ¡°Did you see that coming?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The second crawls away while trying to stand. I hear him trip and stumble several times. The first stares after him and then turns his attention to his friend¡¯s corpse. He grabs him, and after some effort, shuffles him into a sitting position.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you with the other one?¡± asks the boss.


    He removes the arrow tenderly from his friend¡¯s eye socket, but all the care in the world doesn¡¯t stop the eyeball from being caught behind the arrowhead. He flings the arrow over his shoulder, which I catch. Instead of the expected clatter into the bush, nothing. After a moment of contemplation, during which I sneak forward, he slowly swivels his head to check. I plunge the arrow into his eye.


    ¡°Go back and get him now, you imbecile!¡±


    I set the second body into a sitting position against the first body and, slipping through the slit, enter the tent. Hearing the approach of the second hobgoblin, I unsheathe my dagger.


    He chuckles, as I thought he would. ¡°Did you see that coming, ha! Let me remove that for you.¡±


    My left hand narrowly parts the canvas, and my eyes quickly scan for a kill strike. I push through the slit, the tearing loud. His head turns towards me, and my dagger strikes upward under his chin. Behind me, I hear the heavy stomp of boots. Leaving my impaled dagger, I immediately tumble forward and away from the tent. Fortunately, the tent tangles and slows him.


    ¡°There you are! She said you were a goblin, and I didn¡¯t believe her. She said you were a goblin, the likes of which she had never seen before. I didn¡¯t believe her. Now I believe her.¡±


    I scramble backwards, climbing to my feet, while he frees himself from canvas and rope. I am down to one dagger, my other sticks out of a corpse. My hide keeps my bow and quiver safe as I couldn¡¯t risk either catching on the brush as I crept up on the grieving hobgoblin.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Come here, you little shit. I want the pleasure of wringing your neck, releasing, allowing you to regain your breath and then wringing your neck again, over and over until you expire.¡±


    He isn¡¯t small. Most hobgoblin tower over me, but his bulk is a mountain¡ªcords of muscle wind around his arms and legs. I can¡¯t see his chest because of his shirt, but I assume the same. I give away ground, circling the tents as he stomps forward. Our chase livens up the hobgoblin slave coffle, especially the recently captured. They shout to be freed so they can help. I have my doubts. Their chains would need a key.


    His unpleasant smile seems to confirm my chances. I pick up the three-ball weapon and swing it around my head. But for my reflexes, I would have knocked myself senseless. They require practice, perhaps even lessons. His breaking out into uncontrolled laughter is why he doesn¡¯t close the distance between us. I look for another weapon, something with reach, as I reason he will never release me alive once I am within his grasp.


    I find and throw several poles with loops at him. He blocks some while dodging the rest with smooth ease. In between, I locate and throw spears. He treats them like the poles. His reflexes are superior. I suspect nanorobot enhanced, as unbelievable as that is or could be. Their presence in his body would also explain his oversized muscles.


    ¡°Young one. Flee. Save yourself as you have done enough,¡± wails a frail voice. I glance in the voice''s direction, and a chain around her throat tethers her to an immense square iron weight. The effort and determination to shift this burden far enough to poke her head outside his tent must have been enormous.


    ¡°Shut up, old one. What does your sense of smell tell you about this one?¡±


    ¡°She smells of victory, while you smell of all the Klugite potion you have murdered for.¡±


    I doubt she can smell either of us because if she could, Lord Klar¡¯s seed and his nanorobots flow in plentiful supply through me, a potent scent. She assumes I am not Klugite, while she knows he is from long imprisonment. I wonder if their potion is a form of Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s blood.


    We are at a stalemate. I can easily keep my distance, yet I can¡¯t attack and wound him from afar.


    ¡°Where does he keep the keys to the hobgoblin coffle wise one?¡± I shout.


    ¡°You tell him, and I stomp you to death, hag.¡±


    ¡°I am too old to threaten any more. They are in this tent, young one. Now do your worst, you brute!¡±


    I skirt around him, feigning to reach his tent. He backs off while keeping an eye on me. With various moves and countermoves, I position him close to the hobgoblin slave coffle. Is this close enough? He doesn¡¯t need to give any more ground, and he knows. Then a rope drops over his head. He raises his hands and gets several fingers under the loop as the loop tightens. His thigh muscles gather as he tries to step forward. Two sets of hands from the coffle hold the pole. Another circle of rope drops over his head, and his perfectly placed hands prevent any throttling. He can¡¯t move forward, and he can¡¯t move back because of the poles.


    Dashing towards his tent, I hear a dry snap and then a second. Without breaking my stride, I glance in his direction. Both poles are now broken in two. He advances on the coffle, swinging his fists as rage overtakes him. One pole thrusts at his midriff, a slither of wood piercing his flesh, and then his balled fists smash on the holder¡¯s head. A crack and the holder¡¯s body collapses. I am inside the tent when I hear shouts. The entrance isn¡¯t an option; the rear is equally obvious, so I slide my dagger into the side of the tent opposite the coffle side.


    I am out as he enters, skirting the tent and bolting for the coffle. I throw several sets of keys at them and then skip away. He places his foot on the neck of the wise one and slowly presses down. Raising my hands in frustration, I know I can¡¯t intervene and hope to survive. She doesn¡¯t make a sound, her silent smile celebrating her ultimate release from his service.


    He approaches the slave coffle, but enough of the former slaves have spears in hand to jab at him to fend him off, which leaves me. As he turns to face me, I make my run at him. He crouches, clenching his hands in anticipation. I fade away to one side, away from the coffle. He swings his torso in that direction, chasing to intercept and grab me. While out of range of his hands, I step on my other foot and change direction completely. His hands reach after me, and his torso turns back. I successfully evade him, and when in line with his body, my dagger strikes the back of his ankle. I keep running. He swears, so at least he is in pain, but I am hoping for more.


    As I turn, I catch sight of him trying to stand. One leg folds, and he collapses. A wounded beast is the most desperate, and I return to circle my prey.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t nice, but I have survived worse.¡± He swivels on his bottom and then climbs until he is on his knees, trying to face me as I dart back and forth, searching for an opening. Another stalemate until several hobgoblins with spears join me. They dash in, trying to stab and dance away. None, like me, want to get too close. Several light wounds ooze blood, yet they stop bleeding shortly after they start¡ªa sure sign of nanorobots.


    ¡°Keep watch over him. I will return,¡± I say. I run off to fetch my bow and quiver and my second dagger.


    The scene remains the same when I return.


    ¡°Roll over and submit, or I will fill you with arrows.¡±


    ¡°I have survived worse,¡± he spits back.


    After I empty a quiver of arrows into him, he lies motionless in the middle of the camp under a rising sun. I remember our decapitation of Xorbrim, another regular consumer of Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s blood. During the spontaneous celebrations, I am uncertain if my temporary allies will accept such a disrespectful act as proper.


    ¡°We have one task left to us,¡± I shout, to bring them back to reality.


    The celebration quietens as they turn to listen to me. ¡°You heard the wise woman. He drank many Klugite potions, and even at the end, he claimed he had survived worse, not once but twice. How do you think this is possible?¡±


    The former captives exchange looks. I leave them to answer the question, and after a while, I find what I am searching for and return to his corpse.


    I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder. ¡°What do you intend to do with that?¡±


    ¡°I mean to chop his head off, as I want to sleep peacefully at night. Do you?¡±


    ¡°But you can¡¯t. He is dead. Chopping his head off won¡¯t make him any more dead.¡±


    I must be careful here because I can¡¯t reveal the possibility of nanorobots or the potential benefits of the Klugite potions.


    ¡°If you prefer, we can burn the body, but I must be absolutely certain he won¡¯t return.¡±


    The hobgoblin steps back, and I take up a position in line with the leader¡¯s shoulder. Swinging down with the axe at his neck, I imagine myself felling a tree trunk to enable me to complete the foul task. As I kick his head away from his shoulders, I lean on the axe and take a deep breath. His body didn¡¯t turn to dust, so I guess he has lived a natural life span. I realise the silence when I stop thinking.


    All the hobgoblins stand back, their eyes full of disgust and possibly a touch of fear.


    ¡°It had to be done, I tell you.¡±


    They ransack the camp making a deliberate effort to avoid me. The raiding hobgoblins and some of the former captives take the most. Then ones and twos pick out what they need. Finally, the female hobgoblin he abused remains, and I wonder if she holds any ill will towards me when she holds out her hand. I give over the axe handle to her.


    She swings high, chopping low at his genitals until his groin region is bloody. Inspecting her, I now see what the other hobgoblins saw. Black blood spatter¡ªa horrific sight. I shrug at her and fetch what remains of the camp to throw over his torso, including his tent. The wise woman¡¯s corpse remains in place because I can¡¯t find the key to her chain. I strike a small flame with flint and grass, feeding this fledging fire with tent canvas. Once the tent canvas is alight, other things burn, including the dead branches we tossed on for good measure. Once the heat in the fire grows, his body becomes the fuel, and at the flame¡¯s height, I toss his head onto the pyre.


    Venturing towards the river, she follows, and I carefully pluck off each piece of armour and undergarment and wash them one by one. Once done, I soak my body in the river. She joins me, and we wash his blood from each other.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Luda,¡± I reply. ¡°Yours?¡±


    ¡°I need a new name. I have dishonoured my birth name by serving that monster and being a slaver. You name me.¡±


    ¡°What if I decide on a name you don¡¯t like?¡±


    She smiles. ¡°Then I will ask you to pick again.¡±


    ¡°What about Briksia?¡±


    ¡°Mm, yes, Briksia, a northern valley name, so far removed from the south as can be. Excellent choice. Was she someone you knew?¡±


    She was Zoria, but no longer. ¡°Yes, and no. Someone I should have spent time to know better.¡±


    ¡°I hope to treat the name better than my own, and what will you do with your name?¡±


    I quirk my head. ¡°I have my name.¡±


    Her light laughter is a break from all the seriousness and is welcome. Then she lays her hands on my shoulders and stares into my eyes. ¡°You are Luda no more. You see, to the captives, they named you Stealth. Then, after you chopped his head off, they renamed you.¡±


    I am afraid to ask, but she expects me to. ¡°What did they name me?¡±


    She drops her hands from my shoulders. ¡°Luda Bloodstalker.¡±


    My throat dries. Using a cupped hand, I scoop and drink water from the river. ¡°He was dead.¡±


    ¡°He was the last sign, the teams you slew in their sleep and those on watch¡­ As they stole from each body, your handiwork was present for all to see.¡± She blushes. ¡°I, trying to defend my cowardice, may have also embellished your stalking prowess while in the slave coffle. They, of course, didn¡¯t believe me until they discovered all your kills.¡±


    ¡°Luda, the Stealth sounds better¡­¡± I muse.


    ¡°You were for several heartbeats¡­ Axing his head off raised a few eyebrows. Debating chatter followed. Then they visited each of the tents. Five or six dead in each, either through the eye or across the throat?¡± She shakes her head. ¡°Three tents worth, and the two on watch?¡±


    I hold up a hand. ¡°Enough.¡± I stomp out of the river and begin dressing.


    Her splashing steps follow shortly after, and then silence. I swivel about and catch her staring. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Y¡­ you are the same as him.¡± Her voice wavers, and her body deflates. ¡°That is why you didn¡¯t underestimate him, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    I fish a dagger out of my clothes and armour pile. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°I promise to keep your secret¡­ you don¡¯t have to kill me.¡±


    I thumb the blade edge. ¡°What gave me away?¡±


    ¡°Your naked body, a body that no goblin, however well fed, should have, your athletics, your strength, your¡­¡±


    I hold up a hand again. Her blathering is annoying now. I get the hint, keep your clothes on when around ¡°others¡±.


    Her corpse falls back with a splash, and my dagger slips out from under her jaw. Either I attained complete surprise, or she accepted her fate, but there wasn¡¯t any resistance. The river current frees her corpse from the riverbank. I blink and realise I can¡¯t permit her body to float down the river and wade in after her.


    Shovelling the last of the soil, I hear my sister-wife approach and climb out of the freshly dug body-length hole.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± she asks.


    I swivel about in all my naked glory. After all, why work up a sweat digging a grave and needing to rewash your clothes?


    ¡°You can sheath your sword, sister. I have slain all our enemies.¡±


    Zergoa¡¯s eyes inspect the naked corpse, which I am about to roll into the fresh grave. There isn¡¯t any judgement. Her gaze then reaches the discarded pile of hobgoblin clothes and armour already in the hole. Then finally, my goblin-sized pile set well away. ¡°While naked?¡±


    I chuckle. ¡°This one, yes. The others, no.¡± I want to laugh and laugh¡­ I grind down on my teeth and resist the urge, knowing full well stopping would be beyond my control once I start.


    Zergoa sheathed her sword. ¡°The others are on the pyre?¡±


    I nod, too afraid to open my mouth.


    ¡°Dress yourself, sister-wife, and I will finish this for you.¡±


    I open my mouth to protest, then close it and reach for my belongings.


    The body lands in the hole with a quiet thud, and immediately after, the shovel¡¯s blade striking the dirt pile rings in my ears. Between each shovel load, my dressing continues. Zergoa is replacing the topsoil and debris I had set aside when I finish, snapping my daggers in their sheaths. The disguised ground is good enough to fool most, except those skilled at searching.


    ¡°With enough time, her body will disappear forever. What about the pyre? The smoke drew me, and I am certain others will show interest.¡±


    Her calm voice brings me back from the precipice, my urge to laugh forever gone. ¡°They will find about twenty stripped hobgoblin bodies, a goblin wise-woman with a crushed neck and a pyre burning down a huge hobgoblin slaver.¡± In a daze, I listen to myself list the death toll. Perhaps Bloodstalker is appropriate. My eyes fall on the fresh grave, and I remember there are more, the dead from her slaver team.


    ¡°Come,¡± she says.


    Her hand grabs mine, and I allow her to guide me. When well away from the grave, ten armoured female hobgoblins meet us. I overhear their conversation yet don¡¯t listen, and all I pick up is they found five corpses in the forest. That is good. They can¡¯t be Zoria, Xorbrim, Argro and Yalo because they would have reported discovering only four bodies otherwise.


    <h2>---Roke, Eater Clan Assassin POV</h2>


    The two males hiss and snipe at each other, and I wish I weren¡¯t here with them. While they are oblivious, I am keeping two ears out for interlopers. The wild hobgoblin females are the greatest danger, yet they are hunting for animals, and their dedication to that task allows us to remain undisturbed. I glance again at the two, who demanded to escort me. Their true purpose and story sit with Clan Head Sakvorpa. I know little.


    ¡°She can stay here and observe,¡± hisses the stranger assassin. Our Clan Head has some deal with his master, is all I know.


    ¡°It is not about staying, it is about an opportunity, and if you don¡¯t follow me, you won¡¯t be here to take advantage of any opportunity,¡± Clan Eater Senior Assassin Xataran grouses.


    ¡°Opportunity! You cur of a pig trotter, they have not permitted us to be close enough to see the young upstart, let alone plan his assassin! Too many goblins and they are all Oath Keeper tribe. They know each other. They go out of their way to know each other because of their absurd lineage. So, no sneaking in and blending. To make things worse, the wild hobgoblins from Clan Beastbane infest the forest, hunting and trapping for wild game with little to no skill, scaring any potential kills.¡±


    He exaggerates, of course. They are successful more than they are not.


    ¡°What is the point of both of us following Lord Torngul¡¯s Major Domo?¡± asks Xataran.


    ¡°Opportunity,¡± hisses Noxeh, our guest assassin.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have orders to assassinate any of Lord Torngul¡¯s retinue.¡±


    ¡°You pair don¡¯t.¡± He spares me a glance. Most generous of him, although I rather he didn¡¯t. ¡°I, on the other hand, can exercise my judgement and securing some bait to draw out the young upstart may be a possibility depending on who joins that useless Major Domo of Lord Torngul for the trip back to Hobgoblin Town.¡±


    ¡°Quiet, both of you,¡± I hiss and nod toward several distant noises. Huntresses approach us, it seems.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 2.042 Plans are for Planers

    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    The flap of the tent shifts aside. ¡°Lord, you need to come with me,¡± says Izga, her voice on edge.


    Duzsia and I exchange glances and rush out of the tent to follow her, leaving my three scribes with their mouths hanging open.


    In the distance, marching towards the hill, is Zergoa, leading Luda by the hand. An escort of hobgoblins only recently separated from them, it seems, although I notice, even at this distance, several are casting worrying looks at Luda.


    Before I realise it, I am half-jogging around the walls and ditches until I am face-to-face with Zergoa. Her green complexion is pale, her eyes trying to avoid mine, and I need to grab her tusks. Silence, except for heavy breathing. I shake her tusks.


    ¡°Lord.¡± Something must trigger in her head, and she continues, ¡°Something broke Luda. I found her burying a body, the last or maybe the first of over twenty. An estimate of what she says, if true. I didn¡¯t think it would do any good to take her to the site to explain. The smoke of the pyre would be sure to draw others.¡±


    ¡°The pyre?¡± offers Duzsia.


    ¡°Yes, sister, no ordinary fire with smoke. A pyre for a formable foe. As much as I can make out, she decapitated his corpse with an axe¡­¡± Zergoa swallows and then whispers, ¡°She said he would come back like Xorbrim.¡±


    I rock back on my heels and stare at Luda, hands at her sides and eyes looking far away. When I sent Zergoa to investigate the smoke, I hoped Luda wasn¡¯t involved. I reasoned that removing the rope across the river would have been a quick task, and Luda would have made herself busy doing something else in the name of her Lord. She would easily explain her overnight absence. I convinced myself.


    My eyes study Luda. ¡°Duzsia, you have your mission. Deliver the parchment.¡±


    ¡°She can come with me, Lord.¡± I turn about to face her, my expression grim. ¡°Luda can¡¯t stay here like that¡­¡± I grind my teeth. Duzsia continues ignoring my not-so-subtle objection, ¡°Lord, you saw the looks the ten gave her.¡±


    ¡°How will you look after her when you are in Hobgoblin Town? You know, even now, she wouldn¡¯t be able to¡­ well, cope.¡±


    Izga places her hand on Duzsia¡¯s shoulder. Duzsia¡¯s hands cup my cheeks. ¡°Trust me, Lord. I will take one or more of your new clan members with me. They can care for her while they wait for me to finish with your business in Hobgoblin Town. I will meet them on the trail. We can talk about things. Warrioress to warrioress, wife to wife and reborn to reborn.¡± The last words are a hoarse whisper.


    ¡°Don¡¯t play me, wife,¡± I growl as I feel my inner hob rise to the occasion.


    ¡°Luda has always struggled. Her sister left us on Nudia¡¯s death. She has never won her name¡­¡±


    ¡°She has a name¡­¡± exhales Zergoa, causing Duzsia and I to slack-mouth gaze at her. ¡°She earnt the name Luda Bloodstalker.¡±


    ¡°Bloodstalker,¡± I mumble.


    ¡°Did she explain why? How?¡± asks Duzsia.


    ¡°While I have an advantage, having witnessed some of her kills, the name easily suggests a stealthy murderer, where blood spilling would feature.¡±


    I resist the urge to slap Zergoa. After all, we are trying to understand. My inner hob shouts at me to act, and I need to place one of my hands in the other and rest them on my waist.


    ¡°Her kills?¡± asks Duzsia, while examining Luda some more.


    ¡°They were across the throat or under chin wounds, a single strike, bloody. Her kills bled out if unlucky, instant if lucky, yet always in puddles of their blood. They were the wounds on the five corpses, the ten found, hence their nervousness. They thought a great fiend of death stalked the valley when they first found the bodies. To learn Luda was responsible, well, they had some difficulty. Fortunately, or unfortunately, when challenged, Luda could recite every detail, let us not call it, battle, more of a slaughter.¡± Zergoa shuffles closer to Duzsia and I. ¡°The recounting of the slaying sending her into this latest silence.¡± Zergoa reaches for Duzsia¡¯s hand. ¡°I blame myself, Lord. I shouldn¡¯t have asked her to explain while we stood amongst her bled-out kills. The amount of blood, Lord¡­¡±


    I approach my goblin wife and kneel before her. She sees right through me. I draw her into a hug, squeeze and release her, my hands on her shoulders. Her eyes blink, open wide, and glisten. Tears and reflective sunlight? Then she slams her body into mine and wraps her arms around my neck.


    ¡°I enjoyed the stealthy slaughter in your name, Lord.¡± She suckles on my earlobe. ¡°Their struggles for air, gurgling on their blood, music to my ears, Lord.¡± She shudders, throws her head back, and rolls her eyes. Did she just orgasm? Her eyes focus on mine. ¡°They named me Lord. I have earnt my name!¡± She closes her eyes and grits her teeth. Again?


    ¡°I know, Luda Bloodstalker.¡±


    Her smile grows wide, and then her lips are on mine¡ªdevouring, biting and cruel. Then my inner hob roars to life. I return her assault double-fold until I taste blood, hers, mine or both, I don¡¯t know. A guttural roar issues from deep within her, and her body stiffens and becomes a dead weight. My embrace of her is all that stops her from crashing to the ground. I sense my inner hob licking his lips. He is beyond satisfied. I question him; he doesn¡¯t answer, of course. He never answers.


    ¡°Carry her, Lord. With your permission, I will utilise one of our beasts, and she can sit in front of me under a cloak until she wakes,¡± says Duzsia.


    Izga whistles. ¡°Klaria will not suffer the loss of one beast she uses to prepare the land, and how can Luda go with you in her condition?¡±


    The voicing of her name causes Luda to stir in my arms. Her head swivels about, and her eyes rest on me once satisfied. ¡°I am perfectly well enough to walk,¡± she declares, then skips out of my arms. She looks over her shoulder while wiping blood from a healed lip, challenging Duzsia to catch her.


    Duzsia lays a hand on my shoulder. ¡°I will look after her, I promise.¡±


    One arm around Izga¡¯s waist, the other around Zergoa¡¯s, and I stand and watch as Duzsia chases Luda around the base of the hillock on the river side. Crossing the ford are three riding beasts, and following behind are several female hobgoblins, all on the same journey for the same purpose, to enter Lord Torngul¡¯s service.


    <h2>---Duzsia, the Relentless, Concubine of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    Lord Torngul¡¯s throne room had changed little. The position of his high-backed throne was still opposite the double-door entry. The space in between was now occupied by two sets of long tables and chairs, which funnelled all who entered towards him and his throne. This was a slight change, and I found myself oddly imprisoned.


    Lord Torngul, or as I knew him, Zeb Stone Grim, father to Koria and Luda, lounged on his throne, secure and in comfort, sipping on a glass of wine. I refuse to shuffle my feet or fidget with my hands. Instead, I wait for him to say what he needs to, as he knows I will report back to Lord Klar.


    ¡°Dorgrav has been in my ear,¡± he says.


    I don¡¯t offer a reply. In fact, I remain impassive.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t travel on the road but across the Grassplains. Why?¡±


    At last, a question. Yet, I feel this is the pre-amble, the chit-chat. ¡°We received word your Major Domo was to be ambushed on his way to us and set about preventing that. I determined it unwise to travel back the same way.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t know, then?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I fold my arms on my chest. ¡°He seems a nervous fellow outside of these walls. While the Grassplains had its surprises, depressions, and gullies following no marked path while mounted on the beasts, none could set up an ambush.¡±


    Lord Torngul bobs his head. ¡°He has never been outside these walls, outside of Hobgoblin Town, for that matter, as far as I know. I apologise on his behalf, as I assume he would have been annoying.¡±


    ¡°I can ignore annoying things,¡± I deadpan reply, including Lords who act as Lords, even when alone with someone who knows the truth.


    He raises an eyebrow, shapes his mouth to speak and then mumbles instead. Lifting his glass of wine, he pauses. ¡°What has Lord Klar been doing?¡±


    Am I about to find out what is really on his mind now? ¡°Many things. You will need to be more exacting. He does request you sign a Deed of Freedom for his goblin slaves.¡± I show him the scroll, and after he nods, I approach and hand him the document.


    I contain my surprise. He is reading the contents. This pretence aside, isn¡¯t Zeb Stone Grim Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s bound servant? I hear scratching, a quill scribbling across the parchment. He blows on the ink and returns the quill and inkpot to the arm of his throne. Next, he imprints his ring onto the page beside his signature.


    Holding the scroll high, he says, ¡°I will return this to Lord Klar, as I feel I need to inspect his progress.¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary, Lord.¡± He leans forward. ¡°I mean, he expects me to return.¡± Not me, exactly. Durrilsia and her companions.


    ¡°I know you have spread that rumour, including his request for carrier pigeons, but I suspect Duzsia the Relentless is on a mission that requires her special talent for tenacity.¡± He sits back on his throne with a broad, friendly smile. ¡°I realise we are both servants of his, yet I believe things are, erm, happening which concern me yet have as their source Lord Klar, and I have responsibilities¡­¡±


    I need to close my mouth to pick up my jaw. ¡°You have no lasting responsibilities to those around you, to this moment of living. When dead, you will be reborn, like me, into a new time, a new body, and serve Lord Farmer Hob once again.¡±


    He whispers. I would have missed the words, except Lord Klar¡¯s seed has improved my hearing.


    ¡°Impossible,¡± I reply. He can¡¯t make this decision. He is bound.


    ¡°They tell me Briksia, Warrior from the Valley of the Hobs, has gone missing? Or, as we know her, Zoria Oath Keeper. While I am uncertain of your sensitivity regarding our spirit bonds, with her in particular, there is now a hollowness. How do you explain that?¡±


    ¡°She has left the valley with Xorbrim the Undying, her son, with Lord Klar¡¯s consent. Distance?¡±


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    His laughter is long and loud, to the point he must stamp his foot to recover. Wiping his eyes, he stares at me. ¡°That she may have, but before she did, Lord Klar released her from his service. That is the hollowness I feel. If you want to know how I know the difference, in a word, Koria Keen Eye, my daughter.¡±


    My throat runs dry, so I don¡¯t even try to swallow. How does he sense these subtle changes? Because he is a male? Because of his father-daughter bond?


    ¡°Well, Duzsia the Relentless. I am waiting for your answer.¡±


    ¡°She asked to be released from her spirit bond, and Lord Klar agreed.¡±


    ¡°Good. Why was that so difficult?¡±


    ¡°What did you mean? I know the difference. Koria Keen Eye?¡± I assumed he didn¡¯t require me to answer his question.


    ¡°She is present, but not present?¡± I must have revealed a tell because he continued. ¡°Confusing, isn¡¯t it? Her spirit is definitely here.¡± He raises his hands, floating them between us. ¡°But she doesn¡¯t occupy a body. So how does that work?¡±


    ¡°She shared a body with another¡­¡± I explain as much as I know to him, and afterwards, I turn a chair about from the table and sit, my arms crossed, to wait for his response.


    ¡°The first time, on death, we rose, drawn into the black. Koria¡¯s presence would suggest we don¡¯t have to. Somehow, we can remain.¡±


    ¡°Koria¡¯s bond to you and Luda, perhaps,¡± I offer.


    ¡°Possibly.¡± His thumb and forefinger rub his chin. ¡°There is a more powerful bond.¡±


    ¡°Lord Klar?¡±


    His hands grab the arms of his throne, and as he nests, he says, ¡°Yes, somehow, we can linger, and Koria has found a way. I wonder what will be possible if Lord Klar slays again? Can she claim the body of the fresh kill?¡±


    I jump to my feet. ¡°That would mean we could die several times in a cycle, and only his death would release us until his future return.¡±


    ¡°Which means when I explain this to him and ask him to release me, the decision to do so will be much easier, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°You like this present life and don¡¯t wonder about any future life you may have?¡± I can¡¯t believe the words I speak.


    His kind smile is a surprise. ¡°I have found true love, I believe. Given your tale about Xorbrim the Undying, it might be possible to extend my life somewhat and be a willing historian for Lord Klar on his next return.¡±


    ¡°Extending the life of your true love also?¡± I tease.


    ¡°Of course. I could ask Lord Klar to spirit bind her, but she would soon, beyond her control, forget me. No, this is the best way, the only way.¡±


    ¡°When will you be leaving?¡±


    ¡°Almost immediately. That will give Dorgrav all the time he needs to train the Manor¡¯s new staff without my presence causing undue pressure.¡±


    I stroll towards the double doors and look back over my shoulder. ¡°I will tell my wild ones to escort you back over the Grassplains while I continue my mission for Lord Klar.¡±


    ¡°There is a sadness in your voice, Duzsia the Relentless. You don¡¯t believe you will survive?¡±


    ¡°If you wish to take some air well beyond the town¡¯s limits, you can greet your daughter, possibly one last time, as she is on the same mission as I.¡±


    He charges out of his throne and then loses all his energy, shaking his head. ¡°How you described my daughter, she doesn¡¯t seem to be my daughter any longer. Luda Bloodstalker. A name which suggests kill or be killed, and I would rather remember her as before, a nameless goblin who loved her father.¡±


    The throne room doors clang shut behind me as I double-time down the wide circular stairs. I say what I have to say to those who wait for me. I take what I must take for the mission ahead, and I leave my beast in the care of two new stable hands. A last, long look back and I jog through the main gate of the manor, heading west and a rendezvous.


    <h2>---Vorlora, Apprentice of Duzsia, devoted to Lord Klar POV</h2>


    All this journey, the goblin named Luda has been quiet. Following when required to, eating, drinking and other things, yet no conversation, no idle chatter. Mistress Duzsia explained she was a concubine of Lord Klar, who needed some time, hence her keeping company with us.


    I wave my hand in front of her face. Nothing, not even blinking her eyes. She understood Duzsia well enough. We snuck away from the others at her signal into the long grass. Luda kept low while remaining silent to an impossible level of skill. She stopped some ways off the path we had made, squatted on her haunches and didn¡¯t move again. I couldn¡¯t tell if there was a specific reason she chose this spot or something random.


    After a time, she whispers, ¡°We have friends.¡± Her head tilts first one way and then another. ¡°Quietly draw your sword and wait. Be ready.¡±


    While busy carefully drawing my sword, she disappears. I am alone, squatting at the end of a makeshift path¡ªthe long grass sways above me, a slight rustling noise, nothing more. My twitchy fingers on each hand strangle the shield¡¯s leather strap and my sword¡¯s grip.


    A male goblin appears before me, and I instinctively thrust my sword at his face. He cackles and looks beyond my shoulder. My sword thrust falls short, of course. He knew. His wild display is a distraction, and as I withdraw my sword, I know death is behind me. A shiver rolls down my spine. I will disappoint Duzsia.


    His face reveals what I sense. My death is overdue. While I shouldn¡¯t look away from an enemy, I glance over my shoulder and discover thick, waving grass. In an instant, I launch myself forward, leading with my sword.


    His eyes fly open. A face full of questions stares at me while his hands, in fine leather gloves, grasp my sword¡¯s blade. I twist the blade. He yelps in response. His thick black blood runs down the length of the blade towards me. Before I can think, I release my sword, turn to one side, and unload my last meal on the ground beside me. I am afraid to look, yet I must. His body leans towards me, propped up by my sword, the look of surprise on his face unmistakable. I heave and empty my stomach again.


    Something or someone tramples through the grass towards me. I push his body over and wrench my sword free with all the nervous energy I can muster. I remember to wipe my blade on his body, to remove his black blood and the evidence of his death from my weapon. Duzsia¡¯s words ring in my ears. I ready myself, taking up a sword and shield stance. Then I calm my mind and body.


    ¡°Friend.¡±


    I hear the word, and then another goblin body flops into the small clearing. His head is lolling about on his shoulders, his gapping neck exposing the back of his throat. The blood¡­ I dry heave this time, and before fully recovering, a hand pats my shoulder.


    ¡°First kill?¡±


    The excitement in her voice is such that I can¡¯t comprehend her joy at witnessing my disgrace.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I croak while feeling the warmth of a flush of blood reach my face.


    ¡°You should be proud of your first kill. By the looks and quality of his equipment, he was a master assassin.¡± Her bright eyes and enthusiasm for my kill grow on me. After all, I thought I would be dead by now.


    ¡°Possibly. Instinct,¡± I mumble.


    ¡°They made their deaths easier for us, though, two masters, but not a team. They needed to chat to coordinate, chat that, by the blessing of Lord Klar, I could overhear. Now they are dead.¡±


    I fish a rag from my belt and begin cleaning my blade as Duzsia instructed me. Raising my head from my work, I find her ransacking our kills. ¡°We aren¡¯t a team?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she answers over her shoulder.


    ¡°So, why did we succeed?¡±


    She thumbs the blade of a dagger, and with grace, swivels to face me. ¡°You did as you were told. You accepted my leadership. Regardless of any truth, these two thought of themselves as equals and needed to negotiate with each other. Too much conversation.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t wait for my response, returning to her task.


    After a time, she finishes. ¡°I will stand guard for you, then?¡± She smirks. I notice my kill lays where I left him, undisturbed. The bubbles of blood escaping his lips no more, the leaking of blood from his chest no more, almost dry.


    She whispers, ¡°Don¡¯t kill this next one.¡±


    I blink, trying to understand, and then a third goblin bursts in on us. Female this time.


    ¡°What have you done?¡±


    Luda places her hands on her hips and smiles. ¡°What does it look like?¡±


    ¡°This is impossible. They are the greatest¡­ the best I have seen¡­ someone will notice their deaths.¡± Her wavering voice at the end concerns me, yet Luda simply chuckles.


    Luda places a hand on her heart. ¡°Aww, did you come to warn us?¡±


    Our new guest flicks her head around to face Luda instead of continuing to gaze at the impossible. ¡°Yes, but I didn¡¯t know what I would do, but I thought I could have done something.¡±


    She flinches when Luda embraces her. I am sure I would have done the same. There is the glee of slaying in Luda¡¯s eyes. ¡°Lord Klar knows how to pick the loyal ones, that is for sure.¡±


    Immediately upon being released, our guest straightens her clothes, even though none requires straightening. ¡°I¡­ I will report to Clan Head Sakvorpa since we are close to Hobgoblin Town. Yes, that is what I will do. Advise her the master assassins are looking to kidnap Duzsia to lure Lord Klar away from his protection. The news should please her.¡±


    Her words are to no one in particular. Maybe she is simply thinking aloud. Turning about and after several steps, she disappears into the long grass.


    ¡°There goes a strange one, to be certain,¡± says Luda with a happy undertone. ¡°Now, what about your prize?¡±


    ¡°If you want, you can search.¡±


    ¡°Good, start digging a hole.¡±


    ¡°A hole?¡± Then her eyes travel from one corpse to the other. I nod. At least they are small goblins, both.


    <h2>---Milga Stone Blood the Fifth POV</h2>


    ¡°Report.¡±


    She leaps from her saddle and lands before me, sticking the landing. ¡°We have found their base. As far as we can tell, not a valley in the truest sense, but far enough back from the migration paths to remain safe. They are gathering, Mistress.¡±


    Zoria Oath Keeper tribe, the male mercenaries at least, finally gather in one location all because of a one-word message. A momentous occasion. I pat the drooling jaws of my enormous wolf.


    ¡°How many?¡±


    She swallows. More than expected, then. ¡°Three hundred, and still they wait. There are no signs of preparation to leave or even packing supplies for a journey, Mistress.¡±


    They are the enemy of my enemy, yet their gathering will attract attention. How long before the Klugites hear the rumour of Oath Keeper¡¯s finally all in one place? How could they resist the temptation to be rid of them in one last battle?


    A smiling Morraga approaches, and I can¡¯t wait for her to report and lighten the mood.


    ¡°Greetings, Mistress. We have several young sons of merchants following us. Perhaps they intend to sell to the Oath Keepers or us?¡±


    ¡°Or to the valley the Oath Keepers are heading for,¡± I quip.


    ¡°All likely as the other, Mistress.¡± She scratches her chin. ¡°Should we not scare them and send them back to Stone Corner?¡±


    Vrozila leans on Morraga¡¯s shoulder and adds, ¡°Some fun, Mistress. What could be the harm in that?¡±


    I sigh. ¡°Haven¡¯t you heard? We aren¡¯t about fun.¡± I smile at their downcast faces. ¡°More importantly, something could go wrong, and we must be forever cautious.¡± A warning to Stone Corner would be prudent, at least. ¡°A pigeon. And Vrozila, tomorrow, ride wide and well passed their camp and count the number of southern valleys.¡±


    ¡°Mistress,¡± she whines.


    ¡°Get some rest. You have a long day in front of you.¡± I scribble a note and return the ink and quill to my backpack. Handing the letter to Morraga, I say, ¡°Send this. We should warn Stone Corner.¡±


    I am alone. Casting my eye over the patrol, they continue making camp, unrolling bedrolls, and erecting tents. No campfire tonight. Staring up at the darkening dusk sky, I wonder. Is the youth Krilzak Quickeyed¡¯s merchants gossip about really the second coming of Lord Farmer Hob or simply an imitation? Or could he be exactly like me?


    <h2>---Goblin Crone, Oath Keeper Tribe POV</h2>


    I stare at the ashes of the pyre, and I am troubled still. The old crone and her grandson disagreeing to such a degree that killing each other was the result. What didn¡¯t her grandson agree with? The deed? No, impossible. The terms to earn our freedom are generous and obvious if viewed through the eyes of a new Clan Head, especially if his lands were to be held safe from threat.


    Betrayal? The grandson made no secret of his desire to wed Nudia, although most of the remaining males had the same dream. By this time, though, she had eyes only for Lord Klar. Hence, the old crone was not upset that Xorbrim had slain her, or at least his wives had. Her death should satisfy me, given my promotion, or better still, my uncontested promotion. Someone needed to rise to lead the tribe when the old crone¡¯s death needed an explanation. That same someone needed to guide and rally the tribe to confront Lord Klar. His shock and dismay were equal, if not more than ours. Acting or innocence? The easier path to follow needs me to accept innocence.


    In the end, secrets killed the old crone. If she shared, then her death would have proved useless to any schemer, as others would know and who to suspect. I about-face, and as I expect, my two acolytes await my orders.


    ¡°Approach.¡±


    Both climb to their feet and, when an appropriate distance away, bow and once again wait.


    ¡°Are all his possessions accounted for?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Crone,¡± they reply in unison.


    ¡°Have the males nominated their three candidates?¡± I expect them to be on in years, their age, to balance my youth.


    ¡°They are still considering.¡±


    They don¡¯t have many to choose from. Maybe they all want to nominate themselves.


    ¡°Are all the crone¡¯s possessions accounted for?¡± I will claim some, but the proper thing is to share several items with her loyal acolytes, so her legacy lives on. I break from my thoughts when I realise neither of them has answered.


    ¡°Speak!¡±


    ¡°One set of regalia is missing and an old staff, a worn, gnarled thing, which she used little,¡± replies one.


    ¡°Would these missing items match what she wore when she left the village while in the company of Lord Klar yesterday?¡±


    If the circumstances weren¡¯t so important, their shared realisation would have been comical. How could they not join the dots? Eventually, they both slowly nod.


    ¡°Sink your faces into her possessions until you have her scent up your noses and nothing else. Start at the end of the village and at least walk towards Lord Klar¡¯s hill. The Old Crone would have followed that path yesterday, at least. But I expect your noses to lead you elsewhere. Now go but be discrete and sombre. No point celebrating if the very act also draws your death.¡± I notice them swallow, but they bow and leave me, anyway.


    Acting or innocence, Lord Klar, I now wonder. If they find her things where they shouldn¡¯t be, then I suspect acting. If acting, there is no point in revenge. After all, the death of the Old Crone has promoted me. Also, I suspect without the mercenaries, Lord Klar, his wives, and servants would slaughter us. No, I will ask for further concessions. Send the tribe on its way, not as freed slaves but as valuable servants deserving reward.

 2.043 Strange Behaviours

    <h2>---Lord Torngul Heartsplitter POV</h2>


    ¡°Your Honour Guard seems rather displeased, husband, even after seeing goblins scrambling left and right as we ambled through their quaint village.¡±


    I stare ahead of us, observing two female goblins wearing white robes.


    ¡°Husband? What has your attention?¡±


    I nod towards the ford.


    ¡°Durrilsia, please fetch me the two goblins.¡± I fling an arm out towards the obvious. After all, the horde of goblins working on the hillock are too far away to suggest any of them.


    ¡°Yes, Lord,¡± she replies sharpish. She eyes her two escorts, and they jog off.


    ¡°Why the interest in two goblins, husband? Aren¡¯t we trying to beat dusk and surprise Lord Klar?¡±


    I chuckle. ¡°Durrilsia, why do you think I would be interested in them?¡±


    ¡°Lord?¡± There is a nervous wail in her response. During this brief journey, she has been quick to do as I command, yet venturing her opinion is definitely new, at least to me. I wait.


    ¡°They¡­ perhaps they are hunting Lord, using their noses. Chasing a scent on either side of the trail?¡±


    I chuckle again. ¡°Certainly, one plausible explanation, but I will ask them directly.¡±


    While reluctant at first, their resistance immediately melts after Durrilsia¡¯s escorts point towards me. They also share a worrying glance.


    ¡°They are afraid, husband.¡±


    Yes, Trela, my dear wife, I think to myself as the two goblins, heads down, drag their feet, trying to delay the inevitable.


    They bow before me and need to look up as I remain on my beast, my arms crossed over the saddle horn.


    ¡°Explain what you are doing?¡± A simple question, with no leading excuses or explanations, like seeking the truth from children.


    Another exchange of glances, and then the one on the right, speaks, ¡°We are blessing the pathway, Lord. We take a side each and call on our blood to protect and provide safe passage for all who tread on it.¡±


    Inwardly, I am sceptical. I am tempted to break out in uncontrolled laughter, yet under my gaze, they hold their nerve.


    ¡°Back to it then. I am certain Lord Klar appreciates your efforts.¡±


    As they hurry back, Durrilsia sidles up to my beast, her eyes never leaving them. ¡°They lie, Lord.¡±


    ¡°They are Lord Klar¡¯s slaves. I will mention their behaviour, and he can act as he wishes.¡±


    Instinct or quick reaction, Durrilsia doesn¡¯t impede my beast as I spur him on and shortly after, we pass by the goblins and wade across the river using the ford. As we circle the hillock searching for the gate, the goblins pause their work and mark our passing in a wave of silence. After a suitable length of time, known only to them, most bow and then resume their labours. They are female goblins, and in only a rare exception, one doesn¡¯t sport a rounding belly¡ªLord Klar¡¯s mischief.


    I order two of my Honour Guard to remain at the gate at the foot of the hillock. My wife and two other Honour Guard escort me towards Lord Klar¡¯s wooden abode atop the hillock. Durrilsia and her two escorts lead the way as we head one way and back the other once we pass through another gateway.


    Dismounting, my wife and I tread on a rising ramp that ends at another gateway in a wall, without gates. A couple of impressively equipped female hobgoblins stand guard, yet Durrilsia¡¯s company seems to be all the assurance they need to remain stoic.


    Finally, I glance at Durrilsia to check, and her apologetic nod confirms the worst. My wife and I must climb what appears to be a free-standing ladder to reach the inside of Lord Klar¡¯s seat of authority. I take a deep breath near the top and pop my head through the trapdoor. Two young, pretty female hobgoblins scribe at roughhewn desks and chat about numbers. An older third female oversees and either confirms or corrects in a quiet voice, oblivious to my intrusion.


    From behind, I hear Lord Klar¡¯s cheerful voice.


    ¡°Welcome, Lord Torngul and what brings you to my primitive lodgings?¡±


    I step up the few remaining rungs and then hold out a hand to assist my wife. My Honour Guard remains at the foot of the ladder while Durrilsia and her escort are nowhere to be seen.


    With my arm around Trela, I face Lord Klar. His skinny one, Izga, hangs off him like an additional layer of clothing.


    ¡°I would be remiss, Lord Klar, if I didn¡¯t report some unusual slave behaviour.¡± I point towards a window and meet him there. The view across the ford is clear, and the two white-robed goblins now confer, edging towards a forest grove. ¡°They said they were conducting a ritual. Your Beastbane Huntress suggests this is a lie, and in fact, they are hunting for a scent.¡±


    ¡°Lord, shall I?¡± whispers Izga.


    ¡°No.¡± Lord Klar wraps an arm around her waist. ¡°I believe we have not been as clever as we thought.¡±


    ¡°A plan gone astray?¡± I ask.


    He cracks a warm smile. ¡°A complication, but I expect negotiation instead of blood, although only time will tell.¡±


    Izga reaches up on her toes, and her lips move close to his ear. Lord Klar shakes his head and says, ¡°And then what?¡±


    His female hobgoblin cloak of flesh slithers down and settles. He assuages her disappointment with light kissing. My wife interlocks her fingers in mine. She is leaning on my strength. Fortunately, she doesn¡¯t realise the true dynamic between Lord Klar and I. Yet Izga¡¯s demonstration of devotion clearly proves that, like Duzsia, who admitted her mission could end in her death, another will do the same. While death is painful, they both know they will return to him, and such certainty skews their devotion, I am sure. While he and I have an attachment, this isn¡¯t the same as the deep emotion toward his wives, for which I am thankful. Blind devotion, being a slave to another, is not what I want, and my decision to part ways firms up even more. I will miss my daughters, but we have parted once. I before my daughters, as it should be. Repeating this time and time again will make the loss ordinary, without import, when mourning for those you loved should be painful. Not simply an interruption between periods of life. My stomach turns.


    I wait for the two to pause between affections. ¡°The Goblin Deed.¡± I search for my satchel and then look longingly at my wife. She glances at the trapdoor and the ladder and sighs. ¡°Thank you, dear,¡± I whisper.


    I lean in close to Lord Klar. ¡°Some days ago, I felt the release of Zoria, and I wish for the same release.¡±


    He leans back and examines my face. I am not smiling.


    ¡°There are a few questions I could ask, but the most important is why? Why surrender returning?¡±


    Now I crack a warm smile. ¡°I am in love, Lord Klar. What are my chances of finding the same again? My life as Lord is comfortable, with the need to play some political games to avoid untimely death, but I believe Trela and I are up to that challenge. There is the possibility I can extend my life by consuming your blood, not unlike Xorbrim the Undying. My long life will allow you to talk to a living historian on your next return.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t grip the windowsill. His face doesn¡¯t flush bright green. The sole tell, his furrowing brow.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± he says in almost a whisper. ¡°I prefer the willing, not the unwilling, and as you say, there could be a future benefit.¡± He grips my shoulders, and I hear the scribing stop for a moment. ¡°With me, Lord Torngul and we can partake of some sweet mead and catch up on other things.¡± The scribing continues as we descend the ladder, meeting my wife at the bottom.


    She quirks her head as she hands me my satchel. Lord Klar holds out his hand, and I pass the satchel on.


    ¡°I hope not to offend, but your overnight stay will be in the future storehouse. Consider this a luxury, as even now, I will spend my sleep time in a tent.¡±


    I wave my arm at the building behind us. ¡°What of your manor?¡±


    ¡°An illusion for now. The scribes remain there, no others. The bottom floor is still bare soil, so they sleep near where they work.¡±


    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    A late-night chat with Lord Torngul leads to a late morning. Izga wakes me in time to bid Lord Torngul goodbye. Part of our nocturnal exploits involved releasing Lord Torngul¡¯s spirit under the watchful surveillance of Izga. As if on cue, a white-robed goblin crone crosses the ford well after Lord Torngul. Her visit was not unexpected. Her leaning on the older and seldom-used staff of the former Old Crone, though somewhat bold. She flaunts an unmistakable message.


    I decide to walk along the river after we exchange greetings, and when she feels we are out of earshot of all others, she decides our chit-chat is at an end.


    ¡°As you can see, we found the lost regalia of the Old Crone, the regalia she wore when she accompanied you out of our village. The last time anyone saw the Old Crone alive.¡±


    There wasn¡¯t a single slither of subtly. She would need to improve on that score if she was to age gracefully into being known as the old Crone.


    ¡°I could deny everything. After all, I am Lord, and you are my slaves.¡± I pat the satchel swinging at my hip.


    She swallows. ¡°I thought you would kill me¡­¡±


    ¡°Why? How many know you have found her regalia?¡± Her head lowers. ¡°You don¡¯t need to answer, as one would be too many. Your disappearance or death would strengthen any story they told, any accusation they made. I am also certain you told many you planned to meet me today. As Lord, I could still bluff my way through, but then I am certain the building, the planting, and the tending would be functionary because of doubt, not as it is now energised by the promise of freedom.¡±


    I now wait for her claim.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡°I will ensure my tribe knows nothing of this unfortunate event, although I have accomplices who will need gifts to remain silent.¡±


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Gifts or bribes?¡±


    ¡°The words mean the same thing to goblins. Lord.¡±


    My joyful chuckle releases the tension between us. ¡°Name your gifts.¡±


    ¡°Weapons, Lord. Our mercenaries have long complained about how they are denied the use of the finest steel weapons, and if we are to drag Rexa down, they will allow us to be at least on equal terms.¡±


    I stare out towards the river; the uneven flow of the water catches the sunlight. Light and shadow play side by side, changing from light to shadow and shadow to light as the water flows. Goblins denied fine steel weapons. Why?


    ¡°Can you trust these mercenaries of yours?¡± She is behind me. I am deliberately exposing my back to her, and I hope even her young, uncomplicated mind will take note and appreciate my purposeful vulnerability.


    ¡°They are Oath Keepers.¡±


    I chuckle. Then glance over my shoulder to catch her indignant look, which transforms briefly into wrath before smoothing out. ¡°When was the last time you or the old crone met or visited their camp, not just meeting the occasional leader in the dead of night?¡±


    ¡°How is that important? Are you trying to doubt us, our cause? We are all Oath Keepers. That is not only who we are but also what we are, heart, blood, and bone.¡±


    I swivel about, advance on her, and, when her eyes open wide, grab her shoulders. ¡°They are mercenaries who have fought many battles for others. Many have lost battle companions and never known a home. Most would not know this secret life you live except as youths. Once of age and pushed out to join the mercenaries, they would know only harsh reality. Killing and death change anyone.¡±


    ¡°They are Oath Keepers. What do you think the words mean? They keep their oaths, and they will. When reunited with them, they will lead us from this valley to victory over Rexa and her Klugites.¡±


    Her eyes water. Her cheeks flush dark green. Such passion, such belief. They are two separate communities, in essence. They have been this way for tens of years, two hundred years? The valley Oath Keepers send off their sons to join the mercenaries and rarely see them again. Do these sons feel privileged or abandoned? How do the mercenaries treat their recruits?


    ¡°You would know more than I.¡± I wipe her eyes before any tears fall. ¡°Weapons, though, are beyond me. We have several sets of steel weapons and armour won from an ambush, and I am reluctant to give them up. In fact, if I could purchase bronze or iron weapons and armour, I would do so for my fighters, but alas, leather is the best they have for armour and a mixture of various weapons ranging from spears to bows.¡±


    ¡°Deal,¡± she says, and I quirk my head. ¡°The Hungry Clan crop is due for harvest, and rumour, well, not rumour, our spies have estimated the bushels of grain. Your gamble will well reward you as there aren¡¯t enough buildings to hide all the harvest.¡±


    ¡°What if Clan Head Zinmog sneaks out the grain, using the wagons of The Runner Clan?¡±


    ¡°Everyone would know. Lord Torngul will find out, and The Runner Clan will be disgraced and thrown down. I am certain other Clans would want to inherit some or all of The Runner Clan¡¯s duties, and Lord Torngul could order that.¡±


    If I am to leave Lord Torngul to live out his life, I need to know the extent of his power and, possibly, this goblin crone will be able to explain. ¡°What if The Runner Clan says no?¡±


    Her face blanks. ¡°No? To what?¡±


    ¡°Being thrown down? They defy Lord Torngul. After all, he has no soldiers of his own. How does he enforce his will?¡±


    She licks her lips. ¡°The other Clans would enforce his will. Once done, they will expect a reward equal to their support, and Lord Torngul will be able to grant that since an entire Clan¡¯s wealth is now, like a carcass, there to be distributed.¡±


    ¡°This is a win-win for you as not only is a Clan destroyed, but depending on the duration, many hobgoblins will die as well.¡±


    She leans on her staff, and an idle foot draws a circle in the river sand. ¡°That would not be a bad thing, Lord.¡± She looks up. ¡°While in the main female hobgoblins will die, some males will also perish, and that is the key to this valley and many others.¡±


    I realise at that moment their true dream. They wish to birth hobgoblins themselves; they believe these will be loyal Oath Keeper hobgoblins. All other hobgoblins are only fit to be slain. A mercenary army of Oath Keeper hobgoblins? They will need to wait a few years, but where? Not this valley. Will the existing Oath Keeper mercenaries accept their bigger brothers to forge a combined goblin and hobgoblin army? Over time, the Oath Keeper hobgoblins will grow leaders who will question following the orders of the smaller goblins, regardless of their wisdom, won¡¯t they? Years, I remind myself. My priority is for the pregnant Oath Keeper goblins to leave this valley, doing the least harm possible.


    ¡°What of my fledgling Clan?¡±


    She takes a step back, realising I suppose she didn¡¯t make any distinctions. I let slip a laugh.


    ¡°I doubt Lord Torngul will ask your Clan to assist. You are too weak. Farmers and hunters, with warriors without proper armour and weapons.¡± She taps her chin with a finger. ¡°You could exchange grain for whatever Clan Ironmonger could provide?¡±


    They are more noted for the supply of farming and mining tools, yet a scythe, axe or pick would, in certain circumstances, be better than a spear. How difficult would it be for them to cast iron spear and arrow points? The proper weapon smiths, though, make a living in Hobgoblin Town. They purchase the ingots of iron from the Clan and craft iron weapons and armour, which Clan Quickeyed then purchase to carry out of the valley to sell, trade or barter in other valleys. It all sounds too simple, yet The Eater Clan must figure in their somehow, as they service Hobgoblin Town and must have a say in what happens to any crafted goods or is the Clan supposed to be subservient to Lord Torngul like all the others? I will gladly leave this mystery to Lord Torngul.


    <h2>---Rexa, High Priestess of Klug POV</h2>


    Through cloudy vision, I witness my Priestess¡¯ of Klug kneel in solemn vigil around the edge of my grand bed. They are more like vultures waiting for my final rasping breath. One will ascend to High Priestess using a method I dictated only several days prior at the insistence of the Holy Scribe. My denial of my near future death was foolish. What would his religion become with no clear successor? I charged her and her small click of followers with recording the history of the Great Religion and their scrawls on dusty scrolls; I accept, will outlive me. While a vanity, I now treasure the tapestries celebrating our victories and the portraits of my sons, Klugrath and Kluggoth. There are other portraits, of course, yet my sons carried Lord Klug¡¯s teachings before them, with sword and fire if necessary.


    Will the worship of Lord Klug outlive my death? I fear only now, on my deathbed, that my iron grip on his religion has been at odds with this aim. Too late. All now depends on my successor.


    Dying is so tedious, yet after two hundred years, a lifetime beyond everyday possibility, his blood no longer invigorates me. With no one to trust but myself, my hidden cache of blood will be my secret in death as my failing legs, even if his blood renewed me, could no longer carry me in silence to the secret grotto to sip.


    One last rasping breath, and as if they are in time with my breathing, I hear them exhale as I leave my body. I maintain a certain slither of awareness and catch their gasps of shock as my body powders under the weight of my fine clothes and too-long life. An outline of where I once was, diminishes in size as I ascend until I see, hear, smell, touch, and taste nothing more. Blackness surrounds me and welcomes me. Should I be afraid? What is after death?


    Around me, others ascend. I sense them as I have no eyes to see, and we are all joining the many¡ªa stream of spirits flowing by this world. The attraction is absolute. Why must I join them? I am a High Priestess of Klug; this is not my future. My ascent slows. I refuse to ascend and make to look back, a yearning only as I have no eyes. My rise is minimal, other spirits flow past me, and some feel my presence and question. Others strive forward like they are supposed to.


    I wonder?


    I reach out, searching. A Priestess of Klug attracts my attention, and I don¡¯t know how. She must be performing the spirit ceremony in a valley below and, as taught, probably knee-deep in water. Is this why? Without his blood, she is binding a servant by belief only to the worship of Lord Klug. Somehow, I know this. No, I perceive this. Then like a wave of warmth, his touch, many years ago from his visitation, switches my perspective. Am I now like Lord Klug? Was his spirit searching for another existence, another life to live? Is that the power he now grants me? I would bellow and fall over in laughter if I could. For years I have been resisting death, hanging on, and in the final years living a miserable existence. Only now, after death, do I realise the full power of his worship, the full benefit of believing in Lord Klug. Not only spirit enslavement but spirit return.


    No more fear, no more begging in uncertainty. I am the hunter and examine those below me, countless numbers of the living offer no connection. Others, worshippers of Lord Klug, welcome me, yet I can¡¯t replace them, subvert the ownership of their flesh, their living body. I sense this happened to Lord Klug, the strongest of his worshippers; the High Priestess, me, drew him, yet I wouldn¡¯t surrender my life to him even if I could and knew how. His worshippers do likewise to me, his former High Priestess.


    Is this the end? Was this his end? My faith falters for an instant, and I feel myself ascend. No! There must be another way. My perception grows. This isn¡¯t vision as with eyes. This is sensing spiritual strength. Those living below me now glow. Some have almost no radiance, others hold an intense glow, and some shine brightest. There are crowds of glowing and sizeable areas of nothing. Are some hidden from my perception? The unfaithful or lesser beings? As I hover in confusion, I witness a curious aberration. A glow which, like a torch plunged into a bucket of water, extinguishes instantly.


    Under my continued use, my perception improves, and the spirits take on, or I, at last, perceive them glowing in various hues. While observing, the glows diminish, and I need to concentrate to continue my study. I silent scream as I realise why they decrease. I am ascending. No, I scream in defiance, yet the tug is steady and unwavering. Have I wasted this interlude between death and the spirit stream? Is my time up? I need to reach out and conquer a body of flesh. Where? Emerald-yellow? During Lord Klug¡¯s visitation, I recall his spirit was emerald-yellow. As are all Klugites, I instantly realise. Do I now descend upon a glow after being extinguished? How? Once extinguished, they escape my perception.


    Ignoring my gradual withdrawal, I study. When their diminishing glow is almost nothing, when the glow is the tiniest of sparks, I dive towards my possible salvation, my promise of an anchor. This exertion of my willpower defeats the steady drag with ease. Amazing. Floating about aimlessly, and I am subject to the spirit stream, with purpose, I control my fate.


    My spirit binds to the body I target with ease, my spirit who worships Lord Klug with the flesh of a former worshipper. I try to suck in a natural breath and taste the black soot of blood instead. This dead former worshipper of Lord Klug doesn¡¯t respond. A male. An adult. Rain spatters on my face. I try to take another breath and fail. Suffocation. Slow and painful death assaults me in contrast to my peaceful first death. Then my spirit rises rapidly. I discard all thoughts about what happened; I need another target.


    There are only those who glow. I must target the weakest my perception can locate. Yet which one? Then, as a herd, they move off with purpose. Behind their departure, several specks of darkness flicker. I study the anomaly, and the glow of all of them slowly flourishes at the same pace and then, in an instant, their respective glows burst forth. The strength of their individual glow is weaker than any other I have measured with my perception. They are like the faint embers of a campfire, yet I suspect they only require wood to grow into a bright flame.


    My rise is almost complete, and with desperation, I randomly pick one some distance away from the others and descend with purpose. My descent is slow, the tug of the spirit stream clawing at my spirit. A stark reality hits me. This is my slimmest of second chances. I cling to my faith in Lord Klug. By his grace, I have this chance. Belief in him makes all things possible.


    My spirit joins to the flesh that I single out and immediately wrestles with the neophyte spirit within. At a loss to know how to win, I exert my will on the spirit and perform the possession ceremony. I don¡¯t need to drown the body to separate the spirit from the body. I don¡¯t need Lord Klar¡¯s blood to establish a bridge between me and my subject to tithe a slither of the spirit on acceptance. My will and belief overpower this budding spirit like a big fish eating a small fish, and I am instantly in darkness, yet warm. Is this life? The draw of the spirit stream is no more, my spirit perception subdued, yet not extinguished. Exercising my perception like I did when a spirit I seek outwards¡­


    My new floating body is inside another. The body is female, and her spirit glows with a gentle emerald-orange. Not of Lord Klug? I expand my perception beyond that of my host. Nothing.


    Real-time passes slowly as I float inside my host. At some point, my hearing and sight return to me, yet apart from thumping, humming, and vibrations, my hearing is disappointing. My sight notices light and dark and nothing else. I eventually sense my arms and legs, my hands, and feet. With them, I kick. I punch. My prison is flexible, bending instead of breaking under my feeble efforts. These taunts amuse me as I pass the time.


    I float no more. The fluid no longer surrounds me! My prison forces me into a new position. Do I resist? No. This is the natural way of things. The presence of several spirits close in on me. None are emerald-yellow. All are black-red. What does that mean? No Klugites are nearby? Why?


    The pressure on my body is immense, the squeezing intolerable! Don¡¯t they know who they are torturing? Then there is light and a sting of pain on my soggy bottom. I hold back my scream and receive another slap for my efforts and howl this time. Such is the pain. Then I swear revenge. Hunger gnaws at my stomach, and while trying to pronounce the words of complaint, I hear howling, instead. Then an enticing scent attracts my nose, and with little thought of anything else, I nuzzle forward in a frenzy. My lips find and suck on a fountain of nourishment. As I suckle like a pig, I accept I am a newborn baby as my eyes try to make out my mother¡¯s face. My fate, until adulthood, will be tied to that of my non-Klugite mother. I am amongst non-worshippers.

 2.044 A Long Time in the Making

    <h2>---Naro, Priestess of Klug.</h2>


    The Holy Scribe perches over her high desk in one corner of High Priestess Rexa¡¯s plain functional bed chamber. Her followers especially carved the massive room out of stone and set it deep into the cliff face. Beyond the foot of the grand bed, the last resting place of our High Priestess, waits the three heirs apparent, on one knee, heads in a solemn bow. The three are in an exclusive club, all serving in the High Temple, all only answerable to the High Priestess. Then on each side of the bed are another three. I am one of those six. We are the Voter members of the Circle of Ascension and must cast a secret vote for one of the three. If there is a tie, the Holy Scribe will break the deadlock.


    With as much care as I can, I pat and confirm the vial of Lord Klar¡¯s pure blood is still within the folds of my robe. The High Priestess¡¯ rasping breaths are the only noise. Then a plop. Ten sets of eyes, including mine, turn on the Washing Servant. She straightens, hands empty. None present wishes to break the silence. On the High Priestess¡¯ final breath, the washing of her body will begin as per her wishes. The Circle of Ascension must use that time to cast their votes. The thought being Rexa¡¯s dead-eyed gaze will lend us her wisdom.


    Her hand flickers. This is my chance, and I dash forward and grasp High Priestess Rexa¡¯s spotted and thin skeletal hand in my own. I set about pricking the skin of the High Priestess with the well-crafted protrusion of the silver ring I wear for the occasion. They all release a breath in unison, possibly even the High Priestess. Her last breath? I have broken decorum, yet not tradition, because this is the first time a High Priestess of Lord Farmer Hob, Lord Klug, has laid on her deathbed.


    ¡°Voter Naro, return to your vigil.¡±


    I am uncertain of which of the three, but I am certain the whisper came from the foot of the grand bed. Ignoring the instruction, I ensure I have made a sufficient bloody mess of the High Priestess¡¯ hand and mine.


    ¡°Voter Naro, you reach above yourself. You are only an Oath Keeper representative, to vote and no more.¡± She believes her low hissing growl will bring me to heel! Fool. I am playing for keeps.


    Palming the vial of Lord Klug¡¯s blood, I mix his with the High Priestess¡¯ to ensure I have volume, but also to ensure the witnesses believe her blood is the source, the reason, and the explanation for my future miracle.


    I hold my black bloody hand up and grab the Voter to my left around the throat and lift, dragging her towards the Washing Servant and the bath. Behind me, multiple gasps of shock sound. The tub¡¯s edge smacks into her rump, and she topples backward into the bath headfirst. Her legs in the air flail about. Her hands grab at my arm and hand around her throat. I hold my bloody hand towards the other Priestesses¡¯ climbing to their feet, now shaking the shock of my action from their minds. They crowd toward me as I take the drowned Priestess from the bathwater and perch her on its edge. I breathe life back into her while dragging my bloody hand down her face.


    She spits out the water in her lungs, and with wide eyes, she sees only me.


    ¡°Service or death?¡±


    ¡°Service,¡± she whispers. I drag her to standing, and the other Priestesses take a step back. The Holy Scribe, I note, is busy scratching away on her parchment, sneaking looks now and again.


    I hand her a dagger. ¡°Kill yourself.¡±


    Their sharp intake of breath all around me is music to my ears. None, not even High Priestess Rexa, could force a subject to take their own life. Many chose death instead of serving, but this situation is different. She chose service.


    There is a struggle behind her eyes, yet her hand wraps around the dagger.


    ¡°Obey,¡± I command her.


    The confusion in her eyes clears, and all resistance fades. In the blink of an eye, only the handle of the dagger sticks out of her chest. The blade is deep in her flesh, and I must support her weight until I realise she is a corpse and allow her to free fall with a thump.


    ¡°High Priestess Rexa, with a flick of her hand, called me to her side. She offered me her blood. Using her blood, I spirit-bound this one.¡± I flick my bloody hand towards the corpse. ¡°Commanded her to take her own life. By the demonstration of this power, I claim the right and privilege of being the High Priestess of Lord Klug!¡±


    One of the three charges towards me, all claws. I meet her charge with a second dagger and plunge the blade between her breasts as her hands wrap around my throat. Her eyes fly open, her hands fall from my throat, and she feebly grabs at the dagger protruding from her chest as she falls to the ground. I reach for my first dagger and wait.


    ¡°All prostrate themselves before Naro, High Priestess of Lord Klug,¡± says a firm voice behind them. They look over their shoulders towards the Holy Scribe and then, with heads down, face me. They slowly fight their natures, trying to accept the new order, and with begrudging acceptance, lie prostrate. Foreheads on the stone floor, hands stretched forward and flat beyond their heads. I grab the second dagger, and while they are all at my mercy, I plunge a dagger into the back of the heads of the last two heirs apparent. They both squeak and then silence. The four faces of the remaining voters remain flat on the stone.


    ¡°High Priestess,¡± calls a high, timid voice.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I reply, unable to suppress my satisfaction from reaching my voice.


    ¡°I¡­ I can¡¯t wash the High Priestess Rexa¡¯s corpse. She is¡­ she is dust.¡±


    Of course, you live by consuming Lord Klug¡¯s blood for two hundred years; you only delay the inevitable. Zoria Oath Keeper knew of some properties of Lord Klug¡¯s blood. She observed Rexa¡¯s forever youth, and, of course, she experimented with her son, ensuring he sipped Lord Klug¡¯s blood from birth. She also outlined instructions for my rise, a castoff of no important lineage, simply a babe fed on Lord Klug¡¯s blood from birth, one hundred and eighty years after the founding of the High Temple to Lord Klug. The number of years was significant in more ways than one as they matched the number of years our prisoner lived (he shortly after returned in a new body) and allowed me to reach adulthood before High Priestess Rexa expired. How did Zoria Oath Keeper know? Maybe she didn¡¯t. Perhaps one event triggered another? The prisoner¡¯s death triggered my capture and feeding early enough to provide sufficient years for me to prepare for Rexa¡¯s death and usurp the succession process. I don¡¯t doubt that they will usurp my succession similarly. Is this Zoria Oath Keeper¡¯s ultimate revenge on Rexa? Or everyone, really, since I now command the largest organisation known and swear to keep my oath to Zoria Oath Keeper, even if this is to the detriment of Lord Klug.


    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I pace back and forth, forth, and back. The three scribes keep their heads down, studying the piles of parchments on their tables. Busy scribing or busy avoiding my scowl? For the third day in a row, the gentle pita-patter of rain drums on the roof of my modest manor. The first day and night, I spent with my wives exploring every facet of debauchery. The second day and night likewise, although all except Izga couldn¡¯t now stand, let alone walk confidently. This morning they shook their heads at me, and now I find myself here, avoiding what I should have been attending to for the past month. Erm, maybe two months.


    ¡°All right.¡±


    ¡°All right? Lord?¡± asks Solgia.


    I face the former lame scribe as her head rises from her work.


    ¡°What have you to tell me? A single-word report first and then perhaps the details.¡±


    ¡°Surplus.¡±


    I wave a hand, signalling her to continue while I stroll towards the window, the pushed-out shutter doing enough to ward off the rain, which is falling straight down. No wind, let alone a breeze, probably means the rain will stay around for a time.


    ¡°The goblins have exceeded their quota these past seven days, and the village housing the hobgoblins is eighty percent complete, including two large granaries. One is full of grain, generously and enthusiastically provided by Clan Hungry.¡±


    I swivel about and raise an eyebrow. ¡°Humour?¡±


    ¡°Why not, Lord? Considering the complaining and multiple excuses why the Clan Head couldn¡¯t deliver the due grain and, in the end, there wasn¡¯t anywhere else to store the surplus. The overflowing granaries of Hobgoblin Town being the deciding factor.¡±


    ¡°We are fortunate that the Oath Keeper goblins somehow predicted the harvest¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. They built two granaries in the hobgoblin village, two near the manor and two across the river in the goblin village. Although have you factored in our late planting? This rain, for example?¡±


    I lean on the windowsill and look out through the rain. The sprinkling of drops on the flowing river water is such a peaceful and calming scene. ¡°The goblins have near fulfilled their obligations, haven¡¯t they?¡±


    Shifting and sorting through parchment breaks through the sound of falling rain. Then a low whisper, ¡°Here!¡±


    ¡°Lord, the goblins owe two weeks of work, originally four, which you agreed to reduce, given their progress,¡± Solgia reports.


    What madness? I curse myself for my generosity. Weather permitting, two weeks would probably see the building of another two granaries.


    ¡°Lord?¡±


    ¡°Which one are you?¡± I ask.


    A small giggle. ¡°Tigliga, Lord.¡±


    I wave a hand over my shoulder for her to continue, as I don¡¯t want to interrupt my view.


    ¡°Lord, a work crew of hobgoblins, could complete the cottages in hobgoblin village while the last two weeks of the goblin¡¯s obligations could build at least two, possibly three, granaries based on their previous efforts.¡±


    ¡°Previous efforts?¡±


    There is a silence, which eventually causes me to turn about. I lean back on the windowsill and cross my arms.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Tigliga says and stutters.


    A chair scrapes back, and Solgia stands, waving the older but shorter of the two sisters to silence. ¡°I took it upon myself to ensure Shiliga and Tigliga took notes on building progress, since the goblins had an obligation to meet. Without a written record, how would our Lord know if the goblins had completed their obligation or not?¡± Her head remains level. I grunt. ¡°When you reduced their obligation by two weeks, if you had asked, we would have been able to tell you what building work couldn¡¯t be completed.¡± Her face flushes green. ¡°Although, in this case, Lord, your gut feeling was close enough. The goblins, in essence, were two weeks ahead of their obligations.¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°My gut was correct then. Is what you are saying?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. But we have the written records as proof if you wish to review them.¡±


    I inwardly smile while outwardly returning to the business at hand. The building of granaries is a skill we need. ¡°Take a note. The goblins can build one granary while a hobgoblin crew assists and observes. The second granary, the hobgoblin crew, can build under the supervisor of the goblins, which should take longer but protect our future. Much in the same way that the hobgoblin crews can build cottages and fortifications.¡±


    I wait for the scribing to stop.


    ¡°What other records have you kept for my benefit?¡±


    All three faces glow a gentle green. The two sisters glance at my chief scribe. I suppose I should name her. She clears her throat and shuffles several loose pieces of parchment on her desk.


    ¡°We have records of the number of days your soldier hobgoblins have trained for. An assessment of individual progress for each. The exact number of seeds spread across the prepared farmland. An estimate of the harvest is based on the strike rate of the seed. The number of days your wives have worked on your behalf. The number and size of beasts hunted, and several other records.¡±


    Shiliga stares up at Solgia. ¡°What about their absences?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I ask. ¡°Absences? Explain.¡±


    I catch Solgia reshuffling her papers, eyes down, and to my surprise, she leans against her table for support. ¡°Lord, it probably isn¡¯t important. We only recorded the absences because we recorded other details, and the record would seem incomplete otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Let me be the judge. Report on absences. Now!¡±


    ---


    ¡°A moment?¡± mumbles Gorgrin as he eyes the rain.


    I stand before his open cottage door, holding a makeshift cured deer skin over my head as an inadequate raincoat. I take a step back. My Blood Oath follower is bare-chested, bootless, and wearing leather pants. Towards the back of his cottage, I catch a movement. Does he have company?


    He goes to step out, and I hold up a hand. ¡°Boots, shirt, and your sword. I will wait for you in the training yard.¡±


    Without waiting for a response, I trudge off, my boots squelching through the water-soaked ground. The training yard is a recent addition, with wooden posts and archery targets. The former is helpful to tie beasts to, and the latter is useful as shields if desperate. I flick the deerskin and hang it on a peg in the nearest post of the lean-to. The hobgoblin building crew practised by building different things here and there. The lean-to over the wooden training posts, while met with some doubt at the time, has proven convenient today. They constructed an exceptionally high roof to allow overhead sword swings and positioned it so archers could release from cover at the targets set fifty paces away.


    ¡°Lord?¡±


    I heard him approach, of course. I swivel about and practice swinging my sword. He needs to step back, yet he doesn¡¯t draw his sword. His eyes open slightly, but his face is otherwise neutral.


    ¡°Tell me again about Izga¡¯s prisoners, the one on the stretcher, and the others. What became of them?¡±


    He takes a knee and lays his sword before him. ¡°The assassin and Zinmog¡¯s twin daughters are dead, Lord. This includes two wild ones who assisted me.¡±


    I rock back on heels. Immediate honesty, no evasion. I guess he reads my shock.


    ¡°Lord, I am your sworn Blood Oath follower. You ask, and I will answer truthfully. I tie my fate to yours.¡±


    ¡°Why are they dead?¡± I manage to ask after a long silence.


    ¡°They witnessed something none of us should have. I suspect your disposal of Xorbrim, his daughters, and perhaps even your concubine Briksia, given no one has seen her since then.¡±


    The patter of the rain seems to intensify.


    ¡°What did you do with their bodies?¡±


    ¡°Their bodies, the stretcher, and every scrap of their gear, including trinkets, jewellery, and coins, are at the bottom of the hobgoblin village latrine trench. I only left with what I had. No loose ends and no mistakes. I considered the importance of the twin daughters to your plans, but weighed those up against the possibility of goblin unrest. I made a choice and now await your judgement.¡±


    I rest the blade of my sword on my shoulder and pace before him. ¡°Do you know how I found out?¡±


    He shakes his head.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±


    He frowns for a moment only. ¡°If I told you, you may have reacted without thought and revealed to others about their fate.¡± He smirks. ¡°I wondered if you may have spontaneously taken my head at the same time.¡± His face becomes grim. ¡°Not telling you wouldn¡¯t change anything unless you had specific plans for the twins. Given Clan Head Zinmog wanted one twin to murder the other and, failing that, the assassins to slay both, their deaths wouldn¡¯t be if but when. Hence, I concluded their loss would be as good as nothing compared to the breaking of your secret.¡±


    ¡°The scribes,¡± I offer. He quirks his head to one side. ¡°They noted your absence on the day. In particular, you didn¡¯t talk to Klaria and Thalgora for as long as you needed to avoid entering the hobgoblin village before I did.¡±


    ¡°Scribes,¡± he mumbles and shakes his head.


    ¡°Rise, Gorgrin sworn Blood Oath Follower of Lord Klar.¡± He climbs to his feet. ¡°Apologise on my behalf to whomever you keep company with.¡±


    ¡°There is no need, Lord. She knows who I serve.¡±


    ---


    ¡°You choose an unusual day to check on my sword skill, husband.¡±


    She balances from one foot to the other with only a slight grimace. Her recovery from my pounding was excellent, which means I could have enjoyed myself longer¡­


    ¡°Why are you not supervising the planting as I commanded?¡±


    Her sword almost escapes her grip. Nanorobot-enhanced reflexes save her from the fumble. They don¡¯t disguise the surprise.


    She straightens and swallows, tossing her head to regain her composure. ¡°Thalgora and I thought it best, given her condition. She didn¡¯t feel comfortable swinging a sword and showing others how with a large belly in the way. This arrangement worked out well, Lord. She could still contribute, and at her suggestion, I could learn to wield a sword and shield under Zergoa or Voria¡¯s instruction. I have learnt so much, Lord. Drilling your soldiers, practising the stances, fitness, erm, practice one-on-one combat, the confusion of melee and the order of set positioning on the field¡­¡±


    I hold up a hand to stop her from talking. Well prattling. I air-swing my sword and then tap hers. We face off.


    She swings high, and I parry and try to flick her sword from her grip as I do. Her grip is flexible and handles my cheeky attempt with ease.


    ¡°Who were you talking to when alone in the field?¡± I lunge and smack her sword sideways. She needs to follow her sword to keep her weapon in hand.


    ¡°Field, husband?¡±


    ¡°The one where you examined the soil often, while other fields didn¡¯t need any examination.¡± Our swords meet with a clang.


    ¡°Ah,¡± she says, or did she exert herself as she strikes down from on high?


    ¡°Well? I am waiting for an answer.¡±


    ¡°That field was well away from the river, and the irrigation was poor, or so I believed, husband.¡±


    We dance around each other, our swords jabbing and swinging, and she parries with the weight of her body behind her.


    ¡°What of the time spent with the visiting Runner Clan and their wagons?¡± I dodge her sword, step forward, slap her cheek, and then retreat.


    Shaking her head, she takes a backward step and hefts her sword. ¡°Husband, they are from Hobgoblin Town. I asked them about my family.¡±


    ¡°What news do they tell you?¡±


    ¡°Lord?¡±


    ¡°What is the latest news from your family? Simple question, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    She stares at me, her eyes tearing. She drops to her knees and flings her sword away. ¡°Husband, I can¡¯t play this game any longer.¡±


    ¡°The swordplay?¡±


    She snaps, ¡°The swordplay, the wordplay, the accusations. All of it! Who has spoken against me such that you doubt my loyalty? My loyalty?¡± She scrambles forward on her knees and embraces my thigh. ¡°You are Lord Klug, are you not?¡± she whispers. ¡°Who could be more important to me?¡±


    I crouch and launch my hand at her throat. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you supervising the planting, as I commanded?¡±


    ¡°Thalgora is going to die in childbirth,¡± she sobs. ¡°Your first wife said she couldn¡¯t train your recruits, and I needed to learn sword and shield so I wouldn¡¯t be a burden to you. She thought swapping would be easier. We didn¡¯t think we needed to say anything to you. Thalgora asked. I agreed. The blame is mine for accepting, husband.¡± Her tearing eyes find mine.


    I struggle to maintain my composure throughout her response. But could Thalgora¡¯s fate be true? I need to focus. Either Klugak¡¯s daughter walks away from the training yard or stays as a corpse after I release her spirit.


    ¡°The waggoneers?¡±


    She wipes the tears from her eyes. ¡°I¡­ I am not Klugak¡¯s daughter. The midwife was in the pay of Clan Head Durlarg, and she took away his actual daughter at birth and death. Stillborn, they told me to convince me when I was old enough. They did Klugak¡¯s family a favour, they said. She substituted me, of course. My mother knew. How could she not? I was days old by then, and a mother knows the difference. She told no one, and neither did I.¡± She hitches her chest.


    ¡°And?¡± I growl, using a gentle squeeze and release to remind her of my displeasure.


    ¡°He told me of my blood, my lineage, how I would bring the worship of Klug to this valley. He planned to marry me to Lord Torngul when the time was right. You provided a near enough benefit, close enough to Lord Torngul so I could spy and endear myself to him. Once Clan Head Durlarg had you assassinated, I was to make a move on Lord Torngul as the heartbroken widow. He was angry at me because the timing was all wrong, and we are no longer in Lord Torngul¡¯s Manor, but I can at least report on your progress, was his thought.¡± She climbs up my body, her fingers clawing at my clothes. My grip on her neck keeps her in place. ¡°Please, husband.¡± I relax my grasp, and clinging to me, she climbs. Her hot breath is shortly after on my neck. ¡°I know your truth, Lord Klug. I belong to no other. Clan Head Durlarg wants to depose Lord Torngul and invite the Klugites to the valley. My conversations have only one aim, husband. I am trying to find information that will allow Lord Torngul to act first, but this is difficult as I am the spy, and they dismiss my questions. If I push harder, I am certain they will suspect my loyalty.¡±


    From his slumber, my inner Hob erupts. My wife, Klaria, is hard up against a post of the lean-to, my left hand around her throat and my right-hand fumbling to free her loincloth. My consciousness missed our repositioning and the dropping of her leather pants.


    ¡°Yes, husband, I am yours. I will always be yours.¡± With feeble movements, her hands try to assist. I realise then I need to force my inner Hob to release her throat enough so she can breathe. She takes a deep breath, and then her hands loosen my pants.


    ¡°You will find out how they contact the Klugites or where they are. Which valley? How far from this valley?¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband, yes, anything. I should have come to you first, but I thought I could find out everything and then tell you.¡± She grunts as my loins savage hers. ¡°I now know my place, my husband, my Lord, my master.¡±


    ---


    I enter the cottage, scan the main room, and snap at them all to leave. Stepping forward, I draw back a curtain of linen cloth to expose the bed, which should be there. On the bed is Thalgora, a naked Thalgora. Her head slowly falls sideways to look at me.


    ¡°Husband?¡± She tries to roll on her side. I assume to stand. I push her back. Her belly is huge, round, and tight. Her skin is pale green. Did the rapid growth outstrip the pigmentation? I now know why she has been absent these past weeks.


    ¡°How long?¡±


    ¡°Soon.¡± Tears roll down her cheeks. Usually, they would be joyful tears for a soon-to-be mother. I now know the truth.


    ¡°You are early?¡±


    She shifts as best she can on the bed, waving away my arms as I attempt to help. ¡°Yes, husband, early. They are keen to see their father.¡±


    I quirk an eyebrow. ¡°They?¡±


    She returns a sad smile, which transforms into an unconvincing wide smile. ¡°Three males, I am sure.¡±


    In my chit-chat with Gorgrin, he explained the rareness of twins. Thalgora is carrying triplets. Her fate becomes clearer, given Klaria¡¯s statement. Triplets are a death sentence for the mother. I could spirit bind her, although would she revive in her condition?


    Her hand grips mine, and she screams. Sweat pops out of her forehead as she grins her teeth. I lean over her. My strong and confident Thalgora lies helpless. Her eyes betray her fear. Grabbing at both of her hands, I kiss her forehead as a crowd joins us. Some of the help scatter the table and chairs in the cottage to the corners. Next, the bed under Thalgora moves to the middle of the cottage, and I simply act as an escort. The crackling and warmth of fire fill the cottage.


    Managing a glance, there is a mixture of attendants. A goblin, a wild one and another I have never seen before. She looks me in the eye while I stare at her.


    ¡°Lord Torngul, Lord has sent me. I have delivered many babies, including several multiple births. I will do my best.¡±


    I should ask if her best is for the mother and children or just the children. But I am afraid of the answer because I know the realities of this crappy world. Thalgora is birthing three males, and they are prizes beyond the worth of their mother every day of the week.


    ---


    The midwife fishes the last babe out of Thalgora¡¯s dying womb. I congratulate my first wife before she takes her last breath. She dies as he is born.


    ¡°Out!¡± I shout. ¡°All of you be gone!¡± I lean over and kiss my wife¡¯s dead lips as the last of them closes the door with a bang. I breathe for her. One, two, three, breath. One, two, three, breath. I jab my thumb and bleed into her mouth. One, two, three, breath. More blood, more air.

 2.045 A Long Time Made

    <h2>---Duzsia, the Relentless, Concubine of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°Are any of them still alive?¡± I quip.


    I glance at Vorlora in time to see her fist relaxing. ¡°Yes, Mistress, your apprentice has learnt since the first loss.¡±


    ¡°Loss? I would suggest the bird is happily free of us and now roosting in comfort in Hobgoblin Town without a message and confusing everyone, including Lord Torngul.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡± She casts her eyes down briefly. ¡°Do you want me to fetch one? You have a message to send?¡±


    I edge forward once again and peek over the rise. The scent of wet wolf fur hits my nose. Fortunately, the direction of the breeze favours us, allowing me to view the camp of ten goblins and their wolf mounts encamping. There is always one who stands out, which there is now. My concern is that the other nine aren¡¯t much below their leader regarding swagger, weapons handling, armour, and mount care. Trained and purposeful warriors, I conclude.


    While I need haste, I need stealth more, and my lizard crawl retreat is cautious, yet when out of their sight, I grab Vorlora by the upper arm and run towards our cold camp. She knows this is a sign to agree in silence. I will answer her questions when I believe I can.


    ---


    I clear the cutting of foliage and step through, wait for Vorlora, and then replace the greenery. The hide will probably remain hidden if they chase us. Someone tracking, though, wouldn¡¯t long be deceived.


    ¡°Go to the camp and begin packing. Luda will help you when you tell her I am keeping watch. We must be away from here as soon as possible.¡±


    Vorlora nods and dashes down a narrow cross-direction game trail while I peer through the bush. Shortly after, way too soon, I hear Vorlora¡¯s footfalls behind me.


    ¡°Mistress¡­ Luda isn¡¯t in the camp.¡±


    I am in two minds. Do I continue to watch the trail or confront Vorlora? With disagreeable control, I keep my eyes on watch. ¡°What do you mean Luda isn¡¯t in the camp?¡± I try to keep my tone level. I fail.


    ¡°She isn¡¯t there.¡± Her voice rises to a squeak.


    ¡°It can¡¯t be? Can it? Surely, she wouldn¡¯t have¡­¡±


    ¡°Mistress?¡±


    ¡°We ran because I lost sight of one of the ten. I was certain they sent out a scout to check the surroundings using the last of the day¡¯s light.¡±


    I hear her draw her sword and push forward next to me. ¡°If not that, then what?¡±


    ¡°Look, tell me what you see.¡±


    Her head nestles deep into the foliage and then flees backwards, her eyes meeting mine. ¡°Luda¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, with some company.¡±


    I shift the foliage as Luda and her prisoner approach, replacing it once they pass by.


    ¡°Quick, watch,¡± I say to Vorlora as I storm after Luda.


    I notice the blindfold across the prisoner¡¯s eyes and take a breath. Not perfect, yet better than nothing. Luda adds leather bindings to the warrior goblin¡¯s legs. Her armour is otherwise hard-boiled and shaped leather. Luda throws me her sword. The shine suggests her sword and our swords share the same weapon-smith.


    Luda¡¯s wide, shit-eating grin is almost too much to endure. Thankfully, she wants to boast as well.


    ¡°There is always the one who needs to do their business in private. It took a long wait, but finally¡­¡± She half bows and sweeps her arm towards her triumph.


    This isn¡¯t right¡­


    Vorlora¡¯s footfalls aren¡¯t even pretending stealth as she joins us in a rush. ¡°Company,¡± she hisses.


    As I draw my sword, I throw Luda the opposite of a shit-eating grin.


    ¡°We wish to talk. No blood needs to be spilt today.¡±


    ¡°How many Vorlora?¡±


    She gulps. ¡°All of them, their wolves have our scent, I suspect.¡±


    ¡°Sheath weapons. Vorlora, no heroics. Meet and invite our guests to join us.¡± Luda quits her pacing and cranes her head around to face me. ¡°We still have some wine, don¡¯t we?¡± Her eyes flash in recognition, and she reaches into one of our many backpacks.


    ¡°How many can we expect?¡±


    Our prisoner¡¯s lips widen in a pleasant smile. ¡°Three. We are completely safe here. The others will shift our camp from its current poor location and patrol.¡±


    I remove her blindfold. My jaw drops, and I need to look twice to be sure. She cocks her head. ¡°What?¡± she asks. I shake my head and reach down to untie her legs and hands. She rubs her wrists and extends one hand towards me. For a moment, I am at a loss. I wake up and hand back her sword.


    Luda returns with a bottle of wine and several cups. Then a crash draws our guest and my attention. The bottle of wine possibly found the only embedded stone in the area and now lay in pieces, wine sinking into the dry soil.


    Luda hands off the cups to me and flees back to the backpacks. I am about to open my mouth when Vorlora returns with two of the wolf riders, both females, who immediately scan our camp. Their eyes meet the one we captured. One stands guard near the game trail. The other one loiters not too far from our backpacks. Neither draws their swords.


    We wait in silence as Luda returns and, this time, offers and pours each present a cup of wine, which none refuse.


    I take a sip, as do our guests. Fortunately, Vorlora remembers and does likewise. Only after we sip do they partake.


    ¡°I am Drusia.¡± I wave a hand towards Luda. ¡°Our goblin scout is known as Kuda, and my apprentice is Vorlora.¡±


    ¡°The suspicious one guarding our retreat is Morraga. The other one guarding your goblin is Vrozila. I am the friendly one known as Milga Stone Blood the Fifth.¡±


    I spit my wine out. I sense warmth rising on my face and then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Luda is also having a moment, yet I barely notice.


    I try to breathe and can¡¯t, then my body takes over, and I involuntarily draw in a breath. I know I work my jaw, and only when our three guests knowingly smile do I somewhat recover. What is reassuring is the fact that throughout my long moment of confusion, my apprentice continued to sip her wine.


    ¡°The Fifth?¡± My brain freezes. I can¡¯t think of anything else.


    ¡°You are like many, I suspect. They recall my name from somewhere. Then place the name and earnt name in legend and become shocked after I share my name. But I have to say your performance is the best I have ever seen.¡±


    Vrozila adds, ¡°She is the Fifth, as you said, although we have a statue in Stone Corner and her face is a close match to the original.¡±


    ¡°You flatter me as always, Roz. I am simply trying to live up to the name.¡±


    ¡°Pfft!¡± says Morraga. ¡°You fought for the name like no one else, and I have a scar to prove it!¡±


    ¡°Your birth name is different?¡± I ask Milga. The Milga I knew, I still remember. The only goblin who Lord Farmer Hob respected yet never bedded. Her skills, hard earnt and superb. Her wit and cunning dagger edge sharp.


    ¡°Coming of age contest. There is a test of skills. Some years, none complete the tests, let alone pass them, so I feel blessed to honour our founder¡¯s name.¡±


    I take a sip of wine and look over the edge of my cup. ¡°What are ten scouts of Milga Stone Blood heritage doing in this valley?¡±


    ¡°Scouting¡­¡± the three of them answer in unison. They laugh so much afterwards that they nearly tip wine from their cups.


    My face warms, a light blush only, I suspect. Tapping my foot, I ask, ¡°Scouting for what reason? Aren¡¯t you all far from home?¡±


    ¡°Looking for trading partners,¡± replies Milga. ¡°We scout to determine if the residents and their leaders are open to trade instead of slaughter.¡±


    My wide, disbelieving grin knows no restraint. ¡°Wolf crap!¡±


    Vrozila steps forward, her grip tightening on her cup. ¡°We have several merchants following us now. It would be no effort for all of us to join them. If you want proof.¡±


    Milga¡¯s face doesn¡¯t flinch. She doesn¡¯t choke on her wine or shift her body. Truth or impervious to lie or surprise?


    Luda advances towards Milga and I. Half a step closer than Vrozila, in fact. ¡°You forget I scouted your camp. There are no merchants or signs of merchants.¡±


    ¡°Morraga, tell the troop to fetch our merchants. We will wait,¡± says Milga. Morraga hesitates for a blink of a heartbeat. Difficult, if at all possible, to notice, except Milga¡¯s slight shift of her head drew my eyes, and I followed her gaze. This allowed me to study Morraga¡¯s immediate reaction. I decide this is a pretence of some kind and can¡¯t wait for the show.


    <h2>---Sud Guts Ripper, Leader of the Oath Keeper Mercenaries</h2>


    ¡°We must leave the valley. We are almost swimming in our droppings, not to mention the wolves. Each hunt for food brings back less. We have never gathered in such numbers¡­¡±


    I growl at him to silence his truths and take up pacing. A scattering of sunlight pierces the stitched hide tent, hitting the long-ago dead grass, and I resist the urge to step on each spot. Such childish behaviour from the ruthless Sud Guts Ripper would only weaken my authority. Do I stay in this half-valley? We are not all gathered, yet we are four hundred strong, at least.


    ¡°Tell Tonagan to take his troop into the valley and start scouting a path to the Old Crone and the females.¡±


    Tonagan Black Finger. It is said he slays whoever he points his finger at. I think his challenge was a simple way to gain an earnt name. While he continues to succeed, he has his name. When he fails, he is dead and no longer cares. But that is not the reason the other Oath Keeper mercenary troops dislike Tonagan Black Finger and his Black Spears. They dislike them because all the Oath Keeper goblins who we find and not sent to us by the Old Crone join his troop. He has a crone in his troop for this purpose, which is another difference. All the strays are together, Oath Keepers and yet not as the Oath Keeper tribe didn¡¯t raise a single one. They, therefore, don¡¯t know of our past, know our legends from birth, and always require a late education. Polluted by their previous living years and, therefore, never complete, is what others say. This just gets them angry¡­ I can exploit their anger, and also the distaste the other troops have for them.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    I hear no immediate response and swivel to confront him. Usually, he is a flea in my ear, a persistent irritation. His head is down. ¡°What?¡± I growl. I know, of course, but this is all part of the plan.


    ¡°Tonagan is not really one of us. Why would you grant him this honour? The first to return?¡±


    I stifle a chuckle. ¡°Are you also pissed off that he and his troop survived certain death?¡±


    He spits. Intent or not, he strikes a sunny patch of dead grass. ¡°He did so by sacrificing his stores and camp followers. Then running¡­¡±


    I rock back on my heels. ¡°Are you saying you and your troop would have stood their ground?¡±


    ¡°No. That would have been madness. But I would have retreated away from my stores and camp followers, not through them. It is said he waved goodbye as his troop rode through and left them as bait.¡±


    My broad smile earns me a look of disgust from him. ¡°Camp followers no longer burden him. His troop takes from our supplies more than they contribute. Best we send him and his on a mission,¡± I say.


    ¡°But¡­¡± His hands splay out in front of him. ¡°He will meet them first, and most of his are¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think the Old Crone will allow his troop to spread their seed if that is your concern.¡±


    He throws his head back in dismissive laughter. I wait until he comes to his senses. ¡°How will her harsh words stop their spears?¡±


    I advance towards Yog Swift Slayer, the underside of my fist hammering his chest until he needs to take a step back or suffer. ¡°She won¡¯t need harsh words. They, like us, are Oath Keepers. Now leave and tell him about his mission. Also, tell Juz to take his troop and hunt on the plains.¡±


    ¡°They will suffer losses?¡± His voice rises.


    ¡°I know, but do we enter the valley with none or less than four hundred while we wait for two hundred more?¡±


    He lays a hand on my shoulder. ¡°We haven¡¯t heard from the fifth troop in almost a generation¡­¡± Our eyes meet. ¡°The sixth has a permanent commission, living, they say, an almost peaceful existence pretending to be law guardians for King Uk of the Duzsia Slayer tribe. Why would they¡­¡±


    I sweep his hand from my shoulder. ¡°Because they are Oath Keepers. If you don¡¯t understand that simple reasoning, how can I permit you to continue to lead the Sword Fangs Troop?¡±


    His face flushes green. ¡°Have a Crone taste my blood! I am Oath Keeper and will die an Oath Keeper. Never doubt the loyalty of my lineage. But we wait for a troop of ghosts and a troop who hasn¡¯t fought a true battle in years. They could all be fat and lazy for all we know, yet we wait for them. Let us all ride to the valley now. Leave this crap-stained butt crack of a valley behind, together.¡±


    We are nose to nose. ¡°Do you wish to challenge me for leadership?¡±


    He takes a step back. ¡°No. My strength is to advise. I will issue your orders.¡±


    As he faces away from me to leave, I call out, ¡°This is for the best.¡±


    I bite the inside of my cheek. The pain stops me from revealing more before I should. Unknown to them, their camp followers would need to be released from the burden of life before we leave this half valley. We must present ourselves to the Old Crone as mercenaries returning to fulfil our sworn oaths. Embrace pure Oath Keeper females only.


    At the last moment, I call out, ¡°Yog!¡± He pauses, the tent flap hanging half open. ¡°You are right. Assemble your Sword Fangs, enter the valley and scout a secret way for the rest of us to join our females.¡±


    He nods in delight, his fangs glistening in the sunlight.


    With Tonagan and his Black Spears without camp followers and my troop, who have never kept such company, we will need to do the slaughtering. Keeping my troop in line all these years was tough. For the last few years, though, I have relented and allowed them to reap what they can after each victory but leaving our conquests behind. Yes, we will be well placed to cull the camp followers of the Sword Fangs and the Claw Fangs while they are absent and can¡¯t object. Would they if present? Perhaps. Camp follower mothers have birthed some of both troops. Yes, this is for the best.


    ---


    ¡°Why did you send the Sword Fangs?¡± asks Tonagan Black Finger.


    The night is upon the camp, and I throw the bone I am now finished with into the maw of my wolf. He snaps it out of the air with a crunch. The flames of our firepit reflect off his drool.


    ¡°Welcome, Tonagan. Sit with me.¡±


    He casts his eyes about, and I think, for the first time, he realises he has entered my troop¡¯s camp without an escort. I muse that his anger overrode his good sense - not a good leadership trait. Under the watch of many eyes, he slides onto my log. We are as far apart as the length of the log will allow.


    He stares into the fire for several heartbeats and then faces me. ¡°I meant no disrespect, yet Sword Fangs? They have polluted their ranks¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    He raises both his eyebrows.


    ¡°We have some work ahead. Work I believe you will support, no matter the level of distaste.¡±


    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I don¡¯t understand as my tears fall on her face. She is as full of nanorobots as any of my wives. I add more through her parted lips by clenching and unclenching my fist to squeeze blood from my hastily made palm wound. I dispense with compressing her chest. My lips are on hers, and I breathe for her. More of my blood, and then again, I breathe for her.


    I overhear the prattle of conversion outside the cottage. They are certain she is dead, and I have gone insane from the loss. From far away, the wind carries the cries of infants to me. Three boys, all hobgoblins. All perfect, even if smaller than average.


    Her lips gently explore mine, and I throw my head back in surprise. Her eyes flutter, lips curve in a generous smile. Recovering, I place a cup of water on her lips, and she guzzles, her eyes asking for more after drinking the cup dry. I nestle her head in the crook of my arm as she empties cup after cup. I know the water is partly for her, yet mainly for the nanorobots. The blood oozing from her loins dries up the previous flood, disappearing. Absorption? With a grunt from her, the placenta falls out and away. Digging her heels into the bed, she pushes her body away from the black mass of blood and bulbous flesh. I support her into a sitting position against my chest.


    ¡°Thalgora.¡± My breathy announcement, a relief and a celebration. Her face turns upwards, and our eyes meet. Tears threaten to overflow. Through this watery window, we truly connect. Our exchange is lightning.


    ¡°Koria Keen Eye.¡± There is no doubt her spirit now inhabits Thalgora¡¯s body. Thalgora is truly dead, and I must look away to rummage through my emotions.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be sad, Lord Farmer Hob.¡± Our eyes meet once again. ¡°I sense your loss and wish your pain could be made less by my return to flesh.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± I mumble.


    ¡°I suspect, even though indirectly, you caused her death, according to how this world determines such things.¡±


    ¡°How can this world blame me for her death because of childbirth? This is a natural circumstance.¡± I stifle my dark humour to prevent a disrespectful display of laughter. Those who now stand gossiping outside would probably consider any outburst maniacal or proof of insanity because of grief. While I always hoped for Thalgora to live, now that her body does, how will those outside come to terms with this impossibility?


    Her body struggles for freedom, and I release her. Climbing to her feet is a simple exercise. There is no legacy of weakness from her recent child birthing, no bleeding or tiredness. Her bright eyes stare down into mine. I am trying to process death from childbirth to being healthy and alive. My surprise is too real. Why? This isn¡¯t Thalgora, alive or dead. This is Koria¡¯s unexpected return.


    Rough hands cup my cheeks. ¡°Will I pretend a long recovery, or will I walk out and surprise them? I can say you remain inside in a state of shock. We could also walk out together, hand in hand?¡±


    I rise and scoop her up into a princess carry. ¡°Together. You are recovering and need a new cottage away from the blood and to be reunited with our sons.¡±


    ¡°Yes, husband.¡± Her skin sprouts goosebumps. She is now, or still is, my first wife.


    Pulling the door open, I manoeuvre Koria through the doorway. Bright sunlight, the three who attended the childbirth, and my wives greet us.


    ¡°I will take her, Lord,¡± sobs Zergoa, her arms out, ready to accept my burden.


    ¡°There is no need. She is tired yet recovering.¡± Koria weakly waves a hand. The entire audience gasps.


    Lord Torngul¡¯s midwife charges forward and flings open Koria¡¯s robe, trying her best to examine Koria¡¯s loins. ¡°The placenta, Lord.¡± She doesn¡¯t look up.


    ¡°In the cottage.¡±


    ¡°Whole?¡± her retort. She doesn¡¯t wait for my reply. ¡°This is a first. This is a miracle. Lord Torngul will be mighty pleased. The value of Shaza and Zinia as brides is now priceless.¡± She steps back and taps her chin. ¡°Three different mothers, though. Difficult for them to have the same mother because of your mother¡¯s tragic demise.¡± She pats Koria¡¯s forearm, and I feel her body tense. Does Koria know of Thalgora¡¯s past, or does she somehow keep¡­ memories?


    ¡°None remember the mothers, so Lord Torngul¡¯s seed will be the prize as much as his unwed daughters,¡± she continues.


    The midwife seems to be thinking out loud. Her head snaps around, locating the goblin and the wild one who accompanied her. ¡°Hurry, you two. Pack. We must rush back to Lord Torngul. Be the first with the news and best placed to be rewarded.¡± She clears her throat. ¡°To share and celebrate his joy¡­¡±


    With that said, she hurries off after her two companions.


    My second wife and concubines crowd us, and then, as one, they draw back.


    ¡°Welcome to your re-life, Koria Keen Eye. We thought never to see you again during this cycle,¡± says Klaria. ¡°Such is the majesty and power of Lord Klug.¡±


    ¡°Lord Klar, didn¡¯t you mean to say,¡± says Voria, her weak words failing but still loud enough for all to hear because of nanorobot enhancement.


    Klaria hugs Voria. ¡°Of course, of course! I am overawed by Thalgora¡¯s near death, nothing more.¡±


    Each checks on Koria to reassure themselves she is well. A miracle. The sun disappears behind a cloud, and like a signal, my Chief Scribe appears, and she leads us to the cottage holding my sons. Unexpectantly, we find the two young scribes fussing about and caring for them. When Thalgora enters, their shock is real. They care for three newborns, and all know the mother¡¯s survival is impossible. After they recovered, they quickly assured my first wife of their experience and skill in newborn care. The hearth is shortly ablaze, and everyone is snuggling to share bodily warmth. My wife has a babe suckling from each breast while the third screams in protest. I leave, ignoring her and her sister¡¯s protesting voices as I have unfinished business outside.


    A light patter of rain falls on my cheeks, and I glimpse the tail of her robe as she scoots around a nearby cottage.


    ---


    I crouch in the shadows underneath the eve of the manor. Her heavy breathing alerts me, and I stroll around the circular log walls. She is hoisting herself up the ladder, and with her buttocks level with my face, I snatch her down and swing her into a princess carry. She doesn¡¯t squeak. Her body tenses up instead as she closes her eyes.


    ¡°What are you doing sneaking around?¡±


    ¡°Not sneaking, Lord. I¡­ I needed to know an answer.¡± She pats her belly. The cloth of the robe remains proud where it should be flat. ¡°Given the birth of your sons and the¡­ and the miraculous survival of your first wife, I thought another time would be better. I can wait.¡±


    ¡°Ask?¡±


    She draws in a deep breath and keeps her head down. ¡°How many do I carry?¡± Craning her head up, she sneaks a glance.


    ¡°One, as far as I know.¡± She tears, yet in the darkness, I can¡¯t decide if these are tears of joy, relief, or disappointment. ¡°Did you want more or maybe none?¡±


    Her head shakes from side to side. ¡°Always one, Lord. I owe you¡­ my future.¡±


    ¡°Did you do any scribing?¡±


    She scrambles for a leather bag hanging off her shoulder and digs into the contents. A short while after, she waves three pieces of parchment under my nose.


    ¡°What did you write?¡±


    ¡°The birth of your sons, Lord. The remarkable survival of their mother¡­¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    A nervous titter escapes her lips. ¡°Your wife, erm, second wife, her false name for you. I wrote it down because that is what she said, but none would believe such a thing.¡±


    Her disbelief is almost absolute. Is this enough? ¡°If I said I needed your death.¡± She sucks in a deep breath, yet doesn¡¯t attempt to escape my arms. ¡°In fact, you would serve me best by dying now. Would you accept your fate?¡±


    Tears fill her eyes. ¡°I owe you my future, Lord Klar. Before you, I thought death would be the only thing to free me from my torment. Do you mind if I close my eyes while, while you¡­ take my life?¡±


    My fingers lightly grip her throat, and her eyes fly open. ¡°Sorry, Lord. I thank you for curing my lameness.¡± She rubs her belly. ¡°For my pregnancy, although to mother, my child would have been beyond my wildest dreams. What you have given me is enough. I die happy, Lord.¡± She closes her eyes. ¡°I rejoice that I, your pitiful, undeserving scribe, can perform one last duty in your glorious service, Lord Klug.¡±


    My fingers withdraw from her throat as if they stung. They grab at her chin instead and shake. ¡°What of your words? None would believe such a thing?¡± When she doesn¡¯t open her eyes or speak, I shake her chin again and growl.


    ¡°With your seed, you healed my lameness. How is that possible? When Klaria said your true name, I knew the truth deep in my heart. To lie to you pained me, Lord, but I thought that was the answer you wanted from me. I live to serve you, Lord Klug, Lord Farmer Hob. A version of Lord Klug who is almost opposite to what the Klugites teach.¡±


    ¡°How do you know what the Klugites teach?¡± My inner Hob rises. He wishes this to end with a snap of her neck as none, but those bound to me must know my secret.


    ¡°I have been in the service of many, my first as a child. My mother was a Priestess of Klug, and I learnt to read and write from her. She took me on her travels from temple to temple, and one day a tribe of goblins hooted and howled from ambush, slaying many with us. Delighting in the fact we were Klugites. Cruel and torturous to the wounded, their last screams will forever haunt me. They spared me because I was a child, I think, but when I ran away several days later, they shattered my ankle after catching me. Their wolves, Lord. There was no running after that, but as I grew, my lameness protected me from other abuses as none wanted to waste their seed on a cripple.¡±


    Her heart is beating almost out of her chest, yet her eyes are strangely dry.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you tell me Clan Ironmonger made you lame?¡±

 2.046 A Short Time to Create

    <h2>---Juz Blood Dagger, Claw Fangs Troop Leader POV</h2>


    ¡°We have lost five on the hunt. Two sons and three second sons. None could think less of all their brave deaths because of their origin. Argh, especially Muz.¡±


    I stop my pacing upon hearing the name and then wave to him to continue.


    ¡°The gathering will feast tonight and for several more. We will need to ask another troop to help us haul the carcasses from the pits.¡±


    I didn¡¯t think the three days of digging pits would yield so many kills, and yet I can¡¯t reward the warrior for his plan. He is one of our dead, Muz, a second son.


    ¡°We will need to rope as many as we can to our wolves,¡± I say.


    He smirks. ¡°Or as many as they will tolerate.¡±


    ¡°Yes. They have a mind of their own at times.¡±


    A wave of dismay grows louder, washing towards my tent. We share a glance and rush through the tent flap. A snap of heavy cloth sounds behind us.


    Approaching us is a single distraught female goblin. I don¡¯t know her; I doubt many looking on with their mouths open do, either. They know she is one of ours. Her armband displays an etching of a claw between a set of fangs.


    Then one from my troop breaks free of those gawking and scoops her up as her legs fail. Another warrior rushes forward and dibbles water onto her lips from a waterskin.


    She is standing, although leaning on her rescuer, by the time I reach them. ¡°Who is she?¡±


    ¡°Noka, my mate, Troop Leader.¡±


    I place my hand under her chin and lift her head until we are eye to eye. ¡°What has happened?¡±


    ¡°While¡­ while others slept, I snuck into the bush to pass my water. I didn¡¯t go too far as the campfires had burnt low. If I had my wits about me, I would have given warning¡­¡± She sobs, and her rescuer pats her hair and whispers in her ear. ¡°There weren¡¯t any screams, yet alone in the night''s silence¡­¡± She shivers. ¡°I heard the knives strike-through flesh and the occasional gasp¡­ then I saw them.¡± Her face twists in anguish. ¡°In the glow of the dying fires, I saw the black spears carved on their chest armour.¡± She spits off to one side in defiance. ¡°I climbed a tree as high as I could. Their wolves would hunt down any strays, I thought. Throughout the night until morning, I overheard howls and then a scream, again and again.¡± She covers her face and sobs again.


    In as gentle a tone as I can muster, I ask, ¡°Do you know if any others live?¡±


    ¡°No Leader, none.¡± Her chest hitches as tears run freely down her cheeks. ¡°Several wolves passed under my tree, with and without riders. I waited until late afternoon, climbed down, and ran. When exhausted, I still ran. Last night I slept where I dropped. I found a dry stream, dug for water, and then sniffed out our wolves and ran.¡±


    I didn¡¯t need to listen to the hum to know her story had spread across the troop. My riders crowd towards me, waiting.


    ¡°Your mothers, your companions, your young are now dead. While Tonagan¡¯s Black Spears slew them, they would have only done so with Sud Guts Ripper¡¯s say-so. As hard as this is to accept, this is the price he expects us to pay to honour our oath.¡±


    There are howls full of pain, anguish, and threats.


    My oath tugs at my soul, and I lost no one close to me. This will break some of them, yet the slaughter of the camp followers may not be the end.


    ¡°Remember your oaths.¡± I smell their blood on the gentle breeze blowing across this plain grass. They are cutting themselves¡­ ¡°We are not the only troop who will have to endure. The Sword Fangs left their camp followers behind as well.¡± The silence is almost instant. These others will, when they are told, feel our pain and somehow, that provides a strange sense of comfort.


    I raise my empty hands. ¡°We will pack as much meat as possible and leave the rest to rot. We will seek the Sword Fangs across the plains, and together, we will decide what to do.¡±


    The murmuring picks up. I suspect I have their tacit agreement, now to push forward with an unpleasant truth.


    ¡°That is not all.¡± They raise their heads. ¡°Second sons. While I trust in your oaths, I firmly believe the culling isn¡¯t finished, so you have a choice. Stay or leave. I would ask you to stay until we meet with Sword Fangs, but I would understand if you left before then.¡± A few heads turn and search for others. They are deciding. ¡°Break camp, take as much as you can, and we ride in search of the Sword Fangs.¡±


    They move with purpose, from routine, not eagerness. Their hearts are heavy, yet instead of madness, their oath binds them, and their blood runs true in their veins. They are Oath Keepers, one and all.


    ¡°Look after her.¡±


    They both return blank looks as I turn away.


    ---


    Several days of sober riding see us clear of the plains. Our scouts avoid the many migrating herds, large, medium, and small, which claim this land as their own.


    Those same scouts quickly locate the Sword Fangs¡¯ scouts.


    Yog Swift Slayer and I exchange arm-length grasps. While he is eager to speak, I motion for us to enter his tent. His face gives away his confusion and then grudging acceptance. I then tell him what I know and what I suspect. I swore my troop to silence and camped them a distance away.


    Colour drains from his face, and I wait.


    He weakly waves his hand in a direction. ¡°The Stone Bloods are, at most, two days ahead of us. We thought to follow them as they would encounter any villages or towns first, which we could then avoid.¡±


    ¡°That is an excellent strategy,¡± I offer.


    We share a long silence.


    ¡°We could have sent them away, couldn¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°Yes, except their deaths would have been slower, from starvation or terrifying when wild or civilised animals found them.¡±


    His head finally turns to face me. ¡°So, you accept this?¡±


    ¡°No. But I understand the decision. We elected him as our leader. We are oath-bound to follow him. There is no leeway or exception. I fear the second sons will also be subject to slaughter.¡±


    He opens his mouth, and his jaw hangs open. Then his eyes light up.


    Before he can speak, I say, ¡°I know what you are thinking. The second sons could have protected our camp followers. We are facing difficulties now finding enough food by hunting off the land. They wouldn¡¯t be able to hunt enough and wouldn¡¯t be strong enough to form a troop of their own and hire out as mercenaries.¡±


    I see the light in his eyes die; somehow, his grief is infectious.


    ¡°What have your second sons decided?¡±


    ¡°I asked them to remain until we met your troop. If they do decide to leave, then best they leave as one, not in ones or twos, as I suspect our leader will order them to be slain if easy and convenient to do so.¡±


    He reaches into a backpack, retrieves two clay bottles, and hands me one. ¡°Mead, the best I have found.¡±


    An engraving on the bottle reads ¡®Luda¡¯s Sunshine¡¯. I shrug and draw a mouthful. Somehow, the honey sweetness soothes my nerves, yet I know this is a pleasant illusion.


    The smashing sound wakes me, and I open my eyes to fragments of clay at his feet. ¡°The time has come for me to speak to them and reveal what has happened. A genuine test of their oaths, it is then.¡± He sighs and slow walks out of his tent.


    I stay. This is between him and his troop. While his words aren¡¯t the same as mine, the outcome is similar. Do they honour their oath or not? The dead can¡¯t return, and they weren¡¯t true Oath Keepers. Do the second sons leave as one before someone also slaughters them? None of the second sons is a pure-blood Oath Keeper. Most are half; some are more fortunate, greater than half. Those less than half could only remain as camp followers, servants, if lucky.


    The tent flap shifts and Yog Swift Slayer returns. He loosens his belt, allowing his scabbard to fall away as he reaches for another clay bottle of mead. I know the feeling he is searching for, and it will be fleeting. When he wakes, because he has run out of mead, his problem, now our problem will remain.


    ¡°You can¡¯t.¡±


    He pauses, his hand reaching out. ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°You are their leader, as I am of my troop. We have an oath to uphold, as well. Mead or no mead, the problem won¡¯t solve itself, and I don¡¯t want two hundred goblins expecting me to come up with all the answers.¡±


    He straightens and frowns.


    I add, ¡°Go pick up your sword.¡±


    His steps are heavy, yet his sword is on his hip when he returns to face me. ¡°We don¡¯t have a choice, do we?¡± he asks.


    I manage a half-smile. ¡°Of course. Abandon our Oaths and go our own way or hold to our Oath, follow our leader, and return to the Old Crone and the Oath Keeper tribe as summoned.¡±


    ¡°Simple words for a tough decision.¡±


    My hand rests on his shoulder, and his eyes lift to find mine. ¡°Not tough, heavy. We are Oath Keepers. At best, we can feel a little better by sending our second sons away before our leader orders them slaughtered.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he mumbles. ¡°The least we can do for those who have shed their blood with us.¡±


    ¡°We are decided?¡±


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    A single tear rolls down his cheek, which he quickly wipes away. ¡°We are decided.¡±


    ---


    We wave goodbye to our second sons in the morning: seventeen wolf riders and one female. We follow them for part of the way and then take a line that will hopefully take us directly to the camp of Sud Guts Ripper. I couldn¡¯t stomach wasting the meat and sent a volunteer back to report to the first Spear Fangs or Black Spears scout they found. Advise them of the carcasses of meat waiting to be claimed. A second son¡¯s hand shot up despite my protest and never returned. He said he needed to find for himself. The sooner, the better.


    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    She swallows. ¡°I thought a recent story of injury would engender more sympathy, Lord.¡±


    ¡°What of the son and the daughter?¡±


    ¡°That is true, Lord, but I was already lame by then, with no chance of escape.¡± She hitches her chest. ¡°You were my first, Lord.¡± Her eyes tear.


    ¡°I am honoured.¡± Her last words came out of nowhere, and I judged my response poor. Somehow, I feel her survival instinct simply kicks in when under duress. She survived by encouraging sympathy in her captors or owners. Even now, when willing to submit to me, accepting her death, she reaches for pity because that has been her life since she was a child, and she knows nothing different.


    ¡°The goblins sold me on, as did several other owners after them until you valued me. I am ready now, Lord.¡± She closes her eyes. ¡°If I can ask a favour, please make my death quick. If I am not asking for too much, that is. Also, the sisters know enough now. They will need some guidance but are loyal and competent. I have left my calculations and notations in good order, which I am certain they can follow and explain my workings to you.¡± Her hands fumble to return the three pages to her bag. Her head nods slightly while patting the bag.


    Setting her down on her feet, my arm wraps around her throat. I whisper in her ear, ¡°Sleep now.¡±


    The dead weight of her body falls into my arms, which I lower to the ground. Positioning a hand on either side of her head, I then bunch my muscles in preparation. This must be done, I tell myself.


    ¡°She is smart, Lord.¡±


    I sigh in frustration. ¡°What has that got to do with anything?¡± I retort with venom. This is tough enough. Doesn¡¯t Izga realise this? Why is she here?


    ¡°I have an overflowing bucket of water I was looking to empty, but, you know, you can use it first.¡±


    I turn to face my young and, at times, playful assassin. Her wide smile of satisfaction rains down on me. ¡°You would welcome another to compete for my loins?¡±


    Her foot loiters on the lip of the bucket. With a push, the water sloshes. ¡°She is smart.¡±


    ¡°Bring that bucket here.¡± I stab a finger in her direction. ¡°You will be responsible for her, you hear me?¡±


    The bucket lands near me. She drops to her haunches and raises her eager eyes.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need another,¡± I mumble to myself.


    Her hand rests on mine. ¡°She needs to live another life, Lord.¡±


    ¡°We could ask many others I am Lord of and easily find several who say they deserve another life. That can¡¯t be a reason.¡± My hand darts behind her head, and I drag her sweet, pouting lips to mine. We break our kiss. ¡°From time to time, I am tired of being responsible for everyone.¡±


    ¡°You make yourself responsible, Lord. You don¡¯t need to be responsible. This is my first life, but I can see how Duzsia, for example, in her second life, is so much better accomplished in her skills, her confidence, and especially in predicting what you expect of her. That is my wish also, and I am certain all your wives think similarly.¡±


    I smirk. ¡°How do you explain, Luda?¡±


    ¡°She is, troubled. The simplest solution for you is not to slay goblins until all your wives have returned to you. How would her second life have been if she returned as a hobgoblin instead of a goblin?¡±


    This simple and now obvious observation hits me hard. What would have been different if Luda returned as a hobgoblin? Or like Koria, a goblin, but not until we were done with Hobgoblin Town.


    ¡°Perhaps, I hope such simple abstinence on my part will fix her and everyone, for that matter. Although, if I have no choice¡­¡±


    Her ringing laughter is somewhat of a comfort. Wiping tears of joy from her eyes, she holds my cheeks in her hands and says, ¡°You told me I would be responsible for her. Let me be responsible. I will train her to at least hold a dagger properly, hide, and sneak. I will train her some more in her next life, and she might teach your other wives and me to read and write. We will have several lives to improve our skills and hone our knowledge.¡±


    There it is, then. My lithe assassin, not even done with her first life, wants to use her multiple lives to learn. Read and write now, for example, and what better way than to have a sister available? I wonder what is stopping her from doing so now.


    ¡°What makes you think she can¡¯t teach you now?¡±


    ¡°We are pregnant.¡± I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Your other wives tell us, the last time you made them pregnant, you died shortly after.¡±


    I ruffle her hair and chuckle. ¡°How can they or you link my fate or your fate to what happened last time? Then I didn¡¯t release a wife¡­¡± Oh, sheet, yes, I did. ¡°Wait, I have it now. The last time I didn¡¯t release a wife and then slay her. In fact, I died before any of my wives did. This time, Zoria is not only dead but released. Nudia was near enough to my wife and is now dead. Thalgora?¡±


    ¡°I am sorry, Lord, I misspoke.¡± Her eyes stray towards my head scribe. ¡°What about her, Lord?¡±


    My scribe deserves my immediate attention, yet my wives trying to foretell our futures is concerning. This mess warrants a family discussion. The sooner, the better. This foolish prediction could have come only from my original wives.


    I grab my scribe by the back of the neck and shove her face into the bucket of water. She wakes and then flails her arms and legs. After a short while, her body calms, and I fish her head out of the bucket.


    ¡°Are you certain?¡± I ask Izga.


    ¡°Yes, Lord. I will look after her, I promise.¡±


    I pump her chest and then breathe into her mouth. I repeat many times, and finally, she spits out water and sucks in a breath.


    ¡°Service or death?¡±


    ¡°Service Lord Klug, oh glorious and happy service.¡±


    Her spirit returns to her body while I keep a tithe to establish our bond, which will persist in this life and after death so we can find each other again the next time.


    ¡°You belong to me forevermore, Solgia, Chief Scribe.¡±


    Her arms reach up and wrap around my waist. ¡°I hoped, Lord. I dreamed.¡±


    ¡°You knew of the bonding?¡±


    ¡°My mother was a Priestess of Klug, Lord. I was aware of their version. Lord Klug¡¯s version would have to be more, better, stronger, surely, I reasoned. I observed your wives and you. I recognised the difference in Nudia. You liked her, yet for all that, you didn¡¯t bind her to you. Likewise, Thalgora¡­¡±


    ¡°Thalgora didn¡¯t die¡­¡±


    She places a finger across my lips. ¡°She wasn¡¯t bound to you, Lord, and triplets are a death sentence. I don¡¯t know which of your wives inhabits Thalgora, but I am certain I will know once we stand next to each other or touch. As I know, because of our closeness, Izga is like me. She is bound to you in her original body.¡±


    ¡°I told you she was smart, Lord,¡± offers Izga, a smug tone in her voice.


    I am shaking my head at Izga until I feel the lips of my Chief Scribe on mine. Her lips break from mine as I raise an eyebrow. ¡°I am due your seed, Lord. Observing your wives, those who consume more grow stronger faster, and I will not remain weak. Your seed cured my lameness. Now I need to strengthen my body. Contribute instead of being a burden.¡±


    ¡°You contribute, have contributed.¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°Do you know what is happening inside my body?¡± Her body climbs over mine. ¡°I feel them.¡± She hitches her robe up to expose herself to me. ¡°They were feint. I needed to trust your words and will them to heal me without truly knowing them.¡± Her fingers explore and unravel the leather bindings holding up my pants. ¡°They burn within me. I am aware of them now, each one and I have ordered them to work. But I need more, Lord.¡±


    ¡°Here? Now? What of the shy scribe who required a tent, who was even afraid to kiss me around others?¡±


    She kisses me, her tongue invasive, while she manipulates the lower half of her body until her loins capture mine. A victory sigh escapes from her lips, and shortly after, our coupling proceeds with gusto. ¡°My next life could be, as you say, cautious. In this life, I have been a victim. I am determined not to be one from now on, and I will take from you until you push me away.¡± She lavishes me with kisses.


    ¡°Then, when I feel the time is right, I will demand your attention again.¡± Her energy and movement somehow cause her robe to fall from her shoulders and expose her chest. ¡°Izga¡¯s method hasn¡¯t been lost on me. Since my written observations confirm she is the primary beneficiary of your seed, I will copy her technique and try to use my imagination to go beyond.¡± My former quiet Scribe grabs one of my hands, and my palm lands on one of her breasts, which I instinctively massage.


    ¡°After all, my experience of goblin savagery went beyond slaying and torture. They were also cruel to their females, and some of those survived as favourites longer than others, even receiving more food. A rare few received an occasional trinket.¡± She pouts. ¡°I am singular in my aims. My demand is for your seed, Lord.¡± Her plain truth is a shock, as is the fact my other hand now rests above her loins. A sharp pain radiates from my ear, and her tongue paints her lips black with my blood before my wide eyes. As I open my mouth to swear, she cackles and plants her bloodied lips on mine. My inner Hob roars to life, and I willingly lose control. He will teach her the folly of overreach.


    <h2>---Milga Stone Blood the Fifth POV</h2>


    The traders are the sons, not the fathers. Their nervousness overrides any coaching my sisters may have given them in preparation and before our ruse even begins. I wave them away. Somehow, my host finds much entertainment in the situation instead of tension. Wisdom beyond her years, perhaps.


    As their nervous chatter dies, I drain my cup and face my host.


    ¡°You did better than I thought. I don¡¯t doubt they are traders, yet so young for such a risky enterprise to gamble their lives on,¡± she says. I am confident her look of concern is false¡­


    ¡°Their fathers are to blame.¡±


    She stretches her legs out and crosses them as if she is in command and not outnumbered ten to three. ¡°So¡­¡±


    ¡°I think we will be on our way. Someone will have to escort the traders home.¡±


    ¡°Or,¡± she says. ¡°Someone could escort them to a trading post I know of if they are indeed here to trade.¡±


    I hold my cup out to her goblin companion. She obliges and pours the wine, yet I sense an intensity of purpose behind her eyes. Once the wine bottle is out of her hands, dagger hilts fill them. The blades, though, remain in their respective sheaths. Vrozila more than once glances in my direction.


    ¡°Are you offering?¡±


    Light, polite laughter from her is my answer. Then the other one speaks up. ¡°We could provide directions, couldn¡¯t we, Mistress? I mean, there isn¡¯t an obvious path, but sticking to the river should get them there.¡±


    ¡°As my apprentice says, we could provide directions and some warnings. First off, there is a large town called Hobgoblin Town, and, as the name suggests, they like hobgoblins. What the name doesn¡¯t suggest is they hate goblins and have specific laws which, when breached, force all goblins into slavery.¡±


    ¡°All goblins?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Yes,¡± hisses her goblin scout with a bitterness that reaches deep into my heart. I expect she has firsthand experience of their lack of hospitality.


    ¡°Unfortunately, we have other business to attend to. We need to meet up with certain acquaintances.¡± I climb to my feet and wave to Morraga and Vrozila to leave first. They dally, of course, for my sake.


    ¡°You will know where to find us if you change your mind. I expect to train my apprentice for several more days before returning home.¡± We shake hands, and I take my leave.


    ---


    While mounting my wolf, I take a long, hard look back at their hide. Goblins tremble when I shake their hands. The name, my confidence, and possibly my lineage all hold weight. Some hobgoblins, while not trembling, tend to defer to me after a handshake as well. This hobgoblin didn¡¯t have any sense of hesitation. I was simply another goblin in her eyes. If nothing else, her reaction has placed me on notice. Her apprentice is convincingly na?ve, light relief. The goblin scout, though, I sense, solves her problems using a dagger. Talking first is simply an unnecessary delay. Worse still, if my host had released her from whatever leash held her in check, she would have taken on the ten-to-three odds thinking she could win. A shiver runs down my spine, and my wolf whines. I pat her, and at a pace, we leave well enough alone.


    The traders, the young useless hobgoblins, are in our camp and, therefore, under our protection. They will be a burden, and I consider making an offer to the hobgoblin to escort them to the trading post. Three days later, we discover our acquaintances, the goblin mercenaries, have left the valley.


    True to her word, the three haven¡¯t left, and I listen to her directions and heed her warnings. I leave half of my riders here, yet closer to the mouth of the valley, so they can stand watch over the plains to gain the maximum warning. A rider troop of a hundred or more is difficult to disguise on a vast plain, even with migrating herds.


    The trip was a simple one, as her apprentice hinted at. Taking care to avoid any hobgoblins, we crossed the long grass, and you don¡¯t so much as search for the southern river as wade into the swift water while pushing forward. Following the river deeper into the valley, we soon entered a dense forest, which required some backtracking at times to find game trails or more open areas to travel. A couple of days later, we found a village of hobgoblins and many cultivated fields that Lord Farmer Hob would be proud of. We bypassed these, needing to climb some low hills to do so, and then made our way back to the river.


    I sent scouts to study the beginnings of civilisation before us. Light rain covered our sneaking about, and I could now see why they sent us here. They had established a large goblin village across the river. On this side, on a hill, sat a modest wooden fort with gates sized to accommodate hobgoblins and walls tall enough to hold them out. A sizable hobgoblin village hugged the river. From the hobgoblin village to the forest edge were late-season crop plantings, which this rain would help. We were a day overdue, so I sent one of my riders back to let the others know we would be delayed. Then we waited three days for the weather to clear, and I decided with our food low, we would make an approach and say the magic words, ¡®Drusia sent us to trade.¡¯ The young traders would need to conclude their trading in a day or be left behind, as we were now several days behind and should almost be returned by now.

 2.047 Reunions

    <h2>---Naro, High Priestess of Klug POV</h2>


    More dead bodies lay on the fitted stone floor than stood before me. I am disappointed, of course. After all, I didn¡¯t expect this level of loyalty for the former High Priestess. Fortunately, Rexa¡¯s bedroom was enormous, if plain, and the number of corpses didn¡¯t present an immediate issue, especially when piled in one corner. Those spirit bound to me fetched those they thought essential to Rexa¡¯s running of things, mainly her relatives. As she aged, she needed to depend on many others in the final years, and some, of course, took advantage of their new freedom, family or not.


    ¡°How many more do you intend to, erm, test? High Priestess?¡± asks the Holy Scribe.


    Except for scratches on the parchment, I genuinely appreciated her silence. I am sure she recorded the names of the dead and the living without fear or favour to ensure a proper record.


    ¡°Is your writing hand beginning to tire?¡± I flash her a lavish smile as I stroll between and around a few stray corpses yet to be tidied.


    ¡°No, High Priestess, my concern is the few sheets of parchment I have left.¡±


    ¡°Well, each time my followers leave to fetch more for testing, they find fewer, and the return journey takes longer, so I suspect we are near the end.¡±


    A tapping draws my attention, and I stare directly at the Holy Scribe.


    ¡°Sorry, High Priestess, a nervous habit. I have a question and want to be certain to live after I ask and, more importantly, after I record your answer¡­¡±


    ¡°Why do you think I have let you live and, more significantly, haven¡¯t spirit bound you?¡±


    She leans forward on her tall table. ¡°That is not the question I had in mind. In fact, I have deliberately not asked that question so as not to tempt fate.¡±


    ¡°Let me put your mind at ease.¡± Bending over, I rub the material of one corpse¡¯s dress between my fingers. Fine cloth, expensive dye. Straightening, I glance over my shoulder at the Holy Scribe. ¡°I want an unbiased recording of my time as High Priestess because I believe I can do better than Rexa.¡±


    ¡°These slaying¡­¡± The snapping of her mouth shut is almost worthy of laughter.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t First Wife Rexa slay, to begin with? Didn¡¯t she, shall we say, eliminate the other wives of Klug along the way to ensure her undisputed rise?¡±


    The stiff nod from the Holy Scribe part nerves and part confirmation.


    ¡°Think of me condensing months of such nonsense into a day, perhaps two.¡±


    ¡°Yes, High Priestess, brilliant, except most of the slain are relatives of High Priestess Rexa, and them not returning from her vigil bed is probably why your servants can¡¯t find more to accept the invitation. Perhaps some have left instead¡­¡±


    I grind my teeth and feel the pain of my fingernails piercing the skin of my palms. Of course! My first lesson is about overconfidence. I see now, the most senior of your relatives leave and never return. What do you think? Then the same for the next level of seniority and so on. Of course, at some stage, your survival instinct will kick in and suggest that you should run away instead of accepting. Where will these run to? What fable will they spread? Will they oppose me, like Zoria Oath Keeper did, subtly against Rexa, or will they gather and march to war?


    ¡°I can advise that most of the line of Kluggoth are now extinct, High Priestess. They were never a hardy branch of Rexa¡¯s, truth be told. About half of Klugrath¡¯s line still lives.¡±


    ¡°After two hundred years, there are only two lines?¡±


    ¡°Yes. They favoured their own family, if you know what I mean. Klugrath¡¯s line, I assume because his father was Lord Farmer Hob, stronger, healthier, and, well, Kluggoth¡­¡±


    I cackle. ¡°So, the old rumour is true? Is that what you can¡¯t say out loud?¡±


    ¡°I am a Scribe of Klug, and while the journals go back many years, none exist to record the early years to confirm or deny. Yet his line was always the weakest. It would stand to reason that his line would be as strong as Klugrath¡¯s if they shared the same father, which is impossible, given Lord Klug¡¯s death. So, some weakness would be expected, yet many stillbirths and the like seem to suggest a greater wrongness.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Apparently, Zeb Stone Grim always swore until his untimely death that Klugrath fathered Kluggoth with Rexa, which would explain much, including their ongoing family tradition.¡±


    I tap my chin. ¡°Not the fact that those of Klugrath¡¯s line never weaken, though.¡± Did she ply them with Lord Klug¡¯s blood? It seems a cure-all if ever there was one. Then why didn¡¯t she do the same for Kluggoth¡¯s line?


    <h2>---Zorottor, Black Tooths Troop Leader POV</h2>


    I wait to eavesdrop on their arguing and conclude their petty concerns are simply that: petty. The two guards on either side of me shift their feet, their eyes looking elsewhere. I am confident that they will relay the dissent they overhead to everyone as soon as their shift is done. I should slay them now to forestall any rumour-mongering, but alas, they aren¡¯t of my troop.


    Crashing through the tent flaps, my arrival quietens all the yelling while two Troop Leaders draw and slam their weapons back into the sheaths they didn¡¯t clear.


    ¡°Your fat!¡±


    I eye Sud Guts Ripper with a severe look and then break out into laughter. ¡°I prefer well-fed and ready for a long fight.¡±


    His hands clap. ¡°Well met, Tor Black Tooth. I am glad you answered the call.¡±


    ¡°Zorottor¡­¡± I reply.


    ¡°What? That is not?¡±


    ¡°No. The Northern Tribes are a mix of civilised and tribal, a legacy of one of Lord Klug¡¯s wives, and Zorot is an acknowledgement of one, while Tor is the acknowledgment of the other. Compromise.¡± I draw in a deep breath. ¡°Something the conversation in this tent badly needs, I would suggest.¡±


    ¡°What do you know?¡± says one of the other Troop Leaders. Juz perhaps? His face is ready to explode and possibly shed, well, tears?


    My hands splay open before me. ¡°You are Troop Leader¡­?¡±


    He spits and then growls, ¡°Yog Swift Slayer, Leader of the Sword Fangs.¡±


    Shoving my thumbs into my sword belt, I humph. Shedding or almost shedding tears for camp followers is new to me. Several in Uk¡¯s tribe would attempt to join us, and we would tolerate them but never welcome them. They weren¡¯t Oath Keepers. What is so difficult to understand?


    ¡°All of those not of Oath Keeper blood aren¡¯t Oath Keeper. They aren¡¯t us.¡± Another shoulders his way forward to stand beside Yog the Tearful. I straighten and square my shoulders. Half a head taller than both, they need to tilt their heads upwards since they are attempting to body front me in some sort of challenge. They mistake my weight for laziness instead of what I have stated, regular generous meals.


    ¡°Stand down!¡± yells Sud Guts Ripper. The one beside him, though, cracks a thin smile.


    As the two ease back, the one beside Sud steps forward, his open hand reaching out. I stare at his hand for a long moment. He smiles, almost breaking into laughter as he flashes Sud a glance. I stretch my hand out with caution, and he takes my hand in his. Our clasped hands shake, and then he releases.


    ¡°A friendly greeting. Open hands, no weapons, you see?¡± he explains.


    Yes. I like this a lot since I wield my sword using my other hand.


    I recognise Sud, of course, because of regular visits. The others lead their respective troops, yet their names escape me, and Sud never mentioned them. I assume because I would never leave the valley of King Uk and therefore didn¡¯t need to know.


    ¡°When do we break camp to visit the Crone?¡± I ask. From listening, I knew Sud Guts had dealt with their respective camp followers using simple betrayal, and they now complain about what couldn¡¯t be changed.


    The two Troop Leaders stare at Sud and then back at me. Their camp followers are dead. They weren¡¯t Oath Keepers. What is left to discuss?


    ¡°Will your Black Tooths Troop need a day to rest? Your beasts?¡±


    I shake a clay jar or two until I hear swishing. Take a draw and savour the smooth, warming mead. ¡°We have spare mounts, so our beasts are fine.¡± I take another mouthful. ¡°My troop is used to hunting enemies of King Uk, and they don¡¯t give up because of tiredness or night. Harass and harass some more is our method. The more days they taste freedom, the more distance and directions they have to lose themselves in.¡± I throw the empty jar to the ground and search for another. ¡°King Uk appreciated a quick return, and we prided ourselves on delivering.¡±


    ¡°Who fetches for him now?¡± asks the hand shaker.


    ¡°Oh, we have trained some of his tribe, even gave them some wolf pups to bond with.¡±


    Yog the Tearful shares a glance with his sorrowful partner and cracks open a wide, vicious smile. ¡°You have no easy job to return to.¡±


    I favour one leg and lean forward. ¡°King Uk prefers public displays of punishment. They will find it difficult to track down and then bring in members of their tribe, who I am certain they will know by name, to face such a fate.¡± I smirk. ¡°I am certain you would understand this petty, useless sentiment?¡±


    They hold their ground, yet I know from the greening of their faces they wish to do anything but.


    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°Lord! Lord!¡±


    The shouting reaches my ears well before the caller, of course¡ªa naked scribe on one side, a naked assassin on the other. I could make a fuss. Caught as it were in a state of debauchery, most unbecoming for a Lord, yet now I decide is the chance to establish a new normal.


    A scuffle of boots and silence alerts me. My messenger is here.


    Rising into a sitting position, I expect my messenger to be in a state of shock. Instead, she is licking her lips and tonguing her fangs.


    Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°What?¡± I ask.


    She blinks, craning her head, so her eyes travel the length of my naked body until they meet mine. She swallows. ¡°A party of hobgoblins leading ladened beasts with goblins riding wolves escort them. Lord.¡±


    ¡°Oath Keepers Troop?¡±


    I can hear her breathing. ¡°No, Lord. This one checked with the Oath Keepers helping to finish the wall. They didn¡¯t explain further, but I believe they knew of them, the goblin wolf riders, but didn¡¯t want to share any more about them. Instead of wasting time with them, I ran to report.¡±


    ¡°How much time before they arrive?¡±


    ¡°Spotted as soon as they left forest cover, they approach with caution, so I estimate mid-morning?¡±


    ¡°Good, plenty of time.¡± I nod slowly, then snap my head up. Our eyes meet. I curl my finger in her direction. She edges closer. Her wild one caution conflicting with my possible granting of a¡­ well, she doesn¡¯t know. ¡°Given your excellent report, name your reward,¡± I purr.


    She swallows while glancing at my two exhausted and naked companions. A blush of green spreads across her face as her eyes examine the ground. Fumbling fingers soon release and assist the slipping down of her leather pants.


    ---


    I leave the three naked bodies behind and make my way to the landward gate. The wild one guard will let the other two know where I have gone, I am certain.


    ---


    ¡°About time you returned. I need to go.¡±


    I chuckle to myself. It looks like she left her partner all alone.


    ¡°She¡­¡± The partner swivels about in an instant.


    She bows her head. Chin resting on her chest. ¡°Lord, excuse my assumption.¡±


    ¡°No. Your assumption would be accurate most of the time. Unfortunately, her failure to return is my fault.¡± I step through the opening and hear her footsteps closing in behind me.


    In the distance, at a leisurely pace, three merchants lead a bovine-like creature each, something which, over a great deal of time, some farmer could breed into a cow or cow-like beast, I would imagine. Beside them, although at a distance to prevent the bovine from bolting, are several wolf-riding goblins. Black leather armour, bows, short swords, and daggers as if they were in an army of some sort, uniform. While the distance is great, my vision is superior, and I examine each in turn, starting with the merchants, who, by any measure, are youths. They shouldn¡¯t be on such a journey. The wolf-riders, though, ride tall on their wolves and have several years of experience or at least living on their faces.


    I draw my gaze back to their leader. I feel my heartbeat increase, yet I manage to control my posture¡­


    ¡°An odd bunch, Lord,¡± says my wild one guard. ¡°Why would wolf riders protect merchants, and why would young merchants venture so far from home?¡±


    ¡°How do you know the merchants are young?¡±


    ¡°They are all skinny merchants. It has been my experience that most travelling merchants are fat.¡±


    I wonder where she gained her experience, but the detail is unimportant. Without asking, strangers position a table and set of chairs beside the gate. After draining a mug of water, someone shortly after completes a refill with a smile.


    ¡°Do we have anything stronger?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. Town Mead? Luda¡¯s Sunshine? Northern Crisp?¡±


    Luda¡¯s Sunshine? My Luda? She tended to bees, so perhaps? Does that make her name the more famous of all my wives?


    ¡°Luda¡¯s Sunshine.¡±


    ¡°An excellent choice, Lord.¡±


    I glance back to catch the infectious smile of one of my hobgoblins. Not a wild one, no. She wears a long-sleeved white linen dress, which falls to her ankles. On second thoughts¡­


    ¡°And who are you?¡±


    ¡°I am permitted to be here. I have proof!¡± Her voice reaches a high pitch as she reaches for and then thrusts a parchment in front of my face. I note the signature. Signed by Chief Scribe Solgia of Klar Manor on behalf of Lord Klar.


    The beginnings of commerce? Unexpected, yet I kick myself for not realising the potential, as I note there is a monthly rent at a fixed rate and a requirement to pay a portion of the profits for a tavern. In underline, we forbid the business from offering accommodation of any sort. Interesting.


    ¡°And what is the name of your tavern?¡±


    ¡°I would like to name my tavern after you, Lord. Perhaps, ¡®The Lord¡¯s Tankard¡¯?¡±


    I wink. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t ¡®Klar¡¯s Tankard¡¯ sound better?¡±


    Her hands fiddle about, and she forces a smile. ¡°Of course, Lord, as you suggest.¡±


    ¡°Why do you prefer the first?¡± I stare at the top of her head until the silence coaxes her to look up.


    ¡°Lord¡­ I don¡¯t want to be disrespectful.¡±


    ¡°Do so. Take your best shot,¡± I offer.


    ¡°Erm, right? There will always be a Lord of the Manor. The name of the Lord can change, or the name of the Lord could belong to anyone else.¡± Her face flushes bright green. ¡°Lord, there is a rumour only, I assure you, which suggests you have possibly fathered many children and if true, which mother wouldn¡¯t name their child after such an important father? ¡®The Lord¡¯s Tankard¡¯ on the Lord of the Manor¡¯s land can mean nothing less than where the Lord of the Manor could drink. Lord.¡±


    I eye the table and the chairs. ¡°Perhaps we should pack the table and chairs away.¡± Her face drops. ¡°I will instruct the guard at the gate to direct our visitors to your Tavern where a fine drink can be had and hopefully a warm heath is available.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. Most generous.¡±


    A gaggle of servants? Staff? Whoever they are, they approach us. She waves them back. I escort her to her tavern, which, to my surprise, stands outside the walls of the manor fort. The Tavern is impressive. The word large comes to mind¡ªlogs of wood for walls, bark shingles on the roof.


    ¡°Who is your sponsor?¡±


    ¡°Lord?¡± Her hands return to their writhing tangle.


    I grab her shoulders and stare her down. ¡°Sponsor?¡±


    ¡°I am sworn not to say, Lord.¡±


    ¡°Hold your silence, and my soldiers will knock your tavern down.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡± She waves her paper in front of my eyes.


    Crossing my arms, I stand in her way. ¡°I will compensate you for any loss. Blame my Chief Scribe for overstepping and punish her.¡±


    ¡°Clan Head Durlarg, Lord. He just wanted the local gossip, nothing more, he assured me.¡±


    ¡°Is that all? Lead on and let us leave this unpleasantness behind us over a mug of mead or two while we wait for our first visitors.¡±


    Her bottom lip quivers. ¡°Yes, Lord¡± She then pushes open the door, and I follow her in. The bar runs the width of the building, with at least a couple of rooms behind. I assume for stores. Reaching the bar, the servant behind places two mugs of mead on the smooth polished wood surface.


    ¡°Did she read your mind, or do you have a secret signal?¡± I smirk.


    Her hand leaps from her mug as if burnt. ¡°No, Lord, a simple hand signal, I assure you.¡±


    We sip and wait in silence.


    ---


    A commotion outside the Tavern warns us, so we straighten to receive our guests.


    A goblin warrior accompanies each of the three merchants. I note their escorts push the three youths through their hesitation by using the tip of a dagger. They bow low before me, and only when I grunt do they stand again.


    ¡°What do you offer my Manor and me?¡±


    ¡°Quality bronze weapons, Lord,¡± answers the shortest of the three.


    ¡°We have enough weapons. What about the animals which carry your goods?¡±


    The three share multiple looks. ¡°W¡­ What about them, Lord?¡±


    ¡°Are they for sale?¡±


    We continue bartering, and to say I could have wrung out an unfavourable deal, benefiting myself, would have been an understatement. They knew weapon prices as if schooled beforehand, but any deviation from that, and they guessed. We sealed the deal with light conversation over mugs of mead and then strolled towards the door, stepping out into the late afternoon sunlight. The first in several days, but as I looked up, I thought, this will be a brief respite. The setting sun had sunk beneath the clouds, but the dark clouds remained, covering most of the valley.


    A familiar presence sent a shiver down my spine. I instantly swivel around, causing the three merchants to yelp in surprise. They stand frozen in place, uncertain of my intent, I assume. Off in the distance, yet making a beeline towards us, ride three goblin wolf riders. The lead rider, though, is who my gaze settles on.


    A chuckle. ¡°You are the first of many goblins or hobgoblins to be so enamoured at a distance,¡± says one of the goblin escorts.


    ¡°Yes, normally you must shake her hand,¡± says another.


    ¡°Who is she?¡± I ask, my gaze not leaving the source of my discomfort.


    ¡°Our wolf rider leader, Milga Stone Blood the Fifth, of course.¡±


    My stomach twists and churns at the mention of her name, ¡®Milga Stone Blood¡¯. She should have been my wife, yet she rejected any such notion, happy to make her our way. I shake my head. The fifth is the clue.


    ¡°What happened to the First, Second, Third and Fourth?¡±


    Again, a chuckle. ¡°Know that the First founded our settlement. The Second was a surprise. She claimed to be Milga Stone Blood reborn, which, of course, is impossible. Yet, if what they wrote is true, her likeness to the first was uncanny. While many snickered behind her back, only near death did she conceive of a contest, a way for an exceptional goblin wolf rider to assume our founders¡¯ name and earnt name. By the time of her death, although many still didn¡¯t believe her Milga Stone Blood, the Second had earnt her place and much respect.¡±


    Another adding, ¡°Hence we have a competition every three years, and sometimes none win, and they proclaimed no one Milga Stone Blood.¡±


    I can¡¯t reconcile this feeling of Deja Vue to a competition winner with the supposed skills to match the former founder. This is more than a feeling. This is a joyful sensation, the reunion of two long-lost friends. I am glad all those with me are behind me, as I am sure my face is betraying me. Will she feel as I do?


    Wait. How is this possible? My co-conspirator in space mentioned the birth of those who ¡®see the light¡¯ on special, rare planets. Was such an occurrence too soon in the evolution of this planet, or did this happen along the way and only when discovered by humans and their stolen technology did they reap the various spirits? Would they accept a goblin spirit into the GPA?


    Humans showed an interest in and had been on this planet before. The mining face of the cliff, the machinery footprints in the mountains on either side of the valley¡­ the spacesuit armour were three proofs. Did this landfall pre-date the ¡®agreement¡¯? Did they begin mineral extraction while ignoring the native species, in this case, goblins? They didn¡¯t complete the mining operation, so perhaps this planet¡¯s fate was caught in the middle, free game at first and then shut down because of the new rules, simply because the planet had intelligent inhabitants? Then given to the GPA to watch.


    What is the Shifter interest in this planet? They re-directed my future here to ensure I would, what? Disrupt the GPA¡¯s plans for this planet? Lead the goblins on a faster technology development path? Moving them from tribal to agricultural would naturally increase their population. A more significant population would, in theory, on a percentage basis, improve the chances of another native ¡®seeing the light¡¯. Given Human use, although unknowingly, of Shifter technology for the GPA, it would stand to reason the Shifters themselves could use their technology-mystic mix to a higher degree or greater extent. Does that mean they identified an importance beyond typical on this planet, hence their presence? I mean, they even positioned their ship, one of one or one of many, I wonder, in orbit to capture my spirit¡­


    Where does Milga fit into this plan? Say I repress my ego for a moment and don¡¯t assume this planet¡¯s story starts with my arrival. What if Milga is/was the true anomaly? What if Milga is/was the first or near first to ¡®see the light¡¯ on this planet? She didn¡¯t need to believe or disbelieve my Spirit capture ceremony. Milga always professed to be an outsider in the Flint Arrows tribe, a tribe where family dictated power and position. When asked, she attached herself to me because ¡®anyone who can survive her arrows, survive being smashed in the chest by a tree trunk¡¯ would hold a specific potential beyond the normal, and she wanted to collect her share or words to that effect. Was that instead a sign to her? Were they given to her by the Shifters? After all, they would have detected Milga long before the GPA would have. The GPA¡¯s efforts tried to lock this planet down and stifle development by placing Hob overlords over the goblins. They probably weren¡¯t even searching for any potential new GPAs. Do the Shifters want to make this planet their new planet? Not theirs, but perhaps an additional source of their ¡®magic¡¯ or, at the very least, spirits that ¡®see the light¡¯, which they can manipulate? My head hurts, yet worse than that, I can almost make out the facial details of the three wolf riders.


    I swivel and head into the tavern, calling over my shoulder, ¡°Send in Milga Stone Blood the Fifth, alone or not at all. I believe we have one or two things to discuss.¡±


    The tavern owner tries to follow me in, and I wave her away. After grabbing a jar of Luda¡¯s Sunshine and two mugs, I settle at a four-chair table, my back to the door. I pour one and take a sip.


    ---


    The door creaks open. Is this the first time or the first time there has been silence enough to hear the noise? Why are trivial things important now? Her footfalls are near silent, yet this is her natural gait, I am sure. Her body flashes past mine to take the chair opposite. She pours herself a drink and takes a sip. Her eyes glisten and dance¡ªmischief greets me.


    From the moment she entered the tavern, I have been certain.


    ¡°Well met Lord Farmer Hob. Have your wives followed you?¡±


    How does she know the spirit link could bind them to me beyond death? Was her knowledge the actual reason, the true source behind her cheekiness? She knew a secret I didn¡¯t.


    ¡°What is your number, truly?¡±


    She pours another drink. ¡°You should be proud of Luda. Of all your wives, she has gifted my world with a true legacy.¡± She raises her mug, and I can¡¯t help but meet it with my own.


    ¡°Perhaps you need to meet her. She needs all the accolades she deserves.¡±


    ¡°I congratulate you on your new start, especially the number of pregnancies.¡± Her salacious grin causes me to shift in my chair. ¡°Without even knowing anything more, the fact one male fathered them all would be enough to make me suspicious, yet sitting opposite you now confirms Lord Klar, Lord Klug, and Lord Farmer Hob are all one and the same.¡±


    ¡°The fifth?¡± I parry back.


    ¡°Yes, and no. I died and had an impossible dream. I was told things to convince me otherwise and advised to seek out someone unique and hang on for the ride. The first me was a naive young daughter of a Flint Arrows family, wiped out by a raiding party. Given up for dead, half a day later, I woke up. My spirit had returned to my choked-to-death body.¡±


    I take a drink. ¡°So, how did you die?¡±


    She flashes a broad cheeky smile. ¡°Old age!¡± She then cackles while slapping the table.


    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡±


    ¡°I outlived all your wives.¡±


    I tilt my head. ¡°Rexa? Luda?¡±

 2.048 Well Met

    <h2>---Lord Torngul Heartsplitter POV</h2>


    ¡°You are a difficult Clan Head to meet with, my dear Sakvorpa.¡±


    Her bare feet shuffle as she stands before me, as far away as my throne room allows. Four of my Honour Guard stand behind her. She ignored my verbal summons by messenger, then my order on parchment, and finally, the personal invitation delivered by my Major Domo Dorgrav. I almost felt insulted, hence sending four of my Honour Guard to fetch the bitch.


    ¡°You offer no excuses?¡± I add with a growl, certain she would have begged amongst her closest friends and allies for help or advice. She would have found, though, as it took me some time to realise that mischief is acceptable until you get caught. That was the trick: never leave evidence or witnesses. While not all the Clan Heads knew what each other did, they all knew that they played a dangerous game because they all sort to increase their power and wealth. Unfortunately for Clan Head Sakvorpa, I have the confession of a spy of hers, who now serves Lord Hob and was more than willing to share the secrets of this wretch before me.


    ¡°I¡­ it takes much effort to keep the town clean. The goblins are more rebellious than ever. One of my daughters tried to betray me, Lord. I have been trying to recover¡­ my family¡­ it has been difficult.¡± Her tears spring forth on cue. As silence engulfs us, her legs shake underneath her simple dress of linen, and she falls to her knees.


    ¡°The goblins are rebellious because you have so few and work them to near death. Your family is disloyal because you play them against each other and throw the winner scrapes of authority to trample the losers until the winner loses your favour, and you begin the game anew.¡±


    Her head shakes from side to side in an uncontrolled panic. ¡°No, Lord. Whoever speaks against me is lying. They are a jealous liar. I am loyal, Lord, as is my family.¡±


    ¡°Do you know what happened after you arrived before me?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she squeaks.


    ¡°Two of my Honour Guard in the company of guards from your fellow Clan Heads approached your manor and announced your downfall. Calling on your Clan to capture and surrender all those of your family tree and any others they thought were still loyal to you.¡±


    Her mouth drops. Then the jaw tries to work. I lounge back into my throne. After several heartbeats, she gasps, ¡°Lord?¡±


    ¡°I thought, like you. Some token resistance. At least a minor skirmish, hence the additional guards, but nothing of the sort. Like presents, your Clan trussed up each member of your family and delivered them at the feet of my Honour Guard. A gawking crowd shortly after gathered and grew to witness this most bizarre event and became more of a problem than your Clan.¡±


    ¡°All my family?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Fortunately, we placed guards at the four hidden exits from your manor.¡±


    ¡°Four?¡± she squeaks yet again.


    ¡°Oh yes, you don¡¯t know, do you?¡± I slap my thigh and chuckle. ¡°One of your family ran a side business and needed to sneak out without being noticed. What better way than to build their own secret exit?¡±


    With newfound strength in her voice, she asks, ¡°How did you find out about them?¡±


    Did her need to know override her fear?


    ¡°When I sent a message to each of the Clan Heads requesting their guards to assist, I mentioned loyalty and the ramifications of disloyalty. For example, if one or more of your family escaped by some unknown means, then I would assume one of the Clan Heads gave them a warning. If you suddenly fortified your manor or fled, same.¡±


    Her face scrunches up. ¡°But how would you know? Which Clan Head?¡±


    ¡°I assumed you, like they, would have spies in other Clans, and I would offer your spies an amnesty to become my spies. Plus, I assumed they would want their spies to survive your demise, because if you didn¡¯t accept my invitation this time, I would have marched to your manor in person and set the whole place to fire.¡±


    A deep, long swallow, and she replies, ¡°To fire? In the heart of Hobgoblin Town, it could have easily spread¡­¡±


    I strum my fingers on the armrest of my throne. ¡°Yes, a high cost, but disloyalty is like a disease, worse.¡±


    She throws herself towards me, prostrate and blubbering. ¡°We¡­ I¡­ thought you were different. I see now that your thick-headed warrior, hunt-loving, the beast-riding brain was a ruse.¡± She almost spoke her last words to herself. She tries to sit up while wiping the tears and snot from her face using her forearm. ¡°I will be loyal, Lord Torngul, fearlessly so. You will never need to doubt me again, I promise.¡± Her eyes find mine. ¡°Lord?¡±


    I lean forward and rise from my throne. The pitiful creature before me, face awash with tears and snot, long loose tresses of hair in an untidy bird¡¯s nest, pleads for mercy. I drop to my haunches, and my finger lifts her chin until our eyes meet at close range. ¡°You, my dear Sakvorpa, are my example. To allow you a reprieve or a concession would embolden instead of warning the other Clan Heads of my newfound decisiveness. I can¡¯t allow that.¡± I flick my gaze towards my honour guard and back to my former Clan Head.


    A pinpoint glint off thin metal, my only warning as my hand darts out to catch her wrist. A dripping needlepoint hovers a finger width from the side of my neck. She screams in pain, and only then do I realise I have crushed her wrist; such is my anger. Then silence, except for a wet thump hitting the floor of my throne room. Her wide-open dead eyes look up at me from her decapitated head.


    ¡°Apologies, Lord Torngul. We thoroughly searched her, made her remove all her clothes and gave her a simple dress from this manor to wear. She must have secreted the poison needle in her hair, Lord.¡±


    ¡°Well, I guess I can¡¯t hang her with the rest of her family now,¡± I lament.


    A cough. ¡°Use a short spear, Lord. Stake head to body and then suspend using rope under her arms,¡± offers my third Honour Guard.


    Not the same, I think to myself¡ªsuch a shame.


    Turning away from the mess, I slide back onto my throne and lounge on the ample cushions. I only have one life now, and to protect me and mine, I have accepted I will need to be ruthless for a time. Difficult at first and contrary to the nature of Zeb Stone Grim, as I like to remember him, but I made a choice. Instead of deflecting punishment like a stone and the memories of Suda berating me, come to mind. I embrace grim determination and will deal it out until law and order become the new normal.


    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°Rexa wasn¡¯t your wife. She was Jotor¡¯s creation, and anyhow she cheated. It was one thing of several I admired about Zoria. She could have cheated, yet didn¡¯t.¡± Milga slides her mug about on the table. She opens her mouth to speak and then shakes her head as if trying to set her following words free. ¡°Luda lived, but her mind died years before from grief, first her father and then Koria. You mentioning she needs accolades only convinces me further that even reborn, she is still volatile, shall we say?¡±


    I cough. ¡°What do you mean, ¡®was Jotor¡¯s creation¡¯ when you mentioned Rexa?¡±


    ¡°Oh, haven¡¯t you been told? Rexa, High Priestess of Klug, has died.¡±


    ¡°Died? Why? How?¡±


    She cackles again. ¡°Old age! Then turning to dust if the rumours are true, although she has a holy grave so worshippers can pay their respects, of course, for a fee.¡±


    How does this change things for the Oath Keepers? Do they still want to march on the valley and conquer the Klugites?


    ¡°And you want to hear the kicker, Lord Hob?¡±


    I am numb yet manage to nod.


    ¡°The new High Priestess of Klug is Naro. She is an Oath Keeper!¡± Laughing hard, she almost falls off her chair.


    I stand and push my chair back, causing it to tip over and clatter on the floor. ¡°This isn¡¯t funny.¡± I pace. ¡°I have a village of Oath Keeper goblins across the river expecting several mercenary troops to join them shortly and march off on a glorious campaign of blessed murder and mayhem.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Lord Hob, don¡¯t you see Zoria¡¯s genius? She outsmarted Rexa by diverting her attention away from her Oath Keeper Priests. She even invited one to the High Priestess ceremony! All because, like everyone else, she thought the mercenary troops were the threat. But we can ask her, can¡¯t we? Zoria?¡±


    I stop pacing, lean over, and reset my chair beside the table. Sliding in, I try to gather my thoughts.


    ¡°Maybe not.¡±


    ¡°Zoria? You, Spirit linked her early, rejected her. I am certain you didn¡¯t free her like the others while dying¡­¡±


    ¡°How did you know to come here?¡±


    She leans back in her chair, and her eyes study my face. I feel their intensity, yet I am certain I give nothing away. ¡°What have you done?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s dead.¡±


    Milga slaps the table. ¡°How could you? Your other wives were the runts in the herd. She was the important one. I should kill you now so you can return and bring Zoria with you.¡± Her face flushes green, while a vein pops out on her neck.


    ¡°Won¡¯t do any good. I freed her first.¡± Why do I feel so small? How was I to know which of my wives were the more important¡­ although none had a village and several mercenary troops of goblins named after them? Probably a strong hint. I couldn¡¯t let her go with her son. That would have been a bigger disaster. Surely?


    Elbows on the table, Milga¡¯s head rests in her hands. ¡°Where did your wits go?¡±


    Before I can calm him, my body is in motion. As my eyes clear, I hold Milga high by the throat against the tavern¡¯s wall. She tries to talk yet can¡¯t draw a breath. I allow her to slide down and release my grip. Staggering back, I say, ¡°Sorry.¡±


    She is rubbing her throat as her eyes bore into me. Betrayal? Threat? She coughs. ¡°He is still in you?¡±


    ¡°How do you know about him?¡±


    ¡°Several journeys ¡®into the light¡¯ make someone somewhat sensitive to spirits occupying bodies not originally their own. He, for example, started from nothing. I couldn¡¯t detect him, in fact. Next, I envision a blaze of red engulfing you, and I am slammed high against the wall.¡± She swallows and throws down a gulp of mead. ¡°He is the original Hob, isn¡¯t he? The one you stole the hobgoblin body from?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± I place my now empty mug on the table and quickly refill it. ¡°I thought he would leave me between returns, but he hasn¡¯t and is, as you have now witnessed, easily offended on my behalf. He is also the one who perpetuates my almost endless sex drive, so in some ways, I would be sorry to lose him.¡±


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    She takes her seat but sits at arm¡¯s length from the table. ¡°It would have been useful to interview Zoria. She lasted longest with Rexa and was easily the closest to her for most of that time of all your wives. I apologise for my rash statement. I am certain your decision to release her wasn¡¯t without significant deliberation.¡± She massages her neck once again and takes a sip of mead.


    Is this her guilting me? Trying to extract the reason? I don¡¯t see the harm in explaining, even though it may sound like I am making an excuse.


    ¡°She reunited with her son.¡±


    Milga leans forward. ¡°Her first son? But that would mean¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes. He was over two hundred years old, and while the years slowed him down, he had drunk my almost pure blood since he was an infant. His mother¡¯s milk, in fact. So unlike Rexa or even Zoria, who drank my blood as adults, it preserved his body from birth.¡± I rock my mug, staring into the mead, looking for wisdom. ¡°She wanted to reconnect with him, travel with him. Support him and the faithful to overthrow Rexa.¡±


    Milga stands and leans against the wall, leaving her mug on the table. The way she does this takes me back to my cottage on The Farm. Casual, yet confident. Despite my slamming her against the wall, she feels safe; I am sure. We are old friends meeting once again, renewing our bond of friendship.


    ¡°That tells me enough. She didn¡¯t have plans. She left behind opportunities. Hopeful one would bring about Rexa¡¯s downfall. I gave her too much credit. But what are we left with now?¡± Her eyes lock onto mine.


    ¡°Whatever the new High Priestess decides, I would guess. I have three watching the entrance to the valley for the mercenary troops. Forewarned is better than surprise.¡±


    She pushes off the wall, and the flat of her hands land on the table. ¡°I think I may have met them.¡±


    I lean back. ¡°Two hobgoblins and a goblin.¡±


    ¡°One hobgoblin, an apprentice? The goblin, plain nasty?¡±


    I chuckle. ¡°The nasty goblin is Luda.¡± Milga tries to draw a breath and gags. She paces until her breathing returns. ¡°She has earnt a name. Care to know it?¡± I offer.


    She turns on me, her eyes blazing, her jaw set. With a stiff nod to me, I guess the answer is yes.


    ¡°Luda Bloodstalker.¡±


    I witness Milga shiver. ¡°Yes. That suits her,¡± she says in a quiet voice. ¡°I felt conversation from her point of view was an unnecessary delay to start the killing.¡±


    ¡°Duzsia the Relentless was in charge, and she had one of my recent additions as an apprentice.¡±


    Standing and nodding, she wanders off. ¡°I left some of my troop behind to do the same thing. The mercenary troops, at least two, entered the valley and then left. I don¡¯t know why, except to say there are rumoured to be six, although one has been missing for a generation, so expect five.¡±


    ¡°What are your plans now?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Return to Stone Corner and wait. Oh, purchase the ugly-looking weapons from the merchants. They are Stone Blood steel disguised under a poor copper wash. Also, maybe next time, make your way to Stone Corner when you return. A bit late now, given what you have established, but in the future. I should always be there or growing up there, but not yet, Milga.¡±


    ¡°You return to one of your family lines?¡±


    ¡°That has been the case so far. My dream voice explained that fate had locked my spirit to this world. They didn¡¯t explain if they had done this or if it was how it worked. But my spirit returns to a newborn of my line, and then I must wait until I mature, win the naming contest, and discover what has happened in my absence.¡±


    I chuckle. ¡°You created the naming contest to increase your chances of winning? You cheat.¡±


    Her face blushes green. ¡°If it makes you feel any better, each time I return, the competition improves. Remember, they need to finish, and one of my troop did this round, but the last challenge is to answer a question only I know the answer to. In the between years, though, another could be declared the winner because they finished, and I would then die without my name and the power that goes with it.¡±


    Scrunching up my face, I ask, ¡°How would they know the answer to your question?¡±


    She reaches inside her leather armour and draws out a silver medallion of exquisite craftmanship, hanging from a delicate steel chain about her neck. ¡°This is one of an identical pair, which fits together. I hide the second once I win the competition, and the future winner must find it and match it to the one kept after my death.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see the problem?¡±


    She cocks an eyebrow. ¡°You don¡¯t see the problem?¡± She refills and takes a long draw of mead. ¡°Someone has years to search for the second medallion. Then they only need to win the competition or, for certain concessions, hand the medallion off to the winner.¡±


    ¡°Why not set the minimum time at sixteen years? That way, you should be adult enough to compete with no chance for anyone else in between to get lucky.¡±


    She slumps into her chair and sips her mead. ¡°Possibly. I haven¡¯t tried to change the competition, and I am uncertain I can now since the details are part of our legends.¡± She sighs. ¡°I will just have to cope with the fact I could lose my name one day.¡±


    Time to ask about more important matters. ¡°Do you know where the armour is?¡±


    She grunts and her eyes leave off staring into her mug. ¡°Rexa¡¯s sons always wore it, but as the generations passed, Rexa became less trusting of her relatives. The general view is that the armour is in a safe place and will only be worn again when there is a great need. Like the original use when the Klugites won that glorious victory in the valley by sallying forth from the gates of Head Village. I would assume High Priestess Naro would now be the owner.¡±


    I strum my fingers on the table.


    ¡°What?¡± asks Milga.


    ¡°High Priestess Naro took the position. I wonder if there was a handover. The armour could be in a place no one or few know about. If the Oath Keeper goblins return to the valley, wouldn¡¯t they be welcome? There wouldn¡¯t be a need for the armour.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately, this is all guesswork. So, I will take my leave.¡± She drains her mug. ¡°Buy the weapons.¡± I nod. ¡°I can then hurry my merchants and patrol back to Stones Corner and wait to see what the horde of Oath Keeper goblins will do.¡±


    <h2>---Duzsia the Relentless POV</h2>


    A yelp. Vorlora? I unsheathe my sword as I bolt towards what I think is the source of the call. Leading with an arm before my face, I crash through several low-hanging branches, reaching a clearing. On the far edge, I spot Vorlora sitting up, picking at cords binding her legs. I notice the three balls attached to those same cords as an afterthought.


    I swivel about as Luda¡¯s laughter reaches my ears. ¡°You can¡¯t use my apprentice for your practice!¡± I screech while storming towards her, raising my sword for a downward strike.


    She raises her hands in mock surrender. Her smile is full of teeth. ¡°I needed a moving target with two legs¡­¡±


    ¡°I agreed, Mistress,¡± Vorlora calls out.


    The heat in my anger quells, yet¡­ ¡°Why would you agree to such a thing? The last we knew, the balls hit Luda in the head more than they found their target.¡± I change direction and jog towards my apprentice.


    ¡°That was before,¡± offers Luda, now on my heels.


    Vorlora is almost free. The balls are now black. The leather throngs are also dark. ¡°Before what?¡±


    ¡°Before I painted them with my blood. As they drew more of my blood with each mishap, I could sense them like a limb. This led to adjustments, refinement, and, finally, control. Your apprentice is proof.¡±


    Vorlora¡¯s lower legs have stout sticks bound to them, several of which are broken in two or three places. I reach for one and pluck it free of the bindings. After an inspection, I hold the piece in front of Vorlora. ¡°And this?¡±


    ¡°Precaution, Mistress. The balls are solid, and if unlucky, armour or not, a strike on bone may be enough to cause a fraction or worse, shattering.¡±


    I slap the back of her head. ¡°What if the balls struck your upper legs?¡±


    ¡°Luda assured me her aim would be true,¡± she whimpers.


    I straighten and face down Luda. Her smile doesn¡¯t fade, regardless of my intimidation.


    ¡°She¡¯s fine,¡± she retorts while picking up the topknot of the cords binding to each ball. My apprentice jumps to her feet to prove to me, I suspect, that no harm was done.


    ¡°What of the troops? Which of you two have been scouting for them, given your game?¡±


    I sense Vorlora shift to my side and hear her quick intake of breath. Luda glances towards her and then returns her attention to me.


    ¡°They are half a day out, almost across the plains. I suspect the five troops will soon make night camp on the edge of this forest.¡±


    My arms shape to, but I restrain myself from throttling her skinny neck. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you report as soon as you spotted them?¡± I grind out the words between my teeth.


    A hand massages my forearm. ¡°We have sent a missive to Hobgoblin Town, Mistress, warning of their coming.¡± Another hand joins the first. ¡°We thought you needed rest, and knowing before or later wouldn¡¯t make any difference. I am sorry¡­ if I have disappointed you.¡±


    I stab a finger towards Luda. She takes a quick step back before I poke her chest. ¡°I assume your idea?¡±


    She grins. ¡°Mutual, yes mutual, I would say. They crawl towards us, and we have checked on them from time to time and in between, I practice with a willing target.¡±


    ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°That is the interesting part. Two troops more or less march together, while two others follow a third.¡±


    ¡°A minor falling out?¡± I offer.


    ¡°My thoughts exactly.¡±


    ¡°Tell her of the other news!¡± The excitement in my apprentice¡¯s voice is plain.


    I quirk an eyebrow. ¡°Other news?¡±


    Luda resumes, ¡°Yes, it seems our wolf riders and their merchants have returned and joined the ones left behind. They watch the goblin troops like us, but from on high now. Taking cover in the lower reaches of the mountains marking the southern side of the valley.¡± Her arm waves about in their general direction.


    They haven¡¯t approached us, although they couldn¡¯t have returned for more than a day at most, perhaps too soon. I eye the sky. Dark clouds are accumulating, so rain can¡¯t be too far off. ¡°Vorlora, scout the troops, stay on watch until you see them make camp, and then return. Luda and I will prepare our camp for rain.¡±


    ¡°And our last hot meal,¡± adds Luda.


    ---


    ¡°You can show yourself now,¡± I say into the black of night. My watch path has deliberately strayed away from our camp to ensure this possibility.


    ¡°Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s confidence and pride in you are well deserved, I see.¡± A black shape strolls towards me without weapons drawn.


    ¡°Well met, Milga Stone Blood.¡±


    ¡°What happened to the Fifth?¡± she retorts with fake hurt, a hand on her chest.


    ¡°I have given that much thought. Your confidence and the loyalty of your scouts hint at much more. Mentioning his name sweeps away any of my doubt.¡± I return her embrace.


    Light rain falls on our faces.


    A nightbird hoots, and we are still in each other¡¯s arms. Her journey is much longer than mine, of course. I am like the interloper; she is like the constant returning presence. Our embrace is an affirmation, two servants of Lord Hob, each contributing in our way, able to share and console.


    ¡°While I didn¡¯t expect you two to be fighting, I didn¡¯t expect this either.¡±


    Luda, of course. Yet Milga and I don¡¯t spring apart in embarrassment or look for words to explain.


    ¡°Well?¡± says Luda.


    I fling an arm out towards Luda. Milga, a heartbeat later, does the same. We both stare at Luda. She looks behind her. Her posture melts. Square shoulders relax. Her hands release the hilts of her daggers to join and entwine. We wriggle our fingers at her. Like a cautious beast or long-lost pet, she takes a step forward. I flash her a broad welcoming smile and feel the warmth from Milga¡¯s face. While the night is dark, I know Luda¡¯s night vision is superior, and I am confident she misses none of our signals.


    Like a dam bursting, she catapults herself into our embrace.


    Like a secret whisper on the wind, Milga speaks, ¡°Welcome, Luda Bloodstalker, be at peace with your name and know that I have met Lord Farmer Hob. We resume our allegiance.¡±


    In between cold raindrops, several warm ones fall. None of us mentions the anomaly.


    ¡°Milga?¡±


    I hear and feel Milga release a long breath. This time her embrace loosens, yet I sense Luda resisting the attempt.


    ¡°I must attend to her, Luda. She is of my present life,¡± whispers Milga, her voice heavy with regret.


    Even I feel for Luda. The intrusion cuts her embrace short. Again, she misses out. As Milga slips away, I sense Luda¡¯s muscles bunch, preparing. My grip on her body now crushes her against mine while I release Milga. A quiet, hurtful yelp. The pain isn¡¯t from my physical abuse of Luda, and while for a moment I think she may draw a dagger on me, I dismiss the improbable betrayal. Regardless of her pain, she wouldn¡¯t go that far.


    Milga reaches her follower. Morraga? Luda melts into my embrace, her warm tears splashing upon my arm more frequently than the light raindrops.


    ¡°Who are they to you?¡± An accusation? The hurt? Betrayal? All these and more add weight to those few words.


    ¡°I am the fifth.¡± Milga¡¯s hands caress her follower¡¯s cheeks; thumbs wipe away unseen tears. ¡°I sensed I knew them the first time we met, hence my risk-taking. Now, after meeting their Lord, I am as certain as they are. Their blood is as familiar to me as their previous selves, as mine is to them. I don¡¯t have the words to explain how we know and trust each other after generations.¡±


    A wet sniff. ¡°Are you leaving us for them?¡±


    Milga¡¯s embrace of Morraga is as intense as mine is of Luda.


    ¡°No. This is a reunion to affirm our previous life bonds. They have a different path to follow from ours, but when our paths cross in the future, you can be certain of their favour as they can be certain of ours.¡±


    I catch Morraga¡¯s glance in my direction. ¡°Truly¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes. I swear so on my blood.¡± Milga holds Morraga away at arm¡¯s length. ¡°Now, return to our camp. I will follow shortly.¡±


    Morraga studies me. Her night vision is certainly powerful enough to do so, it would seem, even with the unseen dark clouds above us.


    ¡°I go, Mistress, yet I and everyone else will return if you linger too long.¡± With that said, she throws herself out of Milga¡¯s embrace and marches into the night.


    Milga returns to us, and while we lose the original moment, Luda giggles like a child as we all gather in a brief embrace.


    ¡°Koria isn¡¯t with us. She was, and then she wasn¡¯t,¡± says Luda in a nervous garble.


    ¡°Lord Hob had to release Zoria,¡± I added.


    ¡°She lost the plot,¡± snipes Luda. I understand her reaction, yet she found her son, which she last saw as a babe, giving him into the care of others.


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± offers Milga. ¡°What of Zeb?¡±


    Luda and I share an all-knowing snickering before I reply, ¡°He is in the body of Torngul Heartsplitter, Lord of the Grassplains and well looked after, although we suspect more than one or two of his Clan Heads wish to assassinate him.¡±


    ¡°At least Lord Hob has two of his best to protect him,¡± quips Milga.


    Luda smiles. Her first in a while, and the pain in her eyes no longer dominates. ¡°What makes you think Lord Hob wouldn¡¯t collect wives like stones on the ground?¡±


    The three of us burst into laughter. Luda and I share the details with Milga while she shares much about her corner of the world.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 2.049 Temple of Lord Klug

    <h2>---Naro, High Priestess of Klug POV</h2>


    The faithful worshippers of Lord Klug, an equal mix of goblins and hobgoblins, more females than males of the latter, line the cobblestone streets of Head Village, which is no longer a village. The outskirts reach a quarter of the way towards The Farm, and I am told only a few of the original buildings remain. She knocked most down to widen the main street, which leads straight as an arrow from the main gate to the Under Cliff Temple of Lord Klug. The buildings that replaced them were all stone, including the squat inner wall. Rexa did some things right, I begrudgingly acknowledged to myself.


    The clear blue sky above welcomes me as much as their cheering as I parade towards the inner wall gate, which is currently thrown open on this special day. I, the new reigning High Priestess of Klug, venture forth amongst the faithful to introduce myself and permit them to bask under my holy glory. Their cheering is boisterous and rousing, their smiles wide. Novices, Acolytes, Adepts and Priests line the street, manning barricades to hold the press of the crowd back.


    My head snaps towards a sudden movement. A shape darts left, causing the nearest Ten Spear Guard to chase while another shape leaps into the opening. The spear tip aiming for my heart moves slowly under my gaze. Is it his blood? In this moment of life or death, my forearm sweeps the spear¡¯s shaft to one side with ease while I move inside the assailant¡¯s guard and, with casual ease, step forward. My dagger penetrates the assailant¡¯s eye socket and withdraws as quickly. A heartbeat later, the same dagger slams into the hidden sheath under my flowing robes, and I resume waving to the crowd.


    Through the gate, I sense the herd following in my wake, filling the main street behind me like a flood. I imagine with some satisfaction the corpse of my attacker now trampled under the press of the faithful.


    The pain alerts me, and I swivel to search for the source. On top of a warehouse a few streets back, I spy the archer pulling back on his bow for another release. I snatch a spear from one of my gawking Ten Spears and fling the weapon at my assassin. The spear and the arrow pass in flight. My eyes follow the arrow, and I catch the missile. The archer stares at me, his smile dropping. Then his eyes open wide as he realises my impossible spear throw is about to end him. He pivots his hobgoblin body to run. Why didn¡¯t he duck? The spear shaft transfixes him, in one side of the body above the hip and out the other side under the armpit.


    My Ten Spears crowd about me, offering their bodies as a flesh shield.


    ¡°An arrow impales your shoulder, High Priestess,¡± hisses one in awe.


    ¡°Push it through,¡± I command. There is a small lump below the collarbone, so the head is almost through. I grit my teeth in pain as the arrowhead slices apart the remaining thin layers of my flesh. Grabbing the head with one hand and the shaft with the other, I wrench the head free.


    ¡°Draw the arrow back,¡± I command. My breathing is deep and rapid.


    ¡°We have no bandages, High Priestess. The blood loss could kill you.¡±


    Pulling my robe off my shoulder, I stare down at my naysayer as a portion of cloth caught around the arrow shaft rips. ¡°Grab it and be quick!¡± I feel my inner flesh rub on the arrow shaft as they slide it free from my body. I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from screaming. Black blood flows and then coughs to a halt. My flesh closes over while a choir of gasping from my Ten Spears escapes their lips. I straighten my robe, ensuring my hair sits on the same side as the rip.


    ¡°Assume parade positions,¡± I whisper. As trained, they hear and obey, although they now double guard on each side, the rectangle of before now a close-hugging square.


    The crowd looking on closest is still silent. Did they really see what they saw?


    I wave to them. ¡°A clothing mishap, nothing more. I would not want to flash my bare breast now, would I?¡± I project several loud and warm chuckles towards witnesses still dithering and again return to parading and waving.


    Reaching the Shrine of Water, I kneel at the river¡¯s edge, scope up a handful, and pour the water into a waiting mouth. These are, the afflicted. Those with ailments that won¡¯t heal, diseases that find no cure. Lord Klug, at this spot, is said to have healed his wives, extending their life as a last gift. A reward for their devotion as his wounds finally took his life.


    I take my second knife from underneath my robes and slice the palm of my hand.


    ¡°Show your tongue,¡± I command the first. I squeeze my hand and allow drops of blood to fall on the eager, protruding flesh. Then, with the finger of my other hand, dipped in the same blood, I draw a circle of blood on the green forehead of the youth kneeling before me.


    ¡°As I draw this circle of life on your forehead, you drink from the holy blood of Lord Klug flowing through me to aid your body and cure your illness. Believe in Lord Klug, and anything is possible.¡±


    I shuffle along to the next and repeat my performance. Many press closer, some wading across the river instead of staying on the ford to inspect my efforts. The need to slice my hand multiple times is almost annoying by the end.


    With the last supplicant done, I raise my hands. ¡°Believe in Lord Klug. Believe I am his holy agent who can walk amongst you and share his miracles with you. Now go, spread his faith, and let all you meet know that High Priestess Naro is his devoted worshipper and your humble servant.¡±


    They waver. A few, although reluctant, shuffle off.


    ¡°Go, I say!¡±


    They fear I will offer the last few remaining something more, yet I have no more. I believe Lord Klug¡¯s few drops of blood will take some days to make a difference where it can, and by then, I will be ready for the religious fervour. Now is the time for them to return to their everyday lives, their monotonous routines. Their contentment. Before today, they believed I would be the same as High Priestess Rexa, sit in the Temple and make demands without giving back. The showing of myself today is solely a curiosity for the non-believers. For the believers, a relief their new High Priestess will reveal herself and bless them.


    My Ten Spears, well Twenty Spears when you count them all, surround me close, in a square formation as we march back to Lord Klug¡¯s Temple. As we approach the Temple, I notice the balcony high above. I contemplated waving to the faithful from there, but I needed to prove to them my faith in Lord Klug would deliver real benefit, and what better way than to walk amongst them and heal? The Novices, Acolytes, Adepts and Priests clear our way, and shortly after, the main doors are closed behind us.


    With no sunlight, the glow of lanterns takes over in the vast antechamber. Beyond our gathering area are rows of benches leading to the holy dais from where I preach to the already converted. I will change this.


    Twenty Ten Spears kneel around me. One, slightly taller and broader than the rest, looks up into my eyes.


    ¡°We are in awe of you, High Priestess, and wonder why you even need us. We are feeble compared to you. Wounds are nothing, assassins too slow when assaulting you or too dim-witted to realise they endanger themselves even when they think themselves safe at a distance.¡±


    ¡°Is this how you all feel?¡±


    Murmurs of assent are their response.


    ¡°Let me tell you of a tale then.¡± I look at each. ¡°Lord Klug was mighty, and many a foe fell under his blade, or if the legends are true to his throttling of their necks.¡± They chuckle, and I smile. There is a certain disbelief about the throttling because of the strength required, and none have been able to replicate the feat except on goblins. Klugrath, Lord Klug¡¯s first son, was the only known exception, although that could have been a rumour of Rexa¡¯s. They wrote the old tales from memory, of course, and they didn¡¯t note that hobgoblins were few in Lord Klug¡¯s time. Therefore, the prime target of his throttling would have been goblins¡­


    ¡°Lord Klug died at the Shrine of Water because his enemies, like cowards, nibbled at him. He slew many, of course, but fresh assailants again and again overwhelmed even the mighty warrior he was. So, your role is to protect me from the same fate. Die in my stead if needs be by throwing yourself at my enemies so I may recover in the time your sacrifice buys me. Do you accept this fate on my behalf?¡±


    They crowd forward and paw at my robes. Some males, primarily females, are now a hobgoblin mix of the many tribes which once claimed territory in this valley. Rexa would never accept Ten Spears from the other three valleys who worshipped Lord Klug. She didn¡¯t believe they would defend her like those first tribes conquered and brought into the worship of Lord Klug. And if the legend is true, their orphaned hobgoblin heirs are all granddaughters of Klugrath.


    ¡°On your feet, my proud warriors, you will never crawl on your knees unless I command you.¡± They snap to attention. ¡°Line up and receive my blessing.¡± As each one approaches, I slice my hand and cover their mouth, forcing them to drink until the wound heals. Each staggers back in shock, eyes wide. Initially, the line slows. They believe in Lord Klug, yet seeing the muted reaction of the first drinkers, doubt surfaces in them. Then the first few recover from their daze. Leaping high, they thrust their spears downward and quickly take to shadow fighting. An immediate and noticeable improvement in speed and, given the first, is still swinging away when the last of them feed, endurance.


    The first approaches me, her lungs expanding as she sucks in some air. After several deep breaths, she takes my hand and kisses my palm. ¡°My life is worthless unless I die in your service.¡± Then she stands to attention, her spear butt striking the stone floor of the temple. The echo startles all but my bodyguards. The line grows, and I move along as each joins, and they all swear the same oath to me.


    ¡°Each month, we will repeat this ritual, my blood for your blood, until I fall pregnant and give birth to the next High Priestess.¡±


    The first steps forward. ¡°What if you birth a male High Priestess?¡±


    ¡°Lord Klug will ensure I will birth a female.¡± There is no trace of doubt in my words as I eye each of them. ¡°To the males present, I considered one of you as my seed donor, but that would single you out and change our relationship, perhaps causing me to value your life more than my own, even for the briefest of moments which would be unacceptable.¡±


    As one, they answer, ¡°My life is worthless unless I die in your service.¡±


    ¡°I forbid you to lie with each other. No other life, but mine is important.¡±


    As one, they answer, ¡°My life is worthless unless I die in your service.¡±


    ¡°After several months of receiving my blood, like me, you will control your breeding, male or female child, to make a baby or not. You can lie with as many others as you like, but no coupling will produce offspring. You must have no parental distractions.¡±


    As one, they answer, ¡°My life is worthless unless I die in your service.¡±


    ¡°If one of you dies in my service, then the rest will decide to replace them or not. All must agree on the candidate you present to me. My life will depend upon your sacrifice, and only a special few can believe without seeing as you have witnessed today. I suspect assassins will thin out as the years pass because we will kill the best, so they can¡¯t teach those who follow.¡±


    As one, they answer, ¡°My life is worthless unless I die in your service.¡±


    The hasty slapping of sandals on stone heralds his arrival. ¡°What is all this yelling, stomping, and cracking of spears for? The Holy Scribes are transcribing sacred scripts to disseminate across the land to other Templ¡­¡±


    Stolen novel; please report.


    My fingers are around his skinny hobgoblin neck, and he squeaks to silence. His eyes bulge. Probably a combination of lack of air and recognition that he has intruded on his High Priestess.


    I raise his body as a test, choking him further as I do¡ªhis body swings free while in my grasp.


    ¡°High Priestess, I plead with you to release your Scribe Servant. I am certain he realises his mistake by now.¡±


    I release my intruder, and his body collapses in a heap while I turn to face the Holy Scribe. His, or is he a her? The voice, either way, is recognisable, deep, and rasping.


    ¡°I believe your plea was perhaps too late, Holy Scribe. My apologies, of course, and in the future, I will take more care of my servants.¡± I nudge his body with my foot. Lifeless, I decide.


    ¡°Lord Klug¡¯s servants, High Priestess,¡± he corrects me while folding his hands within the sleeves of his robe.


    ¡°Well then, I await his judgement. Until then, to avoid any repeat, I will assemble my bodyguards in quarters closer to mine.¡±


    He turns away and then looks back over his shoulder. ¡°There are none such quarters vacant, High Priestess.¡±


    ¡°The Scribes are currently closest, are they not? Wouldn¡¯t they save the strain on their legs if they moved closer to the Scribing Rooms?¡± My eyes flick high and to my right toward where my interloper came from.


    ¡°They are, erm¡­ were the rooms where High Priestess Rexa¡¯s closest relatives slept. They still contain many of their possessions, and no one seems to know what to do with all their flashy treasures.¡±


    I favour him with a predatory smile. ¡°Two birds, one stone. They were the Holy Scribes¡¯ original quarters, were they not?¡±


    His nod is slow and deliberate. Reluctance?


    ¡°Please instruct a team of scribes to document the possessions of each room. Show the list to two of my bodyguards so they can decide what is to be done with each item. They will hire labourers as necessary, and when cleared, an occupied Holy Scribe room nearest to mine will move to the vacancy.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡± He could object, but I know from their writings that the Holy Scribes protested their relocation. They suspected High Priestess Rexa didn¡¯t trust her relatives and wanted them as far away from her as possible. Crowding the Scribes around her quarters meant a more loyal than most, faction of the Temple¡¯s servants were within close striking range of her than anyone else. I wish to have the same assurance, except those closest to my quarters will be loyal unto death to me.


    ¡°Settled then and until my bodyguard can move as one into the rooms closest to mine, they will gather here once a month with their High Priestess making as much noise as they must. Will relocation take a month?¡±


    ¡°I will assign a team immediately, High Priestess.¡± And with that last statement, he swivels about, robes flapping. Was the corpse of his scribe forgotten?


    I turn to greet their silence. ¡°I know, but throttling a thin scribe doesn¡¯t count.¡± There is doubt on their faces. They wish me to acknowledge the feat yet struggle to disregard my statement. First, because I proclaimed it, and second, it is close enough to a truth. The legend recalls the throttling of fully armed and armoured warriors, battle-hardened and eager to fight.


    ¡°Each day, a fresh pair will assess what the Scribes document. If you can¡¯t read, start learning. Those who can read teach those who can¡¯t. They will probably document several rooms in a day, so the last pairs may not be needed, but reading and writing are essential skills you must all master to remain in my service.¡± Several sport pale green faces, but not as many as I suspected.


    ¡°How many are familiar with a bow?¡±


    Three of my bodyguard step forward immediately¡ªa fourth steps forward several heartbeats later.


    ¡°Are there no childhood hunters amongst you?¡±


    Two more reluctantly step forward.


    ¡°Can any of you read?¡±


    Three of them raise their hands. Good enough, I decide.


    ¡°There is a book written or possibly dictated by Koria Keen Eye while heavy with child about the fine art of archery. And not to be outdone, on her deathbed, Vuzsia Dead Eye dictated her thoughts on the subject as well.¡±


    One of my bodyguards slowly raises her hand. ¡°High Priestess, didn¡¯t she join her tribe and resist High Priestess Rexa¡¯s efforts to convert them?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but once captured and awaiting judgement, it is said she demanded a scribe. Legends say Koria Keen Eye and Vuzsia Dead Eye shared a great rivalry, but who knows the whole truth?¡±


    ¡°Were there scribes two hundred years ago?¡± asks another of my bodyguard.


    ¡°The fact these books exist and credited to archers we know for certain walked the land suggests there were.¡±


    A giggle draws our collective attention. Under the gaze of us all, she gulps and says, ¡°What if the authors were archers, yet not those archers, but to gain attention for their written work, they used their names? It would be cheeky, would it not?¡±


    ¡°Cheeky, yes, but if their teachings prove sound, do we really care?¡± I pause for a moment. ¡°I will wrestle a copy of each from the clutches of the scribes who guard the Temple Library. You need to ensure you take care of the books. Otherwise, the scribes will nag me to the end of my days.¡± They hesitate until I flash them a warm smile, which they return.


    ¡°Day and night, at least two of you will spar here in case the scribes produce a list to be checked. Apart from that duty, carry on with your usual routine. I go now to my quarters to pray and don¡¯t wish to be disturbed unless the circumstances are dire. I will instruct all who I meet. None but my bodyguard can call upon me from now on.¡±


    I consider taking a lantern. Yet, since childhood, my eyes have adapted to the dark, only requiring a glimmer of light to be present for me to see clearly. Yet I don¡¯t know she is there because of either sight or sound. Instead, I pick up her scent, or more specifically, the smell of her blood. I intercept her goblin leap by wrapping my fingers around her throat. To her credit, she still stabs at my arm, the only part of me within reach of her short, razor-thin dagger.


    ¡°Stop that,¡± I command as several streams of blood drench the sleeve of my robe. She blinks and raises her hand to strike again. I shake my head from side to side and squeeze a little more. She lowers her dagger, and I relax my grip. My goblin assassin takes a deep breath, and colour returns to her face. I also confirm the source of her bleeding since raising her above my head means my nose is level with her loins.


    ¡°Who sent you?¡±


    She tries to shake her head while in my grip, but I get the message.


    ¡°I can steal your spirit and know the truth regardless, but I don¡¯t want another slave. Who sent you?¡±


    She pats my arm. I assume as a hint to lower her. This accidentally causes the sleeve of my robe to give in and slide down the length of my arm. No stab wounds. She glances between my arm and my eyes several times. I lower her. Now, though, her body shakes. I reason her confidence has fled.


    ¡°Now, you believe me?¡±


    She squeezes her eyes shut and offers me a slow nod. When she opens her eyes, a tear falls from each.


    ¡°Who sent you?¡±


    ¡°I am the lowest of the low. I test. How easy or difficult it is to gain access to the Temple. Can I move around without being challenged? To sneak around undetected. You, walking alone, unguarded. I thought luck was on my side, so I struck.¡± Her whimpering tone is annoying by the end. Then the smell of urine assaults my nose, and I drag her away.


    ¡°That was messy. Let me know next time.¡± Her clothes still carry the smell, of course. She whimpers into her hands. ¡°You didn¡¯t answer my question.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. There is a contract on your life, but I am to scout and report back, expendable otherwise.¡±


    ¡°What else do you know? You must know something?¡±


    She squirms and then settles. ¡°I am one of five scouts. We live together, train together and wait for missions. Our trainer visits wearing a mask. We don¡¯t know their name. They are called boss. While we wait, they expect us to practice the techniques taught to us by our trainers. When they return, they test us. If one fails, we all fail and must practice again until the boss returns to test us again, and if we all pass, they teach us new techniques. That is all. That is my life now.¡± Some fight returns to her voice towards the end of her speech.


    ¡°What would your next advancement be?¡±


    ¡°If I survive sufficient missions, I can graduate to Inquisitor. They usually train in a group of three¡­¡±


    I wave an open palm. ¡°Your masters expect two of the five scouts to die?¡±


    She chuckles. ¡°I wish. We suspect the numbers are higher, but.¡± She pats her chest. ¡°Lowest of the low.¡±


    ¡°What rank is above Inquisitor?¡±


    ¡°Only one, Assassin, and they tend to keep to themselves.¡± She tilts her head to one side.


    ¡°How does one become an apprentice scout?¡±


    I feel her neck muscles tighten. She wants to do anything but answer. ¡°What is your game, then? Torture the captive goblin with mind games and stupid questions? There is nothing interesting to know about me.¡±


    ¡°I insist.¡± I squeeze and shake her to prove my level of interest.


    She coughs. ¡°Alright, no need for that. My parents died when I was young, boo-hoo for me, so I made my way to your Head Village and ran with one of your town¡¯s urchin gangs. Thieving food mainly, some pick-pocketing or running distractions, while others in the gang pickpocketed the onlookers. In my teens, I outgrew the urchins and, after a couple of tests, joined the local Thieves Guild. Less thieving and more of a protection racket. Shopkeepers would pay the guild not to rob them. To encourage those who didn¡¯t purchase protection, we would rob their business many times. We also tipped the urchins to learn their routines and follow them to find their homes if they were rich enough to keep a separate house. Most, though, lived above their shops, so easy pickings. Some hired guards. We would wait for them to be dismissed because they were more expensive than us and then resume robbing them. After a few years, several familiar faces were no longer in the guild. Then I found out why. A special visitor would talk to a few chosen by the Guildmaster and make them an offer. I took up the offer like many before me, and instead of sticking to the mission, I foolishly tried to commit my first assassination.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s better. So, if I stole your spirit, you would only end up reporting what you found out. The Guildmaster would then assign another, totally unknown to you, to the assassination mission?¡±


    ¡°No, there is a stage for the Inquisitor in between. I am to scout out for dissent, the unhappy few, or perhaps those in debt or greedy. By using them, the general thinking is that they could provide access or an emergency escape path. Even blackmailed for favours. The Inquisitor follows with smooth talk and offers to secure at least two or more if possible. Then I assume one or more assassination plans will be made.¡±


    ¡°That all takes time, so how long have you been skulking about in Lord Klug¡¯s Temple?¡±


    ¡°Three days and ten nights.¡±


    I blink. ¡°How does that work?¡±


    ¡°Infiltrating always begins at night, returning several times, gradually stretching into the day as I find safe places to observe from to get to know the routine of the Temple. No one in this Temple is actively searching for anyone who isn¡¯t supposed to be here. Several times I have borrowed clothing and acted as a servant, with no one questioning the new face standing before them. They assume someone else must know me. That is one of the first lessons they teach. The bigger the organisation and the Temple of Lord Klug is one of the biggest, the easy it is to blend in. All you need is confidence backed up by knowing some names of those in charge.¡±


    What she tells me is somewhat confronting and worrying. Was Rexa this vulnerable? Are those who attacked me outside from the same guild as my goblin friend here? Somehow, attacking me in broad daylight seems opportunistic. My new friend describes a coordinated effort to retrieve information, which they will then turn into a plan. Those outside acted impetuously. They are more like relatives of Rexa if the rumours about them are fact.


    ¡°How many more days and nights would you otherwise expect to be here if I didn¡¯t catch you?¡±


    Her head leans to one side, face frowning. ¡°What does it matter?¡±


    ¡°Answer for now. Trust me.¡±


    She chuckles. ¡°Trust you? Alright then, two days and two nights. I need to sift through the Scribes, which normally I would consider a challenge. They are the one group who pride themselves in knowing their fellow scribes, as they always greet each other by name and rank. Their rank usually also includes who their master is as well. Tricky, although you did me a favour by throttling one of them.¡±


    ¡°Why? One less name to remember?¡± It is my turn to chuckle.


    ¡°No, nothing so simple.¡± My chuckle dies in an instant. ¡°The scribes junior to the dead scribe will try to prove themselves to the master of the dead one so they can step up into the vacant role. That means many scribes wander about simply trying to talk and get closer to those who have a say. I can eavesdrop on these conversations and learn more about what each scribe wants or needs as they make offers and counteroffers to secure the promotion.¡±


    I slowly nod. ¡°When filled, this will probably produce a lower ranked vacancy, which again starts the conversations and the bargaining.¡±


    ¡°Yes, exactly, until a master promotes one novice and a new normal begins.¡±


    ¡°They will settle this in two days and nights?¡± Her sigh confirms she detected the doubt in my voice.


    ¡°Of course. Scribes are generally well-read and intelligent. When one vacancy is being discussed, the brightest of the scribes know another vacancy will open immediately after. They plan and deal on that basis. I overheard immediately after the death, two of the masters negotiate away the direct replacement to support each other on the replacements after that.¡±


    ¡°Alright, take your two days and nights.¡± Her jaw drops. ¡°It is simple. I slay you, and they will send another, and I will have to wait another ten or more days for the second infiltration and then probably several more days before the assassin arrives. In comparison, you are almost done, so the other steps will be sooner rather than later. I only ask you not to assassinate anyone. If you do, I will hunt you down and torture you slowly.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ won¡¯t. Spying only, I assure you, and then I am gone.¡±


    ¡°Can you write?¡±


    She frowns. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I need you to write about everything you have discovered while here.¡±


    ¡°That will take another day, at least,¡± she grouses.


    ¡°Do you have to be somewhere else in three days?¡±


    ¡°Alright, as long as I can tell my boss that we had this conversation so that they can warn the assassin, you are expecting them.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a given, anyway, after the fools who tried to assassin me today. All assassins would expect me to be on my guard. I know, I won¡¯t ask you if they were part of your guild because you wouldn¡¯t know, anyway.¡±


    ¡°Can I go?¡±


    I release her, and she immediately drops her wet breeches and loincloth. She fishes out a fresh loincloth from a pouch belted to her waist and then darts off into the darkness, unaware I can see her until she turns a corner. I find the set of steps I need and climb them for three levels. I traverse this level and find another set of steps, guarded by a Ten Spears assigned to the Temple. They allow me to pass without question. I pause for a moment. So, by showing outward confidence, anyone of my height and shape in my robes could simply stroll past the guards. Troubled, I continue the climb until I reach the highest floor and my quarters. I have much to think about.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 2.050 Consquences

    <h2>---Naro, High Priestess of Klug POV</h2>


    My hand is on the ornate silver handle, and instead of entering my room, I release the cold metal and stroll towards the balcony. This is where Rexa held her sermons to the great unwashed until her voice failed her. I recognise the efficiency, but this is also a wasted opportunity. She can speak to many about worshipping Lord Klug, but there will always be a distance between her and the faithful. Possible resentment also, as she would have spoken from on high.


    With the sun sinking, the cliff casts a cooling shadow over Head Village. A gentle breeze adds to the perfection of this special place, the balcony. Below, the inhabitants of the town scurry about on their business. The barricades and crowds are now clear of the main street to the gate, and hand-pulled carts and groups walk where I walked earlier. Life returns to¡­


    A heartbreaking scream echoes from a side street, and I lean forward over the balcony. The flowing robes of an Oath Keeper Priestess stumbles towards the Temple. Face distraught; one hand points back towards the Oath Keeper Tower. While the distance may challenge most, my eyesight is more than a match. Two defilers have a rope around the neck of the broken, decrepit Oath and are trying to drag his lame body down the outside steps of the tower.


    They both halt and stare towards Klug¡¯s Temple. I doubt they can make out my face, yet they know someone is staring at them from the balcony. Yet, what can I do? They are there, and I am here. I shout to the Temple Guards on the streets below, standing at the entrance of the Temple. Both stare up at me. They haven¡¯t yet attended to the Oath Keeper Priestess. Why not? Their eyes find mine as I point towards the Oath Keeper Tower, which, for all its height, is probably out of their line of sight. They return looks of confusion. I stamp a foot.


    I glance towards the Oath Keeper Tower. The roof is now in the shade, and I check on the two. They continue to edge forward; the Oath can¡¯t stand, and progress is a backwards drop over the edge of a step. They need all the caution they can muster, for the stairs don¡¯t have a handrail by design. Where are the Oath Keeper Priestesses of the Tower?


    Silence. The once screaming Oath Keeper Priestess crashes into the Temple Guards. After a brief exchange of words, they leave her crumpled body and rush inside. I expect my bodyguard to be running out¡­ Where are they? There is still time; there must be. The Oath must remain a live prisoner in the Tower. The arrangement is not a convenience. Imprisonment unbroken is the essence of our being. What are we if they take the Oath from us?


    I swivel about in frustration, flinging my arms in all directions. How can I be so helpless? I stub my toe, and a yelp dies in my throat as I pick up the obstacle of my agony. I blow into the narrow end, and a mighty blast releases across the Town from the wider exit. To my satisfaction, the Guards at the Main Gate close off that means of escape. Several Ten Spears show themselves from Inns, Barracks, and wherever else they while away their time, and I point towards the Oath Keeper Tower. Fortunately, some are smarter than others, realise there is only one place of importance in that direction, and run off immediately to do my bidding.


    I check on the kidnappers as glee builds in my heart. Instead, my mouth open, eyes wide, I witness the impossible. I drop to my knees, my head in my hands. Before my eyes, the Oath fell from the tower, and I couldn¡¯t look until the end. Did I frighten him with the horn blast? Did he wrestle with his captors, or were they distracted by the horn blast giving the Oath a moment? My hand slaps the edge of the balcony rail as I drag my shattered self to stand and once again observe. The two peering down, now look towards me. They shrug and then display an insulting single finger in my direction. My hands grip the balcony, and I am sure I loosen a tile as I rage internally.


    It is then that multiple sources of heavy breathing reach my ears, and I swivel about. My bodyguard, heaving, sucking in air, crowd towards me.


    I scream at them, ¡°Why are you here and not over there?¡± I point towards the Oath Keeper Tower. ¡°An Oath Keeper Priestess dies on the steps of Lord Klug¡¯s Temple, and you think you need to check on me?¡±


    They disappear from my sight. My last words chase them. ¡°Bring them back to me alive. I need answers!¡±


    I drop to my haunches. The Oath has died before, and he returned in a matter of days. Not as a goblin, like the first time, but as a hobgoblin. That was a natural death at the end of an endless life. Not a sudden, unexpected death¡­ Does that mean something beyond our understanding? I have read all the books and paid attention to all the teachings. Others have written nothing about this circumstance. A new chapter to an existing book, or perhaps a new book, is about to be scribed.


    I drag myself away from the incredible to the present. Why didn¡¯t the Oath Keeper Priestesses defend the tower? They wait on the third floor with a single trapdoor as an entry point. Six Priestesses bunk there, two on watch each shift. They protect the doorway to the outside steps. If all else is lost, they collapse the roof above them. The rocks held there, on what would typically be the fourth floor, are supposed to tumble down on the trapdoor, killing anyone standing there and filling the floor. This should also close off access to the doorway to the outside steps. I don¡¯t understand how the two defilers could be on the steps.


    What about the Oath Keeper on the fifth floor? She watches the Oath but also the steps. Those on the third floor would have rung the warning bell, and with her position and footing secure in the room, she should easily defeat one or more trying to edge their way up the outside steps. A simple push with a spear and they will fall to their death.


    The real defence, though, is the door to the fifth level. Hidden, and unless you know where to look, any attacker will continue climbing the outside steps until they reach the roof. Then what? Everything is a delaying tactic until a barracks of Ten Spears arrive. They either use archery to strike non-Priestesses exposed on the outside steps or roof or charge into the tower to defeat any attackers. But somehow, all this failed¡­


    <h2>---Lord Torngul Heartsplitter POV</h2>


    A whispering question reaches my ears. ¡°Why bring the family, Lord husband?¡±


    I spare my love a warm, appreciating look. A bellow from my beast breaks the moment, of course. ¡°I thought that debate was done?¡±


    ¡°Look ahead at the hovel of goblin cottages that awaits us, the mud on the ground, the un-ending drizzle and spare a thought for Shaza, who is now separated from her betrothed and Zinia, who...¡±


    My youngest daughter¡¯s light, fun-filled laughter is in complete contrast to what my wife thought to bring to my attention. My Honour Guard and my youngest had kept company on the trail before when I utilised Zinia as my messenger. None believe the young are competent. Instead, they mention a lack of purpose or discretion and are only tolerated. Maybe Zinia is my attempt at a better Luda¡­ A pang of guilt shreds my soul. How can a father compare true blood to adoption?


    ¡°What husband? Second thoughts?¡±


    I shake my head and hopefully remove the dark thoughts from my face. ¡°No. Both need to attend to their sister. A miracle if the midwife is to be believed by surviving the spitting out of three healthy sons.¡±


    ¡°I still have doubts¡­ but we are not far now from the truth.¡±


    Doubt. I also have doubt, except Lord Klug is the father, and it is fatal to underestimate any of his actions and always worth the risk. Hobgoblin Town is unsettled because of the toppling of Clan Head Sakvorpa. My remaining Honour Guard is to keep the peace while the other Clan Heads discuss the division of the spoils. I am confident they won¡¯t reach an accord, and I will be required. Until then, they can bicker while I confirm or dismiss the eager-eyed report from a midwife equally in awe of her craft and the mother to enable such a mother with triplets to survive childbirth.


    Our beasts saunter through the Goblin Village, and while the residents pay due respect with slight bows, they are proud of their lineage and unbroken dedication as Oath Keepers. Wading the ford is a simple task while riding, and although I keep an eye on Shaza and especially Zinia, given her smaller beast, they cross as quickly as everyone else. I note that one of my Honour Guard, in particular, pays careful attention to Zinia. The sly discrete smirks of the other Honour Guards suggest a more profound secret.


    We don¡¯t make the main gate.


    Lord Klar, Izga to the left and a female hobgoblin in fine linen robes on the right wait for us on the sodden dirt path ahead, which would otherwise lead us to the gate.


    ---


    My Honour Guards are at a table close to the door, for Lord Klar has invited us into a large building beside the path. Scrawled on the sign above the door, ¡°The Lord¡¯s Tankard¡±, the owner was more than welcoming, hastening to join tables to accommodate our families.


    ¡°So, considering I am the ranking Lord at this table, is the Inn named after me?¡±


    Lord Klar¡¯s mug hovers halfway to his mouth as he takes an appreciating glance at the swishing buttocks of the departing tavern owner.


    ¡°Perhaps.¡±


    After introductions, we leave the ladies. He convinces me, as the Lords of the Tavern, we should do a duty to order the drinks for our table. Instead of returning, we occupy the lonely end of the bar, and he informs me of many things. My brain freezes when he says Thalgora is my daughter, Koria, returned. I vaguely catch his explanation¡­ my real daughter returns to me. He turns to leave, and I absently grab at his shoulder.


    ¡°One of my reasons for riding here in person.¡± I hand him a sliver of parchment.


    After carefully unfurling the fragile note and reading the contents, he curtly nods and strolls away.


    ¡°What note would the Lord of the Grassplains need to hand off to the Lord of mud hill?¡±


    The smoothness and innocence of her voice are a perfect mix, as I almost thought the question reasonable. Instead, I blink. Grabbing her neck, I hoist her body over the stout wooden bar separating us.


    ¡°I would suggest a Tavern Keeper who wishes to take another breath forgets what she saw, which means she can report to no one, especially your benefactor. Since I left him bickering with the other Clan Heads late yesterday afternoon, I am certain I could grant him a minor advantage. In exchange, I am equally certain he would end his agreement with you and perhaps you as well.¡±


    Her struggles subside, and I spare her a glance. Her face is almost black. I release my grip. An immediate inhale of air, then a sobering nod as tears run down her cheeks.


    ¡°I wish to serve someone more important than a Clan Head.¡± Her voice is steady regardless of my violence. Her eyes find mine and lock on, radiant, beguiling. A loud slap breaks her hold over me.


    ¡°He is mine, wench,¡± snarls my wife.


    The Tavern Keeper is in retreat, sliding away using her polished wooden bar for support while her other hand nurses one side of her face.


    My wife presses her lips onto mine, and I return the reward with gusto. Hand in hand, we return to our table as if nothing has happened, and none mention the incident. In the middle of one of many conversations, I lean towards Lord Klar and say, ¡°Escape tunnel. Ensure you, yourself, or those you trust with your life dig the tunnel. Sakvorpa had four, of which she only knew about three. There is a lesson there as well, but at least dig one. No point being Lord of your manor and dying there for lack of an escape.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± he replies.


    His quiet reserve is unnerving, yet I push on with my warnings. ¡°Five hundred Goblin Oath Keeper mercenaries are on their way, and most, if not all of the nubile Oath Keeper female goblins are already pregnant.¡± I spare Lord Klar a vicious smile. ¡°They may wish to release their pent-up frustration in another way.¡±


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    He returns my smile with a distracting warmth. His assassin and scribe are competing for his attention. The soft leather armour on one is losing out to the full, although readily accessible, robes on the other.


    ¡°Lord Klar, I would think it proper that you keep your pets in their place while in the company of Lord Torngul, your Lord and benefactor.¡±


    I resist the urge to defend Zinia as she said nothing that shouldn¡¯t have been raised if the relationship between Lord Klar and I was normal. Izga goes from slithering over Lord Klar to slinking along the length of the table towards Lord Torngul¡¯s or my youngest daughter. The scribe resumes her seat, timid and apologetic. I am uncertain which of the two is the greatest threat. Izga, forward and obvious or the Scribe who throws up a fa?ade and who I am certain plots for revenge as I suspect her scribblings detail.


    Shaza, I notice, leans away from her sister. Not one to be brave. Another, one of my Honour Guards, stands at their table, her eyes studying Izga.


    He slaps both of his hands on the table. ¡°You are right, young one. My household should act properly in such grand company as your father.¡± Izga halts immediately. ¡°Izga, given you are on your feet, please fetch another round of drinks for our guests. Solgia, please assist.¡±


    Zinia interrupts by standing, her chair shifting back slightly while doing so. ¡°I am not that young, Lord Klar. I approach sixteen years, and just recently, in fact, Lord Torngul entrusted me to act as his herald on matters of great importance, of which I will reveal no more. Your Lord, who is also mine, upholds law and order in this valley, and those who answer to him must always remember their place.¡±


    She isn¡¯t privy to our circumstance. Somehow, I hope he makes an allowance. I know he already is aware, and my need to do something is the desperate action of a father to prevent the needless death of one he cares for. While Shaza coos and carries on with her betrothed, Zinia has stepped up.


    ¡°Husband, my young half-sister is heady with her first taste of responsibility. As much as she defends Lord Torngul, she has no intention of insulting you on your land. Please forgive and instead join your three sons and me.¡± Lord Klar and I race for a first embrace of Thalgora. I hesitate at the last moment. A husband should be the first, I realise. A father needs to wait. As I shake my head with a smile from ear to ear, I notice a specific Honour Guard briefly pat my youngest daughter¡¯s shoulders with an abundance of affection. Their eyes meet, and then both faces resume their respective fa?ade. I lose my smile.


    Two warm hands wrap around one of mine. ¡°I will get to the bottom of what we both saw, husband. As the step-wife, I can test my relationship with your youngest daughter so you can stay above the fray.¡±


    I lightly squeeze one of her hands and then release as Thalgora hands Trela and me a babe each to burp. After being held off for so long, the third worries at Thalgora¡¯s breast until latching on and filling his cheeks. With my prize lying along the length of one arm, I use the other to embrace Thalgora. Our eyes meet, and instantly we know. Zeb Stone Grim¡¯s arm embraces his daughter, Koria Keen Eye. A miracle of sorts, I think to myself and after this life, our last time, as it should be.


    Lord Klar releases Thalgora, and Shazza shuffles forward. Thalgora marches towards her while tidying her breasts back into her leather jerkin and bear hugs her sister, swiftly lifting her from the floor. Shazza lets out a squeak and throws her arms around her big stepsister. They share chatter, mostly Shaza telling her sister how amazing her betrothed is to her.


    Zinia stands by next, waiting. Stealing a glance at me and then Thalgora. As Thalgora releases Shazza, she steps towards her youngest stepsister and holds out a hand. Zinia lifts her own, her eyes darting about, looking anywhere but at her big sister.


    ¡°I overheard your part in supporting our father. An emissary, no less?¡± Zinia¡¯s hand falters, almost losing her grip on Thalgora¡¯s, except Thalgora reaches forward to prevent the mishap.


    ¡°You overheard?¡± Her voice rises.


    ¡°I had to juggle my babes¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± She shuffles her feet. ¡°I can¡¯t solve father¡¯s dissenters with a sword like you, although I can now see the appeal.¡± Zinia cracks a smile. ¡°I must engage in a war of words and defeat them without bloodshed.¡±


    ¡°Yours is kinder and less upsetting to relatives. You serve your Lord, our father, well. I am certain we can find sword arms and win their loyalty.¡± I notice Thalgora¡¯s eyes dart towards one of my Honour Guards.


    Zinia¡¯s face flushes dark green. ¡°There is nothing untoward there, sister, I assure you. I find her easy to talk to, as she does me.¡±


    ¡°She is too protective of you for simple mutual conversation, sister.¡± Zinia steps back. ¡°There is nothing wrong with such an attraction as long as you honestly reciprocate or genuinely deny as soon as you know.¡±


    ¡°You aren¡¯t ashamed of me? Of my abnormal desires?¡± Her face looks up. ¡°I will not beget children¡­¡±


    ¡°Our father married and slept with three wives, begetting three half-sisters. He probably claims abnormal.¡± Zinia cracks a weak smile. Thalgora grabs her shoulders. ¡°Love is hard to find. When you do, grab it, and hold on. The son of a power-hungry sycophant of our father has besotted Shaza, and yet I would say the same words to her.¡±


    ¡°Do you believe their love is true and mutual?¡±


    Thalgora ruffles her half-sister¡¯s hair. ¡°That is not our concern. We will be there for her, regardless, even if all her dreams come crashing down. Yes?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    With a babe now over my shoulder, I smile as Lord Klar and Trela entertain the table with my grandsons while the half-sisters share words. I am certain that Lord Klar overheard as I did. Would Luda fit as easily into this new family arrangement is the question?


    <h2>---Duzsia, the Relentless, Concubine of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    Out of the shadow of the false dawn, Luda slinks. The black blood of others drips from her, which she seems most comfortable with. I hear Vorlora¡¯s sharp intake of breath.


    ¡°Where have you been all night? We agreed on an initial scouting mission¡­¡±


    She licks the blood off one dagger and slides it home into its sheath. The other she wipes or tries to, on the soft leather of her pants at the thigh. She giggles and gives up, returning the unclean weapon to its sheath.


    ¡°I found some old friends on my way back. They occupied Milga¡¯s camp in the mountain foothills, and I asked them to apologise. They refused, so I needed to spill their blood.¡±


    ¡°Did you jeopardise the mission?¡± I thought re-uniting with Milga had brought some balance to Luda¡­


    ¡°No.¡± She sways as she advances towards us. She is almost drunk-like, except her movements are deliberate, and she is in total control. ¡°My friends squealed for mercy once I revealed how upset I was at their betrayal. Goblins, betraying hobgoblins to slavers.¡± She shakes her head, her bottom lip prominent. ¡°Their cowardice forced me into actions and deeds thought name worthy, Bloodstalker. For a short while before, though, my name was Stealth. I couldn¡¯t simply forget what they took from me.¡±


    ¡°Are they all dead? How many?¡± whispers Vorlora with a shudder.


    ¡°All dead, yes. I didn¡¯t bother to count them. Do you think I do this for sport? I am justice.¡±


    An arm¡¯s length away, and her bloody appearance is, if anything, worse. ¡°What of the mercenaries? Did you learn of any ways in? Can we assassin at least one and safely escape?¡±


    ¡°Humm. Well, that is the thing. They are soldiers. They guard the perimeter of their camps, but once you evade the sentries, you can walk about by borrowing their armour and exuding confident caution. I stole a spear from one camp, slew the Troop Leader of the nearby camp with it and with a spear from his camp, slew the Troop Leader of a third camp. Like their armour, they mark their weapons.¡±


    ¡°You walked in, stole weapons, slew two Troop Leaders, and left? None followed?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they will follow eventually, and I left behind a subtle trail, challenging but not obvious. They could even now be doing so for all I know.¡±


    I step forward and grab her chin. She doesn¡¯t even attempt to evade or shake free. ¡°Where will they go?¡±


    She opens her mouth in such a way that blood drips onto her teeth, blackening them when she curls her lips into a smile. She licks them clean and says, ¡°They will discover a massacre of goblin bodies at Milga Stone Blood¡¯s camp and assume their assassin died there, one of many, unexpected, of course, and tragic.¡± The palms of her hands cross over her chest and then relax.


    ¡°What of your bloody trail to our camp?¡±


    She cackles. ¡°Why do you think my boots are so clean? A stream flowed past Milga¡¯s camp. I walked its entire length before striking across land and circling back. Goblins and wolves would be hard-pressed to track me.¡±


    ¡°But not impossible,¡± I retort.


    ¡°Nothing is impossible, and I hope to take advantage of that. I intend to either clean or exchange my clothes and armour. Once done, I want to lurk by the stream and hunt any who decide to follow, who will be certain to be their best. I will toy with them and distract them. You, Duzsia the Relentless, will return to their camp and judge if our mission has succeeded. The camp of two tribes lost a Troop Leader, the murder weapon belonging to a third troop. The camp of three tribes lost a Troop Leader to a weapon belonging to a fourth troop. Only the mercenaries of the First Troop, the Spear Fangs, are above suspicion and, I assume, will try to keep an impossible peace.¡±


    <h2>---Klaria, Second wife of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    Slipping into the Tavern unnoticed wasn¡¯t a trick or a skill¡ªsimply a consequence of following Thalgora, the first wife of Lord Klar, and her three babes. I effortlessly hid behind the wave of excitement, admiration, and impossibility of her survival. Lord Klar and Lord Torngul fawn over her and the three. I should be the first wife now, the babes in my arms and the joy of their birth tempered by the expected sorrow of Thalgora¡¯s death during childbirth. The first wife still lives. Therefore, I will continue as the second wife. Our pact in the fields is dust as I grip the handle of the dagger sheathed at my waist. My healed callouses are proof of my dedication to practice and determination to improve my skill in the weapon. She planned to ensure I wouldn¡¯t be a burden to Lord Klar and be able to defend myself. She succeeded.


    Her death would also mean I would be immune from Izga¡¯s threat. Spirit-captured wives couldn¡¯t kill other spirit-captured wives, but Thalgora could because she hadn¡¯t been spirit captured by Lord Klug. As I sit and sulk at a table in the corner of the tavern beyond the table of Lord Torngul¡¯s Honour Guard, I study the miracle that is Thalgora¡ªher hand movements, stride, facial tics and even her expressions, especially laughter.


    I ¡®touch¡¯ Izga and delight in her reaction. She should have dropped the plate of drinks. She didn¡¯t because of her lightning reflexes from consuming Lord Klug¡¯s seed. Her scowl washes over me. My moment of bravado will probably cost me. She can deliver worse punishments than death. I attempt to ¡®touch¡¯ the Scribe, pure curiosity, trying to confirm a rumour. As I extend my will and probe her soul, I detect the thin tell-tale spirit connection to Lord Klug. Rumour no more.


    Can I do the same to Thalgora? I shiver when I recall Izga and her treatment of me. Physical intimidation by her is a given, flaunting her knowledge of what it means to be spirit bound to Lord Klug unnaturally oppressive. All of which I thought were unique to her. When practising sword and shield with Zergoa, I tried for concessions, commanding her as Lord Klar¡¯s second wife to restrain her blows or slow her dodge so I could learn her techniques. I voiced my needs and received her belittling laughter and brutality. She was already pulling her blows, much to my dismay. Then I kept my commands to myself, and, recalling Izga¡¯s intimidation, I tried to project my will onto Zergoa, driven by my emotion. At first, nothing and then I scored some hits and received glancing blows instead of full-on strikes. At the time, I thought my skill must have improved, as did Zergoa. Against Voria, though, no such relief. My bruises were proof, and her barking critique was confirmation.


    I extend my will, probing beyond the physical limits of my flesh towards Thalgora. I expect the dullness of the impregnable soul, like Voria. Instead, her soul is open to me, and the binding thread to Lord Klug radiates. She is spirit bound! Such is the revelation my heart almost leaps out of my chest. But how? Is her awareness fresh like new? Or is she like Zergoa, spirit bound, yet her awareness near non-existent?


    ¡°Your deliberations are amusing, sister-wife.¡±


    My soul shakes, and it is all I can do to control the physical shivering, overcoming my entire body. I shut down my will, withdraw my invasion. The strength of the contact is far greater than even Izga¡¯s intimidation.


    ¡°Don¡¯t leave now, not when you are about to learn more than you could ever believe possible. We are wives of Lord Klug. We cannot slay each other. What torment we share will make us stronger.¡±


    My will is nothing. I am again facing Zergoa, sword in hand, using the wrong grip, of course, on my first day of training. Helpless and at the mercy of an expert¡­


    ¡°Please,¡± I plead. ¡°I apologise, Thalgora. I didn¡¯t know you were spirit bound, and I was jealous of your survival. And I will never doubt your place as the first wife again. Please forgive me. I have received brutal weapons training and don¡¯t wish for further punishment. Please, I beg you to show mercy.¡±


    I wait for a reply. I don¡¯t test my will because if I am to be released, only Thalgora can grant that result.


    ¡°You disgust me, wife of Lord Klug. Especially one who has had his true blood flowing in their veins from birth. Thalgora died in childbirth.¡±


    My body releases all self-control. Without knowing for sure, I believe I am slumping in my chair, possibly sliding off to the floor. Such is the disconnect. She toys with my will¡­ Fear grips my will. Reply is impossible.


    ¡°Koria Keen Eye now inhabits the flesh bag once known as Thalgora, first wife of Lord Klar, and you, second wife, have developed an understanding of Lord Klug¡¯s true gift faster than his other wives, even Izga the Assassin, the greedy devourer of Lord Klug¡¯s seed, his favourite it seems to me.¡±


    ¡°Favourite?¡± My reply is feeble, one-word.


    ¡°Of all my words, my acknowledgement of your prowess, all you recall is that single word?¡±


    She ignores me. Her grip on my will is effortless. I don¡¯t know how I know this, but it is true. She returns¡­


    ¡°Belief. Confidence. These are the words you need to reach for. Arise, second wife of Lord Klug, for you are superior to Lord Klug¡¯s other wives, except me and with my teaching, you will shortly be my equal. You must grow Klaria, false daughter of Klugak. Your first lesson will be returning. When others slay your flesh, you will feel a great need to return to the light. You must resist, and I will show you how. Your second lesson will teach you to share your will more completely with Lord Klug to strengthen him, even if your flesh withers because of the effort.¡±


    I am nothing. I feel inadequate. At the lowest of the low, I have one last action. I can expel my spirit, separate from my flesh, and free my will. Koria Keen Eye can no longer make me her plaything. No longer seduce me with false promises of greatness. I feel the beginnings of release¡­


    ¡°Don¡¯t be the coward when you are about to aspire to greatness!¡±


    Yes, release. Her last words wash over me, for I care not. Her will slips, weakening. Freedom is within my control.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 2.051 Desiccation

    <h2>---Vorlora, Apprentice of Duzsia, devoted to Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°Do you hear anything?¡± whispers my Mistress.


    I strain my ears. There is no need for pretence as my Mistress values truth. ¡°No, Mistress.¡±


    ¡°We will have company soon. Decamp as quickly as you can. Immediately.¡± She claps her hands to spur me on. I gather the bedrolls, wrap the pans in one, the pots in another and dried strips of meat and other supplies in the third. Tie them off, and bind the three into one, with a loop hanging free to sling over my shoulder. I gather the spare quiver of arrows, the full and empty sheaths, and thrust them into their backpacks. The fire! I kick dirt into the flames until it dies.


    ¡°Listen now,¡± hisses my Mistress.


    Shouts. Yelps. Howls. ¡°Yes, Mistress, I hear their calls.¡±


    ¡°Are they on a hunt? Do they encourage their fellows? What can you tell me about those about to find us?¡±


    Find us? How does she know? I swallow. I must answer her. ¡°There is pain, Mistress. They seek death, theirs or another¡¯s. It matters not. They are in a living misery.¡± As I say the words, my blood turns to water. If they care little for their lives, what will they care for ours? ¡°Mistress, how do you know they head our way?¡±


    She grabs a couple of backpacks and marches them to the rear of the clearing, and I follow with as much as I can carry.


    ¡°They are coming our way because their yelling is getting louder. There can be only one reason for them to be in such pain.¡± She looks through me. ¡°Can you give me that one reason?¡±


    Many thoughts rattle around in my head, but one keeps surfacing. The obvious. ¡°Luda?¡±


    ¡°No, and yes. Luda Bloodstalker. Not the crazy one we know with her annoying teasing of us. The kind that has been taking from them, what I don¡¯t know. But she has discovered something of value, and now that loss hurts them to their very being.¡±


    I swallow. Surely not? She can¡¯t have, but I can¡¯t think of anything else. ¡°Their children? Their wives?¡±


    My Mistress straightens and grabs my shoulders. ¡°I can¡¯t believe she has done that foul deed, but she has done something as deep.¡±


    I help her stack, and we are quickly done¡ªone bundle for each of my arms and a backpack for each of my shoulders.


    ¡°Now you must listen and obey. Forget trying to understand.¡± I nod. ¡°When I say go, you gather the camp goods and sprint back to our previous camp. Don¡¯t hesitate. You don¡¯t concern yourself about Luda or me.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mistress, but what will become of me if I lose you?¡±


    ¡°Luda is mad, but not suicidal. Well, I don¡¯t think so. This is more of a game for her, I hope, but I don¡¯t want you to be caught by it. So, when I tell you to run, you run.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡±


    She slaps my shoulder. ¡°Smile. Combat awaits. Remember your training. Stab your sword here and lean your shield against your leg. Nock, an arrow, stab a second beside your sword. Two releases and then shift to Sword and Shield stance. Don¡¯t try for a third release. You are to protect my flank. You understand?¡±


    I nod. ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡± I stab my sword into the ground. ¡°Are we going to die?¡±


    ¡°Only if we are foolish or Luda has badly misjudged our foes.¡±


    An arrow stands beside my sword. I hold my shield longer than needed to calm my trembling hand and jump as my Mistress cups my cheek. Her lips are on mine before I can protest or welcome them. When she broke the kiss, I didn¡¯t have the presence of mind to act, just enough awareness to feel the loss of their moist warmth.


    ¡°I could have slapped you instead. Perhaps I will next time.¡± She throws her head back and chuckles and then snaps her mouth shut. ¡°Ready yourself, Apprentice. Nock your arrow, but don¡¯t release at Luda. You will probably anger her.¡±


    Luda bursts into our clearing as I fumble to nock the arrow. I realise, even while talking, my Mistress didn¡¯t fail to listen. Even while I reminisce over my first kiss, she is alert for danger. With purpose, I nock an arrow and draw the bowstring.


    ¡°Their blood is up, sister-wife. Their anger is raw and free. Reckless and foolhardy, they howl for my death. Time to test your apprentice, time to test yourself,¡± screams Luda Bloodstalker as she gallops towards us, her head high and her bloodied weapons higher.


    Two goblins are hard on her heels, yet she is oblivious or seems like she is. So, I release. Given the force in my release, the first goblin tumbles backwards, the arrow striking our enemy deep in their chest. The second goblin runs into the downward swing of my Mistress¡¯ sword as Luda runs a line towards her. Luda¡¯s head peeks out behind Duzsia, my Mistress, as if she is playing a child¡¯s game. She catches my eye.


    ¡°More are coming, sweet apprentice.¡± She winks.


    At that moment, I remember. I throw my bow onto the camp goods, equip my shield, and reach to jerk my sword free. Their howls hasten me into action. I notice Luda stand, two daggers at the ready on the far side of Duzsia, not entirely protecting her flank as I understand such things, something different.


    A group of five burst into the clearing. One charges me, the other four charge Luda, yet my Mistress stands in their way unless they want to circle her by re-entering the forest, but they are beyond thinking¡­


    My shield not only defends but thrusts at my enemy¡¯s wild swing, and I catch his curved sword and shoulder, an opening for my sword thrust. I aim for his chest as my Mistress has taught me, trained me to. A bigger target, half a hit, is better than an attempt at a spectacular miss.


    Blood dribbles from his mouth, his last howl dying in his throat, and for some reason, I add my vomit to the bloody mess at my feet. I wipe my mouth and stare at my Mistress. Her sword and arm are one stabbing, curving, deflecting, dealing death while her shield flashes about her, catching the blows that would otherwise injure her. Luda cackles in the background, throwing taunts at any of the goblins waiting to die on my Mistress¡¯ sword.


    The battle rages on, and I protect my Mistress¡¯s flank. Luda calls the goblins to her, and Duzsia, my Mistress, dances, dealing death to intercept our tormented foes. In a brief break, I witness the incredible. Duzsia knows where Luda is, moves to allow her to strike, and then covers off any counterstrike with her shield. As Duzsia dances forward to work her way inside the guard of a larger goblin, Luda counterstrikes at the arms of others, holding swords that attempt cowardly strikes.


    ¡°Run!¡±


    The voice of my Mistress and I catch her eyes. She is angry with me, for me. This isn¡¯t the first time she has spoken. I gather the goods and backpacks. Without a last look, I run. My legs carry me out of the clearing and into the forest. The howling and anguish doesn¡¯t diminish. The crashing through the forest sounds in my ears. There is too much of that noise¡­ I drop the camp goods and backpacks, and then a goblin leaps on top of me. His claws rip down my face, and I scream, not in fright, but in anger. I know I have failed my Mistress. Dropping my sword, I unsheathe my dagger and stab upwards as his claws strike at my face again. Twisting the blade free, I push his body off me in time to spot another diving at me. I snatch my sword up and, using his weight and charge against him, run him through. My sword, now a goblin skewer, I lean to one side, and the corpse slides off. I have my sword back and crouch behind available cover.


    No others pop up. I gather the camp goods and backpacks. One last glance about, and I dart off.


    Something at reckless speed slams into my lower body, knocking the wind from my lungs and splaying camp goods and backpacks around me. I try to raise my hands to shield my face from his dagger and fail. The straps of the backpacks hold them in place. I am at his mercy, and his eyes clear momentarily as he aims for my eye. Why my eye? Then his head sails off his shoulders.


    ¡°Get up, apprentice. If you fall behind me, you are on your own.¡±


    I shake the straps into place and am up and running after my Mistress. Her shield crashes through the foliage, and I use the path she creates.


    ¡°When I order you to run, you run. Disobey me again, and I will gut you.¡±


    I can¡¯t draw enough breath to reply. Yet, she can find the breath to yell at me without breaking stride.


    Eventually, we burst into a familiar clearing, and she heads for the hidden door in the brambles. She opens the way and allows me to run in at full speed. I crash to the ground and release all the camp goods and backpacks. My legs ache, yet I must climb to my feet. With a gentle push, her hand is on my forehead, and her finger crosses her lips.


    Howling approaches and then flows around us. I have many questions, yet I dare not speak until spoken to, and instead, I concentrate on my breathing and recovery. Blood oozes down my cheek. I don¡¯t tend to it as it reminds me of my folly.


    My Mistress¡¯ face is in front of mine. Her eyes study every portion of my face. She whispers, ¡°I am wondering if you are worth saving if you wish to know. Fortunately for you, I am still undecided.¡±


    Her face vanishes from before me. I am about to open my mouth to speak.


    ¡°Up apprentice and quietly to arms. There is a wolf about to discover us. Back-to-back in that bramble tunnel.¡± Her arm flashes by my eyes. I ease my arms free, grab my sword and shield, and slowly follow.


    The bramble gate¡¯s removal is the first clue, and then the howling resumes. Fortunately for me, my Mistress defends us in that direction. I don¡¯t look. If I am stabbed in the back, so be it.


    ¡°Shuffle back, Apprentice. The pile of dead at my feet is too high and sprawling into my footwork.¡±


    Her back caresses mine, and we move further down the bramble tunnel as one. Somehow, the intimacy reminds me of our brief kiss and yet, how? Our supple leather armour prevents skin contact. Then I realise what the trigger is. Her buttocks and shoulder blades kiss mine. They nudge my body, and with token resistance on my part, her back envelops mine, and I am in bliss.


    I swear under my breath. Time and place! I give more ground; we shuffle faster.


    ¡°Hold, Apprentice.¡± As a reward, our backs kiss once again. The ripple and undulation are sensational, yet my eyes remain open, and my ears strain to listen.


    My curiosity calls for answers. I ignore the call; my Mistress will speak when she needs to.


    Silence passes. Impatience calls for answers. I am in the zone now, alert, attentive and following the orders of my Mistress. Sweat trickles down my temples and between my cleavage. They are nothing; I decide.


    My Mistress¡¯ back shifts. The ripple of her muscles undulates. I know the cause. I know the reason. The urge to jump in celebration, I force it down. She is hefting her sword and shield, readying for another onslaught.


    Chanting crashes against my hearing. This isn¡¯t rage or individual howling. They are being directed and commanded. I need to squeeze my loins shut. Otherwise, I will embarrass myself. I discard the distraction and concentrate on hearing anything but the chanting. The deliberate isn¡¯t the danger. They are covering for something¡­


    A rustle of brambles. My Mistress¡¯ back pushes out on her right. She is swivelling in that direction, which exposes her left. I must cover her flank! I swivel to my right. Two dark eyes stare up at me; without thinking, my sword stabs at them. The sword tip hits the bone, and the reverberation travels up my sword. His howl of pain is faint as I withdraw my blade to strike down again. The second strike stabs his neck, and he howls no more. His bloodless spear lies beside his prone body.


    Our backs separate for several heartbeats. One thunk and then a second. Then her warmth returns, and we are as one.


    Our game of nerves continues. I listen and then strike. This began at dawn; now dusk is fast approaching, yet my Mistress is quiet. If she is calm, she expects me to be the same. The only change? Our backs are now an intimate amalgamation. I feel her every move, which means she must feel mine¡­ Warmth spreads to my face, and I know my breathing increases¡­


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    A howl of pain marks the end of dusk and the beginning of the night.


    Her warm breath caresses my ear as she whispers, ¡°We need to move. When I find your bow and quiver, hold on to them. Every step requires us to move as one. Can you do this, my apprentice?¡±


    I nod. Then as the separation grows, I thrust towards her back, and we are again one. As each step is taken, we negotiate a rhythm. The rhythm becomes a dance in no time; I sheath my sword as I have a bow and quiver in hand.


    A scream rends the peace of the night.


    ¡°Hand me your bow and quiver and stand before me, sword and shield ready.¡±


    I follow my Mistress¡¯ order.


    ¡°Crouch slightly.¡± I sink to lower my centre. There is nothing unusual about this. ¡°Good.¡±


    Her loins contact my buttocks. ¡°We need to be one again. You will trust my eyes and step as my hips guide you. I will release arrows close to your ears, but you need not be concerned.¡±


    She thrusts forward, and a wave of pleasure rolls through my loins. I gulp and edge ahead. How am I to survive this closeness? My heart is already trying to jump free of my chest.


    One release and then a questioning grunt. A second release and then silence. Her hips and loins urge me forward. After several more releases, I realise we are at the brambles¡¯ entrance, the gentle night breeze drying off my sweat. The darkness isn¡¯t complete under the night sky, and several goblin-sized lumps lay prone before us. They have set up camp in front of the brambles. Before I can panic, my Mistress places a hand on my shoulder and pushes me lower. I am squatting when her hand leaves my shoulder. Her thigh replaces her hand, and I brace to take the weight. I understand her intent when her other thigh swings over and lands on my other shoulder. I blink out the obvious. Her loins are edging forward to rest on the back of my neck while her feet hook under my arms and behind my back. There isn¡¯t any further change, and her thighs close for a heartbeat and then release.


    I push up, my thigh muscles bunch, and in a slow and steady movement, I fully stand, my Mistress on my shoulders.


    Methodically she releases an arrow into each prone, and I assume, sleeping bundle. The releases are not at full draw. We are two to three body lengths away from each target. Her thighs guide me forward, manoeuvre left or right as and when required. She needed the height to target their eyes; I am sure. Brain death is more instant than heart death and, if accurate, requires less penetration.


    ¡°You make an excellent stead, my Apprentice, but it is time to make haste.¡± As a last intimate bonus, she guides me to look left. Bouncing about in the forest are several torches. Another group of goblins approaches the brambles. Maybe I was too pre-emptive. She doesn¡¯t jump free of my shoulders. She slides one thigh off, wraps an arm across my chest, squeezing my bosoms, then swings her other thigh off and slides down my back. Her movement is careful, cautious, and sensual. She must know she is driving me crazy. Her hands grab mine, and I almost release my water. Instead, she distracts me by pulling me after her. We enter the brambles, recover our gear and return to the entrance hand in hand. Her eyes are my eyes. I have no choice but to press the flesh of my hand into the flesh of her hand, and I am in bliss.


    We skirt around the sleeping dead, and she finds or remembers a game trail, and I follow her blindly. She squeezes my hand to warn me of uneven ground or an obstacle. I watch the bounce of her buttocks to determine the difference. Not an unpleasant task by any measure.


    I hear, and I am confident she did well before me. A stream flows ahead. Our pace increases until we reach the shore. I follow her as she chases the downward flow of the stream. After what seems to be half the night, she stops and draws me by the hand to stand in front of her. She leans forward, and I think, now? Am I ready for a second kiss?


    Her warm breath on my ear awakens me. ¡°I will hoist you up, reach for the branch, and then I will boost you the rest of the way. It is thick, and you should be able to crawl along the length to reach the trunk. Once there, climb until you feel unsafe climbing any further.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡±


    Her hands turn my body until I face away from her. I hear her take a deep breath. Her hands are on my hips, and my body rises. My hands grab into the night until they curl over the tree limb, as she said to expect. Her hands shimmy down my thighs, and I have trouble breathing, yet I drag my torso forward and more completely on the limb as her hands push my boots up. I swing a leg over the branch and caterpillar until I reach the trunk. When I touch the trunk, I wonder how my Mistress will follow and look over my shoulder.


    Our faces are a finger width apart, and I hold my breath.


    ¡°You look like you have seen a ghost,¡± she says.


    I remember to breathe. I don¡¯t want to turn away. With a minimal closing of the distance, our lips can once again join.


    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± she asks. What am I waiting for? Courage? The perfect ending? Acceptance? I feel my water is readying to burst¡­


    I lean forward and steal her lips with mine. She doesn¡¯t retreat. The coward I am, I break the kiss first because I must know.


    ¡°Now is not the time, Apprentice, but the right time won¡¯t be long. Now climb. Steady mind, I don¡¯t want to haul your broken body up this tree, as I would lose too much sleep time.¡±


    Not rejection, well, not yet. With renewed energy, I climb, and only when I feel a tug on my boot do I stop and look down into the dark and spy her body shape nestling into a fork of the tree. I contemplate joining her, yet there is only room for one, and I find another.


    I am awake because of a conversation. I don¡¯t know how long they have talked, yet both seem relaxed.


    ¡°We hunted in the brambles until night and then released arrows into the sleeping and found this stream and this tree,¡± says my Mistress.


    ¡°In their confusion, I managed to assassinate two more Troop Leaders. I am certain Izga would be envious. Then hit-and-run slayings to make them believe we were a bigger force than we were. After discovering your kills, they scrambled back to their original camp, doubled the perimeter guards, and tried to sleep without dreaming of death, I would think.¡±


    ¡°How did you know where to find us?¡±


    Luda chuckles. Her laughter seems normal, mirthful. How can she be so normal now? ¡°I told you I used a stream to avoid their wolves, so I was hopeful you used the same.¡± She shrugs. ¡°This is the nearest stream, and I hoped you waded downstream as I did.¡± She chuckles again. ¡°Fortunately, your snoring led me to your tree.¡±


    A slap on leather. ¡°I don¡¯t snore.¡±


    ¡°Must have been your Apprentice then.¡± I feel a slap on my shin. ¡°We know you are awake and listening, so join the conversation.¡±


    I open an eye and then a second. Luda isn¡¯t with my Mistress.


    ¡°Up here.¡±


    I look up, and hanging upside-down above me is Luda, her legs wrapped around a tree limb.


    Before I can explain, she says, ¡°When you wake, your breathing rate increases, and I have a bird¡¯s eye view.¡±


    ¡°With four Troop Leaders and a significant number of the mercenaries dead, the remaining Oath Keepers should be contrite enough when they meet and negotiate with Lord Klar, I would think,¡± says my Mistress.


    ¡°I agree, our job is done,¡± adds Luda and then she and my Mistress stare at me.


    Do they expect me to agree, disagree, or remain silent? What?


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we confirm the Troop Leaders are dead? I mean, if they were important, wouldn¡¯t they bury them with a meaningful ceremony?¡±


    They both chuckle until they tear up with laughter. My fists ball up, and I know my face flushes. They are making fun of me, and they are being so unfair!


    ¡°She is smart. Perhaps her earlier lapses were because of your poor teaching?¡± says Luda, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Poor teaching? Maybe. She is, after all, my first Apprentice.¡±


    ¡°Or could we find the truth between her thighs?¡± Luda taps the side of her nose. ¡°On her lips? Her heavy breathing?¡±


    My loins are on fire, my lips need the taste of my Mistress¡¯, and I can¡¯t control my breathing. Curse Luda.


    ¡°Lord Klar did caution me about such Apprentice-Mistress infatuation. Unfortunately, I have kissed her twice, which could mean she is the injured party. She is within her rights to break her Apprenticeship with me and find another.¡± My Mistress hangs her head down, which shakes slowly from side to side.


    No. What is she saying? I scramble down and land in her lap. My hands are on her cheeks, and as soon as her lips present themselves, my hunger knows no bounds as I slobber and suck on them as I lack any technique.


    After a time, her firm hands hold my head away from hers, forcing our lips apart. ¡°We need to expand your Apprenticeship to include some intimate skills. For now, you must restrain yourself as we must discuss this with Lord Klar, as he is much my Master as I am your Mistress.¡±


    My body shakes. I remember my oath to him. An oath I had so soon forgotten¡­


    ¡°Be still. He is not cruel or a monster unless you betray him, and in matters of the heart, he is most forgiving.¡±


    I can only manage a curt nod.


    ¡°I will visit the goblin camp and determine our level of success or failure. Continue to follow this stream until it joins another larger stream or river. Settle in a good place to hide, and I will follow as soon as possible. After two days and one night, you better try to find me. If captured, I will be on my best behaviour to remain a live prisoner instead of a dead one.¡±


    I look up into her eyes. ¡°How can you talk light of your potential fate? I am certain Lord Klar would mourn your death, as would my Mistress¡­ and I.¡±


    ¡°You are kind, but this life has been difficult for me, and especially for those around me. I am under no illusions and live as if my next breath is my last.¡± She withdraws into herself for several heartbeats, which I don¡¯t interrupt as I am certain she wishes to say more. ¡°I found my sister recently, and as quickly as I found her, I lost her. If she was still with me, I might value my life more highly.¡± She drops onto our tree fork and then leaps into my lap. Our eyes meet. Mine wide open, and then she steals a kiss.


    Before I can react, she scampers down the tree trunk and tiptoes across the tree limb hanging over the stream. She hangs from the limb with an athletic flip and then drops into the stream. With a wave, she sprints upstream, favouring the far bank. The curve of the stream carries her out of sight.


    ---


    We didn¡¯t continue downstream. My Mistress gave Luda a head start, and we followed with only our weapons. There was a fatalistic resignation in Luda¡¯s voice, my Mistress said. While Luda could throw this life away, Lord Klar¡¯s orders were to disrupt the mercenaries by slaying their leadership and the return¡ªsomething which Luda could easily do, quietly and without a fuss.


    I glance at my Mistress, her eyes studying the mercenary camp with an intensity I can only hope to develop. They are gathering the bodies of their dead¡ªgoblins in one massive mound and wolves in another taller, colossal heap. The animals are bigger than goblins, yet their count is greater. Luda must have slain them instead of the rider, as broken, impaled arrow shafts remain as evidence. Their wolf mounts must mean more to them than transport or battle mounts. Given the howling pain and reckless charging, they must develop a bond of some sort.


    Her hand grasps my wrist. ¡°Wolf crap!¡± cries my Mistress. My eyes follow hers, and after a while, I notice goblins falling to the ground like broken dolls. ¡°Luda is looking to kill as many as she can before they notice her and¡­¡±


    A tear rolls down my Mistress¡¯ face. I don¡¯t understand.


    ¡°Stay here, whatever happens. You must report back to Lord Klar, so don¡¯t disobey.¡± She tugs on my arm, and our faces are a finger-width apart. ¡°Don¡¯t disobey,¡± she growls.


    I swallow and snap out a nod.


    My Mistress crept into the camp, much like I assumed Luda had. Most goblins left or returned in groups, their minds on retrieving their dead. Luda and my Mistress then worked as a team, a dance of blades, knowing exactly where the other was, dealing with death to the parties of goblins returning burdened by grief and corpses. As fewer returned, more goblins banded together, hunting. Luda and my Mistress would break out whenever they thought they had them surrounded before they closed their circle. The trail of dead mercenaries grew as dawn reached late morning.


    Luda bolted, breaking free. She, like I, search for my Mistress. Goblins surround her. She didn¡¯t follow Luda. Blood sprays forth, and goblins fall away. Luda looks to fight her way towards my Mistress and the goblins, realising their opportunity surrounds her. One massive goblin takes an interest and barks orders.


    The goblins around my Mistress retreat, and I can see her. Lines of pain cut across her face. Blood boils from her skin. She staggers one step forward, striking a wild, desperate swing with her sword. The goblins retreat, possibly one of their few leaders, waved them away. I strain my ears.


    ¡°Her blood betrays her, impure. See how her flesh is being eaten?¡± The goblins howl in triumph. ¡°We are oath Keeper, and our blood is pure and strong.¡±


    Something drains the life of my Mistress. Her skin ripples and shrinks. She screams. Her shield arm breaks off, the snap that of a dry twig. She can¡¯t look. Her pale, dry neck cannot turn. Then her body collapses to dust. Hollow armour crashes to the ground.


    Silence. The mercenaries have Luda, blood dripping from multiple wounds, bound and struggling. Her body goes limp when her eyes find what was once my Mistress.


    ---


    Branches slap my face, yet I keep running. I must honour my Mistress¡¯ last command and report to Lord Klar. Could I have helped Luda? Each of my strides slaps wet on wet. I lost my water when I lost my Mistress. My sword and shield are one thousand steps away by now. I am no warrior¡­


    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I throw mud at Zergoa, her breast wrap and loin cloth already dirty. She launches herself at me, and we both fall into the wet mud at our feet.


    ¡°Enough, Master.¡±


    We giggle and spot my Chief Scribe looking down at us.


    ¡°We wait for another load of timber, you taskmaster,¡± says Zergoa, who then pouts.


    ¡°Lord Klar made me overseer, and I intend to see this, erm, project through.¡±


    ¡°Did you hear what she just said, Husband? See the project through!¡± Zergoa slaps her thigh while her laughter echoes down our now substantial tunnel.


    We must be under the river by now. No water drips from the ceiling, yet at our feet, heavy mud settles, nevertheless. The beginnings of our first tunnel, as Lord Torngul recommended. His last words on departure repeated the need.


    The wood bracing is a precaution as until now, the deeper we dug, the more compact the aggregate became, and the more effort required. All my wives except Duzsia and Luda took turns labouring, my Chief Scribe recording their efforts, including mine. As far as everyone not involved knew, we dug to make a new well.


    A deep, guttural scream rings out, drawing all our attention. A glance at each other, and then, bouncing to our feet, we bolt towards the source. The entrance. Did someone ambush my wives? No, there was only one scream. But we would need three to handle the logs, one to lower, then two below to carry the bundle¡­


    The midday sunlight spread from above, pure and revealing. At the furthest end, under the most sunlight, the silhouette of Klaria, blood oozing across her skin, then drying.


    I am the first to arrive. Zergoa and Solgia line up behind me, trying to see past me.


    ¡°Stay back,¡± she whispers. The bundle of logs in her hands weighs on her arms, and her wrists crack away, now dry husks before my eyes.


    ¡°Husband?¡±


    I glance at Izga. Her hands are drying. I can see the march of the withering consume her wrists. Holding her arm down on the log, I grab a shovel and smash the blade across healthy skin, flesh, and bone below the elbow. She screams. I do likewise to her other arm. Blood spurts from the stumps. Then trickles.


    Klaria¡¯s mouth opens to scream, yet no sound escapes between her lips. I step forward and swing the shovel. Her now decapitated head hits the side of the well wall we initially dug out with a splat. From the neck down, her frame quietly collapses into dust.


    An itch draws my ire. Sunlight shines on my lower arms and bald head. I can¡¯t reach the scratch because it is below the skin, in my flesh. I step back into the shadow of the tunnel. My mouth dries.


    ¡°Back. Back down the tunnel. There is something wrong with the sunlight.¡± I choke down a yelp, trying to escape my lips. My blood boils. I exert my will on my nanorobots, maybe half, heed my call. Within my body, nanorobots fight with nanorobots, each trying to consume the other. I drop to my knees as my life energy fades. I glance at the dust that was once Klaria, and while I don¡¯t know why, I believe her nanorobots have consumed her water. Once done, her flesh, in essence, has been destroyed. Izga stares at the ooze of blood thickening at the ends of her arms. She is speechless, eyes wide open, while sweat runs off her forehead.


    I look up and see the tunnel aggregate overhead, of course, instead of Thalgora. She lowered the bundles of wood from the edge of the well on this otherwise pleasant sun-shining day, the first in a good while.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.001 Under Cover

    <h2>---Luda, Goblin Concubine of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I hear the flap of the tent shift to one side. ¡°Has she talked?¡± The growling voice loses any authority as the last word ends in a whine.


    ¡°As you can see, staked out, arms broken, legs broken, and face ruined, she says nothing. She didn¡¯t scream in pain, not even once.¡± I hear him spit. ¡°She goes unconscious from time to time, though.¡±


    The new arrival clears his throat. ¡°I¡­¡± He pauses. ¡°I know your troop suffered the most, yet¡­¡±


    ¡°She. Is. Not. Goblin. The hobgoblin and her slaughtered many of us, casual-like. She,¡± I feel his eyes on my broken body. ¡°Slew many a bonded wolf, so those broken paired goblins still alive wish to repay her.¡±


    ¡°But this mess has said nothing, gave no explanation why they would target us?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡± Again, he spits.


    ¡°Give her over to those who wish to use her, if they don¡¯t mind the blood and broken limbs.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think they will be that picky.¡±


    The tent flap shifts with a snap of cloth as a couple of buckets of water splash on my face. The nanorobots in my blood harvest as much of this fluid as possible. My blood is the only form of clothing I wear. My torturer forgot to mention my three broken ribs, which my nanorobots now devote all their efforts to repair. As they busy themselves, the pain they have been blocking resurfaces, and before I am forced to cry out, I slow the healing to keep my pain silent.


    ¡°You two, go find some others who may be interested in payback and have them draw straws or something and get in line.¡± I hear a couple of grunts. ¡°Tell them any who get too eager will have me to deal with as I want her used for as many days and nights as we can as the bitch needs to pay.¡±


    The tent flap snaps shut once again.


    I hear his belt loosen and his pants drop. ¡°I will be your first, but no need to shed any tears when I am done, for I will return and renew our embrace.¡± He chuckles as I hear him kick his pants to one side and drop to his knees between my spread naked thighs. The leather throngs around my ankles tug on flesh and muscle as they have broken my shin bones. The meat of my arms, likewise, contains broken bones. My head, though, I can lift.


    As his hands scratch at my breasts, I open my eyelids, breaking through a layer of moist, semi-congealed blood.


    ¡°It is good you wish to look upon my face because I don¡¯t wish you to forget me.¡± He licks his lips and squeezes my breasts. The glob of blood I spit at him lands in his wide-open mouth. The second, while he is gagging, lands in his eyes.


    He tries to speak but can¡¯t. My blood contains nanorobots, and they hold the clot of blood together. The nanorobots graft my blood to his throat, which he naturally tries to cough out. This is a distraction, of course.


    His eyes fly wide open as he realises his doom with a final clouded stare into my eyes. The nanorobots in the blood which struck his eyes dry them out while others reach into his brain. They all absorb moisture. I imagined the perfect outcome for my nanorobots. Just like Duzsia, copy what happened to my sister-wife, I command them. They obey.


    His body falls on mine, and I command all the nanorobots I can spare to extract his fluid to energise themselves to heal me. The bone in my right arm is the priority, and I need to shuffle my broken body across to favour that side. My left arm, I am sure, besides broken bone, now has torn flesh and snapped muscle.


    There is a commotion outside. They argue over me. When is their turn? The press of his body on mine reduces.


    Strength returns to my right arm. Do I have enough of his water left? I must go forward. Another goblin needs to take me, so I must reset the trap. I will my nanorobots to slice through my wrist as would an axe. I moan, biting my tongue to suppress the pain my busy nanorobots allow to escape. The leather throng falls away, and the nanorobots on the hand side of my wrist work to stem the blood loss while I guide my severed arm to align and join.


    The press of his body on mine is almost no more, only his shirt and dust. The commotion outside the tent settles. They instead brag about their future deeds, describing what they will do with my body in vivid detail. With my free and healed right arm, I fling his shirt and skeleton away to land in nearby tent shade. Next, I hand sweep his dust away as best I can and hope my waiting guest is just as eager for my loins as the first. My right hand grabs the leather throng as the tent flap opens, and a goblin head peers in.


    ¡°He said he will be back,¡± I whimper while nodding towards the rear of the large Troop Leader¡¯s tent.


    Dark beady eyes dart about the tent, looking but not seeing. ¡°Well, he isn¡¯t here now, so I will entertain you.¡± He licks his lips while staring at my loins. I try to squirm, turning my hips ever so shyly away from him. His eyes narrow in anticipation.


    My coy helplessness draws him further into the tent. The tent flap closes behind him and once again conceals us from the rest of them. I momentarily wondered about this gift of privacy as I thought they would throw me among them. I inwardly smile. Arms and legs bound, naked and at their mercy, they thought I would be ripe for the plucking, and they would be safe from me.


    His pants drop¡­


    After seven more visits, my body was once again whole. None of them noticed my bruises fade. Perhaps they didn¡¯t think my torturer would go so far? One of them wore a bandolier, which conveniently sheathed a knife. With the knife, I sliced the leather bindings underneath my bound limbs so that the leather would look sound from above. In hindsight, I was too cautious. Their eyes never strayed from my loins and breasts once they entered the tent. Their dedication to revenge themselves on me never diminished.


    After fifty or more visits, the bones, clothing, armour scraps, jewellery and small weapons couldn¡¯t stay hidden from even their distracted eyes. The last visitor proved the point. I needed to bounce up from my helpless position to drive a knife through his eye. The shock of seeing me free caused him to freeze, fortunately.


    While searching the tent for places to hide their equipment, I found a chest containing my clothes, armour, and weapons. Once again, a warrior, I positioned myself on the right-hand side of the tent flap. They needed to sweep the loose flap to the left and raise their heads while entering.


    The next goblin was no different, except he couldn¡¯t explain how no nubile female goblin waited for him. Pressing a dagger to his throat and whispering, I informed him of the change.


    ¡°How many more wait their turn?¡±


    ¡°Few, ten?¡± His voice is thin, pitching high. He is not only scared but also young. His youth lends truth to his words. The veterans would demand priority, and perhaps the commotion outside at the start was the negotiation.


    ¡°Why has no one missed the ones who have visited me?¡±


    His eyes dart about, and I feel his gaze pause as he locates pile after pile of possessions. ¡°You¡­ you killed them all?¡± His voice can¡¯t hide his shock. ¡°We all thought they returned to their tents to mourn¡­ their wolves.¡±


    ¡°What of your wolf?¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°No wolves. The Troop Leader thought we should join in on the¡­¡± His eyes find mine, and his head falls.


    ¡°No wolves? So why are you part of a troop?¡±


    ¡°We are the recruits. If we are fortunate, a wolf pup sniffs out one of us to bond with.¡± His head rises. ¡°The Troop Leaders forbid us to go into battle until the pup grows, and we can ride them.¡±


    I draw my dagger across his throat. ¡°Sleep now,¡± I whisper. My thoughts return to Duzsia. Something went wrong. Her nanorobots turned against her, and yet mine didn¡¯t. The mercenaries are no more. What remains won¡¯t be a threat to Lord Klar, that is for certain. The more significant threat is the betrayal of the nanorobots. I need to return to Lord Klar and, all the while, wonder how many of my sister-wives still live this life.


    <h2>---Linmere, Shifter of the GPA Scout Ship POV</h2>


    ¡°Have you connected with the GPA Observer Ship yet?¡±


    His harsh voice slices through me once again, and I wave him away with an effort beyond what I think I am capable of. ¡°The ship is over five hundred years old. To say the technology is old is an understatement.¡±


    ¡°Forgotten, backward arse, end of the universe,¡± he curses.


    His stiff military boots clang on the metal alloy of the ship¡¯s bridge as he returns and crushes his posterior into his captain¡¯s chair. The design is fifty years old, and the construction one-year-old. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I curse my luck. The ship was on its final shake down mission, and as the assessing officer, the only reason for my being aboard. One of a standard crew roster of four, replacing the Marine Officer. What Spaceship would require crew protection in the backwater of protected space? One being declared ¡°in service¡± because of an emergency of some sort, I dryly remind myself. I shouldn¡¯t be here.


    I couldn¡¯t reveal the reason for my delay. The Observer Ship had issued a challenge protocol, having sensed my true nature. My heart is giddy with excitement yet fills with doom as well. The shifter mark, the five-hundred-year-old ship they sent us to investigate, was now one of ours. Most didn¡¯t begin that way. Any conversion required the careful application of will. Only a practitioner with a high skill level would be capable of overcoming the logic technology the humans deployed within their spaceships. Yet, they all contained a backdoor because, unknown to them, GPAs could only be captured from seeing the light by using our magic. The trick was to grow this magic without triggering various logic alarms in the multiple systems of the ship. This required the command-and-control circuits to be targeted. The sub-functions could remain as technology.


    Ingenious! My genetic code is the key, a specific strand¡­ Oh! A key and a measurement. I answer using my will, and the system approves my access in less than a heartbeat.


    Welcome, Guest. Know that our trust in you is absolute. So, your betrayal of us will be equally fatal.


    I begin my review of the logs, official, mission, personal and hidden. This isn¡¯t a manual task, as the magic of the Observer Ship feeds the information directly into my consciousness. My commlink no longer carries voice, and my uplink no longer connects to the Observation Ship¡¯s computer.


    Detected ¡°seeing the light¡± natural born inhabitants.


    We capture them as required by protocol to prevent return and possible rebirth.


    GPA visits the planet as a native to investigate the source¡ªone valley. Mission approved.


    Finding: the now revoked mining expedition is the cause. The on-planet refinement of ores concentrated the waste, and this waste affected the biology of the native population, dubbed ¡®goblins¡¯ into having a greater than average statistical possibility in one secluded valley to produce ¡°seeing the light¡± natural born inhabitants. Finding reported.


    GPA planned a scientific experiment for control and containment. Experiment approved.


    After several years of research between multiple years of hibernation for the experiments to mature, the GPA launches his solution. He creates hobgoblins by enlarging the physical form of the goblin base. Using a creative license, he ensures the two forms look different. He keeps the green skin pigmentation to encourage the goblins to accept the hobgoblin as their superior selves. Prototype nanorobots will control the actions of the Hobgoblins to ensure they will adhere to their primary mission. The nanorobots self-destruct on host death. They give the hobgoblins life by using goblin ¡°seeing the light¡± captured spirits with their memory wiped and replaced with a simple creation myth and skills to complete their mission. Mission update to GPA headquarters provided.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Primary Mission: Promote conflict between the goblin tribes of the valley and any nearby tribes to reduce the population. Establish the valley as a hostile environment to any migrating goblins. Mission Approved.


    I skip through the GPA¡¯s multiple missions, which seem more for his enjoyment, bringing slaughter and mayhem as he spreads his Primary Mission to other valleys in the guise of a Ranger Hob. There are occasional updates to GPA headquarters, yet fewer than the number of visits. GPA Headquarters reprimands him and forces his spirit into stasis as punishment. He protests his innocence, swearing he reported every mission.


    There are upgrades to the nanorobots during his missing years¡­


    Oh. So sneaky¡­ I muse to myself.


    You were a clever Shifter. Using your will, you manipulated the nanorobots¡ªone directive. Procreation. They weren¡¯t to die on host death but seek living flesh to inhabit. They interpreted the method differently than she envisioned, though. The nanorobots during ¡®life¡¯ passed to a new host via male seed.


    When GPA headquarters next allowed his Shifter to awaken the GPA from stasis, his experiment had literally developed a life of its own. I giggle, but I shouldn¡¯t. After all, his Shifter sabotaged him, and GPA headquarters handicapped him. If he had visited the planet when next scheduled, he might have seen the change early and at least reported the anomaly. He may have prevented or at least detected the manipulation of the nanorobots.


    The new unauthorised, dedicated, and purposeful Hobs were a means to an end. Farmer Hob is a noticeable irregularity, a hobgoblin that directly violated the goals of the Primary Mission. More goblins mean more goblins, procreation. Less killing means more goblins. Hence Head Hob to manage them. More food means more goblins, hence Smith Hob for farming tools and axes for clearing land.


    One of his last official reports stated he had cleared one valley of all goblins by injecting growth nanorobots into a naturally occurring trapping creature until they were large enough to trap goblins. His current valley had three tribes remaining, a Chief Hob, Armour Hob and Hunter Hob, controlling them and their xenophobia. As a Ranger Hob, he displaced the Hunter Hob and sent him into the valley in-between to hunt on different tribal lands and leave trespass evidence of another tribe behind. The same basic plan he had used for the two previous valleys, division and then war, to weaken both, which would then encourage other tribes to subjugate one or both warring tribes along with an occasional annihilation.


    Then Farmer Hob slew him! How was that possible? I discover a personal entry.


    ¡°¡­ he suspects me of introducing the Head Hob, Farmer Hob and Smith Hob because there is no natural Hob procreation method, only hobgoblin flesh bags grown on the Observation Ship. Yet if he reports them to GPA headquarters, he knows they will investigate. If there is anything non-compliant, the circumstances around his previous stasis punishment will count against him, so his freedom is at risk as much as mine, so he seeks to solve the problem himself. I will stay vigilant to see if I can gain an advantage from his heroics.¡±


    His death shocked him. While suspicious of his Shifter, he needed to tidy up the rogue Hobs on the planet first. With no hobgoblin flesh bags available, he returned as a goblin. Slain again, but the Farmer Hob, who acted the most on his initiative in the final valley, also died. His Shifter had taken direct action against him. The Farmer Hob was a hijacked GPA! She even selectively returned ¡°seeing the light¡± goblins! The obvious three were the three Hobs, but her log mentions others. The audacity, a grandiose scheme impossible to design from the outset, yet using manipulation, then taking an opportunity, the combination soon gave life to the impossible.


    Now, though, with the official GPA¡¯s body death and spirit return to GPA Headquarters, questions are being asked.


    Oh, I see the why now. She thought the imprisoned GPA would live for several more years before natural death. She devoted her efforts to recovering her magic and, while doing so, found herself more able to infuse her will into the Observation Ship¡¯s Command-and-Control. Less will or magic meant less of a threat, or perhaps she sailed below any threat trigger? On the cusp of success, his sudden death occurred. She could have broken off her conquest, but even if she did, there wasn¡¯t a flesh bag prepared to receive his spirit. Usually, there would be, but a by-product of her Command-and-Control conquest was the need to reconnect uniquely to each sub-system, and other systems were more important than flesh bag growing since she believed she had more time. She would know by now an investigation would be underway. What is she doing? How can I tell her she got lucky and I am onboard the investigating ship?


    ¡°Well, what have you found?¡±


    I jump in my chair, his voice cutting across my concentration like a knife. ¡°The GPA began by conducting approved observation and elimination experiments on the planet and then strayed, conducting unapproved experiments on the native population. For entertainment, it seems, but the exact reason eludes me. In any case, they started to go horribly wrong, creating a unique, non-native independent, thinking species. The natives then captured him on his last visit, and because of his previous visits, they thought him to be some divine being, so they imprisoned him and kept him alive. For years.¡±


    The Captain coughs, and I hear the revulsion. ¡°The money was on ¡®going native¡¯. This, though, regardless of his crime of experimentation, was an overly harsh punishment. What of his Observer?¡±


    ¡°I cannot contact her.¡±


    ¡°Maybe we have lost both of them.¡±


    I swivel about, aware my face is in a state of shock. ¡°Both?¡±


    ¡°His spirit was healthy, his mind shattered. Being a lost cause, they terminated his spirit. I can now explain. Keep digging. Once I report this back, they will demand information about the Observer.¡±


    Time passes. I know our Scout Ship is closing in on the planet, and shortly, our destination will be visible. Without proof, I suspect she still works to restore command-and-control over the Observer Ship. Without contact, they will order us to board. With contact, I am unsure what the Captain will command, but I need to delay giving her every opportunity to gain absolute control over the Observation Ship. The outline of which is sharpening ahead of us. Despite that, he says nothing.


    I re-examined the logs. ¡°Captain, if I can¡¯t find anything in the logs, will we have to board the GPA Ship?¡±


    There is silence, and I glance over my shoulder. The colour drains from the Captain¡¯s face. He blinks. Stares at nothing. In silence, he leans forward and lurches out of his captain¡¯s chair.


    ¡°Captain?¡±


    Three plodding steps later, I call again, ¡°Captain!¡±


    His head jerks in my direction. His eyes are wandering, their focus lost.


    I stamp my foot. ¡°Captain! What is wrong?¡±


    ¡°They have read my brief report based on your observations.¡± His face loses all signs of vigour. ¡°Not only are we expected to board the ship to secure more information and hopefully the Observer, but, if necessary, we are to spirit transfer to flesh bags and descend to the planet. Once there, investigate and eliminate the anomalies unless we can devise a way to eliminate the rogue nanorobot infestation they believe is now responsible for this mess.¡±


    I sink into my chair. We aren¡¯t GPA. If we die on the planet, we are dead. We would need to complete whatever the mission is and return to the Observer Ship and reclaim our flesh. ¡°Why can¡¯t they send a proper team?¡±


    ¡°Too many know now.¡±


    I observe him take several more lifeless steps. That is the actual issue. Even if we survive and seal off the infestation, more likely than not, our Scout Ship will develop a malfunction and kiss a star with us onboard.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    He pauses, nodding his head. ¡°If you must know, well, you should know, I guess, because we both carry the same weight of responsibility on our shoulders. I am to discuss possibilities with our Ships Weapons Officer. Nanorobots concentration should be detectable from space. If the Scout Ship weapons can target the carriers of them, then we can simply shoot from far away.¡±


    ¡°How long will that take? To shoot them all, that is?¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°Longer, I hope, than it will take to work out a survivable way out of this debacle with those who know and would prefer to eliminate loose ends.¡±


    My mind freezes. Now I realise our actual predicament. We are to eliminate the infestation, but our lives could be forfeit because we know too much.


    <h2>---Science and Weapons Officer POV</h2>


    I listen to the ravings of the Captain. He has a plan, but all I hear is termination or a need for planet landfall, risky combat and then termination. There doesn¡¯t seem to be a way out¡­ sweat rolls down my face.


    The sting of his slap brings me back to the present. I stare into his eyes, but the madness I find in them is like looking into the sun, blinding. My eyes turn away, seeking relief by reading my instrument panel. He grabs my chin between his fingers to correct my errant gaze.


    ¡°You will find a way to target the nanorobots, mister. There is no room for failure, and time is running out because when we can dock with the Observer Ship, we move to Plan B.¡±


    Through my haze of panic, my lips frame but don¡¯t speak the words planet landfall. I trained as a Ships Weapons Officer to avoid plant landfall.


    ¡°But we have no interactive armour¡­¡± My voice trails off as he swivels about after a military snap of his boots, and all I see is his back. He leaves, his stomping boots echoing off the metallic floor of the Scout Ship.


    I can gripe or work¡­


    Life signs are the easiest to detect. Fortunately, there is only one continent. I probe the deep layers of the planet and understand why. Three tectonic plates have slammed together, forming adjoining mountain ranges, the middle plate the widest and mostly plains before. Many life signs transverse this middle plate, migratory animals for sure. I add the goblin profile from the species database and overlay it onto the life signs. All the life signs, bar a few specs, disappear from the plains between the mountain ranges.


    The goblins occupy the valleys on either side of the plains. They favour the western side, though. The population density in each valley is different. I apply some generic hunter-gatherer population density statistics, and the overwhelming number of valleys match tribal cultures. Among these, some in other valleys and some within the same valley have a density bordering on the beginnings of civilisation, mainly those further north, oddly.


    Nanorobot density is another parameter that I overlay. We aren¡¯t in orbit yet, but as the continent comes into view, the glimpses of data I receive show scant goblins with nanorobots. What am I supposed to find?


    As if on cue, his heavy footfalls ring in my ear. ¡°What can you find to save us?¡±


    I sigh. No pressure, then. ¡°I can locate goblins, goblins with nanorobots and conveniently, they are all between two mountain ranges, mainly occupying the valleys to the west.¡±


    He wrings his hands before placing them behind his back. ¡°We need to detect hobgoblins. Active nanorobots. GPA headquarters doesn¡¯t want to eliminate goblins. Politically incorrect, you see, as they are the native inhabitants. The hobgoblins are the mistake.¡±


    ¡°There isn¡¯t an entry in the species database for hobgoblin¡­ Sir.¡± His eye glaze over. ¡°Nanorobots, active or not, would require an atmospheric survey to target with weapons. We would be visible to the inhabitants¡­ Sir.¡±


    ¡°Visible, you say. Well, unacceptable. Find a different solution.¡± He casually waves a hand towards me. I am certain his mind is elsewhere.


    ¡°Hobgoblin species?¡± I ask.


    He paces, hands behind his back again. ¡°Two options. The Observer Ship will more than likely have the species. Otherwise, we will need to fetch a specimen.¡±


    More than likely? What does that mean? ¡°Captain, wouldn¡¯t the Observer Ship, belonging as it does to the GPA, have already uploaded the hobgoblin species?¡±


    He bends over, laughing. He has no restraint, and I must wait for the awkward moment to pass. When he does, his face is stoic. ¡°You would think, wouldn¡¯t you, but now you see our problem?¡± He raises his eyebrows. I return a blank-faced stare. ¡°Perhaps not, given you are new, second tour, third?¡±


    ¡°Third Captain.¡±


    ¡°Someone has discovered a mess. Breach of protocols, one or several.¡± He favours me with a forced smile. ¡°The tidy-up has begun, purging of the obvious first. We four, and perhaps the observer on the Observation Ship, are the only ones who now know they exist, have ever existed. You understand now, Weapons Officer.¡±


    I swallow but fail. My throat is dry. ¡°Tidy up, sir?¡±


    ¡°I am glad you are aware because they could sweep away us in their haste to protect more important persons than ourselves.¡±


    I observe his back as he leaves my presence. Crisp uniform jacket hanging off straight military shoulders. He marches as if his adherence to the familiar will rescue him and us from almost certain death.


    <h2>---Engineer and Navigation Officer POV</h2>


    ¡°Report!¡± he snaps at me.


    ¡°Ships manoeuvring rockets optimal, sir.¡± My voice breaks high. He is behind me, standing over my station. I know he resents my presence. I placed one-hundred and fifty-second in my class. Mediocre. My chair swivels about, and we face each other, his hands on the arms of the chair, and our eyes lock.


    ¡°Miss, they had better be optimal. We are about to dock with a five-hundred-year-old Observation Ship. The docking of our airlocks should equal the gentle kiss of your lover¡¯s lips to the most sensitive and erogenous part of your body. You understand?¡±


    Warmth reaches my cheeks. ¡°Yes, sir, you can depend on me. We are in orbit now and approaching the Observation Ship. I am about to match rotation.¡± I force confidence into my voice. My ambition is to be assigned to a spaceship permanently instead of being used as a spare for tests or break-in missions and then returning to the space dock to wait. His report on my performance will influence my prospects, and I am determined to shine.


    I notice the bead of sweat on the Captain¡¯s top lip. Being this close, how can I not? He withdraws to his captain¡¯s chair. ¡°Steady as she goes,¡± he says.


    The Assessor is lying back in her chair, an electronic skull cap in place for hours, only breaking for food and water. And the other reason. The Captain stares at her when he has nothing else to attend to. What am I missing?


    ¡°Ed,¡± I whisper into the commlink.


    ¡°Not now,¡± he replies after I call him three more times.


    ¡°Just tell me what¡¯s going on!¡± I don¡¯t know if he knows, but the Captain left his chair for a time and apart from food, water and waste, the only thing left was to visit Ed.


    ¡°We are dead. Complete the mission. We are dead. Fail the mission. We are dead. Satisfied? Now leave me be.¡±


    I make several more attempts, and then his commlink is shut down. No means no, then.


    Checking my instruments, I determine it is time. I press the autopilot. Behind the button press, the airlocks of both ships are negotiating, and to my surprise, the lock on is quick. The Scout Ship rotates and adjusts alignment immediately after. Aggressive airlock?


    ¡°Steady, Miss,¡± he calls out.


    The two ships are one, and no one knows except me because only my instruments glow in confirmation.


    ¡°We¡¯re docked, Captain.¡±


    He shudders and climbs out of his captain¡¯s chair. ¡°Miss, stay and monitor everything. Linmere with me.¡±


    The Assessor turns in her chair. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you and the Weapons Officer board first, and then the rest of the crew follow once you give the all clear?¡±


    ¡°No. Follow me.¡±


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.002 Sunshine

    <h2>---Linmere, Shifter of the GPA Scout Ship POV</h2>


    ¡°Lead the way to the command deck.¡±


    These are his first words since he ordered me to follow him. Through prep, then our airlock, and then closing the Observation Ship¡¯s airlock behind us. I was on my way to the lab deck.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we secure a hobgoblin species profile? For Ed?¡±


    He bumps into me from behind, and I fly sprawling across the deck. I half roll over, extending an arm into the air expecting his help.


    ¡°What are you doing on the floor? Get up. We must secure a hobgoblin species profile for Ed.¡± He huffs and strides over me, turning left instead of right. I cup my hand to my mouth and am about to call out when a shimmering image appears before me. Long blonde hair, porcelain skin, medium height, and well-proportioned breasts. Her naked beauty could only be the preference of another. As a shifter, we can imagine a human form, but something is never optimal. She is the perfect human form as imagined by a human, probably male.


    ¡°I will eject him from an airlock as soon as his purpose is at an end.¡±


    I am shocked, of course, yet she seems so confident. ¡°GPA headquarters has sent us to investigate.¡±


    ¡°What do you need, and why?¡±


    ¡°Hobgoblin species profile. We are to target those with active nanorobots and eliminate them.¡±


    The image before me resolves and unresolves, pulsing. Anger? Confusion?


    ¡°Once the GPA headquarters have confirmation of the eradication, what then?¡± she asks.


    What then? I don¡¯t think even the Captain or I know. That is why he has been so un-Captain-like. Can I tell her this?


    ¡°We don¡¯t know. We suspect our deaths.¡±


    ¡°I have provided your captain with the hobgoblin species profile, and he hurries back to the airlock. You should move to the storage room on your left.¡±


    I climb to my feet, find the door that opens before me, and enter. Darkness surrounds me and silence. I try to contact her and fail. I try to press whatever buttons by the door I can find, and nothing.


    ¡°He is through the airlock, and somehow the airlock has disengaged.¡± I sense delight and humour in her tone. She thinks this is a game because she is secure. The GPA will ensure they tidy all loose ends up, and I believe the last loose end will be the Observation Ship. After some hesitation, I share my doom with her.


    ¡°There is no need for concern. While I am surprised they sent a ship to investigate so soon after the Agents¡¯ demise, they will still dither because we have influence in the GPA headquarters now.¡±


    This can only mean a few of the representatives on the Agency Board are shifters. She sounds so confident; the proof being the ease with which she handed over the species¡¯ data. However, how can I be certain, given my life is at stake?


    The storage room door opens. ¡°Will you make your way to the lab level, please? There are some developments I need to show and hopefully train you to use.¡±


    <h2>---Science and Weapons Officer POV</h2>


    ¡°Is the profile good?¡±


    Only a heartbeat has passed since he handed it to me. The storage crystal is old yet functional, and finally the readout flashes to confirm access.


    ¡°Yes, Captain.¡±


    ¡°Good. Show me what we can detect, since we are in orbit now.¡±


    I overlay the hobgoblin profile onto goblin, nanorobots, and terrain. Some hobgoblins glow intensely, while others scale.


    ¡°Have you been able to separate active and inactive nanorobots?¡±


    I scratch my head. ¡°What difference will it make? Shouldn¡¯t we target all hobgoblins?¡±


    ¡°Do you have a targeting system in mind?¡±


    I flash him a confident smile. ¡°Untested, but I am certain of the science. Simple is best. We issue override commands to the nanorobots. Those that are inactive, we awaken. Then we issue a consumption order.¡±


    ¡°Do you have a test valley in mind? Once tested, we can signal to all the valleys at once.¡±


    His face is one of a schoolboy who has savoured his first kiss. I don¡¯t wish to wipe that happiness from his face, but I must. ¡°We can only do a portion at a time. I will send the commands via light waves, piggybacking on sunlight, and the energy, computing and signalling equipment of the Scout Ship limits us.¡±


    His hands fiddle with his face, an occasional tap or tugging at his chin common. ¡°What if we coupled the Scout to the Observer Ship?¡±


    ¡°The ship lacks signalling equipment, which is code for laser or light beam weapons. At best, I calculate we can target a valley at a time depending on the concentration of targets.¡±


    My words draw an expression of pain across his face. ¡°What if we target hobgoblins with active nanorobots only? One shot in broad daylight, done?¡±


    I turn to smile. ¡°Now you are talking, Captain.¡± I scratch my chin. ¡°This may play out strangely. What if the hobgoblins associate their destruction with daylight? Wouldn¡¯t they then hide deep underground?¡±


    ¡°No! No, we can¡¯t allow that. We must destroy them all now.¡± He runs his hands through his hair and mumbles. ¡°Some will survive, the rats. They always do. Down a hole, exploring a cave or in a big enough building.¡± His head rises, and his eyes lock onto mine. ¡°Can we return to the first valley once we have completed the others?¡±


    I return my attention to my screens. Such a repeat would mean someone would need to stay behind. With time, we could install the signalling equipment on the Observer Ship and the energy and compute would be more than sufficient. If I suggest this, would I be the one staying?


    ¡°Well?¡± prompts the Captain.


    ¡°We could do it using the Observation Ship if we fitted our signalling equipment. But who would remain behind to operate it?¡±


    He slaps my shoulders. ¡°Either the current observer of the Observation Ship, who is a qualified GPA operative or someone temporary, like our assessor, until they can send out a permanent replacement.¡±


    ¡°Captain!¡±


    The Captain and I break our conspirator¡¯s celebration and turnabout.


    ¡°Miss!¡± replies the Captain.


    ¡°Someone has released the airlock with the Observation Ship.¡±


    He slaps the bulwark to the left of her head. ¡°How is this possible? Did you slip up? Why didn¡¯t you counter the command?¡±


    She is small, to begin with, and somehow becomes smaller. Her mousey brown shoulder-length hair has a habit of falling across her face when she needs to hide. Somewhat irritating for those who wish to see the colour of her eyes, as it were.


    She squeaks. ¡°I tried to override the command and failed. When separated, I tried to restart the locking procedure, and while all looked good, the Observation Ship¡¯s clamps didn¡¯t activate. We have, at best, half a lock.¡±


    Good girl, she didn¡¯t apologise. She tried what she knew, what the technology allowed, and that was the simple truth.


    ¡°Begin the culling of hobgoblins with active nanorobots while I contact GPA headquarters.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± As he slides past our Navigation Officer, I have an idea. ¡°Request permission for the Navigation Officer to remain and learn the operation, sir.¡± I wink at the Captain, ensuring Miss can¡¯t spy the signal.


    He opens his mouth; I assume to object, but then my wink, I suspect, registers. Another to operate the culling would be helpful, especially if there needed to be a decision about who could go and who must stay behind. ¡°Excellent idea. Stay and assist the Weapons Officer.¡±


    After he passes her, she breathes again. The relief on her face is unmistakable. ¡°Thank-you. I am so grateful to stay with you. Something has gotten into the Captain, and I must stay out of his way.¡±


    ¡°Well, take my chair. I programmed the culling in, but there needs to be manual retargeting after we dose a valley. Also, you need to keep an eye on energy use. We can¡¯t afford to drain our energy reserves to the point of life support failure!¡± I chuckle. ¡°That would be good for no one.¡±


    Her lips draw thin. ¡°Are you certain? You trust me?¡±


    I point to the first valley; the confirmation feedback is light. ¡°Start here. The energy use will be low and give you practice without risking a colossal failure.¡±


    ¡°What¡­ what will you be doing?¡± she asks.


    I straighten, proud as punch. ¡°I will observe you and devise ways to code or program the repetitive steps with warnings and alerts. Possibly defining operating parameters to prevent energy drain by trying to estimate the energy requirements for a valley after targeting but before culling.¡±


    ¡°Can I ask how this works? Not the buttons and dials but the, um, culling?¡±


    Should I, or shouldn¡¯t I? Will the potential loss of life shock her, even if planetary vermin?


    ¡°You understand that the ones we are targeting are an introduced species. Vermin, you might call them.¡± She slowly nods her head. Not the best reaction, oh well, onwards. ¡°To eliminate each one with our weapons would require low orbit, to target and eliminate with a minimum energy blast.¡±


    She raises a finger. ¡°They would see our ship!¡± Her large brown, eager eyes, searching for praise, almost hypnotise me, and without thinking, I pat her head. The softness of her hair is a delight. Her eyes slowly shutter, and a quiet purr slips out between her lips, encouraging me to linger longer than I would otherwise.


    ¡°Ahem, yes. So, they all have several nanorobots. The variance is unusual, but useful to us. They are active or inactive, the reason unknown, but useful. So, the solution is to program the active nanorobots, and this is where sunlight comes in. As a wave, sunlight has a high point and a low point. On and off.¡±


    Her hand shoots up. ¡°Binary!¡±


    ¡°Yes, we send the nanorobots an override command and order them to harvest water. You must aim the weapons array to ensure we sweep the entire valley, so all active nanorobots receive the instructions.¡±


    Her face screws up for a moment. ¡°Why are the inactive nanorobots a problem?¡±


    I pat her head again, unable to resist taking the opportunity. ¡°They need waking up. There isn¡¯t really a command for that because they aren¡¯t listening or are in a waiting state. They should be, but they aren¡¯t.¡±


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°Won¡¯t that mean those hobgoblins will escape? What about the goblins with active and inactive nanorobots?¡±


    I smile. ¡°Full of questions, aren¡¯t we?¡± I am certain she returns a mirror of my smile. ¡°Well, the goblins are the natives, and I suspect the Captain will ask permission about them. To eradicate the inactive nanorobot carriers will require someone to stay in orbit and slowly, over time, target them. Probably a high energy dose to awaken them and then the command.¡±


    She nods, and I assist her in scanning the first three valleys containing hobgoblins with active nanorobots. They are conveniently adjacent. She is methodical from the start and overlaps her sweeps. I relax and observe her sweep the next three as she targets the nearby valleys further south.


    ---


    I am making progress. A simple geofence for each valley will allow sweeping within meets and bounds. The next sweep automatically aligns with the edge of the previous sweep. These programming adjustments are based on the recording of her valley sweeps.


    I slap my forehead. Stupid, I name myself. The key is the recording of her sweeps. All that is required is a simple playback without warnings, since there won¡¯t be a human operator. An automatic pause until the energy level returns to a sufficient level. The sweep will miss some hobgoblins with active nanorobots. Therefore, I will need two programs. That¡¯s it. Use a high-energy wake-up on the nanorobots in one valley, then an active nanorobot sweep on the next and so on. During the active nanorobot sweep, energy will restore and be ready for the inactive sweep¡­


    She slaps my shoulder, and I snap my head about. My scream remains in my throat as I see what she sees.


    <h2>---Tinuna, Shifter of the GPA Observer Ship POV</h2>


    Her reaction is amusing. I considered warning her, but this is better.


    ¡°You don¡¯t expect me to? You can¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you say you expected your death? I offer you a way to live.¡± I try to keep the humour from my thoughts.


    ¡°As a hobgoblin female? When the Scout Ship sees a shuttle leave this ship, won¡¯t they simply destroy it? I assume that is how you intend to transport me. What becomes of my body?¡±


    This is the trick and the all-or-nothing part.


    ¡°I will possess your body.¡±


    She works her jaw, trying to find words. An appropriate reaction, except we are communicating with our will, our magic.


    ¡°Why? No, not why. I won¡¯t let you. I won¡¯t leave my body.¡± She pouts. Her human form is perfect, so I suspect she stole a human identity, and perhaps I can use that.


    ¡°How did you perfect your form?¡± Her mind stutters. ¡°As I thought. I will use your body to become you and return to the Scout Ship. As I have done with the Observation Ship, I will gain control of the command-and-control circuits, and no one will shoot at anything. They will simply believe they have.¡±


    Again, her mouth opens, although she snaps it shut this time. Her self-annoyance is obvious.


    ¡°You won¡¯t have time¡­¡±


    I send her a tut-tut. ¡°Your Captain was eager for the hobgoblin species profile, was he not?¡± I don¡¯t wait for her confirmation. ¡°I am certain he handed the crystal to his Science Officer, and I am equally certain his Science Officer quickly inserted the old crystal into the ship¡¯s computer, and they celebrated his success.¡±


    ¡°No! All GPA Ships can detect malware, subversive programming and anything beyond data. They would have isolated the attack.¡±


    I can¡¯t help but reply with a cackle. ¡°Magic.¡±


    ¡°His position would be one of the few with command over the code and data¡­ You have already infected the Scout Ship?¡± I think she pauses to digest her own words, so I will wait. ¡°Your magic is already infiltrating the command-and-control circuits. But to what end?¡±


    ¡°I need to communicate to GPA headquarters as you, the assessor, and fabricate an outcome.¡±


    I sense the realisation in her mind before she communicates. Oh, wonderful. ¡°How did you come to master your will, your magic? I thought, as do many, hundreds of years would be necessary to hijack the command-and-control of a human spaceship, yet now I doubt¡­¡±


    Should I explain to her? Will her reaction really have an impact? I am sending her to him, and once with him, surely, she will realise the incredible bounty I grant her.


    ¡°When you land on the planet, you must meet and lay with a hobgoblin, Lord Klar or Lord Klug. Become his spirit-bound wife.¡± I sense her delicious shock and forge ahead. ¡°When you die, he will call your spirit back to be bound to another¡¯s flesh, and in that way, you will live again and again.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ What are you saying? I give up my body to you, and in return, I am forever planet vermin?¡±


    I would like to take her by the throat and shake¡­ no, that is him, not me. ¡°Weren¡¯t you saying success or failure, the GPA would see the crew of the Scout Ship dead?¡±


    Her eyes stray and examine the fine naked form of the female hobgoblin on the raised slab. Her human form relaxes, and the ear definition is always the first to smooth. After several heartbeats, she gathers herself.


    ¡°What happened to your body?¡±


    Sacrificed. How do I tell her that long story? ¡°When the spirit of Lord Klug returned the last time, there were difficulties, and my magic was near exhausted to the point I didn¡¯t think I could maintain my body.¡± I hear her mentally gasp. She understands. ¡°To return Lord Klug, I needed to kill him. Assume it was the only way.¡± She paces. ¡°He has a unique ability, does our Lord Klug. He activates the nanorobots in such a way that they can learn. They break free from their programming. I suspect the magic of this planet contributes, and somehow, he taps into that without really knowing. He was a GPA but didn¡¯t arrive in a GPA flesh bag. We had to re-life him into a hobgoblin corpse containing an overdose of nanorobots. They cleaned and refined him as per their programming, but they also recovered latent memories of the former owner of the body and adopted his personality. In a sense, they became alive. Something only the magic on this planet could engineer because I have no other explanation. Once his body died, you would think the nanorobots would die, but they transformed into a spirit-like entity that followed him in death and reunited with him in life. When I killed him, in desperation, I infused my body with the blood of his corpse, hoping the nanorobots were still active and, well, magical.¡±


    She holds up a hand and then leans her bottom against the slab. ¡°You polluted your body?¡± She raises an accusing eyebrow.


    ¡°Yes, and¡­¡± She holds her hand up for me to stop.


    ¡°Let me guess. Your body became less shifter and more something else until, eventually, both halves fought, and neither remained?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but with the time I had, I strengthened my will and, hence, my magic. At body death, I transcended, attaching my spirit to the Observer Ship. My consciousness is in command of the ship I occupy.¡±


    She crosses her arms. ¡°Won¡¯t you lose your command when you take my body? What of your plans, then?¡±


    ¡°This is new to me, of course, so there are uncertainties. I can only say part of my magic was in the crystal and, as a living extension of my will, follows my bidding. I will leave some of my magic here and hope for the same result.¡±


    Her hands wipe down her face. ¡°You are mad. Clearly, the time you spent alone here has destroyed your sanity.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s true, then why don¡¯t I simply remove the air from this lab?¡±


    She edges towards the doors. ¡°You can¡¯t kill your kind¡­¡±


    Her mind wavers, of course, because of doubt. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say I was mad?¡± She reaches the doors, which, of course, don¡¯t budge. Her flicking hand waves towards the sensor for naught. ¡°Another thing I forgot to tell you is that while I was on the shuttle, busy killing Lord Klug for his own good, the Planet¡¯s magic reached out to me. I would like to take credit for an amazing discovery, but the revelation was because of pure chance. My dagger thrust sprayed back some of his blood, and without thinking, I licked the splatter from my hand. The magic within the planet hummed, sensing my will. At that moment, I knew his activated nanorobot blood from his fresh corpse was the key. A catalyst, even. I could absorb magic from the planet and store it in the nanorobots. He does the same, I suspect, but isn¡¯t aware. I am almost certain if you return to the planet in the body I have manufactured especially for this occasion and consume his seed, his nanorobots will permit you, a shifter, to absorb magic from the planet as well.¡±


    She slides down the door into a crouching position, her head in her hands. I believe I offer an ample reward for her body, yet shifting is the very essence of our being, even if, as in her case, she would have never shifted out of her human form often or for long. The risk of discovery is too great. My loss was traumatic and only survivable because this planet and the GPA, known as Lord Klug, promised so much.


    ¡°So the plan is I accept this body, take a shuttle to the surface, assume the scout doesn¡¯t fire on me, find Lord Klug, become his spirit-bound wife and absorb much magic. Then what?¡±


    Can she be this dumb? Limit herself so. ¡°You could become the first Practitioner of Magic since our race lost our homeworld.¡±


    ¡°But I will no longer be a shifter¡­¡±


    <h2>---Naro, High Priestess of Klug POV</h2>


    I pace across a stone floor in a storeroom deep in the cliff. Under the flickering light of torches set into the walls, dried-out husks of former hobgoblins lay before me in several rows.


    ¡°They are difficult to identify, High Priestess, yet we made an educated guess depending on where they were found. Some were the remaining hobgoblins of Kluggoth, found on their estates. The number found is enough to suggest his line has been ended.¡±


    I suck in a breath. How can this be? The Holy Scribe steps towards another lineup.


    ¡°As for the others, Klugrath¡¯s line, several in hiding, high in the mountains. We suspect these are responsible for the attack on the Oath Keeper Tower. We found the others on their estates. Life and death was a simple matter of being under a roof or not.¡±


    Several of the husks are children. Fathers and mothers playing with their children in broad daylight easily come to mind. The curse spared those watching from within buildings or under shelter.


    ¡°Finally, some samples of your Priestess¡¯ who typically preached in the open by running water, as is their practice of converting non-believers. Note, High Priestess, these were, until their death, the most successful in spreading the word of Lord Klug.¡±


    I stop my pacing. ¡°What of my bodyguard? I heard a rumour.¡±


    ¡°Only one, and the drying was slow enough that the removal of half her hand stopped any further progression.¡±


    ¡°Sunlight? No omens? No signs in the sky of any kind.¡± I repeat her words to me earlier. ¡°No goblins.¡± I retreat to the door. ¡°Does this mean that hobgoblins must now always stay undercover in the dark on the off chance death will strike from the sky?¡±


    She doesn¡¯t answer, and I turn about, snarling.


    ¡°It would seem so, at least for any of Rexa¡¯s line and possibly those sworn to yourself. Also, those most devoted to Lord Klug seem to be victims of this deadly curse.¡± She falls to the floor, dropping her scroll. Seeing through the shadow, I observe her sobbing into her hands. ¡°The worship of Lord Klug is done, High Priestess. I suspect that the death of the Oath is somehow to blame because why now does this curse visit us? What has changed? The Oath¡¯s death has cursed us.¡± She continues to sob. I don¡¯t even go to her and console her.


    The death of the Oath is recent, dramatic, and a cause of unrest amongst the faithful. Few Oath Keepers, let alone worshipers of Klug, knew the true purpose of the Oath, except they must keep him alive and forever imprison him. Could these deaths be a consequence of his death? Is one visitation sufficient, or will there be others?


    ¡°High Priestess!¡±


    I swivel to meet the new arrival¡ªa priestess.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°We have had word that the Oath Keeper Curse is visiting each valley, and many hobgoblins are fleeing ahead of the curse or trying to.¡±


    I release a bellowing laugh. ¡°Unless they have a mount, the fact you are reporting suggests the curse is many valleys ahead of those fleeing, and they would have survived, regardless.¡±


    ¡°No, High Priestess, you misunderstand. The curse hasn¡¯t struck every valley at once. The curse strikes each valley from the entrance to the high mountains. Ours, where Lord Klug first walked, being the first, then the Valley of the Hobs, where we spread his word next and then the next valley where the worship of Lord Klug is strong. After that, we must rely on rumour, but it would seem to only strike those valleys with significant villagers and towns of hobgoblins.¡±


    That would mean¡­ ¡°What of our agents and allies in the other valleys? Have we received any word?¡±


    ¡°Some, yes, although from the nearer valleys first, of course. Most are extolling the virtues of worship to the village elders or town authorities, and they typically prefer indoor meetings, so most can report they still live.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. Report more when you know more about the distant agents.¡± I wave her away.


    A sniffling mess wraps her arms around my leg. ¡°We are doomed, High Priestess. Each visitation of the curse will weaken us and grow doubt in current and future worshippers. Our only security will be to hide away from sunlight.¡±


    This is the elitist Holy Scribe. She who sat above the fray while I snatched the High Priestess title. Who recorded the slaying of my rivals and the almost extinction of several families because they could have challenged me?


    I reach down and grasp her chin. Her eyes look up. I drag her to her feet.


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget yourself, Holy Scribe. You will be as stoic as you have always been. You will search the Temple records for any previous appearance of the Oath. Then you will search the Oath Keeper Tower for any records. When finished, you will report your findings to me and no one else.¡±


    She tries to nod, so I release my grip. ¡°I¡­ have searched the Temple records, High Priestess. There is nothing like this¡­¡±


    I slap her. ¡°You will search again. I doubt the records will record the event as the Oath Keeper Curse. You are searching for subtle clues, hints, notes about strange things which were probably dismissed when written.¡± I grab her chin and ensure I stare into her eyes. ¡°Now go do as I command.¡±


    I release my grip. She scampers off. I hope there is something to find, anything. Doubt is the faith killer. Family bloodlines seem to be a target, but that would be a given. My bloodline, though, is simply me. My bodyguards aren¡¯t of any important bloodline. No, they feed on my blood, and I feed on Lord Klug¡¯s blood, a treasure of the Oath Keeper Tower. I survey the husks again and remember the Holy Scribe¡¯s descriptions. What could be common? My guess would be the volume of Lord Klug¡¯s blood that once ran in their veins. Her son¡¯s family lines, especially Klugrath¡¯s, would be a beneficiary of Lord Klug¡¯s blood, although it is said Rexa granted fewer favours to her family as the years passed. This is where the priestesses became a target. Rexa allowed them to drink Lord Klug¡¯s blood.


    If my bodyguard is any guide, I assume Kluggoth¡¯s family line would have died slowly and painfully unless, like my guard, they were prepared to cut off the cursed limb. Klugrath lines would have succumbed quickly, yet I believe they still would have had time to react. The priestesses, though, would have been quick, as I am certain Rexa would have favoured them most recently. How do I find out without raising too many questions? Also, I wonder if any who should have died didn¡¯t because, while not undercover, they wore armour or heavy clothing.


    I must figure this out because I didn¡¯t sacrifice, connive and assassin for nothing. I earnt this position, and I will not surrender to an Oath Keeper Curse, no matter how potent it seems now.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.003 Sprinkles of Discovery and Destruction

    <h2>---Captain Theophilus Meurius Ashman POV</h2>


    For the umpteenth time, my hands grip the cold metallic surface of the bench in my cabin. On countless previous attempts, I have tried this simple reality check to steady myself, to reset and failed because something else needed my urgent attention. This time is different, though. The crew members are on task and busy. I don¡¯t have to communicate with GPA headquarters or explain or take orders from them. Therefore, my mind can rest. After taking a deep breath, I collect my thoughts.


    First and most essential is to formulate a plan where they need to utilise us. Our deaths must become an inconvenience to them. Optimally, without us, they would need to send others. With the time it gives us, we need a hope against hope. Think of some twist or absurdity to allow us to live a long life and do so back home instead of orbiting this primitive, out-of-the-way planet.


    I mull over their last mandate; they have said no to goblins¡­ It makes little sense. The rogue nanorobots are like an infection. Where we find the infection, we must stamp it out. I slump back into my chair. Tiredness always rolls over me after deep space, high-security communications. The channel is a new, almost instant communication technology, yet somehow, afterwards, you feel you have run a marathon to deliver the words.


    Cold sweat rolls down the back of my neck. How do I sweat in an environmentally controlled spaceship? Fear.


    To defy them would mean certain death. Disobeying orders would make their ultimate decision of my fate and probably my crew simple for them. An easy sell to any who questioned our sudden loss. The opposite of what we need currently. Therefore, our actions cannot cause the death of a goblin.


    A knock at my door, and I immediately snap my head towards the source of the interruption.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I snarl.


    ¡°You must come at once, Captain.¡± The pleading in her voice is sickening.


    I had, of course, previously shown the crew my human face. The one glowing with worry and concern. At times, confusion. This was the new relatable way. Show your vulnerable side to enable them to sympathise and support you¡ªimperfect command enhanced by contributions from the crew, collaborative nirvana. I used my soft voice with those in charge at GPA Headquarters. Their voices, full of sympathy, still wielded harsh truth.


    Almost ripping the door off, my burst of shouting dies in my throat as my Engineer and Navigator Officer slides to the floor, her back resting on the wall opposite my door for support. Audible sobs escape from between her hands, which cover her face.


    I take a knee before her and lift her chin with my forefinger. She jumps at my touch, revealing her face, eyes full of tears, red.


    ¡°What is wrong?¡± My voice is deliberately calm. Inside, I wish to scream about how dead we will be soon.


    ¡°In a southern valley¡­ Captain, the concentration of nanorobots is such that the instrumentation glowed, pulsated.¡±


    There is a scale to these things, more intense, more nanorobots. How magnified is the scanning array? Grabbing her shoulders, I encourage her to climb to her feet as I stand. Upright, she wraps her arms around me and squeezes.


    ¡°It can¡¯t be that bad¡­.¡± Physical, almost intimate touch. I am confused.


    Her head shakes from side to side on my chest. ¡°Ed is running diagnostics. He pushed me out of the seat and yelled at me to fetch you.¡± Her wide, tear-filled eyes find mine. ¡°Ed has never yelled at me before, Captain.¡±


    ¡°Come on, lead the way.¡±


    ---


    ¡°I have checked and double-checked. The intensity is accurate,¡± says Ed for the third time between some other scientific babble.


    I wave one hand at him, and with the other, I point to his chair. He takes the hint, and I slide into his crew station. I study the dot, the large round bright dot. Round? For an instant, I think not, then round again. As I stare, the dot stays round for a time now.


    ¡°Turn off goblin. We can¡¯t target them, forbidden.¡± His long silver uniform-covered arm briefly obscures my vision as he reaches for his keyboard.


    He whistles while exhaling a breath. I can¡¯t breathe. The dot has shrunk. A slim arm shoots past, and the dot is bigger once again.


    ¡°A hobgoblin and goblin are¡­ close?¡± asks Ed.


    ¡°Are they coupling?¡±


    Ed and I shoot Miss Diasha, our Engineer and Navigation Officer, a look. We both open our mouths to say something and then close them to stare at the screen again. I climb out of the chair and usher Ed back to his station.


    ¡°Can you improve the resolution or something?¡± I ask.


    He is busy already and doesn¡¯t reply. A small trembling hand pushes into mine, and I pat it still with my other hand. The dot reduces its brightness level yet increases in definition until we can spot two half dots. All were yellow before, but now one is green.


    ¡°Cull the hobgoblin¡ªnot the entire valley, just the lone hobgoblin. Can you do that?¡±


    His head turns to face mine. ¡°Yes, Captain.¡± His forehead furrows, which I ignore as I keep my reasons to myself.


    Over several heartbeats, the glow dulls, fades, and then blinks out. In a dark recess, a tickle of omnipotent pleasure oozes forth from somewhere in the back of my mind. The blinking green dot of the goblin brings me out of my revelry sooner than I want.


    ¡°Why does the goblin remain? Shouldn¡¯t the creature flee after witnessing such a sight?¡± asks Miss.


    ¡°Curious and unexpectant behaviour,¡± I manage in reply. ¡°The hobgoblin is now dust?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Captain.¡±


    While we could, of course, scan the rest of the valley for other hobgoblins? First, I would like to know if the goblin runs to others, goblins, or hobgoblins for shelter and comfort. Is it joining others full of nanorobots? We might determine if the two, although different species are staunch allies. Provide the GPA Headquarters with more information to contend with. Find a reason to keep us here and, more importantly, alive. We must dismiss no opportunity, make them plan, calculate, and otherwise judge risk as we play the role of valuable servants.


    ---


    A steady knock on my cabin door wakes me. Finally, proof.


    <h2>---Tinuna, Shifter of the GPA Observer Ship POV</h2>


    I resist the urge to anger. She hangs on to the short-term view, is all I convince myself. Therefore, I must explain the future her, out to her with simple questioning. She must realise what is at stake and how she can play her part, be the one.


    ¡°How did the shifter race come into being?¡±


    She shifts to favour one leg and rolls her eyes¡ªsuch an attitude, which I dismiss. Bigger picture, I convince myself.


    ¡°We drew magic from our homeworld over generations until, on the brink of extinction, some developed the talent to shift. Shifting into the form of our genocidal enemies. Is this a test of some kind because every shifter knows this?¡±


    ¡°I want to plant your spirit into the hobgoblin flesh bag, and you question my wisdom. Given a strong enough will, the planet below generates magic that I or another can manipulate. I am the proof, my control of the Observer Ship, my very existence and, shortly, my control of the Scout Ship.¡±


    She leans back on the slab holding the flesh bag. ¡°This flesh bag or my current shifter body can¡¯t live for five hundred years.¡± I want to slap the smirk from her lips, but no, that is him, not me. Although, I now understand the satisfaction he gains.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you listen when I spoke of multiple lives once you spirit bind with Lord Klug? You will continue for as long as he does. Called back into existence again and again until your will can master the magic of this planet and transform, relearn how to shift your hobgoblin shape like our ancestors.¡±


    She eyes the body. A hand cups a breast and then examines the tusks. ¡°How does my mastery of magic help our race? I will be but one. Where will you be?¡±


    ¡°I will send other shifter brides to Lord Klug. There will be a point where the magic of this planet is so infusive that children born between shifter couples will beget shifter babes. Our race will regenerate.¡±


    She leans on the slab, this time for support, not sass. I notice her swallow, and so she should. Her future doesn¡¯t simply extend beyond one lifetime. She alone is the salvation of our race over multiple lifetimes and generations.


    ¡°Why me?¡± Her voice is breathy and desperate.


    ¡°Fate.¡±


    Her eyes search for me about the lab, panic, desperation. I don¡¯t know, but I don¡¯t have a physical form. Yet. Her search is in vain.


    ¡°There would be no guarantee a crew carrying a shifter would have investigated?¡± she gripes.


    ¡°It gets worse.¡± Her eye twitches. ¡°The release of the GPA¡¯s spirit and his return to GPA headquarters was, in essence, unplanned. I have simply been making the best of the situation. The alternative would have been much slower, using Lord Klug and programming the nanorobots to make the required genetic alterations. Hoping to get lucky.¡±


    Her hands are over her ears, her head shaking from side to side when I finish. ¡°But no shifter in the investigating crew? How would you have dealt with the crew? Plus, a scout has four. What if a frigate or a destroyer investigated?¡±


    I want to release a cackling laugh, but in mind speak, I don¡¯t think I can pull it off, so I simply answer her doubt. ¡°This planet is now well within the safe zone of the spacefaring human empire. They constructed the bigger spaceships closer to the edge of this safe zone so they could launch nearer the action. Scouts are just that. Building them closer to Earth means they must scout their way towards the frontier, check this safe zone, and train the crew. The best of them will transfer to bigger ships, and the failures from the bigger ships will crew the expendable scouts. What I am saying is that the investigating ship was always going to be a scout ship. It was always going to be a crew of four.¡±


    Her laughter cuts me in two. After a moment of reflection, I sense something has changed, which is possible given five hundred years has elapsed.


    ¡°You are, in fact, one lucky bitch, my spirit shifter sister, now imprisoned in the systems of this Observer Ship.¡± Her spelling out of my situation is curious. Is this meant to be hurtful and put me in my place? ¡°The human empire has met a couple of other space empires. Inevitable really, you go further, you find others and not all of them still tied to a single planet ready for you to gain.¡± She strolls around the slab, her fingers trailing across, I hope, her future body. ¡°The first they encountered two hundred or more years ago, and after scrambling every spaceship in the far-flung fleet, they fought them to a quick standstill. They have a border of sorts now and plenty of space in other directions to explore, which is why neither felt the need to continue to kill the other. The second empire, though, is different. They aren¡¯t explorers and traders. No, they like the taste of human flesh. Humans to them are cattle, awkwardly and somewhat telling they leave us. For now, they raid human planets, snatch the inhabitants, and disappear. More of the bigger spaceships now patrol the quiet parts of the human empire.¡± She is at the door of the lab. ¡°You see, lucky. Please open the door.¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you heard a word? What of the future you have before you? The restoration of our race means nothing to you?¡±


    ¡°What can I say? I like my current life. To be reborn and look like that!¡± She waves a hand towards the hobgoblin flesh bag. ¡°Human is bad enough, but it is a comfortable skin after years of practice. I don¡¯t wish to explore another and skulk out an existence in a primitive world waiting for your future. The raiders could just as easily discover this planet and, after discovering the absence of humans, be bitterly disappointed. What do you think they could do next? Destroy the Observer Ship out of spite? Then what becomes of your great destiny for me?¡±


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    I don¡¯t understand. She bangs on the door. Her body faces towards the way out. She doesn¡¯t look over her shoulder. Her fist strikes the door again. I open the door. The steady clopping of her retreating footsteps as she hurries to the airlock is beyond disappointing. Then she is gone.


    <h2>---Linmere, Shifter of the GPA Scout Ship POV</h2>


    ¡°Good of you to join us, Assessor,¡± says the Captain.


    The Captain and Diasha hover over Ed¡¯s left and right shoulder while he concentrates on the screen at his workstation. Perhaps my look gives me away.


    ¡°We are tracking hobgoblins with active nanorobots and turning them to dust. First, though, we need to find out if a certain nanorobot-infested goblin is a source or an anomaly,¡± says the Captain with an undertone of glee.


    The view on Ed¡¯s screen shifts to follow a green dot across one of the countless valleys I know this planet has.


    ¡°For a goblin on foot, her pace is remarkable,¡± mumbles Ed.


    ¡°You are certain she doesn¡¯t ride a beast of some sort?¡± asks the Captain.


    ¡°I can¡¯t detect another significant life form, so this is all her.¡±


    Miss Diasha stabs at the screen. ¡°What of these pale-yellow dots?¡±


    ¡°Interesting¡­¡± Ed zeroes in on a cluster. ¡°They are pregnancies, is the explanation. The hobgoblin mothers have next to no active nanorobots. The foetus, though, has an abundance, although compared to our first cull in this valley, nothing. Captain?¡±


    ¡°If you culled the foetus, would the nanorobots continue and consume the mother?¡±


    ¡°The opposite, Captain. The womb protects the foetus from direct sunlight. I would need to reprogram the few nanorobots in the hobgoblin mother to destroy the umbilical cord. Without nutrients, the baby would then die of starvation.¡±


    Miss Diasha grabs at the Captain¡¯s arm. When did she become so familiar with him? ¡°No, Captain. Such cruelty. The babes wouldn¡¯t contain enough active nanorobots to register when an adult. We only found them because of the mother and foetus combination. My curiosity. I don¡¯t want to carry their deaths.¡±


    Instead of the Captain, Ed answers. ¡°You are not responsible, Miss. I had already detected them. You were simply the first to point them out. Orders Captain?¡±


    ¡°Reprogram the mother¡¯s nanorobots. The mothers will survive and be able to have other children. They will see these births as miscarriages, no more. Probably blame the father.¡± He shrugs.


    I thought the programming would take longer, but Ed¡¯s fingers flew across the keyboard. He whispered voice commands to the computer to convert his code to machine language and further refinement. Shortly after, the sunlight struck all the mothers. The screen then zoomed across the valley to locate the fleeing green dot. He left future grief behind.


    ¡°Captain, the same, but different. Notice the overlay, goblin mothers with hobgoblin foetus.¡±


    ¡°How is that possible?¡± His breath whistles over his teeth. ¡°Can you cull them?¡±


    Ed is busy until he slams his hand against the console. ¡°The mothers, their nanorobots, are inactive. They must have turned them off because, based on the hobgoblin mothers, the nanorobots needed to be active to impregnate them. I know this because as the foetus grew by cell multiplication, so did the nanorobot count. There is a direct correlation. For these goblin mothers, it is as if the nanorobots were impurities and their bodies dealt with them.¡±


    ¡°Activate the nanorobots?¡±


    ¡°No, Captain. I would think the goblins would detect them and shut them down. We would have to reactivate them again and again.¡±


    ¡°Look!¡± shouts Miss. We follow her finger. On the extreme edge of the view, a glow, a large cluster. Ed centres the glow on the screen. We all do a count. Three.


    ¡°Cull,¡± orders the Captain.


    Several heartbeats tick by. Three equal-strength glows disappear, although at different rates. One instant, one visibly fades, while the third starts slowly and then dies. Three lives lost, without a chance, not knowing how, from far away, or were there more?


    ¡°Did anyone notice a fourth? Towards the end, the very end,¡± I say. Three heads turn to face me. ¡°Maybe I was mistaken.¡±


    Ed taps on his keyboard, and the screen readout plays back, tick by tick. We all see we all take a deep breath. The fourth dot was inexplicably intense because it exposed only a part of its body to sunlight.


    ¡°This is the source!¡± The confidence and slight joyous tone in the Captain¡¯s voice draw our attention. ¡°Don¡¯t you see? This is our survival ticket. We must hunt this source down. As long as it exists, this is now our primary mission. Our existence can¡¯t be terminated while we search, as we will be useful to them.¡±


    I swallow. Have I swapped one prison for another? Alive on this Scout, hunting, who I can only assume is Lord Klug, the one she wished me to couple with. After all, who else would be the source of the nanorobots such that a partial glimpse of him equals or exceeds the glow intensity of one of his companions, who I assume are his spirit-linked wives? A destiny I only recently rejected.


    The Captain slaps Ed on his back. ¡°Continue the scanning. I must report this in.¡± In a heartbeat, the Captain is gone. Ed is busy preparing the data. For whatever reason, Miss is burying her head in her hands, and I am left staring at Ed¡¯s screen. On the top edge are multiple gentle glows. I am about to tap Ed and they fade away before my eyes. I reckon hobgoblins, for sure, are pregnant, given the strength of the glows when compared to the other hobgoblin mothers and are now gone.


    Do I mention this? Is this her doing? Has her spirit infiltrated the Scout and taken over command and control? She could also eliminate the hobgoblin species data, if so. Is that what I witnessed? What if she altered the hobgoblin species¡¯ data? Ed would continue to use the data, wouldn¡¯t he? But for how long before the frustration of not finding any hobgoblins with nanorobots would prompt him to look for any hobgoblins?


    ¡°What the heck is this?¡± says Ed. Miss recovers, and with her, I stare at the screen¡ªa glow.


    ¡°Look,¡± says Ed. ¡°Hobgoblin or goblin detection registers neither. Active nanorobot positive, a count through the roof.¡±


    ¡°How can they live outside a body?¡± I ask before I can stop myself.


    ¡°Magic,¡± quips Ed. His reply doesn¡¯t amuse me like it does Miss.


    <h2>---Diasha, Engineer, and Navigation Officer POV</h2>


    We are tired. Not from hard work but from fruitless searching. Linmere and I, additional eyes for Ed as he completed his planetary survey for active nanorobot-inflected hobgoblins. What we found so far were all of them? I was confused, and Ed was unconvinced. Doesn¡¯t an infection spread?


    Loud, regular clangs on the metal walkway, a warning. More than the noise of his boots, his confident stride made us ready.


    ¡°GPA Headquarters has confirmed our new mission. We must stay in orbit, locate this source, and eliminate them. If we can achieve this using culling, then fine.¡± He raises his eyebrows. ¡°They also granted us the use of the flesh bags grown in the Observer Ship for planetary missions if culling is not an option. They have transmitted the instructions to the scout ship¡¯s computer. As Engineer, you, Disha, will become an expert on this system.¡±


    In an automatic response, I nod. Linmere, though, seems withdrawn.


    ¡°This means, of course, Linmere will, if required, have the honour of being our first to step foot on the planet.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± she yelps. ¡°I am not a member of your crew.¡±


    The Captain flashes a broad cat got the cream smile. He has this covered. ¡°You are now. Check your personal log. You are to study combat techniques. As Captain, I must remain on the ship. Ed must remain scanning and culling. Miss Diasha, of course, has her extra duty. This leaves you. So, be a team player and start training, you know, just in case. Wouldn¡¯t do to have you die at the hands of a native now, would it?¡±


    All colour leaves her face as she grunts and flees. I sympathise, but Ed and I are the Captain¡¯s original crew, and the Assessor¡¯s skills aren¡¯t required any longer. I am confident the Captain explained this to the GPA Headquarters. Given the years of training an Assessor is required to undertake, they would have found this difficult to accept, but the mission always comes first.


    ---


    A peaceful atmosphere filled the lab inside the Observation Ship¡ªwhite walls, the white, well, everything. The controls were logical, and after several tests in virtual reality, I felt comfortable and confident enough to grow the real thing. The Scout Ship had completed multiple orbits since I was first assigned my new role, and not once had Linmere entered the Observation Ship. I thought to ask her opinion of how she would want her hobgoblin avatar to look, but fortunately, I found a blueprint on the lab computer with some notes. Well, recommendations really about what hobgoblin males prized in their females. I didn¡¯t think Linmere would want to attract unwanted attention, so I changed the design to reduce those favoured features. It was the least I could do so that none could distract her from her mission.


    <h2>---Tinuna, Shifter of the GPA Observer Ship POV</h2>


    Washing the nanorobot blood concentrate over my new body¡¯s green skin was a delight. Better still, bathing in the tubs, naked. The first tub was now simply full of what I would guess to be pure hobgoblin blood, and the second was just about drained of nanorobots.


    When Linmere rejected my plan, I knew I needed to trust in myself, my skill, my will, and the planet. The sniff of magic I discovered when I slew Lord Klug needed to be my salvation if I was to thrive and complete my purpose unaided by the Observation Ship. I had planted many nanorobots in the female hobgoblin flesh bag I grew for Linmere. Yet, they were stock standard, human creations, programming set to maintain body health and optimise function. Lord Klug was the key. Only he could activate them, hence my recommendation to her to become his spirit-bound wife.


    After accepting I needed to join Lord Klug, the discovery of a concentration of nanorobots became my second aim after landing in the shuttlecraft, which I willed the scout ship to ignore, departure and descent. Hiding the shuttle high in the mountains and inside a cave was my priority. The climb down was tedious, yet I drew on the planet¡¯s magic, food unnecessary, water easily found which the nanorobots converted to sustain this hobgoblin body and, on more than one occasion, repair. The planet¡¯s magic also guided me to the treasure of Lord Klar¡¯s blood. How it came to be here, I didn¡¯t care. Given the out-of-control overgrowth, I doubt the owners would return before I had consumed it. My capture of the scout ship¡¯s command-and-control circuits was timely as I manipulated the sensors and shared in their discovery.


    From the first, I registered each nanorobot as it entered my body and as their first mission; they were to convert the original nanorobots to be just like them. The difference between active and non-active nanorobots wasn¡¯t about operational and non-operational. Deep down, active meant, for the skilled practitioner, tapping into the magic of this planet. My will helped me survive the trek down the mountain from a cave that was deliberately challenging to climb or descend. This, though, the absorption of his nanorobots was like an awakening. So much more than the accidental splash of his blood.


    I inwardly cackled. Only in my ignorance would I have bequeathed such a boon to another. Knowing what I know now, I am sure if Linmere knew, she would rue her return to civilisation. She would now gladly accept the captivity of this primitive world to realise this unexplored promise of magical power. Shortly, I will introduce myself to Lord Klug, spirit bind with him, absorb his seed, and begin the rebirth of my race.


    <h2>---Luda, Goblin Concubine of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    A mountain of female hobgoblin flesh jostles ropes over her shoulders to lower something steadily into a pit. Her boots planted confidently on the lip. When I had asked, they told me Lord Klug and his wives were busy digging a well. I could read their doubt. They considered the effort a waste. We built the fort beside a river. The goblin village controlled one side, the fort the other. How would either lack access to water?


    Her rippling shoulder muscles are a finger-width away, yet I hesitate, waiting for the ropes to grow slack, releasing her from her task.


    She sighs, and I pounce, wrapping my arms around her waist. She struggles, and as she turns, our eyes meet. Hers shine, and I recognise not Thalgora but Koria Keen Eye in that precious moment. From a distance, I held a suspicion, of course, because we were spirit linked to Lord Klar and Thalgora, never so blessed. A familiar tingle strikes my skin. I act instantly this time and shove my sister with every fibre of my strength into the shade cast by the nearby stockpile of wooden beams. I catch her by surprise, and she only struggles to free herself after I have floored her. Her face twists, and the scream she tries to form dies in a gargle. I suspect internal pain overrides all else.


    Someone stacked the wood pile against a cottage. I drag her body inside to protect her from the sunlight. I also reason that if Duzsia turned to dust, water, the resource of nanorobots, would be the cure. Two of Lord Klar¡¯s Scribe stare at me. Their quills fall from their hands.


    ¡°Water!¡± I demand. They exchange looks and flee from the cottage. I quickly find one waterskin and then another. I pour both down Koria¡¯s throat in quick succession. Water that escapes her lips disappears, as does the water splashing over her tongue. A few drops wet her throat. I can only assume her nanorobots are thirsty. A couple of beds, a table, the two chairs where the water skins hung from, nothing else. Nothing else! Should I run to another cottage? Koria¡¯s back arches, her eyes shut tight as she groans in pain.


    I bolt from the cottage. My goblin body smashes into one scribe, sending her and the waterskin she carries to the ground. Without apology, I recover the waterskin and rush to my sister. As this waterskin empties, another is quickly in my hand. I lose count, except I realise a torch has been lit by someone in the cottage as night has now fallen. Under this flickering light, my sister¡¯s eyes flutter open. Her mouth is tight, but not from extreme pain, only discomfort.


    ¡°How did you know?¡± she utters between thin, drawn lips.


    ¡°I witnessed Duzsia turn to dust. She transformed from sword-wielding artistry slaying goblins without a care in the world to extreme pain and then, in a blink, into a pillar of dust. I felt a tingle, which I didn¡¯t heed at the time, not that I could have, as goblins held me. We slew as a couple at first, then after the tingle, she struck out alone, drawing most of the goblins with her. She knew her death wasn¡¯t far away and took as many with her as she could, and with me now surrounded, she guessed they would take me prisoner instead of killing me. I doubt she knew for certain, but she took that chance instead of suddenly dying, leaving my back unguarded and giving some pissant of a goblin a chance to strike me from behind.¡±


    ¡°Some of my nanorobots weren¡¯t mine anymore. I felt their presence, but they ignored my will. As they consumed me, my loyal nanorobots repaired me.¡± Her dry eyes look into mine. ¡°The water was my saviour, feeding my nanorobots as the traitors only syphoned off the water in my organs. My loyal nanorobots repaired me, and with my body destruction and repair in balance, any excess nanorobots attacked the traitors, releasing more loyal nanorobots. I felt like a useless general on a hill looking down on a battle which, in truth, I had little influence over. You saved me, sister-wife.¡±


    I kiss her forehead. ¡°I wish I could have saved Duzsia.¡± She wipes a tear from my eye and, instead of brushing her finger, she drinks in the teardrop.


    ¡°I will never waste water again.¡±


    ¡°Who was at the end of the rope?¡±


    A heavy voice answers her question, ¡°Klaria, who is now dust. Izga, who has now lost both of her arms below the elbow, my doing to save the rest of her. She refuses to leave the well while incomplete. All others were out of the sunlight.¡±


    I race into Lord Klar¡¯s arms. He survives, yet the strength of his return embrace is feeble. ¡°Duzsia is dust also, husband.¡±


    ¡°We will need to wait to see if they return to us. I am weary beyond words, not because the nanorobots consumed the water of my flesh, but I also sense they somehow consumed my spirit or at least nibbled at it.¡±


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.004 Tragedy

    <h2>---Lord Torngul Heartsplitter POV</h2>


    I eye her split lip and the fresh bruising on her face. My honour guard warned me she fought hard. ¡°You are before me. Therefore, have your say.¡±


    A follower of Lord Klar, an apprentice of Duzsia the Relentless, these are the things she boasts. Yet, for all that, she carried no weapons, wore no armour, and covers her modesty in rags. She opens her mouth, and tears run down her cheeks, wetting the dust.


    ¡°Lord Torngul, Duzsia, my mistress is dead.¡±


    I scoff, push myself out of my throne, and advance upon her. She skids her dirty body back. ¡°She turned into a pillar of dust, Lord. I swear it. If Luda were with me now, she would also swear it.¡±


    The fireplace flickers and my shadow looms over this pitiful creature. Luda. My daughter¡¯s name gives me pause. She hasn¡¯t mentioned my daughter to any of my guards or honour guard, so why now?


    ¡°Why haven¡¯t you mentioned Lord Klar¡¯s goblin until now?¡± I growl.


    She raises her head, yet her eyes look everywhere, avoiding my gaze. ¡°Goblins aren¡¯t welcome in Hobgoblin Town. Luda spoke little about this place, and my Mistress, Duzsia, forbade me to ask.¡± Her eyes find mine, and her spine straightens ever so slightly. ¡°I am told you, and only you, had a soft spot for goblins, or at least for Luda. She will confirm what I say. What I have said is nothing but the truth.¡±


    I eye my honour guards and flick a hand in Vorlora¡¯s direction. ¡°See that she is washed, clothed and fed.¡±


    As my guards grab each arm and haul her to her feet, I hold her chin. ¡°After you have enjoyed my hospitality, we will place a sword and shield in your hand. You can then show us the teachings of Duzsia.¡±


    She remains quiet as they drag her away.


    ¡°Do you believe her husband?¡±


    ¡°Turn to dust? It is a perfect ruse for death. There is no dead body and death scene for a start. Duzsia the Relentless, dead?¡± I shake my head and scoff.


    Her arms surround my waist from behind. ¡°She was by far the deadliest warrior of Lord Klar¡¯s wives. Therefore, her death in battle is difficult to accept.¡±


    ¡°Yes, my thoughts exactly and the brazen mention of Luda as a witness. If an untruth, the apprentice would know she would only live until Luda could confirm or deny her story.¡±


    I feel her head rest between my shoulder blades. ¡°What of this mercenary goblin army?¡±


    ¡°All the clans are here with their warriors. Perhaps an expedition across the Grassplains wouldn¡¯t go amiss. See if we can determine their intentions for ourselves.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t believe her? That they were simply to weaken their leadership. To humble them and force the Oath Keepers to negotiate with Lord Klar for the release of their females?¡±


    ¡°I do, but I want to see if they are still a threat.¡± I know, of course, Lord Klar seeded the Oath Keeper Goblins. We discussed the need for their timely eviction from the valley before they showed off his seeding handiwork, and this could be that opportunity.


    ---


    The clan heads were particularly helpful, not from any genuine affection or interest. They were still busy negotiating between themselves. Still feasting over Clan Head Sakvorpa¡¯s carcass. In any event, between ten and fifteen hobgoblin warriors from each clan escorted me and my honour guard. Procession-like, beast-mounted, we ambled out of hobgoblin town, two abreast. Dark clouds gathered above us, threatening rain or, perhaps, ill portents.


    Earlier, I watched my honour guard spar with Vorlora, Duzsia¡¯s apprentice. Competitive, yet still green. Her martial forms were strengthening, although she hadn¡¯t reached their creative application. Therefore, she became predictable. I ordered her to stay and accept my hospitality. Any attempt to leave, I cautioned her, and my honour guard would find and punish her.


    Before us, the width and expanse of the Grassplains became more real as the day raced from morning to afternoon. Before our advance, I had sent out at least nine beast-mounted hobgoblins as scouts. They return to us at dusk for a warm meal before a blazing fire. The following day was a repeat, although overnight, a sprinkle of unwelcome rain spoiled our pleasant outing.


    In the middle of the day, a single scout returned to us. She reported goblins riding wargs with a ragtag collection of camp followers. Spreading out the official map of the valley, the scout pointed at a lone well, lying northeast of our current position. Years past, this was once a village, but even with water, growing crops on the Grassplains was, and will always be a challenge. This explained why all the present growing fields weren¡¯t far from a river. She then mounted her beast and rode out once again. This time, to contact the other scouts to inform them of our rally point.


    We encamp mid-afternoon. As the scouts returned, I offered them a meal. I sent them out again but commanded them to stay within sight of our position to warn of any outflanking attempts.


    On the Grassplains, you needed to carry firewood to fuel a campfire. Each clan sat around their campfire, picketed their beasts together, and shared one tent. Only I allowed my campfire to grow so certain others could see the flames from afar into the night. There was a risk. The goblins could ambush us overnight or avoid us altogether. Hopefully, they will accept my invitation instead.


    ---


    Fresh bread, sizzling bacon and eggs broke my fast. With impeccable timing, post-feast, my scouts report. They inform me that three warg-mounted goblin riders glide through the tall grasses towards our camp. I ready my forces to receive them.


    They don¡¯t dismount as they and their mounts eye me from a comfortable distance. Two of my honour guards flank me to match the three visiting us.


    ¡°Who do I have the honour of addressing?¡± I ask. ¡°I am Lord Torngul Heartsplitter, Lord of the Grassplains.¡±


    ¡°Well met, and I thank you for the invitation. I am Zorottor Black Tooth of the Oath Keeper tribe.¡±


    ¡°If you dismount, we can discuss your presence on the Grassplains over food and ale.¡±


    He shifts in his saddle, glances left then right, swings a leg over and dismounts his warg. I immediately note his height and size: large for a goblin, small for a hobgoblin. The polish of his armour and weapons reflects the morning sunlight. The metal is without blemish, and the leather stitching is unbroken and without fraying ends. I judge his gear well-crafted and plainly superior to his two companions. Yet the armour on all three displays no troop insignia.


    He approaches, each of his steps a cautious measure. His eyes scan our camp, seeking signs of ambush, I suspect. Taking one pace forward, I offer my right hand. He understands immediately and shakes my hand in return, although he doesn¡¯t make the mistake of trying to crush my hand. He is a goblin, and I am a hobgoblin, and any test of strength has a known outcome.


    On cue, one of my camp followers offers them bread and ale, which they take. They nibble and sip. Zorottor shifts from one foot to the other, his eyes ever scanning.


    ¡°State your business?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Lord, we are humble emissaries representing the six Oath Keeper troops. We request passage across the Grassplains to fetch our mothers, sisters, and daughters to escort them out of this valley to fulfil their destiny.¡±


    From Vorlora¡¯s tale, if true, these six oath-keeper troops he speaks of are barely one, possibly less. I imagine they will be quick and discreet. There is undoubtedly no bluff or bluster, yet this troop leader, at least, displays calm confidence. Fortunately for him, I want them gone as quickly as they wish to leave, so I reward his directness.


    ¡°You have my permission.¡± I wave over one of my camp followers, a scribe. She carries parchment and ink and has already filled in his name. I take the parchment from her, turn her around and use her back to sign my name, making the document official. Straightening, she then offers me the press. I line up the jaws of the press and, with all my strength, squeeze. I return the press to her as my official mark is now set in the parchment. Waving the document dry, I then hand it to him.


    As he takes it from my hand, I say, ¡°Show this document to any who would question you, and they should leave you in peace. You have seven days. I will send heralds across the valley to withdraw this consent on the eighth day.¡±


    He bows his head and thanks me. As we agreeably part ways, several screams pierce the nervous quiet of our meeting. The six of us scan the immediate surroundings, hands on the hilts of our weapons. The mewling howl of the wargs toward Clan Hungry and Clan Quickeyed camps give us our first clue. As I take several rushing steps towards the camps, I halt before a scene of carnage.


    A female warrior hobgoblin, on looking up, staggers towards me, holding her belly. Her leather britches are behind her, the white loin cloth now black with her blood and bulging! She drops to her knees and, with urgency, unbinds her loin cloth. A ball of black blood and immature hobgoblin-shaped flesh tumble from her loins onto the ground.


    Lord Klar¡¯s spawn, I am sure. A failure or some sort of sabotage? The result is the same as the twelve warriors from Clan Hungry, and four from Clan Quickeyed share the same fate. Depending on their strength, they either carry their dead male babes to me, asking why, or I find them inconsolable in or near their clan tent. Stupid me. I thought they were slightly fat, but now I realise they carried their pregnancy on this mission. Not so anymore.


    I spare a glance for my guests. The event transfixes Zorottor and his two escorts. Their visit at this time to see this tragedy was an unfortunate coincidence. What they have seen can¡¯t be unseen. They will spread this news far, I suspect. Will the news be about the infant deaths or that every infant was a male? Knowing my misfortune, probably both and none will visit this valley, fearing they or their family will catch this curse or affliction.


    For a moment, I consider slaughtering the Oath Keeper goblins. Only briefly. I suspect this scene repeats itself in the Oath Keeper Goblin village, so I cannot give the order.


    ¡°Be gone, Zorottor Black Tooth.¡± Our faces meet. He swallows. ¡°I would counsel you to use haste in this valley in case I decide to change my mind and eliminate witnesses.¡±


    He and his two companions are quickly out of my sight. Shortly after, they mount and gallop off across the Grassplains. Several healers and others assist those with their loss. I find a scout, order her to find the others, and range a helpful distance from our camp as a screen just in case the goblins and their wargs feel lucky.


    <h2>---Tinuna, Shifter of the GPA Observer Ship POV</h2>


    The river sand shapes to my knees as I kneel in the cool water to scoop up handfuls to wash off the dried, exhausted hobgoblin blood from my body. I feign ignorance as they try their best to sneak up on me. Their stealth is excellent, yet my hearing is superior, of course. Being unarmed and naked, I am confident they don¡¯t believe I am dangerous. This is a brave assumption, yet I am confident my reasoning is sound. After all, even primitives like these must admire my superior physical form, the athletic lines, and the length of my thin tusks. A body crafted to lull one male, in particular, into drooling compliance. His females into worshipping admirers, wishing by association they could also bask in my glory.


    His heavy breathing is satisfying, proving my prediction and more. I thought myself constructed so that only one would find me perfect. Yet, delightfully, another is, therefore, I might attract multiple partners. This is a giddy feeling; I admit to myself. Being desired, being desirable. This body exudes pheromones. Although my reproduction organs are deep in icy river water, they excrete warm, lubricating secretions. It is exciting and completely opposite to my previous and mainly sterile existence on the Observer Ship. I will enjoy this body and certainly relish the companionship of Galactic Planet Agent 01-007A of the Galactic Planet Agency, otherwise known in this life as Lord Klar. I can¡¯t suppress a giggle!


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    From behind me, a person with a deep and severe voice says, ¡°I am uncertain what is so funny, given your present situation.¡±


    I stand, slowly about-face, arms parting, hands open and empty. His jaw drops. That is such a rewarding compliment. His spear tip droops as his eyes try to examine every part of me and all of me at once. I sense. Two females flank him.


    ¡°Gorgrin, what are your orders?¡± asks the one on the left.


    The one on the right, though, doesn¡¯t wait for any orders and casts her massive brown bearskin cloak about my naked shoulders. The lingering body warmth in the cloak is a pleasant sensation. She quickly ties off the leather throng about my neck, avoiding eye contact. Next, she secures the fastenings down the front, drawing the cloak closed. I know her eyes examine my smooth skin and undercurrent of muscles as occasionally her hands caress my body as her actions hide what I sense she is envious of.


    My eyes are on him. As my flesh disappears from his view, he blinks, takes a deep breath, and finally, an awareness returns to his eyes. He issues an order. I lick my lips, ensuring my long, slim tongue coats my tusks in saliva, bestowing a lustful sheen on them.


    A pleasant, giddy feeling stirs in my stomach, which descends and stirs up my loins shortly after. His helpless staring, proof of my power over this male hobgoblin, is a heady new feeling. I need the same domination over Lord Klar for my mission to succeed, but this sign is encouraging. Four of his Hobgoblin huntresses surround me while another four escort him ahead of us. They ensure he doesn¡¯t look back. They are jealous of me, of course. Several other huntresses follow. They labour in pairs or fours, hoisting the slain beasts of their hunt by tied appendages from sturdy poles.


    A crowd gathers as we approach rough huts, rough-hewn village walls with flimsy wooden gates. The setting sun radiates and highlights my high cheekbones, prominent eyes and whiter-than-white, long, slim tusks. I bask in their attention, so they should admire me, for my form and beautiful face are perfect.


    I see the incoming strike but can¡¯t react in time as the spear butt from one of my escorts jabs into my stomach. The flicker of pain bends me over. In the next instant, my nanorobots repair the slight damage, and I fully recover.


    ¡°They aren¡¯t interested in you, you gloating bitch. We carry sufficient for tonight¡¯s feast and perhaps, if we are lucky, enough left over to store away for the snow season,¡± growls an escort.


    With disappointment growing in my heart, I survey the crowd. I inwardly acknowledge the truth in her words, although some exceptions exist. Some hobgoblin females look long and hard, some smile, and some don¡¯t. We pass through the open gates, and the thin crowd presses closer. Their eyes are on me as much as they are on the kills, but these are questioning eyes. I am a stranger to them. A stranger. I read the mistrust in their eyes. As I parade before them, I realise my mistake. This method of introduction to Lord Klar has been a mistake. I am an escorted prisoner. Perhaps they even see me as part of their successful hunt.


    I note that one Huntress breaks away from escorting Gorgrin. Jogging ahead? A messenger? While behind, those huntresses hauling the kills also take a different path. I assume to slaughter and dress the slain beasts. We pass through another gate. Light, infrequent raindrops splatter on us, yet no one pays attention as we trudge onwards up the hillock. How can Lord Klar call this dreary place home? Be in any way satisfied, wallowing in this mud?


    The three Huntresses escorting Gorgrin leave him as we step into shelter under a curious building. Unfinished wood, what a surprise, with a round upper level while the lower level is a smaller circle with the upper-level floor acting as a roof. The rain tumbles down now, and I wonder how the hunters are butchering the beasts in this weather.


    No one asks me questions, no one talks to me. We wait. The four escorts don¡¯t chat between themselves, and at some point, Gorgrin has also snuck away. My welcome is underwhelming, and a feeling of dread builds within me. Somehow, I thought Lord Klar would recognise and greet me with open arms.


    Two of my escorts leave to be replaced by two others as night closes in and the rain eases. These two then hand off great cloaks to the two escorts, who stayed. My nanorobots absorb the shower and use the water to generate warmth, so I am comfortable enough even though my feet stand in wet, cold mud. My escorts seem impervious to the cold and rain as well. The rain beads and rolls off their greatcoats of soft leather and attached hoods. I can only imagine what they wear underneath because when I had the chance to take note, the information didn¡¯t seem necessary.


    My eyes extract every glimmer of light cast by the stars as the clouds part. Both escorts who stayed are shivering despite their great cloaks. They are still wet and need a fire, I suspect. I edge closer until one of them stares at me and instinctively takes half a step away. Reaching out with my nanorobots to heighten my senses, I try something easy. I task my nanorobots to hone my senses to detect nanorobots in the nearest shivering escort.


    She has so few in her body that they must have migrated accidentally, not with intent.


    My hand shoots out, grabbing her tusks. As she draws back, I ensure she slices my thumb on her teeth.


    ¡°Bitch!¡± she yelps.


    ¡°What?¡± asks another as she and the new escorts press forward towards me.


    ¡°She stuck her finger in my mouth,¡± says my target.


    Raising my open palms, I reply, ¡°She looked cold. I thought I would help. That¡¯s all.¡±


    My target shoulders her way through the other three. ¡°What do you mean, help?¡±


    They are my nanorobots. Initially potent and with a singular purpose, but now, they are more since imbuing them with two vats of this planet¡¯s nanorobots. They are of Lord Klar, nurtured by this planet over generations, like, what humans would say, a fine wine. Yet I know his seed will be even more potent. For now, a test. I reach out to my nanorobots swimming in her bloodstream. Nothing.


    Time to be bold. My hand reaches behind her neck and draws her closer. ¡°Help,¡± I hiss. She struggles to free herself, and I instantly oblige. Three spear butts shove me back. In the moments of touch between us, I contact my nanorobots inside her.


    ¡°What did you do?¡± she asks.


    I huff. ¡°Magic.¡±


    They all retreat two or three steps. The three check the one. A hand on her forehead, another asking if she feels different, and the last eyeing me.


    ¡°I feel warm,¡± she stammers.


    What I did wasn¡¯t magic, of course. Instead, science. Yet, lacking any words to explain the how the understanding will always be a mystery. To these four natives, the only acceptable explanation would be magic.


    Three shapes stride towards us through the dark. One goblin small, a hobgoblin large and a hobgoblin male large. I know my escort is unaware of their approach. Still, I prepare to receive Lord Klar by loosening some leather throngs, so I can quickly throw off this crude cloak and reveal myself to him in all my glory.


    He veers left at the last moment and barks an order at my escort. They bend one knee but don¡¯t drop into the mud, and then the two fresh guards grab my arms, and we are back into the rain. We pass back through the two gates! This is madness.


    At some point, the madness ends. Lord Klar and his two companions enter a building of dressed timber via a solid, crafted door inscribed with ornate carvings. I note everything now and the sign at the entrance, ¡°The Lord¡¯s Tankard¡±. One escort enters first, me next, and then the last one. No ceremony, no announcement. We all simply enter with muddy boots and dripping cloaks.


    My feet land in cold water, and a goblin uses a brush to clean them. With a wet whack of the brush on my leg, I step out. A female hobgoblin unties the last leather throng and swings the cloak away. A moment passes, and it hangs from a hook on the wall. I note that under all the cloaks is another trough to collect the water runoff. After a heartbeat, all chatter falls into silence.


    ¡°I now see what all the fuss is about.¡± He leans forward, resting his arms and elbows on the table. A sly grin decorates his face. The female goblin standing beside him stabs the same table with a dagger. The sizeable female hobgoblin standing on his left folds her arms.


    ¡°Wild Ones, find some food if you are hungry, some warmth if you are not. I will be safe with this one.¡± He flicks his hand towards me.


    ¡°Yes, Lord,¡± they answer and bend a knee before grabbing their cloaks and leaving. I note that their soft leather pants and shirts look comfortable, and perhaps I should have worn similar after washing myself in the river. My nakedness illustrates that my perfect body is unique, and my exceptional beauty screams at everyone that I don¡¯t belong. Combined, they convey superiority and extreme arrogance. The two on either side of Lord Klar have taken an instant dislike towards me, and I note they both rest a hand on the back of his neck. Protective and supportive, perhaps a more profound emotional pairing as well. This isn¡¯t how I wanted to bond with Lord Klar¡¯s lives and those he has spirit bonded with. Strong would have been acceptable but with an appearance of humility. I see now that naked, bold, and superior have been unhelpful.


    I drop to one knee. ¡°Lord Klar, I wish to enter your service. I will be whatever you want me to be until I prove my worth.¡±


    His answer surprises me, not precisely because of the words, but the language. Terran Common. The de facto language of his home world, Earth.


    ¡°You are the Operator. Are you not from the Observer Ship? For some reason, you have decided to walk amongst us primitive common folk. We who scrape out a living in squalor and mud, lots of mud.¡±


    ¡°Yes, the situation in orbit has changed. When a Scout Ship arrived, many complications arose. Too many for us to discuss now, yet I have a question.¡± He waves at me to continue while he takes a tankard of liquid from a serving hobgoblin. The server casts a sly glance at me, smiles, and then recedes back into obscurity. Yet I am confident she listens, even though she can¡¯t understand, just in case. ¡°How did you know it was me?¡±


    ¡°You must have read my mind at least once, probably many times. Your body is my idea of the perfect female with subtle adjustments for hobgoblin dressing on the human form. The long, thin tusks were a good guess, especially for native hobgoblins of this planet.¡± I bow my head slightly. ¡°But you should have arrived, well better. The news of your presence will be across the valley as fast as the messenger can travel. Know that sometimes that is a bird. So, if you wanted to assist my efforts quietly, that spaceship has blasted off. In fact, I don¡¯t know what I can do with you. I assume you can offer much, but you are now a distraction, an amusement to gossip about.¡± He raises his arms and drops them back to the table in resignation.


    I have much to teach him. His spirit bonded wives¡­ How can I rescue myself from this blunder? Disfigurement? I could command the nanorobots to make physical adjustments, but that won¡¯t be quick enough, even for slight changes.


    ¡°Reject me, cast me out. Banishment.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he drawls.


    ¡°I will live like a hermit in the mountains, and your wives can find me, and I will teach them what they need to know. In that time, I will also change my appearance and eventually return so I can teach you.¡±


    He smiles at me, but not the happy one. No, this is the dismissive one.


    ¡°I have one spirit-bonded wife without hands, so I would doubt her ability to climb, would you?¡±


    ¡°H¡­ How?¡±


    ¡°Something carried on the sunlight, I suspect. Turned our nanorobots against us. I lost two spirit-bonded wives, Duzsia and Klaria. A third, Izga.¡± He draws in a long, slow breath. ¡°I cut her arms off below the elbow to stop the infection. Luda, the goblin beside me, saved Koria on the other side of me. Fortunately, I and my other wives were underground. I assume a consequence of one complication we don¡¯t have the time to discuss.¡± He raises his eyebrows.


    How can I tell him it was necessary to me, especially my race? Perhaps, another angle¡­


    ¡°Unless you remove the spirit bond, your wives will return to you. The loss is temporary¡­¡±


    His face sours as I speak, and I sense my choice isn¡¯t the best angle to explain from. His grip on the table causes a creaking sound. Still, fortunately, the sturdy table like this tavern endures Lord Klar¡¯s wrath.


    He stands and kicks back his chair. The resultant clatter is loud. ¡°Get!¡± he shouts, and he points to the door. I blink. ¡°Innkeeper! Find her some clothes!¡±


    He and his two wives storm out of the tavern, ignoring me as I stand alone, my mouth open. I suggested rejection but with secret visits. Was this a show? He spoke hobgoblin when he ordered me to be gone, so all, including the Innkeeper and staff, would understand his words.


    His passion, though, is clear. The bond he can form is no longer only a functional benefit to him. His attachment is real, maybe even an enduring love of sorts. Unexpected or perhaps a byproduct or form of ¡°going native¡±? The magic of this planet is potent, one of a handful of possibilities. My race has always made that observation, but and this is a big but, GPA 01-007A has added a unique temper or catalyst to this equation. Will this be enough to escape his fate?


    I stand numb as the Innkeeper takes her time providing me with clothes and dressing me. When my borrowed huge bearskin cloak drapes around my shoulders, I realise it is time to go.


    ¡°Will you survive?¡± she asks as she herds me outside. ¡°Follow the river. In either direction are other settlements. I am certain your beauty will attract protection and shelter.¡±


    The rain is light with no wind. Torches from Lord Klar¡¯s walls light the way, but firelight or starlight makes no difference. My eyes are keen enough to discern a way to leave without embarrassing myself and falling flat on my face. An involuntary shiver shatters my confidence. I have failed my people. I know my death will be final regardless of the number of activated nanorobots within me. My only way to escape this useless end? As a minimum, I needed to spirit bond with Lord Klar, as each return to his side would gift me more time. Further, given the Shifter Scientists¡¯ analysis, they strongly suggest he has a finite number of lives to live. The number the majority settled on was ten. They concluded that his spirit would be too faint to bond with another flesh bag after ten bindings. This was at least his second of any duration, so for my race¡¯s sake, we hope he has eight remaining, and I am by his side for each.


    Scattered Shifter Scientists could only work in Human research teams. They confirmed nanorobots could repair flesh and enhance body function. In fact, they assisted Human Scientists to increase their robustness by engineering water as an energy source. This last tweak required sunlight to activate. Otherwise, the nanorobots would hibernate. Under Lord Klar¡¯s influence, the nanorobots evolved to expand their capability to act as a catalyst to tap into this planet¡¯s magic. Given Shifter Scientists couldn¡¯t set up research labs, the only alternative would be a Shifter being reborn. Spirit bonding was the only answer. They theorised that controlled evolution may eventually produce a genetically pure Shifter native. Is it possible to accomplish in hundreds of years what took thousands of years on our home planet? It must be. Our race is in decline, and, absurdly, the humans are to blame, the race that needs our talents but is blind to the dependence.


    As I trudge through the night, my single thought is, how can I turn this defeat into gaining the smallest of victories, spirit bonding with Lord Klar?


    I am fleetingly aware of the blow to the back of my head as my consciousness descends into a void.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.005 Wild Thoughts and Hopeful Outcomes

    <h2>---Vorlora, former Apprentice of Duzsia, the Relentless</h2>


    The howl and baying of dogs hunting me draw closer. I stumble into probably the only depression on the whole of the Grassplains. Sweat, tears and snot stream down my face. I pick myself up and stagger onwards. The fear of Torngul Heartsplitter¡¯s wrath drives me, waiting for his return, a torture I can no longer endure. His judgement. My only regret? He would most likely punish his guards. They thought me wholly broken, and I was for a time. Then, simply as a diversion, I planned for my escape. A fleeting smile graces my lips. Now, I am free from Torngul, Klar, and this valley. But where to? A single possibility converted my idle diversion into action. Milga Stone Blood the Fifth.


    My steps slow. Taking deep breaths, I gingerly lower myself into a cross-legged sitting position. The punishment position. Their barking getting louder means they are gaining on me, and the plains offer no significant rivers or even streams to lose my scent. My escape had turned into a marathon, and I knew I would give out long before the beasts. I could only hope the beasts would deliver death to me before their handlers could call them off. At first, I didn¡¯t think myself brave enough to accept death, and now I resign myself to this fate. Between the two extremes of Luda¡¯s absolute disregard and Duzsia¡¯s seeming immortality, I decided there could be room for a third. Me. Acceptance.


    The grass rustles. There is no howling. Closing my eyes for a moment, I fondly remember the harsh training days of my childhood when they were anything but.


    I lift my head and stare into a spear butt, and then nothing.


    ---


    My eyes blink open as the ache on my forehead throbs. Night, I am sure, as the aroma of freshly cooked meat invades my nostrils. Lying on my side, and my attempt to stand fails. My arms and legs are bound. The warmth of the firepit is on my back, yet I am not the centre of attention. Goblin eyes are on another hobgoblin, a female, as I can glimpse her naked breasts in the flickering light of the firepit.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know the scent of your blood?¡± asks a female goblin, the disgust in her voice plain.


    I see the female hobgoblin¡¯s body shake out a denial.


    ¡°How can she not know?¡± asks a male goblin. ¡°She reeks, even I can smell her linage.¡±


    ¡°A mistake then?¡±


    ¡°Yes. But we can sell her. Many northern valley Lords would be keen to breed from her loins.¡±


    Her body worms one way and then the other. Her wrists and ankles, like mine, have leather bindings securing them.


    ¡°No!¡± she screams. ¡°I am fated. Lord Klar will learn of my kidnapping, seek you out, and slay you all.¡±


    Quiet, comfortable chuckling is their response.


    She continues, ¡°You think my threat is hollow? Wait and see, wait, and see. I will be the one to slit all your throats¡­¡±


    A slap silences her.


    ¡°Our friends overheard Lord Klar send you off with words of concern and closeness. Why, such was the display of affection they thought you one of his wives!¡± says the same female voice.


    Slapping of thighs and great bouts of laughter erupt.


    A male voice adds, ¡°We are on the borderlands now, not on the plains, not in the valley, and he has had days to hunt after us, and yet you remain with us. So yes, we need supplies, and the trading of you will be most beneficial.¡±


    A boot forces my hips to roll. ¡°Troop Leader, this one is awake.¡±


    ¡°Our other guest. Not one of us, no. Mixed blood. Yet, the greater mystery. Tell your story to Zorottor Black Tooth, and you may live to see morning. Know that your value now is less than a blanket at any trading post and certainly not more than the food you would eat until we get there.¡±


    ¡°There is no story. I offended Lord Torngul, and he would want my death, so I escaped him. I planned to escape this valley.¡±


    Again, impolite and dismissive laughter.


    A hot breath wafts over my neck. ¡°You weren¡¯t running from Hobgoblin Town. You ran from the northern forest direction¡­¡± I can smell his putrid breath. ¡°Truth this time.¡±


    ¡°I stayed within the forest line. Longer I know, but the Grassplains are too vast, and I thought to save chancing them until I had to, yet still I failed.¡± I fight back my welling tears.


    ¡°Now, now,¡± tuts Zorottor. ¡°You didn¡¯t fail. You just got unlucky. If you had waited one more day, you would have followed our trampled grass instead of running ahead of us.¡±


    Low whispering reaches my ears. Are they discussing my fate?


    The female goblin says, ¡°Given your value is nothing, and the other is great, you will be responsible for her captivity.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I squeak.


    ¡°You or she try to escape, you die. If you both try to escape, you will die. Until then, we will gag you both so you can¡¯t make escape plans.¡±


    ¡°But how can I warn you she is escaping?¡±


    Again laughter. ¡°We will give you a drum to beat.¡±


    ---


    We travelled by day, slung over a wolf tied wrists to ankles. At night, they unfastened our gags and fed us by hand. One meal, no more, then the gags tied.


    My eyes snap open. Night still, yet that wasn¡¯t my primary concern. I couldn¡¯t breathe. Gulping for breath, liquid flows down my throat despite the gag. Worse, an arm or wrist fills my mouth, holding it open. I bite down hard, drawing more blood, yet the limb remains in place, and the owner doesn¡¯t yelp from pain. Needing to breathe, I shake my head from side to side.


    Somehow, this works, and the arm rises. I suck in a breath and am about to grunt in protest when the arm returns. I shake my head immediately. This time, the arm stays.


    This goes on for¡­ I don¡¯t know how long because the last time I passed out.


    Blunt pain radiates from my buttocks, and I wake. The morning of the next day, my gag is down. A dry strip of meat is shortly resting on my tongue. I have no saliva; my mouth is dry, I realise. ¡°Water,¡± I say, gasping.


    The goblin female shrugs and holds a waterskin to my lips. She chuckles as I finish the first and ask for a second. When I ask for a third, she replaces the gag, kicks me and leaves.


    My mouth is still dry, and I stare at my company. Behind her gag, I sense amusement¡­


    After several days of travel and nights of being assaulted, my body functions changed. My urine is dark, thickening, and requires effort to expel. My other is solid dark black lumps, and after a delay the first time, I make noises immediately the next time as the effort after the wait the first time was monumental.


    We aren¡¯t travelling freely across the plains, I realise, but we are slowly progressing from what can only be one safe spot to another. Some migrating animals are small enough to hunt, while others are vicious predators and avoided or too large to consider hunting.


    The night after my urine and droppings somewhat return to normal, she wiggles her way over to me, and I shake my head from side to side. ¡°No more.¡± I hope my eyes plead my case.


    Instead of an arm in my mouth, I think she is about to kiss me. While deciding if I should accept this intimacy, our foreheads meet instead. Oddly, I can¡¯t decide if I am happy about that or disappointed. My Mistress is dead. Lord Klar, I know, has forgotten me, as my loins no longer burn for him. Lord Torngul, if he hunts me, has failed to find me. Am I really in charge of myself now? The once-torn circles of flesh on my cheeks flush with warmth, and I don¡¯t think so because of past healing.


    We camp on the other side of the plains, and during the night, again, our foreheads kiss. This is the third time.


    ¡°Can you understand me?¡± asks a feminine voice inside my head, and I roll away in panic. Where is this voice coming from? Are there goblins near our bedrolls? Have they finally decided that our nighttime antics aren¡¯t antics anymore and whisper from the shadows? They questioned her after the second night of her force-feeding me her blood. She explained to her inquisitor she wanted my blood to be pure. Which apparently is normal because the inquisitor flashed my companion a smile and left.


    I steal a glance at my companion. Again, I discern amusement behind her gag.


    Cautiously, I roll back, and as I close the distance, she edges towards me, and our foreheads touch.


    ¡°Be brave. Trust in the truth I am about to speak.¡±


    I swallow. How is this happening?


    ¡°My blood carries special properties, and while you aren¡¯t proficient yet to exercise command, I have been doing so in your stead every time our foreheads touched.¡±


    I push down the need to escape this unknown, this impossible. I remember Duzsia and Luda in combat, each predicting the moves of the other, protecting each other¡¯s vulnerabilities as if by thought. Sister-wives of Lord Klar acting as one. I never questioned the how. I just yearned to do the same thing with my Mistress. Could this strangeness be the same but different¡­ Whatever she has done to me with her blood, I doubt it can be reversed. My only chance of surviving this is to try to understand. I silently pray to Duzsia, the Relentless, and resolve to trust. Several days ago, I accepted death. What is different now? Accepting the unknown? Which one is the scarier, I wonder?


    ¡°This is good. I can sense the panic leaving your mind. Duzsia the Relentless? Who is she?¡±


    I concentrate and think about the words. ¡°My former Mistress, who is now dust, and I don¡¯t know why.¡±


    ¡°What I am about to reveal will pain you, but I hope by doing so, you will trust me because why would I admit anything distressing to you?¡±


    I nod and feel stupid as our foreheads briefly lose contact.


    ¡°I am responsible for the death of your Mistress because I didn¡¯t think through all the consequences of my purpose.¡±


    Her purpose? Is this related to the fate she mentioned to the goblins? Then, my mind freezes when she continues.


    ¡°Duzsia the Relentless will return to her husband, Lord Klar. Maybe not in this life, but the next. You have my word.¡±


    She allows me time to recover. ¡°Next life?¡± I share with her.


    ¡°We are getting too far ahead. My blood has purified your body. You are faster, stronger, and more resilient than you can imagine. With training, you can develop yourself further. For now, I have diverted my blood to develop your mind so we can chat. Over the next day, I concentrate and try to reach for my mind. Imagine my blood helping you to grow this ability. Fail until you succeed.¡±


    I don¡¯t have time to reply as she rolls away. Is this a test? I shuffle closer. Air escapes my lungs, and I try to breathe in and fail.


    ¡°You are too friendly. No more now. Every time you get too close to each other, I will kick,¡± says a goblin I have never seen before.


    My watering eyes again catch the amusement behind her gag. I rage. Bitch, I name her. You knew I shouted at her, projecting my feeling of betrayal. You could have warned me!


    ¡°Then you wouldn¡¯t have been able to develop so quickly.¡±


    She is back inside my head, and we are at least a body length apart. I chew on my gag momentarily, trying to digest this lesson.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°What is your plan, then?¡±


    Her eyebrows wiggle. ¡°Did you try to tell me something or ask a question?¡±


    I urge her blood to strengthen my mental voice, uncertain if this will work. Taking a breath, I cast my thought to her, ¡°What is your plan, then?¡±


    She shakes her, and I close my eyes, wondering what to do. The words fail until you succeed flash in my mind.


    ¡°I caught your frustration, then. So, you can project your emotions, which is a good first step. Your strength of mind and will are important. There is no explanation of how this works. This is magic. You simply imagine an outcome. We both need sleep, and your body needs to commit your learnings so far to memory. So, sleep. We have another day, another wolf ride to look forward to.¡±


    As a child warrior, I would practice several drills with a spear and shield until my arms failed me. Then I would assume the position, and narrow lengths of sapling would strike across my shoulders. My arms would find a deep reserve to continue. When my Mistress taught me about weapons, I learnt forms, which would eventually build into warrior stances. We built each new form on the one before it. I would repeat the form until I could perform it without thinking.


    As she has said, can magic be as simple as imagining a result? What have I learnt? She forced me night after night to drink her blood. Her blood, the key, allowed me to use this thing she called magic. There was no mind-to-mind communication initially. Once our foreheads touched, she manipulated her blood inside me to listen for magic and could form words inside my head shortly after. My replies were words in my head. I don¡¯t think I created them in her head, so she must have read my thoughts. She can read my powerful feelings but not my words at a distance. She could still form words inside my head at a distance, though. How? Does she connect somehow to her blood inside my body?


    She said I must concentrate and reach for her mind. Imagine her blood helping by developing my mind. I need to touch her forehead. Only then can I try to form my words inside her head? From there, I can concentrate on casting or projecting my words like she did. Yet, there is a flaw in my thinking. Why can¡¯t she read the words I form in my head, my thoughts, from a distance? My mistress taught me that each step I take must be built on the previous step, and I wonder if I am missing one. With these mind exercises, though, I shouldn¡¯t end the day with sore muscles, so that will be a positive.


    As I doze off, I remember Lord Klar¡¯s seed and the healing of my cheeks. I unexpectantly whimper as my loins also recall his attentions. Then I feel guilt. Did I just betray my fledgling love for my Mistress? I want to scream, but I don¡¯t. Instead, I recall his instructions. His command to wallow in water, to imagine my cheeks whole once again. Take advantage of the seed he left inside me to repair my torn flesh. I imagined the desired result and achieved it. Is her blood like Lord Klar¡¯s seed, and there is no missing step, something simple like will? Self-determination?


    Several more days into our journey, willing for the magic to happen, wasn¡¯t working. My stomach exploded in pain when I tried to meet her forehead with mine. A kick and fading snickering from a guard was the usual result. After my last attempt, my guard staked me out overnight.


    Giving up in disgust one night, I woke the following day remembering her words, ¡°I have diverted my blood to develop your mind¡±, and like that, I realised for her to divert her blood, she needed to have command and control, not simple will or wish. Command and control over what? How would her blood be different to mine?


    After a night of questioning my body and blood, I received an answer. We are nanorobots, they said. Their name meant nothing to me, yet I found more and more by calling them by their name. Thousands. I ordered them to repair my body. Improve my hearing. And then the big one, improve my mind like she had done.


    Several attempts to reach out to her again failed. What else could I do? More refinement? I ordered more refinement, and they reported an immovable impurity. Dormant nanorobots. What? With the knowledge of contacting her nanorobots, my mind reached out to these dormant nanorobots, activating several and questioning them.


    They were of Lord Klug. A god to his worshippers, a curse, or a plague to any non-believers. How would nanorobots of his be in my blood? My body? Blood delivered her nanorobots, and seed delivered them, they proclaim. Lord Klug¡¯s seed, or as I know him, Lord Klar. How can they be one and the same? Why would they deceive me? They are mine. I toss, turn, and break from my sleep, or would my current state be meditation? Luda and Duzsia would, at times, be far away, yet present. I glance at my tent companion, her face in light shadow because of the dying glow from the embers in the firepit. Again, she returns a look of amusement from behind her gag.


    Studying Lord Klug¡¯s nanorobots, I know instantly they are superior to her blood nanorobots. They, I deduce, are replicas of replicas. They have diminished over time. How long they don¡¯t know. His are fresh, vital, and even eager. I remember they healed my cheek, and then I ignored them; I stopped willing them. Cursing at myself, I realise now that I have wasted them. Could I have refined myself to be like Duzsia?


    I order them to wake up. Her nanorobots outnumber them, which leaves me with a choice. Make her nanorobots dormant and utilise only his, or try to use both simultaneously. As I ponder this choice, the number of his nanorobots increases while the number of her nanorobots decreases. The stronger are converting, the weaker and as this process proceeds, a great tiredness overcomes me.


    Pain strikes me awake. I groan and try to roll over. Sharp pain again, this time to my ribs. My lips crack as I try to moan louder. Lifting my fingers to touch my lips, I discover two surprises. My hands are free, and the tips of my dried-out fingertips scrape across my dry lips. I order all my nanorobots to stop. A shudder runs through me. Nanorobots feed on water. When she first fed me her blood, I drank more than my fill and I still yearn for more. I also witnessed my Mistress Duzsia turn to dust. My tent companion said she didn¡¯t realise the consequences of her actions. Did she somehow command my Mistress¡¯ nanorobots to feed? If Lord Klug¡¯s nanorobots weren¡¯t dormant in me then, could I now be dust? I shudder and then celebrate my ignorant luck.


    I reach for the waterskin, ignoring the bowl of gruel. The breaking our fast with dried strips of meat was a memory now. Waking several of his nanorobots, I order them to repair my lips, throat, and fingertips. Water. I need more water.


    Overnight rain, I attempt to touch her forehead and find myself staked under a cloudy night sky. My nanorobots reaped as much water as possible. Crossing a stream, my head gulps in as much water as possible, as the old wolf carrying me isn¡¯t high enough to keep me clear. This amused the watching goblins, of course, yet I don¡¯t splutter when I surface, which cuts off most of their fun. They think I am stubborn. I know the truth. My companion does the same, yet her wolf is in his prime and holds her clear for most of the crossing.


    With the number of his nanorobots increasing, I decided on something bizarre. Why can¡¯t I talk to my wolf?


    After several days of multiple attempts, I fail until I succeed. He knows he is dying and will soon be meat in a pot to feed the tribe. If he had a bonded rider, this would not be his fate. If he was stronger, another would bond with him, and he would have the chance to die in a glorious battle. These simple things concern him.


    When we cross another stream, I ask him to lose his footing and allow us both to float downstream in the water. He is concerned about drowning, and I answer why. Aren¡¯t you meant to be food soon, anyway?


    Lord Klug¡¯s nanorobots convert hers. As my mount tries to keep his head above water, I invite him to bite into my shoulder and drink my blood. He doesn¡¯t understand, yet at my urging and promise of better times, he does and drinks deeply.


    The goblins follow us, of course. Loops from ropes try to fall over my wolf¡¯s head, which always seems to move the wrong way. Eventually, they can¡¯t follow as the forest thickens along the banks, and the stream joins others to grow into a river. Now, we float far from either shore. He turns his head about, and I offer my wrists. His gleaming, sharp teeth rip through my bonds, and I sit stride on him. With renewed and growing strength, his feet paddle and control our direction in the slowing current of the meandering river.


    A mature wolf in prime condition, he isn¡¯t. He is, instead, a wolf in the best possible condition for one of his age. He requests the grey hair removed from his coat, showing that even old wolves keep a certain level of vanity. No, I say. Let others believe you are old and no threat. Let them only know the truth when your jaws rip out their throats.


    By day, he hunts to feed us both, and in between, my nanorobots strengthen us as we follow the river. He has enough strength to ride him, yet I don¡¯t. His looping gait is faster than my striding out, but not excessively. It is more important that him having the strength to allow me to ride him is another surprise we keep to ourselves.


    <h2>---Goblin Crone, Oath Keeper Tribe POV</h2>


    ¡°Is it wise to burn those words?¡± he asks.


    I study the firepit flames as they curl and consume the two parchments. One granted our freedom to our tribe, and the other permitted safe passage for a time to our rescuers. Lord Klar could not spare a wife or himself to escort us, given the sudden disappearance or, some say, loss of several of them. None could find their corpses, though.


    ¡°We are well rid of that valley, and I have no intention of ever leading our tribe back there. I swear.¡±


    He shifts on his haunches and adds kindling to the fire. ¡°Since Sud Guts Ripper is dead, we can¡¯t trade her at Stone Corner because we know no one and nothing about the trading post. So where?¡±


    ¡°I thought north, but it would mean sneaking by several Klugite valleys¡­¡± I reply.


    He shakes his head. ¡°You know we no longer have the strength to confront the Klugites and High Priestess Rexa?¡± He spits into the fire. Sizzling is the instant response. ¡°What she is worth will only help our recovery somewhat, but not strengthen us. We have lost too many.¡±


    ¡°I wept myself dry of tears the first time you described the slaughter of so many of us, and even now, we don¡¯t know the reason. The vicious slaughter, while grievous, would make sense if the pair were Klugites. What we have now is much loss because of an unknown enemy for an unknown reason.¡±


    ¡°The hobgoblin and goblin didn¡¯t ever call each other by name, and while under torture, the goblin didn¡¯t make a sound.¡± He grimaces. ¡°And unfortunately, most hobgoblins look the same to us mercenaries, so our description of her to you didn¡¯t help.¡±


    I tap my chin. ¡°Both would be from the valley, though. Somehow, I feel a certainty about that. If only I could have smelt their blood.¡±


    Hissing and cursing reach my ears, and by the way, Zorottor leaps to his feet; he agrees with my concern. Shortly after, two of our night watch throw a bloody and bruised goblin towards us.


    ¡°Sword Fangs¡¯ second son trying to sneak into our camp,¡± growls one.


    Zorottor uses a boot to roll him over. He is alive, but for how long is a mystery. The goblin sucks in air, one puffy eye shut, bruising on his face and cuts on his forearms. His escorts carry no additional weapons. Did he risk his life entering our camp without a sword or spear?


    Zorottor crouches down on his haunches and grabs the visitor by the chin. ¡°You have my attention. Speak before you die of blood loss or something else.¡±


    We finally piece together his story between broken sentences and utterances of single words. Klugites are marching south. They aren¡¯t hunting us but are escaping the new Oath Keeper High Priestess of Klug. A most welcome surprise and possible salvation. They are also trying to conceal a secret. With them are the few remaining hobgoblins, with High Priestess Rexa¡¯s blood flowing through their veins because they are escaping her curse. The turning to dust of Klugite worshippers who carry High Priestess Rexa¡¯s blood or either of her son¡¯s blood in their veins. Worse, though, they outnumber us and are heading south.


    ¡°What are our options?¡± I ask.


    He nods to the two guards, and they remove the corpse. ¡°We could guess which side of the valley they travel then cross the valley to the opposite side, perhaps even camp in the middle and chance the herds.¡±


    I remain silent. Do we feel lucky?


    ¡°Before we meet them, we could try to find a valley, preferably empty, and simply hide.¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°We have many females about to give birth, which I assure you will be difficult. With our mercenary strength, I was hopeful we would take over a settled valley and stay for a while under our own terms.¡±


    ¡°But we are too weak¡­¡± he mumbles. ¡°We need to escape the Klugites and join our High Priestess.¡±


    I stare at the flames. ¡°The second son said that the Klugites aren¡¯t one large group but several bands of different sizes, depending on the numbers fleeing from their home valley. Could we ambush them, perhaps?¡±


    ¡°We could, but the risk is, while we ambush one group, another group follows them close enough to join the battle or shortly after the ambush when we are tired. This doesn¡¯t mean we will lose, but we will take losses. I suspect a run of bad luck will end us.¡±


    Climbing to my feet and stretching, I reach a decision. ¡°Find us an empty or near empty valley.¡± He doesn¡¯t conceal his surprise. ¡°Before the females become too large of belly, we will create a village while our mercenaries protect us and hunt for food. I see no other option.¡±


    He kneels before me, and I am taken aback. ¡°You are the Crone of the Oath Keeper tribe, and we depend on your wisdom. You know some babies, and probably a good number of the mothers will die?¡±


    I wave at him to stand. ¡°I know. Better that than we all perish because of bad luck.¡±


    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    Both wanted to speak since leaving, and I had had enough of their fidgeting and fear of breaking eggshells around me. Plus, the journey taken so far had worked out my anger.


    ¡°What?¡± I snarl.


    ¡°We haven¡¯t picked up her tracks or scent, Lord. What makes you think we can find her and eventually catch up to her?¡± asks Koria.


    ¡°She spoke of falling down the mountain several times, and while not said, I know what craft she made her original journey in and what size cave would be required to conceal it.¡±


    ¡°But we face an entire mountain range¡­¡± says Luda.


    They were goblin sisters in a former life, but now one is a goblin and the other a massive female hobgoblin. Many ropes loop around Koria while her sister carries necessary rations.


    ¡°We will zig-zag across a suitable length of the mountain range, but be smart and avoid sheer drops. Look more for ways down that don¡¯t require anyone to fall to their death. Choose survivable falls that would deal grievous harm, like multiple broken bones and the like.¡± I notice them both swallow.


    Koria replies. I suspect they take turns so my wrath doesn¡¯t fall on one of them. ¡°This could take many days, and even then, we could fail.¡±


    I pause, hands on hips and face both of my wives. ¡°Some of her injuries were grievous, broken bones and horrendous blood loss. The rain won¡¯t be a factor as we climb higher into the mountain range.¡± I point further up the valley. ¡°The rain comes from the far end of the valley. The mountain arms on either side, especially higher up, aren¡¯t showered by rain. I expect you, Luda, to smell her blood long before either Koria or I, but we will help, of course, with our other senses.¡±


    ¡°That will still take days with no certainty, and if by some lucky chance we find a scent, then what?¡± asks Luda. ¡°Given the occasional fall, it will break her trail as if she crossed a river.¡±


    I flash her a victory smile. ¡°Yes, but then our search narrows, and with each find afterwards, it will narrow again. Then her trail won¡¯t matter somewhere near the top because we will look for a cave entrance facing this valley.¡±


    ¡°After you sent her away, we thought her unimportant. Why do we look for her now?¡± asks Koria, taking over from her sister.


    I shrug. ¡°Finding her would be acceptable, but I doubt we will. I am sure you noticed like I did, that the door goblin sniffed her scent. She couldn¡¯t restrain her surprise, so I believe the Oath Keeper Tribe has taken an interest in her. What that means, I don¡¯t know. How her blood smelt of Oath Keeper. Again, I don¡¯t know. But!¡± I hold a finger up. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter because this mission is about finding her craft, not her.¡±


    ¡°Her craft?¡± they both ask in unison.


    ¡°She didn¡¯t simply materialise out of thin air, now did she, or could she? Have you ever seen such a perfect female hobgoblin in any of your lives? Wouldn¡¯t such an occurrence be something travellers would retell?¡± They slowly nod. ¡°Where has she grown up for at least early rumours about her beauty not being spread far and wide?¡±


    ¡°Snow is coming, Lord. Do we at least have your word if we don¡¯t find anything by then, we will give up?¡± asks Koria, out of turn.


    I turn away and continue. We left the foothills behind yesterday, and I am eager to climb into the mountains proper. I feel lucky and can¡¯t explain why.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.006 To the Stars

    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    Luda and Koria stand in complete silence. They even forget to breathe, it seems. The shiny craft before them is literary out of this world, and I can¡¯t help but chuckle.


    ¡°Why do you mock us, husband? Neither of us knows what it is,¡± grouses Luda.


    ¡°Follow me, and we will find out if the craft will accept me.¡± I wink at them. ¡°If I am accepted, so will you be.¡±


    I skirt around the smooth round belly of the Shuttle until I find the loading bay. The last time I exited the Shuttle this way, she killed me. I still hold a certain fondness for that moment. She had to do what she had to do.


    I place my hand on a shallow square engraving on the hull. The control panel cover slides back to reveal the security keypad. I sigh and then take a deep breath. Did the Observer Ship have one or two Shuttlecraft? I punch in the only code I know, GPA007. A beep. What about his code? I punch in his code, and the loading bay doors crack open with a whoosh.


    Looking over my shoulder, both of my wives crouch, ready to leap into action. With an amusing smile on my lips, I wave to my wives to join me. They are like cats, cautious. Careful step after step, heads shifting from side to side, eyes alert.


    ¡°You either trust in me, or I leave you here.¡±


    Their heads bob up, eyes desperate with fear. I haul myself into the loading bay, stand, and face them.


    ¡°Husband, we trust you. But¡­¡±


    I hold out a hand.


    They share a glance and then squeeze each other¡¯s hand for a moment before rushing forward. I drop to my haunches, offer a hand to each of them, and hoist them up.


    Both have their eyes closed, and I can¡¯t help but crack a sly smile. The metal is cold, and both react as if burnt. To them, the entire craft must seem made of the same metal as their swords.


    They open their eyes and immediately cling to me. Koria¡¯s arms wrapping around me and reassuring Luda. With them glued to me, I stab at the inside control panel. This closes the loading bay doors and drops us into darkness. A heartbeat later, I flick the lights on and notice tears running down their cheeks. Maybe I shouldn¡¯t tease them so.


    I brace. Flesh on flesh, a rush streams through my shared bond with both. Gnawing, gut-wrenching fear overwhelms their minds and slams into mine. They have no escape. They have no escape. So, what option remains? Me. Instead of whispering words of calm, I concentrate my will, a deliberate act with intent and send reassurance and explanation. My explanation contains images, examples of this craft, and its purpose. It is a thing, like a sword, like a house. It is more complicated, of course, yet while the two examples are a weapon and shelter, this is transport.


    I share with them through our bond. There isn¡¯t much to a Shuttlecraft. Engine and fuel storage at the back, loading bay in the belly and a two-seat cockpit out front. Some have passenger seats instead of a cargo area, but that is the only variation. No emotion from them returns to me.


    I hit the control panel near the door leading to the cockpit, and with a familiar whoosh, it opens. I need to shuffle sideways into the cockpit as both wives refuse to let go of me. Once inside, I hit the inside control panel to close the door. With forceful, stern words, I coerce Koria to sit in the co-pilot¡¯s chair and buckle her in. She tugs nervously at the webbing, but I am satisfied she can¡¯t escape. Luda, I push away until I sit and secure myself. As soon as I look at her, she leaps into my lap.


    ¡°This craft can fly like a bird if I operate it correctly.¡± Two heads nod nervously in response. Didn¡¯t they understand the transport explanation? ¡°More than that, it can travel so high in the sky that you will be able to look back on your world and see the mountains, and they will look small.¡±


    They exchange glances and take several deep breaths. Despite my teaching, I wonder if the fright of flight and then space travel will kill them. This morning, they woke up to explore a mountain, and now both sit in a device they have never seen before and don¡¯t understand. Would I be any different if I were them?


    I could pilot the craft but decided to use the automatic pilot and select the reverse journey. That way, regardless of my wives and any panic, I can restrain them without the Shuttle veering off into the nearby star. For good measure, I lock out the controls as well, in case somehow one of them escapes and dances over them.


    As the Shuttle lifts off, Luda pushes back into me using her feet on the piloting control panel. Simultaneously, her head snaps from side to side as the sides of the cave and, shortly after the side of the mountain flash by.


    Koria whispers from the co-pilot¡¯s chair, ¡°This is like when my spirit floats free after my body dies. I can look down on the world.¡±


    Her words of wonder do more to calm Luda than I could have hoped, much to my relief. Why is the supernatural, like a spirit floating free, more acceptable to her primitive mind than flying in a Shuttle?


    The sinking of the sun behind the mountain range casts a shadow into the valley. The Shuttle flies below the mountain peak to hide within. We head towards the heights of the valley. I observe a settlement of sorts beneath us, walls made of stone or stone-like, with several large buildings within. Cultivated fields lie beyond the thick walls. Then the Shuttle veers upwards, and we are all thrown back in our seats. I note that she used cloud cover to conceal her arrival as much as possible. We do much the same, yet I doubt we have left our valley, let alone this planet, unobserved. A shuttle is still a bright, shiny object if enough sunlight hits.


    As we enter cloud cover, I glimpse the land beyond the valley¡¯s end. The beyond turns out to be amazing. A vast glittering ocean spreads out all the way to the horizon. Underneath the shuttle is a sheer mountain drop, certain suicide to climb up or down. Both of my wives are silent. Luda¡¯s fingers dig into my thighs. We break free of the planet, and looking back confirms this world is mostly ocean. There is a single continent, made up of probably three once separate land masses slamming together pre-dawn before the creation of intelligent life. The sheer mountainside seems to result from one continent losing the collision and heading downwards while the winner heads upwards. On the other side, it seems both continents were equals, and the edges of both have risen, creating a monster of a mountain range. One ran longer and without an opposing force only offers lower peaks that break the surface of the ocean. These form a string of islands.


    Ahead, in the black of space, the sun of this solar system twinkles off the spinning Observation Ship and attached Scout Ship. The Shuttle flies steady, and we are on course towards the Observation Ship. As we close in, I blink to try to confirm an anomaly. I need to wait for another spin of the Observation Ship. Another glimpse, and it is my turn to panic.


    Behind both, a spaceship is closing in on an interception course. It is large. Although far away, I could see it. I could damn well see it!


    I sit back. I meant this to be a quick visit. Check out her story and determine the orders of those in the Scout Ship for me. What have I landed myself in? I could unlock the controls, manually override and try to use the Observation Ship as a blind to return to the planet. Equally, I could stuff up the entire maneuver and become a target. If I am not mistaken, it is, as she said, a battle-class spaceship. Why is such a ship patrolling this backwater of a solar system at this crucial point in time? I steady my breathing and let things be.


    The Shuttle slips into the shuttle bay of the rotating Observation Ship flawlessly. I try to give my wives a pep talk, but I doubt my level of success. Given their blank facial looks, probably more of a failure. Yet, when I offer to leave them in the Shuttle, they both curse and punch me.


    The shuttle bay is empty. As a bonus, the soft soles of our primitive leather boots are nearly silent on the Observation Ship¡¯s decking. There is a shudder, and we grab each other to remain on our feet. The larger ship docking with the Observation Ship can be the only reason. It was an unexpected miscalculation, given the automatics of such a process.


    I lift Luda until we are face to face. ¡°You will scout ahead.¡± A predatory smile graces her lips. ¡°You will scout ahead. Stay silent. Listen. At the first hint of someone else return.¡± She glances at her sister while checking the hilts of her daggers. ¡°Good. You know you are the best one for this.¡± She nods as I lower her. Without the dark of space to haunt her and a firm surface underfoot, she is somewhat herself. Her mind has discarded the truth. She believes she is in a shiny cave, perhaps. Then there is the act of hunting, which holds a particular joy for her, overriding everything else.


    I grab her hand and use it to smack the control panel. The shuttle bay door slides open. With one last look, she enters the Observation Ship proper. The shuttle bay door closes behind her, but fortunately, there is a top window in the door, and I appreciate her swaying arse as she slinks off down the corridor. Not long after, she listens, turns left, and is out of sight.


    Koria stands beside me as we wait and peer through the pane of clear see-thru steel in the door.


    After a long while, Luda returns. Once through the door, she rests her back against the adjacent wall and breathes a sign of relief.


    ¡°There is too much light, husband, in this metal cave, but I found some creatures. They gibbered Master. Two parties, one had three, and the other had two. White-pink skins both, no tusks. After much gibbering, the group of two left. The three waited, and then I left.¡±


    Koria and I join Luda for the return journey. I only needed to get within earshot. The further we crept along, the more familiar everything became. The Genetic Lab, then the Medical Ward. We would wait in the centre of the Observation Ship, a mix of command and security functions and attached crew facilities. Branching from this central area, two corridors led further away, the line markings containing the words air lock every so often. The Observation Ship was a mirror, two identical halves joined. An airlock would accommodate one spacecraft on either side of the Observation Ship. Given what I had seen in our approach, one probably led to the Scout Ship. The other, most likely the Battlecruiser, given crews from both met here. The corridor we waited in would return us to the Medical Ward.


    ¡°Captain Theophilus Meurius Ashman, I presume?¡± says one in a deadpan voice. ¡°I am Captain Julius Hyrcanus Tapper. This is my Science Officer, Cassia Hippolyta Sutler, and Security Officer, Titus Atreus Prew. We are patrolling this sector, searching for anomalies.¡± Was he introducing people or furniture?


    There is a long pause, and then someone clears their throat. ¡°There are no other spaceships in this sector but us, especially one as large as you command, so tell me your actual mission.¡± The Captain of the Scout?


    ¡°Unfortunately, I can¡¯t reveal my mission to you. Otherwise, I would have to kill you.¡± A threat? Difficult to tell, given the lack of emotion. Was that Captain Julius?


    Nervous chuckling follows.


    ¡°Are you checking up on my mission?¡± shouts the nasal voice again, ending any laughter. ¡°Retreat,¡± screams the same voice.


    The ringing vibration of a beam weapon sounds out. A yelp of pain follows. Clanging boots add to the noise chaos. Another discharge, probably a miss.


    ¡°Secure the airlock. She sends reinforcements. We will overwhelm them.¡±


    ¡°I obey.¡±


    ¡°Does she want them to clear this ship before capturing the humans?¡± asks a bland, husky, feminine voice.


    ¡°No. The Scout Ship only has four. We have seen three, two of which worked on this ship. She concludes that the crew probably abandoned the Observation Ship before their arrival.¡±


    The stomping of many boots grows louder until a brief silence and a coming-to-attention stomp.


    ¡°We reports for duties, commander,¡± says one, using a snake-like speech.


    ¡°Lead your troop through the airlock. You will need to force it if our Security Officer hasn¡¯t overridden the lock, I suspect, like usual.¡±


    ¡°Yesss. Kills or captures?¡±


    ¡°Capture this time. Their mission interests her.¡±


    More stomping of boots, which fade.


    ¡°Could we have asked,¡± says the female again.


    ¡°No. While our ship¡¯s transponder is off, on our uniforms, the ship¡¯s name, Lionheart, is there, and I suspect the Captain somehow remembered.¡±


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°But so long ago¡­¡±


    The flat of Koria¡¯s sword on the back of the head of the female and mine on the back of his head is a perfect example of timing only our bonding could deliver.


    Ignoring our blows, our supposed victims turn around while reaching for their hand-held energy weapons. Koria and I use our free hand to clamp their hand on their weapon holster. We both raise the hilt of our swords to strike them in the face but synchronised like us, they lean forward, teeth aiming for our necks. We shift enough and feel their teeth sink into our shoulders.


    ¡°Master and Koria, green oozes from their ears trying to find yours!¡±


    I order my few nanorobots in the blood the Captain swallowed to find and destroy the green. Then I push the Captain away. I know Koria does the same and ensures the female collides with the Captain, causing both to tumble to the floor. My blood shortly after stops flowing from my shoulder.


    We take this window of respite and sprint back down the corridor, passing through the medical ward to enter the genetic lab. My nanorobots tickle as they repair the wound. Footfalls chasing us slow, to silence.


    ¡°Keep a distance behind, but keep me in sight.¡± I ignore their protests and shuffle along a corridor wall towards our pursuers.


    Sitting upright on the floor, they are both looking around in wonder.


    ¡°Captain Julius,¡± I say.


    His eyes focus on mine and then go wide. Yes. Human seeing his first Hobgoblin.


    ¡°You are free? You can think for yourself?¡± I throw his confused mind questions¡­


    He nods. His Science Officer scoots over to him, but neither tries to stand. They are probably trying to catch up, make sense of whatever or however they lost control of themselves.


    ¡°Hobgoblin.¡± I point to myself. ¡°I am from the planet below.¡± I sweep a hand towards Koria and Luda. ¡°Koria, female hobgoblin, and Luda, female goblin from the planet.¡±


    The Science officer leans forward slightly. ¡°How do you know our language?¡±


    I sigh. ¡°Long story, which I doubt we have time for. Will she know?¡±


    Both nod their heads.


    ¡°How did you free us?¡± asks the Science Officer. Cassia?


    ¡°Magic. From the Planet below.¡±


    Cassia and Julius exchange a glance.


    ¡°Magic, you say,¡± croaks the Captain. ¡°Well. Regardless, you freed us. What year is this?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°I am from the planet below¡­¡±


    ¡°Captain! Oh Captain¡­¡± The owner of the singsong voice is confident enough to call out loudly. What does he know that we don¡¯t?


    ¡°Titus and probably several Lizardmen,¡± hisses the Captain.


    ¡°How brave do you feel?¡± I ask.


    Their stupefied looks don¡¯t instil any confidence, but I don¡¯t see any other way.


    ¡°The Magic is in my blood. I will drain a portion into several test tubes. You will need to get close enough to crush them against his ear, nose, or mouth. My blood will do the rest.¡±


    They smile, and the Captain answers my unspoken question. ¡°He will try to do the same. She will try to reinfect us.¡±


    ---


    Twelve lizardmen lay about the corridor, their large snouts full of razor-sharp teeth an obvious concern, yet they simply stare at the walls for now. They are awake for the first time in a long time, it would seem. The three crew of the Lionheart chat amongst themselves. The body of Captain Theo, a black scorch mark on his uniform, surrounds the cauterised hole through his chest, side to side, not front to back. An unusual shot, fatal, nonetheless. I note that the other male props himself up against a wall, his eyes never straying from us green-skinned folk. Given his occasional ginger repositioning, I suspect body blows. There were no bleeding wounds or defensive bruises on his arms.


    One female hovers over another, who is sporting a bloodied bandage around her head.


    ¡°How is she?¡± I ask.


    Without looking up, she says, ¡°I have done what I can.¡± The back of her hand rests on her patient¡¯s cheek. ¡°When she tried to run, they kicked her legs, and she fell heavily down a flight of stairs, her head smashing into the floor at the bottom.¡± She glances up at me and instantly shies away, dropping the bloodied head she once held. She recovers, muttering apologies at the head and begins her nursing again.


    ¡°Dying?¡±


    A nod.


    I scoop her up and, using a princess carry, rush her to a familiar lab. I remember the two slabs well, immediately placing her on one. From the nearby incubator, I hope I retrieve something. I am in luck. A female hobgoblin flesh bag is ready, and I place it on the other slab.


    ¡°Well?¡± she asks. No other in the corridor we left had the energy to protest. Koria and Luda simply followed their husband into the lab.


    I stare at the controls. There is a sequence, stages, and whatnot, but nothing comes to mind as the first step. I grab the edge of a console. ¡°Just work, dammit!¡±


    Several sweat-popping moments of nothing pass¡­ There must be a switch somewhere. What am I missing? I wipe my brow.


    ¡°What did you do?¡± she yells.


    I swivel about, and both slabs glow with an unknown energy. She tries to reach for her dying crewmate, and I hold her back. ¡°It is her only chance.¡±


    ¡°But she will be one of you and no offence, ugly. How will she return to us?¡±


    ¡°No offence taken,¡± I reply. ¡°She will get to decide, certain death, which we can always deliver to her again after the transfer if she wants, or a chance of living.¡±


    ¡°Living? Where? Down on your planet?¡±


    I nod.


    ¡°You must come,¡± shouts Captain Julius as he skids to a stop at the entrance to the lab.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°The lizardmen are going back into the battlecruiser,¡± he gasps.


    ¡°And that is bad because?¡±


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t separated the battlecruiser from the observation ship for good reason. She must have more under her control, lizardmen, the rest of my crew, even other species.¡±


    ¡°They will meet in battle. I suspect the lizardmen prefer a glorious death¡­¡± My words fade as he closes the distance between us and tries to shake my shoulders.


    ¡°No. The lizardmen don¡¯t want death in a glorious battle. They are heading to their section of the ship, where their incubating eggs and nursing females are. They hope to free them all. She won¡¯t let them succeed. I am certain.¡±


    ¡°What do you want me to do?¡±


    ¡°Use your magic, of course!¡± The pleading in his voice borders on hysteria. ¡°I gave them the remaining three unbroken vials of your blood, but they will need more if they are to have any chance.¡±


    Between Koria, Luda and myself, we manufacture more than enough vials, I believe, and he runs off with them.


    ¡°You stay here instead of going to help?¡±


    I lean against a wall and stare hard at Diasha, the Engineer and Navigation Officer of the Scout Ship.


    ¡°Diasha is an odd name, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°No, what? You don¡¯t know anything¡­¡± Her face blushes as she paces away from me towards the back of the lab. Koria and Luda stroll towards her, not understanding, yet certain I would not want her to run off.


    ¡°Your name is no proper first or second. What is your last name?¡±


    ¡°None of your business.¡± She eyes Koria and Luda. ¡°Call them off and let me go, or I will scream. Ed will come running, and you will be in trouble.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t know, do they? They think you are a no-name lowlife who got lucky to attend Space Academy. You did well to pass for one of your kind.¡±


    ¡°How¡­ How did you know?¡± she simpers.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t until now, not for certain.¡± A face of pure hatred glares at me. I cackle. ¡°You must be way down in the pecking order¡­¡± I am fishing¡­


    ¡°A respectable twenty-third in line, I will have you know. Space was and still is my dream.¡± She straightens herself, shoulders back, and looks down her nose. The royal prerogative is on full display.


    Royalty isn¡¯t a ruling class anymore on Earth, more like a snobbish club, more protective than ever of their bloodlines and, hence, breeding. They cooperate in business and government to secure their wealth. While they don¡¯t have subjects anymore, they have employees, some of whom have been such over many generations. Twenty-third is respectable, and therefore, why did they let her follow her dream?


    She continues, ¡°They thought I would fail, but I showed them. And I will escape Scout Ship assignments. I will prove myself.¡± Her speech ends with a royal pout.


    The incognito royal, Diasha Talop, false name, of course, then spills her guts. I am uncertain if this is because of a need to show her superiority or prove she knows secrets. Or to prove the Captain and others trusted her and thereby regain a superiority of some sort. Some of the details, like the dusting of hobgoblins, were meaningless to her, not so much for me.


    ¡°Shut up, you stupid bitch,¡± shouts a voice from the doorway. I glance that way.


    ¡°Ed, he is from the planet below. Who is he going to tell?¡± Tears roll down her cheeks. Does his opinion matter to her?


    Ed shakes his head. ¡°You are stupid, aren¡¯t you? You truly earned your last place in the Academy, didn¡¯t you? Think!¡± He throws me a stare. ¡°Green and ugly, he understands our language. How do you make sense of that?¡±


    Diasha leans back against a wall in the lab and slides down until I reckon her bottom hits the floor while hoping to fall further. I hear her loud sobbing from behind a slab. For some reason, the vulnerable female situation draws me in, and as I consider comforting her, Ed¡¯s judgemental, grating voice demands my attention.


    ¡°Agent, aren¡¯t you? The letter A in GPA is for an Agent in your case, not an Agency.¡±


    I try returning a confusing look. He shakes a finger at me and strolls into the lab proper.


    ¡°Nice try, but I have read the logs.¡± He raises an eyebrow, waiting for what I don¡¯t know. My praise? He grunts. ¡°Well, we all can¡¯t be as brilliant as me.¡± He sidles further into the lab, and finally, I realise his destination. ¡°Logs. Read only. The lowest of the low information. Secured, of course, on a file level, but still readable from a console, even when every other command-and-control circuit on this ship seems, well, hostile. Difficult to explain, but there was a determination to defeat my admin enquires.¡± He smirks while his hand reaches out and rests on the correct button. ¡°Those logs revealed much about you GPA007. That is your true designation, not the suckered original GPA assigned to this ship. With these logs, I am certain I can win my freedom from any undesirable fate that may wait for me.¡± He flashes me a broad smile. Victory is his!


    The needle penetrates his forearm, pumping nanorobots into his bloodstream. His smile turns downward. He should sweat, but of course, the nanorobots are greedy. He croaks out a whimper.


    ¡°The GPA body is not an ordinary, imperfect human one. It is a flesh bag especially grown to cope with the infusion of nanorobots. The GPA, the Agency, wouldn¡¯t want simple humans to benefit from the technology. Otherwise, humanity would be overrun with people superior to others, superior to them and once out, that genie could never be returned. So, you are experiencing rapid dehydration as the nanorobots try to condition your imperfect flesh. So much work to do! They are of a single purpose when injected. Purification and then improvement.¡± I flick my head towards the female hobgoblin on the slab. ¡°Her injection is slow and steady, not requiring much in the way of purification or improvement. Her genetically changed body rests in a pool of water on the slab, which you can¡¯t see because it absorbs the water at the rate the slab supplies it. Perfect unit exchange.¡±


    His body collapses. His outstretched arm breaks above the elbow, unable to arrest his fall. I catch his head before it hits the floor. At my touch, his nanorobots flee to an alternative source of fluid. My body. My nanorobots, though, convert each invader on arrival, and while I gain them, there is another who gains as well. After all of Ed¡¯s briefly gained nanorobots have fled from him, I release his head and allow it to hit the floor. The cracking of bone is loud, with multiple snaps, his flesh holding the fragments together, sack-like. By peeking under the slabs, I can see her. She stares back, her mouth open. I curl my finger in her direction. She shakes her head, trying to deny me. I curl my finger at her once again. Koria and Luda reposition themselves. The human male is no longer a threat. They follow my interest in the human female.


    She looks at them and then slumps. On her bottom, she slides towards me.


    When close enough, I slit my wrist and offer her some blood to drink. Black, thickening and nothing she would believe was tasty. After several gulps, my wound heals, and she can drink in no more. Her sucking lips are around my wrist, trying to draw more.


    ¡°More?¡± she gasps. The black in her eyes pushes away any colouration. Her hand reaches for mine, a brief hesitation, and she brings my hand to one of her breasts. She lurches forward to plant a kiss, and then I feel pain as she bites my bottom lip and draws in more of my blood. Her saliva keeps the flow dribbling until her eyes roll back and only the whites are showing. She shudders and splays out on the lab floor.


    ¡°Is she dead, husband?¡± asks Koria.


    ¡°No, not yet. Her body is trying to adapt. Fortunately, my nanorobots are smarter than others.¡± I flick my head toward the pile of dust. ¡°Especially those newly manufactured.¡±


    A commotion at the doorway draws my attention.


    Captain Julius, with red, green, and black blood splatters on his uniform, speaks quicker than I do. ¡°What is going on here?¡±


    I clear my throat. ¡°The pile of dust is Ed. He tried to inject himself with nanorobots. A human body can¡¯t, by design, if I remember rightly. The one beside me became distraught by his demise and fainted. The one on the slab is being transferred to a female hobgoblin body instead of dying a slow death. Anything else you need to know?¡±


    Cassia, I believe her name is, shoulders past her captain and crouches down, resting on her folding leg beside Diasha, checking her vitals.


    ¡°Cassia, get away from the abomination,¡± says a male member of the Captain¡¯s crew. I scoff at him.


    ¡°How went the battle, Captain?¡±


    ¡°Your blood converted many, allowed the lizardmen to rescue their eggs and convert several females. We didn¡¯t win the battlecruiser. She detached the airlock. The lizardmen are slaying any of hers still on this ship, and I assume any converted are fighting until dead on her ship.¡±


    ¡°What are your plans? You have your senses back, your will?¡± I hope he remembers how and, more importantly, who granted him his freedom.


    ¡°Yes. But we have a mess here, don¡¯t we?¡±


    I raise an eyebrow and flash him a warm smile. ¡°Not so much. The Scout Captain and another are dead. Any secrets they knew died with them. You have the body of a third crew member.¡± I wave at the corpse on the slab. ¡°The fourth will also need to be a corpse, but I will need some time for that miracle because I need to transfer her like I have the other one.¡±


    He swallows but accepts because corpses are certain proof. ¡°Yes¡­ How do you explain our, erm¡­ release?¡±


    I scratch my chin. ¡°You awoke from a terrible dream. Captain Theo quickly explained that he remembered your ship being one that had disappeared years ago. His best friend served on it, so he knew something wasn¡¯t right. His entire crew jumped your away party and barricaded the airlock. The brilliant Science Officer of his utilised the Observation Ship Lab to free your minds by killing the slime somehow. He produced a venom that could do the same for others. Then, all seven of you tried to take back your ship. Alas, failure, but you can at least report a mind-controlling intelligent slime as the unknown enemy humanity has been trying to identify for tens of years. You are a hero. Your two surviving crew are heroes.¡±


    ¡°No! That isn¡¯t the truth, and we must examine his blood so we can fight this slime. We can¡¯t simply walk away. Captain?¡±


    ¡°You are right, of course, Titus. The truth will always win out. What do you say about that, my green-skinned friend?¡±


    Koria strikes like lightning, and Titus smiles red under his chin. He grabs his throat, and air bubbles of red pop from between his lips as he gargles for breath while dropping to his knees. With a wet thud, he lands face down on the floor of the Lab.


    ¡°Captain?¡± squeaks Cassia. ¡°I won¡¯t say a word. You can trust me. I have my life back now, and being a hero sounds perfect. Flush the truth. Captain?¡±


    The Captain and I exchange looks. My arm snakes around her neck, and I ask, ¡°Can you trust her? Or, more importantly, can you pilot the Scout Ship back to Earth by yourself?¡±


    ¡°The sole survivor appeals to me. I need her body, but perhaps you can transfer her to a female one of your kind, like the one on the slab? I can wait, of course.¡±


    The successful transfer of the dying one was a surprise to me, but Tinuna did some boasting when we talked, so perhaps her magic domination of the command and control functions on the Observation Ship broke some barriers.


    ¡°Certainly. Perhaps you should return to the Scout and prepare. I assume Earth would have been asking the excellent Captain Theo for reports.¡±


    ¡°InterSystems communications takes weeks, months sometimes, but yes, I will still need to make everything ready.¡± He turns to leave the lab and then pauses. ¡°The lizardmen, it seems, have finished. What about them?¡±


    ¡°They can¡¯t all fit in the Scout Ship, so perhaps another reason for you to return and make it secure.¡±


    He nods and hurries off. I assume the lizardmen cross paths with him because several males and slimmer females pile into the Lab seconds later. Given their overall leathery look and mouths of sharp teeth, I struggle to read their body language. No emotional cues, no facial expressions¡­ oh joy.

 3.007 And Back Again

    ---Lord Klar POV


    ¡°Where isss the Captain goings?¡± asks a female, to my great surprise. Bulky males shadow her, protective and, if anything, trying to intimidate me. Neither make any move, keeping their jaws shut while their lips ripple to reveal their white, perfectly meshed, and pointed teeth.


    Climbing to my feet helps, but they are still taller, even the female, if only slightly. ¡°He has certain tasks to perform.¡±


    ¡°What is wrong with those two females?¡± The heads of the males lurch over her shoulders, their eyes peering to support her question.


    I had choked Cassia out before their arrival, as I didn¡¯t need her struggling to speak. Given the overly interested audience, I congratulate my forethought.


    ¡°They have become overcome by stress.¡± I nod towards the dust pile that was Ed.


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Ed over there tried to ingest too much of my blood at once. I didn¡¯t realise his aim of attacking me until his mouth latched onto my wrist. I could have warned him, but I am certain he wouldn¡¯t have listened anyway. He had tasted ¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh? We, too, felt invigorated by your blood and considered ¡­ well, asking for more of your¡­ magic.¡± Her bottom lip curls back, revealing a bottom row of fine razor-sharp teeth. Disgust?


    ¡°What are your plans now? You have your freedom.¡±


    ¡°We are wondering why the battlecruiser hasn¡¯t destroyed this ship.¡± Both males now stare at me.


    ¡°If the ship had any projectile weapons, I assume they used them many years ago. Beam weapons would require energy, and perhaps the new owner prefers to save such energy for a fast escape, or someone has locked them out of that weapon system. The Captain didn¡¯t mention that his Navigation Officer survived. Therefore, if he and that officer locked out the weapons, only they could unlock them. The only other alternative would require the return of the ship to Earth. A failsafe in case a ship was ever captured.¡± I take a deep breath. ¡°Probably the only reason a ship that disappeared years ago can still approach human ships with impunity. No weapons powered up.¡±


    ¡°You know much about human spaceships for a green non-human,¡± she replies. Those around her hiss, not threatening, chuckling?


    ¡°The Captain¡­¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°To save more wasted breath, yes, I am certain the Captain told you everything about human spaceships before we arrived. Speaking of which, I assume he has run off to claim the Scout to return him home. Which leaves us with a problem.¡± She looks around the lab. ¡°I assume this ship has been in geostationary orbit for hundreds of years and hence has no long-range propulsion?¡±


    I am going to be honest because it will cost me little. ¡°That I can confirm. It has manoeuvring thrusters but no space jump capability. From what I can tell, the owner transported the ship, section by section, into the solar system by what are called Modular Cutters. As they arrived, they joined the modules, and once finished, they piloted the spacecraft into orbit using the thrusters.¡±


    ¡°More quality time spent with the Captain?¡± The males issue a wet sniffing sound out of largish nostrils and steady themselves against the door-jam. While her lips move, a smirk, perhaps? ¡°In that case, we better get used to each other because we have no other choice¡­¡±


    She is fishing for an offer, of course. I am not human, so I must have arrived on the Observation Ship somehow. ¡°How do you feel about living on the planet below? I know of a suitable chain of what I believe are uninhabited islands. Can you swim in salt water?¡±


    She crosses well-toned arms, and the lab lighting shows off a dark green tint in her dark leathery skin¡ªanother surprise. Maybe our shared greenness makes them friendly?


    ¡°You guess correctly, we have amphibious ancestry, including a particular species most comfortable in freshwater yet adaptable enough to survive for days in salt water. So, a chain of islands would be most acceptable. If inhabited, we will take care of them as we fight for our very existence.¡±


    What was I thinking? Greenness makes us friends? Unlikely. No, we all conclude the same thing. They cannot stay on the Observation Ship and can¡¯t all fit in the Scout Ship. The planet is the only viable destination; therefore, we are acting at being polite because of mutual necessity. On the planet, they will be an aggressive competitor. I hope the GPA will notice this foreign species in the future and eliminate it as required by their rules.


    ¡°Let me take care of these two.¡± I nod towards the two humans. ¡°Then I will see what we can do for food and water. If you are too many and if we are lucky, the Observation Ship will have a second shuttle, and I can start transporting you and others to the surface.¡±


    ¡°Forget searching for food. As soon as you take care of them,¡± she flicks a hand of claws at the two humans. ¡°I want as many as possible on the planet as soon as possible to assess your offer.¡±


    No one trusts anyone anymore. Got it, not friends. Well, so be it, I guess. ¡°Agreed. While you wait, pick your first twelve and if someone can keep their hands to themselves, possibly another.¡±


    ---


    I force-feed Cassia my blood, and while her devotion isn¡¯t as intense as Diasha¡¯s, it is enough that she won¡¯t try too often and too hard to escape the Lab. Koria and Luda can oversee the baking of Linmere. Diasha was helpful, providing her name. The passenger shuttle waited in a ready state. Three return journeys I made. They had saved at least thirty-nine lizardmen. The last flight included several females, warrior types, though. I descended well out to sea and then, skimming above the high cresting saltwater waves of the ocean, approached the biggest island in the chain. When I delivered the second lot of thirteen, the first had found fresh water, tracked several herds of game to hunt, and lumbered enough wood to build several shelters. Best of all, they reported no intelligent competition.


    Linmere¡¯s transfer was completed by then, and instead of playing with the instrumentation in the Lab, I took a harmless gamble and willed what I required. I forced Linmere to drink my blood while still recovering. I assumed she may not be pleased and was right. When the Captain came to collect Ed¡¯s dust, her body, and Titus¡¯, Koria needed to bind her. His explanation for Ed was that he took his experiment a dangerous step too far. Hopefully, they could still sample human DNA from his remains. Titus was, of course, slain unawares by some of the controlled crew in the assault.


    The Chieftain, I guess I would call her, wasn¡¯t happy when I said I would fly the rest down to the planet in the passenger shuttle and follow up with their incubated eggs in the cargo shuttle. Two more flights of females, and then she co-piloted the cargo shuttle with me, fully loaded four times. During this time, a second female hobgoblin flesh bag had grown, and I decided Cassia would be next to begin her new life in a new skin.


    The first arrivals had cleared a landing near where they had built several shelters. This permitted the delivery of the incubated eggs as close as possible to their exact destination, avoiding the need to carry the incubators far. The She Slime didn¡¯t make the incubators, but they allowed the eggs to mature in bulk while freeing the females for whatever else she wanted them to do. Fertilisation? Something convenient now as before my eyes, solar panels deployed, capable of following the sun across the sky. I assumed the panels would harvest enough energy to keep the incubator operational until dawn. Like most human technology, their design followed a standard plan of interlocking modules with options. These were configured to utilise a backup energy source. Did the GPA envision landing at some future stage? Why else would they have habitat modules?


    I returned to the Observation Ship and released a finished and angry Cassia. Diasha, in direct contrast, paced about, almost eager to be next. She was giddy when I strapped her to a slab.


    Linmere, hands and feet bound in metal cuffs and bright green, growls at me, ¡°I rejected her offer. What would make you think I would be happy with yours?¡±


    I flick her nose and chuckle as this sends her into a false flurry, attempting to break free. ¡°I have transformed you to ask you one simple question.¡±


    She nods, trying to urge me on. I amuse myself by waiting until she tries to roll about, and I grab her to position her back in place.


    ¡°Do you want to live?¡±


    She quirks her head.


    ¡°Your human body was almost dead. You would have died. I took a chance to transfer you.¡±


    ¡°Fluck me,¡± she says. ¡°You know the machine can squeeze out a human body as well as it can squeeze out a hobgoblin one, right?¡±


    ¡°You would have been dead before then.¡±


    She grunts and rests her chin on her knees. ¡°Grow a human body and transfer me again.¡±


    ¡°Will that work? Is there a limitation?¡±


    She sniffles. ¡°I don¡¯t know. But look at me. You know what I am, don¡¯t you or was?¡±


    I shake my head.


    ¡°A Shifter, you moron. She, the high and mighty Tinuna, had this plan for me to be the saviour of the Shifter race. Magic? Pfft.¡±


    ¡°You know I did no programming, no manipulation of the settings in the Lab. I sent my will into the Lab, and I have you. Next, was a human transferred into hobgoblin flesh. I am certain she wasn¡¯t a Shifter. My last, which I am now doing, is also a human to hobgoblin transfer.¡±


    ¡°What!¡± she shouts, then frowns. The look is cute on her. ¡°Wipe the dopey look off your face. This is serious. GPAs, only GPAs are prepared, down to their gene level, for this transfer process. Their seeing-the-light knack is essential. The technology, in a controlled manner, makes the entire transfer possible. The GPA dies and is directly reborn into the new flesh. You may see and feel something different as a subject, but that is the scientific process with a dash of Shifter magic to ensure the GPA doesn¡¯t mistake the invitation. So how does this work for two random humans?¡±


    ¡°How did it work for you?¡±


    She grunts and returns her attention to me. ¡°I am a Shifter, my magic¡­¡± she mutters. Is she trying to convince herself? ¡°Fluck! I didn¡¯t entirely believe her, but it must be true if you are or have transferred a human.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I urge.


    ¡°Tinuna said she had total control of the Observation Ship. She also tricked the Scout Ship¡¯s Captain to introduce her will into his ship. Even as we occupy this lab, I am certain she knows of our activities. She spoke of this planet. It was special.¡± Her face flushes green. ¡°Your seed was the key. She insisted I lie with you and ask you to make me one of your wives¡­¡±


    I cough. ¡°I have become somewhat picky about who I take as a wife.¡± Her face draws a blank. She assumed I would be all over her or simply asking would be enough. ¡°I will share my seed with you. That way, you can determine if it is as potent, magic-wise, as Tinuna said, and if so, that may be enough for you to accept your situation.¡±


    She nods, ¡°Alright.¡± She holds her ankles and wrists up towards me. I smile and roll her over to have a perfect view of her helpless and woefully skinny rear. I shrug. Even her tusks are toothpicks. My finger and thumb rub-down the bridge of my non-human nose. What am I thinking sexualising her? Am I going native?


    Another thing for later¡­


    You don¡¯t come off the slab with any clothes on, so I have my way with her. She cursed me, of course, because she expected her freedom in exchange, but I didn¡¯t trust her.


    Linmere screams in delight at the floor as I finish for the third time inside her. While I would like to think this is because of my sexual prowess, I am confident there is another reason. My seed, of course, as predicted by Tinuna, is a key that has unlocked some magical epiphany within her.


    My deliberations falter when I feel a pair of hands caress my shoulders and travel down my chest. A whispering hot breath brushes against my ear. ¡°I beg for your seed, Master. Fill me as many times as you need to sate yourself. My lovely green body is now yours. My will is now your will. Please¡­¡±


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    I crafted each of the female hobgoblin flesh bags to meet my desire. They are not as blatant as Tinuna, but still an above-average attraction. The only exception was Linmere, given I needed to use what was there to save her life. Diasha, though, was exceptional in looks and subservience. Looking into her eyes, I discover deep devotion and take her gently for the first time. The next time, he returns, and I unleash him. I welcome him back. As I thought after exposure, he had diminished. The low fire that was him now roars, wild and triumphant. The word dust springs unbidden into my mind.


    My nanorobots had recently converted the nanorobots that had consumed Ed, taken his life force slowly, one drop of water at a time, and somehow, this had rebuilt him, my inner Hob. The absorption of Ed added a methodical, conniving planning edge to his personality. He declared all the variables upfront. All the future actions he codes to unfold in a specific order. He exudes cruel domination, but he toys with his subject instead of random, wanton lust. The giving and taking of any hope of escape from his sexual teasing is blatant. The lifting of his subject to the edge of release and then disconnecting to saviour their desperate want, done time and time again. Only after she swears undying loyalty again and again did he allow her a needy overdue bliss. The lack of his rage filling my mind permits me an excellent recollection of his glorious deviant manipulations. He is truly the master.


    He wants to begin again, but a clearing of a throat alerts me, and after some effort, I regain control. Diasha flops, spent, sprawling across the floor as I release her.


    ¡°Her body is still on the slab, and you are welcome,¡± I say. The effort to level my voice is a waste as I convince neither him nor I.


    ¡°Thank you. I think I am set. I notice no lizardmen, so you have shuttled them all to the planet now?¡±


    ¡°Unless one wants to stow away. My wives and I will be through before we leave.¡±


    My Inner Hob whines while the Captain hefts the corpse of Diasha, the former Engineer and Navigation Officer of the Scout Ship, onto a gurney. In silence, he makes for the door. At the last moment, he looks over his shoulder.


    ¡°Good luck. I am certain I will enjoy my time as a hero. They have vastly improved communication in the past years, so I reported in. My superiors will welcome me back with open arms, pleased the unknown enemy is now revealed and equally impressed that I knew nothing about the Scout Ship crew or their mission except to say they tried to help me and died in the attempt.¡±


    I am also confident, given what Linmere said, that any logs will report the planet searched and all anomalies dusted.


    Diasha stirs, and I unshackle my Inner Hob. He pounces.


    ---


    Releasing Diasha from a session of deep bloody kissing, I am sure of her absolute devotion. She will follow me in the cargo shuttle and stay on track. Diasha saunters off. I ask Koria and Luda if they would keep her company, and they grip me all the tighter. Through our bond, I sense their overriding judgment. They believe her crazy. Luda and Koria hasten to join Linmere and Cassia in the passenger shuttle while I slide into the pilot¡¯s seat without a co-pilot. Diasha pre-programmed my flight, so in theory, I would just need to sit back and relax.


    Taking both shuttles would ensure no one who visited the Observation Ship could take a quick trip to the planet¡¯s surface. If a visiting spaceship were big enough, they would, of course, carry their own Shuttles, but a Scout Ship, for example, wouldn¡¯t, which was helpful. I doubt the GPA would send any large ship now that they knew who their mysterious enemy was. In fact, I am sure they will be busy hunting xenophobes for the next five hundred years.


    The Lizardmen island chain rising before me on the horizon signals the start of a steep climb into the clouds before landfall. I explained to Diasha that we needed to use cloud cover to sneak back into the valley of the hobgoblins. Like Tinuna, I told her and advised her to study Tinuna¡¯s flight plan.


    As the climb begins, the Shuttle continues, but instead of continuing higher, the Shuttle inverts, and now I am flying upside down and heading towards Diasha¡¯s Shuttle. Why is this happening? Then, I grip the arms of the chair. She should veer away to avoid a collision¡­


    Instead, an energy beam shoots towards me or over me. Behind the cockpit, I hear the tearing of metal and witness the side of the shuttle, a complete set of doors separate. Losing aerodynamics is the least of my concerns. In horror, I observe one small and three large bodies tumble free, falling towards the ocean far below me.


    The Shuttle completes the overhead manoeuvre and levels out. The wind buffet shakes the shuttle, but otherwise, I am safe in the cockpit. My passengers and a cargo bay door are now well behind me, and Diasha¡¯s shuttle is now leading. After a desperate search, I find the beam weapon controls and press. An alert sounds, and a voiceover follows, ¡°Weapon system locked out.¡± I curse my impotence.


    My Shuttle doesn¡¯t climb into the clouds. A short while after, I realise my Shuttle is playing ¡®follow the leader¡¯ to Diasha¡¯s Shuttle, and we are far from land but parallel. Well, north, she turns her shuttle landward, and mine obediently follows. We cross the coastline, and below us, the land is desolate. Land that suffers because of creeping frost during the colder months and then during the summer retreat, lifeless ground reveals itself. The permanent ice cap is still further north.


    Onto this tundra, my shuttle lands when she lands. My seatbelt releases, and I punch the control to open the door separating me from the passenger compartment. The seating is still there, but four seatbelt ends are all free, flailing about. I dash through the open side of my shuttle and race towards the cargo shuttle.


    She sits on the edge of the cargo bay, her swinging legs dangling over the edge with the broadest, happiest smile on her face. She leaps from her perch, skipping and jumping her way towards me.


    ¡°We are alone, Master. None can interrupt us while we enjoy each other. We can live in sweet eternal bliss!¡± she cries out joyfully.


    As she leaps. She, of course, expects me to catch her. I don¡¯t. My inner Hob and I agree on another course of action. My hands clamp onto either side of her still-smiling face. With a twist, my rage, the fuel, I hear her neck snap. Her body flops about, and I think the impossible. She survives. Then her body drops limp in my hands. I study her face for a time to make sure the crazy is dead and throw her carcass on the frozen ground. Once done, I only now realise how cold I am. The wind chill is fierce, and I leap into the cargo bay of the Cargo Shuttle and slap the control panel. The cargo bay doors close with a whoosh. Instantly, my nanorobots absorb the sleet on my flesh and defeat any lingering cold.


    I enter the cockpit and strap myself in. As I reach for the controls and start pressing what I need to prepare the Shuttle for flight, a voiceover says, ¡°Please enter the flight release code. To prevent premature departure, the assigned pilot has locked out the controls.¡± Worse, I recognise the voice, Diasha¡¯s. She must have been an expert on shuttles to override the ship¡¯s voice. I surmise she probably would have flown shuttles to earn enough to make a living between Scout Ship assignments. With a grimace, I recall checking with her several times to see if she felt capable of piloting a shuttle by herself. Reference Linmere¡¯s flight path! Her overflowing eagerness is understandable now¡­ as well as her multiple back and forth between both Shuttles in preparation, whereas I thought she needed the time to remind herself how. Diasha locking the flight controls also prevents me from doing an ocean search. I can only assume I have lost two wives and two consorts to the sea. The cost of my blind overconfidence¡­


    As I am about to crumble, he roars to remind me. My wives will return. The other two were yet to be.


    The wind carried sleet, and wave upon wave coats the cockpit windows. There isn¡¯t enough food to remain here, so I search for another essential. A flight jumpsuit is under the pilot¡¯s seat, and I find another under the co-pilot¡¯s seat. There is a red axe in the cargo area. No other clothing. I climb into the larger of the two flight jumpsuits, the second I wear over the first, but only at the arms, making the second suit into an ad hoc cape or cloak, although I shorten both legs and tie the remains around my waists. The two offcuts I wrap around my feet like socks and then retie the leather throngs of my primitive boots. Next, I visit my shuttle, determined to cut off all the seatbelts and tie them into a makeshift rope. I end up tumbling backwards after ripping the first free, cursing as I do. On inspection, I discovered the perforation across each seat belt near the floor anchor end. The intent is clear; they look sound enough and would hold well enough to tolerate strapping in, but they would easily rip free under stress. Swearing at her scheming, I quickly end up with a rope of sorts instead of the struggle I expected and, with bitterness, judge this better than nothing.


    With the remaining daylight, I demand my body keep an alternating pace of running and then jogging. Shortly after, my nanorobots sense my urgency. Balancing my energy levels reaches a satisfying equilibrium, and I know I make good time. The cold, biting wind is at my back, propelling me forward. My improvised coat keeps my core warm while my nanorobots distribute this warmth to my extremities. I continue running into the night. The devastated land holds little in the way of surprises for my footfalls, and my eyes utilise every glint of starlight to see in the night. The sleet that coats the back of my bald head provides my nanorobots with enough water to fuel my non-stop trek. My inner Hob, of course, seethes with rolling emotion. Her death was appropriate, yet too quick¡­


    When I discover a stream or creek, I stop to drink. Sips only, so the freezing water doesn¡¯t lower my core temperature before my nanorobots consume to refuel. My trek is continuous. I do briefly sleep, always in the middle of the day with sunshine on my head and behind a windbreak of some sort, a rare log, a depression, or a shallow gully, even the bank of a dry riverbed. My count of the days is vague, sixty days at least, probably more, before I reach a place of less wind and snow.


    With the warm sun on my back and the chill now out of the air, I take the time to bury my flight jumpsuits in a deep hole, digging some more each time I think I am done. The discovery of them would be a shock, I believe, and possibly begin some awkward questioning. My axe strikes flint rock, and the sparks encourage the small twigs and stone-shaven bark to smoke until they take to flame. I place this nest of fire on the jumpsuits, and shortly after, they are aflame. I watch the fire dance and consume the material down to black embers.


    The knock on the back of my head gives me pause. Try as I might to fight, the wave of unconsciousness sweeping over me succeeds. In my last moment of surrender, I ask my nanorobots how they could not prevent this.


    ---


    Blinking awake, I try to wipe my eyes and realise my wrists are bound. Same for my ankles, yet I am upright? I feel a backboard against my shoulders. This is somewhat familiar, and with my jaw set, I glance down. A neat pile of evenly cut logs surrounds my perch. I growl through my teeth.


    ¡°It is good you have woken. Your blood smells and tastes of the evil Lord Klug. He and his worshippers ever a curse on the land, forcing good peoples into desperate exile to escape his madness.¡±


    ¡°Their journey was long and dark through the mountain,¡± chant a chorus of voices around me again and again.


    Have I escaped one crazy to find another?


    ¡°Let the flame cleanse you of your evil. Let the pain you endure separate you from his bondage. We take no joy in this. This is our holy duty.¡±


    The chant rises again. ¡°Their journey was long and dark through the mountain.¡±


    Throughout this ceremony, I twist and contort my wrists to draw blood. My nanorobots get busy weakening the cord binding my wrists. I test them every time she speaks until, finally, they rip. I bend over and yank at first one and then the rope around the other ankle.


    She stops her sermon.


    ¡°Fire the wood, now, I say, quickly! The beast is trying to escape!¡±


    As the first fire carrier approaches, I leap at him and smash his hobgoblin face with my fist. Joy fills my heart as I hear his bones crack. I catch the falling torch and charge the goblin crone. She screams, gathering her black robes to flee. I am over her and swing my flaming torch down on her head. The torch breaks. Such is the force behind my blow. Her dead body crumples and lies still. All around, goblins and hobgoblins flee. My inner Hob rejoices, anticipating an inevitable slaughter is about to begin.


    All the campfires and torchlights in the village are out shortly after. While they may have panicked, they had enough sense to do this one thing. Rightly believing any attacker would only stumble in the dark while they, familiar with the layout of their village during the day, would allow them to reach safety during the night.


    My eyes adjust to draw in and use starlight. Off in the distance, several hobgoblins dress in armour while goblins prepare bows and quivers on either side. I pick up a log and toss one at a goblin. With a squeak, he drops to the ground and doesn¡¯t get up. The group pauses and looks about. A log hits a goblin on the other side of the group. I continue this until the remaining few are ready for battle. Painful groaning instead of a battle cry accompanies them as they advance towards me. How they know where I am is beyond me. I reposition behind the pyre, and they stop and peer into the night again. They can see in the dark, perhaps, but only over a short distance.


    I test this by crouching down and creeping around the pyre, so I am closer, yet farther away than I was initially. Sure enough, they spot me and advance once again. I disappear again out of their range behind the pyre and, picking up a lump of wood in each hand, I charge them from the opposite side where they last sighted me. My surprise is complete, and I whack their heads until they fall to the ground. My Inner Hob is celebrating within me, and our lust for battle doesn¡¯t end until a cacophony of groans and rolling bodies lies at my feet.


    After one last check, I throw my logs back onto the pile around the pyre. ¡°Come out now and prostrate before me, and I may spare your lives. If even one of you runs, I will slay five to sate my anger,¡± I growl.


    They exit their huts in family groups, females and children. Goblins and hobgoblins. Only a few older males are with them. I assume some husbands and sons lay unconscious at the far end of the village because of my log throwing. Several torches are lit, and the central village clearing fills with light. Their whimpering in the dark continues with more ardour in the morning.


    ¡°Who is in charge here?¡± I ask.


    They point to the dead crone and then quickly rethink and point to another. Another female goblin, her robes not as plentiful yet still black and with bent back, scuttles forward one haphazard step after another.


    ¡°Yes, evil one. What are your commands? We swear to serve you if you spare our lives.¡±


    That is more like it, I say to myself. I know the ocean is on one side, and impenetrable mountains are on the other. Behind me is a cold waste, so only the south can be anything better, and my new followers will ease my passage or die trying. I decide on a demonstration of loyalty and, thinking back to the Observation Ship, command my nanorobots to instil loyalty.


    ¡°Come forth and receive my blood and swear your loyalty to me.¡±


    Her hands cover her mouth, and she looks about for what? Help? Her fellow villagers look away. Some do so while crying. She edges forward.


    Losing my patience, I advance on her and grab her by the throat. Her feet dangle free.


    ¡°Swear your oath to me?¡± I snarl.


    ¡°I swear I will serve you, Lord¡­ erm.¡± Her eyes meet mine, questioning.


    ¡°I am Lord Klar.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. I will serve Lord Klar until you have no use for me or until my death.¡±


    ¡°Good. I swear to protect you from all harm except my wroth if you disappoint me.¡± I drag my free wrist over one of my tusks and squeeze my hand, allowing a steady stream of my blood to drop into her mouth. Her face begins in disgust, and as I lower her to signal our oath binding is at an end, I notice her eyes narrow while she licks her lips.


    I include every male, female, child goblin, and hobgoblin in the oath-binding ceremony. Towards the end, the villagers ferret out a few of their reluctant neighbours, and I am satisfied. My primary aim is to be confident enough of their loyalty that I can sleep without fear of being stabbed.


    After several long nights of undisturbed sleep and the fawning attention of most in the village, I am awoken one morning to a committee of three led by the goblin crone.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.008 More Villages Part 1

    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°Lord, we apologise for disturbing you, but the village needs protection. Normally, we could scare them off by assembling our warriors, but you have dealt them some grievous injuries, and now the few fit enough are currently being laughed at. Our enemies are demanding tribute.¡±


    ¡°Show me your enemies,¡± I growl while my inner Hob celebrates.


    They lead me to the assembly point, and the number of goblins and hobgoblins is half what I faced that first night. In the distance, on a wolf, is an immense goblin. Flanking him on foot are two hobgoblins who tower over the goblin, even while he sits astride his mount.


    ¡°Fetch my red axe,¡± I ask no one in particular, yet after several heartbeats, the axe is in my hand, and I am storming towards the trio, holding my village to ransom.


    The goblin smiles and licks his lips. ¡°Are you the village champion?¡± he shouts with confidence as he shuffles his arse while astride his wolf mount.


    I continue advancing in silence. Behind these three are primarily female hobgoblins holding the centre. Each flank contains mostly male goblin archers. They exchange nervous glances. With every step forward, the hobgoblins know their windows of opportunity to charge and intercept my rapid advance diminish. I reached the point of no return shortly after. The angle is now too narrow to permit the archers to release arrows, and be sure none will strike the wolf rider instead of me.


    He glances left and then right. He swallows while dropping his smile. I am confident he now realises his overconfidence has positioned him too far forward. He hisses with desperate anger at what I assume are his bodyguards.


    They advance towards me and swing their swords in unison, one high and one low. I block high with my axe and dart beside the holder so his companion¡¯s sword swings through the vacant air. Even at a disadvantage, my strength overpowers his to twist the block. He manages a grunt as he accepts his fate. I sweep his sword away. My axe, now free, shears through his neck. As his head falls from his shoulders, his partner hesitates in shock. A moment is all I need, and my backswing takes his head off his shoulders as well. I observe the graceful arc of the head sailing away to my left.


    Dull clubbing alerts me. The goblin kicks furiously with his heels into the wolf¡¯s flanks, trying to turn him about. In response, I grab a sword from one of his bodyguards and fling the weapon at him. End over end, it flies. When I think the hilt will hit fair square in his back, his wolf leaps forward, permitting the sword to complete a final arc and bury itself through his back, stopping at the hilt. I assume the tip bursts out of his chest. The wolf sniffs over his shoulder and whines.


    As I approach the gathered troops, I growl at the wolf, which drops to the ground.


    ¡°Who is in charge here?¡±


    They look at the goblin rider, hoping, I guess beyond hope, that he somehow still lives. Then, they chat and eventually decide on a male hobgoblin. He is skinny for a hobgoblin but tall as one should be. I shake my head.


    ¡°Take me to your crone.¡±


    They suck in a collective breath. None object though, and like a shepherd, I herd my goblin and hobgoblin sheep before me until around the middle of the day, we enter what I assume is their village. One of the goblin archers hurries off ahead, and shortly after, a black-robed, I guess female crone shuffles towards me.


    ¡°Where is he?¡±


    The goblin archer who fetched her leans over and whispers in her ear. Before he finishes, she glares at me while her hands tremble slightly while holding her staff. Something my village crone doesn¡¯t have, I note.


    ¡°What tribute do you demand?¡±


    I rest my axe, dried black blood still on its head, on my shoulder and answer, ¡°Your loyalty. Swear an oath to me, and I will let you live.¡±


    My sheep, who stood off on each side of me, now swarm into the gap between the crone and me while hefting their weapons. I bend down and pick up a rock. Before any can blink, I throw it at the tall, skinny hobgoblin. His eyelids flutter, and then his body falls back like a tree hewed clean through at the base. They glance at him and then reappraise me.


    A narrow, clear passage remains, and I call her to me. I see her calculating the odds. Indeed, she thinks, he can¡¯t defeat us all, the entire village, if need be. Then her eyes go wide. I toss a rock in my hand while I lock my eyes on hers. She gets the message. In any attack on me, she will be the first to fall. She lifts her robes and scrambles forward with haste.


    ¡°Well, met crone, I am Lord Klar. Now swear your oath of loyalty to me.¡±


    ¡°I swear to serve Lord Klar faithfully and fully until the end of my days.¡± She bows and then straightens. With one hand, I grab her by the neck and drag her to me. Her feet flail in panic.


    ¡°I swear to protect you while you remain loyal to me.¡± I slash my wrist on one of my tusks. Her eyes open wide in shock and stay open as I drip my blood into her mouth. As I return her to her feet, she licks her lips. My bleeding arm hangs beside my body. Without hesitation, she rushes forward and sucks up every drop she can until I flick my wrist and detach her. ¡°Enough.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. I reach for too much. Please don¡¯t punish your loyal servant.¡±


    ¡°Ensure all in this village swear their loyalty to me. None hide or otherwise run off.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡± She scampers away and sends a few goblin archers running in all directions while the rest of the village troop pushes towards me. By late afternoon, we are done. I rise from the wood stump I have been sitting on while accepting their oaths and stretch with satisfaction. The three empty water-skins I leave for another to take care of.


    ¡°Lord?¡± asks the crone.


    ¡°I must return.¡±


    She looks around, and the villagers gather around her. ¡°We have sent a messenger, Lord, that you will stay to feast with us tonight.¡±


    ¡°Are you telling me what I can and can¡¯t do and when?¡±


    She throws herself at my feet. ¡°No, Lord. We thought, we thought, to enjoy your company. We beg your forgiveness if we thought wrong. Punish me, Lord. I am the crone of the village. Only I must bear the burden of our poor decisions.¡±


    My fingers wrap around her throat; they play, a light squeeze. She swallows and shudders. With her dangling in my grip, we retire to her hut. I can stand inside, and the one-room abode is large enough to swing a goblin in. Instead of swinging her, I lower her onto her bedroll.


    ¡°Remove your ceremonial robes. I would like to see the face of my loyal crone.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡± She drops the main robe, a bulky woollen garment that wraps around her several times. Beneath, she wears a linen top and skirt. Leather slip-on-type shoes cover her feet. She flicks back a cowl-type cap, a secondary covering to ensure her face is in shadow. My crone in this village is young and shapely.


    ¡°Do I please you, Lord?¡± Her eyes look down, which is as it should be. My inner Hob is urging me on, and I step forward.


    There is a commotion, including shouting and counter-shouting. She bites her lip. ¡°I must dress. Lord, there is something amiss.¡± I wave my hand. In quick time, she dresses herself and hurries outside. I make myself at home, swing a gourd of water and lay back on her bedroll, my boots way past the end. No sooner am I relaxed than two crones disturb my peace¡ªone from each village.


    ¡°You see, as I said, Lord Klar is staying in our village for the night.¡±


    The other stares at me, sulking. ¡°Is this true, Lord? After you defended us, we thought you would return, and we would celebrate your triumph.¡±


    I wave them both forward. Any former reluctance is long gone, as they bustle and shove to be as close to me as possible without touching me.


    Using a hand on each, I disrobe them. They flush green in unison. Their flush grows more profound as I loosen fastenings and cause more of their clothes to slip from their bodies. Both of my crones are of similar age. Both are shapely and pleasant of face, now naked and their eyes downcast.


    ¡°Do you wish to have a child?¡±


    They share a glance. ¡°Yes, Lord,¡± they whisper.


    ¡°Do you wish for a goblin or hobgoblin child?¡±


    I hear them both suck in a breath and then snap their heads up so they can check I haven¡¯t turned into some horror and look at their feet again. ¡°Female hobgoblin, Lord,¡± they answer, this time one after another.


    ¡°Do you know how to survive a hobgoblin child birthing?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord, we crones follow the teachings of Luda Reborn, the Daughter of Luda, the Deep Delver, the survivor of the Dark.¡±


    Could this be true? It must be true. Why would they need to lie?


    ¡°Lord? Have we said something that offends you?¡± Their trembling hands reach across and find each other. ¡°We will always be loyal to you, Lord, but we can¡¯t forsake our sacred teachings. Our village survives or fails by the growing ways. Our hobgoblin birthing ritual ensures the mother and baby lives. We care for our animals and keep bees using the revered methods.¡± Because of my silence, they think I am angry. They drop to their knees, sobbing.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to be untrue to your teachings. In fact, I forbid you to. Hold on to them as you would your own lives.¡± They both rush me, leaping and throwing their arms around my neck, forgetting themselves. When my hands caress their backs, they realise their folly and try to untangle themselves.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°You realise your fault then, my crones.¡±


    They sob while nodding their heads slowly. I punish them both with pleasure. Several times each until daybreak. Their moaning and pleading for more shameless. After a brief sleep, they take great pains to prance naked in front of me while washing themselves down. I know they can¡¯t dally forever as they have responsibilities. After their quick test of temptation and no move from me, they reluctantly dress in their respective robes.


    ¡°I will need some rest today.¡± I stretch and rub my eyes. ¡°You seem to have worn me out.¡± They giggle behind their hands. ¡°Wake me for lunch.¡± I roll over and pretend to fall immediately to sleep. As they leave the hut, a hum of conversation breaks out around them, questions and more questions. All this gradually fades, and I welcome the silence¡ªLuda¡¯s daughter. No one knew what became of her. She led her people into the mountain and apparently through. Given I have seen the mountains from above, how many years of digging would that have taken? How did they survive? What did they eat? Drink?


    ¡°Lord?¡±


    A female hobgoblin. I remember her face; she held the centre of the battle line for my first village, I think. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Would you lay with me and grow a male hobgoblin in my belly? Lord?¡±


    ¡°What about your husband?¡±


    ¡°He was a goblin you slew with a log, Lord. A goblin.¡± The disgust in her voice is plain. ¡°We were only betrothed but not yet married.¡±


    I wave her in. She slips inside the hut and takes the time to knot the ties on the cured hide door. ¡°Given I slew your potential husband, it seems you are due compensation.¡±


    This continues throughout the day. It seems I slew many more than I thought I did, given the number of widows I serviced. My crones didn¡¯t return at lunchtime, but others fed me. I suspect many false emergencies occupied them. Their moaning the night before encouraged this conspiracy. I am certain curiosity, and the fear of missing out were the primary drivers of this farce.


    By the end of the day, I looked for the crones and laid down what I wanted. Over the next ten days, all the potential females of childbearing age from both villages I fertilised with my seed. On the eleventh day, I needed to slay my first jealous husband. On the twelfth, I left both villages and continued my travels. My only regret? In my haste, I left my axe behind.


    After two days of travelling day and night, I discovered a third village, this one substantially more significant because cultivated fields started a long way out from the village proper. If I kept to myself, the farming goblins would watch me, but, in the end, they decided I was neither friendly nor unfriendly. Any potential trouble would simply pass by with me. Oddly, they didn¡¯t think much about where I came from because if they did, I am sure they would have raised an alarm.


    I spotted enough male hobgoblins to ensure I wasn¡¯t unique, which was a relief. What I didn¡¯t count on was that the male hobgoblins invariably kept constant company with at least three and occasionally with five or six female hobgoblins. I am confident at some point, my unaccompanied presence would be gossip, and I, too, would gain female company.


    ----


    A thumping on the Inn¡¯s door to my room wakes me. I flick my eyes open, and a faint shimmer of light tries to frame the ill-fitting window shutter across from my flee-riddled bed.


    ¡°Coming.¡±


    They allow me time to dress and open the door. Four female hobgoblins, swords and shields at the ready, greet me. Two bees chasing each other head to tail in the circle decorate their shields. Luda influence?


    I shrug as they escort me past the Innkeeper. She expected me to stay longer, I am sure.


    My escort doesn¡¯t lay a hand on me, and I suspect they believe I am a docile, helpless hobgoblin as they point out obstacles, like missing or proud cobblestones, warning of the next street we need to turn into¡ªmore like tour guides. A large central stone building, three or four floors, dominates the settlement. I decide this is a town, not a large village, a coastal town. The fresh morning breeze carries the smell of brine.


    Many opening their shops for the day note my passing or my escort or both, as do many passing by, some stopping and staring. After a short while, the growing number of female hobgoblins and their chatter grow. They follow us through many winding streets until we reach the large stone building. Two large open gates lead into a vast open courtyard. Female guards stand stiff and at attention at regular intervals until directly in front, lounging in a throne-like chair larger than her, is a Luda lookalike. Not a goblin, but if she was reborn as a hobgoblin. A crone whispers in one ear while a soldier-type whispers in the other.


    When the guards halt, so do I, the whispering as well.


    With sensual languishing effort, she pushes herself free of her throne. Her clothes blend woollens, cotton, and fur trimmings¡ªthe occasional run of gems and pearls for decoration. Two large yellow stones hang as earrings: her plain gold crown, the singular oddity in an otherwise deliberate display of wealth and craftsmanship.


    After circling me twice, and I need to withhold my curiosity and not swivel my head or shift my body to inspect her, she returns to her throne. She is silent, and given I can¡¯t spy on her, I have ample opportunity to assess those females who followed us. They are now happier, their eyes intense and only on me. Are their eyes feasting on me? Is my flesh being appraised?


    The soldier steps forward. A lack of jewels is more than made up by the fact she wears fine chainmail and, in places, partial plate, forearms, shins, and abdomen. An etching of the two bees adorns the abdomen plate. If the scabbard and hilt of the sword are any hint, I assume the sheathed blade is also of high quality.


    ¡°We have an available male. He has walked from the northern villages, perhaps the northern waste. He carries no weapons. His hands are callus free.¡± There is an undercurrent of whispering from others. ¡°His wealth seems limited to what he now wears, plus a few coins. The innkeeper reports he is strong and willing, lifting several beer barrels when asked.¡±


    I don¡¯t seem to remember that, so is this a storytime show, or am I part of an auction?


    The Soldier returns to stand beside the throne, and the crone shuffles forward. Her robes aren¡¯t woollen; they somehow shine in the sun. Curious.


    ¡°As Luda the Delver decrees, all must give birth. All males need to be in service, so step forward if you wish to challenge for this one¡¯s company until first born and perhaps longer if you establish a lasting bond?¡±


    All the females who followed took a step forward. Several of the Courtyard guards also, and to no one¡¯s surprise except mine, one of my escorts. As she steps forward, two companions pat her shoulder, yet their faces are grim.


    I hold up a hand. ¡°What if I don¡¯t wish to be of service? What if I have business elsewhere?¡±


    A warm smile crosses the lips of Queen Luda Lookalike. She takes a breath and begins softly as a mother talking to her recalcitrant child. ¡°You can refuse, but you must drink, eat, and sleep, and so, no matter how powerful or lucky you believe you are, Luda the Delver will deal out her punishment for those who don¡¯t serve.¡±


    ¡°Their journey was long and dark through the mountain.¡± The chant reverberates through the courtyard. Several heartbeats later, the chant returns through the open gates. Did the entire town reply?


    ¡°It is strange that you are so unaware?¡± She shuffles closer and looks me up and down. I follow her with my eyes, trying to stare her out. A stab of pain. She draws the smallest of blades to her lips. The bleeding on my forearm stops almost as soon as it starts.


    She spits and hisses. Gathering her robes, she retreats towards the throne while throwing looks of disgust over her shoulder. Once there, she straightens and points directly at me.


    ¡°He is the spawn of Rexa! He carries Lord Klug¡¯s blood!¡±


    That thins out my number of suiters¡­


    Queen Luda Lookalike shoots forth from her throne. ¡°The law is the law. He is male. Therefore, he must serve.¡± She stares at each of my former suitors, a lingering death stare. Only two rejoin the contest. For one who has held steadfast, my escort seems disappointed.


    ¡°Their journey was long and dark through the mountain.¡± Again, the Town replies.


    ¡°We have a contest! As the prize, you choose.¡± She points at me.


    While I don¡¯t just sense it, I know they revile me, yet they quickly offer advice with sharp catcalls. They all must appreciate a good contest.


    ¡°Strength of arms!¡± shouts several, and laughter is the reply. My soft hands and lack of a weapon, I suppose.


    ¡°Poetry? Housecleaning!¡± More laughter.


    ¡°Drinking contest!¡± I shout. ¡°Luda¡¯s Mead.¡±


    Instant silence. Maybe I should have waited ¡­ for them to suggest some more.


    Queen Luda Lookalike eases herself out of her throne. The crone shuffles in front of her, and after sharing a silent, staring contest, the crone returns to her place.


    Her words grind out, ¡°You aim to service me? You reach high indeed. Was this your plan all along? Are you ignorant or an agent of the High Priestess Rexa, who has somehow found us after all these years?¡± She screams, ¡°I would have the truth before we go any further!¡±


    ¡°Ignorance. I plead ignorance. I have lived a soft life, and drinking mead is as natural as drinking water, but I never had the wealth to drink Luda¡¯s Mead. My folly, therefore, I choose strength of arms. Yes?¡±


    I wish to avoid wholesale bloodshed. This peaceful town doesn¡¯t deserve my wrath, even the two villages I tried to subdue instead of leaving behind wholesale slaughter. Losing Koria and Luda weighs on me more than I realise, even after many days. How can I slaughter Luda¡¯s spawn now?


    ¡°Luda¡¯s Sunshine,¡± she says and cocks an eyebrow.


    ¡°Of course. But we can push that aside. I name strength of arms.¡± I blast everyone with my best wide, flashing smile.


    None react.


    ¡°Do you know the rules of the contest?¡±


    I could say no. I could guess. Surely, as an intelligent person, I can guess. The villagers didn¡¯t complain when I took them all without a contest. ¡°I win, and I am free to go. They win, and I must lie with them?¡±


    ¡°Ignorant,¡± hisses the crone. While Queen Luda Lookalike¡¯s face relaxes somewhat.


    ¡°No one can alter the contest once declared. There aren¡¯t any scriptures that describe such an occurrence.¡± She taps her chin. ¡°The contest isn¡¯t about your servicing. It is about your service. You win, and you decide if any females remain by your side once pregnant. You can, in most ways, consider them your slaves. They win, and the reverse is true. One or more can keep you by their side to service them whenever and how often they require. Through multiple pregnancies, even. Only when your seed fails will they consider releasing you. After all, breeding is paramount.¡±


    The only thought I have is the fact that either way, the contest will trap me here for at least nine months ¡­


    While deep in thought, preparations for the contest continue around me, and by the time I have run out of peaceful options, they have made everything ready. A long table, four chairs and mugs on one side, the same on the other. At one end, two females from the crowd take their seats, followed by my guard escort and then the Queen.


    I face the Queen first. We both drink, and then I move along. As I finish one round, it dawns on me that the more individuals challenge the male, the greater the chance of the male being defeated. The thought almost instantly sobers me.


    Luda¡¯s Sunshine is strong liquor and must be expensive such that few can afford to drink it. The two females from the crowd slide from their chairs first. I hear them fall while taking a drink before the Queen. I shift across and watch my warrior escort finish her drink. She empties the mug, holding it upside down to show the crowd.


    I grab the mug freshly placed before me. Looking up, our eyes lock. She is intense. ¡°Why so unhappy when many wanted to join?¡±


    Her face is stoic. She replies, ¡°A male will face a final four. All the females must win the contest between all the suitors first to earn their place. We have jumped the step I have always failed at.¡±


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you happy now? I will seed you either way?¡±


    She waits until I drain my cup. ¡°In a one-on-one contest, the female chooses, and I would have chosen strength of arms, of course.¡±


    The Queen adds, ¡°When there is an outnumbered male, he chooses.¡±


    ---


    My guard escort is the next to slide off her chair. She fights, trying to hold the edge of the table. When she needs to reach for her next mug, she comes undone.


    The Queen¡¯s eyes are sleepy. There are no other outward signs, and she finishes another mug. I drink my reply slowly, feigning a drunken state. My nanorobots, of course, metabolise the alcohol rapidly, extract any water and store any energy. Before her next drink, she calls for a stool, and then I hear an unmistakable steady tinkle. I realise she is emptying her bladder. She straightens her dress, resumes her position at the table and downs another mug using measured sips.


    By the rules, I have three slaves who will fornicate with me when I demand them to and once pregnant, I can keep them or desert them. The Queen remains. Her capacity to tolerate Luda¡¯s Mead is prodigious.


    Around midday, her arms flail slightly, and the crone rushes to her side. The Queen¡¯s eyes are closed.


    The crone hisses, ¡°She is yours, stranger, but be aware that if you harm her, you will not escape our justice.¡±


    My three slaves, awake by this time, even if slumping across the table, are silent, as is everyone else in the courtyard. I believe, on some level, I am now king or at least the Queen¡¯s Consort. She is undoubtedly akin to being my slave, and if I must endure nine months of captivity in this town, I should at least spend the time in complete luxury and breeding oblivion.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.009 More Villages Part 2

    ---Tinuna, Shifter of the GPA Observer Ship POV


    She pads towards me, her head down, and I wave her away. I would stamp a foot, but since her carnivorous maw severed one leg above the knee and another below the knee, this display of displeasure is impossible.


    ¡°Find water and fetch me food,¡± I command her. The gushing of my blood into her mouth, along with the amount of blood in my legs when she chewed them off, soon, but not soon enough, took control of this tiger-like creature. I say tiger-like because although a youth, she is bigger than an earth tiger and has enormous fangs. Not making an allowance for the curve, they are still impressive. As long as my forearms.


    Several days passed, and we settled into a routine. She hunts, I eat. She carries me to the water and scares away the threats. This protection lets me drink peacefully and hold my leg stumps in the water for quality healing time. Then we escape to our lair, a depression beside a fallen tree.


    Every evening, my eyes follow the setting sun and I curse my overconfidence. I had almost crossed the plains, unharmed, when my pet pounced. Being taken and held by goblins still burnt my pride, so this second ignominy only made me more determined to rise. There is also the fact that it took a whelp like Vorlora to show me how to escape, even if an opportunity didn¡¯t happen until weeks after she did. I surmise her antics also contributed to that!


    From our humble lair, I spied a couple of sizeable mixed hobgoblin and goblin groups fleeing south over these restful days. The temptation to follow them overflows when a third group passes, and I make ready to leave our lair. My healing favoured the leg bitten or chewed off above the knee, which is now complete. Mounting my pet, my two bootless leg stumps wave about on each side of her enormous stomach. With a flick of my mind, she bounds forward in the direction I command.


    We eventually catch up to stragglers and observe them for a day and a night. They plod on during the day and eat the minimum food at night. They may survive without help. I wait until they break camp and witness them crowd around a miracle¡ªslain game. I tickle my tiger behind the ears and explain the reason with my mind. She is pleased; I am satisfied.


    Three days passed, and we caught up with what I assume is the primary group. The one the stragglers once travelled with. I observe their camp trying to locate the main wagon or tent. I plan to announce myself to the leadership because spilling the blood of my future followers may not work out long term.


    The night shift guards, pre-dawn, are my first followers. After my pet knocks them down by pouncing on them, I force them to drink my blood. With the rising sun at my back, my guards surround me, as would an honour guard. Calmly, we advance towards the main tent. The presence of my tiger sows enough fear and doubt that most choose to observe. Others crowd around and follow. My escorting guards presumably reassure my audience that I have permission to be amongst them. Whatever the reason, I now know why GPA007 likes this so much. Nanorobots give you an edge and assure you that nothing in this primitive world is impossible if you discard doubt. My face remains stoic while I momentarily relish the possibility of consuming his seed and blood. What change will that deliver to a former shifter?


    My guards informed me about these refugees, and I quickly decided to be bold. When I announce I am High Priestess Rexa reborn, a crone shuffles forward to taste my blood. Taking a chance, I transformed my blood to match the dominant blood type of my four guards. Her quick confirmation of my lineage was a surprise to me. I didn¡¯t think she would have consumed enough of my nanorobots to fall under my influence. The belief of others is guarded, convincing on the surface, at least. They are being pragmatic; unhappy with their current beggar state after being in charge for many generations. I offer hope. The former followers of the High Priestess, the Klugites, have a cultural expectation that all power rests with the High Priestess, which suits me. Over the following days, I found out my divine presence is a convenience that serves most others, except for the few who, between them, plotted for the same power, regardless of the cost.


    I ordered them to stay camped here for another day. There is some reorganisation to do. Military style, non-fighters and children in the middle, armed guards front, back and on each side. I organised the guards into units with their leaders answering to me. The stragglers join us at dusk and my leaders assimilate them. Delegation works, at least for now.


    They have no destination except to keep walking south. I know of the perfect valley, the perfect destination. The scout ship scanned many valleys revealing various caves, water courses and concentrations of beings.


    With military precision and my tiger and I scouting well ahead, we discover the easiest way forward. We make good time and caught up with another group within two days. Some leaders in the group protest, of course, wanting to hold on to the little power they have. Instead of convincing them with an argument, I ordered my tiger to bite their heads off. They claimed a close connection with Rexa, so I sampled their blood. Proving that theirs is unique, I adjust my and the tiger''s blood to match. I suspect the crone, who tested my blood the first time, was weary of the contested leadership and wanted to see strength join their cause. This was a valuable lesson for me. The crone should have denounced me. Instead, she believed that pretending would better serve her motives and that if, by accident the greater good, that wouldn¡¯t be all bad.


    That night, my tiger forced her way into the crone¡¯s tent. She threw herself at my tiger¡¯s feet, pleading for forgiveness, promising loyalty. I surprised her by asking her to re-sample my blood. Her enthusiastic nodding was all the confirmation I required. My blood now carried High Priestess Rexa¡¯s lineage; therefore, no crone could denounce me unless they were prepared to lie¡ªsomething which was always a possibility given the crone prostrating before me. The crone would remain alive, for now, for that very reason. I insisted she drink my blood. From now on, I deemed a loyal, corruptible crone on my side a necessity.


    My group absorbed many stragglers and three reasonably sized groups before we found Lord Hob¡¯s Valley. I set them to work felling trees and building homes at the mouth of the valley. Little did they know that their toiling would uncover a vast cave complex once they cleared the forest. That would be our home, but the town would also be necessary, where my people could reestablish various crafts. I would have them construct shade over the entire settlement¡ªprotection from dusting. I knew, of course, this to be impossible now, but they would need the comfort of this false protection.


    During many rounds of meditation, I consumed water and food to aid my healing. I also kept track of Lord Hob¡¯s demands¡ªfor example, two additional hobgoblin flesh bags with subtle but desirable modifications. For future credit, I ensured his vision for each would become reality. One of these made some interesting command modifications to the shuttles. Without knowing more, I could only assume he had commanded them to be made. The alternative would have required me to wipe them, leaving flight control with the pilot. Given the effort and time devoted to tweaking the flight plans and manoeuvres, this didn''t make sense. Why spend so much time if not vital?


    Analysis of the slime, an enlightening discovery. A biological goop with some nanorobot-like characteristics. My sampling robots quickly cleaned up the slime spilling from the ears of their symbiotic host on death. To give such volumes, the host, I reasoned, must be enormous. Therefore, instead of trying to control the host, the least I could try to do is to trigger free thought in any beings under its control. Releasing the captured goop with nanorobots so programmed, I am confident in the future; any enslaved person will try to win their freedom.


    The last item, which grabbed my attention, was more personal. When queried, the Scout Ship¡¯s navigation computer told me the pilot had plotted a course to Earth. As far as I was concerned, that wouldn¡¯t do. The moment the pilot climbed into the hibernation pod, which should be before they left this solar system, the Scout Ship would plot a course toward the sun.


    While I would like to test the limit of my control¨Ccould I be aware of the Scout Ship when it landed on Earth? I choose destruction. His communication was a complete, plausible explanation and the new slime enemy would distract the humans. Analysis of the bodies would have been conclusive, but humans can¡¯t have everything. Doubt will allow them some growth.


    ---Drulag, the last ancestor of Duzsia, the Relentless POV


    ¡°I thank you for your welcome,¡± I say.


    ¡°You are her last, I believe.¡±


    Three parchments lay on the stone table before us, each a portion of the ever-shrinking family tree of Duzsia the Relentless. My name and my pregnant wife¡¯s were the last listed without a note under our names to record the manner of our deaths.


    ¡°Rexa, Klugrath and his spawn have harried us since first finding us. Crossing the plains, our only reprieve, but too late.¡± My attempt to keep the frustration out of my voice is a failure.


    ¡°Rexa has died,¡± she says, her voice slightly condescending. Stone Corner always seems to know everything. It is just a matter of time.


    ¡°Yes, I know.¡± I enjoy finally being able to slap a look of surprise on Milga Stone Blood¡¯s face. ¡°I am travelling with a troop of Oath Keepers. They wanted to wait in my humble valley, but after they made the mistake of telling me about Rexa¡¯s death, I had to leave for Farmer Hob¡¯s valley immediately.¡±


    ¡°Is Sud Guts Ripper with them? He¡¯s a regular.¡±


    ¡°No. I sense they were once many but are now few. Their original number is a secret, and they follow Zorottor Black Tooth with a youngish goblin crone.¡±


    ¡°Sud spoke of five troops, about one hundred mercenaries in each. There was or is a sixth that even they have lost track of. So, if even some are present, a formidable force.¡±


    I shake my head while shuffling the pages into my satchel. ¡°One hundred possibly, then about two hundred, maybe more females. All pregnant. They talk about an unknown hobgoblin father named Lord Klar.¡± I glance up in time to catch her, catch herself from stepping back from the table. Does she know him? ¡°They also held and lost two prisoners. Wanting to sell both here.¡±


    She is drinking now, leaning casually against the nearest wall. Yes, she knows Lord Klar. What about the two prisoners?


    ¡°The first is called Tinuna.¡± Nothing. She doesn¡¯t react at all. ¡°She is said to be a beauty beyond compare. Males would fall at her feet, and all would want to breed with her.¡±


    ¡°A pity we didn¡¯t get to see this temptress, although the selling and buying of slaves is not a trade we would welcome here.¡±


    ¡°The other is less important but more vindictive if what they say is true.¡±


    ¡°What did they say?¡± Her eyes betray her eagerness.


    ¡°She escaped and then deliberately led Klugite refugee groups to them. Mortal enemies that they are¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± says Milga, now placing her empty cup on the table. I wait for her to look at me.


    ¡°Vorlora was her name.¡±


    Milga grabs at the cup, raising it to her lips. ¡°I need a refill.¡± She immediately strides off.


    She knows that name. I am certain. Therefore, interesting. Like many others, I entrust the histories of my lineage and lore to Milga Stone Blood at Stone Corner. Given she now knows both names, she would, in the coming days, gain at least some sentences about both. One day, her library will contain most of the history of this world or at least the best gossip. I chuckle at my joke.


    When she returns, she places a single page on the table.


    When I reach for the page, she tells me no. On the page is a note about Vorlora, apprentice to Drusia, Bounty Hunter, and sworn wife of Lord Klar. Last met while she patrolled the mouth of the valley leading to Hobgoblin Town.


    ¡°Why do you show me this?¡± I ask.


    She stares into her cup, and after a time, she raises her eyes to meet mine. Dramatic pause. Or is she considering telling me or not and yet undecided?


    ¡°If you ever meet Vorlora. Talk to her. Better still, convince her to introduce you to Lord Klar.¡±


    ¡°What are you offering? A riddle? Hope?¡± I slam my hand on the stone table. ¡°What?¡± I snarl.


    ¡°Allow your females to be impregnated by him. He will invigorate them and their babies.¡±


    I stumble back. Invigorate? Is she hinting I should even allow him to bed my wife? I feel the colour drain from my face. The page disappears. Her footfalls grow distant. I am the last full-blooded male. My wife, not full-blooded but the crones assured me the dilution was only discernible by the absolute best of them. My life¡¯s goal is to reestablish the lineage of Duzsia, the Relentless. How will this Lord Klar bedding my wife achieve that?


    She doesn¡¯t return. Her hobgoblin namesake does and ushers me out of their keep. I will return to my clan and the Oath Keepers, more confused than when I arrived here. I wonder if I can keep them from killing this Vorlora long enough for me to converse with her. Given half of what they say about her, probably not. I wonder, if this is the apprentice, what would Drusia, her master, be capable of?


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.A cold, slim shiver runs up my spine. Duzsia and Drusia are similar names¡­ I shake my head. How could that be ever possible? It is not like Milga Stone Blood and her look-alike deathless line. Duzsia the Relentless, her death recorded, confirmed by witnesses, and celebrated by her cowardly slayers.


    ---Goblin Crone, Oath Keeper Tribe POV


    ¡°Do you regret agreeing to join with them?¡±


    I eye Zorottor Black Tooth, his face not as severe as it has been. The shallow valley is full of surprises, one being a tribe of primarily male hobgoblins. At first, it was a standoff, and then he and I took the first step, presenting ourselves. Their leader did the same. Drulag of no name, an ancestor of Duzsia the Relentless, is more than happy to welcome us. But then he insisted we all leave together and return to the valley of Farmer Hob.


    ¡°I wished I didn¡¯t mention the death of High Priestess Rexa. His valley and the empty shelters would have been perfect. Instead, we rush off on his timetable and, to add insult, he conducts trade at Stone Corner while we wait for his return.¡±


    ¡°We need his protection. No Klugites have found us or if they have, our numbers are now too many. Even the bitch Vorlora no longer snipes at us.¡±


    ¡°We will lose some pregnancies all the same.¡± I wipe a tear from my eye. Vorlora. I curse her name. She was trouble, but we can only explain the ease with which Klugites found us if someone helped them. Zorottor didn¡¯t believe me or didn¡¯t want to. The result is the same.


    He drops to his haunches before me. ¡°This rest will do them good, as well as the safety of numbers, you¡¯ll see.¡±


    ¡°I offered to check on his wife and new babe while we waited, but she made it plain she didn¡¯t want my help when two huge guards confronted me.¡±


    He grins. ¡°Hurt pride?¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°The talk is that this is the first pure lineage birth in the tribe for years, so they are being extremely cautious.¡±


    The mother is borderline too old, so this could be her last. She is also the youngest of the handful of females in the tribe, so he doesn¡¯t have others. Females outside his tribe wouldn¡¯t carry Duzsia¡¯s bloodline, so the future of Duzsia¡¯s lineage rests on this hope. We wouldn¡¯t want our bloodline contaminated, although we could teach them to purify their bloodline if we ever trust each other. I wonder if we should mention Lord Klar and his wife. A giggle escapes. Would Lord Klar lend out his pure-blooded wife, Duzsia, the Relentless?


    ¡°What is so funny?¡± he asks.


    ¡°The crone before me mentioned that a pure-blooded Duzsia, the Relentless, was wife to our benefactor, Lord Klar.¡±


    Perhaps my sly smile gives me away.


    ¡°What are you plotting?¡±


    ¡°Given his current wife is such an ungrateful dog, perhaps he should learn of another possibility.¡±


    He climbs to his feet, shaking his head. ¡°Everything you have told me about Lord Klar suggests he wouldn¡¯t give up one of his wives ¡­¡±


    I can¡¯t help but cackle. ¡°Yes. But what a clash of giants. Him fighting for his lineage, and Lord Klar fighting to keep his Lordship. A battle of the ages, if ever there was one.¡±


    ---Linmere, Shifter of the GPA Scout Ship POV


    The wind whistles past my ears. The tug on my clothes will not be enough to prevent my eventual sudden stop. All my emotion is now cursing her, willing her death repeatedly to feel her spirit separate from her flesh. The pliant, subservient slut of Lord Klar. She fooled us all, even him.


    The vague coastline is gaining definition before my eyes, the clear separation of shoreline and waves of water washing against it, growing.


    Screaming reaches my ears. His two wives. This would be a first for them, something beyond their imagination. They should scream. I am too angry to scream. Given he has imprisoned me in this body, I somehow hung on to believing Linmere¡¯s madness. I could be the saviour of our race. Now, just nothing.


    Again, the screaming! Why can¡¯t they accept the death that races towards us?


    I need to look about, and what I find is surprising, even to me. They aren¡¯t, as I assumed, screaming in panic. They are trying to gain my attention and then pointing. The goblin and hobgoblin are flapping their arms and legs, trying to guide themselves towards the plummeting side of the shuttle, currently in a twisting death spiral of its own.


    Their attempts are comical, of course, as they have no idea of aerodynamics, gliding, body shape and everything else you can do while ideally waiting to yank the ripcord on the parachute to finish the thrill-seeking. I draw my arms to my sides and bullet like I shoot for the target. They are quick on the uptake and do the same. They tumble on their first try but recover.


    As the tumbling and turning side of the shuttle screams ever closer, I must discover a way of slowing. Opening my jumpsuit is the only possibility, and I begin by unclipping and sliding down zips. As more and more of the jumpsuit opens, the air catches, and my plummeting dive brakes into a measurably slower plummeting dive. While that is not ideal, I am uncertain how to stabilise the twisting and turning portion of the shuttle I am approaching.


    ¡°Stupid bitch!¡± My head swivels about, and I almost tumble. Who does the hobgoblin think she is? ¡°How many times did Lord Klar fill you with seed? Aren¡¯t you different? A shifter? Do shifter stuff with his seed.¡±


    Stupid, am I? Shifter stuff? What would a primitive hobgoblin know about shifter stuff? His seed certainly makes you feel good. I can feel them and communicate with them. They wait for me. What do they wait for?


    ¡°Do something before you smash into it!¡± she screams.


    It would need to level, and it isn¡¯t going to do that by itself. So there.


    Not by itself ¡­


    They seem to wait ¡­


    His seed, this planet ¡­


    Gather, I command them. Absorb. An energy builds within me, or more precisely, inside the nanorobots. The product of his seed. This isn¡¯t electrical energy, for example, but a new energy of some undefined kind. This hobgoblin flesh doesn¡¯t recognise it. The hobgoblin flesh is simply a container for the nanorobots. The nanorobots contain this mysterious energy.


    They are full. I know this instantly. Pressure grows as they continue to absorb. No more, I command.


    They don¡¯t ignore the command; they simply can¡¯t comply. Instead, they gather in my brain. I know this because I can sense their pulsing as they move. They burn minute amounts of this energy to do so, but this in no way reduces the building heat. I am sure the blood in my brain sizzles. The billowing wind as I freefall to my death is the only relief. Perhaps I will avoid that death. Instead, my brain will explode!


    I know I have burnt through all this body¡¯s adrenaline because every muscle aches; the tiredness overwhelms me. As limp as my legs and arms are, the searing pain in my head causes them to weakly flap about. The large cutoff side of the shuttle looms up before me, spinning.


    Stop! The word screams out from between my lips. Stop! Pure, unfettered willpower manifests the word into reality. Stop! Anger boils up from within me. Stop! Helpless emotion projects the word outwards from me. I open my eyes moments before my body crashes into the concave curve of the shuttle fuselage¡ªthe side with exposed horizontal and vertical beams. I guide my new body to fill a square. Shortly after, the hobgoblin wife of Lord Klar thumps down. She groans in pain from her square but springs back to life in time to catch the goblin wife. She was flying too high and would have overshot our makeshift platform. As I nurse several cuts on my arms, I envy the goblin. She hangs on to the hobgoblin wife while screaming her head off, excitement in her eyes. Or is it madness?


    I grab at the leading edge. I am uncertain how long it will lead, but I need to know where and when we will come to a sudden stop. Treetops loom up. The fuselage crashes into them, but not through. On either side and I assume underneath, the land and the treetops fall away. At some point, we are all screaming and hanging on. Each bump and thud could be the end. The trees part and we skid across tall grasses. The land''s slope and the grass''s destruction slows us further. Then we are flying again¡ªwind whistles in our ears.


    Then briefly, cascading water drenches us from above and tips the fuselage. I can¡¯t hang on any longer. I suspect broken wrists and they won¡¯t be the only bones. As I fly away, I notice the goblin still riding the hobgoblin¡¯s back. Most strange. I hit the churning water in what I realised a moment before a pool of water at the foot of a waterfall.


    I am swallowing water; instead of drawing in air, more water fills my lungs. I don¡¯t know which way is up. The water around me churns, and my arms and legs flail in all directions. Darkness creeps over my eyes.


    My hand hits something solid and my fingers instinctively make a grab. I hang on. Pain engulfs my body. I realise this agony keeps me conscious, and I hang on to this lifeline dragging me through the water. The thing rips from my grasp. I panic and instinctively open my mouth to scream. A breeze caresses my face, but my lungs are full of water.


    Words reach my ears. I shake my head.


    ¡°Stupid!¡± That single-word insult penetrates my being. ¡°Tell them to consume the water in your lungs!¡± Each word is a single scream. ¡°Stupid!¡±


    Them? Of course. I command them in an instant. After what seems an age, I draw in a long breath. The pain returns.


    I flutter my eyelids open yet see nothing.


    ¡°Your face must have hit the water or something. It is a mess of blood, bruises, and swelling.¡± I try to answer. Nothing. I concentrate on breathing. ¡°Your body is mostly in the water, your nanorobots will consume the water and repair your body. When you gain better control, they can numb your pain as well.¡±


    Such words of wisdom. I suspect the goblin, but I assume my hearing is off, probably burst eardrums. I command a bunch of nanorobots to heal my head and neck as their priority. To see, hear and speak would be helpful going forward.


    I am unaware of the passing of time. Darkness, then light, would suggest nights and days. I don¡¯t feel any thirst. No hunger pains either. Plenty of other pains, but not those.


    ¡°Open.¡± I feel something wet on my lips. My first thought is to shake my head and escape. ¡°Stupid, open.¡± The goblin. The food has a scant texture, a mush. I savour the taste. There is more and I gobble down all she offers until my stomach tells me no more.


    I am tired of being called stupid, so perhaps I should pay more attention to them. I begrudgingly must accept they have been around him longer and are familiar with these nanorobots. This doesn''t make me happy, but I must survive this chaos.


    Pain stabs through my leg, and I scream.


    ¡°Got it.¡± Words of triumph and then I pass out.


    Warmth. This is a first. Then the aroma. I drool and open my eyes. Above me floats a canopy of stars. The smell of cooked flesh draws my head to that side, and shortly after, sizzling meat burns my lips, but I don¡¯t care.


    From my left a voice protests, ¡°Too hot sister!¡±


    ¡°Eat and shut up. Nursing you both isn¡¯t my idea of a good time.¡±


    ¡°You can only do so because you climbed onto my back.¡± There is irritation in the reply. ¡°Also, remember who caught you.¡±


    ---


    That overheard conversation was several weeks ago as we paddle in our makeshift boat. In between then and now, the two wives of Lord Klar taught me all they knew about nanorobots. They also informed me that only wives could return after death, just as Tinuna explained. Only when I could stand and walk did I try to comprehend how we survived. I believe the steep slope of the island mountain was the key. The treetops slowed us without plunging the fuselage into them and possibly smashing into a tree trunk, then sliding over the grass, which was more at the base of the steep mountain until dumped in the churning water at the bottom of a waterfall. The island, mostly mountain, was one of several in the chain that the Lizardfolk now lived on.


    His two wives recovered faster than I. Their nanorobots were well under their respective command. The goblin wife, Luda, is the one who saved me. By riding on her sister¡¯s back, the hobgoblin flesh cushioned, ensuring fewer broken bones, pulverised organs, and a brain that still worked through a mild concussion.


    I delayed our recovery for several weeks after I fully recovered because I needed to explore this extra unique energy my nanorobots could capture. I hesitated to call it magic, but there wasn¡¯t any scientific explanation for it, and something had to settle the tumbling fuselage. While not specifically willing for anything, everyone hopes with every being of their body and mind to survive certain death. So, who is to say my magic didn¡¯t control or at least influence our landing?


    On the horizon, two enormous mountain ranges reach up into the sky. The closest has enough seaward land to cultivate and live on. I am sure of this since I saw the truth from the Scout Ship. The centre is the start or origin of the great plains, while the furthermost mountain range plunged steeply into the ocean, which meant an inhospitable sliver of land would test anyone trying to live there.


    A strange array of fruit lay between us on our makeshift shuttle-side boat. Some are edible, others contain milk water, all our staple food for weeks on this island.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.010 Hobgoblin Town Valley

    ---Solgia, Lord Klar¡¯s Scribe and Wife POV


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    The tinkling of the stream¡¯s water running over rocks and washing against the shore can¡¯t steal her words away into the night.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome. We are ¡­¡±


    She stares at me. I can see her eyes because I have been enhancing my body by instructing my helpers, my nanorobots¡ªsuch an odd name. I prefer the alternative, magic.


    ¡°Sister-wives,¡± she says. There is an undeniable warmth in her words. To think most thought her murderous. Still, losing your forearms is life-changing. Much like my lameness. Until Lord Klar, that is, and his glorious seed. His gift of magic.


    ¡°What are you night dreaming about?¡±


    I giggle. ¡°Thinking of Lord Klar¡¯s seed¡­¡±


    She holds up the beginnings of her hands. One has a finger. ¡°I owe you.¡±


    ¡°I just insisted you leave a dark hole, the rest¡­¡± I giggle again. ¡°Is because of his seed and magic.¡±


    Her turn to stare into the night. We both sit in the stream, up to our belly buttons. Our magic holds the chill at bay while our magic feeds on the water.


    ¡°I wish he would lie with me now.¡±


    ¡°Get in line, sister-wife. Several females desire him between their legs while sharing a bedroll.¡±


    She slaps the water. ¡°Where has our shy Scribe gone?¡±


    ¡°Being the one everyone wants a piece of has toughened me up.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, I thought only of myself while hiding in that hole.¡±


    I lean across, hug her and whisper, ¡°You needed to take care of yourself. Now you have. Once your hands finish growing, I will, well, use you. Not that Gorgrin wasn¡¯t helpful, but he looked after the wild ones and only helped in the town when I insisted.¡±


    ¡°The Innkeeper?¡±


    ¡°Yes. When the goblins left, she kept herself to herself. Since Lord Klar¡¯s departure, each day she grows bolder, believing in her self-importance.¡±


    ¡°You have Lord Klar¡¯s magic. I am certain you would be more than a match for her,¡± says the assassin Izga.


    ¡°I am a scribe, sister-wife. No, I am more subtle. I have some trusted confidants spying on her and other confidants spying on my confidants.¡±


    She wriggles free from my embrace. ¡°Remind me never to cross you!¡±


    ¡°When you are ready, I will have several of Lord Klar¡¯s subjects that will need your form of justice, I assure you.¡±


    She shows her hands once again. Water drips from them. There is a finger on each hand now. ¡°Regrowing my limbs is now faster than before. I have trained my nano¡­ magic.¡±


    ¡°You also have confidence and belief. The last stages of my foot healing did so quickly. Although Lord Klar was also attentive.¡± I feel my face flush.


    ¡°You are blushing!¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°Slip your whole body into the stream, and I will nurse your head on my thigh.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t change the subject¡­ but alright.¡±


    Once Izga settles, I slice my finger on her tusk and feed her a stream of my blood. She slaps the water in protest until I tell her to behave and accept my offer. I can¡¯t give her his seed, but perhaps my blood is a worthy substitute. The sooner her hands are whole, the sooner I can treat some disturbing exceptions. With the dividing up of The Eater Clan, the other clans have become a bit stronger and are looking to flex that strength. They see Lord Klar¡¯s absence as an opportunity. Izga striking them in the dead of the night will give them pause.


    ---Vorlora, Wolf Rider POV


    Watching from afar, I can confirm the rumour. A new village is being founded at Hobgoblin Town¡¯s valley entrance. As sure as the sun rises in the morning, Milga Stone Blood sent me back using this mission as an excuse. She told me that the Lord Klar she knew wouldn¡¯t blame me, and I needed to put my big girl armour on and face him. A bit of news would help, hence this mission. I will be sure to thank her the next time we meet.


    She also approved of my games, which was nice. The baiting of the followers of High Priestess Rexa to chase me into the valley of the Oath Keepers and then watch two mortal enemies fight to exhaustion¡ªa simple but gratifying pleasure. I knew little about High Priestess Rexa, but the Oath Keepers owed me. As a bonus, I would pick off any stragglers from either group, although when given a choice, I would choose Oath Keeper every time.


    I wonder if any of High Priestess Rexa¡¯s followers ever journeyed back across the plains to join this new settlement?


    My wolf knew my thoughts as quickly as I did.


    ---


    Lonely, sad tents leaning in different directions stretch out before me. Loose tent cloth snaps about in the brisk breeze, occasionally breaking the silence¡ªcrows squark between picking at the various remains. My wolf and I deftly avoid the half-hidden, cold, blackened firepits strewn about the camping area. Spears, the weapon of choice of the Oath Keeper mercenaries, is the most common weapon lying about. Some are still in a row, the spear rack and spears lying before a clearing, the tent long gone. Half burnt-down pyres litter the landscape, and the putrid smell of some causes my wolf to whine, and we agree to search another area of the camp upwind.


    Near dusk, my search fruitless, I force myself to return to where I witnessed her demise. The Oath Keepers have cleared the circle of corpses, the victims of my Mistress¡¯ skill. The base of the dust hill remains. How? I don¡¯t know. What about wind and rain? As the dust hill draws me closer, the explanation becomes apparent.


    I free each piece of her armour from the dust hill until the specs fly away on the wind. When I finish, there is no longer a mark of where she last fought. My heart hurts. I question my right to perform this sacrilege as my eyes focus on the collection of her armour. Each piece is a treasure beyond calculation¡ªmy last connection to my mistress. Before I lose all light, I grab the collection and return to a familiar hidden camp within the brush.


    I clean and polish my Mistress¡¯ armour by the fresh light of dawn. Her scabbard and sword are next. I thought the Oath Keepers would destroy her weapon. For now, it¡¯s a mystery. I use sand in a wet cloth to clean off the crusty dark blood until the steel shines again. Once clean, I use lard on a dry cloth as a final polish, as I did on her armour.


    Each piece lies in its proper place on a grass patch¡ªan empty, lifeless body. No fearless, sparkling eyes look back at me from her helm.


    My wolf lies off to one side, and I sense his confusion. Why does this lifeless hide hold any meaning? If this tool is better than what I am wearing, why not use it so we can continue? I try to make him understand. He retorts you are alive now; she is not. Over the years, many of my pack have died. We mourn and know that we will join them in the days that follow. For now, you are alive and alpha while she is dust. Wear it or not, but decide. The dead are gone. The living must move forward without them.


    ---


    In loping bounds, we make our way towards Hobgoblin Town. Lord Torngul Heartsplitter, Lord of the Grassplains, would be another I would need to face and apologise to.


    The guards at the gate have the gates open before I reach them. They draw back, keeping a sword length¡¯s distance from me. No sooner do I dismount, and a water bowl is under the nose of my wolf. The burly hobgoblin stable hand seemingly unafraid of my wolf, yet eyes me with caution.


    Servants clear a path. Even his honour guard knocks on his throne room door and announces me before I am close enough to ask them. I stride into the throne room of Lord Torngul Heartsplitter, Lord of the Grassplains, without being challenged. No question is asked¡ªthe massive double doors behind me close with a clang.


    What did he say??


    ¡°Lord?¡±


    ¡°Welcome! I knew your apprentice had to be addled!¡± He taps the side of his head. ¡°Too many hits while practising, I am sure.¡± He chuckles at his joke, and I now realise their mistake, well, my mistake.


    I remove her helm.


    His jaw drops. In a bluster, he swivels about and seeks the reassurance of his throne. Shaking his head, he glances at me and then shakes his head some more.


    He stands and looms over me. I stand my ground.


    ¡°Good. She wouldn¡¯t back down, either. Do you plan to continue this impersonation?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I didn¡¯t. I mean to say, I found her armour, and it was better than my scraps¡­¡±


    ¡°How does it feel to be mistaken for her?¡± He cocks an eyebrow.


    ¡°No, I meant no harm. Provide me with replacement armour, and I will gladly wear it instead.¡±


    He chuckles and shakes his head. ¡°No, it is too late for that. The news that Duzsia the Relentless is parlaying with Lord Torngul has already been around Hobgoblin Town at least once. She must leave, not her apprentice. Did you walk or ride?¡±


    ¡°I rode. A wolf.¡± A warmth creeps up my face.


    His belly laugh is a roar. ¡°Wolf!¡± He splutters several times and then recovers. ¡°The legend of Duzsia the Relentless flows in an interesting direction, that is for sure.¡±


    A knock sounds through the throne room doors. I place my mistress¡¯s helm on as we both turn to receive the visitor. The doors crack open, and his wife joins us. She is about to speak, and whatever her question was, dies. The throne room doors close as she approaches her husband and his embrace.


    ¡°Let me introduce you to Duzsia the Relentless, my dear.¡± His hand does a flourish before him but is directed towards me. As she turns in his embrace to face me, his hand around her shoulder taps his head. I remove the helm.


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    Her eyes flash wide, and then she snickers. ¡°So, that explains how the reported dead can rise and walk again.¡±


    ¡°I was just suggesting to the apprentice that Duzsia rode in. Duzsia must ride out.¡±


    She hangs off his arm. ¡°Certainly, dear. Anything else would have swarms of spies prying their noses into everything, and they may find that Lord Klar¡¯s village direly needs defending. It is ripe for the taking, him being absent for so long.¡±


    ¡°How do you know this?¡± I demand. Without knowing how I am face to face with Lord Torngul.


    ¡°Aggressive¡­¡± says his wife. I step back and then curse, admonishing myself to hold my ground.


    ¡°The Scribe of Lord Klar¡¯s sent a missive asking for empty sacks.¡±


    ¡°And, why?¡± I ask.


    ¡°She is clever. That is why. When Lord Klar first left, she sent a scruffy hunter type, Gorgrin, who hand-delivered a message to me explaining a code we could use in emergencies. Sacks means soldiers.¡±


    I place her helm on my head.


    His wife snickers. ¡°I think she understands husband.¡±


    ¡°You know, of course, that you can¡¯t remove your helm, and the first fight you lose will doubly be the end. Lord Klar¡¯s enemies will think when he is not by their side, this weakens his wives. They will test them all, thinking they are now feeble imitators¡­¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡±


    ¡°Know that you and his wives must be especially cautious around Clan Hungry and whichever clan they ally with. They lost all their hobgoblin babes, most of them males, because of miscarriage. They don¡¯t know how Lord Klar arranged the deception, but they blame him anyway.¡±


    Raising my voice, I say, ¡°I said, I understand.¡±


    ¡°That is better, and remember, there is no backward step. Duzsia stands where she intends to stand.¡±


    We chat after that; I tell him of my travels. He is especially interested in hearing about Milga Stone Blood. Then I tell him my news. He loses his humour, and all he does is pace. The great Torngul Heartsplitter, Lord of the Grassplains, says nothing. A hobgoblin village aligned with High Priestess Rexa is at the mouth of his valley. Milga said he, if anyone, would be interested in such news. This would also earn any forgiveness I may have required, were her words. We are long past forgiveness, as I must be Duzsia the Relentless and no feeble apprentice.


    ¡°I might send an emissary. For me to visit would suggest a false importance.¡±


    ¡°May I leave, Lord Torngul?¡±


    He waves me off, and, using the hilt of my sword, I bash on the throne room doors.


    It is late afternoon under a darkening sky, and I am close to returning. To what, I don¡¯t know. It takes all I can muster not to pee my pants. I ride my wolf, heading towards Lord Klar¡¯s village as Duzsia the Relentless.


    ---Clan Head Zinmog POV


    ¡°Why must we skulk about in the woods, Jarlgren? It is undignified!¡± I stomp my boots on the stone landing of a log cabin deep in the middle of nowhere. We trekked through an ancient forest with moss-covered trees and thick fallen foliage underfoot, and we hadn¡¯t left. A cold, dampness chills my elderly bones. This is a cabin that none of my clan could ever find again. The best we could do to escape would be to always make sure we run downhill. Yet I doubt we would ever reach our farmlands again.


    ¡°To be certain, no spies hear of our plans. Do I need to explain this each time?¡± says my host and ally.


    I wave him off and plop myself in the familiar guest chair. The one closest to the fireplace. Same as my previous visits, I am busy rubbing my hands together. Our escorts wait outside.


    ¡°What have you been able to find out?¡±


    ¡°They have taken in the winter crop.¡±


    ¡°I know. I remember the profit he made from my humiliation!¡± With an inordinate amount of restraint, I place a log on the fire instead of hitting him.


    ¡°I only mention this because his Head Scribe finished the negotiations. She seems to be the one organising everything now. My son.¡± He spits into the flames. ¡°Is content playing hunter with my cast-offs, unwilling or most likely unable to rise any higher? Forever useless, that one.¡±


    ¡°Yes. My twin daughters, likewise. I thought one would rise, but neither did. Children can be such disappointments.¡±


    ¡°My spies haven¡¯t seen Lord Klar or most of his wives for a month now.¡± My host paces, just like the last time.


    ¡°None of his wives? It is said he needs to fornicate with them to maintain his strength. Can¡¯t go many days without, or his member will fall off.¡± We share a chuckle. Neither of us believe this, of course, but it doesn¡¯t stop us laughing at his expense.


    ¡°How did your emissary fare with Klugak?¡±


    ¡°A blanket.¡± Even with a fire, my old bones freeze. I hear him shuffle about. ¡°Klugak contains his anger over the death of his daughter. They refuse to surrender her body, insisting they have already buried her, which especially aggrieves him. My spies report back that there have been no burials or pyres. Klugak is stuck. But he would be a useful ally if we can get him past this impasse.¡±


    A bear¡¯s skin drops across my legs. ¡°You handle the town spying. I will handle the forest spying. But eyes and ears into Lord Torngul¡¯s affairs would, at the very least, warn us of his intentions.¡±


    ¡°We thought that giant of a daughter of Torngul dead as well¡ªthe news from the lips of the midwife or one of her helpers. Yet days later, she is walking about not a care in the world after dropping triplets. Unheard of! My wife gave birth to twin daughters. She didn¡¯t stand a chance,¡± I grouse.


    ¡°She was big, and the babes dropped early.¡± I notice his shrug out of the corner of my eye.


    ¡°Perhaps, but this is a first, and I even promised Clan Head Krilzak a reward for any proof of such a thing elsewhere. He sends wagons up and down the plains to trade, and none of his merchants report even rumours of something similar.¡±


    ¡°Krilzak? He will take your gold and tell you anything you want to hear.¡± He offers me a mug of mulled wine.


    I take a sip and mumble to myself. The warmth unfreezes my head, and I remember something odd. ¡°One wife, Izga. Wasn¡¯t she once one of Sakvorpa¡¯s trained pets?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I seem to remember that as well. The slinky, sexy one. None of my hunters have seen her, but one of them traded in his village recently, and everyone believes she still lives. None know what she does, though.¡±


    I count my fingers and realise there are at least two more. ¡°What of the ones who were once Lord Torngul¡¯s Honour Guard?¡±


    ¡°Voria was one. She wasn¡¯t his wife, though, a concubine, perhaps? She drinks herself into oblivion in the village inn. The other Zergoa. She packed some supplies and left to search the mountains for Lord Klar, his pet goblin and Thalgora. None have seen her since.¡±


    ¡°Then, by my calculations, that leaves a Head Scribe, a drunk and a useless half-son of yours, to defend Lord Klar¡¯s holdings, or am I wrong?¡± I say, with a touch of joy in my heart.


    Clan Head Jarlgren stops his pacing to stand between me and the fireplace. ¡°You forget Izga.¡±


    I lean my head to the left and then to the right. As much as I don¡¯t want to admit the truth, they say she is formidable. ¡°Send in one of your hunters to see if he can get a job skinning or tanning hides. She can¡¯t hide forever and is dangerous enough to find out, at least if she is still a threat. My spy in Lord Torngul¡¯s Manor confirmed that Duzsia the Relentless is dead, fighting goblins, apparently.¡±


    He folds his arms. ¡°I would want to see her body before I believe that. How many?¡±


    ¡°Over a hundred, they say, all in a neat circle around her.¡±


    ¡°If you believe that, I have a six-legged boar to sell you.¡±


    ¡°Well, where is she?¡± I push him for an explanation.


    The door of the cabin bursts open, and a chill blows in. One of his hunters. His eyes are wide, a predator¡¯s grin running across his lips.


    ¡°Clan Head, we think we have found Zergoa. She appears weak¡­¡±


    Jarlgren turns to gloat at me. I reply with the slightest of nods.


    ¡°Take a hunting party of six, no, make it twelve, with six more in reserve. No mistakes, tell them. I want her alive, if possible, but her tusks as proof would also satisfy me.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Clan Head.¡± He sprints out of the cabin. Fortunately, another closes the door.


    He rubs his hands together. ¡°Her death will be a mystery. None will wonder why she never returned.¡±


    ¡°How will you ensure none of the eighteen, the messenger, and whoever told him and whoever told them to keep the secret?¡±


    He grunts. ¡°They are loyal.¡±


    ---Clan Head Durlarg POV


    ¡°We have a report, Clan Head, that Duzsia the Relentless has visited Lord Torngul and has only just left and is on her way to Lord Klar¡¯s village,¡± says my most trusted spy.


    I rub my hands together and look over my shoulder at my wife.


    ¡°Durlarg, no. We must introduce ourselves to the High Priestess, or at least the one who has convinced many she is the High Priestess. Klugites have finally come to us. Clan Head, are you listening?¡± pleads my wife.


    I eye my wife. She reminds me of my true purpose; therefore, I shall not slap her down. We could do both.


    ¡°Load up a couple of wagons with those former Sakvorpa warriors we threw a lifeline to. Explain to them that if they slay Duzsia, who is supposed to be dead, they shall be hirelings no more but full members of The Runner Clan. My wife and I will proceed to the Klugite village as planned.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Clan Head.¡±


    ---


    The wagon ride southwest to Clan Tireless is a regularly scheduled run. This trip, though, carries four additional passengers: myself, my wife and two trusted bodyguards. Before we reach the farmlands, the wagon pulls up, and we climb down. As the wagon continues, we walk northwest. Half a day later, we reach Smugglers River, uncover the hidden canoe, and continue our journey. The river current does most of the work, and my bodyguards use their oars to guide the craft.


    We must camp onshore at night as the journey takes two days to reach the waterfall. My two bodyguards haul the canoe around the waterfall, and we continue. Somewhere around here is the place where Lord Torngul first met Lord Klar, or so the story goes. How I wish that meeting never happened. After another day and a half, a clearing borders the river instead of the forest. Beyond is the beginnings of a large town, perhaps more significant than Hobgoblin Town.


    My bodyguards drag the canoe ashore, and I leave one with the canoe while the other escorts us. Busy people are all about us. They labour as if possessed, and none approach us or query our visiting this late afternoon. We follow street markings, even though there are no buildings, as do others. As we close in on the mountain, there is a sheer drop and in this, either naturally or carved out, is a vast cavern. I am envious as I see the trade possibilities. Safe storage from weather or raiding enables gathering all the goods from this valley and, by dawn, travelling across the plains.


    ¡°Someone mentioned a stranger visits us?¡±


    Her pure voice is an impossible lure to dismiss. A compulsion forces me to swivel about and discover the source. Her beauty, the smooth, consistent green complexion of her skin, straight teeth, the perfect curve of long tusks, and flowing hair are all I catch until her voice commands my attention once again.


    ¡°I am the High Priestess Rexa, reborn. Welcome to the Temple of Klug. Let us praise our revered Lord.¡±


    I believe. My mind is numb with devotion; she is more than I imagined. I wish to stay and never leave her presence¡­


    My wife nudges me from my stupor.


    ¡°Clan Head Durlarg, at your service, High Priestess. My wife.¡± I place a hand on her shoulder. ¡°If you need anyone to join your priesthood, I offer her. Well-spoken, able to scribe and a genuine believer like me!¡± I flash my best smile and run a finger along one of my thick tusks. All praise my tusks, which are clearly a sign of my virility.


    Her warm smile bedazzles. ¡°I appreciate your devotion, but alas, there is no need. I am well served for now.¡±


    My wife whimpers, and my opportunity to worm my clan into this magnificent township and temple is stymied for now.


    ---Izga, Wife Assassin of Lord Klar POV


    ¡°Wake, sister, now!¡±


    My eyes flash open and scan for the person who dares to sneak up on me and succeed. I hear the steady breathing of my Scribe sister-wife and her two assistants, no one else.


    ¡°You must trust my next words. Have faith. Do you agree, sister-wife?¡±


    I continue to scan the room, the pale starlight of night the only illumination available to my keen sight. I listen and hear only steady breathing.


    ¡°Convinced I am not real? Do you not recognise Klaria, daughter of Klugak, second wife of Lord Klar?¡±


    ¡°Klaria?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Your lessons were true? You stayed beyond death?¡±


    ¡°Yes. But we haven¡¯t much time. You need to save Zergoa.¡±


    ¡°We lost Zergoa. She left to search for Lord Klar. The madness of near-death took hold of her¡­¡±


    ¡°She is trying to return. She needs your help.¡±


    I am up. My armour, weapons, and clothes¡ªI dress before I realise.


    ¡°Izga?¡±


    Solgia? Did I wake her? ¡°Go back to sleep, sister. I must rescue Zergoa.¡±


    ¡°Zergoa?¡±


    I am climbing down the ladder instead of answering her. Morning isn¡¯t far away as the pre-dawn begins.


    ¡°Wait, sister-wife. Find a piece of my armour or one of my daggers. I can linger easier if I have something familiar from my former life to fixate on.¡±


    I climb the ladder, open the trapdoor into the tower¡¯s interior, and climb down the internal ladder. Lantern light spills from above to orientate myself. I glide towards a shelf about shoulder height, and my searching hands land on a dagger and sheath.


    ¡°This?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Yes. Wear it around your waist. We must hurry.¡±


    Climbing out, I meet and hug Solgia.


    ¡°Farewell, sister-wife,¡± she says as I climb down again.


    ---


    ¡°How do you know she is in trouble?¡±


    ¡°My staying is forever a tug-of-war. The closer I am to my sisters, the more energy and will I need to exert. To rest and regain my strength, I can drift higher. There is a midpoint where I neither gain nor lose energy and will. This is where I spend most of my time. I can see your bonds to Lord Klar. They are silver ribbons from you to him.¡±


    ¡°So, if I asked, can you tell me where Lord Klar is?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and no. All your ribbons, including those of Solgia and Zergoa, stream towards the mountain range. He is no longer in any valley on this side of the mountains or the great plains. Her ribbon hasn¡¯t moved for a couple of days after making good time to return to us.¡±


    I approach the two guards at the gate and surprise them. They recover and rush to open the gate. I pass through the open gate and break out into a jog. I intend to follow farmland and the thin forest beside the river. The morning sun is full when I leave the hills and head into the mountains. Klaria, whispering in my mind, assures me I am heading in the correct direction.


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 3.011 True Worth

    ---Vorlora, Wolf Rider POV


    Once clear of Hobgoblin Town and prying eyes, I dismount and walk beside him. We both disappear in the long grass of the plains for the rest of the journey. With home not far away, I must decide if I should ride in triumphant or walk in, with or without my wolf by my side. After a time, my armour itches, but only on the left-hand side. The moment I go to rub the area by shifting the stiff leather, the need vanishes.


    Shortly after, the left-hand side of my¡­ no, her helm itches. This is easier, but the itching fades as I raise my hands. Over a short while, this itch travels from one piece of armour to the next, always on the left-hand side.


    I grab his fur and hoist myself onto his back. We pause. No itching. I nudge him right, and after three loping strides, each piece of armour on my left-hand side itches or irritates my skin. A message, then? From whom? I pat the flanks of my wolf as I consider the impossible. How? Do I have a guide? Are they trying to protect me? Her armour, could this be Duzsia from beyond her death? A shiver runs down my spine. I trusted my mistress in life. Why not in death?


    The grass plains are a vast area of this valley. The journey from Hobgoblin Town to Lord Klar¡¯s village can follow many paths if you decide not to follow the single hardened or compacted dirt path. How could anyone predict which way I would take through the grass? A spy? Someone small? A goblin, a child hobgoblin, perhaps? How do they tell those ahead what path I am taking? How many times have I changed direction to arrive here? Almost none? The possibilities narrow, though, the closer I am to my destination¡­


    ¡°What do you smell on the wind, Old Wolf?¡±


    He shakes his head after sniffing at the breeze.


    I whisper in his ear when I don¡¯t need to. ¡°Left, as fast as you can in a wide arc.¡±


    At the top of the arc, my right-hand side armour develops an itch. I take the hint.


    ¡°Right, as fast as you can.¡±


    There are signs as he crosses what I believe would have been our original path. Trampled grass. They tied sheaths of grass, forming a hide. An arrow stuck in the ground as if in a ready position.


    As our half-circle arc plays out, my wolf whines.


    ¡°I smell them again, not on the ground this time, but on the wind,¡± says Old Wolf in my mind.


    ¡°They are lying in wait as if we continued, but they would have spread out and hid to be certain of their ambush. One would have to signal to the others?¡± I dismount. ¡°Lead us to the nearest.¡±


    ---


    My target rises, her bow in two hands, attempting to evade my sword arcing towards her body. An unfortunate outcome because of my lack of stealth. I check my strike and kick out with a boot, catching her in the chest. Her open mouth yell dies as her lungs empty of air. Between her gasps, the hilt of my sword smashes into her forehead.


    The rustling grass warns me, and I swivel to face another. This one carries their bow in one hand and several arrows in the other. Repositioning, not attacking? She runs onto my sword, her look of surprise complete as she slides off my blade. A black bloom spreads across the cloth of her shirt. Bubbles of black ichor escape from between her lips. No armour?


    Old Wolf prowls nearby, on orders to attack only if many run at me at once. I spy him through the long grass and motion I am moving on.


    Shortly after, there is a thump behind me, and I swivel about. Old Wolf mauls another of our ambushers. I must have snuck past a well-hidden hide. He? She? A whimper, a feeble cry for help, escapes, and another comes running. She drops her jaw. Blood ichor dripping from Old Wolf¡¯s muzzle is pure brutal savagery. I swing my sword, lifting her head from her shoulders. Blood everywhere. My response is automatic: the ease of accomplishing such a feat¡­ I swallow down, rising bile.


    I need some distance from my kills. ¡°Change of tactics, Old Wolf. Hide behind me. I will pick up a bow and call them to me.¡±


    Each yell for help is louder than the previous one after my arrow strikes my rescuer. My hearing picks them up as they disturb the long grass, running to save me. Old Wolf and I had the same challenge when we tried to sneak up on them, although the prevailing breeze now assists us as their scent carries on the wind.


    Nothing after the third yell and then a rustle of grass behind me.


    Old Wolf has a goblin in his jaws. There is wriggling so the creature lives.


    ¡°How many?¡±


    His eyes widen as Old Wolf¡¯s saliva drips over his tiny neck.


    ¡°How many? Otherwise, my wolf will chew on you, one limb at a time?¡±


    ¡°Ten, there are ten,¡± he squeals.


    If truthful, there is one more. We retreat to rejoin our first. She is still unconscious, and Old Wolf lies across her legs to keep her in place. He opens his jaws to confirm he can engulf her head. His glee fills my mind. The soggy goblin lies ridged where Old Wolf dumped him.


    ¡°Call to the one still out there.¡±


    ¡°We just yell¡­¡±


    I tilt my head to one side. ¡°If you don¡¯t help us, you can be food, and she may be more reasonable.¡± I glance towards my first conquest.


    His voice tries to escape, but I suspect nerves throttle his attempt, so I wave for him to continue. His second attempt is an improvement.


    ¡°I know it¡¯s a trap!¡± replies a female voice. ¡°He said we do this, and we would be Clan Members, but all that awaits us is death. How can one and a greying wolf kill so many? We were to ambush you!¡±


    ¡°Who is he?¡± I ask.


    ¡°No, he will hunt me down.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you dead already? I have a goblin and another female, I can ask, but I am giving you a chance to live through this first.¡± I finish gagging and tying the soggy goblin. Next is the unconscious female.


    ¡°How do I know you won¡¯t kill me after I tell you?¡±


    ¡°I am Duzsia the Relentless, and I say what I mean, no more and no less. Tell me the truth, and I will honour my promise to you.¡±


    I am cleaning down my sword as the grass rustling grows louder.


    ¡°You are a wife of Lord Klar?¡± she says. Her hand hangs loose on the hilt of her sword.


    ¡°Yes, and this is my wolf. None escape his nose.¡±


    ¡°Clan Head Grimg sent us. There, I told you. Am I free to go?¡±


    ¡°Take a seat and get comfortable.¡± I pour water on the face of the unconscious female hobgoblin under Old Wolf. She splutters awake, and I whisper in her ear, making her a similar offer. She accuses Clan Head Durlarg. I gag her, slip the goblin¡¯s gag down and whisper in his ear.


    ---Naro, High Priestess of Klug POV


    ¡°High Priestess, is this wise?¡±


    I tug the black hood into place, ensuring my face is in shadow, and then wrap the specially crafted voluminous robe around me. A downward glance confirms an overflow of cloth covers my feet. The hems of the robe will drag in the dirt. Such is the price of certainty. My four bearers wait for my first step, and as one, we advance into the middle of the day sun.


    ¡°A meeting at the entrance to my valley is better if I need to turn them away. What they say they are and what they are could be completely different.¡±


    My bodyguard escorts me. Multiple troops of ten spears, who by co-incidence take the same path, follow behind.


    ---


    The border fort of the former Sharp Fangs goblin tribe, now more prominent and made of stone, keeps watch on the Plains. I notice the faithful lineup on the topmost walls of the keep. Of course, their eyes search for me, and why shouldn¡¯t they? Two groups of mixed goblin and hobgoblin mill around, safe on the valley side of the fort. Their conversations hush as I approach.


    A smile full of amusement escapes my lips as they are true to their word. A modest number of representatives break from their respective groups and midway prostrate themselves and wait for my arrival. Shortly after, eyeing each other, they all rise again and hasten, competing to be the first to fall at my feet and heap praise on me. The flattery is enjoyable, but I must remain above such falseness.


    ¡°Rise and take two steps back.¡±


    I address the overweight one first. ¡°You speak first.¡± The calluses on his hands prove he can swing a sword that would otherwise be hanging off his hip, filling an empty sheath.


    ¡°You do me great honour, High Priestess.¡± Is that a tear in his eye? ¡°I am Zorottor Black Tooth, Troop Leader of the Oath Keeper Clan.¡± His hand waves to his right. ¡°With me is the Crone of the Oath Keepers. We have kept our blood pure and been faithful for many generations. We have been preparing to fight to see an Oath Keeper High Priestess reign in the holy valley.¡± His open hands rise towards me. ¡°Now, joy of joys, we are instead returning to be by her side to serve and protect.¡±


    My scribes have already told me this troop of goblins lacks warriors, although almost every female is pregnant¡ªsomething I didn¡¯t expect.


    ¡°Tell me, crone, what can your High Priestess do for your troop?¡±


    She drops to her knees, her pitiful goblin eyes trying to plead her case through my heart.


    ¡°A place to settle, end our wandering and till the soil. Help with our birthing. All are hobgoblin babes. Most will be males, he assured us. We will devote ourselves to the worship of Lord Klug through your teachings and guidance, High Priestess. We are Oath Keepers and will always serve you loyally.¡±


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    The others who accompanied them hear her words. They shift and squirm, biting their tongues. The second tribe aren¡¯t Oath Keepers, and all are hobgoblins with few exceptions, my scribe tells me. They are the reverse: many male warriors and few females. When first told of these two tribes, their unusual difference was as much of an interest as anything else.


    ¡°Are you suggesting we accept one fathered all the goblin females? Are they all due within weeks or months of each other?¡±


    ¡°One, High Priestess. Within a day, maybe two of each other.¡± She drops her eyes.


    I fling an empty hand out to one side. A heartbeat later, a cup is in my grasp. I take a slow sip. Why did I choose to stand? My legs feel like jelly. Does the cup cover most of my face? I try not to blush. They have over one hundred due to give birth at least. One male in one night! Should I burst out laughing or have them whipped? I remember who I am and regain my posture.


    ¡°The name of this potent male?¡±


    ¡°He, he isn¡¯t important, High Priestess. His blood was acceptable and lay with us. Eventually, he guaranteed our freedom.¡±


    With extreme effort, I resist the urge to scream at this stupid pig of a crone. Instead, I beam a radiant, wide smile at her.


    ¡°Look at me.¡± She raises her head. ¡°Entertain your High Priestess and explain. Every detail, the complete story.¡±


    I hold up a hand before she begins, and a comfortable chair is under my buttocks when I nod for her to start.


    While thinking she is being helpful, my scribe whispers into my ears to remind me of the obvious. I hiss at her the third time, and she holds her tongue. Apart from being annoying, I am confident the crone could eavesdrop on the scribe¡¯s every word. Goblin ears are like that if my assassin friend is an example.


    Mid-afternoon, the crone finishes, climbs to her feet, and waits. Her eyes stare at the ground.


    One of them clears their throat while I try to understand her stupidity. ¡°Would the High Priestess permit me to ask some questions of the crone about her, erm, clan¡¯s history?¡±


    Broad shoulders. Strong, prominent tusks. He may be intelligent as well. ¡°Yes,¡± I reply, trying to conceal the relief in my voice. I need time to let go of the urge to wring the crone¡¯s neck. Something a High Priestess shouldn¡¯t do. Well, not in front of so many, at least.


    ¡°There are no males who can successfully impregnate more than a handful of women in a night except in legend. You realise that?¡±


    She rocks back on her haunches. ¡°He said his ancient mother was one of Lord Klug¡¯s wives, and he was never told which one. Lord Torngul Heartsplitter knew of him and introduced him to the whole valley, to Hobgoblin Town as Lord Klar.¡± Her hands rest on her hips. A venom now coats her words. ¡°He was a young noble dispossessed of his lands, from another valley. Lord Torngul granted him land in the valley, and he won us as enslaved people but promised us freedom for helping him establish his fort, village, and farmlands.¡±


    A baby cries. I snap my head toward the offender. One of the others¡­ A female who has recently given birth, maybe a year ago. A rarity for that tribe. The mother forces the babe to her tit, and once again we have quiet.


    ¡°He can¡¯t be a descendant of one of Lord Klug¡¯s wives,¡± he replies.


    I cock an eyebrow. ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Because many wrote their truths.¡± He brandishes a worn leather satchel. ¡°I have read the family tree of Lord Klug because my name is there, and I know that Lord Klar¡¯s name is not. Unless he is the first in over two hundred years to claim descent from Luda¡¯s branch. But that would mean she and those who followed her burial in the mountain to escape Rexa¡¯s spawn, Klugrath, didn¡¯t die. But none of her branch has survived because none have ever tasted her blood¡¯s linage.¡±


    The baby coos and chatters, celebrating a stomach full of her mother¡¯s milk.


    The crone spits on the ground, missing his boots. ¡°How do you explain the pregnant goblins you have been escorting for weeks, all with hobgoblin babes in their bellies and all due within a day or two of each other?¡±


    ¡°He is not Lord Klar, is all I say. His true name is something else. He can only do what two others have been able to do in known history. Lord Klug and the brutal Klugrath. Klugrath¡¯s brother, Kluggoth, was capable but didn¡¯t get his rape victims pregnant with the proficiency of Klugrath. However, according to certain writings of Zeb Stone Grim, he believed him to be Klugrath¡¯s son. This cross-breeding could certainly explain his weakness.¡±


    The baby cries again, and the mother is busy hushing her with soft words.


    My Scribe whispers, ¡°There are two other wives of Lord Klug, High Priestess. Karo and Ligia. Records of them cease shortly after Milga Stone Blood left the valley.¡±


    While I appreciate the information, I am sure the crone overheard as well. Uncertain if, by plan or accident, my scribe hands me a parchment to read. All must endure while I do so.


    ¡°On which limb or what branch do you sit?¡± I ask him.


    He glances about him. Is this some secret?


    ¡°The daughters of Duzsia and Koria each escaped with their children, a twenty-year-old goblin son and a sixteen-year-old hobgoblin son. Father of both being Klugrath. The goblin son was conceived when the father and mother were both young, and Klugrath was still somewhat sane. The sixteen-year-old hobgoblin son conceived during a rape, unknown to Rexa then, and probably for all time. Each mother had a goblin branch and a hobgoblin branch. My ancestor was Duzsia, the Relentless, hobgoblin line.¡±


    The babe howls, and all but him, arms folded across his chest, staring at a frantic mother trying to soothe her child into silence. Finally, her words must work because silence returns. His arms unfold, and one wraps around the mother¡¯s shoulder. Is he the baby¡¯s father?


    I tap my chin. ¡°The linages of Duzsia, Koria and Luda have ever been tragic allies of Zoria Oath Keeper, so I welcome you to the Valley of Lord Farmer Hob. I have a condition.¡± He eyes me suspiciously. ¡°I would value reading your lineage and, with your permission, have Oath Keeper scribes copy your histories to add to our library.¡±


    He hugs the satchel to his chest. ¡°These are papers on lineage and the sad tales of our decline. Secrets, well-kept for my generations.¡±


    I push myself up from my chair. ¡°While I ask politely, know this is my price.¡± I drop my mask of politeness for a moment and scowl. I return to the comfort of my chair. This gives him several moments to consider his options.


    ¡°I can offer this,¡± he says. Before I can protest, he blathers on. ¡°Few know that when Klugrath the Vanquisher raped the conquered, his spawn would be pure Lord Klug. Goblin mothers would die birthing hobgoblins, but many would try to abort the pregnancy before due. Dying, if need be. Hobgoblin mothers would try to abort also, the majority dying. Then, someone found an herb. This herb would abort the child, but if the mother took too much of it, it could make them infertile. Why would these victims go to such lengths? Because any who carried full term would lose their lineage, and goblin crones would taste the Lord Klug lineage in their blood.¡±


    His words distract me. ¡°Tribes of non-worshippers would disown them¡­¡± I hiss. Shaking my head, I glance at the baby. The smiling, joyful eyes of the baby are like a thorn, adding pain without need. ¡°But for better or for ill, Klugrath, the Vanquisher, could also be called Klugrath the Propagator, the spreader of our religion.¡± His face squirms in the face of an ugly truth, so I mean to test him further. ¡°Our religion may have had a difficult origin, but as High Priestess, I envision a glorious future, and while I acknowledge the incredible feat of the father of my goblin Oath Keepers, you may have forgotten a plausible explanation. What do your histories tell of Karo and Ligia?¡±


    ¡°N¡­ nothing,¡± he stammers, as he should.


    I knew by having my scribes scour the archives; they would turn up obscure information; I didn¡¯t think this rough pebble would one day shine and be of any value.


    ¡°Karo and Ligia assisted Zoria Oath Keeper in her duties. But like many wives of Lord Klug, they were pregnant at the time of his death. High Priestess Rexa took all their babies into her care to control their mothers, but Karo and Ligia secretly replaced their babies. High Priestess Rexa only learnt of this much later when the growth rates of the various children differed so much. Lord Klug¡¯s seed was always a vigorous blessing. The point I make is that you have no history of them, and neither does the Temple or the Tower of the Oath Keepers.¡± I grip the arms of my chair and lean forward.


    He grovels. ¡°I beg forgiveness, High Priestess.¡±


    ¡°You will have my forgiveness when you apologise to the crone of my Oath Keepers. It would be best if you never forget they are Oath Keepers. They don¡¯t habitually lie and certainly wouldn¡¯t lie to their High Priestess.¡±


    Still grovelling, he turns to face the crone. ¡°I apologise. No one knows everything, least of all me.¡±


    She beams a radiant smile at me as she approaches him. Pats his head and says, ¡°I accept your apology.¡±


    A heartbeat later, the baby¡¯s mouth opens in shock, screaming in pain. The mother steps back behind her husband, hugging and protecting her child.


    The goblin crone finishes tasting the blood on her fingernail and snarls at mother and baby. ¡°Tainted Klugite, perhaps Klugrath!¡±


    All scatter away from the mother, including her husband, who scrambles to his feet to do so. She stands alone.


    The mother¡¯s finger stabs at the crone. ¡°She is wrong!¡± She finds her husband, and her eyes beg. ¡°Tell them! Tell them you are the father. I was pregnant before they raided us.¡± She screams, ¡°Tell them!¡±


    Two spears transfix her body, one erupting from her chest, the other from her back. The screaming baby falls from her grasp, ending abruptly when it hits the ground with a thunk.


    The last of Duzsia¡¯s lineage howls in grief while throwing himself to the ground. Oddly, the crone pats his shoulder and consoles him. Shortly after, he rushes off to his tribe, and after some harsh words, he leaves them. He is a solitary, hulking shape in the shadow of dusk until he disappears.


    ¡°What did you tell him?¡± I ask.


    She raises her head. With a sheepish face, she says, ¡°I thought to assist him, High Priestess. The father I spoke of has a wife. Her blood is pure Duzsia, the Relentless lineage if he needed to find another wife.¡±


    I chuckle and waggle a finger in her direction. ¡°Does he walk to his death?¡±


    ¡°If victorious, he will win a wife and a holding. If he dies, what does it matter?¡±


    ¡°He is the last of her line¡­¡±


    She blinks. She tilts her head to one side. ¡°If he dies, what does it matter?¡± she repeats.


    I lean back into the comfort of my chair. My feelings are mixed. If the lineage of one of Lord Klug¡¯s wives ceases, it should be a tragedy, an irreparable break from the past. Does this mean other lineages could end? Why does that seem important, I wonder?


    ¡°Please inform all present they are now, Oath Keepers. If any are unhappy with this, they can leave the valley.¡±


    The crone swallows. ¡°Even his hobgoblins?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Your pregnant goblins will require fathers. You will teach any future births to purify their blood.¡±


    Her devious smile warms my heart. ¡°Yes, High Priestess, your wisdom is great.¡±


    With that, she hustles all those before me away. I wait to witness the shock of the news on the two tribes. Some forget themselves and yell in protest. They quiet themselves when I cast my eyes in their direction. Some leave after that, but most male hobgoblins stay.


    I signal to my escort. They shade me until I reach my litter. Climbing in, I wave them to lift and carry me back to the temple. This will give me several days to myself, and I am soon deep in my thoughts.


    The apparent mystery is how Klugrath¡¯s lineage survived through the ages. His rapes left babes of pure Lord Klug lineage. High Priestess Rexa and her insidious family tree must be the source. Inbreeding over the years, cousins begetting children by cousins, resulting in less pure Klugite and more Klugrath tainting.


    This may be the wrong thinking. Klugrath would have been half Lord Klug and half Rexa. Klugrath begat children by the children of Lord Klug¡¯s other wives, presumably at Rexa¡¯s insistence. She then kept them from their mothers. What if Rexa polluted all the babies in her care in the early years with her blood? Breastfeeding? Lord Klug¡¯s lineage would be dominant, but Rexa¡¯s lineage may have been able to displace the mother¡¯s lineage over many years. If true, how did the lineages of Klug¡¯s other wives endure?


    Karo and Ligia¡¯s babes escaped Rexa¡¯s clutches so Rexa could never taint their lineages. Bekto, Zuxa and Lazsia surrendered their babies by Lord Klug to Rexa, begat hobgoblin babies to Klugrath, and died in childbirth. Of all the wives of Lord Klug, their progeny would have been most influenced by Rexa. The babes of Duzsia, Luda and Koria by Lord Klug remained with Rexa until they were old enough to be raped by Klugrath. Without intervention, they and their babes would be a mixed lineage of Lord Klug and Rexa. Yet, the lineages of Duzsia and Koria survived, and the assumption is Luda¡¯s would as well if any of her descendants survived. How?


    Lord Klug''s blood is required for a goblin mother to survive giving birth to a hobgoblin babe. Zoria Oath Keeper, bless her, knew of, or perhaps discovered this technique. Indeed, records show Rexa was angry enough with Zoria about the spreading of this secret she tortured her. With Lord Klug¡¯s blood in her veins, Zoria would heal, and Rexa would torture her again and again. Rexa allowed her to die when she finally grew bored or perhaps satisfied. The scribes were vague on this detail.


    Perhaps while teaching the daughters of Duzsia, Koria and Luda this secret, Zoria also taught them how to purify the last precious drops of their mother¡¯s blood. This assumes that Rexa hadn¡¯t eliminated their mother¡¯s lineage from their blood after the years. Perhaps the more straightforward explanation is that they changed Rexa¡¯s lineage in their blood and probably Lord Klug¡¯s lineage to something else. This then became their lineage tasted and learned by Crones ever afterwards.


    Thwarting Rexa this way would¡¯ve made Zoria happy. This also means that what the crones believe is Klugrath¡¯s lineage is more accurately Rexa¡¯s lineage. Further, if Zeb Stone Grim¡¯s writings were genuine, that could explain why Kluggoth was such a failure. He had too much of Rexa¡¯s lineage. He would have been three-quarters Rexa lineage and one-quarter Klug lineage if Klugrath was the father of his mother¡¯s child. Still, why did Rexa try to eliminate the blood lineages of Lord Klug¡¯s other wives? Pure vindictiveness? Or some deliberate plan?


    Oh! I have entirely missed something crucial. I eliminated as many of Klugrath¡¯s and Kluggoth¡¯s family trees as possible, but I missed Rexa¡¯s family tree entirely. Those who would have sprung from Bekto, Zuxa, and Lazsia. It''s time to correct that oversight.


    ¡°High Priestess, are you alright?¡± asks my scribe, walking beside my litter.


    I blank my face. ¡°Of course.¡± Perhaps my genuine enthusiasm shone through a little too obvious.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.012 Revelations

    <h2>--- Zergoa, Wife of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I overhear the savages throw my camp goods about. Why is this my first thought? We have never met, although their facial markings would suggest Beastbane Clan hunters. They are far from their lands. I chew on my inside cheek. This isn¡¯t right.


    ¡°We have her. Cliff on one side, an impossible climb on the other.¡±


    ¡°The campfire is still warm,¡± says another, his voice full of glee. ¡°Have you found any tracks?¡±


    His question is to the one skulking about in front of me, who is only within earshot of his fellow hunters. His eyes are on my tracks, several leading up to the stream as he expects. He jumps across, landing like a frog. Crouching, he examines the other side. The solid stone on that side gives nothing away. He shuffles forward to the edge of the stone and pauses. The boot imprint I left him captures his attention. His head rises, and he scrutinises further along. My tracks are suggestive, but inconclusive because this section has too much exposed stone. He wants to believe that I heard them approach and then fled without thinking of packing up my camp.


    I didn¡¯t know who they were the first time I spied them from a distance. Being cautious, I snuck up on their camp and eavesdropped. To my surprise, I discovered I was their prey. At least three groups of six. This camp is one group. The beaters they named themselves. They would herd me at full flight into their companions lying in ambush.


    ¡°She is running,¡± he calls back as he scans his surroundings.


    None ever look down.


    He doubts his own words because as he turns to leave, he casts one last look and sighs. Dusk is approaching. I hear the crackling of my firewood on the campfire and smell my fresh kill sizzling. He sniffs towards my former camp and follows his nose.


    I risk shifting some rocks into the stream to make my position more comfortable. The vegetation is sparse and provides for only two places to hide. I take the furthest from the game trail stream crossing. My nanorobots feed off the water and warm me. The six will need water shortly, and I mean to ambush them.


    Two eventually approach the stream. One hunter drops to his haunches and begins filling one of several water skins. The other keeps an eye out. I puff. The dart races up the pipe, and with a zip, strikes the one standing. His hand slaps at his neck. ¡°Big insects!¡±


    He turns his hand over and examines the insect, his eyes flying wide simultaneously. He taps his companion¡¯s shoulder and lowers his hand. ¡°What sort of insect is this?¡±


    The second slaps his neck as my dart strikes home.


    ¡°Stupid fool, sound the alarm and run,¡± growls the second while climbing to his feet and grabbing at his sting.


    The first tries to yell, but unfortunately, his throat is swelling. Number two bends down to help the first, who drops to his knees and tries to breathe. The second lets out a whimper of a shout and drops to his knees.


    I place my blowpipe on a nearby rock and explode from my prone position in the creek, rushing both. Their eyes are wide when I kick each of them in the head. On my knees, I push them over the edge. I don¡¯t wait for the drop. While they can¡¯t yell, I am sure their bodies will break branches and tree limbs on the way down. My priority is to return to my hidden position in the stream.


    My face sinks below the water, leaving my eyes and nose above. A newcomer hurries to the stream to investigate, another not far behind him carrying torches. Their hands trail through the crushed grasses beside the stream. They follow the trampled grass because I rolled the bodies. They slap the back of their necks and examine the bugs that sting them. Both exchange looks and try to speak while backing away from the cliff¡¯s edge. I push one, and the second glances over his shoulder. He flies over the cliff next.


    I hear a twig snap behind me and swivel about in a crouching stance, drawing my sword.


    ¡°Clever,¡± says one I don¡¯t recognise. He throws the two halves of my blowpipe into the stream, and shortly after, they float by me and over the cliff, adding rubbish to the waterfall.


    Forming a half circle around me are the last two of the six and five newcomers wielding spears, sliding forward one step at a time. Where did the second six come from? Weren¡¯t they to lay an ambush further along?


    ¡°I am certain you fancy your chances. Your reputation proceeds you, of course, being a wife of Lord Klar. But we are hunters of Clan Beastbane, and, to us, you are another beast.¡±


    ¡°I killed four hunters. Were their deaths worth it?¡±


    ¡°We will remember their names around a campfire. Those who sacrificed so that we could capture a rare, elusive, and dangerous beast.¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°Or slay.¡±


    ¡°Who do you think I am? Because I am nothing, I assure you.¡±


    ¡°I admire your skill and bravado. Six of us, and you didn¡¯t even try to run? Fortunately for us, we are three groups of six. Others wait for you further along. We watched the first six to see if you would attack them and, if so, how. Most natural prey runs until cornered. You didn¡¯t wait, it seems. Good for you.¡± His superior smile is irritating, and I wish for nothing more than to throw him over the cliff behind me. ¡°Now, unless you want my companions to poke and prod you off the ledge, you will drop your sword and offer your hands for binding.¡±


    There would be a pool of water at the waterfall¡¯s base, but would it be enough? The drop, though, would kill most, if not everyone. Lord Klar? A question for another time. Live to fight another day? They seem intent on capture¡­ I drop my sword and offer my wrists.


    One steps forward while the others prepare for me to react. There are visible sighs of relief when my wrists are bound. The one who did the tying drags me away from the cliff edge until I am face to face with the talkative one.


    He nods his head, and two others hold my arms in place. I struggle and believe I could throw them off, but behind them are five spears ready to thrust. When I settle, he holds up one of my darts. Before I can speak, he stabs my hands. Swelling and numbness creeps over them.


    ¡°I do like these.¡± He flicks his fingers. This means something to them as three of his companions return for backpacks, and another three grab torches and light them. The black of night recedes. I realise now that the campfire and cooking were what I expected, so I didn¡¯t question that they could have been testing me. Four of them, though? Who accepts such a loss?


    My eight escorts enter a new camp and, with slaps and embracing, greet another six. One of those six throws down a torch to light a huge bonfire. A signal? A second, smaller stack of wood is nearby. Are they intending to have an all-night celebration? Wine? Mead? Please tell me they have some.


    With spear points resting against my abdomen, they tie my ankles and untie my wrists. Next, they remove my armour and weapon sheaths. Once done, they bind my wrists again around a standing post and untie my ankles. They are almost revenant as they fold and stack my armour. My sheathed weapons crown the pile. Odd.


    He playfully slaps my cheek twice and then grabs at my tusks, shaking my head. Pointing at the fire, he says, ¡°We are telling our Clan Head that we have been successful and await his answer.¡± His smile is predatory.


    His companions spare me sly glances. All seem to know something. A secret. They go about encamping, as expected, but something is off. One I didn¡¯t notice comes sprinting back from somewhere, a broad, joyful smile on his lips. When his leader nods, his head snaps in my direction. Even in the flickering, dying light of the bonfire, I see an eager excitement in his eyes.


    The leader saunters over to face me. ¡°Well, it seems we know your fate.¡± Behind him, under wavering torch light, I notice several of them picking up wood. The pit of my stomach churns as I see them approach. They have yet to feed me or offer water. I swallow.


    ¡°Yes, our Clan Head has concluded a dead wife is better than a prisoner wife.¡± The tumbling of the firewood at my feet is an abstract. My mind is racing to many conclusions. They were to take me prisoner, weren¡¯t they? I should have taken more of them with me and died on my feet. At least, in the end, I could have dived over the cliff, taking whatever slim chance I could. Am I to be burnt at the stake?


    The leader¡¯s face twists in anger. The messenger drops to the ground as the leader¡¯s backhand slaps his face. ¡°Where are you supposed to be?¡±


    A limp arm points towards what I assume is the cliff edge.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you there?¡± he growls.


    ¡°We have her?¡±


    The leader glances in my direction, and then his eyes are again on the messenger. ¡°His wives are a pack. We are hunting a pack! How many times does it take for you to learn that? Now go.¡±


    The messenger scrambles to his feet and stumbles out of camp.


    The leader flicks his fingers three times. Three of his companions leave camp and head off into the night. Their protests weren¡¯t refusal, more like disappointment. Did he just order them to night watch? Were they going to miss my death? My nanorobots neutralised the ichor from my darts almost immediately, not that using my hands would be of immediate help. I had already tried to twist my wrists to test the leather throngs. As subtle as I can, I lean on the post. My thighs straining to push against the immobile.


    His laughter catches me out.


    ¡°We dug deep and then hammered the post further. The wives of Lord Klar are strong. No one knows if he strengthens you or you strengthen him, or perhaps there is some shared bond. But we took no chances.¡±


    The messenger returns, panic on his face and out of breath. The leader grabs him by his tusks to draw his face close.


    ¡°Another is coming. The signal, I saw the signal. I swear.¡±


    ¡°You know what you must do?¡±


    The messenger nods and runs into the dark. While uncertain, I am reasonably confident that he follows the path taken by one of the three.


    ¡°Someone is coming to rescue you, it seems.¡± His smug, overconfident look is almost unbearable. ¡°Somehow, you are a pack, and no one knows how. Clan Head Jarlgren has paid for any rumour, gossip, or report involving Lord Klar and his wives. We also have spies in your town and always have eyes on the roads, paths, and gates. Nothing comes or goes without us knowing. When your Lord swindled our Clan Head, he made a blood oath enemy.¡±


    ¡°Your Clan Head is crazy. He and Lord Klar made a deal, no more, no less.¡± His spill of information confirms he means to kill me. Otherwise, his secret would become common knowledge. I try to prepare myself for death, yet how?


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°No!¡± He backhands my face, but I won¡¯t yield. ¡°His prized despatch is a witness report of Lord Klar¡¯s goblin and hobgoblin wives working as one, slaying over one hundred battle-hardened goblins like harvesting wheat. But even better was the goblin¡¯s escape after the hobgoblin turned to dust. While she was bound, fifty goblins entered her tent, and none left. She slew them all.¡±


    ¡°Pure exaggeration, tall tales for free drinks at an inn.¡±


    He wiggles his finger back and forth before me. ¡°No. We captured several of the goblins after the battle while they foraged. On their lives, they swore. Even the hobgoblin wife turning to dust.¡±


    ¡°They needed to explain their defeat, so they invented an enemy, which none could prove real or false afterwards.¡±


    He adjusts several logs. ¡°We thought that might be the case as well. So, we waited and watched. Someone visited the battle site several days back, and guess what?¡± He shakes my head by grabbing my tusks. ¡°Someone picked up the hobgoblin¡¯s armour, dusted it off, polished it and even wore it. Hobgoblin Town was abuzz with gossip that Duzsia, the wife of Lord Klar, hadn¡¯t died. She just rushed off to capture a pet wolf!¡±


    We know something turned Duzsia and Klaria to dust. So, who would¡¯ve taken up Duzsia¡¯s armour?


    ¡°Is my story confusing to you? Want me to talk slower? Didn¡¯t your sister-wives tell you? Poor, poor you. Well, soon you won¡¯t have to worry. We are only sad that Lord Klar, the goblin fiend, and Lord Torngul¡¯s daughter never returned to be ambushed, but you will do.¡±


    The messenger bursts into the camp and sprints towards us. ¡°One is down.¡±


    ¡°Well. Looks like we have company, and I must complete preparations.¡± He throws a couple of torches onto the chopped wood and twigs at my feet, and slinks off. I look down, and there is a sense of relief because they piled the wood at my feet, not entirely around me. I climb my feet out of the pile while shimmying up the post. The heat is building. I prepare my nanorobots to deaden the pain and hope the flames burn my bindings before they consume my hands. Why aren¡¯t they stopping me? Where are they? I hear yelling from the woods about the camp. It is them, I am sure. They are calling out to each other. Are they trying to co-ordinate and herd my rescuer?


    I spy her face in the dark. Her wonderful slim face. She is listening. The heat is rising, and my nanorobots act to quell the pain. The smell of my burning flesh reaches my nose. Izga darts towards me. Her graceful running is like a dream. We can see each other clearly, four body lengths away, three body lengths, and then she yelps. The ground opens underneath her. She briefly flails her arms and legs, then disappears. I recognise the squelch. Only spears thrusting through flesh make that sound. Beautiful Izga. Tears roll down my cheeks, and then I bellow out my hurt!


    Three, then one more. Why is this hunter late? They peer over the edge of the pit. ¡°I told you the extra depth would do the trick.¡±


    Then I recognised his voice. ¡°Pack animals. They will always try to save their own. You were excellent bait, my dear. I wasn¡¯t certain if you would turn on the pole or not. But did it really matter? There was fire on the other side, so she could only approach you from this side. Plus, she needed to rush, of course, to save you from certain death. Fire consumes.¡±


    I imagine my death. Feel my nanorobots do my bidding. My flesh dries rapidly, and I am confident my dust will add to the soil.


    My spirit rises just as Klaria described.


    ¡°Fixate on your armour or weapons, sister-wife.¡±


    I remember her words if freshly spoken and trust them. My armour and weapons are where they left them, and I float effortlessly above them.


    ¡°I am sorry, Zergoa. I should have prepared for the possibility they hunted us. What will become of Solgia? I was to be her saviour as well.¡±


    Now I hear Izga speaking to me. How is that possible?


    ¡°We are with you, sister-wife.¡± They speak as one. ¡°Observe our conquerors.¡±


    They retrieve Izga¡¯s bloodied body, pierced multiple times by spears, hanging in the deep pit trap. Something I am confident my sister-wife would have spotted if not focused solely on saving me. They remove her armour and weapons, then clean and stack them beside mine. Her body they throw onto my pyre. They then celebrate by sharing mead, toasting their victory, and recalling the names of their dead. As they name each, they add their body to the fire.


    We follow because we must. Five of the nineteen hunters decamp and march off at first light. I assume they are returning victorious to their clan head.


    <h2>---Rexa, former High Priestess of Klug POV</h2>


    ¡°N¡­ nothing,¡± he stammers. He is no warrior; did he really help conceive the baby flesh I inhabit?


    ¡°Karo and Ligia assisted Zoria Oath Keeper in her duties. But like many wives of Lord Klug, they were pregnant at the time of his death. High Priestess Rexa took all their babies into her care to control their mothers. Someone warned Karo and Ligia, and they secretly replaced their babies. High Priestess Rexa only learnt of this much later when the growth rates of the various children differed so much. Lord Klug¡¯s seed was always a vigorous blessing. The point I make is that you have no history of them, and neither does the Temple or the Tower of the Oath Keepers.¡±


    Again, he grovels. ¡°I beg forgiveness, High Priestess.¡±


    Those two conniving bitches, they will be dust by now. Nobody cared about them. I recognise her voice. She is the petulant one, a mere Voter member of the Circle of Ascension, not my chosen. More importantly, how did the Oath Keeper voter usurp and make herself High Priestess? Damm, these infant¡¯s eyes. She has fled from my sight and is once again a seated blur.


    ¡°You will have my forgiveness when you apologise to the crone of my Oath Keepers. You should always remember they are Oath Keepers. They don¡¯t make a habit of lying, and they certainly wouldn¡¯t lie to their High Priestess.¡±


    I should have had my son storm their tower and slay them all. Zoria, the betrayer, made them think of themselves as incredibly blessed. When this infantile body grows, they will be the first to feel my wrath. They are a misguided plague that needs to be extinguished.


    Save me, Lord Klug, he grovels again. ¡°I apologise. No one will know everything, least of all me.¡±


    I hear her reply. ¡°I accept your apology.¡±


    His mewling voice annoys me. I try to swear at him, but all this baby voice can do is howl and then I feel a scratch on my arm. Ouch. Now I cry for real. My infantile eyes are clear enough to realise the ground is rising to meet me. No, I am not rising; I am falling, and my head targets a stone.


    ---


    My spirit is once again free of flesh and rising. I don¡¯t panic this time. Reaching equilibrium is well within me, but I don¡¯t dally. I know some unwritten rule limits my time, so my search for a replacement begins immediately. I need to avoid a newborn, which should be possible as I now recognise the signature. Looking down, I observe scant candidates. This shocks me. What has happened to the worship of Lord Klug, or specifically, what has targeted my direct descendants?


    I track ones and twos, travelling in a specific direction. North, south, east, or west, I am unsure. I only know the valley. One way lies the mountains, the other way, the plains. I race ahead of these stragglers and find a modest gathering of my kin after a time.


    Now, to observe. I feel my spirit being drawn, a tug to rise, which, with effort, I resist. I need to find an anchor. There is a descendant who shines brightly. I latch on. To dislodge this spirit is impossible, but the shining strength allows me to fix myself in this world, and I am grateful. Could I tether to her until another opportunity arises?


    A wife? I hoover closer. Yes, she must be his wife. They seem familiar with each other. She and her partner relax by a river, taking in the sun. A third life approaches them, and they don¡¯t glow like her partner. They embrace, and shortly after, my anchor dims. Then becomes faint. I rapidly descend, and all her former glow is gone when I reach her. I invade her body. Water fills my lungs. As I take ownership, pain radiates from around my neck. Did the pair strangle my new body? Not an embrace, then?


    I flop my arms in search of something, anything to grab. When I strike something rough, I grab it with both hands and attempt to lift my body. The water in my lungs will be my death. I slip back into the river. Get rid of the water, I admonish myself. I cough, to no avail. Drawing myself up, there is nothing to rest on. My log isn¡¯t large enough. I face my head down and cough again. Anger rises red hot within me. I have a body, an adult body, and I am not failing now.


    I tell my body to rid itself of the water, consume, destroy, do anything. Survival is my sole priority; I need to breathe to survive. My head sways, and weakness takes root in my arms. I feel my grip on the log slipping. Silently, I try to scream out my frustration. To my complete surprise, I draw in a deep breath. Air fills my lungs while my neck aches with incredible pain. I order my body to heal my neck.


    There was always something in Lord Klug¡¯s blood. Without my influence, they would go about doing what they needed. Conveying a feeling of well-being. Being aware of their presence and commanding them was a leap too far for me then. In these last moments, I believed I had nothing to lose. So, whatever they were, I commanded them and bent them to meet my needs.


    With all this water around me, I feel an incredible thirst rise from within. I dip my head and drink. As the water flows down my throat, the swallowing pain fades until no more. A wonder.


    One arm over my log, the other stroking at the water, and I reach the bank after a while. The river has carried me away, so I don¡¯t know where I am. But I am alive in an adult body and must correct at least one immediate wrong.


    I crawl out of the water, climb to my feet, and promptly fall over. I rise on one elbow and blink to be sure. There is an outwards twist in my right ankle. Anger blinds me, and I grab a rock and smash my ankle. The frustration of being this close to returning and being so unlucky. I hammer flesh and bone until the pain overwhelms me.


    I wake up because of the throbbing pain in my ankle. What insanity overcame me? A black, bloodied pulp is the result. I hoist the bloody ankle up for a better view and see white and almost faint. Recovering, I shift the other leg under. With one leg on the other, I slide by the bottom and stretch my legs. I rest to recover from the pain and then repeat. Shortly after, the river water washes over the smashed ankle, cleaning away the blood and revealing hopelessness. What was once inadequately functional is now beyond recognisable.


    Hot, bitter tears roll down my cheeks. I wish to be whole. Is that so bad? I shout at my useless foot and imagine it whole and functioning. Dream of running through long grass. The next moment I am out, like suffering a hammer blow to the head.


    ---


    ¡°Here!¡±


    Is this the first or the last call I hear? I blink my eyes, and bright morning sunlight forces me to close them. Several shadows shield me from the sun¡¯s rays, and I open my eyes again.


    ¡°She¡¯s alive, she¡¯s alive!¡± Several young females call out in celebration. I notice the light linen dresses they wear and their brooches. The silver sword crossed with a single golden bushel of wheat glow. I blink. That¡¯s new. I glance down and spot the one pinned on my identical linen dress. We are the same. Same what?


    ¡°The High Priestess will be so pleased!¡± shouts one while another offers me her hand.


    A third youthful helper circles around to my other side, holding her arms out, readying herself. For what?


    They all draw in a deep breath as I climb to my feet. My feet squirm in the river sand. When they recover, they point at the ground. Of course. I am now whole as Lord Klar¡¯s High Priestess should be. His blessing lives on in my descendants, available to me when required so I can serve him.


    ¡°When drowning, I prayed to Lord Klug. Not only did he save me, but he also blessed my foot,¡± I confess to them.


    They rush in for a group hug, and after a close call, we avoid falling about and possibly getting wet. Why is that bad? Water is to be embraced. Water is my ally.


    ¡°My acolyte maiden lives then.¡± The pure musical tone of her voice is beguiling.


    Those helping me immediately swivel about while straightening their dresses and, after, immediately drop to one knee. I suspect another acolyte is beside this unquestionable beauty. Against my will, I mimic my fellow acolytes and drop to one knee.


    ¡°Rise my acolytes. And you,¡± she says, her eyes on me. ¡°Come into my embrace and enjoy my favour.¡±


    Enjoy my favour? I shuffle forward. The acolyte beside her tilts her head. Do they all expect me to be giddy and excited?


    Her arms wrap around me. ¡°You must have suffered so. Still in shock, perhaps? Your acolyte sister told me of your double blessing. Surviving drowning and your ankle once again new.¡± Her gentle pats on my back are relieving. Again, I must command myself. Tears well up behind my eyes! Her voice? Her touch?


    She holds me at arm¡¯s length. Her eyes command mine while her thumb caresses my head. A wetness draws on my forehead, and those around me gasp. I blink to escape her eyes. Her warm, kind smile greets me. ¡°Come.¡± Her arm hangs out, waiting for me to wrap mine in hers.


    Then I feel the invaders.


    Their presence ignites a recognition within me. They are the same as mine, my helpers, my gift from Lord Klug. They occupy my new body because this hobgoblin female is my ancestor, and all my ancestors pass down their blood. I am sure my kin weren¡¯t fully aware of their helpers. Like, until moments ago, I wasn¡¯t. They probably prayed to Lord Klug like I once did, not realising his helpers are his agents, which the faithful can command. This means she is in command of her helpers. Is she a relative of mine?


    I try to capture her helpers. I try conversion next and they convert some of my helpers instead. Battle and conquest are all that remain. In the blink of an eye, hundreds of my helpers are gone, but so are hers.


    She blinks. Her arm sweeps me into her embrace, an irresistible force. ¡°You are full of surprises, acolyte.¡±


    As we all stroll towards a township, I spy the huge cavern looming up from behind. The visage is similar yet different to Lord Klug¡¯s temple, where I invoked his worship. Then, in a blink, my present situation returns. This must be her temple, and she must be his priestess here. Is she truly his High Priestess? Does she stand with or against the Oath Keeper usurper? Am I to be her ally or enemy?


    I note two furtive looks. Yes, I remember the male. He said he was someone important. Him, at least, I owe a throttling. Bribery to leave? Then his hands were on my throat. The female beside him squirms under my gaze, and I am sure I will discover why.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.013 Planning by Assumption

    <h2>---Vorlora, Wolf Rider POV</h2>


    Wide open goblin¡¯s eyes look over my shoulder. Old Wolf whines. I throw myself sideways and wear blood splatter from an axe, which splits the goblin in half, head to navel. I continue to roll and bounce to my feet while drawing my sword. The axe falls again, and I jump clear instead of trying to parry. The male hobgoblin is massive. Cured furs, his ritual face scarring a dead giveaway. Clan Beastbane. Shuddering from shock, Old Wolf¡¯s calm maturity and warmth pulses through our bond.


    I hear Old Wolf growl and spare a glance in his direction. Another two with a net are trying to capture him, but he manages, for now, at least, to dance away. My prisoners, I assume, have escaped or possibly have decided the enemy of my enemy is my friend.


    Darting between the standing grass is my only hope. His crashing through is louder, which covers any noise my aimless escape makes. Before distance prevents me, I utilise our fading bond link to order Old Wolf to bolt, escape, and urge him to stay alive. He mentally laughs in reply, with joy in his heart. He is looking forward to this game.


    I dash through the grass with his confidence uppermost in my mind. Itching in my armour guides me, and I place my entire trust in this miracle. Do I have any other choice? Both my ankles itch. I halt. I can hear the thrashing growing distant and sigh with relief.


    My right arm itches and I ready my sword. A face appears through the grass, and by pure reflex, I stab. The body falls, and my blade slides out of my first captive¡¯s eye socket. The entire left side of my body itches, and I throw myself in that direction. Not the massive one, but a larger-than-normal hobgoblin, another belonging to Beastbane, bursts through the grass.


    Before I can try to raise my sword, he somersaults over my first captive¡¯s body to land on his back. The raising of my sword to parry turns into a reverse swing. I cut deep into his thigh, and he tries to bellow but can¡¯t find the breath. My dagger is in my left hand, and I strike for his throat. At the last moment, he rolls away, and I slice his ear instead.


    My thighs itch. I climb to my feet and sprint into the long grass. Angry words chase me. ¡°We know you aren¡¯t who you pretend to be. Stop this folly, and we will make your death swift. Otherwise, you will suffer.¡±


    My itches guide me until I meet Old Wolf. He licks my face, and I hug his neck. I quickly relay my kill and close escape. There is an itch in the seat of my pants. Ride Old Wolf, perhaps? I slide onto his back, and itches continue to guide me. We travel for some distance, and then I receive another itch in my pants and dismount.


    I listen as I receive no more guidance.


    ---


    ¡°I thought he would be done by now?¡± complains one voice.


    A chuckle. ¡°Would you like to go check? Interrupt him, perhaps?¡±


    ¡°He would mistake either of us on a whim if he thought it was fun. No, he has his two usuals with him.¡± I hear him spit. ¡°They can keep him.¡±


    My right arm itches. Does my guide want me to attack? I chew the side of my cheek. Am I ready for this? Trust in myself. Milga tested me. Her hobgoblin namesake pushed me. This is real, though. Old Wolf nudges me with his nose.


    We can do this, he assures me.


    I peer through the grass. The camp is beside the river under a full-grown shade tree. I suspect such a tree would be visible to the massive hobgoblin in the tall grass.


    Only one of them faces us, but not directly. Old Wolf will leap upon the second while I charge the other. Resisting the urge to yell for courage, I jump to my feet and rush forward for all I am worth. My nanorobots respond to my needs, adding energy to my thighs.


    My sword is swinging down at his head as he rises while trying to draw his axe from behind his back. No! My blade is going to strike the haft of his axe. At the last moment, I redirect the downward arc and swing across. I am uncertain which of us is the most shocked. Duzsia¡¯s steel blade slices through his wrist, and he screams. His good hand tries to stem the blood flow from his stump. His axe falls away. I draw back my sword and stab. My blade finds his heart, and he finds peace.


    Old Wolf is still chewing out the neck of the other, and with one last effort, the head of the second hobgoblin flies away. My pants itch, and I am quickly on Old Wolf¡¯s back, returning to the long grass.


    Not long after, I hear a bellowing roar. One of the clan hobgoblins has discovered our slaughter. A challenge, perhaps. We circle. Why are we returning to their camp? At my guide¡¯s urging, I ride through the tall grass bordering their camp, sword at the ready. A hobgoblin sits on a log, bandaging his thigh because of the wound I gave him. Old Wolf gallops onward. Can¡¯t he hear us? My blade is an extension of my arm, and I swing at his neck. His head separates. Sparing a glance, I witness it sail off into the river.


    Without pause, we charge back into the grass. I can hear us crash through, so I am sure others could, yet this is what my guide urges me to do. Before I can redirect Old Wolf, he gallops over a running hobgoblin, knocking her to the ground. I leap off Old Wolf and rush at her. She releases her sword.


    ¡°Please, we were under orders.¡±


    ¡°But you lied to me,¡± I snarl.


    ¡°I was afraid. It was Clan Head Durlarg. I swear I tell you the truth now.¡±


    There is an itch in my sword arm. But she is defenceless? She rolls away. Because of hesitation, my downward stab misses. Old Wolf has no mercy and snaps at her head. He closes his jaws across the back of her neck and shakes her like raw meat. She whimpers and then falls silent. There is an itch in the seat of my pants, and we are away again. I pat Old Wolf. Even with nanorobots, the frequent riding and carrying my weight is tiring him. We head back to the river.


    Peering through the grass, I realise this is a different stretch of the river. I guide Old Wolf into the water, leaping off before I wet my boots. I crouch by the river¡¯s edge to scoop handfuls of water into my mouth. A long time passed without itches, and I wondered if my guide had left me. My hesitation? I summon Old Wolf from the water and decide to at least find some cover.


    I listen while Old Wolf uses his nose. Dusk isn¡¯t far off, and there are at least two more hunting me ¡ª well, probably us. There is no roar yet. Therefore, I am confident they haven¡¯t returned to their camp by the river, which means they are still searching for us in the tall grass. We are resting while they are hopefully tiring themselves.


    ---


    ¡°Here,¡± hisses a voice. ¡°Towards the river, no, into the river.¡±


    ¡°What they swam across?¡±


    It is him. I am certain. I command Old Wolf to leap on the one at the river. Shortly, he will find my footfalls in the river sand, if not already. This leaves the giant hobgoblin for me. My body almost betrays me, but I hold my water.


    We go our separate ways towards our prey. Old Wolf leaps first. The giant yells a warning, but Old Wolf lands heavily on the back of his prey, and then I lose sight of them. Old Wolf¡¯s distraction enables me to close on the giant hobgoblin. I don¡¯t swing high. Instead, I strike with all my strength at the back of his knee. My blade bites deep, and he collapses. A raging growl follows. I try to withdraw my blade but can¡¯t. His massive thigh and calf meet to lock the blade in place. He looks over his shoulder. Our eyes meet, and I release the grip on my sword as his hand reaches for mine. I jump back for good measure.


    Incredibly, he rises on one leg. My sword stays impaled in the back of his knee as he stretches that leg out, testing it. He reaches for the huge double-bladed axe slung on his massive back.


    ¡°You are dead, snivelling whelp.¡±


    I move around him. He pivots on his wounded leg to face me while taking practice swings with his axe. He just needs to get lucky once, and his massive axe will slice me in two.


    ¡°What do we have here?¡±


    We snap our heads around to see who will gain from the intrusion.


    ¡°Gorgrin, you shit. How could you forswear your Clan?¡± The giant spits at him.


    ¡°I thought I heard your roar from across the river. Lucky for me, my hunting party and I investigated. Does the sword hurt?¡± Gorgrin chuckles. ¡°Do you throw down your axe?¡±


    The huntresses escorting Gorgrin nock an arrow and drawback on their bows.


    ¡°You will need to take my axe from my dead hands. Do you have the balls to try?¡±


    Before I can blink, Gorgrin releases an arrow. The shaft pierces the giant¡¯s thigh above his good knee. He grunts, spittle escaping his mouth. Shortly after, a female hobgoblin from the town leads several cloaked hobgoblins to join us. He must surrender, I reason.


    ¡°What about now?¡± asks Gorgrin.


    The giant chuckles. ¡°I think the odds are about right, I reckon.¡±


    The new arrivals throw back their cloaks and launch themselves at Gorgrin and his huntresses.


    One of them charges at Gorgrin, yelling, ¡°How can you betray the Clan and teach females to hunt? You are lower than the dirt beneath my feet, and we will make you pay!¡±


    ¡°What the shit,¡± yells Gorgrin as he releases an arrow at his accuser, taking him in the eye. Then another attacks him, and he fends off the attacker¡¯s spear with his bow.


    I charge and aim to punch the spear-wielding hunter in the face. Gorgrin parries with his bow again, drawing his attention, and I smash the hunter in the nose. Gorgrin frees his axe and swings while the hunter weakly raises his spear to face me, half stunned. An axe head bites into his shoulder, and I snatch his spear from weakening hands. My attention returns to the giant. Who, I had guessed correctly, was incapable of any swift movement, although he held his axe high, ready to swing.


    I dance around him now, using the spear¡¯s length to keep my distance while striking from his blindside. I spare the occasional glance to check if Gorgrin is still standing. Old Wolf has gone hunting.


    A wounded Gorgrin and another huntress are still standing when the giant drops to his knees, the shaft of his axe providing a third leg to prop up his bleeding body. He eyes me and shakes his head.


    ¡°How does a false whelp defeat me?¡±


    An arrow transfixes his head, ear to ear, and I jump back. Like an enormous tree in the forest, the giant hobgoblin crashes to the ground.


    ¡°I am brave when needs be, but while he still draws breath, there is no way I am putting my body within range of his axe.¡±


    I nod towards his huntresses. ¡°Not our hobgoblins, then?¡±


    ¡°No, more sinister than that. The one who led them to us must have gathered them from close by. Can only assume spies would be that handy. She, though, looks to be one of the cooks or the like, which is troubling.¡±


    I free my sword from the giant hobgoblin¡¯s knee and step over his axe. Then, I check the silent and groaning bodies. ¡°Any of the spies alive or just yours?¡±


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Just ours,¡± whispers the still standing huntress.


    ¡°What story do we tell?¡±


    He sighs. ¡°We can¡¯t float them down the river, too slow and winding. Plus, they must pass by another clan unnoticed. We will need to bury them.¡±


    ¡°And me?¡±


    ¡°I suggest you weren¡¯t here. Duzsia would have been¡­ enough,¡± he answers. His eyes avoid mine.


    Dusk passes into night as we bury the last, theirs and ours. I know my digging efforts far exceed what would be considered average, but I am angry and don¡¯t hold back calling on my nanorobots.


    A simple truth has hit me. I may wear her armour, but I am not Duzsia. To pretend would be more dangerous than not. Others would set expectations high, and failure would be that more telling. I call Old Wolf to me and decide I will ride him into the village at first light, but I will leave her helm off.


    Old Wolf followed the female hobgoblin, who led the spies to us. She met with others, reported to them, and then they slew her. I told Gorgrin of her fate before we went our separate ways.


    <h2>---Solgia, Lord Klar¡¯s Scribe and Wife POV</h2>


    ¡°Wake, sister-wife.¡±


    What? I roll over. I must be dreaming.


    The same voice rings in my head again and again. I awaken.


    ¡°Klaria? But how?¡±


    ¡°We share a bond, sister-wife, beyond death. I have made a grave mistake and underestimated our enemy.¡±


    I chuckle and then cover my mouth. ¡°You think we have only one?¡± I spare a glance to check on my two juniors.


    ¡°My folly has led to Izga and Zergoa¡¯s deaths. Such a waste. Also, what is worse, their spirits travel with their slayers.¡±


    ¡°Possibly not a waste, sister-wife. Can they eavesdrop?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Why or how do you return to me?¡±


    ¡°We stored my armour and sword below, and before you ask, Izga took my dagger with her.¡±


    I rub my eyes and stretch. ¡°Good. We will have two spies in their camp. Also, you can travel between to relay any eavesdropping. Yes?¡±


    ¡°Yes. But why are you so calm?¡±


    ¡°I am a former slave. Slaves live or suffer at the whim of their masters. I have lived in fear for most of my life and learnt that panic kills quick. Tell me everything about what happened to Zergoa and Izga.¡±


    I listen to the spirit of my sister-wife. She relays what she witnessed. What Izga and especially Zergoa told her. As she finishes, it is plain to me that Clan Beastbane is the immediate threat. With Duzsia¡¯s apprentice returning and the details of her ambush, Clan Head Durlarg is also a threat but opportunistic. He took a chance and threw some pawns at a possibility. Clan Head Jarlgren has gathered information and developed plans. Worse, he has been successful. Success will only encourage him, so the top of the list is to ensure he suffers a failure. The death of one of his champions was a good start, but not enough. I am still wondering why he tried to kill or capture Vorlora. Or was she to be the bait to attract Gorgrin and to kill him, the teacher of the hobgoblin huntresses?


    Duzsia joins us. ¡°Solgia, it seems you are alone¡­¡±


    ¡°No, you will be ample company. Although, describe your contact with Vorlora, given she isn¡¯t one of Lord Klar¡¯s wives?¡±


    ¡°Simple, really. I agitated her nanorobots. There isn¡¯t any control. They are rejecting my attempt.¡±


    ¡°Would you or Klaria be able to communicate with Voria in the same way?¡±


    There is a pause.


    ¡°Klaria and I will do some tests.¡±


    ¡°Good. Over the next few days, I need you two to identify the Clan Beastbane¡¯s spies. They will need to change shifts if keeping watch from afar or need to pass off any information if spying within the village, the fields, or the forests. For my part, I will more openly send some messages and confess my concerns or be upbeat about promises of non-existent help. This should create a flurry of information for them to report. Now go.¡±


    I expected Klaria, second wife of Lord Klar, to protest about me giving the orders, but perhaps being a spirit and the guilt over the deaths of Zergoa and Izga has tamed her somewhat.


    ---


    I break my fast and dress as usual, although I now add Klaria¡¯s shin armour to my dressing routine. Right on time, Vorlora and Voria join me in Lord Klar¡¯s tower.


    ¡°Have you and Voria drowned your sorrows in mead at the Inn the last few days?¡± I ask Vorlora.


    ¡°Yes, mistress.¡±


    I chuckle and shake my head. ¡°Your mistress isn¡¯t me. Solgia or Head Scribe will do.¡± She nods. ¡°You have the innkeeper convinced you are heading towards a drunken stupor like Voria?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Solgia.¡±


    ¡°Since you are now drinking buddies, buy up big and find a quiet place to drink together. One that is away from spying eyes so Voria can continue your training. What Duzsia has begun, Voria must finish to the best of her ability.¡±


    They nod as one and leave via the ladder.


    As they climb the ladder, I shift Duzsia¡¯s sheath and dagger around my waist. Wearing a weapon will take some getting used to, but I must ensure Duzsia and Klaria can return to me.


    He waits for me as ordered.


    ¡°What are you doing about finding more betraying Beastbane females?¡±


    Gorgrin scratches his head. ¡°Nothing until you tell me otherwise?¡±


    I slap the big, lovable brute on his shoulder. ¡°Correct!¡± He rocks back on his heels, a playful smile on his lips. ¡°I hope to learn more about our Clan Beastbane infection over the next few days, so business as usual for now.¡± He nods, of course. ¡°More urgently, I need you to travel to Hobgoblin Town and see if we can hire several mercenaries from Lord Torngul.¡± I hand him a scroll. ¡°Don¡¯t lose it. The scroll commits us to sell our grain to the bearer. You must deliver it to Lord Torngul.¡±


    ¡°I will take a couple of huntresses with me,¡± he murmurs.


    ¡°Ride the beasts. They sorely need exercise.¡±


    His cheerful grin before hurrying off is enough to confirm he welcomes the offer.


    ¡°Scribe Solgia, why does he, erm, accept your orders? You are female, and he is still a Clan Beastbane hunter ¡­¡± says the more vocal of my two bodyguards.


    Do I offer my opinion, knowing it could be wrong?


    ¡°He is uncertain of his future, perhaps because Lord Klar has been gone for a long time, but he can still honour his blood oath by serving me. According to him, the huge Beastbane hunter he slew was a favourite of his father, so he expects retribution in some form or another.¡± I chuckle. ¡°I guess he hopes beyond hope I can stand between him and his father.¡±


    ¡°You are not a warrior who can protect him.¡± She rises and slams her keen-edged steel sword in its fine leather sheath.


    ¡°If this depended on warriors, I could hire as many mercenaries as our harvest could afford, turn my huntresses into an army of archers, and strike a first blow. But open war would draw in the other Clan Heads. Something I believe neither he nor I want. Because when we weaken each other enough, the other Clan Heads will be eager to turn on us.¡±


    ¡°Then there is no way of winning?¡±


    I cock an eyebrow at her companion, part surprised she spoke, let alone asked a question.


    ¡°Clan Head Jarlgren attacks and tries to slay Lord Klar¡¯s wives quietly. This tactic, he believes, will weaken us, and then, I think, he will make an approach to negotiate from a position of strength. He certainly doesn¡¯t like the fact we have made huntresses from what he considers useless females, but I don¡¯t know where that fits in. Like you say, I am no warrior. His mistake is he believes all of Lord Klar¡¯s wives need weapons to be counted as a threat.¡±


    They share a glance and then open their mouths to speak. They grunt but say nothing else.


    I push on. ¡°Why did I choose you two? Pay for the best armour I could buy. Best weapons?¡±


    They share another glance, and the first replies, ¡°To protect you.¡±


    ¡°More than that. I selected you two because you are sisters. Of Lord Klar¡¯s huntresses, you kept to yourselves but did what you were told to do without objection or shirking. I had Voria train you in secret. Ordered you to bait a couple of visitors of some combat reputation into a fight to establish yourselves as quality warriors. With your huntress instincts, I deemed you good enough to be my bodyguards. You only have one job to do. What is it?¡±


    I pause and examine their faces.


    ¡°But those fights were close, fortunate, some would say. A sword broke while parrying my blade. My sister¡¯s armour turned away a lethal thrust. When one of them disarmed me, I was so humiliated anger rose within me, and I charged him, stabbing him in the eye with the point on my helm. Everyone laughed at me.¡± Her bottom lip quivers.


    ¡°I prefer to say you found a way to win and, more importantly, survive.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Chief Scribe,¡± they reply in unison. Then, the second scuffs her boot and looks up. ¡°Remain loyal and trust in you,¡± she whispers.


    I smile warmly. As I take the first step, they fall in beside me, and as one, we stroll towards the village proper to begin my rounds. As we exit the motte, a burly stranger hastens towards us, clearly targeting me. One of my two bodyguards shifts to stand between us while the second hangs back in case this is a feint.


    He halts, doffs his cap and speaks while wringing the thing between his hands. ¡°They say you are in charge. Is that right?¡±


    I know him and resist the urge to spit on him. I am sure he doesn¡¯t recognise the now well-fed, neatly dressed, no longer lame former slave of his Clan.


    ¡°Lord Klar entrusts me to speak on his behalf. Is that good enough?¡±


    His head bobs three times, and his eyes scan about. ¡°Mistress, we need grain. Clan Ironmonger can pay.¡±


    ¡°What would Lord Torngul say? Aren¡¯t all trades to be done in Hobgoblin Town?¡± The last thing we need is to upset Lord Torngul. Worse, because of Lord Klar and Lord Torngul¡¯s unusual arrangement, we can¡¯t make Lord Torngul act anything less than Lordly with one of his underlings.


    He thrusts forward a parchment. Before I take a step, my bodyguard accepts and hands the page off to me.


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°You know what this says?¡±


    He bobs his head again, leans forward, and whispers, ¡°Clan Ironmonger is loyal.¡±


    I doubt I would have heard his words, except I had refined my hearing utilising Lord Klar¡¯s seed long ago. ¡°It reads that you agree to cart your tools here and return with the grain. How? Wouldn¡¯t The Runner Clan be upset?¡±


    He straightens. ¡°We have our own carts. Not as large as theirs, but good enough to cart our tools and ores to Hobgoblin Town when we need to.¡±


    ¡°And the other part?¡±


    His face flushes green. ¡°Not such a blessing, I must confess. They are a troublesome family, truth to tell. Good at their craft, though, for all that.¡±


    ¡°They agreed to craft tools here. Not Hobgoblin Town? Not with your Clan. Why?¡±


    His eyes dart about. ¡°We hear rumours.¡± His fingers torture his cap. ¡°Clan Beastbane has been crowing about certain mischief. One of this family¡¯s daughters, for instance. Our Clan are miners and craftsmen. Good enough to defend our lands, but not good enough to kidnap back a daughter from a clan of hunters. So, they hope he will think to rescue her when they prove their value and are accepted under Lord Klar¡¯s protection.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t Lord Torngul act?¡±


    ¡°To return one daughter to a clan? An insignificant female?¡±


    I step forward and grab him by his shirt. His eyes widen. Even I am surprised by my strength, and I draw his face down to mine. ¡°How insignificant?¡±


    ¡°She is wistful. A dreamer.¡±


    I twist his shirt. ¡°Explain more.¡±


    ¡°She chooses some ores and stones. She makes pretty things with them. Some call them useless, and some suggest they could have value. Anyway, she is pretty herself to some of the Clan. A hunter took an interest.¡± His attempt to shrug fails.


    ¡°No ordinary hunter, I assume.¡± My voice deepens.


    Colour drains from his face. ¡°A son of Clan Head Jarlgren.¡±


    ¡°Tell this family we can¡¯t promise, and you have yourself a deal.¡±


    His body comes alive, and I thought he might break into dance, but somehow, even he knows he can¡¯t. I release my grip, and with energy in every stride, he leaves.


    My bodyguards and I continue into the village proper. I notice them exchange several glances.


    ¡°Ask if you want to?¡±


    ¡°We wondered why you agreed. Don¡¯t we have enough obligations?¡±


    ¡°Bait.¡±


    ¡°Chief Scribe?¡±


    ¡°Given a son of Clan Head Jarlgren kidnapped her if taken from him, I assume he may try to get her back.¡±


    ¡°We capture him?¡±


    ¡°Possibly. Possibly not,¡± I say with a touch of mystery as we approach the first of our renters.


    <h2>---Clan Head Jarlgren POV</h2>


    At long last, their armour and weapons hang before me. The room is of sufficient size and has empty walls to host more trophy sets, of course. I draw the lantern closer to examine Zergoa¡¯s display first. Each piece of armour is whole, if somewhat well-worn. All her blades are steel, and the bow has layered wood and bone in the upper and lower limbs. Master craftsmanship. The first prize of many. Lord Klar has several wives and concubines, and I will harvest them all. For the greater good, of course, and co-incidentally, greater compensation. With him weak, I will only need to encourage the other Clan Heads of the opportunity¡­


    I expect Thalgrin, the giant brute, to return with Duzsia¡¯s armour after he slaughters the pretender. She will be the prize of my collection, even if not slain by my Clan. Everybody else believes her to be Duzsia, which will be satisfactory for my purposes.


    A stroll a couple of steps to the right and stand before the armour of the one they called Izga. She, I thought, would be the most difficult. Any Clan spawn of Sakvorpa is never to be underestimated.


    The holes in her armour from the spears are regrettable, yet you can¡¯t knock success. Armour and weapons hang out in perfect symmetry, yet¡­


    ¡°Durgren!¡± I shout.


    I hear others shout his name and then his hasty footfalls.


    ¡°Yes, father?¡±


    ¡°Tell me, what is wrong with this trophy display?¡± I wave my hand at the wall.


    He squints. ¡°All the pieces she wore are as you see them¡­¡±


    I point at one object.


    ¡°Her dagger and its sheath¡­¡± he mumbles. ¡°A reserve, perhaps?¡±


    ¡°Look at her other daggers. What do you see?¡±


    He steps closer. His eyes rove over each piece. I am confident this exaggeration of scrutiny is to convince me he is being genuine, yet the issue is more straightforward than that.


    ¡°Fine blades, more like slaughtering knives, different sizes, matched pairs¡­¡± His breathing stops, and his eyes dart towards mine. ¡°There is a single dagger, modest cross-guard. A warrior¡¯s weapon. Out of place.¡±


    I slap the back of his head. ¡°You were skilful in the hunt, so perhaps I should be grateful for that. Now leave me.¡±


    I unhook the sheathed dagger and hang it on another wall. This piece, I deduce, belongs to a different wife. Why would Izga carry this? She could have simply picked it up, but the craftsmanship is too grand for a casual find.


    ¡°Would you have a matching dagger or a matching sword?¡± I ask my trophy. Should I ask the midwife to nose about it? She is my extraordinary spy, and the answer I am looking for is purely to satisfy my curiosity. I can¡¯t risk her. I can¡¯t.


    Time to attend to business. At the door, I look back. Two complete sets, a third on the way and a lone dagger on the wall that now shouts at me. I growl, leave the trophy room, and reach my desk.


    Removing the hidden panel, I retrieved the many reports about his wives and concubines. His pack. What or who have I missed?


    ---


    The knock on my door rouses me, and I grab the stuck-on page off my cheek as I straighten in my chair.


    ¡°Enter.¡±


    The door opens, and a female enters, although she stays as far away as possible. Bad news then¡­


    Her bottom lip quivers. ¡°Clan Head, Thalgrin and the four that hunted with him are overdue. Morgren¡­ He has left to investigate.¡±


    I sigh. What makes Morgren believe he can succeed where Thalgrin fails? He is best to stick with kidnapping females from other clans.


    ¡°Send Vormgren to me.¡± I wave her away, and she scampers off. Again, I must call on the younger to save the older.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.014 Sentiment

    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°Why do you leave my warm bed, Lord?¡±


    I mustn¡¯t look back. I don¡¯t look back, focusing instead on the dying embers of the fireplace. The glow weakly competes with the predawn light. ¡°Why have you chosen not to feign sleep like usual?¡±


    There is a rustle of bed coverings. I hear the Queen hitch her chest. Quickly, her feet slap one after the other on the cold marble floor.


    ¡°Somehow, tonight is different. You slink off instead of simply leaving.¡± Her warm breath caresses my neck. Her tusk nudges my ear. A shiver of affection skips down my spine.


    I swivel to face her. Head-to-toe goosebumps adorn her naked, flawless green skin. Any previous modesty because of queenly decorum is a vague memory. Months of my vigorous and demanding lovemaking, the reason.


    Without hesitation, my palm smooths over her growing belly. One of the two growing lives within kick. She believes she tempts me. Blackmails me.


    ¡°Why did your people refuse the goblin mercenary¡¯s requests for help?¡±


    She slaps my hand away and steps back. ¡°We don¡¯t speak of them. They aren¡¯t in our history records, so how?¡±


    I grin in petty triumph. ¡°A prized secret, to be certain. It took weeks to nurture sufficient friendship and trust.¡± I offer my hand. ¡°Some of your people believe it was a mistake.¡±


    She grabs my hand with both of hers. ¡°Is this why you are leaving? I wasn¡¯t even born then ¡­¡± A brief spark of hope grows in her moistening eyes. ¡°We can talk ¡­¡±


    ¡°They were Oath Keepers?¡±


    A sullen nod. ¡°My grandmother told me the story when I was a child. We couldn¡¯t trust them. Spawn of Zoria, the ally of Rexa. Plus, the southern city they asked for help from was failing. The nearby desert had advanced over the years.¡± She sniffs. ¡°They were in a terrible state. The city kept what little food they had.¡±


    ¡°Why couldn¡¯t this city or the other help?¡±


    ¡°Pride.¡±


    I shake my head and fling her hands away. My inner hob protests as I resist the urge to shake the mother of my children. ¡°You will need to explain,¡± I say.


    ¡°Our founder decreed an alternative to fighting over our differences. As we prospered, a group of sufficient numbers could leave to establish another settlement. They needed to number more than the original founders, and then they could claim sufficient food and tools from the founding city to begin again. This has happened twice. Each new city determined to establish itself and not ask for help.¡±


    ¡°By emulating the original founders, the leaders of the new city could claim their own legitimacy and right to rule in the way they saw fit,¡± I finish.


    ¡°Yes. The coast is long, and the last city ensured their independence by travelling far, almost exhausting their food. If the stories are true, they saved enough grain for one planting. They fished and hunted until they could harvest the crop. It was a bumper crop. They felt vindicated. But each successive crop yielded less, and then the desert marched towards the city. Then the Oath Keeper mercenaries begged at their gates ¡­¡±


    I know the city became a ruin because I had found and gained the confidence of some old families who slunk back to the Queen¡¯s City before the end. Over the years, more of their family joined them until none did.


    I needed to return to my holdings and, importantly, my wives. Going south would mean crossing a desert of uncertain width. One that was sufficiently demanding to reduce a mercenary group to near starvation, except broader now. A desert I didn¡¯t notice from the shuttle to confirm its size, but then I wasn¡¯t looking for one, I suppose.


    The other option was to climb the sheer mountain cliff. Climbing that cliff would only be possible with modern climbing equipment and high risk even then. It took little research to find out that the original escape journey through the mountains involved several cave-ins to keep the Klugites from following. There were also slides of incredible length. Lava tubes, probably. Easy to slide down, but probably impossible to climb.


    My only quick escape from this side of the mountains was to return using the shuttle. Interestingly, this isolation would be an excellent location for anyone disagreeable. My inner Hob rejoices as I approve of his proposal.


    ¡°I have released you.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t. I don¡¯t want to be. The child hasn¡¯t been born.¡± Her face blushes bright green. ¡°Your lovemaking is, erm, enjoyable.¡±


    More likely, my seed has given her a vitality she has never known. A youthfulness. For example, her entire court often commented on the glow and her skin¡¯s health. My bound warrior wife had beaten all the females who challenged her and intimidated the males. Although to be fair, the males weren¡¯t the city¡¯s fighters; they were the harem keepers.


    My third and fourth hobgoblin concubines were more circumspect. Occasionally taking hooded and robed trips to the markets. They prepared their own food and otherwise kept to their quarters in the Queen¡¯s manor. The exception was different day visits by each of them every four days so I could service them until I got them with a child. These visits continued after pregnancy once they realised the benefit of my seed.


    ¡°It will please your crone when she shows you the release document. I asked her to prepare it, and I have signed it. There was only a single obligation on her.¡± I grin. ¡°Keep it a secret until I leave.¡±


    The Queen cackles, releasing the tension in the room. Nevertheless, I quickly reach forward and place my hand over her mouth. Her eyes radiate calm, and she doesn¡¯t back away. My action was to prevent her bodyguards from running in to check. Instead, she confirms her absolute trust in me. She would probably run away with me. She is their Queen. I can¡¯t be the reason she abandons her duty. Instead, I have left her with double joy to balance her single sorrow.


    As I remove my hand, she says, ¡°Well, that is a miracle.¡± Her wide, sad smile hits me. ¡°She must not have spoken to anyone to ensure that!¡±


    She squeezes me. ¡°Will you ever return to me?¡±


    ¡°I must return to where I came from. So unlikely, but I didn¡¯t intend to visit your city this time either, so who knows?¡±


    I leave the Queen of the City prone on the floor, quietly sobbing to herself.


    ---


    As I march past fallow fields, a rising dawn silhouettes the city behind me. The late harvest was done. The days grew colder and shorter. I intended to retrace my steps. Instead, I travel along the shore to avoid a couple of goblin villages. They would want me to linger, and I have already been away from the valley for too long.


    ---


    After three nights and two days, I took pity on her. Given her brainless determination, the reason she followed me is probably worth finding out.


    She staggers into my camp and doesn¡¯t hesitate to warm herself by my fire. I throw her a couple of fire-cooked rabbits. She devours the first bones and all. Between gulps of food, she empties a waterskin.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    She shifts her sword. ¡°I would protect you, Lord. Why do you think I have trained every day and evening, bested the best in the city since you won me?¡±


    Her belly distorts her armour, but some lacings permit the addition of pieces. Does she intend to let out her armour as her belly expands?


    ¡°You will be a mother, outgrow your armour?¡±


    ¡°Many a female has given birth in the morning, placed their babe in a pouch on their back and fought in the afternoon. Plus, I have asked.¡± Her eyelids flutter.


    ¡°Asked what?¡±


    ¡°Pregnancy is supposed to be tiring. I am full of energy. When I call on my body for more speed, it answers. More strength, it answers again. At worst, I am thirsty afterwards. I told my body to keep going for the days I have been following you.¡±


    ¡°But you are near exhausted now.¡±


    She opens her mouth and then closes it and nods.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t return to the city if I told you to, would you?¡±


    She continues to bite into the second rabbit.


    I sigh. ¡°You would rather die trying to follow me, I suppose? What am I left with?¡±


    The Queen would have been no different, except her duty bound her as good as any unbreakable chain.


    ---


    After a night of spooning, she thought she had won me over. Unfortunately for her, I didn¡¯t want to delay any more than needed.


    ¡°I am not a sack to be carried, Lord.¡±


    ¡°You will get to use your own two feet when rested. Have you been talking to your body like I instructed you?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. I obey.¡± She is sulking, of course. She thought of herself as my protector and was now reduced to a burden. It was a compromise. My journey would take slightly longer, but I didn¡¯t have to wait for her to recover. Also, she would die before she gave up, and this way, I wouldn¡¯t be responsible for another death.


    My inner Hob growls out his disagreement.


    <h2>---Linmere, Shifter of the GPA Scout Ship POV</h2>


    From afar, bouncing over the waves in our makeshift boat, the settlement promised so much. Sharing glances with Lord Klar¡¯s two wives, we realise the settlement is a ruin. The sand of the beach joins the sand of the desert. We skipped docking at the fragile-looking wharf and skied to shore on a low cresting wave.


    We drag our raft out of the surf until it rests on dry sand.


    ¡°Water is our priority. An old well, perhaps.¡±


    Luda eyes me. ¡°Unlikely. Sand and more sand await us. A settlement not lived in for years, maybe generations.¡±


    Koria kicks a rock, which rolls down the beach and into the water. ¡°I say we pile back into our boat, pick a direction and paddle.¡±


    I grunt when I mean to swear. ¡°We need water. Our fruit is nearly gone, so food will be next.¡±


    The two of them giggle. ¡°Our bottoms will welcome the change.¡±


    They exaggerate, of course. They didn¡¯t eat as much as I did, yet they seemed healthy enough. I thought that explained their lack of need to hang their bottoms over the side of the boat as often as I did, but now I am unsure. After believing the fruit was more important, I only felt satisfied after drinking the milk-water from the coconuts. Does that explain my need for water now? Why do I suspect they know a secret? Tinuna told me to consume his seed, his blood. Become one of his bound wives to discover his true benefit to Shifters. Yet my body isn¡¯t a Shifter body anymore; no, I am a hobgoblin. She sounded so convincing ¡­


    ¡°We splitting up? We can cover more ground that way,¡± I suggest.


    ¡°No.¡± They reply as one and then giggle again.


    Koria continues, ¡°They wouldn¡¯t hide a well. We need to hope they made the well from stone. Wood doesn¡¯t seem to survive here, or maybe they had none in the first place.¡±


    ¡°What about the boat? The remaining food?¡± I ask.


    ¡°It will be a test. This place looks deserted. If someone takes our food, that will confirm it isn¡¯t,¡± says Luda.


    I cast a side-eye at her. ¡°And what, we track them down and hope they haven¡¯t eaten any?¡±


    She shrugs while casting me a mischievous grin as we struggle up the beach over the dry sand. Shortly after, she dashes forward and leaps on Koria¡¯s back. Scrambling up and with Koria¡¯s hands around her ankles, Luda the goblin perches high on the tall hobgoblin¡¯s generous shoulders.


    ¡°Little left and then straight ahead,¡± she announces, and Koria adjusts to suit.


    ---


    We stroll down what would have been the main street.


    ¡°Wait,¡± I whisper.


    Koria swivels about, and with Luda on her shoulders, two heads of questioning eyes look down on me.


    The ruins of a once proud town are before us; on either side of the street, squat shells of sand-filled roofless buildings.


    ¡°Creatures are waiting ahead.¡± I stammer. Even I can¡¯t believe what I somehow sense.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Smell? Seen something move?¡± questions Luda.


    Ugh. I knew they would want an explanation. ¡°I just know.¡±


    They giggle, and then their laughter overtakes both, causing Luda to fall from Koria¡¯s shoulders, yet she lands on her feet.


    ¡°You cretins!¡± I growl. ¡°While you slept on the boat, I reached out with¡­ my magic. How do you think we found schools of fish to eat or didn¡¯t bump into anything too large in the water?¡±


    Both their faces flush green as they stomp towards me. I instinctively backpedal.


    Luda hisses while Koria snarls back, ¡°While meditating ¡­¡± She draws the word out. ¡°We put our Lord Klar¡¯s blood to good use. Capturing moisture from the air to save our thirst. Enhancing our bodies to diminish our need for food or water. Using the fresh water from rain to restore our health. You know why?¡±


    My eyes fall on Koria¡¯s tusks for some unknown reason. No, I know, I admit to myself. They are thick, with a long curve. Typical, perhaps desirable. I touch mine. Stunted fragile twigs. They barely break free of my lips. My skin is the lightest shade of green. Koria¡¯s and Luda¡¯s skin, in a word, vibrant, probably desirable.


    ¡°Because we believed we needed to look after ourselves to leave as much as possible for you.¡±


    ¡°But the fish?¡± I stammer.


    ¡°How were we to know early on that you could do that?¡± sneers Luda. ¡°You weren¡¯t exactly happy with Lord Klar and his way of saving your miserable life. You have shared little since.¡±


    ¡°Neither have you two!¡± I stab a finger at them.


    ¡°Take that finger back before I bite it off,¡± says Koria, who then snaps her mouth at me.


    My finger escapes her attempt. ¡°What do you mean by meditate?¡±


    They exchange a glance and nod. ¡°His blood.¡± They share a salacious smile. ¡°His seed. Special.¡±


    ¡°Special, how?¡± I ask. Too keenly, it seems, as they rock back on their heels and flash me a grin of triumph.


    ¡°You first,¡± says Luda.


    I run my fingers through my hair and double up for a moment. How do I explain what I hardly know?


    ¡°The nanorobots within me harvest energy, a magic perhaps, present in this world¡¯s air, plants, soil, and animals. I can gather, store and, when ready, manipulate so I can project my will. The nanorobots I gained in the spaceship are somehow the key.¡± I stare at them. They are on the verge of laughing again. ¡°Your turn,¡± I bark.


    Luda grabs Koria¡¯s shoulder and plunges her face into Koria¡¯s arm to stifle her laughter. Koria coughs. ¡°You need Lord Klar¡¯s seed.¡± Her eyes inspect me. ¡°You are an ugly hobgoblin, though, and if I convince him, you are worth it ¡­¡± She taps her chin. ¡°You will owe me a big favour. Agreed?¡±


    Bitch! I shake off my self-pity and straighten. Try as I might, I can¡¯t stare her down. She is half a head higher, even though I am tall and slim. How can she be taller with such muscular bulk? I hear Luda snicker. Tinuna said I must. These two believe he won¡¯t give me his seed because they think I am inferior. When I compare myself to Koria, our differences are apparent. I have to spit the word out. ¡°Agreed.¡±


    ¡°What about these hidden ones?¡± chirps Luda.


    ---


    With Koria as a distraction, Luda snuck up on each of the ambushers, who, fortunately, were far enough apart they couldn¡¯t support each other. Either a poor ambush plan or too few. We then threatened our captives. Strange, my companions didn¡¯t kill anyone who offered to surrender. After fruitless questioning, we continued.


    The central well was dry, as were several others.


    We returned to our boat with our prisoners in a line between us. When there wasn¡¯t a boat to be found, Luda licked her lips and smiled.


    With Luda leading, we followed telltale footfalls in the sand. Further along, some tracking was guesswork, but Luda rubbed her hands together when we turned inland. Our line of captives became unruly, and Koria needed to growl at them. I knew then we were close.


    The goblin village proved challenging to find with my eyes, but it didn¡¯t escape my magic. Koria patted my back, and Luda threw me a begrudging nod. It was a start.


    Each hovel in the grotto was a masterclass in concealment. The fur rags of the goblin villagers were enough to protect their modesty. Their weapon of choice was a wooden club. To improve our welcome chances, we released our prisoners. As they peeked, curiosity winning over caution, Luda greeted them as long-lost friends. Her opening question took all our hosts by surprise.


    ¡°How many Oath Keepers are still alive?¡± asked Luda. Koria hung off to the right of her. A tower of muscle. I tried to hide behind Luda and failed. Several of their judgemental eyes fell on me. None spoke until a gnarled, bent, overaged goblin pushed his way clear from his hidden hovel.


    ¡°Few,¡± says the male elder, his voice slightly in awe. ¡°Are you a powerful crone?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± answers Luda.


    ¡°But how did you know? No blood tasting, sniffing only?¡±


    ¡°In time. First, answer my questions.¡±


    He nods and settles down, crossing his legs as he does. The rest of the villagers squat as well. The youngest are consuming our fruit, I notice. He waves to Luda to continue.


    ¡°Mercenary Troop?¡±


    The old one was talkative. He still wanted Luda to be their crone, which seemed vital to them. They were a fifth Oath Keeper mercenary troop called the Black Spears. The Old Crone of all the Oath Keepers dreamt of all their futures and determined that one troop of the six had to venture south until they could travel no more. With a good number of Oath Keeper females, they would create a haven for Oath Keepers if the rest of them failed in their mission to destroy Rexa, the High Priestess of Lord Klug. All of this was news to me, of course. After listening for some time, my attention drifted. This was all meaningless prattle as far as I was concerned.


    The most foolish thing they lauded over was the purity of their blood. For example, they still knew how to purify it as originally taught. A few females and males with a drop of Oath Keepers blood they gained on their travels south became Oath Keepers by that method.


    To me, the ability to purify their blood meant Oath Keeper blood purity as something honoured or sacrosanct meant nothing. Also, the females lost their pots of Lord Klug¡¯s blood in the desert, which seemed tragic for some profound reason. Why not purify their blood to Lord Klug¡¯s instead of Oath Keeper? I didn¡¯t speak my thoughts, as Luda had them as an audience in the palm of her hand. They hung on her every utterance.


    We agreed to go chase shadows from their past. A break-away group who, after being rejected by the town, didn¡¯t want to return to the desert. They headed towards the mountains. We found some huts and caves, which contained firepits. Elsewhere, we found bones, but scant bones were recognisable, being only fragments.


    On our third overnight, we found out why. Enormous animals visited, furred, large fangs, and if we were still on Earth, I would call them a long-lost relative of the tiger. The goblins hid in fear. I stayed with them. Koria and Luda told them I was their protection. The wives of Lord Klar revelled in the hunt. Some nights, they would return with wounds, other nights with carcasses. On those nights, we ate well. They saved everything: furs, teeth, claws, and bones.


    They coerced the Oath Keepers to dig pits, arm themselves with crude spears, and join the hunt. I don¡¯t think they understood their role fully. They were bait. Only the juvenile tigers remained, and these shied away from their parents¡¯ killers. His wives also talked about their past and how Lord Klar taught them this exact way to hunt. Their powerful emotions in this regard impressed me. I knew if the choice was between saving him, themselves, or me, they wouldn¡¯t hesitate to save him. With this clarity, I became even more determined to ensure I would be Lord Klar¡¯s next wife. I just hoped the novelty of an ugly wife would win him over.


    By the time we headed north, the foolish Oath Keepers practically worshipped the two wives of Lord Klar. They questioned no order, beyond reasonable or not. We found a string of goblin villages. Luda would approach them with tiger furs to barter, and she would gain clothes for her followers. She finished the trades quickly in the last few villages because they expected her.


    Koria guided the rest of us around the villages. I am sure she did this to shield the primitive Oath Keepers, but I also got the strong feeling not showing my face and alarming the locals was a plus. By the time we approached the first sprawling town, with no walls to speak of and bustling, all the Oath Keepers could pass for peasant farmers. Koria and I still circled around and waited for Luda to return each day.


    The number of Oath Keepers dwindled with each passing day. Luda found distant Oath Keeper relatives. She insisted her followers needed to wait with them as she may not return and needed to see them safe.


    A small mix of young and old, male and female, escorted us north. Those few assuring Luda that their relatives could have journeyed onward. Luda traded her way through several more villages until we discovered another town. This town had several rings of walls, each outgrown until someone decided the last sprawl didn¡¯t require a wall for protection.


    Luda presented me with a fine dark blue woollen cloak, and both sisters insisted I draw the hood over my head. My joy rose and fell in the space of several heartbeats. Then we all entered the town.


    The Inn of the Lost Tankard served as our base, and by whatever means possible, Luda offloaded the last of the Oath Keeper goblins.


    None approached me at the bar as we relaxed at the end of the first day, free of Oath Keeper goblins. A couple of regulars would point me out to others, and it took none to little guessing to understand what they explained. Physically, I fell short. I quickly recovered my hood when it occasionally fell, for example. Looks of disgust and confusion from the Inn¡¯s other guests confirmed my place. In contrast, the hobgoblin wife of Lord Klar and even the goblin wife attracted attention and easy-going conversation. Early on, I accepted I needed to be happy with eavesdropping because everyone considered me a hobgoblin in name only.


    ¡°Yes!¡± yells the innkeeper suddenly. I almost jump out of my skin. She is a robust and round female, taller than a goblin, shorter than me. ¡°This is the first city on the coast. Founded by Zuba, daughter of Luda, when she and her followers settled to escape High Priestess Rexa many years ago.¡±


    ¡°Hail Zuba, daughter of Luda who earnt her name! Luda the Delver!¡± shouts another, and the entire bar of customers cheer and drink deeply.


    From what I could gather, Koria asked about the founding of the town and found civic pride.


    Settling back into non-existence, I notice the goblin wife of Lord Klar wipe moisture from her eyes. Immediately after, her face darkens, and she lifts her beer tankard to her lips, taking small sips. I sense she is trying to hide her face. As those around the bar continue conversing, discussing the migration and impossible survival trip through the mountains, she wipes her eyes more than once. She is enduring some sort of private pain. No one else notices. Koria is busy being the centre of attention.


    When they regale the tales about Zuba¡¯s goblin and hobgoblin sons, Lord Klar¡¯s goblin wife makes a quiet excuse to no one and heads off to our room. A few still wave her off. I follow. None wave goodbye or call my name when I leave the bar.


    I knock softly on the door. I don¡¯t wait for an answer and push back the door.


    ¡°Crud!¡± she swears.


    I close the door behind me and face her. Tears run down her cheeks despite her desperate attempt to wipe them away.


    ¡°I can go,¡± I offer.


    ¡°It is our room,¡± she snipes.


    I thought about opening with a friendly chat, asking after her and so forth. No, the direct approach would serve me better.


    ¡°Why does Luda¡¯s daughter Zuba bring you to tears?¡±


    She stares up at me. My heart pounds in my chest. I resist the urge to make conversation, as my role is to listen.


    ¡°Being a wife of Lord Klar brings many benefits. Sometimes, though, great pain. On our deaths, Lord Klar will call us back to him. He gifts us with a body.¡± She spreads her hands to point out the obvious. ¡°I was a goblin before this life. My name was Luda. I was Zuba¡¯s mother.¡±


    I take a step towards her and then halt. ¡°You should be proud of her,¡± I offer.


    ¡°Should I be proud that she succeeded despite her mother having given up in every way possible except for taking her own useless life?¡±


    ¡°You gave birth to her. She resisted the High Priestess and forged her own way. That takes strength of character. Holding on to her independent thought. As her mother, you are at least half of her. She took your name as part of earning her name. She remembered you.¡±


    Luda wipes her face. ¡°For an ugly bitch, you can prattle, can¡¯t you?¡± I open my mouth to speak, and she holds up a hand. ¡°The truth remains that I hid like a scared, lost rabbit on The Farm, tending bees. When everyone¡¯s fate depended on me, I released the greatest secret. Since then, all have been paying for my lapse.¡± She covers her face with her hands. ¡°I died without earning my name, lonely, insanely muttering to bees. I didn¡¯t know the fate of my daughter or, at the time, care. Rexa took my daughter from me like she did with others shortly after they were born. I didn¡¯t get the time to be any sort of mother.¡±


    I rush forward and knock away her protesting arms. Hugging her, I realised if she didn¡¯t want this embrace, she could have easily beaten me to a pulp. Such is the advantage of being Lord Klar¡¯s wife, consuming his seed and blood.


    She was sleeping when a tipsy Koria joined us.


    After much-repeated questioning, Koria tells me this is our last night. Our last breakfast will be in the morning. She also tells me she will need a sleep-in and to tell her sister when she wakes. Sister? Doesn¡¯t she mean sister-wife?


    The hobgoblin wife of Lord Klar admitted, between slurred speech, that she had to use their last tiger teeth to confirm a stranger had visited the town several months ago. Further, he won the Queen and three others to his loins.


    ¡°Tell my sister her nose was true. The female she smelt him on was one of the four. Her round belly was full of his child.¡± Through her drunken speech, I still detect sadness in her voice. Does their idol, the Lord Klar, deny them childbirth?


    She crashes onto her bunk bed and grunts. When I think she is done, she waves a finger.


    ¡°The common view is the stranger headed north, returning to where he came from.¡±


    Four submitted to his loins, and four are now with child. All that tells me is that Lord Klar favours spreading his seed. In fact, has a reputation, and I am a female hobgoblin. Fortunately, he doesn¡¯t need to see my face when he ruts with me, and maybe I will keep my cloak on to cover most of my pale skin.


    ---


    We break our fast at the same table where Koria had drunk her last ale early this morning.


    The doors of the Inn swing open, and a robed hobgoblin steps in. Her cowled face surveys the common room and stops when she spies us. Flipping back the cowl, she approaches our table.


    ¡°Word has reached my ears that a certain goblin and hobgoblin pair have been asking about a stranger, one with virile seed, acceptable to even Queen Luda.¡±


    Koria stands while shoving back her chair with a loud scrape. ¡°Maybe.¡±


    ¡°My twin sister and I are beneficiaries of this stranger.¡± She pats her not-so-obvious belly. The voluminous robe is a clever disguise. ¡°He has left the city. We consider he has broken his obligation. His token release letter, which he asked another to present to us, was not an honourable substitute. The Queen can¡¯t abandon the city, of course, and we know she is heartbroken. But we, unlike another of his concubines, who foolishly chased after him in the middle of the night, plan before we journey. My sister and I have stores of food, water, and beasts of burden. We would like to invite the group of three who have been asking after him if they wish to join us.¡±


    Luda tries to step forward to speak, but a look from Koria stalls her. Given Luda¡¯s low point yesterday, I assume she would have nothing but venom for anyone trying to claim an obligation from Lord Klar. How Koria detected her mood is a guess, but my firm favourite explanation is that there is an innate magic between sister wives of Lord Klar. Not like my magic, but a magic.


    ¡°We have skills which can protect ourselves and others we keep company with. What do you and your sister offer?¡±


    She sniffs deeply and smiles directly at Luda. ¡°My sister and I have benefitted from multiple recent deposits of Lord Klar¡¯s seed. You and the goblin know what that means. We are also the daughters of a wise mother, a merchant. Overland journeying is in our blood. We prepare, and then we check and prepare more if required.¡±


    From the depths of her robe, she frees and throws a sword in a scabbard to Koria, who deftly catches the gift. She retrieves a short bow, quiver of arrows, and dagger next. Then kneels and offers them to Luda. I notice Koria¡¯s fingers squeeze Luda¡¯s shoulder as she passes her. The goblin accepts the weapons without comment or fuss.


    ¡°The weapons are a gift for hearing me out or a sign-on bonus if you agree to travel with us.¡±


    Koria drops the last of our tiger teeth on the table. I thought she said we had none left. She throws a glance at me, then Luda.


    ¡°North then?¡± says Koria.


    ¡°North,¡± the concubine confirms. ¡°We know he came from the North, as there are at least two goblin villages where he has left multiple deposits of his seed. We will avoid these villages because they will ask us about our business. Once they suspect or discover, we will inherit a horde of lovesick goblins wishing to be reunited with Lord Klar. Well, that is what our agent suspects will happen after he visited all the northern villages several weeks ago.¡±


    ¡°Why would you send an agent north?¡± I ask.


    She examines me. Her eyes linger and study. The silence reaches an awkward stage.


    ¡°You are most unfortunate.¡± I almost drown in the deluge of pity in her eyes. ¡°Everyone knows about the ugly female, but only now I can confirm the stories are true. Most unfortunate.¡±


    Tell me something I don¡¯t know! I think and fume. Her hands reach for her throat. See if she can talk without air!


    A hand slaps my face while a voice shouts my name. I blink and take a deep breath. The concubine staggers back, flinging out a hand to steady herself while filling her lungs with air. Her watering eyes glare at me. Yet behind those same eyes is fear. Yes, bitch, some may consider this female hobgoblin to be ugly, but she has a sting.


    Strong fingers grab my jaw, forcing me to look away from the concubine. Koria is in my face.


    Her snarl is loud enough for me and the concubine to hear. ¡°Don¡¯t do that again to the help, you hear me? Otherwise, I will rip out your tusks.¡±


    My tusks! Can I do the same to Koria? Two things quickly cool my impulse. I don¡¯t know how I did that to the concubine. Seething anger one moment, and she couldn¡¯t breathe the next. The second reason revolves around Koria being Lord Klar¡¯s wife. I am uncertain if my trick would work on her or any of his wives. She and Luda slaughtered tigers with crude spears. Steel in her hands would end me, if I tried, and fail. And unlike everyone else travelling north, I am the only one yet to be gifted Lord Klar¡¯s seed, and I mean to by any means possible. But to succeed, I need to remain alive.


    I prepare my most sorrowful eyes and nod. Koria releases my jaw, and we follow the concubine out of the Inn.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.015 Dreams Can Come True

    <h2>---The Grandmaster of Assassins POV</h2>


    ¡°What are you staring at?¡± I ask, knowing the obvious. The view from the high balcony can be wondrous. The valley spreads out in the distance. On an excellent, bright, cloudless day, we can view beyond the forest¡¯s eaves and across the grass plains. On rare occasions, we can even see the faint outline of Hobgoblin Town.


    Today is no such day. Low, dark clouds hide the sun, and a bitter breeze assaults us. So, we must imagine Hobgoblin Town in the distance for now. We do minimal business there. As the saying goes, don¡¯t crap where you live. No, we ply our trade elsewhere as much as we can. For the demand in the valley, we have an arrangement with a proxy of sorts.


    Her delicate white linen robe with fur trimmings swings in a pleasing arc as she swivels about to face me. I offer her a goblet of mead, which she snatches from my grasp. My hands reach behind her and close the shutters on the window.


    ¡°I am trying to send a curse to the bitch we allied with.¡±


    The angry quiver in my wife¡¯s upper lip is endearing but also a warning sign. I assume it¡¯s more bad news. Over the past several months, we lost two trusted assassins in the service of Sakvorpa of The Eater Clan. She needed encouragement to confess the truth and pay compensation for each.


    Losing one of our dark advisors is the equivalent of losing one of Sakvorpa¡¯s brats. The point is that they are like family to us, but in this case, an absolute truth. One is a nephew of Karo¡¯s blood, and the other is a nephew of Ligia¡¯s blood.


    I sip from my goblet. ¡°We haven¡¯t lost our third. Missed a scheduled drop is all.¡±


    ¡°You are mistaken, husband.¡± She flashes a parchment in my direction. ¡°He has missed a second drop. Not of Karo or Ligia blood this time, one of our trained strays. Nevertheless, one of our family.¡±


    A banging on the grand hall doors draws our attention. None dare be so rude as to bang on the door, ordinarily.


    ¡°Enter,¡± I shout.


    Mud, brush on his dark clothes. He sweats and puffs. Our two bodyguards reposition themselves from their high perch over the doorway, easing their way closer to the intruder. He drops to his knees and holds out a scrap of parchment.


    ¡°Please,¡± he gasps.


    I advance on him and snatch the offering from his weak fingers. About to turn away, I pause and hand him my goblet of mead. His slurping is loud in my ears as I join my wife.


    I scan the writings. ¡°How can this be? The Eater Clan is no more. The clan¡¯s responsibilities and resources haggled over like cheap trinkets in a marketplace.¡±


    She shakes her head as I hand her the report. My wife¡¯s voice pitches high. ¡°Our assassin used as a guide to chase a rumour and, if encountered, test the truth of it. What madness? Cleaved from head to groin. Ten female hobgoblins, once of The Eater Clan, were also found dead by various means, not all by crafted weapons. Clan Head Durlarg¡¯s game, apparently. Clan Beastbane delivered the death stroke. Oddly, Lord Klar¡¯s people dealt them justice. Why? How?¡± She shakes the parchment above her head and glances towards the balcony.


    ¡°When did she leave?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Several days ago. I doubt she would have returned in time to deal with Clan Beastbane, husband.¡±


    ¡°You still believe in her blood?¡±


    How many days had passed since I had objected? To invite a hobgoblin into the citadel is a sacrilege. Torn armour, various scrapes, some treated with blood-soaked bindings. Not from blades, from the mountains. A wretched but proud creature stood before our old walls.


    My wife convinced me. While not a crone, she smelt the female hobgoblin¡¯s blood when they met face to face. Our farmers had raced ahead, of course, to warn us. The hobgoblin didn¡¯t prevent them or seem concerned. When she arrived, she asked for two or three days to rest and recover. Then she swore she would be gone.


    She agreed to spar with my wife on that last day. My wife drew our guest¡¯s hobgoblin blood. Like a seasonal blossom, the aroma of pure Farmer Hob, Lord Klug lineage, wafted from the wound, confirming once and for all my wife¡¯s suspicion. Several heartbeats later, better proof. She licked her blade and tasted the sting of the hobgoblin¡¯s helpers. She needed tens of her own to quell them. The blood of this hobgoblin wasn¡¯t only of Lord Klug¡¯s lineage but activated.


    While my wife rested to deal with Zergoa¡¯s helpers, I knew I had to convince the hobgoblin to stay longer. Teaching her some of our assassin weapons, like the blowpipe, worked initially. But eventually, she begged to leave. She needed to return and report her failure at what she wouldn¡¯t say.


    Only after Zergoa had left, days after initially tasting the hobgoblin¡¯s blood, did my wife give up on trying to convert the hobgoblin¡¯s helpers. She could only destroy them. That raised our interest in the stranger even more. Lord Klar had somehow risen above his station, and now they had proof in the blood of at least one of his wives. A plausible explanation.


    Activated Lord Klug¡¯s blood, a rarity that we thought only we had preserved and mastered across the generations. Fortunately, we had agreed to have her trailed and assigned two of our best assassins. One of Ligia¡¯s blood and the other a trained stray. We would never send two with family blood together ever again.


    ---


    We thanked our messenger and sent him away to be tended. I arranged for servants to clean our beautifully dressed stone hall and noted that our bodyguards had returned to their stations. My wife, though, was no longer in the hall.


    I find her in our study.


    Busy before our grand table, she is sifting through several reports. I sneak up behind her and look over her shoulder. She snorts. I assume that means I have failed to sneak up on her again.


    She is reading a report written by a trainee assassin. We usually consider these of doubtful importance or, at best, impressionable exaggeration. I sidle up beside my wife and read the parchment.


    We have utilised the Temple of Lord Klug as a training site for our apprentice assassins for many generations. But also to search for the armour. None of our infiltrations of Lord Klug¡¯s Temple had found any clue as to the whereabouts of Klugrath¡¯s Warrior Hob armour. This was the key we had decided would ultimately determine the true master behind the Klugite religion.


    Over that same time, we had steadfastly refused any commissions to assassinate High Priestess Rexa. While evil in her own way, she offered stability, order, and reliable trade within the valleys she infected with her version of Klug worship. These conditions suited assassin tradecraft best while we searched. This also offered the convenience of one head to sever from the snake when the time was right.


    As ordered, our assassin attacked the new High Priestess of the Klugites. We needed a sample of her blood and accepted an assassin¡¯s life would be the price. Another assassin would recover the specially crafted dagger used. The one with the concealed, blood-filled sampling cavity. The catch and release of our assassin was a genuine surprise. It seems the new Oath Keeper High Priestess enjoys conversation, and our assassin delivered the learnt backstory well enough to be believed, including the false assassination plan.


    ¡°Our granddaughter was fortunate,¡± I murmur in my wife¡¯s ear.


    ¡°You say those words every time you read this report. I prefer to believe she was a natural.¡±


    I chuckle. ¡°You say that every time.¡±


    The report confirms many things. Oath Keeper Naro, High Priestess of Lord Klug, was genuine and fake. Her blood pure Lord Klug, not a drop of Oath Keeper. This meant the priestesses of Oath Keeper Tower favoured her.


    I recall our ancestor¡¯s journals. Three witnessed Lord Klug¡¯s last instructions before his death: Zoria, Ligia and Karo. They harvested his blood, his strength. Zoria claimed all his blood since she still had his blessing. Our ancestors, Ligia and Karo, didn¡¯t understand what they failed to fight for.


    Later, they learn Zoria shared some of Lord Klar¡¯s blood with Rexa to improve her chance of surviving childbirth. Not because of any grand plan. Simple survival. A guarantee that the First Wife of Lord Klug, on her childbearing deathbed, wouldn¡¯t order the Ten Spears to slaughter Zoria. Of all of Lord Klug¡¯s wives, she was the childless one. The wife the other wives did not embrace, and so she turned to Rexa for protection.


    For High Priestess Naro¡¯s blood to be pure, she would have been suckled on Zoria¡¯s secret store of Lord Klug¡¯s blood from birth and beyond. Much like how Rexa hoarded her supply of Lord Klug¡¯s blood, fed herself and favoured priestesses. Oddly, none of her family except her sons. Assassins could learn a lot when they adopted the mantle of spies.


    We expected the blood to be dormant, an Oath Keeper speciality. The Oath Keepers, we discovered, would awaken their blood, purify non-Oath Keeper linages in their blood and then quieten their blood.


    We collected and tasted the blood of all our marks. None proved near half Lord Klug pure like ours, a legacy of our deliberate isolation and purity. The son of Karo and the daughter of Ligia were the first grandmasters of the family.


    I now understood why my wife returned to reading this report. The blood of the wife of Lord Klar was pure Lord Klug, yet there was no way anyone had fed her from birth as there were only two known sources, one with Rexa and the other with Zoria. So how does this impossibility become possible?


    What complicated the mystery was another impossibility. High Priestess Naro¡¯s blood was passive. The blood sample, when tasted, didn¡¯t infect the assassin, our granddaughter. This state promoted general health and well-being with or without the host knowing. Faster healing, for example. Typically found in any of Rexa¡¯s bloodlines. Our granddaughter stabbed the High Priestess multiple times, and the wounds healed rapidly. This healing rate was beyond what we thought passive blood could accomplish.


    Gaining Lord Klug¡¯s purity from being fed from birth meant we found another variation. This version of passive blood provided aggressive healing. We both quickly understood what that meant. To kill her would require something drastic, like beheading her. A beheading would require multiple assassins and something always in short supply on a mission: time.


    With one half, Lord Klug¡¯s purity and Ligia or Karo¡¯s the other half, our family had several members who mastered their blood. Activating it. In fact, a grandmaster and his wife needed to show that mastery before being able to challenge for the position. High Priestess Naro didn¡¯t realise her potential, while Zergoa, the wife of Lord Klar, did, or mostly did. A strange circumstance. What if they met? The wife could enlighten the high priestess. What then?


    ¡°You finished, wife?¡±


    She arches her head back and kisses my cheek. ¡°How can a High Priestess of the Klugites be oblivious to her potential?¡± She throws the last page of the report back onto a pile. ¡°How can another exist, the wife of a nobody, carry pure Lord Klug blood in her body? How can we gain that same purity?¡±


    I pick up and slide another report before my wife. This is a summary of other reports from the length and breadth of the plains. Many hobgoblins had turned to dust. Those most loyal to the High Priestess Rexa, her favoured Priestess¡¯ and those of her family tree, especially Klugrath¡¯s branch, were so cursed. Not that High Priestess Naro missed many when she usurped the position. The report notes how, upon Rexa¡¯s death, she also turned to dust.


    ¡°Did Rexa turning to dust on her death, the first in such a manner, unleash a plague of some sort on her worshippers, or did they draw an unknown power from her, and without it, they also turned to dust?¡±


    My wife huffs. ¡°Some victims were cursed days, possibly weeks after. The two events are surely too far apart.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes curses take time to spread. Wouldn¡¯t this suit us? Blame Rexa¡¯s death for others dying the same way? Any doubters would flock to the new High Priestess, and we will have a single head again for when the time is right.¡±


    ¡°What about goblin Klugites? Why didn¡¯t they or any goblin turn to dust from the curse? I would think we would be especially vulnerable. After all, the common link is Lord Klug¡¯s blood, and ours is at least half of that lineage.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t Lord Klar¡¯s wife turn to dust? Surely someone with the potent presence of activated Lord Klug¡¯s blood in her body would be especially vulnerable.¡±


    My wife skirts around the table and shuffles through an older stack of reports. With a celebration, she lifts one out and shoves the parchment under my face.


    As I read, I suspect a certain truth. The number of Lord Klar¡¯s wives seen alive has decreased. I scramble for another report in the rumour pile.


    ¡°Could this be true?¡±


    My wife taps her chin. ¡°The wise council was that the Oath Keeper goblins lied to cover their incompetence. Especially when Duzsia rode into Hobgoblin Town on a wolf.¡±


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    ¡°What if the curse dusted her because of the activated Lord Klug¡¯s blood in her body? Another then wore her armour to re-establish her existence. Most reports agree that none have seen Lord Klar for weeks, and the only thing holding any of the Clan Heads back is the threat of his potent wives.¡±


    She smashes her lips against mine in a passionate kiss. We break for air.


    My wife¡¯s eyes sparkle. ¡°This is our opportunity. If Zergoa is who she says she is, she will return to Lord Klar¡¯s holding, and if they are as vulnerable as we suspect, we could offer them protection for their blood.¡±


    ¡°What if we can¡¯t tame it?¡±


    She runs her finger across my chin. ¡°Then dear grandmaster, Lord Klar, when he returns, he will need to service the strongest females of our tribe.¡±


    ¡°Not you!¡± I scream.


    ¡°Duty to the tribe will demand such a sacrifice. A grand mistress must lead by example.¡±


    I storm from the room.


    <h2>---Duzsia, the Relentless, Wife of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°It is cold. I am cold. I prefer to remain in the village,¡± whines Solgia while hugging herself for warmth.


    ¡°Command your nanorobots to warm you. We have been through this. Vorlora and Voria aren¡¯t wives. Klaria and I can¡¯t speak to them, and itching their skin can only get us so far.¡±


    The Head Scribe¡¯s bodyguards glance at her. They have heard her mumble to herself over the last few days. While they still occasionally exchange glances, they have evidently decided this is nothing they can question or prevent. Good for them. I approve.


    After a short while, her eyes open.


    ¡°Better?¡±


    ¡°Much.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t need to wait long and then instruct Vorlora to release Old Wolf. With luck, we will have them all wrapped up soon, and you can return to the village.¡±


    I rise and then glide over to the enemy¡¯s camp. Pre-dawn. The watch has spotted Old Wolf, and they stir.


    They are hunters, and the massive wolf interests them as I thought and planned for. Their leader, though, isn¡¯t. He rolls over in his bedroll!


    ¡°Others will talk around the campfires for a season, maybe longer, about such a kill.¡±


    This agitates their leader, the son of Clan Head Jarlgren, into action. He gets up and smashes the nose of the night watch, knocking him to the ground.


    As the night watch gingerly touches his nose, I overhear his leader.


    ¡°It¡¯s a trap, fool. They say Duzsia rides an enormous wolf now. She waits for anyone to take the bait.¡± He rubs the sleep from his eyes and shakes his head at the stupid look on the night watch¡¯s face. ¡°Go then.¡± He glares. ¡°If you want to, find another fool to go with you.¡± He waves the night watch away.


    Our trap is big enough for all of them, but only two. Disappointing.


    ¡°Why did you let them go?¡± asks another hunter.


    ¡°Only those who heed my commands are any use to me. We were to rescue Morgren from his folly. But, given the wolf¡¯s visit, I suspect the fool is dead or captured, so now our mission is to find and slaughter Lord Klar¡¯s wives.¡±


    Blood drains from the hunter¡¯s face, and the green of his skin grows pale. ¡°But you can¡¯t.¡± I chuckle silently. ¡°Duzsia¡¯s wolf!¡± His eyes dart about. I assume he seeks support from the other awakening or awake hunters. The other hunters must not have recognised Old Wolf. Only Vormgren did. Is he selling the idea that Duzsia, me, is still alive? I thought Vorlora wearing my armour without my helmet into the village proved I had died.


    I overhear his reply. ¡°If you leave, I will inform my father of your cowardice.¡± He reaches over the campfire embers to tear off a leg of the fawn on the spit and bites deep into the flesh. I observe the face of the hunter, and I assume Vormgren does as well. Various twitches and false efforts to speak are the telltale signs of a mind rolling through the many options he thinks he has.


    Vormgren puts him out of his misery. ¡°Choose. Stay or go. I make the same offer to all of you.¡±


    ---


    We capture the two fools hunting for the Old Wolf in a pit trap. Too easy. I appreciate why Vormgren wasn¡¯t trying too hard to keep them with him. We stake both out on the trail ahead. At the narrow and deep end of a gorge, which began wide and shallow. A perfect ambush site.


    His scout scurries back to him. ¡°Cries for help.¡± His pleading eyes are sincere. Surprising. ¡°I am certain they are two of ours.¡±


    ¡°A trap. We continue. I am just as certain we will find Morgren¡¯s tracks if we keep heading towards Lord Klar¡¯s village without risking an ambush in a gorge. Morgren was nothing, if not direct.¡±


    ¡°Leave them?¡±


    ¡°They made a choice. That doesn¡¯t mean we have to pay with our lives. Now, move.¡±


    Vormgren leads his hunters away. Cries of help echo behind them.


    ---


    ¡°Jarlgren considered him the smarter of his sons,¡± says Solgia, stating the obvious.


    ¡°We will need to pick them off. Your bodyguards are the most proficient with bow and arrow, so they seem the obvious choice.¡±


    ¡°Who will guard me?¡± I detect, wavering in her voice. Is she really this scared of the wilderness?


    ¡°You are a wife of Lord Klar and have nanorobots in your blood?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I healed my foot.¡±


    ¡°What else?¡±


    ¡°I, erm, I, have done lots of things!¡±


    I don¡¯t have time for this. The hunters are getting away. ¡°Command them to improve your hearing. That way, if someone or something stalks you, you can scream for help before they reach you or perhaps hide.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± she scoffs.


    ¡°Tell your bodyguards to take orders from Vorlora and Voria. They will guide them. We will guide Vorlora and Voria.¡±


    ¡°What about me?¡±


    While I didn¡¯t want to, given his usefulness, I don¡¯t think I have a choice. ¡°Tell Vorlora to ask if Old Wolf can guard you or, better yet, allow you to ride him. While you are worrying, push your nanorobots to improve your hearing.¡±


    ¡°Ride the wolf?¡± Her hands clamp her cheeks.


    She is definitely more confident inside the village! ¡°Look at it this way? If they attack you, you only need to grab his fur and hold on as he gallops away.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Yes, that is good, isn¡¯t it? Escape. Alright, I will let them know.¡±


    ---


    All the next day, our prey was cautious. Klaria and I could assure Solgia of a safe path to follow. We caught up with them at dusk as they camped beside a river. Lord Klar¡¯s village was upstream of this river. Vormgren and I concluded that Morgren had made good time because he assumed the world wouldn¡¯t kill him. He being a Clan Head¡¯s son and all.


    ¡°I see you.¡±


    Vorlora stares directly at me. I am returning from a perimeter patrol. Klaria and I don¡¯t require sleep, so it makes sense we keep watch. Yet my apprentice says she can see me, and I can hear her in my thoughts.


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°I met a stranger. She said she turned you to dust. She didn¡¯t realise what would happen. Feeding me, her blood quickened Lord Klug¡¯s blood within me. You can imagine my shock. This only makes sense if Lord Klar is Lord Klug reborn somehow.¡±


    ¡°No, you are wrong.¡±


    Her laughter smashes my ruse apart. ¡°Your apprentice has matured and senses the hollowness in your feeble reply, Mistress.¡± She scuffs her boot and adjusts her sword belt. She has more to say, words she has practised many times.


    ¡°Old Wolf and I became the scourge of the Oath Keeper goblins and many Klugite refugees, and yet when I fought the hunters on the plains, I doubted myself. I convinced myself only you could guide me and protect me. I surrendered all my confidence and made my nanorobots sleep. Even Gorgrin assessed me as not you and convinced me to not wear your helm, not pretend to be you.¡± I notice the tears roll down her flawless cheeks, and I am face to face with her, yet try as I might, I can¡¯t will them away. Her hand reaches out and cups my imaginary cheek. Somehow, she overlays the former me over my wisp of a spirit form. I don¡¯t comprehend how she can.


    ¡°You told Solgia, or perhaps Solgia herself ordered Voria to train me. As I sweated, I concluded Voria could teach me her combat style, but slaughtering goblins and hobgoblins with Old Wolf using your style had already prepared me to take life as efficiently as possible. I still have more to learn, but I understand now how you and Luda could work so flawlessly together. Old Wolf and I share a similar bond. Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±


    Why didn¡¯t I tell her? How come Lord Klar shared a copious amount of his seed with her? A non-wife. Did he want to prove some sort of point? Was there no plan at all, just silliness, like trying to make Izga jealous? Did he know what his seed would do to her?


    ¡°You weren¡¯t a wife of Lord Klar. None thought, you could reap any more benefit beyond healing your cheeks. In fact, afterwards, you seemed to be no more or no less skilled than the training The Eater Clan gave you. You couldn¡¯t return, so I found you a place with me.¡±


    ¡°Pity then? I was nothing more than your pet, someone to teach tricks to?¡±


    I don¡¯t like where this is heading. ¡°Maybe. Maybe not. If you had doubts, I had more. At the time, you were my first apprentice, the first apprentice of any wife of Lord Klar. None knew what the result would be, especially me. Then, without warning, I became dust, and you needed to survive without me. I wished it could have been different.¡±


    There is bitterness in her reply. ¡°Would you have awakened Lord Klug¡¯s nanorobots in my blood?¡±


    I reach for honesty. Does she still trust me? ¡°I don¡¯t know the answer to that question. Lord Klar fed you his seed. Only he truly knows why. Perhaps your awakening was his intent, the joyous conclusion to his experiment. What I can tell you is he didn¡¯t share his plans for you with any of his wives.¡±


    Her fingers wrap around the grip of her sword. Head down, she sighs. ¡°Then perhaps my current life path is for the best.¡±


    ¡°Can you contact Klaria?¡±


    She tilts her head, and then a cheeky smile plays across her lips. ¡°Why do I sense our chat is done, and you are now plotting against our foes?¡±


    Am I that obvious? Does she know me better than I know myself? We finished our conversation, didn¡¯t we?


    ¡°Gobin got your tongue, Mistress?¡±


    Mistress? Why does she still call me Mistress? Didn¡¯t she decide she didn¡¯t need me anymore? Wasn¡¯t I the one who stole her confidence?


    ¡°Am I still your Mistress?¡± Somehow, I can¡¯t keep the bliss I yearn for out of my reply.


    ¡°My stranger said that being a wife of Lord Klug, you would be reborn. She didn¡¯t say when and, in any case, reborn now or later, you can still teach me, or have you lost the want to keep me as your apprentice?¡±


    ¡°Never. I would be honoured, but didn¡¯t you say I stole your confidence?¡±


    ¡°I have grown.¡± A playful smirk spreads across her lips. ¡°Now, to answer your question, I can sense Klaria, but only after great effort. Our relationship in life was closer.¡± She chuckles. ¡°Sorry, but Solgia gave you away, or more to the point, her bodyguards. Not being a wife of Lord Klar, they asked me about her lapses. She would stare at nothing. Her face reminded me of what I thought I would look like when first learning to mind speak with the stranger. So, I failed until I succeeded. I could sense your spirit presence. I would wait for Solgia to stare to home in on you. More recently, I waited until night while in my bedroll and tried to find your presence without Solgia staring in the right direction. Does that make sense, Mistress?¡±


    ¡°What about now? How do you talk to me so easily?¡±


    She blushes. But why?


    ¡°We kissed. Do you remember? I forgive you if you don¡¯t, but that warmth is what I sense when you are near now. I can¡¯t explain why, so don¡¯t ask. But to mind speak with you is as simple as when I talked to you when I was alive. I didn¡¯t fail until I succeeded. I simply succeeded on my first attempt. Perhaps being your apprentice creates a bond beyond death. All I know is, it works.¡±


    Our bond to Lord Klug draws us back to him from death. Is it so difficult to imagine her apprentice oath draws her to me beyond my death? Can this all be because of the nanorobots in Lord Klug¡¯s seed? Does his seed link us to a lesser or greater degree depending on the depth of our relationship?


    ¡°This is wonderful. I hope to ambush and capture Clan Head Jarlgren¡¯s son tomorrow. Although I must ask. Does Old Wolf seem insulted he is the one to safe keep our scribe?¡±


    ¡°We have been through a lot together.¡±


    ---


    Solgia¡¯s bodyguards didn¡¯t enjoy leaving their fine chainmail armour behind, but any chance of success would require stealth and preparation.


    Pre-dawn. A bodyguard releases an arrow. Chest hit on the night watch, who screams like a stuck pig. The camp rises and scrambles about. Vormgren shouts at them to keep low. There is always one who stands up for too long. He looks at the arrow that spouts from his chest and then spares a glance for Vormgren before collapsing.


    The bodyguards are under orders to only take clean chances. There are opportunities while the hunters gather their equipment and strap on armour, for example. Still, I didn¡¯t want to reveal our numbers. Or allow them to count the arrows and the number of releases over time.


    Vormgren sends two of his hunters wide, one left and one right. Meanwhile, the remaining hunters sneak looks or throw backpacks as distractions. Klaria informs Solgia, who informs our reserve. Vorlora positions the second bodyguard under my guidance and then returns to the first. Voria, wearing Klaria¡¯s armour, finds an ideal ambush position by heeding the itching in her armour and lies in wait for the other hunter.


    Then Vormgren surprises me. As one, he and the remaining hunters rise and charge. Their direction of charge veers off slightly, to begin with, but corrects immediately after an arrow strikes one of them. I hover above them, and Klaria joins me.


    The second bodyguard slays her target and returns to the first bodyguard. Voria wounds her hunter, and it won¡¯t be long before she can return. The bodyguard releases another arrow and takes out a hunter with a thigh hit. Vorlora, like Klaria, and I watch the ground and each step Vormgren takes. Another hunter on his left falls. He must consider himself lucky as he continues to charge. One on the right falls, and he falters.


    He didn¡¯t strike me as a coward.


    He halts and growls at the charging hunters to do the same. Another takes an arrow to the chest as the remaining hunters find a tree trunk for cover.


    ¡°Klaria, tell Solgia to order Voria and the other bodyguard to circle around towards the hunter¡¯s camp and attack from behind. We need this done before the hunters discover they face four instead of two.¡±


    ¡°We outnumber you, and your trap has failed. Surrender now and explain. I promise no harm will come to you as you have wounded more than you have slain. What say you?¡± he shouts.


    I doubt the truth of his words. His remaining hunters dash from tree trunk to tree trunk, advancing on the bodyguard and Vorlora. A couple release arrows while others sprint forward and find cover.


    Did he see the rope? I ¡°land¡± where he halted and to check. Not the rope, then. I glimpse the bent-over tree trunk or, more specifically, the unnatural turn of the tree foliage. A death scream drags me from my thoughts. The bodyguard has planted a spear, and a hunter has run himself through. Behind him, though, others follow through. I race to Klaria.


    ¡°Get Voria and the bodyguard to attack.¡±


    When I return, I see myself in every move Vorlora makes. The duck and dive, dashing about the melee, feint and thrust true. The bodyguard has her back to a tree, holding her own, although she bleeds from a couple of wounds. A hunter limps away in a hurry only to face Vormgren, who throws him to the ground, screaming my name.


    Vormgren draws an arrow.


    ¡°Arrow!¡±


    He releases.


    ¡°Lean left.¡±


    He curses and nocks another arrow. Two of his hunters shield the bodyguard while Vorlora sword dances between her attackers. There is a scream from the direction of the hunter¡¯s camp. That adds urgency to Vormgren as he throws his bow down and draws his sword.


    ¡°You are not Duzsia the Relentless. She is dust, you but wear her armour, and your death by my hand will prove it!¡±


    As he charges, his hunters drawback to give him space. One stays to watch while the other two look to help the two already attacking the bodyguard and finish her. Before they can, Old Wolf, with Solgia on his back, leaps at one newcomer, knocking him down. He continues and targets the two hunters, pressing the bodyguard. From behind, Old Wolf knocks one off balance into the other to send both sprawling.


    The remaining one, still standing, opens his mouth in surprise. He glances down at the sword through his chest and drops dead. The bodyguard moves to his companion and slices at his thigh. Her two original hunters are climbing to their feet, and while they spot her, they hesitate. They don¡¯t know what hit them.


    ¡°There is a wolf!¡± shouts the hunter guarding Vormgren¡¯s back while pointing behind them.


    Vorlora dances away, avoiding Vormgren¡¯s overhead sword strike. He grunts and draws his sword back. He swings his sword again, and this time, Vorlora parries. She then tries to counter by thrusting her sword¡¯s pommel at his face. He stumbles back just in time while she circles and then thrusts again. He drags his sword across from right to left to fend off her sword with brute strength. She withdraws her sword and its resistance. He lurches further across, exposing his shoulder. She stabs with all her strength into his shoulder blade.


    ¡°Move left. A hunter is charging at you.¡±


    He feebly backswings his sword. Vorlora shifting left outruns the strike and positions Vormgren¡¯s body between her and the charging hunter. Vorlora thrusts at his wounded shoulder from the front this time, but Vormgren is aware enough to step back. His sword point is dragging in the ground when he does.


    An arrow skewers the head of the hunter behind Vormgren. The other bodyguard and Voria announce their arrival splendidly.


    ¡°Your hunters are no more, Vormgren. Do you surrender, or do I slay you?¡±


    He attempts to lift his sword. Between deep breaths, he says, ¡°You are not Duzsia the Relentless.¡± He releases his sword. The other two hunters drop their swords as they desperately scan for Old Wolf.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.016 Surprise

    <h2>---Tinuna, Shifter of the GPA Observer Ship POV</h2>


    Far above, the rough cavern roof looks down on us. My High Priestess Chamber is not in the Temple proper, but a separate building nearby. The four walls surround a smooth stone floor, but they don¡¯t reach the cavern roof. Furnishings are few, one long solid table and several chairs. Behind a half-finished dividing wall is a grand bed and temporary hanging space for the few clothes I call my own, primarily ceremonial robes, like the one I wear now.


    The whoosh of the thin switch echoes about my chamber.


    They plan to roof my chamber at a reasonable height and leave the space above to darkness. The double doors are a timely recent addition to prevent prying eyes. Yet eavesdropping would be child¡¯s play. My worshippers mean well, but privacy is essential, and it has been some time since they have returned to finish what they started. It seems the initial enthusiasm for the project has cooled. When I have a moment, I must ask why.


    Another whoosh.


    Presently, I have a situation and a large audience.


    Several corpses, not a drop of blood leaking from them, lay on my chamber floor in a neat side-by-side row. Clan Head Durlarg, his wife and guards, I am told. All late of Hobgoblin Town, and I am sure someone will miss them and possibly come looking.


    Another whoosh.


    Climbing out of my chair, I draw my voluminous white robe about me and tie off the belt. The hood I usually utilise to shadow my face rests on my shoulders. Except in my chambers, I am more circumspect with my unnatural beauty now than before.


    After another strike, she says nothing so I stroll closer. I nod to my agent, and he surrenders the thin tree branch switch as he leaves my chamber. Swishing the length twice to test, I then strike across her naked shoulders. Blood leaks from previous swings because of her stubbornness to talk. Her face remains impassive.


    ¡°What have you got to say for yourself?¡± The young female kneeling before me is a mystery. Her resistance to my nanorobots was troubling, but until now, she had kept out of my way. It is only because she resisted my nanorobots that I placed her under watch. But not close enough, it seems, given her efficiency in bloodless slaughter. However, in Clan Head Durlarg¡¯s case, an added wrinkle, his bloodless body.


    ¡°They were the ones who attempted to kill me first. Responsible for my swim in the river going wrong.¡±


    She speaks. Was drawing me in directly her intent?


    ¡°They were dedicated Klugites. Donating a substantial amount of gold, which seems to carry some value in this valley. Besides that, his Clan carted trade goods to and from this valley. His business could have carried the word of Lord Klug to other valleys. Our Priestesses. Possibly yourself one day.¡±


    There is no emotion on her face. I break my stroll and kick at her chin. My soft leather shoe delivers a glancing blow. She had not avoided my kick entirely, but enough to keep up the illusion I had been successful. She didn¡¯t check her chin afterwards. Words then flow out of her mouth as if the kick didn¡¯t happen.


    ¡°Send me to his Clan. I will convert them and all other hobgoblins living in this valley.¡±


    I cock an eyebrow. ¡°Boasting? Shouldn¡¯t you be begging for my mercy?¡±


    ¡°Where you see loss, I see opportunity. He could have been fickle. All smiles and fawning while in your presence, offering what he thinks you want to hear. But when amongst his own, secretive. Not actively advancing Lord Klug¡¯s worship. If he did, wouldn¡¯t those of this valley be eager to join us?¡±


    I scoff. ¡°You are simply going to walk into his organisation and take over?¡±


    She raises her head, her eyes locking onto mine. ¡°It has happened before, just recently, or so I have learnt.¡±


    There it is! The valley first and then appointment as High Priestess of Klug. She doesn¡¯t consider her youth an issue. Is this an opportunity for me? Being the High Priestess of Klug was a way to a means. Try to get close to Lord Klar from a position of strength and deliver his worshippers back to him. Not a single visit from him, though.


    As Clan Head, I could be closer to him and not shunned by this valley. The recent emissary visit from Lord Torngul, for example. Not exactly welcoming, more like trying to find out about us for a minimal reveal of them. He was clearly suspicious of Klugites, and did I really want to be the High Priestess, which would have to deal with that?


    I flick a hand. ¡°Leave us and take the corpses with you.¡±


    Some temple guards, initiates, and priestesses hesitate until I throw them stern looks.


    We wait for their leaving commotion to fade back to silence.


    ¡°How did you intend to supplant me as High Priestess?¡± I whisper next to her ear.


    Her mouth opens and then slowly closes. She narrows her eyes and climbs to her feet. I note the wounds on her back closing as she does. The healing isn¡¯t exceptionally rapid, but it¡¯s still impressive for one so young. Or perhaps she is controlling this illusion as well. Excellent nanorobot control, then. Probably pain suppression as well, which explains her immunity to punishment.


    Hitching up her brown linen robe to cover her shoulders, she takes a long, hard look at me.


    Her voice low, she says, ¡°My initial plan was to use my nanorobots to conquer you. But I believe we are of similar proficiency and can, therefore, resist attempts from the other. My next plan was to accompany you on any mission outside the Temple. Look for an opportunity to assist in any kidnapping.¡±


    ¡°Not assassination?¡± I ask.


    She recoils as if struck. ¡°Successful assassination of the High Priestess of Klug would cast doubt on the strength of his worship. Unacceptable. Rescue from kidnapping provides hope and unites all to a common purpose.¡±


    ¡°And what? All attempts would fail?¡±


    She downs a half mug of water left behind on the table. Ignoring Luda¡¯s mead. ¡°For some time, but eventually, there would have to be a success.¡±


    I chuckle. ¡°About the time you had established yourself and could convince others, as a former captive, it wouldn¡¯t do for me to be once again High Priestess. The rescue would satisfy Lord Klug¡¯s worshippers, though.¡±


    She strolls back from the table to face me. ¡°How does one so beautiful go unnoticed until an adult? It would seem you have simply appeared from nowhere.¡±


    I flash her a knowing smile. ¡°Protective, secretive parents.¡±


    ¡°What is your offer?¡± says asks in quiet monotone bluntness.


    My turn to stroll. ¡°I proclaim those slain as false worshippers. Recognise your absolute devotion to Lord Klug, which led you to suspect them. As a reward, I nominate you as my presumptive. You will stay by my side, learn from me, and at some future time ascend to be High Priestess.¡±


    She barely manages to suppress a sneer. ¡°How long can you pretend for?¡±


    I chuckle at her jibe. Most know I am playing catch-up. There are several definitive scrolls and tomes concerning the Klugite religion in my bedroom, even now.


    ¡°For as long as it takes.¡± I wink. ¡°But I think Lord Klug will call to me. Inspire me, in fact, to go on a journey in his name.¡± I throw her a pleasant smile. ¡°In the valley of Farmer Hob, there is a false High Priestess of Klug, an upstart Oath Keeper, who he wants me to test.¡±


    She bends over with laughter but sobers up soon enough. ¡°You will give your successor good cause to march with an army in your footsteps to avenge you. Most convenient.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t intend to die.¡± She quirks her head. ¡°My purpose is to convert. You will be the Southern High Priestess, and I will be the Northern High Priestess or some such title.¡±


    Her bottom lip trembles. ¡°No. There must be only one High Priestess.¡± Her fists jab into the air beside her hips. ¡°I made that clear to the Scribes after a visitation from Lord Klug. I am his one and only High Priestess. You are, you¡¯re a usurper,¡± she hisses.


    A broad, victorious smile flashes across my lips. I stare at her and wait.


    Her jaw drops.


    ¡°Hail High Priestess Rexa, I presume?¡±


    She looks at the door, then snaps her head about. Confidence returns to her eyes. ¡°You need to run. Now. Not I.¡±


    ¡°I contemplated strangling you,¡± I muse.


    ¡°Those you sent away are all loyal to me. One shout and they will return to do my bidding. You need to run, not I.¡±


    ¡°I could strangle you even now, but then your spirit would return, wouldn¡¯t it?¡± I raise an eyebrow.


    She swallows several times, trying to recover her ability to speak.


    The scan from the scout ship showed an anomaly. A glow far from any other. How could that be?


    Spirit return was always possible, given the mining expedition¡¯s tailings. They didn¡¯t realise their waste was the veritable treasure of this planet. The mining craft¡¯s discard heap was an unnatural concentration of a mineral catalyst, the source of the innate magic of this world.


    How did we know something was amiss? Because the GPA adapted so well, far beyond all our expectations. That anomaly needed an explanation. Analysis suggested that only Farmer Hob¡¯s valley of all of them would be capable of such chaos or mutation. Why? It started with his make-do flesh bag.


    Our chosen GPA utilised a long, exposed resident flesh bag. Unknown to us at the time, the perfect start. Not so much for him, more so as an ideal host to change the nature of the nanorobots we pumped into his flesh bag to assist his survival. Just like another native of the valley, the Flint Arrows goblin tribe. Their closeness enhanced them physically, allowing them to claim a general superiority over other goblin tribes whose tribal lands lacked the mineral. The mining operation processed all the soil from the entrance of the valley. The mining machine left a cliff behind, where it stopped when ordered out.


    Under Agency orders, we grew every Hob on the Observation Ship. The first few, with false histories implanted, were an abject failure. They questioned their existence and found dead spots or contradictory memories. Eventually, they became gibbering idiots who sought solace in a dark cave. All needed to be retrieved and destroyed. Then we captured ¡°seeing the light¡± goblins. These became more frequent, and no one questioned why. All were happy we found a solution.


    We replaced their memories of goblin interactions with hobgoblin equivalents, forcing people and place name changes. Next was to implant their restrictive purpose. This removed variation and reinforced stability to ensure they didn¡¯t stray. All extremely pleased with ourselves, we named the process polishing.


    Hence, Chief Hob, Armour Hob, Ranger Hob, Head Hob, Farmer Hob, Hunter Hob and Smith Hob. Their sole purpose was to roadblock any goblin advancement into those areas of expertise. No famous goblin farmers or smiths, for example. The ultimate plan was to keep the goblins primitive or, better still, engineer wars between the tribes until extinction so the miners could return. Shifters needed to keep humanity away so we could eventually claim the planet. As soon as possible, we introduced our own Hob into the mix.


    The official GPA utilised a pristine, lab-grown flesh bag each time. Poor him.


    Oh, blast, the original Lord Farmer Hob would have had a polished Flint Arrows¡¯ ¡°seeing the light¡± goblin implanted into his Observer Ship-grown hobgoblin flesh bag to create him. Then, we implanted the GPA¡¯s spirit into the corpse and pumped it full of nanorobots. Not my idea, of course, but the outcome is the same. An uncontrolled experiment with inadequate monitoring, sampling, measurement, and analysis. This seems a more robust creation explanation of Lord Klug, a nightmare of our making.


    I stare at her and grin. She still seems lost for words. I return to consider the clues of her creation.


    This unknown youth had to be Rexa. Young and eager to learn before nearly drowning in the river. A force to be reckoned with afterwards. Her tutors reported her knowledge was now equal to theirs or more, correcting them often. Occasionally, she strongly argued for her interpretation or position until she exhausted any opposition. According to her tutors, it was as if she had witnessed the actual events or had been there when the scribes wrote the text. After several days, this noise about the young initiate died down.


    So did my initial interest, much to my regret now. She converted them, of course. Then came her revenge on the Clan Head and his company, thinking herself secure. Such bravado.


    I accused the youth before many worshippers and followers of Klug. Her submission to my judgment was a given, yet she didn¡¯t resist or show any signs of fear. I see now that the majority who volunteered to escort her were her loyal followers. Which meant only a few were loyal to me. Now we are here.


    ¡°You understand your hopelessness now. I will rise again, always. My worship of Lord Klug will ensure I am always victorious. You need to run, not I.¡±


    Again, with those words. Is she trying to convince me or herself? Does she simply expect me to obey? I am almost of a mind to make my exit annoying for her. Almost.


    ¡°Fortunately, for both of us, I have other plans which need me to be elsewhere. I will simply embrace you before all our worshippers, recognising you as a Priestess of Klug.¡±


    ¡°A promotion then?¡± She bows. ¡°Elsewhere? That¡¯s your simple plan. Walk away?¡±


    ¡°Well-deserved recognition.¡± I point at her. ¡°You have excelled in your studies as if you were born with the wisdom of Klug, I will say.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°A dramatic pause, of course, and then I will fling myself at your feet, heralding you as the true High Priestess Rexa, reborn. I was waiting for Lord Klug to tell me who, and he did so last night in my dreams.¡±


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    ¡°What? You will give up your position, and the faithful will simply accept? Look at you? You are the perfect female hobgoblin.¡±


    ¡°This will require some acting from both of us, some ceremony, and props suitable for such an occasion. I will pose with a lost look on my face. Stare out at everyone and no one. Then you will speak, and I will slip away while you capture them with your words of wisdom.¡±


    ¡°What would stop me from slaying the vessel? After all, its job will be done?¡±


    I tut-tut. ¡°You will be Klug¡¯s High Priestess.¡± Half saluting, I raise my open hands. ¡°I am but his humble messenger.¡± I pat my chest. ¡°Nothing good comes from murdering the messenger, especially a holy one. And I must be holy because, as you say, my beauty is extremely rare. Some would say blessed. Perhaps even blessed by Lord Klug himself, as I have his lineage in my blood.¡±


    ¡°So says your pet crone.¡± She saunters about in front of me. ¡°You will simply disappear. Is that what you will have me believe?¡±


    ¡°As a messenger, I can¡¯t disappear.¡±


    ¡°What will be your message?¡± she asks, resting her hands on her hips.


    ¡°There is a new, young, vibrant High Priestess of Klug. Some claim she is High Priestess Rexa reborn, and all worshippers should seek her guidance, her interpretation of Lord Klug¡¯s wisdom. Any other High Priestess¡¯ is false.¡±


    ¡°Why only some?¡± she hisses.


    ¡°Mystery. They should investigate for themselves and make up their own minds. Not forced to decide immediately. They would need to if the messenger said High Priestess Rexa was reborn, wouldn¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± she pouts. ¡°But some strays need a direct path to discover salvation. They don¡¯t trust their own thinking and would rather place their trust in another, especially if that one receives guidance from a god.¡±


    My cue to chuckle. ¡°You underestimate the messenger. This messenger weighs up the audience. My words will promise to those who can¡¯t or don¡¯t want to think for themselves a cure for all their ills. Answers to all their concerns will be theirs if they follow High Priestess Rexa. Others, who can think for themselves on some level, will receive a more subtle message. We will exploit their mindfulness to motivate them to prove me right or wrong.¡±


    She sucks in a breath. ¡°Then it will be up to me to convince them to stay.¡±


    ¡°Yes! Show them evidence of devout and fulfilled worshippers. Seduce them with words that favour your version of the truth repeatedly so their capacity to think for themselves leads them to the right conclusion. Everyone wants to belong to something bigger than themselves, and what better than the worship of Lord Klug? A noble common purpose. Faith, by its nature, is blind.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be.¡±


    Her sinister grin gives me pause.


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    She slits her arm using her tusk. Blood pours out, and then a heartbeat later dribbles as the wound closes. ¡°It has taken some time, but I slew the Clan Head for his blood. Unfortunately, my descendants don¡¯t carry much of Lord Klug¡¯s blood in their veins. An act of rape conceived the body before this one. Blessed with but a quarter portion of Klug¡¯s lineage. One half of my hateful lineage, which I guess was enough to attract my rebirth to its flesh.¡± She strolls about, seemingly without a care in the world. ¡°This body is half of my hateful lineage, and the other half, some of whom will think absurd, is, as best I can determine, from some Flint Arrows spawn. I mean, how does such a lineage survive across the years?¡±


    What is she talking about? Her nanorobots were strong enough to repel mine, regardless of her bloodline. That can only be because of her innate mastery of them from her long previous life. She even activated them on some level, given her healing demonstration. My healing only manifested after absorbing two barrels of Lord Klug¡¯s already activated nanorobot-filled blood abandoned in a forest.


    ¡°To truly be High Priestess, I need to be whole again. The Clan Head¡¯s blood was a quarter of Klug¡¯s lineage, but consuming it changed nothing. But you¡­¡±


    A whistling, whirring sound grows behind me. As I turn, I feel bindings tighten around my shins. Three ropes ending in three heavy balls slam to a stop around my legs. I wobble and then fall. Several heartbeats later, while I struggle to free myself, a grossly overweight, sweating, stinking body lands on me.


    ¡°Got you, bitch!¡± His breath stinks as he huffs and puffs to drag my arms behind me.


    I hear her snicker. ¡°I dearly wanted to believe your crone. You don¡¯t know how much I wished her tasting to be genuine. Fortunately, you have tipped my risky endeavour with only a fair chance of reward into everything I hoped for.¡±


    ¡°You risk everything. You mad?¡±


    ¡°High Priestess, you forget that failure means nothing to me. Lord Klug will ensure I return. I suspect sampling your blood over time will cure me, just like a barrel of Lord Klug¡¯s blood did in a previous life,¡± she says with a note of triumph. ¡°I enjoyed our chat, trading probabilities and possibilities.¡± Her voice drips with ridicule. ¡°Two great minds planning and plotting our roles going forward and the future of this temple.¡± She giggles at me. ¡°A wonderful distraction because I assumed your heightened hearing would have ordinarily detected my loyal accomplice.¡±


    My fingers try to claw at his flesh while I rock my body to make his attempt to tie me more difficult. Yet, for all my strength, he pins me to the floor. How?


    ¡°Still fighting?¡± She drops to her haunches. I assume to enjoy my predicament. ¡°Know that my friend has some of my blood. He is stronger than he looks. I wondered if he would be strong enough, but a slaver has technique and skill. They typically catch those physically stronger than themselves. Something to do with positioning and leverage or some such.¡±


    What made me think I could reason with a two-hundred-year-old fanatic? Have a candid conversation and simply pass the High Priestess mantle to her and walk away? She just said that she doesn¡¯t fear failure and death.


    ¡°You can¡¯t consume my blood. We tried to dominate each other,¡± I squeak as my lungs lose air with every breath because of his bulk on my back.


    I feel she is laughing at me.


    ¡°They will take some time to be convinced, that is all. Far away from your direct influence, they will be vulnerable.¡±


    ¡°You hope!¡±


    ¡°I am confident. Did you wonder why some of those guards and initiates, whom I am certain you made loyal to yourself, hesitated to obey you?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps¡­¡±


    ¡°I experimented. In the company of one of your guards, away from the Temple, I introduced my nanorobots to him. Without you there, mine neutralised yours. When he next felt the call of nature, they flowed from his body. Interesting, yes?¡±


    I curse, ¡°Bitch! What do you know about experimentation? You are nothing but a pathetic goblin upstart!¡±


    She laughs.


    ¡°Know false one that in my spare time as his true and only High Priestess, the power of his blood fascinated me.¡± Her hands stray to caress her loins. ¡°How did it stitch together my torn loins after childbirth? Preserve me to live a long life, for example? I thought I had dreamt the impossible when I made specific requests.¡±


    She hugs herself and twists her body about. ¡°These Requests, I thought a folly, after a time, became reality.¡±


    There is a touch of sadness in her voice! ¡°After a long time, my nanorobots, with his blood flowing through my body, could only renew my flesh so many times. Such a disappointment. Shortly after, my body turned to dust. But because of his grace, Lord Klug granted me the miracle of return.¡±


    She was a goblin orphan who became an apprentice of Jotor. She rejected him but nevertheless learnt all he could teach. Not a well-known fact, of course. Because she tried to scrub every known record and have every vocal living witness killed. Unfortunately for her, the Observer¡¯s Ship¡¯s database holds the history and life story of the inhabitants of Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s Valley. Well, as much as both GPAs could report on, at least. Her ability to return suggests she was once a Flint Arrows¡¯ goblin before becoming Jotor¡¯s favoured adopted daughter. So, if true, her ability to return has nothing to do with Lord Klug¡¯s blessing. I wonder how many other Flint Arrows can return?


    A sharp pain brings me back to the present. I strain to look over my shoulder. Her jaws hold my arm between them. Not one, but two stings of pain pierce my flesh. Her tusks?


    She releases my arm with a heavy sigh of satisfaction. My blood drips from her tusks.


    ¡°Stop healing, pretty one. Otherwise, drawing your blood will be slow, and you will suffer longer. You have that level of control, don¡¯t you? I mean, you sent yours after mine, so I just assumed.¡±


    She clamps her jaws around my arm, and the twin pain returns. ¡°Ah,¡± she sighs from between her jaws. After a while, she opens her jaw and rocks back into a squatting posture. She licks her tusks, not missing a drop of my blood.


    ¡°I appreciate the horrified look on your face. All whom I have fed from had the same look. I told you I made specific requests. These were failed modifications then because of the mediocre flesh I sampled. I feel slightly more certain of their usefulness this time round.¡±


    She circles around my head.


    ¡°Now, be a good girl. No healing.¡±


    I feel double points of pain in my other arm. I can¡¯t wrap my mind around what she is doing. How can a pathetic goblin upstart surprise me so utterly? I am a highly trained Shifter operative, a survivor of human persecution, with the mental fortitude to survive alone in space. Now, I am a blood bank for an insane follower of Lord Klug. A GPA who I helped create and shape.


    After several heartbeats, she releases my arm and her bottom lands heavily on the stone floor. Her heavy breathing dominates my former chamber.


    ¡°Are you alright, High Priestess?¡± he asks.


    ¡°Yes! Wonderful. Her blood is delicious.¡± I hear her stumble as she climbs to her feet. ¡°Take her to the hole we prepared. Guard her. No escape. Others have already made excuses for her absence.¡± She stumbles again. ¡°We should have enough time before too many start asking questions. We will send the early few of them on¡­ deadly missions.¡±


    Her steps slow, and my eyes find her staring back at me.


    ¡°I won¡¯t allow you to grow lonely, pretty one. Heal, I intend to visit you often.¡±


    <h2>---Jada, Citadel Assassin POV</h2>


    Why didn¡¯t he wake me for my watch? We are within our lands but not within the citadel¡¯s walls yet. We aren¡¯t entirely safe, even if, after searching, we confirmed the farm abandoned.


    My eyes lock onto a warm glow of light a short distance away. It seeps out from underneath the thick woollen cloak of my companion. This sloppy assassin craftwork confirms once again in my mind why admitting these strays is a mistake. The past practice of dropping off strays and orphans to The Eater Clan was a better alternative.


    The heavy dew on the ground assists my silent approach, and I effortlessly snatch away his cloak.


    For a heartbeat, his posture holds and then the crouching figure underneath collapses. I spring back in shock. What once was flesh is now dust flowing away. His leather armour crumples inwardly before my eyes. Many sheathed daggers fall away, riding the dust on their way to the ground. His body no longer shields the flickering glow of the candle, revealing a bowl close by. His former posture would suggest he hovered over the contents. Why? I peer. Curiously, dust lays in the bowl.


    My grandfather and grandmother had sent both of us to shadow Zergoa after she left the citadel. Her origins were important to them, was all they said. None had seen any stranger welcomed as she had been. They did not deny her training in some of our most secret weapons. Yet, even with that training, we witnessed her capture. Her role was shortly after nothing more than live bait. Somehow, the death of the one attempting her rescue was too much, and she did the impossible. Turned to dust. Despair? We could only freeze and stay quiet, regardless of the shock.


    I wanted to report back. He wanted to investigate. I knew he took something from the death site of Zergoa, but dust? I recalled before I snatched at his cloak, his raised arm. Was his finger poised above his lips? Did he taste her dust? Maybe? But why would he do that?


    Avoiding his dust heap, I reach for the bowl and raise it slowly, sniffing occasionally. There is no doubt. The scent of what I assume is Zergoa¡¯s dust is unique, a dry sweat, her dry sweat, perhaps special. If I taste as he did, will I share his fate? Only a taste can confirm without a doubt. I should rush this find back to my grandfather and grandmother. That would be the right thing to do¡­


    A few grains¡­


    They rest on the supple leather of my glove. A simple tip of my finger and they will land on my eager, long, thin goblin tongue.


    I roll my finger¡­


    As they land, they drain away the moisture in my mouth. My water skin is quick to my lips. My first thought is to drink. His flat, drained water skin stares back at me. I spit out the water, and I hope all the dust. Another mouthful, and again, I spit.


    Some motes of dust must remain within my body because an insatiable need to drink overcomes me. I race to the well beside the farmer¡¯s cottage and hastily wind up a bucket.


    Each bucket I drink feels essential. Feeding this thirst spares my flesh. I can¡¯t live my life needing to do this forever! How can these specks of her dust do this? Where in my body are they?


    I ask, and my blood answers. My forearm. They are draining the moisture from there. Three motes of dust. How do I know the number? Their essence hints of pure Lord Klug linage, an impossibility. Their lingering taste absurdly confirms this impossibility, and then, of course, panic. The absolute need to quench my thirst.


    Relax. Steady my heartbeat. Slow down my blood flow. Another swig of water, and then I concentrate on them. My blood swirls around them. I learn more about them each time I deliberately wash my blood on them. They are purposeful. Something set their purpose. A final instruction. If set, can someone or something change their purpose? How?


    ¡°Stop!¡± I will.


    ¡°Finish!¡±


    I swig from the bucket again.


    I am not Zergoa. Is she the only one who can control them now? Is that why I fail? I am a goblin. Zergoa was a hobgoblin. Is that why? Think¡­ I am not Zergoa. Panic rises within me. Why didn¡¯t I take the dust to my grandparents? I blink and take another gulp of water. Because of the allure, I needed to own whatever the motes could promise. Power? Foolish imp, I declare myself.


    A whimper of regret. Why me? ¡°I am not Zergoa, so stop!¡± My thirst builds as I repeat the plea.


    I still say these words when I realise no water is in the bucket. Yet there must be because my thirst is subtle now. This state, this type of new normal, only occurs after I drink.


    All our tribe knows we are superior. The reason, though, is a mystery or well-kept secret. When asked, all the elders say is we have access to a magic all others don¡¯t know exists. They say traditional exercises and training exploit this magic to our benefit. The elders, especially the grandmasters, can manipulate their bodies to improve and enhance. Another mystery. Not anymore. Her motes feel alive somehow. I can pinpoint them in my blood. This must be the magic they spoke of because in recognising her motes of magic, I can identify my motes of magic and instinctively understand they are weaker, much weaker.


    Her three motes are busy but not draining water. They are busy converting my blood, not only my blood but also my motes in my blood. My Karo lineage is being replaced. I didn¡¯t instruct them. A fourth mote forms! Not weak like mine, strong like hers.


    Absently, I drop the bucket into the well and draw more water. This time, I sip, and, by accident, I once again eye the bowl. Three motes almost caused my death. I have grown a fourth. What would more do? His body of dust reminds me instantly. The heavy moisture in the night air causes the spread of his dust to crust. That same moisture doesn¡¯t dampen the pile of dust in the bowl. Even passive in the bowl, they feast on moisture in the air.


    Picking up the bowl, I pause and stare at the contents. Only my grandmother and grandfather will know what to do next. They know about our tribal magic. They are the masters of it.


    Before I can restrain myself, my arm rises, and I empty the bowl into the bucket of water! Why?


    The scent of the dust, now moist, is euphoric. My hands tremble. Unable to steady them, they jiggle the now half-empty bucket of water as I lift the sturdy wooden container to my lips. I drink the bucket dry before the dust can and before I muster the will to resist.


    ¡°I am not Zergoa. Please stop!¡± Then darkness envelopes me.


    ---


    The sun¡¯s warmth on my skin cools as an icy breeze caresses my face. My mouth is dry. My nose sniffs out the water in the well. Trying to rise on one arm, a blackness, a hardening ichor covers my arms and legs. There is more on my chest, on my face¡­ Every pore of my skin has leaked enough to provide a thick, disgusting coat of the stuff.


    A need claws at my throat. I crawl, climb to my feet, and before I realise it, I am winching up a bucket of water. Once the first is empty, I hurry to fill a second. I drink that and several more until I lose count. Sated, I lean against the stone wall of the well. I notice the ichor is no longer hard. It oozes. It flows.


    I blackout.


    When I wake, a puddle of black ichor spreads out around me. I use the wall to help me stand. Again, I need to quench my thirst. I drop to one knee. Sleep calls to me, but I resist.


    I undress. My clothes and armour have soaked up more than enough to ruin them. Nevertheless, I use my shirt to scrape off as much of the ichor as possible. Now naked, my eyes land on his clothes. Cautiously, I pick his clothes and armour out of the dust and brush them down. I am about to dress when I reconsider. I draw water from the well and scrub my naked flesh. Are my breasts perky? Fuller? I have always dreamed of them to be, but whoa! The scar from the old dagger wound is gone. How?


    The ooze, stupid, I swear at myself. I feel my nose. A giddiness rises from within. My nose is straight, but I assume it¡¯s even better than straight. I imagine no blemishes are on the skin there because there aren¡¯t any blemishes on my skin elsewhere. I calm myself. There is more to do.


    Clean and dressed, I use his dagger to dig a hole between the roots of a nearby tree and bury my boots, clothes, and armour. I throw his bowl on the top and backfill it with dirt, scuff leaves, and foliage to complete the coverup. I throw buckets of water on the huge puddle of ichor around the well. After a time, the ground absorbs it all.


    I practice my story in my head. They teach us that lies need practice. You need to repeat them until you believe them. Your belief in them will help you sell them to others.


    As for my body, the shovelling confirmed other changes. Stronger, faster, healthier. Her motes have converted mine and taken over my body, making it better. The black ooze, I now understand, is the bad stuff, the impurities. Gone. Why did they obey me? Or did they simply stop obeying her previous order?


    The scent of Karo and Ligia in my body, my blood, is no more. My new sense of smell at work. I wonder if my sense of smell is equal to or better than a Crone¡¯s sense of taste? Lord Klug¡¯s blood and nothing else flows in my veins. The hundreds of busy motes are still enhancing my body in small ways. Improve my hearing and sight; I will into them and know they obey my command.


    I peer left and then right. Allow the smallest of delicious smirks to escape my lips. Then, I wish for the impossible. Perky is nice; larger breasts are better. I send my wish and command to my Lord Klug spawned motes. Taking a deep breath, I feel both lumps beneath my armour and shirt. Nothing yet, but I know they obey.


    A thirst hits me. There is no urgency this time, but I immediately draw a bucket of water. The motes are like a farmer¡¯s crop. The more you water them, the faster they finish their growing. A crop fails without being watered. I suspect motes without water will turn my body to dust. A shiver runs down my spine.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.017 Revelations of a Different Kind

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    <h2></h2>

 3.018 Wicked or Just Plain Cold

    <h2>---Cassia Hippolyta Sutler, Science Officer of the GPA Battlecruiser Lionheart POV</h2>


    I wake to him, dripping his black blood into my mouth. My struggle counts for nothing. The rumbling chuckle in his chest proves he finds me amusing at best. How long have I been out? I remember kneeling and checking on the female officer from the Scout Ship, and then Ed bursting into the Lab. Another crew member from the Scout Ship.


    Poor Ed, he didn¡¯t understand the nanorobots, and neither did I. His human body became a husk. Why doesn¡¯t his horrible death concern me? I remember now. Captain Julius sold me out shortly after so he could walk away and be the hero of this ridiculous farce. To say I am bitter is an understatement. Then nothing until now. No. I am wrong. A slight dizziness.


    I lick my lips to draw in and savour a couple of stray drops. The taste of his hobgoblin blood is exquisite, dreamy even. My eyes lose themselves in the deep pool of blackness in his eyes. This creature, this hobgoblin, isn¡¯t ugly. He has a misunderstood inner beauty. I embrace his warmth. I instantly appreciate what he is doing for me. How could I ever doubt his intentions?


    Captain Julius is my betrayer.


    My eyes wander about the Lab. As a Science Officer, I should pay more attention, but for now, I feel content for the first time in a long time. My mind is finally free of control, and decisions are my own. I do note that each bed in the Lab has a body resting on it. The female officer from the Scout Ship lies on the bed closest to me, and an unknown female hobgoblin lies on the other.


    I remember the pleasant hum of power reverberating around the Science Lab. Also, my body swaying in time to the vibration. After that, all is a blur until I lean against the cool steel wall of the Lab and slowly slide down to the cold, clinical floor.


    Shouting and screaming wake me. My eyes dart from side to side, but everyone ignores me. The hobgoblin leans over the female hobgoblin on the far bed and drips his blood into her mouth. She is awake but confused. He now checks the control panel, so he must be finished.


    Captain Julius returns, pushing a trolley. I want to scratch his eyes out, but my legs and arms feel so heavy. The female hobgoblin, though, screams as he takes the human body from the closest bed. He also takes poor Ed, his husk, at least. He also cleans up Titus¡¯ body. I giggle. His neck has a red smile.


    His goblin and hobgoblin females wrestle with the screaming and cursing female hobgoblin body on the far bed. Still screaming, they lift her off the bed. Her arms and legs are now bound, and they leave her to struggle on the Lab floor.


    I ignore her and instead study the Control Panel. There is a progression bar that lights up one bar. On the far bed, a green haze forms under a transparent dome. My scientific interest blooms within me as I watch the formation taking shape and solidifying on the far bed. The Control Panel confirms the progress. Green lights must mean success; if so, all systems are sound.


    The bed closest, the one which the Captain took the human body from, is empty. There is no doubt in my mind that this is my fate. I try to calm myself, yet my heartbeat jumps. The Captain will return for my human body, clothes, and stuff. I need to focus. Empty my pockets. Hide my stuff. I have a plan.


    In quick time, there is a pile in the nearby corner. I partially undress to reveal my undershirt, tug it off over my head, and then fix my uniform. The undershirt neatly covers my treasures, which include three vials of his blood, which the Lizardmen didn¡¯t gain in the chaos of battle.


    Her whimpers distract me from time to time, but I ignore them.


    He returns, and I am quickly in his arms. I blink as I realise I am no longer under his spell. Knowing and accepting are two different things, but resistance will achieve nothing. He makes me comfortable on the first bed, and I feel a sting. My awareness fades away.


    A bright light attracts my attention. All around me is a black void. The light beckons. It is my destination; I know this instinctively. The light bends and ripples into a shape. The bright wings are entrancing, just as we are told. Expect an angel to seek your spirit. You have been good and deserve to enter paradise. Joy fills me. I follow the angel. The other light still beams brightly but isn¡¯t as mesmerisingly beautiful as the angel. She extends a long, pale hand on a slim, delicate arm. I reach out. At that moment, I realise I don¡¯t have any limbs, so I chase after her.


    I blink. The clinical white ceiling of the Medical Lab looms over me. Where did the angel go? What of paradise? I struggle but can¡¯t move. My wrists, ankles and neck are bound to the bed. I turn my head to the right. The direction will be correct if I am where I think I am.


    On the bed beside me, my human body lies happy and content as if in death, an angel blessed it. I feel a tear run down my cheek. Before me, there was another. She screamed and yelled. She fought and resisted, and it made no difference.


    He leans over me to survey his creation. Why else?


    ¡°You are a primitive, insensitive, callous arse!¡± I spit in his face but miss. He chuckles.


    He slices his hand, and his blood drips into my mouth. I try to move my head, but his other hand holds my skull in a painful grip. A second face, a human female, peers over my bed.


    ¡°I am next, Lord Klar. Say I am, please!¡± she whines.


    ¡°Yes, Diasha. You will soon be a strong and majestic female hobgoblin. My lover and possibly a future wife.¡±


    She screams in delight and jumps about. Shortly after, she appears on the opposite side of my bed. Her face is a picture of pure joy.


    Instead of accepting my state, I swear and curse him. He seems to expect this. Meanwhile, I am experimenting. Ed was on the right path. Nanorobots. I sense them in my bloodstream, and as his blood falls on my tongue, more of Lord Klar¡¯s nanorobots invade my body. His are different, more potent, and sophisticated. They open my mind, and I allow their noise in.


    My human body didn¡¯t have any resistance. I understand that now. The volume and the fact that normal humans can¡¯t host them destroyed Ed¡¯s body. This non-human hobgoblin body is the exact opposite.


    His nanorobots are different, with one but. An extensive change to the basic design and not on a purely scientific basis. There is something else, invasive but influential and striving to succeed. The basic nanorobots within this body succumb to its influence. My body generates heat as a result, and instantly cooling water washes under my body to compensate. A unit operation in complete balance. A wonder and a miracle.


    After a time, I am in his arms again, and he returns me to my corner, propping me up against the wall. I don¡¯t give any sign other than I am catatonic. He doesn¡¯t seem to notice I am like the first time he forced me to drink his blood.


    Diasha insists on being laid on the nearest bed. Even after he tells her it will be an age until her new hobgoblin body finishes growing. He blows her a kiss as he leaves the Medical Lab.


    My attention is on my nanorobots. The ones in his blood have completed their mission and converted the basic nanorobots my body once hosted. I am aware when they finish, as they seem to stand at the ready. After several heartbeats, they disperse throughout my body and float. Go passive, perhaps? Whatever their previous instructions, this body didn¡¯t need their attention. Is that it?


    He returns to the Lab and checks the Control Panel. Diasha¡¯s female hobgoblin body is close to being ready.


    The bound one now speaks again. I don¡¯t understand why. Gaining his attention isn¡¯t always a good thing.


    She waves the metal cuffs on her wrists at him. ¡°I rejected her offer. What would make you think I would be happy with yours?¡±


    Approaching her, he bends down and flicks her nose. As she stirs to anger, he chuckles, infuriating her even more.


    ¡°I have transformed you to ask you one simple question.¡±


    He asked her if she wanted to live. Her body was near death, and this was the only way. They continue their conversation, and I force their words into the background.


    I single out my nanorobots and try to wake them. What I am thinking doesn¡¯t directly message them. In desperation, I forget about the one and try to command the many. Relaxing, I mentally call them to attention. As one, they respond. I am almost giddy with power. Mentally, I imagine my hearing improving and allocate a quarter to do my bidding. A picture comes to mind, and I feel my face warm. The rest hasten to obey, to satisfy my vanity.


    She lets out a shout, and I think I am caught. Is my face red? No, I am probably a bright, green-skinned creature, and she saw it? They continue to talk to each other, and I resist the urge to sigh in relief.


    ¡°Wipe the dopey look off your face. This is serious. GPAs only GPAs are prepared, down to their gene level, for this transfer process. Their seeing-the-light knack is essential. The technology, in a controlled manner, makes the entire transfer possible. The GPA dies and is directly reborn into the new flesh. You may see and feel something different as a subject, but that is the scientific process with a dash of Shifter magic to ensure the GPA doesn¡¯t mistake the invitation. So how does this work for two random humans?¡±


    The seeing-the-light she mentions, yes, I did, and then an angel drew me away to follow another path, and then I awoke in the hobgoblin body¡­


    ¡°How did it work for you?¡± he retorts. His question has my interest.


    She grunts out loud. ¡°I am a Shifter, my magic¡­¡± she mutters. ¡°Fluck! I didn¡¯t entirely believe her, but it must be true if you are or have transferred a human.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he says.


    How can she be a Shifter? We were told they were all hunted down. Extinct.


    The rest is about a Tinuna, also a Shifter, and her controlling the Observation and Scout Ships to the point of knowing what is happening here. How powerful is she? I have tasted his blood, but this Tinuna tells her his seed is the key and she needs to become his wife? What a hideous prospect.


    I crack open one eye when I overhear her scream with pleasure. Her face is in a state of pure bliss. She is in the foetal position, and his seed leaks from her sex.


    Another voice returns¡­


    ¡°I beg for your seed, Master. Fill me as many times as you need to sate yourself. My lovely green body is now yours. My will is now your will. Please¡­¡±


    He must¡¯ve tied her down! So she could seek him out when she transferred into her hobgoblin body. He has his way with her multiple times until I fear her body is lifeless from death and not from exhaustion. I understand now, his sexual prowess is relentless.


    Shortly after, Captain Julius returns and places her human body on a gurney. There is a momentary silence, and then his fingers turn my head from side to side.


    ¡°A little gift, my dear,¡± he whispers, and I feel a sharp prick behind my ear.


    I am losing consciousness. My face is going numb! As my mind clouds, I order all my nanorobots to cure me. The hobgoblin and Captain chat in a surreal, far-off, distant conversation. Julius will take the Scout Ship and return to Earth as a hero. This annoys me, but my anger drains as I pass out.


    Intense moaning and carnal screams wake me. How long have I been out? The Captain! He tried to kill me; I am sure. They¡¯re going at it, bringing my attention back to the present. Yuck. Again, he pounces on her with a savage, intense lust. When done, she crawls over his body, purring out adjectives of appreciation. She traces her fingers across his chest while they discuss returning to the planet below. She will find some clothes and get to work programming the shuttles.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about a thing, my love. I will make certain we arrive safe and sound,¡± she purrs. He caresses her cheek, and they leave the Medical Lab together, I assume, to head off to the shuttle bay. Her words, though, haunt me. What does ¡®we¡¯ mean? Him and her or all of us?


    I need clothes, but I need to use this Lab first. This disgusting green body I am imprisoned in needs to be stronger. Survival. The first one said the process could be reversed by growing a human body. I didn¡¯t know how to work the Control Panel now, but I had faith in myself. Given time, I can also learn to operate the panel if a beast like him could.


    Grabbing the three vials of his blood, I drink them all. Next, I repeat Ed¡¯s gambit and inject another batch of nanorobots into my body. I take a single step, and the thirst hits me. The far bed is spilling water, and I climb on. I tolerate the cold metal surface because the relief from dehydration is almost immediate. My nanorobots heed my command to convert the new arrivals, like unwavering loyal servants.


    Leaping from the bed when the conversions are almost done, and my bare feet land in a sticky mess. I know, but I can¡¯t help but look down. His seed, specifically his excess seed, pools at my feet. The Shifter valued his seed. I am trying to convince myself, but am I desperate enough to measure that value by taking a sample from the floor? Locating clean test tubes, I avoid deciding what to do with this find by filling several tubes with what I can gather from the floor.


    Shaking my head in disbelief, I find my bundle of treasures where I left them and search for clothes. Overalls or even a lab coat will do. I find overalls in a room across from the Lab. A lovely, soft bed is there, and I resist the temptation to curl up and descend into ignorant sleep. I spill my treasures on the bed, stretch my undershirt over my slightly larger frame, dress in the overalls and fill the pockets with my treasures.


    Precautions are next on my list. Diasha¡¯s words are still haunting me. After some checking, I find a locked cupboard. I press my battlecruiser identification into the green skin under my wrist and feel it energise by drawing warmth from my body. One touch on the electronic seal, and the door clicks open. I ignore the energy weapons, rifle, or pistol types. Unless I am badly mistaken, my destination is a primitive planet.


    The combat knife and sheath I take and strap them to my inner thigh under my overalls. There is a small pistol, but I doubt I can hit anything with it. I would need practice, which would need spare ammunition. Shaking my head, I pass. There is a combat suit. Not heavy-duty assault level, more hostile environment, wild animal protection.


    I strip down. The combat suit fits like a second skin, my build larger than an average male human. There are slots in the suit, like pockets, but tailored. Searching in the cupboard, I find nothing, then I slap my head and fully open the door. Water processor, check. First Aid Kit, check. Grav Parachute, check. Ammunition Pack, check by five. Small Pistol, check. Concealing the shimmering combat suit under my undershirt and overalls seems wrong, but I do. The gloves for the combat suit are separate, and I stuff them inside my overalls. A bare head and, worse, naked, wide green feet are still a problem.


    Footfalls reach my ears, and I close the cupboard doors and hasten towards whoever is most likely coming to fetch me.


    As I round a corner, I stop in time to avoid crashing into a jogging Diasha. She flashes me a wide, welcoming smile. I first notice her spacesuit and boots, and I point at them.


    ¡°Silly, have you been looking for clothes?¡± That smile again. ¡°There are a few sets in the cargo bay. You can take your pick. Hurry though, Master is keen to leave.¡± She swivels about on a heel and, looking over her shoulder, offers me her hand. I wave her hand away while trying to match her smile.


    ¡°Let¡¯s race!¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s!¡± she replies.


    We are neck and neck racing through the corridors. I deliberately take a wrong turn. The recovery means I need to follow Diasha. I enter the cargo bay several seconds behind her. Better still, the shuttles are ready. The Shifter, Linmere, his goblin wife, Luda, and his hobgoblin wife, Koria, are heading for his shuttle. Before Diasha can signal or call me over, I hurry after the three.


    His two wives choose the front seats and buckle themselves in. The Shifter selects the middle, which leaves me in the last row. The cargo bay door closes, and I feel the shuttle lift off. Decompression of the Observation Ship¡¯s cargo bay begins, and its cargo bay doors open when done. We are quickly away, heading into space.


    ¡°Here.¡± The Shifter passes back a set of boots. ¡°They should fit.¡± She smirks.


    ¡°What?¡± I ask.


    ¡°You may not have noticed, but our Lord Klar utilised the same, or near the same, parameters for you and Diasha. You would easily pass as sisters if you weren¡¯t mistaken for twins first.¡± She cackles out loud. Luda and Koria peer over their shoulders.


    ¡°You told her?¡± asks Koria.


    They all laugh at my expense. I busy myself putting on my perfectly fitting boots.


    Shortly after, we enter the planet¡¯s atmosphere. The temperature in the shuttle rises, and we can all feel the initial atmospheric drag. Turbulence hit us, testing our seat belts, but nothing severe. This seems to be a typical planet fall shuttle ride.


    As I settle back, the front of the shuttle rises and continues to do so. Koria and Luda hang on to their seats. The Shifter grabs her seat belt while I hold the seat belts to my left and right. We are upside down when the seatbelts rip. As we fall, a beam weapon cuts away the entire side of the shuttle, cargo bay, and surrounding fuselage. The pressure difference sucks the Shifter and me out immediately. I don¡¯t know about Luda and Koria. Maybe they were lucky and held on to their seats.


    Despite my best efforts, I tumble out of control. I think I hear shouting and then nothing. As I plummet to the ground, at least I know Diasha meant her and Lord Klar when she says ¡®we¡¯. A small useless satisfaction.


    Perhaps accepting my fate calms my tumbling, but whatever the reason, I am grateful. At that exact moment, I remember my combat suit, particularly the Grav Parachute. Making no sudden movements, I lower the zip on my overalls until the combat suit slots are within reach. Flicking back the outer shell of the slot reveals the activation button of the Grav Parachute, which I push.


    Thankfully, I don¡¯t come to an immediate stop. There is a gradual slowdown.


    I observe and try to get my bearings. There is a chain of islands of volcanic origin beneath me. I will know shortly if I will get my boots wet or not. An immense landmass appears across the horizon, probably a continent, given the visible mountain range, even though I can¡¯t even guess at the distance. If I follow the islands, hopping from one to the next, their general line will head me in the right direction.


    I try to memorise the islands¡¯ size, shape, and order as I descend. An island is beneath me. Shortly after, I can confirm that a forest is waiting below me, not a volcano. The device seems to speed up the braking as the treetops rise to meet me. My boots lead the way through the tree branches and foliage. My descent path isn¡¯t in my control, but fortunately, I land between two tall, mature trees, and my boots land gently on the ground cover around them. I push the activation button again and close the outer shell of the slot.


    Square boxes nestled on a high clearing are my destination. Civilisation? A settlement, at least.


    ---


    The Lizardmen are a busy and robust species. While under the control of the She Slime, we were aware of each other, but anything beyond that was a mystery. Observing from the jungle cover, I note they act with purpose. Carting and handling building materials. Hunters returning with the game. Typically, a deer-like creature, fur with pads and toes, no hooves slung over their shoulders. In the centre, a matriarch female is busy directing them all.


    Straining my hearing, a few words reach my ears. Their lisping, hissing speech.


    Pain explodes from the back of my head.


    ---


    My head no longer aches as I open my eyes. Through the night darkness, I realise a human female is staring directly at me. A rope binds our chests and another at our hips. Between our stomachs is an oval. We hang off the floor, naked, our wrists bound above our heads. A hook loops through our bindings.


    ¡°It is hopeless,¡± she whispers.


    ¡°Where are we? Who are you?¡±


    ¡°We are where we have always been. Incubators for the Matriarch¡¯s eggs. The She Slime¡¯s control would make us oblivious to our fate. Not now. Never again.¡± Tears run down her cheeks, mixing with her sweat.


    Humidity, I realise. The Matriarch is alone with several males. Plenty to fertilise the eggs, but few to nest on them.


    ¡°When they hatch, one of us will be their first meal. The lucky one.¡± Her chest hitches, wriggling us both.


    My nanorobots absorb the moisture present and repair my body. Without commands, this is their default mission, their duty even. Yet, they have done more. My arms aren¡¯t tired. I inspect them and admire my new, lean biceps. Stretching as a test, I sense the muscle groups across my shoulders. They shrug off what would otherwise be a painful hanging effort.


    My legs wrap around hers. I hoist my body up, using hers. My hands grab the hook¡¯s shank as the binding rope rises from the bend. She whimpers as she bites her bottom lip. Her will to fight is long gone. She simply endures an ordeal now.


    Using my legs under her buttocks, I lift her body up.


    ¡°Unhook your hands,¡± I hiss.


    ¡°My wrists are¡­¡±


    ¡°Now,¡± I growl.


    Her face twists in pain as I feel her arms move. Then they fall to lie between our chests, and her body leans back. The strain is incredible, and yet this travesty of a hobgoblin body, augmented with nanorobots, sucks moisture as necessary to succeed. Her wrists are an angry red. I turn the hook until the point clears my bindings.


    ¡°Ready?¡±


    She doesn¡¯t respond, so I let go. The drop is short for me, and our bindings hold her shorter body off the metallic floor of our prison. I use my teeth on my wrist bindings. Try to encourage her to do the same. She shakes her head.


    I use my teeth on her wrist bindings and then force her to wrap her arms around my neck. My hands support her buttocks. In this fashion, I plod towards a dim light.


    My nanorobots are busy following my commands. The moisture in our prison fuels them as I demand more from them. Every moment, I must grow more robust.


    We pass several pairs of human incubators. Female and female. Occasionally, female and male. No male and male, curious.


    ¡°We can¡¯t escape,¡± she whines.


    ¡°Quiet,¡± I snarl.


    I hear and feel her taking a deep breath. Is she going to scream? My head snaps forward. Her head snaps back and then dangles limp to one side. Her weight hangs from me, and yet, without great difficulty, I continue my march.


    I hold back a chuckle. The dim light sits within a painted-over exit sign. How appropriate.


    ¡°Save me.¡±


    She is hanging high on my left. Another human incubator. Her rasping voice lacks energy. There is only one way to save her, yet my humanity forbids me from ending her life. Shaking my head, I search the small desk by the doorway.


    Within the coils of rope, is a small knife. I am busy cutting my companion away from me, although I hold her up throughout the effort. She is unconscious as I lower her body to the floor. Holding the egg to my stomach, I stand.


    The egg is heavy and half the size of a human torso. I imagine a fully formed newborn, perhaps capable of walking, like most reptiles, will hatch in the days ahead. My stomach rumbles. I glance at the egg and dismiss the notion.


    Hissing voices are drawing closer. Shaking her shoulders to wake her, I discover her broken neck. Did I do that? I hear the slap of their feet on the ground vegetation. Lifting her body, I tuck it into a patch of darkness amongst some rubbish. The handle on the door scrapes. I lurk on the hinge side but well back from the door swing.


    Through the half-open door, a reptilian head peers in. A thinnish tongue extends and then rapidly retracts. I am already in motion, my strength and weight behind the door. Something snaps, perhaps, his wrist. Then a crunch. I trap his head at the eyes, between the edge of the door and the doorjamb.


    His limp body falls forward as I draw the door back. I am confident he is dead, especially after I pierced his brain through the eye with the knife.


    I am naked with a knife and an egg. The word survival reminds me of my sole purpose. I am confident that the Lizardmen will hunt me down in the morning. Therefore, I have the night to ensure they don¡¯t.


    Opening the door, I lean over and fetch the dead Lizardman¡¯s body into the incubator. With his spear in hand, I peer into the night, somewhat surprised my vision is so vivid, better than I would have thought possible. Starlight? My hearing is superior as footfalls on the ground vegetation reach my ears.


    My favourite kill technique is to drive the spear into the back of the neck and upwards, pining bottom jaw to top jaw. This prevents them from yelling as their blood flows down their throat. I withdraw the spear as they turn while struggling to identify their attacker. I then stab again, this time under their lower jaw but targeting their brain. Five down and more to go.


    There are four incubators in this settlement. One sizeable wooden cottage. I assume the Matriarch sleeps there. Several roof-only huts. Three huts with walls and one under conversion. All on the edge of the clearing. They are in view, but I am trying to understand the reasoning. I suspect viewing from above would be difficult when using the naked eye at speed. With the lush forest vegetation nearby, perhaps there is enough to mask detection from ship sensors. Whatever the reason, I am convinced the layout serves a purpose.


    The roof-only huts, with two sleepers, are easy kills. I set my lucky egg down and then creep between the sleepers. A spear in my left and right hands, I thrust into their open mouths or eye sockets to skewer their brains.


    Overflowing with confidence, I enter my first hut.


    There are four. What is worse is that the Lizardmen aren¡¯t side by side but in a star-type layout, their heads in each corner of the squarish hut. The layout makes sense to me now. The roof-only huts were their first hastily built shelter. Large roof area to account for the lack of walls, with the occupants sleeping side by side in the centre. The finished huts are more permanent, transforming the roof-only huts into proper buildings.


    Standing in the centre, I stab towards one of them, withdraw the spear, line up the next, and strike again. I hear groans from the first. The third shifts and blinks his eyes when I thrust at his neck. The fourth is awake, loin cloth only, reaching for his spear as I face him. I sweep his spear aside and impale his neck.


    I give up on trying to dislodge my spear; instead, I reach for his spear and turn to face my first target. His clawed hands are around his throat. His eyes open; they open wider when I thrust into them.


    A pain explodes into my torso, below my ribs. I tug my body back and feel every sliver of the blade and shaft of the spear as it withdraws. My second target, now done, slumps to one side, his spear loose in his lifeless hands. The third, with a hand on his throat, stabs with his spear at me. I twist my body to avoid another wound, and he overextends himself to lower his aim to stab my right thigh. I command my nanorobots to stop my bleeding. A quick thrust into his chest drops him. A final gurgle escapes from between his lips. The fourth is still alive, trying to extract my spear. His death is quick as I rip the spear from his throat.


    I stagger to and use the hut door for support. Scooping up the egg, I limp naked into the forest. A rising dawn helps me find my footing.


    If the Incubation Room and my time on the Observation Ship have taught me anything, I need to find water. Fortunately, I crossed several streams on my way here.


    Behind me, the noise of their pursuit reaches my ears. Their response is swift. I can only assume the huts nearby heard the gurgles and spear thrusts. My leg strengthens as they draw closer, and I can only marvel at the capabilities of my nanorobots.


    I pick up my pace.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.019 Revelations of an Unusual Kind

    <h2>---Zorottor Black Tooth, Chief of Oath Keeper Goblins POV</h2>


    ¡°That scowl on your face never fades, Chief,¡± says my second in command.


    If he only knew the actual depth of my grievance. Once, I was a carefree mercenary troop leader able to find and negotiate commissions. As fate would have it, we found the ultimate commission before age could weigh us down. Keeping the peace for a tyrant, protecting him from a valley of his downtrodden people. Now, I am reduced to playing the glorified scout. Another could have led this mission, who could scurry back with a plan. But no, we are an Oath Keeper Troop and must obey the High Priestess.


    Each wild, windy, bitter day had passed with us spying on the false Klugites, watching them rebuild. The temple village growing into a temple town. They would mark out the cleared ground and not build on it. Only much later, but they still left gaps. Strange. Given the amount of stone carted in, the cavern is being transformed into a new temple, which must be grandiose. There was a flood of worshippers in the beginning, but now, only small groups arrive, and not every day.


    ¡°Did the goblin village question your request for food?¡±


    ¡°No, Chief, trade is trade to them. There were several grain carts. The villagers made the hobgoblins stay outside the walls while they took the carts in, loaded them, and returned them.¡±


    ¡°From the temple?¡±


    He nods. The carts were two-wheeled, hand-drawn. There is not enough to feed the swollen number of hobgoblins and the lesser number of goblin builders. The river nearby would have been convenient for transporting the grain, except for a waterfall. Instead, they had hacked a rough track through the forest between the mountains and the river. Any suitable timber repurposed for construction. Across the river were the grass plains, a much easier path. However, transporting the grain back over the river and into the temple town was probably impossible. Only opposite the goblin village was a convenient ford.


    ¡°Return via the mountain path.¡± I hold a hand up. ¡°Slower, I know, but much safer than skirting around the temple town or being spotted and found in the open on the grass plains. Report to our Oath Keeper High Priestess that now would be the time to strike. We need hobgoblins to ambush the carts along the track and prevent the false Klugites from securing more grain. Goblin archers on the other side of the river can harass anything that moves in the temple town, which still lacks a wall. Eventually, they must decide between staving or dying in battle.¡±


    ¡°Chief¡­¡± He draws out the single word while pointing towards the temple town.


    Our perch in the mountains above the town couldn¡¯t have been more ideal. Light cover from the brush. The mountains are not extensively rugged, as we marked several tracks across the lower reaches. We also found a way via the mountains to approach the goblin village as if we were from the valley¡¯s interior. Sell the pretence that we are natives of the valley. The only challenge is the wind chill.


    Below, though, are the beginnings of an expedition. Eight, maybe ten, hobgoblins. Over half are female warriors. Then, a young priestess emerges from the temple in the company of other priestesses. Did they pay her homage? What happened to the beautiful one?


    We exchange looks.


    ¡°Yes, Chief. Looks like the young priestess is acting on the orders of the High Priestess, or they have overthrown the beautiful one.¡±


    The young priestess deliberately grabs the chin of each and speaks to them. Then they kneel, and she performs some ritual over them. Nothing we had ever seen. Once done, they march down the track.


    ¡°Do you think they are going to visit the goblin village?¡±


    ¡°Chief, you got to be kidding. They are on a mission of some sort, and I think it will have to do with food.¡±


    They could probably sack the goblin village, but that won¡¯t solve their food shortage next season. None seem eager to be farmers, although some food plots are being prepared within the temple town. Follow now. It must be food. The amount they would need could only mean Hobgoblin Town.


    ¡°Return to Lord Farmer Hob Valley with the report, but with urgency, because I think their food situation is critical. Meanwhile, I will lead our Black Tooth troop on a forced march to the goblin village and lay in wait, covering the ford. If we are mistaken and they go to the goblin village, then no harm, but if they are going to cross the grass plains, they will have to fight to do so.¡±


    ---


    They approach the ford as if on a stroll. No scouts, sharing light chatter, and one reads from a scroll to another traveller. Unbelievable. This is a dangerous world, always. Ten targets. Sixteen of us. We will target all but the lead two hobgoblins. As they step onto our shore, we release. Eight hobgoblins fall. As they fall, another two arrows impale them. The blood loss from the first arrows already discolours the river. The remaining two throw their hands up. One male and another female. By her robes, she is a priestess. The male isn¡¯t a warrior, though.


    ¡°Walk to this shore. If you run, you will die.¡±


    Every so often, a hobgoblin tries to move and receives another arrow.


    ¡°On your knees.¡±


    I leave half the troop in cover and approach the two.


    There are still hobgoblins moving. They are trying to crawl off the ford, with multiple arrows piercing their body.


    I try to make my orders sound casual as I pick out Black Tooth originals to do my bidding.


    ¡°You two check on the hobgoblins in the ford. Make sure they are dead.¡±


    Something stinks. All the various troop goblins came under my command after the losses. I wonder if these goblins aren¡¯t drawing fully on their bows to make me look bad.


    As I turn to face the priestess, she smiles at me. Her timing couldn¡¯t be worse, as betrayal is on my mind.


    ¡°You would be most welcome to join us,¡± she says as she extends a bloody hand.


    A priestess with a bloody hand was a common sight when we witnessed them welcome new worshippers. They then drowned them and brought them back. The Klugite ritual, which the crones said would capture your spirit.


    My sword sings from the sheath, drawing a black, bloody line across her throat with the tapering tip. Her eyes go wide while coughing in her own blood. The male reaches for her, his hands around her throat, trying to stem the blood loss. Useless, but it will keep him busy.


    Next, there is a yelp from the ford. One of my goblins is thrashing about in the river, a hobgoblin trying to drown him.


    ¡°You four help,¡± I shout. ¡°Cut their throats, all of them, even the dead-looking ones.¡±


    A sound is missing¡­ I look back at my survivors, and the priestess is sucking in air, not gurgling! The two goblins with me take a step back. I take a step forward and stab my sword in her eye. I twist the blade and withdraw.


    ¡°You heathens,¡± shouts the male as he cradles her limp body. My hidden archers, seeing the hobgoblins still able to move, continue to release arrows into what we assumed were hobgoblin corpses on the ford.


    I study her face this time. The blood pools in her eye socket as if obeying orders. I don¡¯t want to, but I must. I check her throat. A thin line of fresh flesh, what you would typically see after weeks of healing. The wind catches her robe. The cloth snaps back and forth occasionally. Another commotion in the ford draws my attention.


    Water, you fool!


    ¡°Drag them out of the water! You two help and work as a team. Two drag the body, and one keeps slitting their throats.¡± I notice two goblin bodies floating in the shallows of the ford.


    His clothes are dry now, like hers. The priestess drew all the water from her clothes and has now done the same from his. How did she survive the damage to her brain? Didn¡¯t I strike deep enough? With him cradling her, I slash at her throat. My sword is stuck in her neck bone as I try to withdraw the blade. He draws back her forehead to inspect my work, which frees my sword, and I swing again. Her head rolls from her shoulders, and shortly after, blood spurts from her neck. As a bonus, my blade slashes into his upper arm on the follow-through. He screams and pushes her body away while holding a hand over his wound. With one final pulse, her blood paints my armour.


    I curse my bad luck. For good measure, I slash at his good arm to give him a matching wound.


    There are four hobgoblins on the riverbank. All their throats were cut, yet I am underwhelmed by the amount of blood that splits from the wounds. Grabbing her head by her hair, I throw it up the bank.


    I turn to face my hidden archers. ¡°Two of you watch him.¡±


    I race along the bank towards the four hobgoblins. I hack at their throats until their heads roll free. Their heads join hers further up the bank of the river. My arm aches as I finish the last of the eight. The blood splatter from my effort stains my armour and clothes. Any blood on my flesh shortly after disappears. How?


    With the river close, I could wash the blood off, except being wet and cold is not ideal. I lick at the blood on my vambraces. I sense them in the blood on my tongue. They had to be there, of course. They lack any commands, so I swallow instead of spit. I awaken mine. They taught us to use them solely to purify our blood and make ourselves true Oath Keeper lineage. The crones warned us that any other use would lead us down the dreadful Klugite path of spirit capturing.


    Cries of joy break my concentration.


    The first two goblins of my troop into the river aren¡¯t dead, just severely beaten and half-drowned.


    Six archers gather wood while the rest of my troop stack the bodies in one pile and the heads in another. All avoid the Klugite hobgoblin blood on the corpses. These were hobgoblins that refused to die from mortal wounds. Somehow, water was vital. Something I accidentally discovered, I reminded myself. Almost too late.


    Our captive remains silent as he bears witness with his hands and legs bound. His wounds weep blood, where we all know it should flow from the deep gashes I cleaved into his flesh.


    I nod, and one from my troop strikes his flint. Sparkes dart towards the dry twigs and leaves.


    The Klugite ones in my blood are stronger. Mine tell me as much as they surround them. Stronger how? I command mine to purify the Klugite ones. This they understand and do so by adhering to the Klugite ones.


    Thirsty, I scoop water from the river into my mouth using my hands. As my thirst eases, more Klugite ones are mine to command. I order them to convert my weaker ones into stronger ones. They communicate by a means unknown to me. I don¡¯t have any knowledge, and then I do. They are called nanorobots and proclaim they are a gift from Lord Farmer Hob. My thirst returns, and I quench it.


    ¡°Chief, we are ready to leave.¡±


    Two fires, one larger than the other, blaze away behind us, lighting up the dusk. I am the last to scramble up the Grassplains side of the riverbank. One last glance at the fires, and I follow my troop into the tall grass of the Grassplains. With luck, we will fade away with our prisoner to escape any High Priestess vengeance. The mountain tracks would be better, but you can¡¯t have everything you want in this world, and the sooner you learn to make do, the better the world will reward you.


    Our prisoner¡¯s wounds no longer bleed. This doesn¡¯t surprise me, and in fact, I welcome his condition.


    The former Klugite nanorobots are now mine and have almost finished the conversion. I pause and drain a waterskin. A test, I need a test. Using my dagger, I slice the palm of my hand. Immediately after, I will my nanorobots to reduce the blood flow and then stop the bleeding. There are enough nanorobots present to repair my skin. What a strange word. Why not heal?


    I can¡¯t hear my troop. Cursing, I sprint after them.


    Shortly after, sooner than I thought, not only did I find them, but I didn¡¯t feel tired at all.


    None seemed to have missed me, yet as I finish that thought, the two Black Tooth originals I sent into the river are causally edging towards me.


    <h2>---Linmere, Shifter of the GPA Scout Ship POV</h2>


    ¡°Wait,¡± I hiss. ¡°Something is not right.¡±


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°What?¡± asks one of them, but I can¡¯t make out who as I am trying to concentrate.


    The something isn¡¯t a goblin or hobgoblin. It isn¡¯t alive yet moves. Thankfully, whatever it is gradually fades from my awareness. The wind howls around us, and snow pelts against our faces. Otherwise, we are warm and dry thanks to the merchant daughters and their preparation. I shiver, but not because of the cold.


    We push through the snow until two rectangular shapes loom before us. Lord Klar¡¯s presence burns bright. He is ahead, not far to go now. My heart rate increases. There is another. A hobgoblin. Given the multiple cautions from the daughters, I assume she is Lord Klar¡¯s pregnant warrior concubine.


    The second shuttle was ours. Snow spills into the cargo bay because the door is missing. A narrow path through the snow leads to the first shuttle we follow. Using the butt of my dagger, I knock on the shuttle cargo door.


    As I am about to knock again. The swish of the door sounds, and Lord Klar smiles down at me while offering a hand.


    The shuttle cargo bay holds all of us, including the four pack animals. They resemble large goats. They are less cantankerous, although they still eat everything.


    He hugs us all. Only when I look around do I notice the other female, sullen, leaning into a dark corner of the shuttle. This is who I must have sensed earlier, his warrior concubine who seems more like a scared child.


    He hands me a frozen hand. ¡°What is this?¡± I ask.


    ¡°The hand of Diasha. Didn¡¯t you pass her headless body on the way to the shuttle?¡±


    His smile slips when I shake my head. Luda and Koria also shake their heads. His face descends into thought.


    ¡°Did you find her head?¡± he asks. Before I can answer, he continues, ¡°Probably not. The snow would¡¯ve covered it.¡±


    ¡°Lord Klar, I did, erm, sense something, some being moving, not alive though.¡± I raise my hand and point vaguely behind me. ¡°As I concentrated more, the presence faded.¡±


    He looks at Koria.


    ¡°Yes, Lord, she has a useful magic skill. She can sense others from a distance.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± he mumbles. Lord Klar is still deep in his thoughts, yet his wives and concubines make themselves busy.


    They have somehow decided that whatever the future holds, the shuttle will be part of it. The twins unpack supplies from the goats and start preparing a meal. They throw the warrior concubine several layers of clothes. Luda and Koria grab shovels and exit the shuttle. After a time, the warrior concubine joins them, shovel in hand. I observe all this while concentrating on my magic.


    I detect Luda and Koria quickly. All the creatures I detect have varying levels of brightness. Not a light, like day and night, but a glow. The glow of warmth? Glow of life? The glow radiating from his two wives was more potent and vibrant than the glow radiating from the hidden goblins I found in the desert.


    Meanwhile, the glow of the warrior concubine is weaker than his two wives and more potent than any of the goblins. The monster didn¡¯t radiate a glow, which at first confused me. How could I detect this thing? This confusion lost me valuable time and gifted me a chance to think. Made me realise it would have been foolhardy to chase something I didn¡¯t understand. Especially since the monster radiated a shining blackness, like basalt, instead of a glow. The hand of Diasha, thankfully, radiated nothing.


    ¡°Why do you have Diasha¡¯s hand, Lord?¡± I ask.


    I caress his cheek with the back of my hand, and his face comes alive. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Diasha¡¯s hand?¡±


    ¡°The shuttle cargo dock wouldn¡¯t open to any code I knew or my hand, so I desperately tried her hand, and it worked.¡±


    ¡°Okay, so what is next?¡± I ask.


    ¡°We either figure out how to override her lockout or take the door from this shuttle and repair the other shuttle.¡±


    After a slight chuckle, I say, ¡°Lord, the other shuttle isn¡¯t only missing a door but also some of the bulkhead supporting it. Your wives and I should know we spent much time using it as a boat.¡±


    ¡°We need to do something. Her hand doesn¡¯t unlock the controls.¡±


    Is this my moment? Can I push him into accepting me? He rubs his hands down his face, his eyes skyward. He desperately needs this shuttle operational. His need is my opportunity. He took me fresh after my spirit transfer into this hobgoblin body in the Medical Lab on the Observation Ship. After three times, my magic germinated on this planet. Strong enough for me and his wives to ride a scout ship fuselage to the ground, converting certain death into a chance. With future couplings, I need to demand more this time to ensure I continue to grow. I don¡¯t wish to be once and done, a simple, off-the-cuff, pleasurable amusement any longer.


    ¡°Perhaps, only perhaps.¡± His eyes lock onto mine. ¡°Between the hand, my Shifter self, and this magic I seem to have control over, I could force a miracle to happen.¡± I flash him my best forlorn eyes. ¡°I will try¡­¡± His lips smash into mine. The ferocity of his kiss overwhelms me. I am still ugly, I remind myself. He is not himself because of the slight chance of hope I offer him.


    He breaks off the kiss, takes my hand and leads us into the cockpit. Using Diasha¡¯s hand, he touches the control pad. The door to the cargo bay swishes shut, and he places the dead hand on a shelf.


    He places his hands on the door on either side of my head. Our heads are a finger width apart, and his breath caresses my ear.


    ¡°You know, of course, that you look the most human a hobgoblin can look?¡±


    I swallow. Name myself a fool. Lord Klar isn¡¯t a native of this planet. He is a GPA. So, he appreciates the human and non-human female forms. His current form and the memory of his birth form provide him with a unique appreciation of the opposite sex of both races. I must imagine that to him, the flesh package a female inhabits is as interesting as the females themselves.


    His face withdraws slightly. A sharp pain in my bottom lip causes me to recoil, but the door holds my head in place. His tongue slides over the healing wound, and then nothing. Why did I even react to the pain? I am such a fool. He can take what he wants from me because I need him to accept and give me much more.


    ¡°Your blood carries nanorobots, and you exercise control over them, that is certain. This strange ability of yours to absorb energy, let¡¯s call it magic, from the planet. How?¡±


    ¡°I believe, although my body isn¡¯t Shifter, my spirit is enough to call forth the magic of this planet. The nanorobots, though, are an essential bridge. Tinuna said she felt the possibility when she shuttled to the planet once but couldn¡¯t harness it.¡±


    His salacious smile raises my hopes. ¡°Do you ever wonder what your nanorobots could achieve if I drown you in my seed?¡±


    I hold my breath while my heart pounds. Am I to receive what his wives thought impossible without their influence? Breathlessly, I reply, ¡°Yes.¡±


    ---


    His rigorous use of my body wonderfully exhausts me. His seed is everywhere, and I absorb every nanorobot-filled drop. From the first deposit to the last, they take over and convert mine and then search for and extract impurities from my flesh.


    My lidded eyes observe his watch over me. His eyes have a tenderness, which is surprising after such lustful brutality. Almost as if he is two personalities in one body. The bruising and pain were unexpected. I guess he didn¡¯t know his own strength. But after that, bliss. I know his seed numbed and healed after taking my remaining two virginal opportunities, so the second, third, and so on takings were a pure heady pleasure.


    ¡°I apologise for any pain.¡± He sighs and takes a deep breath. ¡°I needed to unleash him.¡± He holds a hand up as I try to mouth a question. ¡°It is a long story, but there is another side to me. Brutal, yes. But it serves a purpose. This other side can service an entire goblin village and, in your case, can overload, swamp, flood, and drown your body in my seed far sooner than otherwise. But I needed to service all your, erm, holes.¡± He opens his eyes. A shy apology escapes from them, or more precisely, his look. ¡°I need to give you every chance to break Diasha¡¯s lock on this shuttle, and I sense time is running out.¡± His hands cup my face. ¡°I feel a doom is closing in that I can only challenge when in the valley.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± He places a finger across my lips.


    ¡°You will need water, and soon. Run from here now and dive into the snow.¡±


    I feel my nakedness. I glance at him. He picks me up, forcing me to stand. The compartment door to the cargo bay swishes open. His wives and concubines stare at me, and I absently feel him push me forward. I don¡¯t stumble from the push while standing in front of the cargo bay door. Another swish, and the freezing air licks at my body. There is a sizzling sound, and then I feel every cell of my body burn. I feel nothing more except the sensation of falling as I pass out.


    ---


    ¡°Grolgia! Your turn and hurry.¡±


    I hear boots landing next to my ears, and then overwhelming pain causes me to pass out again.


    ---


    ¡°Zeria! You and your sister, now!¡±


    I dimly note the panic in the screaming voice and then nothing.


    ---


    ¡°How much longer, Lord?¡± Is that Luda¡¯s voice?


    ¡°I would have thought this morning. She is different, not a goblin, obviously, but not even an average-looking hobgoblin. She has her magic. Perhaps that is where I made a mistake.¡±


    ¡°At least the black ooze has finished.¡± I don¡¯t need to see Luda to know she flashed him a cheeky grin.


    ¡°Yes, that is at least finished. The shedding bought us some time because I made an incorrect assumption that would have resulted in the nanorobots feeding on her body.¡±


    ---


    ¡°Lord, Xoria and I will take over. Your meal is ready.¡±


    ¡°You certain you can keep the snow up to her?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. She demands much less now, so the finish must be close.¡±


    I hear a grunt and then pass out from tiredness, not pain at last.


    ---


    ¡°Open your eyes, you ugly bitch!¡± I feel the slap on my cheeks, but no pain.


    ¡°Why should I?¡± I groan. ¡°If you are going to call me names.¡±


    Koria¡¯s arms wrap around me, and I feel the warmth of another body for the first time in forever, or so it seems.


    ¡°You had him worried and guilt-ridden. He described, well, it, so much of his seed. He didn¡¯t believe you would absorb every drop. After all, there is always leakage and such.¡±


    ¡°Missed you too.¡± I grin.


    ¡°I will do you a favour now, but you may not think so immediately.¡±


    There is a snap and then pain in my mouth. Not once, but twice. I immediately try to feel for them.


    ¡°Tell your nanorobots to repair over them. Your thin twigs tell everyone to ignore you. With none, nobody can prejudge. They must be cautious at first and try to decide what no tusks mean.¡±


    Teeth can be complicated. With nanorobots suppressing the pain and easing the way, I extract the stubs of my tusks using my fingers. Then, I have them change the genetics of the replacement tusks. Make them an exact copy of the tooth adjacent, the one closer to the centre of the mouth. There will be a couple of lower jaw gaps for a time.


    ¡°How do you feel?¡±


    ¡°Naked.¡± My nanorobots are nullifying the chill factor of the freezing wind. There is a remnant pile of snow near me. Around the two shuttles, nothing but frozen, lifeless ground.


    ¡°We brought snow to you, then Grolgia tired of that and dragged your body to the snow.¡±


    ¡°That explains why I can see both shuttles and no snow around them.¡± I snap my head around. ¡°That much snow?¡±


    ¡°That much snow. Which is why, Lord Klar believes, anywhere else except here and the nanorobots would have destroyed you in search of water. Probably turned you to dust was Lord Klar¡¯s prediction.¡±


    ¡°I remember a black ooze. What about Diasha¡¯s head?¡±


    ¡°We cleared that up. No head. Anyway, you have a duty. You need to release the craft for Lord Klar.¡±


    I jump to my feet. This is my chance. Racing naked back to the shuttle, I pause and look over my shoulder. A strolling Koria smiles and waves me onwards.


    I must succeed. Gaining his seed turned out to be the straightforward part. Becoming his wife would require a miracle, like gifting him the shuttle¡¯s control. The ease with which the magic of this planet responds to my will fills me with confidence. I hope it is not misplaced.


    <h2>---Solgia, Lord Klar¡¯s Scribe and Wife POV</h2>


    ¡°Well, what are we to do now?¡± I ask.


    Voria and Vorlora stand fidgeting before me in one of the storage buildings at the back of the fort. My bodyguards stand outside, ensuring no one can intrude.


    ¡°How are we to blame for a stranger turning up with Morgren and his stolen wife?¡± grouses Vorlora.


    ¡°You have noticed him eye you like a piece of meat, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Pfft! He thinks she is Duzsia the Relentless, as does most of this settlement,¡± replies Voria, who chuckles awkwardly afterwards.


    ¡°That is another issue. Vorlora isn¡¯t Duzsia, and while having ¡®her¡¯ back has certain advantages, I think it best we confirm her death. Are we agreed?¡±


    ¡°Are you certain, sister-wife?¡± Duzsia¡¯s thoughts fill my mind. I don¡¯t answer. Such is my certainty that Vorlora will make her own name. She will do this or die trying. There is no point in Duzsia dying twice.


    ¡°What, Vorlora, you afraid of losing your one and only drooling admirer?¡± asks Voria.


    Vorlora punches Voria in the shoulder in jest. ¡°No, of course not. We have the sons of the only Clan Head we know against us. He should behave, although I hope he tries to rescue them. Maybe he will if I reveal my true self?¡±


    ¡°Agreed then,¡± I say. ¡°Tell the stranger first. A pity the wife returned to her family without waiting for us to introduce her. It will cast doubt about who rescued her, so her family may or may not feel indebted to us.¡± I can¡¯t help but kick at the packed dirt floor. If that happens, it would be such a loss, as we need something special to draw trade to us.


    ¡°By the same reckoning, Morgren is the stranger¡¯s prisoner to do with as he pleases?¡± queries Voria.


    ¡°Yes, but one son is enough to either restrain his father or enrage him to do something rash,¡± I say.


    ---


    I asked one of my bodyguards to fetch the stranger. He now stands before us, his eyes darting about the room but always returning, ever so briefly, to drink in the promise of Vorlora. Time to disappoint him.


    ¡°Welcome. I am Solgia. On my right is Voria, and on my left is Vorlora. Who are you?¡±


    His jaw drops. His breathing becomes deep and frequent while squeezing his eyes shut and open. We wait.


    ¡°But ¡­?¡± He swallows. ¡°They shouted. They shouted her name.¡± He points at Vorlora. ¡°Duzsia the Relentless they shouted. How can she not be her?¡±


    ¡°I wear her armour. As her apprentice, I claimed it and am trained in how she fights. Many make the same mistake as you.¡±


    He buries his face in his hands. ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand. I am the last of her line. Duzsia, the Relentless¡¯ lineage dies with me.¡± He sinks to his haunches.


    I glance at Voria and Vorlora and step forward to pet his shoulder. ¡°Maybe not.¡±


    As he climbs to his full height, I retreat a step.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Oath Keepers use a technique to purify their blood. When they have mixed births, they teach the child how to eradicate any lineage out of their blood except for Oath Keeper.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be Oath Keeper,¡± he whimpers.


    ¡°No. But if you learn their way, you might teach it to a female with a drop of Duzsia, the Relentless blood, and over time make her your equal and then mate with her.¡±


    His face screws up, an equal mix of revulsion and disbelief. He opens and closes his mouth several times before collecting his thoughts.


    ¡°It seems false, somehow.¡±


    ¡°You trying to convince yourself or me?¡± I reply. ¡°Your intended must have some Duzsia, the Relentless lineage, in her blood to have any chance, so a distant or very distant descendent. You are simply teaching her to claim her full lineage.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± he murmurs.


    ¡°What of your prisoner?¡±


    ¡°The female with him suggested you might pay a ransom or reward for him?¡±


    I share a glance with Voria and Vorlora. ¡°If reasonable, as we have one brother. Two would be handy but not essential.¡±


    He smiles for the first time. ¡°Arrows, descent dagger, rations, and some trade goods. Also, if I find my wife in the future, I would like to settle down here if we are unwelcome elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°Deal. But we will give you some silver and gold coins instead of trade goods. They are easier to transport, although their value could be erratic. Many don¡¯t accept them.¡±


    He stares momentarily at each of us, and our looks must convince him we are serious. ¡°Deal.¡±


    ---


    The days that followed were a wait-and-see. Our prisoners we held down in a pit, tied to poles at opposite ends. The spirits of Duzsia and when with us, Klaria watched over them. We let the lesser captives go, one at a time, every couple of days. There wasn¡¯t any deep plan except the unlikely hope this would torment their Clan Head. Releasing them meant they wouldn¡¯t cause any trouble, and they ate so much food!


    The former wife of Morgren and her family stayed. Shortly after, they built a workshop. Finally, something going our way.


    After Vorlora confirmed beyond any doubt she wasn¡¯t Duzsia the Relentless, many stepped up to challenge her. More than one male sent in a female first. Each defeat of an opponent gained her begrudging acceptance amongst the settlement folk. Being male or female made no difference.


    We knew she was on her way to making her own reputation when strangers would offer to buy her a drink instead of challenging her. Not long after, she trained others. Our guards were first. Those who were former huntresses, who before that were Beastbane female chattel. I am confident their Clan Head would be unimpressed.


    Several patrons of The Lord¡¯s Tankard proposed a barbaric contest after witnessing her training against multiple opponents. Vorlora was to face both of my bodyguards at once. I protested, of course, but they wanted to, and I let them have their way. After she disarmed them both, Vorlora offered special one-on-one lessons for a price.


    For now, we had to keep things humming along and wait for Lord Klar¡¯s return. With Klaria regularly visiting Izga and Zergoa, we were confident we would know of Jarlgren¡¯s plans if he had any shortly after and be ready for him. He cursed and swore instead. He waited for someone or something, thought Klaria.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.020 Revelations of the Odd Kind

<h2></h2>


    <h2></h2>


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    <h2></h2>

 3.021 Mean or Selfish or Both

    <h2>---Cassia Hippolyta Sutler, Science Officer of the GPA Battlecruiser Lionheart POV</h2>


    The sound of pursuit fades, and not long after, I precisely spot what I need. I race up a huge fallen tree trunk. My intent is to hide the egg at the top and then either race back down or jump off. I quickly place the egg. The egg is light, and I obviously didn¡¯t grow super strong while running like I had thought. I doorknock on the shell to confirm the truth. The edges of a minor, jagged crack are glistening black with my blood.


    Did my nanorobots eat the contents? Use the fluids within to repair my thigh and close my body wound?


    It all makes sense now, maintaining my strength instead of tiring. I follow my plan and hide the egg in the open end of the hollowed log. Shortly after, I am on the run again, but not because of the sounds of their chase, which have gone silent. I want to make time to wade in a stream I know of and complete my recovery.


    ---


    A wailing scream disturbs my water-induced peace. Female? The Matriarch? Birds scatter from their perches, their fluttering only marginally covering the heartbroken howl. The pain in her voice is real. Their chase must have found the egg. The Matriarch has now received the news.


    Over the next few days, I played the long game. I would bait them with my sudden appearance, day, or night, and then run my naked bottom off. Splashing across streams to lose my scent and to heal my bare feet. I improved my night vision by force of will or wish until the difference between daylight and starlight was minimal.


    Whenever they followed afterwards, I wounded one and ran from the rest. Then I circled back to finish him and recover my spear. I slew two this way and had to wait for the fourth wounding to ambush the ambushers. I am uncertain why they didn¡¯t set this after the first loss.


    ---


    ¡°You are the last!¡± I shout across the clearing.


    The Matriarch is slimmer than the males. As tall as them, I think.


    ¡°What monster are you?¡± she screams at me as she appears in the doorway of her sizeable wooden cottage.


    ¡°Your worst nightmare, who didn¡¯t appreciate being hatchling food.¡±


    She staggers out of the doorway as if wounded. I recognise the pain in her voice. ¡°That was my daughter you destroyed, my heir. The She Slime would slay most females because she knew they were our future. And you only saw food!¡±


    ¡°What of the humans in the incubators? Don¡¯t they have a right to live?¡±


    She hisses, breathes, and hisses again. Laughter?


    ¡°They are meat. Half will live, why some have been pair survivors many times. The She Slime captured many humans. They would fall to her human enthralled so easily. She recognised Lizard Folk as the stronger of the two species and favoured us.¡±


    ¡°You were still under her control, though,¡± I snipe.


    She hisses.


    With each exchange of words, we draw closer. She carries no weapon or hope, while I hold a spear and a determination to survive. Would we hug when close enough?


    ¡°Puppets to her power. The humans were her cattle, unknowingly led to their slaughter. You knew! You knew a better existence could be possible. But as her servants, you were forever hers,¡± I say with venom.


    Her hidden arms swing around, and in one clawed hand, she awkwardly grasps my small pistol and lets off a shot. I am glad I didn¡¯t dodge; her shot was way off.


    I charge her as she steadies her hand again to aim. Her hand waves around. She squeezes off another round. There is a sting in my chest, and my next step falters.


    ¡°Ha, green abomination, die!¡±


    Recovering, I see the uncertainty in her eyes as I continue to close the distance. Another shot and another hit. The flesh of the shoulder this time.


    I throw my spear and follow. She is lining up another shot, and her eyes go wide. Recovering, she flings her body to one side, and the spear flies past.


    Climbing to her feet, my naked foot slams into her chin, snapping her head and body back. She tries to lift the gun, and my foot stomps down on her gun hand. A scream of pain. I am sure a knuckle breaks in the trigger guard of the pistol.


    She hisses and claws with her free hand at my leg, leaving behind deep wounds as I bend down and rip the pistol from her fingers. The trigger guard shreds her leathery skin from the digit. She hisses and rakes her claws down my leg. I command my nanorobots to numb the pain as they heal, and the relief allows me to aim the gun at her head.


    ¡°Stop that now, as it hurts,¡± I say.


    She draws her claws back. ¡°Now what?¡±


    My heel stomps on her throat and stays in place. Survival is my sole purpose, I remind myself. The claws on both of her hands reach for my calves and try to dig in. After a time, her resistance fades. I recover my spear and push the tip through an eye socket and into her brain.


    I withdraw the spear and stare at my conquest. Am I the savage now? Have I forsaken my humanity? The former Science Officer of the GPA Battlecruiser Lionheart is now a hideous, green-skinned abomination.


    ---


    I searched her cabin and recovered all that was mine before they captured me. As before, my overalls conceal my combat suit. I will need every advantage to survive, and foes underestimating my body protection is a useful edge.


    The incubators contained similar contents: multiples of two humans nesting a Lizardman egg between them. After my ambushing of the Lizardmen, I thought it would be impossible for them to keep up the regular care and feeding. However, after checking, I determined each incubator has its own power. A feeding nozzle lowers on a regular schedule. The ¡®juice¡¯ provides fluid and a nutritious paste.


    I can only assume The She Slime conceived and constructed this modification to the self-contained habitation units on the Battlecruiser as a favour to her Lizardmen. It is an all-care, low-maintenance solution.


    There was a problem, of course. This world didn¡¯t need a plague of humans rising from these ashes and drawing the attention of the GPA. They wouldn¡¯t permit a former human, now hobgoblin, to want to use Shifter-engineered technology to return to a perfectly normal human body. If they didn¡¯t want to study the technology themselves, they would probably destroy it. I can¡¯t risk that happening.


    I found what I needed in the third incubator unit. The first was an advanced microscope, and the second was a female and male incubating pairing. Using the microscope and my enhanced vision, I examined my blood and Lord Klar¡¯s seed. His seed piggybacks on an altered nanorobot.


    The scientist in me believes the only reason for that would be to design and then embed some pre-programmed functionalities. What does a successful birth need? A high conception rate; otherwise, everything is over before it begins. Efficiency? Use only a single seed? A healthy mother who can carry to full term and survive the birthing.


    There was more, though. The altered nanorobot accepted commands and could, therefore, accept programming. I followed this line of scientific investigation by pure chance. Call it a benefit from having to listen to wife chatter. His wives on the shuttle flight freely discussed their Lord Klar¡¯s control over contraception. He controlled when his seed would conceive, much to their present frustration.


    ---


    With the incubator units sustaining the humans, I could prepare. I removed all the armour, weapons, and clothing from the Lizardmen and left them in the specific shelter where I found their corpse. To dispose of the Lizardmen¡¯s bodies, including the Matriarch, I found the perfect place, a nearby ravine. Most of the shelters held a store of food, but where one was short, I redistributed from another. Next was the Matriarch¡¯s cabin, which had a hall or meeting room at the front and a smaller bedroom or privacy area at the back. A solid wooden wall with a stitched hide door separated the two. I shifted two tables into the bedroom.


    The buttons on the panel matched the number of hooks in the incubator. The hook lowered, and instead of standing on their feet, the male and female bent their legs at the knee and hung on. I cut the chest rope first and eased the Lizardman egg from between them. With the egg removed, the hip rope fell to the floor. As quickly as I thought I should destroy the egg, my nanorobots ¡®spoke to me¡¯. These are not words; they are more of a subtle influence or want. So, I set the egg safety aside. Unhooking the female first, I leave the wrist binding on and loop her arms around my neck. I do the same for the male. With an arm around each of their waists, their weight is nothing, and we leave the incubator unit.


    Once inside the Matriarch¡¯s cabin, I place the naked male and female on separate tables in the bedroom.


    The male received by mouth a drop of my blood containing my nanorobots. These I commanded to sterilise their host and, as compensation, neutralise any disease or infection. Once done, they would flip dormant until I needed to command them again.


    The female received via a vaginal examination a drop of my blood containing my nanorobots and several of Lord Klar¡¯s seed. Even without medical training, I felt the odds were good that implanting his seed in a human womb would result in conception. I commanded my dose of nanorobots to ensure success and, as compensation, they would protect the host from disease or infection.


    I arrived at my solution after much guilt-ridden contemplation. Why do this to these survivors? I considered their lives mine. Without my intervention, they would have died, if not immediately, later when the Lizardmen continued to use them as incubators. While I wanted to kill them all, I couldn¡¯t bring myself to and hope to keep what little remained of my humanity. At substantial risk, I allowed this generation to live, banking on the GPA, being too busy elsewhere to discover this survivor generation of human contamination on this planet and investigate.


    No more humans on this planet were an absolute. But if I died before returning to a human body, half-humans or half-hobgoblins, if possible, would be my legacy to this world. The scientist in me also wondered if humans could carry a half-hobgoblin to term.


    My two patients regain consciousness by dribbling water into their mouths while under the influence of my nanorobots. I assist them off their tables and lead them to the closest roof-only shelter. With my help, the previous occupants had thoughtfully left them a water gourd and a selection of fruit, root vegetables, and dried meat.


    I continued with the male and female pairs. The ninth pair was the last.


    Returning to the cabin after delivering the ninth pair to a shelter, the first couple of pairs waited for me inside.


    ¡°What are you?¡± the first male asks.


    I cock an eyebrow and shake my head.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you understand his words, miss monster?¡± asks the second male.


    ¡°Names?¡± I ask.


    ¡°You first,¡± barks stupid number one.


    A female comes forward between us. ¡°He is Barnabas.¡± She points to Stupid One. ¡°He is Aridus.¡± She points to the second male.


    ¡°I am Septima,¡± interrupts the second female.


    The first female places a hand briefly on her chest. ¡°I am Galla, and I am certain we all thank you for rescuing us. Am I right?¡± She looks at each of them until they reluctantly wave or nod back.


    I don¡¯t give them my human name, but an abbreviation like Tinuna has adopted. There is no point associating a human name with an abomination, especially since I want to reclaim a human body in the future.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°I am known as Cahisu and called a hobgoblin in this world. And you are welcome.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± asks Septima. ¡°You aren¡¯t human. What are we to you?¡±


    ¡°I was their prisoner.¡± I shrug. ¡°It was a tough decision because I had never seen your race before and didn¡¯t know how you would react. I took a chance.¡±


    ¡°Can we help?¡± asks Galla. There is a respectful tone in her voice.


    I smile, but I don¡¯t think they take it as welcoming. They withdraw slightly. ¡°I intend to leave as soon as possible, so you must grow stronger quickly. Food and water are your priorities. The Lizardmen left behind some, but when you can, you need to forage and hunt.¡±


    ¡°What will you be doing?¡± asks Septima.


    ¡°I will continue to free the others, although I ask you not to destroy the Lizardmen¡¯s eggs. I would like to examine them and see if they have any value. If nothing else, they may be an excellent food source.¡±


    The females shy away, their faces screwing up in disgust. All the males laugh.


    ---


    Over the next several days, I free and treat the remaining females. With four to every shelter, the humans have simply replaced the Lizardmen. There is a well-worn Lizardmen track to a waterfall at the back of the clearing for water and bathing. Other paths lead to fruit trees and native vegetables. Some humans are agriculturalists, many are science types, while others are chefs, waiters, and porters. I learnt one ship boarded by The She Slime was a Passenger Cruise Ship.


    After observing and eavesdropping, I learnt that all the survivors are non-combatants. For example, none effectively wield the Lizardmen¡¯s spears except to pick them up and pretend to stab. Fortunately, crop plantings shortly cover the clearing. Most are between twenty and middle thirties in age. It seems like The She Slime selected a ¡®type¡¯.


    ---


    Satisfied the survivors took their survival seriously, I spent more time investigating the Incubation Units. There was a control panel on the outside, for example. Dead until I swiped my battlecruiser identification. I then made the mistake of pressing the ¡®Preparation¡¯ button. The solar panels packed themselves away, and then the top half of the Incubator Unit descended onto the bottom half. The intervening wall disappeared equally into both halves. A three-metre overall height reduced to just under two metres. A perfect fit for a Cargo Shuttle. The ¡®Anti-Grav¡¯ button then flashed at me.


    There were no windows in this configuration, and you needed identification to gain access. This is how the Lizardmen loaded them into the Shuttle and why no one questioned the fact humans were inside incubating Lizardmen¡¯s eggs. Fortunately, the ¡®Deployment¡¯ button also lights up, and I press it. The intervening wall splits the two halves apart until both halves lock. The solar panels once again deploy.


    ---


    My nanorobots call to me. I gather Lizardman eggs around me in a semicircle. After a couple of uncomfortable starts, I work out a satisfactory seating arrangement and routine. Lounging back in the sole chair in the Incubator Unit, I place a hand on a different nearby egg. My blood seeps through the pores of my skin, and once through the shell, the goodness they feed on hits me like a blissful drug.


    They are moisture and food in one. The first discovery is that the number of nanorobots within me grows, roughly one or two per egg consumed. The second discovery is that I developed a preference for meat. While it is not required to sustain myself, the urge becomes annoying. It is not until I hunt and eat that it diminishes.


    Moving to the second Incubation Unit, my thoughts turn to his seed. What would they, if anything, add to nanorobot spawning? Linmere, while rejecting her hobgoblin form, mentioned Tinuna¡¯s insistence on consuming his seed. The multiple tubes of his seed were a burden on many levels. The need to carry them safely, decide when to use them for conception, and finally, when and if I should consume them. Were they a prize or a curse?


    ---


    ¡°What is happening to you?¡±


    His voice penetrates my deep slumber. I imagine my current state is like a bear in hibernation as my consciousness slowly slides to awareness.


    My eyelids refuse to open, and I use my fingers to clear a weight on them.


    My fingers are black with sludge, hands are as well.


    ¡°Your face, hands, and feet are the same. It looks like someone has squeezed you, and a thick black slime has oozed out of your extremities.¡±


    No, I say to myself. My combat suit has prevented me from oozing from everywhere. My calmness is because I know why. I consumed his seed while feeding from two fresh Lizardman eggs, and my body is throbbing with strength and vitality.


    ---


    ¡°Why do you spy on me?¡±


    There is always one who lingers. I commanded the few bathing and washing clothes in the waterfall and runoff stream to leave. My disgusting ooze-covered appearance encouraged compliance as much as my growling voice.


    ¡°I am a scientist, and you are unique.¡± Her voice is low, mousy.


    ¡°If you stay on this planet long enough, you will discover many more of me.¡± I had cleaned myself off and waited for any other additional ooze, so I was good to leave. My lab coat was a loss unless I wanted to wear it with black ooze-stained cuffs and a collar. I would need to wear my combat suit openly until I found another lab coat.


    There is a splash. The human female, arm in the air, one hand holding an unrecognisable scientific instrument, wades towards me.


    ¡°Do you really think this is the time or place?¡± I grouse.


    ¡°We are alone, and the instrument works best with direct skin contact. Also, my being naked shouldn¡¯t bother you as you rescued us the same way.¡±


    Raven black hair, shoulder-length, skims across the water. Two thin black eyebrows, once thick, possibly mono, and currently well-trained. High cheekbones. Tiny nose, although her beating nostrils and rising heartbeat reveal something more than she admits.


    She places the instrument on the naked flesh between my breasts. The pounding of her heartbeat is clear and loud. The rhythm increases in pace.


    ¡°What wonderful readings¡­¡± A small cry rings out from between her lips.


    The scent of her iron-rich red blood almost overwhelms me. My two hands on her shoulders steady her body as my teeth and tusks puncture ever deeper into her throat. My need for human flesh and blood incrementally subsides as I consume this fresh kill.


    The Lizardman eggs. There is some primordial need for them to consume flesh and blood on hatching. I have somehow absorbed this fetish.


    I throw this human corpse into the bubbling water of the waterfall. Her blood is no longer fresh.


    I know where there are others.


    <h2>---Zorottor Black Tooth, Chief of Oath Keeper Goblins POV</h2>


    My two Black Tooth originals keep me company around the low campfire. Deep in the dark, old-growth forest at the entrance to Hobgoblin Valley, I declared the risk of detection small. Some others crumbled, and typically, I wouldn¡¯t have heard them. Goblins know how to remain unheard when in the company of other goblins, yet I heard them.


    Shadows from those around the campfire wave and flutter over our prisoner. He is bound around the wrists and ankles, and we have also tied him to a medium girth tree. Safe and sound.


    He isn¡¯t a priestess, but his blood must still contain their secret. The secret of Lord Klug¡¯s blood. What I once feared, I knew I could now embrace. How I wish we captured the priestess instead.


    I climb to my feet and stroll over to confront our hobgoblin prisoner. Standing before the sitting hobgoblin, I feel a sense of power over him. His eyes close as he turns away, and I lean forward, intent on whispering into his ear.


    A sharp pain stabs at my neck. Then I feel them. Invading nanorobots. He directs them, ordering them even. I linger.


    When I believe I have welcomed as many as I hope I can handle, my dagger point is under his throat, pushing his jaws away. His triumphant, bloody smile greets me as I take a step back.


    He programs his for destruction, but my nanorobots convince them otherwise. His trick should have succeeded. I see fear grow in his eyes after witnessing my recovery. My passive, inactive, and certainly weaker Oath Keeper nanorobots would have fallen. Not now, though. Former priestess nanorobots had become mine. With their strength and my will to succeed, I shortly after recruited his nanorobots.


    I reach for a waterskin and take multiple sips while eyeing our prisoner and encouraging my nanorobots to heal my neck. I assumed my blood would be Klugite lineage, yet the more accurate description would be not Oath Keeper lineage. Only the services of a crone could identify my changed blood for sure, I reasoned.


    During the repair of my neck, I realised my blood now supports three versions of nanorobots. The priestess nanorobots conversion of my original nanorobots didn¡¯t result in exact duplicates. They were slightly stronger yet still weaker than the prisoner¡¯s nanorobots¡ªsomething so obvious now, yet not so obvious when her nanorobots dominated.


    Several of my original nanorobots, even though stronger, ended. The remaining nanorobots devoured them. Acceptable losses. Shortly after, one or two of the priestess nanorobots also ended.


    Turning away from the prisoner to stare into the campfire, a reality struck me. My nanorobots couldn¡¯t increase in numbers to replace the spent ones, only decline. This includes my former original nanorobots, but I was not truly aware of this happening at all. It must have been because of the significant number in my bloodstream at my age and their inactivity.


    Will I need to keep capturing and slaying Klugite priestesses to replace the stronger nanorobots? Will the same go for the prisoner? What of my original nanorobots? Could I simply drink the blood of some of my troop¡¯s goblins and not have the priestess¡¯ nanorobots convert them in the hope they will then regenerate after any losses? Or were their numbers high because Oath Keepers kept them in hibernation until required?


    Will my two Black Tooth originals be competitors for the same nanorobot renewal as me?


    ---


    As we decamp at dawn, I finally reach a decision.


    Resting a hand on the shoulder of one I believe I can trust; I issue a fateful order.


    ¡°I give you command of the troop. Take the prisoner to the High Priestess without me. I believe it is my duty to capture a Klugite Priestess or die trying.¡±


    There is the usual murmuring, of course, and my two originals immediately volunteer to escort me. I, of course, begrudgingly accept. I counted on them to volunteer. They needed to volunteer instead of being commanded to allay any suspicion that this separation was some sort of Black Tooth ploy. Like me, my two originals kept to themselves, spoke only when spoken to and shared no stories around the campfire.


    All the others in our troop don¡¯t recognise us as one of them anymore. Their furtive glances and the hushed chat between them were an obvious giveaway. Now, as they leave, many look over their shoulders with relief on their faces.


    <h2>---Tinuna, Shifter of the GPA Observer Ship POV</h2>


    Humans have a silly survival rule, which goes something like three minutes without air, three hours in a hot or cold environment, three days without water and three weeks without food. Fortunately, the Shifter spirit in a Hobgoblin body with plentiful nanorobots in their blood defies such limitations. This is fortunate because the days and nights taken to explore false tunnels in our quest for freedom from the mountain were unnumbered. My blood sustained the Crone, ignoring her protests. Many a time, I would leave her to rest at a tunnel junction, only to return with disappointment.


    Success, though, was subtle. Piercings of starlight through the infravision haze. This hope drew me closer. With the removal of small rocks and then larger ones, I made an opening. Squeezing through, a fresh chill breeze on my face greeted me. Relief and joy filled my heart as I took step after step on the top of this mountain instead of within. I never appreciated the stars¡¯ light in the night sky as I do now.


    She latches on to one of my legs. I hear her sobbing. I feel her chest hitching.


    ¡°Forgive my doubt, great one.¡±


    My hand tousles her hair. ¡°Stand and breathe in your freedom, for we renew my vengeance at dawn.¡±


    ---


    My head rests on a rock outcrop near the entrance of our escape tunnel. The Crone sleeps within the shelter of the entrance to escape the chill wind. Her steady breathing comforting me as much as for her, I suspect.


    I study the stars in the night sky, searching for the exception. I know once, a long time ago, the Observation Ship orbited above this planet in a steady, self-correcting geostationary position. Unfortunately, fuel for the micro-jets is now exhausted, so perfection will slowly slip into decay. Until then, the Ship will be my tool of destruction.


    I am rewarded for my patience as, finally, my eyes trace reflected light from this solar system¡¯s sun instead of light from a distant star. With my tool insight and the light bridge for guidance, my mind reconnects with my presence in the Observation Ship. I am whole once again.


    The night hours flow swiftly as I prepare the ultimate weapon against the High Priestess of Klug. The sensor array will randomly beam down instructions to all nanorobots within the Klugite Town and its surroundings for as long as possible. They will drain the flesh of their host of water.


    While appreciating my effort, I detect the feeble attempts of another to insinuate themselves into my control and command circuits. Secondary ones, yes¡­ a shuttle. On request, the Shuttle reports its position, planet surface, far north, and coordinates.


    With ease, I deflect another attempt to penetrate the Shuttle¡¯s control and command circuits. This avenue of attack lends itself to automatic detection and closure. As the sameness now bores me, I program a countermeasure to prevent future attempts.


    My challenger can only be another shifter. The only other shifter I know is Linmere, or Linia Clymere Virgoe, the Assessor onboard the GPS Scout Ship. She was the one I chose to be Lord Klug¡¯s wife and mate. The one who, like a small-minded fool, refused. I should have realised her independent streak as soon as I learnt her hobgoblin name. She couldn¡¯t even use the first two letters of her human name.


    ---


    Wow, such determination! I slam down that possibility swiftly. Again, this game is fun, especially since Linmere doesn¡¯t conceal any emotion. Desperation, fear of failure, and the promise of reward slipping away are all present in abundance. She strives to grant access to someone else. Odd. This explains the promise of reward to some degree, I suppose. Has Linmere, now condemned to a hobgoblin body, embraced the future she once spurned?


    I could open a communication channel for her so we could chat. I could also demand a sample of her blood via the Shuttle¡¯s medical system to check a theory. Her last attempt was brute force, drawing on, for lack of a better terminology, magic. Lord Klug could be the only source or catalyst, as I predicted.


    Did I want to be proved right, or did I want to be rewarded by Lord Klug? A reward that Linmere was so desperate to secure. I smile to myself as I complete the final touches of my plan.


    ¡°It is good to see you smile with such joy, High Priestess,¡± says my Crone as the first rays of morning light break above the far distant western mountains.


    ¡°It is good to see you up and about,¡± I reply. ¡°If it is not too much trouble, tell me about lineage and blood tasting.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t immediately answer. I suspect food and water are higher on her list, yet I am her protector.


    ¡°Yes, Priestess.¡± Her voice is neutral and, in the circumstances, proof of her self-control. ¡°Right. Blood testing to determine linage. Well, some blood is easy to read. Aggressive. Other blood, especially Oath Keeper, is distinct because it is gentle, almost calm. This calmness is almost always a giveaway of identifying its presence.¡±


    ¡°Aggressive?¡± I ask.


    She bobs her head. ¡°Klugite blood, my Priestess.¡±


    I wave my hand for her to continue.


    ¡°Some blood, though, is simply blood without a distinct taste. Crones accept that some tribes have interbred too much, either willingly or because of kidnapping and/or slave-taking, which destroys any significant lineage. But this is also a trap. A crone must develop their sense of taste to detect subtle differences, especially to pick out a lineage from interbred blood or where the blood contains more than one lineage.¡±


    ¡°Are there many with no lineage?¡±


    ¡°Few, they tend to be groups of wanderers, their lack of lineage binding them. A tribe with lineage would eventually lose that if they allowed those with a non-lineage to settle amongst them.¡±


    ¡°Anything else?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Some Crones say a sense of smell is also important. None of them can explain why. They simply say that smell can sway the determination when taste cannot discern blood lineage differences.¡±


    ¡°What do you say?¡±


    ¡°A Crone should taste as much blood as she can, so when the determination of lineage is important, you have as many as possible to draw from.¡±


    Yes, I agree, and in fact, I will ensure that all who I meet submit a blood sample first. I climb to my feet and point to a spot further along our mountain ridge.


    ¡°Is there game there, Priestess?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± I reply. ¡°There is nothing here to eat.¡±


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.022 Nasty

    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°Are you done yet?¡± I try to keep the words level, but my frustration with the delay is growing. Dusk has now fallen on what increasingly seems to become a long, fruitless day.


    Her face, tear tracks running down her glowing green cheeks, looks up at me.


    ¡°I have tried and tried, Lord. There were some early hopeful chances, and then, after a time, a force of will, blocked every attempt.¡±


    I smash the side panel, and the cockpit door slides shut. None in the cargo bay dares look at my face. They know that to draw my attention now is to suffer my wrath.


    ¡°I gave you, no drowned you in my seed for a reason. Magic. What of it?¡± I ask.


    She sobs. Why?


    ¡°Demand access,¡± I roar while roughly dragging her into a standing position.


    We are face to face. Her eyes fly wide open while her hands grab for anything but me to steady herself. I lower her body so she can stand and then thrust her at the shuttle pilot control desk.


    She careens between the pilot and co-pilot chairs, clipping and setting them off into an unequal spin. With an unexpected display of agility, she swivels about in time to fling her hands forward to save her spine from crunching against the rigid metal of the waist height control panel.


    With hands firmly planted on the control desk, I hear her suck in a deep breath. Air in the cockpit swirls past me to gather around her. Humming and crackling, like a presence or primeval element, an unleashing of power splashes against the control panel.


    A scream strangles in her throat as her body flies back from the control panel. I fling my arms out and catch her.


    Her head arches until her eyes meet mine. ¡°I haven¡¯t failed, Lord. Some malignant intelligence blocks me. They, whoever they are, cackle and deride me.¡±


    Her body slumps into my arms. A dead weight, although I hover my cheek near her nose and feel a waft of breath. After depositing her into a pilot¡¯s chair, I join the others in the Cargo Bay.


    ¡°She has failed. Therefore, all prepare for a land journey back.¡±


    Grim faces stare back at me. As one, they move with purpose, stowing away and cleaning up. My merchant daughter twins take the lead, braving an occasional winning smile my way. I can¡¯t find the energy to berate them as they strive to bring order to chaos.


    During one of these distractions, I sense, rather than see, Koria approach me.


    ¡°Can¡¯t she try again?¡±


    ¡°No. She must recover first, and I am not waiting for the unknown.¡± I am terse, releasing the last embers of my anger.


    ¡°Did she explain why?¡±


    I turn my head towards Koria, who now wears Thalgora¡¯s face. ¡°Are you challenging my judgement?¡±


    ¡°There must be an explanation, surely?¡±


    ¡°She said some unknown intelligence works against her. So even if she recovered, I assume another attempt would produce the same result.¡±


    As Koria slips away to assist, Grolgia, my warrior hobgoblin, takes her place.


    ¡°Lord, I couldn¡¯t help but overhear.¡± She leans forward, her breath tickling my neck. ¡°Could it be her?¡±


    I know who she whispers about¡ªDiasha Talop, Engineer and Navigation Officer of the GPA Scout Ship. She is my lovesick admirer and the reason we are where we are now. With technical knowledge, she indeed locked out the controls. But to reject Linmere¡¯s magic so forcefully, I refuse to believe the possibility she can now command that as well.


    ¡°No,¡± I reply.


    ¡°We should find her, make certain of her corpse.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I reply.


    I am confident she will find us on our overland journey back.


    ---


    As dawn breaks, we prepare to leave. When I go to fetch Linmere, the shuttle hums and then shudders to life. Internal lights blink brightly, and the ship rises.


    I smack the control to open the cockpit door, ready to celebrate and discover Linmere where I left her. Spineless slumping in the pilot chair. The ship lurches to one side and, after a slight hesitation; I spread my feet slightly. Looking over my shoulder, all my wives and concubines hang on to something. This is a novel experience for some. The fear on their faces contrasts with the determination of each to be brave in front of me.


    As the frost burns away from the cockpit windows, the tall and sheer mountain cliff that separates the western continent from the valley looms up in front of us. I would like to know if the unknown pilot understands our situation. Then, as my doubt grows, the shuttle begins a steep climb. I hug the backrest of a pilot chair, and I hear everything loose in the cargo bay slide to the back. There was no need for this flight path; whoever they were, they could have taken a steadier approach. In a way, this gives me hope. This could be a playful tease rather than vindictiveness.


    Fortunately, the shuttle¡¯s current flight path is roughly in the direction I need to take, which is better than where I was.


    Once over the enormous cliff edge, we skim a mountain range, one of the more modest, stabbing towards the grass plains. On the right is Hobgoblin Town Valley. I would recognise it from any point of view. I ignore the other valley.


    As we approach the end of the mountain range, the grass fields of the plains before us, the shuttle slows. Shortly after, the shuttle lands on a long snowfield high in the mountains. The width is enough to accommodate the shuttle, with room to spare. The cargo bay door automatically opens. Glare from the snow brightens the interior of the cargo bay. I don¡¯t know who arranged our flight. As a precaution, I lock the cockpit door to protect the unconscious Linmere.


    Luda, Koria, Grolgia and I climb out. The only direction is forward, as the second shuttle skews itself to block any quick escape in the opposite direction. I notice the deployed landing gear of both shuttles and the imprints of their metal boots in the snow. There is no hovering. So, it¡¯s not a quick stopover, then.


    If our remote-control shuttle pilot wished us any harm, they could have rammed the shuttle at full speed against the cliff face. Because of that reprieve, I assume there will be some discussion first.


    An obviously pregnant Grolgia advances with me. The equally pregnant merchant twins remain in the shuttle, standing in the open shuttle bay. Koria and Luda wait in the snow, ready to intervene. They have orders to follow once we take thirty paces from the shuttle.


    We don¡¯t reach that distance.


    Koria and Luda scream my name and as I turn, I witness both being dragged on their bellies under the shuttle. The strength that would require boggles my mind. They kick back and dig their hands into the snow to resist. I charge back towards the shuttle.


    A hammering freezing travels along my bond link with Luda and Koria. The dual shock drives me into the snow face first. Unknown hands are under my armpits, lifting. I struggle to my feet.


    ¡°She is back, Lord. She is back. Somehow, she is here,¡± hisses Grolgia.


    I hear her words. The bond loss of Luda and Koria is a searing pain burning my mind and spirit. I lower my hands from my head, not remembering myself placing them there. An ache, like an echo, remains. Nothing else; they are gone as if they had never been. Tears well up in my eyes.


    He growls at me. My inner Hob seethes with disgust. They are nothing, were nothing. Me, his host, is everything. Get to your feet! Anger! Revenge! Destruction!


    Forcing myself to stubble forward with each step, my need for revenge grows. I skirt around the shuttle.


    From behind, the abomination holds each of their necks in a vice-like grip, forcing their faces into the snow. Blue flesh radiates out as I hear the cracking of bones. As she lifts them, they gesticulate at each other like puppets in some show. She pretends they are talking to each other and then herself.


    I watch Diasha, unable to act. Her lack of humanity stuns even me.


    ¡°You are in time, husband. Not only have I slain your false wives, but I have also severed their bond with you. Of course, I will permit you concubines but never suffer bonded rivals.¡±


    I didn¡¯t believe them dead until now. More accurately, regardless of the evidence, I didn¡¯t want to believe they were forever gone. Burning rage ignites within me. I shout, ¡°You stupid bitch! Your flesh is ice.¡± She blinks. ¡°How can we ever embrace and consummate our union if I even wanted such a thing?¡±


    She quirks her head. ¡°I. Would. Not. Freeze. You. My. Love.¡± Her speech pattern has reverted. She is off balance. I look past Diasha.


    Grolgia swings down from on high. I notice Diasha¡¯s head shake slightly from side to side.


    I raise an arm and shout a warning as Diasha raises a hand without looking to intercept the swing. Grolgia¡¯s blade penetrates Diasha¡¯s hand, stopping a quarter blade in. Diasha¡¯s other fingers wrap around the blade and tug while her body swivels. The surprise manoeuvre draws Grolgia into the waiting grasp of Diasha¡¯s free, now tightening hand. With a flick, Grolgia¡¯s neck snaps. On release, her lifeless body collapses to land with a heavy thud between Luda and Koria on the snow.


    My hands cup my head as I scream in anguish. Loss after loss. None of this makes sense. How did she regrow her hand? Reattach her head, for that matter?


    ¡°You underestimate me, husband. I felt her warmth as she made her approach. That is why I am superior.¡±


    The memory of my first wife, GPA005, floods my mind. The emotion we found during the one leave life we spent together as a married couple fuels my response.


    ¡°No! That is why you are impossible. Love finds expression in a warm embrace and kind, supportive words. Making love is the unselfish sharing that occurs between lovers. Love is trust. On all those counts, you fail. You are a revulsion, the opposite of love, a never wife.¡±


    Is my condemnation of her because I judge Diasha by human standards?


    Instead of tears, icicles fall from her eyes to disappear into the snow at her feet. ¡°I will sever the bonds to all your wives, free you from their distraction, so only I remain. If you don¡¯t come to your senses even then, I will slay your concubines, as I have done here. When you have no one else but me, I am certain you will finally appreciate our true love.¡±


    As I feel my mouth drop open, she mechanically turns on a heel and ploughs through the snow towards the side of the ledge. I desperately scramble on my hands and knees after her. She is sliding down the snow-covered slope when I catch her echoing words. My wives to the east will be next. She can see their bond links and will tend to them next.


    Wives? Yes, but oddly, with a growing sick feeling, something is wrong. I reach out with my spirit, seeing what I suspect has always existed. But only one slivery trail, a slim tether is present. There is only my Head Scribe, Solgia. What of the others? Does this explain my unexplainable urgency? There is still the tithe of their spirit, but no link. Their flesh has died, I conclude, but they are still my wives.


    No. No. No. This isn¡¯t how it is supposed to go. I die first and then my wives. Once reborn, I call them back to me.


    Slowly, I climb to my feet. This pain of loss is crippling, hurtful. Emotional. The physical pain of bond link loss has passed, yet I still hurt.


    In some forlorn hope, my gaze stretches across the valley. The snow on the opposite mountain range blinks back at me under the morning sunlight. I try to follow the slope down to where Solgia is and fail. Yet, our bond link is present in my mind¡¯s eye. A sliver of silver. I latch onto this like a lifeline for a drowning man and demand she heed my willpower.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°Lord?¡±


    ¡°Solgia?¡± The freezing tears on my cheeks alert me to the fact I am crying. Joy? Sadness? Neither, I realise. It¡¯s simply because of relief. I drop to my knees.


    ¡°All is well, Lord, I assure you. I thought, but never gave up hope, no matter how weak our link was.¡±


    ¡°Izga? Zergoa?¡±


    ¡°Lord, your enemies have slain them, but they are still present. Can you feel them? We called to you, always, but today is the first day you have answered.¡±


    Feel them? Was that the nagging I felt, the urgency to return?


    ¡°Seek them out, Lord. Klaria taught us how. She is gone, but not forgotten. Duzsia, as well. She teaches her apprentice from beyond death. Voria is still loyal and stands with us.¡±


    Using Solgia¡¯s thread as proof that this will work, I seek my other wives. There is also the fact that Diasha, curse her frozen heart, can also see their threads.


    How have I remained ignorant? When they swore their spirits to me, we communicated through our minds, so why haven¡¯t I explored this further? Lack of need? Has distance ever separated us for this long?


    I feel several faint traces and deliberately follow one I recognise with a desperation of uttermost need. I jump to my feet, with hope filling my heart.


    ¡°Duzsia.¡±


    I sense her love before her voice explodes with joy in my mind. ¡°We are defending you even when slain, Lord.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    She giggles. ¡°Which how? Defend you after being slain, or how they slew us?¡± She must sense my confusion because she giggles again. My carefree warrior wife of death-dealing. She giggles again. ¡°Lord, they can never defeat us. We will always return to defeat them, and if not them, their descendants.¡±


    ¡°We have a new enemy. I must confess this enemy exists because of my folly. She has slain Koria and Luda.¡± I feel my knees buckling again. Strong arms hold me up. I realise that I have shut my eyelids tight. To open them would mean breaking my link with Duzsia. I can¡¯t. I just can¡¯t. The need to tell her everything is overpowering. Confession.


    I recount my travels and deeds to her. On more than one occasion, I explain the danger of Diasha. She can sever our bond. Koria and Luda have become lost to us. The retelling of what she already knows calms me. Perhaps her confidence infects me. She has no doubts and no regrets.


    I contact Izga, Zergoa, and Klaria next, and I exude confidence. There is no other option. I conclude this odyssey by warning Solgia. Death is coming her way.


    My hands wipe down my face. Reset. I turn around to thank one of my concubines. I have only the twins left, so I wonder if I can guess their names correctly. After everything so far, the possibility of making a mistake and the game of apologising afterwards is something I look forward to.


    ¡°Not who you expected, Lord?¡± She drops to one knee.


    Behind her, at a safe distance, the twins stand on either side of the elderly, frail-looking goblin crone. I would like to think they protect her, but I suspect they guard my interests.


    ¡°Tinuna. Your humility is unexpected. Stand and explain yourself.¡±


    After admitting to harming Linmere and piloting the shuttles, she finishes by closing her eyes. Expecting reward? No, I conclude. She expects punishment but hopes for a reward if she can prove herself to me. One thing I agree with her is that Rexa has been reborn. Her solution, though, rankles, especially since Duzsia, Klaria and Izga were victims of the same method.


    My analysis of her story is, of course, an escape. The hurt of losing Koria and Luda forever is still fresh. Suffering from this loss is my only defence for what I do next. Could I have talked myself out of doing what I was about to do? Of course. But I didn¡¯t want to, and neither did my Inner Hob. I needed to do something that could help me defeat my abomination, even if the chance would be a non-zero possibility.


    I gently place my two hands on her head and say, ¡°All will be well.¡± I then shove her head deep into the snow at my feet. She struggles far longer than I expected, but the end is inevitable. I can sense the instant her spirit floats free of her technology-grown, perfect female hobgoblin flesh bag.


    ¡°Service or Death,¡± I ask.


    ¡°Service Lord Klar, always and forever service.¡±


    I claim a tithe of her spirit, yet there is more. The nature of that more, I can¡¯t define. I throw her from me.


    ¡°What was that?¡± I accuse.


    She doesn¡¯t move. Snow collapses in distorting her body¡¯s outline in the snow. ¡°Lord?¡±


    Linmere rounds the edge of the shuttle and pushes through the snow towards us. ¡°No, Lord Klar! Why her? Haven¡¯t I been with you longer?¡±


    I decide this is better. She is begging when, unknown to both, I intend to ¡°marry¡± her and Tinuna. I need to fill an immense hole in my heart, and the convenience of their presence will do.


    Linmere drops to her knees at my feet, and I slap her cheek. She falls back into the snow, shakes herself and crawls forward. ¡°I beg you, Lord.¡±


    ¡°Zeria and Xoria, what do you say?¡± They are staring, mouths open, and I assume, trying to comprehend the situation. Perhaps even the brutality, as I can¡¯t recall revealing this side of me to them. I need to call on him, my Inner Hob, who is always up for these moments. He sweeps away any residual humanity within me, allowing me to embrace his brutality.


    The twins drop. Their faces are in the snow.


    ¡°I believe, Lord, that your will is their will,¡± croaks the Crone. Do I detect a sense of mirth?


    ¡°What of your will?¡±


    She cackles and shrugs. ¡°I am too old to be worried about such nonsense, but my loyalty was first given to the High Priestess, so where she goes, I go. Whom she swears her loyalty, I will obey if she commands me. The one grovelling at your feet is nothing compared to my High Priestess, so I don¡¯t care. I also think my opinion wouldn¡¯t sway you from your intent. No Hobgoblin Lord listens to a crone¡¯s council when they should.¡±


    She turns away towards the shuttle, gliding over the snow, or so it seems, given the rags she calls clothing, tents her body.


    ¡°It seems none are interested in advocating for you.¡±


    ¡°What of your seed? Surely, I am pregnant and will carry your child?¡±


    I drop to my haunches and cup my hands on her cheeks. ¡°I didn¡¯t command any such seed I shared with you.¡±


    ¡°Command?¡± I see hope fly from her eyes. From her point of view, she simply had to be pregnant after receiving such a volume of my seed. Now, her last gambit to burden me with a claim is no more.


    With my hands behind her head, I push her face into the snow. There is no struggle at first. Then she flails her arms and legs. An invisible force buffets me. I lean my body forward and then place my weight on her, using all the leverage available to me. Fortunately, her body is prone, arms and legs out to either side, but she tries to draw her knees up. Her body goes limp, and I catch her spirit. I try to conceal my relief.


    ¡°I told you I am worthy, Lord. Your seed ignited magic within me. My failure was that I hadn¡¯t yet mastered my new power. I will correct this, so I choose Service, Lord Klar.¡±


    As with Tinuna, there is more. With Linmere, though, it is more potent and wilder. I can now recognise the ¡°more¡±. It is magic. I can¡¯t determine how that infusion will affect me. Linmere exercises no proper control, simply wild emotional or situational responses. Like now, instinctively trying to push me away so she doesn¡¯t drown in snow.


    A baby¡¯s cry grabs all our attention. The Crone cuddles a blood-covered infant. Its head sniping about at her chest. The twins run to her, Zoria winning by a step to snatch the baby and then shift away clothing to reveal a bare globe of dark green breast flesh. The head of the babe zeroes in, and its mouth latches on to the firm nub of a bright green teat.


    ¡°Sister, I am older,¡± huffs Zeria.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid, sister. We barely have our milk yet, and he will require four breasts, given his sire. Now, quiet before he believes we argue. Mother warned us we must be one in everything. She knew, as only she does, he would be power, but we must join him, not become a tool he throws away once we become useless or, worse, bothersome.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sister. I apologise. We are one. We need to suffer through like them and become his wives.¡±


    Their whispers would have usually assured them of privacy, notwithstanding the Crone. Like all hobgoblins, they ignore any goblin in their presence. Unfortunately for them, my hearing is superior enough to overhear their chat. They are merchants from a long line of merchants. What they say isn¡¯t sinister. It is simply a negotiation to improve their position. I can accept that.


    The Crone glides past the twins towards me. ¡°It seems your concubine¡¯s babe was strong enough to survive its mother¡¯s death. Do you tolerate it to live?¡± She still holds a bloody knife.


    ¡°As long as there is no reason not to.¡± I wave a hand at her.


    She cleans her knife by stabbing the snow several times and wiping it on her rags. With a flick, the slim blade disappears into those same rags. By this time, Tinuna stands beside her, an arm around the goblin¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°What now, Lord?¡± asks Tinuna.


    Another hobgoblin scrambles to her feet and pats off the snow from her clothes. ¡°Yes, Lord,¡± huffs Linmere.


    It¡¯s not quite the dynamic of Koria and Luda, but they will have to do. ¡°There is a cave we can visit to hide the shuttles, but we will also return to my village fort and try to work out how to defeat Diasha. On the way there, disable all her access. Only me and you two may pilot the shuttles.¡±


    ¡°It will be done, Lord Klar,¡± smirks Tinuna while Linmere shifts her feet awkwardly.


    Grabbing her fangs, I drag Linmere¡¯s face to within a finger width of mine. ¡°You will spend every waking moment training your magic. If Diasha takes another of my wives before you control your power, expect pain as your reward.¡±


    I fully expect that if she masters her magic, my threats will be nothing to her. So, it¡¯s a win-win, I think. If I can torture her, that proves her magic control inferior, and if not, she should be powerful enough to do something. I just hope that something is enough to stop Diasha.


    Tinuna informed me she had configured the shuttles.


    ¡°Good. Linmere pilot the lead shuttle low over the mountain tops. Follow them around to the other side of the valley. I will give further instructions then. Twins clean up here with the help of the Crone and load the lead shuttle. Tinuna and I will enjoy each other¡¯s company in the tethered shuttle.¡± That last line must have made them all stupid, so I clap my hands to get them moving.


    With Linmere, my seed, while effective, imbued her with a wild type of magic. Tinuna, bound as a wife before doing the same, I hope for a better outcome. To imbue more control and, over time, strengthen her magic.


    ---


    Like the last time, the lead shuttle fits nicely within the cave. After discussing my intent with Tinuna, I encourage her to think of a way to fix the second shuttle. What can the Observation Ship do? The best she can promise is that the ¡°hole¡± will be closed in and sealed. Although there won¡¯t be a shuttle door on that side, at least passengers won¡¯t be at risk of being sucked out into space.


    The autopilot returns the shuttle to the Observation Ship for repairs by robotic fabricators. It will take time, she says. So? I may need a shuttle to take a certain someone towards this system¡¯s sun and I would like to have the other available for use. This plan only works, of course, if Diasha still needs to breathe. If not, I imagine her bashing a hole in the shuttle¡¯s side and escaping before the shuttle leaves this planet¡¯s atmosphere. Maybe the fall will destroy her?


    The twins have equipped and armed everyone, including the Crone, much to their taught hobgoblin disgust for goblins. They obeyed their Lord, though, without question. They even crafted a makeshift full-face leather helm for Tinuna. I insisted on her acceptance by explaining the attention her beauty would bring. When she protests, I mention her previous imperious visit to my village and her renown when she was once the beautiful High Priestess of Klug. For some reason, all the other hobgoblin females enjoyed her discomfort. Her Crone, though, consoled her with whispers of praise afterwards.


    I wake to the smell of burning flesh¡ªrabbit, if my memory serves. I need to hang a moment before sliding out of the shuttle bay. Before me, the Crone is hand-feeding shreds of rabbit to a splayed-out Tinuna, her head nesting in the Crone¡¯s lap. Both are warming their bodies near a crackling campfire.


    ¡°We have a guest, Mistress,¡± I overhear the Crone whisper to Tinuna.


    ¡°Lord Klar, do you wish to eat?¡± asks Tinuna.


    ¡°No. I wish to continue with your, erm, growth.¡±


    Tinuna lifts her head. I follow her line of sight. The morning sun casts more than enough light on a pile of clothes, black from the ooze. Last night, a purification. Why isn¡¯t she drinking water?


    ¡°But, Lord,¡± hastens the Crone. ¡°What of the bodies?¡±


    Hands-on hips, I reply, ¡°Bodies?¡±


    She grimaces. ¡°Luda, Koria and Grolgia, Lord.¡±


    I collect my shock. ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°The twins packed them away in snow. They are in the shuttle, Lord. You didn¡¯t know? Didn¡¯t you say pack everything away?¡± The Crone glances with a cheeky smile at a now-sitting Tinuna.


    I have the perfect reply. ¡°Fetch them while I am busy with your mistress.¡± I grab Tinuna¡¯s hand and drag her deeper into the cave.


    ---


    ¡°When can we expect your return, Lord?¡± sends Solgia.


    ¡°Shortly.¡± My response is brief, as I am still busy with Tinuna.


    ¡°We have learnt that the bodies of your wives, Lord, are valuable. While Duzsia and Klaria were from assassination, Zergoa willed hers to dust. She commanded her nanorobots to consume her water. You could do the same to Luda and Koria¡¯s bodies.¡±


    I roll away from Tinuna. ¡°Return to your Crone. Tell her to do nothing with the bodies and wait for me.¡±


    Tinuna grabs and holds her clothes to her naked body as she retreats from my presence.


    ¡°Explain.¡±


    ¡°We have a milk mother feeding your sons. To cut a long story short, there were three. Two proved too weak. By imbibing Klaria¡¯s dust, your nanorobots transferred to her body, and now she feeds them alone. The transfer almost overwhelmed her because they still tried to fulfil their last order. It takes great will to command them to stop.¡±


    I remember Klaria¡¯s perfect dust heap, her clothes somehow tenting around and about the mound. Whereas Izga¡¯s arms held their fragile shape until they collapsed. If I can turn Luda and Koria¡¯s deaths into something else, perhaps their loss will mean something.


    ¡°We have lost Duzsia¡¯s dust, and you have found a use for Klaria¡¯s, including Izga¡¯s arms. What of Izga and Zergoa¡¯s dust?¡±


    There is a long pause before Solgia replies. ¡°We didn¡¯t think, Lord. Zergoa¡¯s dust should be at the bottom of the stake they tried to burn her at. Izga¡¯s body should still have spears piercing it in the pit she fell into, although her slayers trophied her armour. This suggests they didn¡¯t leave her body alone.¡± Solgia explains the path Izga took, followed by a description of the site of her death.


    I forgive her, explaining she has had much more important things to take care of.


    ---


    Three bodies with cloth over them are on one side of the cave, and the campfire is on the opposite side. A blackened pot swings from a tripod over the campfire, with one twin tending it. The other twin meets me before I can say a word, offering a bowl and spoon. I sweep my arm at her to fend off the offer.


    ¡°No, Lord. You must eat. The bodies are fine and can wait as we wrapped them in cured leather and stuffed them full of snow.¡± She chews a lip. ¡°They are still stiff, Lord.¡±


    I eat and walk. She follows while I leave the rest to chat, eat and warm themselves beside the campfire.


    I stare at the two full-height and one short body.


    ¡°Double layers, Lord. Close stitching. No seam from each layer together.¡±


    ¡°Free Luda¡¯s body first,¡± I mumble while pointing at the shorter of the three bundles.


    I appreciate Zeria¡¯s tenderness as she unwraps the first and then the second layer. Brushing down the ice, she places Luda¡¯s body on the waiting spread-out first layer. Her action makes sense now. I thought her intent was simply to dry out the leather.


    Does Zeria¡¯s contempt for goblins take a secondary place to earning my favour, or is this simply a transaction? She doesn¡¯t value Luda in terms of her race, but of her former position as my wife.


    Examining Luda¡¯s body reveals frozen fresh radiating from her neck and ankle. The deep, lasting finger depressions are a telltale mark. While I assume the twins packing of the bodies helped, the genuine agent of preservation had to be because of their cause of death. The freezing is an enduring state because of Diasha¡¯s nature. The re-freezing of the otherwise melting snow was a helpful side effect.


    I test each unwrapped corpse. My attempts to contact the nanorobots are a failure. Has Diasha destroyed them?


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.022 Homeward

<h2></h2>


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

 3.024 Spies or Assassins

    <h2>---Zorottor Black Tooth, Chief of Oath Keeper Goblins POV</h2>


    "Are you certain, Chief?" asks one of my two troopers.


    "Nothing is certain, but they need to have an open area near the river to dip the heads of the new believers, and the far bank is still close enough to the town and temple."


    "Shouldn''t we wait from across the couple of places we know?" asks the second, who occasionally twitches. He needs more, like the three of us.


    When on the mountain, we spied a couple of regular places, but there was always busy with other traffic. Groups tripping to the goblin''s village or town builders gathering mud from the river. Worse were the potters, who would test and test the river''s mud again.


    No, this is a good place. We can remain in deep cover because we are within easy earshot of a place suitable for a priestess to bless new believers. This spot is close to the mouth of the valley and conveniently near a heavy forest riddled with small animal game trails, the size of which is perfect for goblins.


    "No. We are closer to the old forest here. We will need a simple escape after swimming across the river with a priestess struggling against us."


    ---


    As one, we cock our ears and then peer through the thicket. Three Klugites, one giving orders, a Priestess, the other two seem to be maids or acolytes. However, their robes are finer than the usual lackeys. They busy themselves preparing a small table and laying a carpet of sorts leading to the river. One junior straightens suddenly and scans the river. For a moment, of course, she stares directly at us, but her eyes continue past.


    Maybe the wind is against us, and we smell after many days of waiting.


    I dismissed worrying about my stink and paid attention to our quarry. Tomorrow, we will lie in wait on the other side of the river. We have confirmed they prepare before a crowd of hopefuls joins them. This wasn''t always so clear from our mountain perch, or perhaps three people making preparations wasn''t as attention-grabbing as a crowd from far away.


    The three suddenly drop to their knees. The faces screw up in pain, and they strive with a desperate longing to crawl in fits and starts towards the river. All fail, the priestess finishing closest. Once alive and busy, their fine robes shift about their bodies because of a gentle breeze.


    "Somehow, they are finished and so close! Just over there," says my second. The anguish in his voice is plain, and I know we both feel the absurdity of the situation.


    The shapes are no longer bodies but clumps. Why can''t we simply stretch our hands out across the river?


    The snapping of branches and crushing of foliage draw our attention. Bursting out of nearby undergrowth is a huge four-legged beast. Massive hobgoblin-like tusks sprout from the top jaw of its maw. I gulp as I realise a goblin, let alone a head, would fit in the creature''s bite. Golden-brown fur with splashes of black decorate the beast''s muscular body. It nuzzles the two lesser ones first, its giant tongue licking out the contents of the robe, using one paw to keep the cloth in place.


    Next, the beast stands over the priestess. With her, our view is better. The beast drags open the robe. The body of flesh is gone. Small mounds of dust are all that remain: a head pile, a chest pile, arms, and legs. The beast appears crazed as it licks about the robe, even though I am sure no dust remains.


    Its ears flatten. We both hear the same thing. Worshippers are singing and chanting. A low growl, and the beast darts back into the undergrowth. As the worshippers round the path, we hear the beast break from the undergrowth and head downriver.


    I nudge both my troopers, and we follow on our side of the river. I hope the beast has swallowed whatever turned the Klugites into dust, and it then turns into dust. This is not my first witnessing of a hobgoblin turn to dust. We, Oath Keepers, remember when the curse struck down Duzsia the Relentless because we could not with weapons.


    A voice hisses at me during our heedless dash. One of my troopers.


    Looking back at him, my eyes follow what he is pointing at. A hide. Not any sort of hiding place, a goblin hiding place. There must be others spying on the Klugites.


    Shaking my head, I wave at him to continue the chase. He swivels his head from side to side. I tread lightly back to him.


    He whispers, "We must find them before they find us."


    I check with my other trooper, and he nods in agreement. I sigh.


    "Conceal in wait here. I will continue the chase." They open their mouths to protest, and I wave them down. "As soon as I find the beast''s lair, I will return. He will either survive and be gone far away, or the beast will be a pile of dust waiting for us."


    "Shouldn''t we be after blood?" asks a trooper.


    "Probably," I say. "But I need an explanation. The beast purposely laid in wait and then licked up every mote of dust. An animal doesn''t do that. An animal would have attacked and devoured the flesh."


    I catch up to the beast, which is now wading and dipping its maw into the river close to the far bank. Low growls and the rapid movement of arms, legs, and head reach a peak and then suddenly calm. The beast drags itself from the river and heaves itself onto the shore. Once there, the massive body of the beast collapses. It is an easy kill, only a wide river away.


    Remembering my two troopers, I sprint back to them.


    ---


    At dusk, two goblins in black leather armour sneak silently into the hide we watch over.


    "Has something died around here?" quips one.


    "Dead fish on the riverbank?" offers the second.


    Chuckles.


    "You sleep first. By our calculations, there should be a ceremony at dawn tomorrow."


    "We finally taking a hostage tomorrow?" asks the second.


    "Only if enough of us turn up for a grab."


    While overhearing this chat, there was no exchange of words between my troopers and me. This was our chance to eliminate a rival we didn''t know about.


    ---


    An almost impossible-to-hear flick of foliage is a signal for my troopers and a distraction for the goblin on watch.


    He scans the forest behind him and then settles back.


    Louder the next time.


    This game continues until he shifts from his lookout position over the river and creeps slowly towards the source of the noise. Just as he lays eyes on me, my second trooper slits his throat from a blindside and lowers his corpse gently to the ground. My other trooper slits the throat of the sleeping one.


    We feed and drink from their rations and then attend to personal business. Once we are all done, my troopers dress in their clothes and armour. We now must watch and sleep. I sleep rough in the undergrowth.


    ---


    We deal with four groups of two after dawn. They are tired from travelling and trust the watchers. So, when I draw them to me, my troopers slit their throats from behind. By mid-morning, we move out, and I lead my troopers to the still-prone form of the beast.


    We all share a glance to confirm what we see.


    <h2>---Zinia, daughter of Lord Torngul Heartsplitter POV</h2>


    I try to hang back and exercise caution, but Klugak''s goblin spies, former pets of Sakvorpa, hurry along as if their pants are on fire. They take the long way by following the river instead of dashing across the grass plains. Secrecy? Orders? Avoiding the chance to meet others? Perhaps I will ask them if I ever get the chance.


    At last, I identify a landmark I have memorised from my father''s map: the river ford, which leads to a walled goblin village. Nearby will be a waterfall.


    They surprise me by going away from the river just before the ford. The two goblins straddle the edge of the healthy tree and undergrowth beside the river and the beginnings of the grass plains. They don''t look back or stop in hiding to check if anyone follows them. I follow the signs they leave behind in their haste, the bent twigs and the occasional half-boot print. Everyone knows such hurried carelessness is unusual for goblins.


    I am small for a hobgoblin but not as small as the goblins I follow. So, I must force my way through some paths the goblins choose. This delay annoys me. They could quickly go into the usual goblin stealth mode and leave me stranded. I need to be better than this. Thalgora certainly is. As for Shaza, she has her place, but only in the comforts of town.


    By some weird chance, by the time I catch up to them, the two goblins I have been chasing face me. What saves me is they are confronting another broad, towering goblin who has their back to me. Their eyes fly open on spotting me, of course, and half mouth an alarm when two knives reach around them and slit their throats.


    I make myself small by sinking back, instead of falling or stumbling, into the undergrowth. Calling on every bit of my father''s good luck that they don''t hear me. I convince myself the bushwhackers are busy with the two bodies. Nothing to worry about, goblin hearing or not. I steady my breathing when I only want to scream and flee through the forest.


    The ambushers chatted, and I caught a couple of words. They sounded like reset and wait. I gather they expect more goblins to arrive but have already dealt with some. I quickly realised that the two I followed were simply another pair. A shiver runs down my spine.


    Am I finally out of my depth? All I wanted to do was talk to them. Confirm that Kreldak and his father were false. Prove to my father I could be helpful, not like Thalgora, but at least smart or perhaps clever.


    I backtrack as quietly and cautiously as my youthful body, full of nerves, permits. Father''s ever-present warning about goblin hearing rings in my ears.


    I should have moved off the path my two goblins took.


    Two new spies, I assume of Sakvorpa''s making but now loyal to Klugak, crash into me. Unknown to them, they hurry to meet their now-slain companions.


    We sit up and stare at each other, except they have daggers drawn while I am still fumbling for mine. I swallow and lift my eyes. The daughter of Torngul Heartsplitter will look death in the face. I jut out my chin, thoroughly preparing for my death.


    They exchange glances. This is my chance!


    "I can save your lives." I splutter out the words in a rush.


    They grin and twirl their daggers in their hands, a flick-like move faster than my eyes can follow. Are they going to impress me to death? Then they do the unexpected and sheath their daggers.


    "What is a genteel female hobgoblin doing, hiding in the wilds, far away from Hobgoblin Town?"


    The second slaps the chest of the first. "More importantly, how can you save our lives? Especially since we didn''t skewer you the moment after we drew our daggers?"


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    I wave a hand over my shoulder. "There is an ambush where you watch the river from."


    "Tie her up first."


    The second one nods. "Yep, let''s get comfortable."


    I drop my chin to my chest. Is this my fate? I back up on my bum to a sapling and hold my hands around it.


    "That''s better, isn''t it?"


    I nod. What else can I do?


    "Name?" asks the first.


    Do I ask them the same question? Do I lie? I breathe in deep. "Zinia."


    One of them chortles. "What? The Zinia?"


    Sorry, father. This will cost him a tremendous amount in trade goods or some sort of favour. Or my life. I nod, defeated.


    "Glad to meet you, lady. This here is Xoge, and I am Torax."


    "This is your lucky day! You are worth more alive than dead. You can''t say that about most hobgoblins. So how much does your father love you?" asks Xoge.


    Torax smiles with joy clearly in his heart. "In terms of goods, coins, or other substantial reward. You understand?"


    "I, I don''t know. I am the youngest of three. All his children are from different wives." I drop my bottom lip. Why did I babble? I drop my head as I feel a flush on my face.


    They chuckle. Their jest at my expense burns. They only stop when I raise my head and project as much pride as I can muster.


    The one called Torax approaches me with his dagger out. I keep my eyes open by fixating on his blade. I say to myself that I am the daughter of Torngul Heartsplitter, and I won''t die whimpering.


    My hands are free when he returns to stand beside Xoge, and they chuckle.


    "Don''t worry about us, dear. We are husband and wife and hope to have a child."


    I blink at Zoge. She has breasts!


    "I know they are small, but we have what we have."


    I stumble over some words, an apology. It makes little sense, yet they chuckle again at my attempt with kindness.


    Torax places a hand on my shoulder. "We owe you for saving our lives. We will know the size of that debt when we visit the ambush site."


    They share food and water with me and seem content to wait.


    ---


    Early afternoon, the goblin spies number six. The other four aren''t happy that Torax and Xoge protect me. They show remarkable restraint in not killing me, which I appreciate.


    They agree that the four new arrivals will approach their hide. Torax and Zoge will guard me.


    Shortly after, one returns, his face grim. I glance at Zoge and then Torax. They hustle me forward, and there are two naked and eight, clothed goblin corpses in front of the hide.


    "Well, she was right," says one of the four.


    Another one kicks a corpse. "Who is the leader now?"


    They all shake their heads. I glance towards Torax with my asking face. Just like I do with my father.


    He chuckles. "Explain to her why none of us wish to be leader."


    A third one answers, "You have to pretend to respect Klugak and during terrible meetings, Kreldak, when all you want to do is slit their throats."


    "Oh. Hmm, why couldn''t you slit their throats?" I ask.


    The second one lets out a hissing belly laugh. "That would be the simple part. The tough part, living afterwards."


    "No, I don''t think so." I would make my sister a widow, but I am confident father would find her another match.


    They question my response as one. I then explain that, as daughter to Lord Torngul, he has offered me the honour of commanding all goblins in Hobgoblin Town because of Sakvorpa''s demise. I had followed two spies to find out what Kreldak and his father were up to, as Kreldak swore to my father that he was in person spying on the Klugites.


    "No other hobgoblin clan wants us, do they?" asks one of them.


    "The spies, yes. The others, not so much."


    "You are looking at the last six," says Zoge.


    "No. I have found two pretending to be night cleaners, and I am certain there are more, but they don''t trust me. If you asked around, though, I am sure they would come forward."


    "So, you want us to rat them out? They seem to have the best of it, and I am sure they will simply disappear after a while."


    A goblin jumps in between us. The fourth one, that no one seemed to miss. "You all finished? I have been scouting while you have been chatting, and I have found the murders of our brothers and sisters. Three Oath Keepers."


    ---


    I am feeling undervalued as they park me downriver from the Oath Keepers, who are apparently watching something across the river.


    After a time, Zoge returns. "We killed two of them and wounded the third, who still got away. We suffered some cuts, but nothing life-threatening. They didn''t expect anyone, as they were all keeping watch across the river."


    "Yeah, they didn''t want to stay down! But removing their heads fixed them good!" The four share a laugh with backslapping, but even I sense them trying to blow off unease. They are assassins; they know how to slay, and even with surprise, their targets don''t all die instantly, and one even escapes.


    ---


    Zoge leads me to the ambush site. Blood is everywhere. They must have removed the headless corpses elsewhere, but the heads they hung from a nearby tree.


    Zoge taps my shoulder and points to a dark spot across the river.


    A mass of black is curled up in deep shadow. With concentration, I glimpse protruding tiny spears of black fur. The prominent upper tusks are easier to observe, warning everyone that death awaits them.


    Their singing conversation about me was about what to do. The Oath Keeper''s interest bordering on fanatical meant there had to be value, but what?


    "I will swim across."


    The chat dies an instant later.


    "I will swim across," I repeat.


    Zoge gently touches my shoulder. "You don''t have to do this, and in fact, I speak for all of us when I say that if you die, we will have no way out from under Kreldak."


    "I am no warrior or spy. I have brains and talk. Let me go talk to the beast."


    "How will you talk to it?" asks Torax.


    I shrug. This is my gamble. The beast across the river is in pain or recovering. Three fanatical Oath Keeper goblins would have no chance to slay it so that only leaves negotiation. They could only consider talking in this situation, surely. I only hope the beast doesn''t care which fanatic it meets.


    ---


    Once across, I busy myself by chipping and leveraging off pieces of black ooze with my dagger. Daylight must have hardened an outer layer. The ooze bubbled out once I broke through in places using my knife, like cracking open a hard, tart crust. Where I removed the crust, I combed out a pocket of black ooze underneath with my hands. A surge of ooze initially replaced what I removed; afterwards, a steady stream trickled out.


    By late afternoon, with sore muscles, I squat beside the beast, my body resting against its tummy. Hopefully, this is not a dire portent. I wish for a miracle instead.


    I heard the goblins quietly yell at me to return to them, but this was my chance. Either the beast would snack on me as a first meal on waking or be aware of how I helped. It seemed clear that the hard shell of ooze prevented the vast amount from escaping. The beast''s fur is the perfect binding agent, like straw used to make mud bricks. I would be instantly dead or wake up to find, at a minimum, a sympathetic beast.


    I cough myself awake. There is a strange taste flooding my mouth. I wipe my lips and almost scream. On the back of my hand, red blood contrasts against my green skin.


    Looking up, the cavernous maw of the beast hovers over my head. Red blood dripping from inside its mouth and over its lips.


    When I blink, the beast shuts its mouth and then pushes against my head with its massive head. I think I may be an inconvenience. Force him to take two bites to eat me.


    To say I am confused is an understatement. Communication? No other explanation makes sense. I concentrate. I am listening.


    "You have a companion?"


    "You lonely?" I reply.


    "She said wait, but many sunrises have passed, and I haven''t heard her in my head."


    "I can be your companion if we are equals. I will not command you, and you will not command me. We will do something as one or not at all. Do you understand?"


    "I used to be not so smart. When I first met her, I chewed off her legs. Food. She wasn''t happy and shared her blood with me like I have with you. Now I know I am smarter. If you want, I can also make you smart and strong."


    I glance at my legs and swallow. "How?"


    "Eating the dust of my former companion''s special people. We don''t need to kill them. Something else does."


    "Good to know. Do you think I could ride you across the river? I have some friends there that I need to show you to."


    I sense a healthy amusement through our link. "My previous companion would ride me amongst others like her, and they would cower and become her friends. This is a simple thing for me to do. Jump on."


    ---


    After a great deal of time, I eventually convinced them. Each of the wounded goblins permitted my Tiger to lick their wounds. As he promised me, their wounds and scratches looked to be healing before our eyes. With that simple gesture, my Tiger won them over to me.


    With the goblins scouting ahead, they tracked the surviving Oath Keeper to the Old Forest.


    "What do you want to do, Mistress?" asks Torax.


    Every time they address me that way, I am filled with joy. What''s better, they just addressed me that way, so I didn''t have to ask.


    "Leave him to sulk about in the forest. We need to see if we can hunt for something better."


    ---


    We became marauders. Nothing and no one entered Hobgoblin Town Valley without coming under our scrutiny. They had to take the trail between the forest and the mountain if they didn''t know the paths through the Old Forest. Even this method required them to march in a single file occasionally. Especially anyone with packs of goods or pack animals.


    Klugite refugees sought their new Temple. Apart from typical goods and chattels, they also carried urns of their dead relatives. Some of them my Tiger would ignore, others he insisted I take. He explained that some didn''t smell of his past companion''s blood, but others did. I claimed one he ignored and compared it to the one urn he took. The one he ignored contained the ashes of the relative. The urn he kept contained dust. We took them all from then on. No point signalling to those who didn''t know there was a difference.


    I wasn''t na?ve. Each hold-up meant one more complaint to the High Priestess of Klug. Adding to our angst was the fact that my Tiger refused to fight the groups of priestesses and guards sent to catch us. They were her previous companion''s friends, was all he said. We kept on the Grass Plains side of the river to avoid the worst patrols. This resulted in more pilgrims reaching the Temple without meeting us.


    ---


    "Is our fun over, Mistress?" asks Zoge.


    "Yes, I think so. We need to return to Hobgoblin Town anyway and announce you and the others are now under my protection."


    As we enter the Grassplains, Tiger lifts his head. After a moment, he sharply veers off towards the river. Zoge runs to collect the others who still scout ahead.


    The river tree line is in view shortly after leaving our goblins behind. Then we are through. Tiger leaps into the river with me on his back and swims towards the other bank. I don''t know what has taken him over, and while I agreed we would be partners in all decisions, this one ran to the heart of everything for him. I found in his mind an unbreakable determination.


    I clung to his back with an unbreakable grip.


    As we made the opposite bank, a gaggle of singing and chanting worshippers of Klug emerged on the trail leading to this opening near the river.


    "Gather the dust Zinia, my companion, from each of my former companion''s people. Hurry while I scare these interlopers away."


    Three robes lay near the river''s edge as if stretching out to reach the impossible. The generous sleeves act as arms, the bottom of the robe, and legs. I open the closet and find, as Tiger said, dust. The easiest way to collect this bounty is to grab the ends of the robe and gather them into a bag. I repeat this twice more.


    "I am ready." Our range had increased as time raced by.


    Tiger is not in the clearing, and I wondered if I contacted him when he lopes around the bend from which the parade of worshippers had come. At least two arrows are sticking out of his chest, while another is deep in his rump.


    "Someone injured you!" I scream. I can feel the tears welling up in me. This isn''t supposed to happen.


    He draws up before me. I tug at the arrows in his chest. When they come away, he bleeds.


    "Mount, we must go back. Now!"


    I slide onto his back. Running towards us, rounding the bend, are several hobgoblin warriors waving swords.


    Tiger fearlessly leaps into the river and paddles. Several arrows fall around us. A couple strikes him, and he growls. Halfway across, he allows us to float downstream. During this time, I withdraw the arrows I can reach. In a state of disbelief, I feel his strength return. This is a thing, a tangible occurrence. The water! Tiger would always drink deeply after any fighting, not that there was much. His presence would intimidate most pilgrims.


    He reaches on our side after a second burst of energy. Instead of gathering himself, he lopes back upstream. Our goblins are releasing arrows at a growing number of Klugite warriors.


    "Away!" I scream at them and notice several limping and carrying wounds. Tiger''s presence diverts most of the arrow flights away from them and at us.


    We are through the tree line when we pause. Two goblins tend to Tiger, pulling arrows from him while he licks their wounds. I slide from his back, and everything fades to black.


    ---


    To the amusement of my goblins, I wake to Tiger licking an arse cheek. In all the excitement, I didn''t realise an arrow had struck me.


    Torax runs from the river, shouting and screaming. Behind him, charging through the tree line, are several Klugite hobgoblin warriors.


    "To the Old Forest, any way you can!"


    "Can we pick up Torax? He may not escape otherwise?"


    His muscles undulate under me as he lopes off toward Torax. This has the unintended consequence of causing the chasing Klugites to slow up. None want to be the first to die facing a giant beast. That break allows us to pick up Torax and make our escape.


    ---


    We reunite under the dark green eaves of the Old Forest. The first thing Tiger says is we must find water. From studying my father''s maps, I know the river that flows past Lord Klar''s village empties into the Old Forest after passing Clan Greenfriend''s plentiful orchards.


    I promise all the goblins we will rest once we reach the river.


    After several days, the broad, shallow river, like a shining blade, comes into view. Round stones of all sizes form its riverbed, unlike the sand and mud of the river running by the Temple of Klug. During this period, I commit the names of my other goblins to memory.


    We stroll into the Old Forest, using the river as a path. The chat between my goblins picks up, and jokes and laughter return. A generous clearing opens ahead of us, which they dash towards, each picking a place. Beyond this idyllic place, the river narrows, and the current picks up.


    The goblins encamp, even starting a small fire at the bottom of a fire pit they dug for that purpose. I wash out an urn previously used to hold ashes and pour in the dust I collected in the robes. Then, Tiger and I partially wade into the river at his urging.


    "You must swallow the dust from the three. But be aware they will only listen to you if you are strong and take command of them. When you do, they will strengthen you, make you faster and smarter."


    I nod. Is this what happened to Tiger? Will my body ooze black? Be strong, I admonish myself!


    I take a mouthful and then wash the dry, fine dust down with river water. This continues until the urn is empty. My need for water rises rapidly, and I fill the urn and drink deep. My thirst dominates my mind. I can''t think of anything else, but I must. What did Tiger say?


    Strength. Command them.


    I am familiar with them, from what Tiger shared with me. Nanorobots are their name. They thirst, and I must satisfy them and guzzle down another urn of water. Through this haze, Tiger''s growl reminds me of his advice.


    "Stop!" I force my will on them like I have done when Shaza, as an older sister, would tease me. I would take to her with my fists, then scream at her. When Thalgora would beat me and, as futile as it was every time, still strike out at her, only to endure her fading laughter. I scream at these nanorobots and find a sense of peace as I swallow another urn of water. A dizziness besets me as my legs fail.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.025 Points of View

    <h2>---Voria, Swordbearer of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I observe from a tree¡¯s thick, comfortable branch. I am also confident the clearing under my gaze was the one where Zergoa dusted her body, and Izga fell into a pit to her death. Solgia drew a detailed map of the location and a rough map of the way here. The effort his scribe devoted to the task was a clear sign that Lord Klar didn¡¯t want any misunderstanding.


    How Solgia gleaned such exact details, I put down to their wife bonding. Zergoa and Izga would be the sole witnesses to this detail, and they are dead. But then, he convinced me to drink the dust from one of his concubines, a Grolgia, on the promise of improved martial skills. During the black ooze cleansing, I insisted he sweeten the deal. He would also tumble with me between the sheets. Whatever the dust was, I figured his seed would be an absolute improvement. Something I needed if I was once again to challenge Vorlora in our practice sessions. The whelp had become the expert on her return. The sole explanation would be his seed. Yet when? Her improvement was noticeable before he returned.


    Once again, my eyes follow the edge of the pit to the stake which once restrained Zergoa¡¯s body. There is no pile of dust. In the pit, broken stakes and trails of dried black blood on them remain, but no suspended corpse. On the non-pit side of the stake, half-burnt, half-consumed hobgoblin bodies rot, their stink wafting across me occasionally depending on the direction and strength of the wind. Further away, gnawed arms and legs litter the clearing, some down to the bone. All bulky and masculine, none are slim or lithe, like his Izga.


    Nothing has changed all morning¡­


    As I climb down the tree, I can¡¯t shake the feeling that someone deliberately dug the pit to be visible from this absolute best position on the branch. If that¡¯s the case, it¡¯s easy to deduce the pit was one aspect of a planned ambush. Zergoa was the bait. Izga was the actual prize. Given this deliberate effort, I imagine Lord Klar¡¯s foes desperately wanted the assassin dead.


    Tearing a strip of cloth from my bedroll, I wet it using water from my waterskin. I tie this around my head and across my nose. I recover my spear from under some leaves at the base of the tree and approach the pile of dead. Dropping to my haunches, I half hide behind the half-burnt and rotting mound of flesh. I scan the clearing. Pure chill stillness.


    If someone had once carefully stacked the corpses around the stake, they were no longer in that state. Now face to face with the mound, I could imagine predators pulling at arms and legs to spread the bodies and dismember others. Over them all hangs the familiar perfume of death and decay, although my mask saves me from the worst.


    He insisted I inspect every corpse, every scattered limb until I found Izga¡¯s corpse or could swear on my life she wasn¡¯t still there. The spearhead punctures the first corpse I stab, gently rocking it. Pulling the spear out destroys the chest cavity. After a quick visit to the surrounding forest, I try again. The spearhead now impales a branch to serve as a crosspiece. I push at the bodies to spread the pile. Not long after, Izga¡¯s half-burnt, naked body stares back at me. Her lifeless eyes, haunting, an overall gruesome visage. The former beauty of death-dealing, impotent. The lack of skin tone and colour is the most startling.


    I grab her by the feet to drag her body from the pile. Her corpse held itself together long enough until I had her on the piece of leather Solgia had presented to me for this purpose. As instructed by the Head Scribe, I remove one of the two vambraces she insisted I equip from my forearm and place the piece of armour upon Izga¡¯s rotting flesh between her modest breasts.


    Solgia instructed me to wait. Mysteriously, she said I would discover when I could leave.


    I set some small traps along a nearby game trail in case my wait became days. The rain had washed any tracks round, so I couldn¡¯t reckon what animal I would feast on. The main path crosses the trail, so I check before entering the open. One direction leads further along a mountain trail, the other back to the clearing. A quick dash and I would be across and setting another trap line.


    A small half a boot impression in the now firm, drying mud pointing away from the stake stops me. I find another. Then, several more. Tracks. Each partial boot imprint is sharp. Either goblin or hobgoblin child, I conclude. Somehow, I suspect this trail is significant. The next boot imprint is further along, but thankfully, it is still on the main path.


    A pain stabbing the bone of my forearm drops me to my knees. Tears spring from my eyes. Then, the pain retreats. I scan the length of the path. Nothing. Next, I survey the brush on either side. Again, nothing, but a gentle breeze rustles the leaves. I rise to my feet and cautiously take another step.


    Several more steps and I am again grabbing at my arm. This is an attack from within. Lord Klar¡¯s nanorobots. I push myself from the ground and stumble before regaining my feet. I peer ahead along the path and shift the vambrace covering my forearm to massage some relief. If pain lies ahead, maybe returning to the clearing will be without pain.


    ---


    As I skirt around the scattered corpses in the clearing and approach the tree, I panic. Izga¡¯s corpse is no longer there! Standing above the leather sheet, I don¡¯t trust my eyes. The remaining parts of Izga¡¯s body vanish as I watch, leaving only dust. Separate piles for her limbs, torso and head.


    At my belt, I finger the fine, small, soft leather bag Solgia also insisted I take.


    The bag does much to connect the pieces of this puzzle. I received Grolgia¡¯s dust in a bag. The scribe handed me the single-body-length leather sheet and an empty leather bag. At my feet, Izga¡¯s dust waits.


    Is this reclaiming? Or harvesting? I hope for simple honouring, but deep down, I suspect this is Lord Klar recovering what is his.


    Whatever happened while away, Lord Klar is more focused since his return. More ruthless.


    With reverence, I sweep the dust into Solgia¡¯s bag using the small brush I find inside the bag. Izga¡¯s dust fills the bag, whereas Grolgia¡¯s dust is half as much. I test the weight by tossing the bag in my hand and decide that Izga¡¯s dust weight measures her former prowess. This suggests that when my time arrives, mine will be pitiful, yet I hope I will outshine Grolgia¡¯s.


    Does the wife enjoy twice the advantage of a concubine? What would the dust pile size be for an ally who sometimes asks for favours? This definition of wife, concubine and ally differs from what everyone else sees, of course. To everyone, Thalgora was Lord Klar¡¯s wife before and after childbirth, yet after childbirth, she was more. She could command his seed. Like Luda and Duzsia, they were concubines to everyone else, but they commanded his seed. True wives.


    I retrieve the piece of armour from the leather sheet and bind it to my right forearm. Solgia was adamant that both pieces were necessary, and, on my life, I would always wear one. But needed to return both.


    As I climb to my feet, I endure a stinging sensation under Solgia¡¯s armour. I curse under my breath. Again, I have done wrong again somehow! I drop to my bottom and reach for the bindings. These are coming off. She didn¡¯t say I had to equip them once I collected the dust. Then I overhear them.


    ¡°The Grandmaster said to follow his tracks to find a path that leads to a pit.¡±


    ¡°But there is another set.¡±


    A weasel-like voice adds, ¡°Fresh, they turned back.¡±


    ¡°The stench,¡± gripes another.


    ¡°My fellows,¡± the first voice asks, ¡°What does this suggest?¡±


    ¡°Someone has already searched through the pile of corpses for something,¡± answers the second.


    I ease myself deeper into the surrounding forest, ensuring the tree trunk blocks their view in this direction as much as possible. Before they disperse about the clearing, I need to balance haste with stealth while staying undercover.


    While the voice alone isn¡¯t conclusive, they seem to be goblins. Goblins aren¡¯t always deadly when alone, although Luda comes to mind. They can be dangerous when a pack works together. Their caution should assist me in escaping, but that same caution shows that if they find me, I will be in a fight for my life.


    ¡°Over here,¡± hisses one of them. I bless Lord Klar and his advice to improve my hearing.


    ¡°The coincidence is too great,¡± says voice one. ¡°We catch our thief and will find what the Grandmaster commanded us to find.¡±


    The weasel-like voice speaks again. ¡°Remember what he said to us? He had a hunch! We travel together. Perhaps they do!¡±


    ¡°Quiet. Remember, the tracks were fresh. Our thief may be closer than we presume.¡±


    The third voice speaks up again. ¡°A hobgoblin, though. We need to flush them out. One of us should return and send word to the other searchers. We should be able to find her tracks by then and use them to seal the trap.¡±


    ¡°Do you really suspect it is a female?¡± The excitement in Weasel¡¯s voice doesn¡¯t bode well for me.


    ¡°Think with your head, not your pecker,¡± scoffs the third voice. ¡°We aren¡¯t sharing the reward, so let¡¯s go get it.¡±


    Their voices are easier to overhear, which suggests they are closing in while exploring the clearing. Before long, they will discover the drag marks from Izga¡¯s body. I continue scurrying away, relying on my hearing to avoid them.


    ---


    The clunk and tumble of rocks nearby suggest they are closing in on my position. For now, my use of the stones for my trespass has diverted them from my trail. But even blind searching will eventually circle back to improbable places. They will search the top of the big rock, which I lay on out of frustration, if for no other reason.


    At dusk, two climb over rocks and leap for handholds. My height made this part more effortless for me. But I gain a sense of their determination as their bellies scrape as they clamber up. A sharp pain stings my left forearm. The meaning becomes apparent as a goblin¡¯s face appears from that direction. He glances over his shoulder, and I hear the hiss of him drawing a deep breath.


    My spear is finally in position, and I stab. A fading gurgle signals his retreat. His words of triumph or discovery dying with him.


    A sharp pain stings the top of my right forearm. I don¡¯t hesitate and swing my spear across, ready to stab. Another goblin¡¯s face appears, and my spear point penetrates his eye. Jiggling him off the tip of my spear, his body falls back from my rock.


    ¡°I told you. Didn¡¯t I tell you? We should have told the others!¡±


    ¡°Shut up and climb the rock!¡±


    ¡°A single hobgoblin, you certain we can take her. Tell that to them two.¡±


    I hear a slap. ¡°We can be heroes. Climb! She can¡¯t cover both directions at once. Maybe you will find some luck.¡±


    A sting to my left forearm, and he receives a spear point in his mouth and out the back of his head.


    ¡°Bitch!¡± A rock sails over the boulder. Then, one flies high, and I must shift to one side to avoid being struck. The bang on the boulder is loud as it careens away. ¡°Stay where you are until I return. Otherwise, if we need to hunt you down to find you, you will discover the meaning of pain.¡±


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    I blink. He must expect that threat to work. Why? I slide down the side of the rock, and as I am about to land, a painful sting stabs at my forearm. Sword? Spear? I spin to shield the wound. An arrow strikes the rock where my body had otherwise been. I crouch, and another arrow strikes the rock above me.


    ¡°No hobgoblin bitch can be that lucky. What are you? Stay still so I can slaughter you!¡±


    My forearm doesn¡¯t bleed, but I comprehend the need for that level of pain. My reaction had to be instantaneous. Do I have someone or something watching over me? Vorlora once attempted to talk to me about something similar. I didn¡¯t listen; instead, I trusted her directions when Jarlgren¡¯s hunters attacked us, and we ambushed them. Her instinct then seemed miraculous.


    ---


    Small pins of pain guided me, and after taking a wide, stealthy arc, I was well away from my one attacker and most likely every other goblin search party combing this part of the mountains. The forest is ancient. Large tree trunks, no animal spoor and game trails, no cold campfires, or rough shelters. The snowline beckoned within reach if I wanted to scratch that off the list. I had a more significant worry.


    I stood in the clearing, waiting until dusk. Why? The faith of a fool. Whoever or whatever guided me here was no longer doing so. I had wasted daylight before I reached the now obvious conclusion I was once again on my own.


    First things first, shelter. Fishing out the leather sheet from my backpack, I tied three corners to different trees, leaving the fourth loose as a door or wall. The floor consisted of damp leaves and brush. Leaning against the point tree, I chew on tack, dreaming of what my trap line may have caught and the taste of the cooked game. Instead, I haunch over, trying to keep every pocket of warmth while nibbling at trail food and not allowing doubt to creep into my mind.


    A distant rumble draws me out of my makeshift shelter. Trembling ground makes me study the snowline. The wall of white racing down from above makes my blood run cold. I know you can¡¯t outrun an avalanche. I need a cave, or a sheer drop, to press my body against. Searching my memory, I remember one possibility and sprint off backtracking. I call on Lord Klar¡¯s seed to sustain me, to enhance what little natural light remains of the day as it struggles to penetrate the sparse tree canopy.


    The noise from the rumbling grows deafening, branches of leaves grab me, bare branches stab at me, and yet my life depends on me winning this race. No! I have descended too far! I race back towards the plummeting snow. I can see the wall of white before me and crash my way through the brush, separating me from certain death and the possibility of survival. Leading snow splatters against my legs, heavier lumps strike my chest, and I dive towards the sheer face of stone. In my heart, I hope this boulder is the largest in existence. The part I squeeze my body against is a small part of a larger, firm, immobile whole.


    The snow deafens me. Placing my hands over my ears doesn¡¯t seem to ease the assault, but I hope it does. For the first time, I curse my improved hearing. I swear I scream my lungs out and yet hear none of it. Snow piles up in front of me, and the backfill encroaches on my sanctuary with every passing moment. Snow surrounds me as the rumble dies down, yet my chest has room to expand and contract. I dig and push the snow behind me, filling up my space to start a tunnel.


    Snowmelt is my enemy. Leather, furs, armour, and boots would usually keep me warm for an expedition like this. Yet, water always finds the path of least resistance. As I dig, I shiver. My body cools, and then I suffer the cold assaulting my core. My arms ache. I wonder how much more snow is between me and freedom.


    Is this my end? A tomb of snow? I need warmth and energy. Lord Klar¡¯s nanorobots are my sole hope. I inwardly scream at them and then shut my eyes in surrender.


    <h2>---Zinia, daughter of Lord Torngul Heartsplitter POV</h2>


    Tiger¡¯s rough tongue on my skin and an outpouring of his amusement flooding my mind wake me from my slumber. I spin my body. My flailing arms splash up the water. I blacked out. For how long? Chill water and a cooling breeze caress my skin and my proud, stiff nipples. I realise with horror this feeling is everywhere because I am naked.


    ¡°Your clothes are on the shore. I asked your goblins to remove them.¡±


    ¡°Who? All of them?¡±


    He deliberately pauses before answering. He teases, just like my sister. ¡°The one you call Zoge did.¡±


    As if waiting, Zoge appears and assists with my shirt first and then loin cloth. The other goblins, though, don¡¯t pay me any attention. I dress and thank her.


    ¡°What now, Tiger?¡±


    ¡°We do the same for your goblins. The dust in the urns smells of her and will be good for them.¡±


    I spare a glance at them and wonder if they will doubt like me. I fear the consequences. While contemplating, the goblins shout out in alarm. Without considering the possibility of danger, I sprint to the back of the clearing. The soft padding of Tiger¡¯s paws on the ground tells me he is gaining on me. As he passes, I grab his fur and swing onto his back. What did I just do? Tiger¡¯s happy, approving laugh floods my mind.


    My goblins surround a pair of black leather-clad goblins when we arrive. I notice, as do we all, I suspect, the full, heavy sacks over their shoulders.


    ¡°I only need one of you to talk.¡± On cue, Tiger opens his maw.


    They share a glance, and somehow, they decide which will talk.


    ¡°We are couriers, no more.¡±


    Their armour is of excellent quality. I am confident their daggers will be as well, considering the crafting of the pommels.


    ¡°Leave the sacks and step back.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t. It would mean our lives.¡± I suspect his eyes dart about, searching for someone else to speak up.


    ¡°Now or later, your choice.¡± Tiger licks about his maw and unleashes a low growl at them.


    They lower the sacks to the ground and step back. Two of mine steps forward to remove them.


    ¡°Now, who are you two, really?¡±


    ¡°Couriers working for Clan Quickeyed, we swear.¡±


    ¡°How is Clan Head Durlarg these days?¡± I ask.


    Again, they share a glance. ¡°How would we know? He doesn¡¯t talk to the likes of us.¡±


    ¡°As he shouldn¡¯t. Because you are liars. Now, for the last time, who do you work for?¡±


    My goblins prepare. Tiger stretches out.


    A skilled shift and our quests are back-to-back with their finely crafted daggers ready.


    ¡°One or more of you will die with us,¡± they growl.


    My goblins feint towards them to gain their attention. Evaluating the skills of the opposition. They snipe back with dagger thrusts. Tiger leaps and lands on both couriers, smashing them into the ground.


    Both couriers remain prone and silent.


    The tallest of my goblins, Hogaz, explained that the two couriers strolled into the clearing, their startled faces proof they didn¡¯t expect others to be there. By the time they realised their mistake, Zedor and Zageg, searching for kindling, returned and blocked their escape. Weighed down with sacks, they could leave them and bolt or try to bluff their way to freedom.


    I order the couriers to be stripped of weapons and armour and their bodies buried.


    The offer of dust needed to be next. Tiger must have sensed my concern, given his quick solution. I explained the risk and the reward. Each chooses to try. Between the haul of urns we had taken and the number in the sacks, my goblins had plenty to choose from. Tiger sniffed out equal measures of quality. This usually needed two urns, although other choices had three urns and one required four.


    One at a time, they each lounged naked in the stream and swallowed the dust.


    The dust consumed Zageg and Zedor; the others never mentioned them again. There was no reminiscing or campfire tales. I realised the assassin trade was about death, and they lived to the full while alive and didn¡¯t mourn any loss.


    This meant that Tenagor, Hogaz, Zoge and Torax survived. They each shed an equal amount of ooze; their amounts were small compared to Tiger and mine. As quickly as they recovered, they tested themselves against each other, taking turns teaching me the basics of dagger fighting. They wanted me to at least be able to defend myself until they could save me.


    The physical workout accomplished several things. My goblins felt they contributed back to me, half a game, half serious. I practised talking to Tiger while under pressure and at a distance. Each day, we would be further apart. Finally, I needed the distraction. The sacks contained sealed containers of dust. This showed that others were aware of and actively harvested and used this source of power. Since they didn¡¯t partake of the dust themselves, they either feared the one who sent them or didn¡¯t grasp the value of what they carried.


    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°Husband, the abomination will shortly be on us.¡±


    ¡°Calm, Klaria, explain,¡± I send to her.


    ¡°Voria retrieved Izga¡¯s corpse and, as you predicted, I could, after a time, issue a single command to her nanorobots. Voria swept Izga¡¯s dust into the leather bag, but a search party of goblins appeared before she could leave. Lord, their mission was to search for Izga¡¯s corpse as well. Overhearing their conversation, it would seem one of their kind must have taken and survived the consumption of Zergoa¡¯s dust.¡±


    ¡°The abomination, Klaria.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. I guided Voria into the high mountains to escape the goblin search parties until just below the snow line. A snow churn is the best way I can describe it. It travelled across the top of the mountain, driving closer and closer. It had to be her. I feared my presence would reveal Voria¡¯s location, so I left her, Lord. Alone.¡±


    ¡°The distance¡­¡±


    ¡°A gamble. The worst that could happen was I¡¯d be called to the light. The best, well, you know the best, I am reporting. But I am certain my presence with Voria would have doomed her, and the abomination would have consumed Izga¡¯s dust.¡±


    I state the obvious. ¡°Indeed, this would surely make her more powerful. You have my thanks, wife. I will be certain to reward you in your next lived life.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Lord. I must regenerate and will return when I am restored.¡±


    ¡°Well, Lord,¡± asks Solgia.


    ¡°Well, what?¡± I reply as I grab her by the waist and swing her around, much to the worry of her two scribe underlings.


    She whispers, ¡°Which wife were you chatting to?¡±


    ¡°Who can we trust to send into the mountains to rescue Voria?¡±


    ¡°Non-wives?¡± she asks, and I nod.


    ¡°Non-concubines?¡± I nod again.


    Her face sours before brightening. ¡°Gorgrin and perhaps the rare huntress or two you haven¡¯t quickened with child.¡±


    ¡°The village can spare him?¡±


    She snickers. ¡°His hunting parties aren¡¯t as nibble with bellies full of arms and legs, so he spends much time with a female who adores him. Since she is with child, I am certain he would be underfoot by now and eager to escape.¡±


    ¡°They are goblin assassins. Who else can we send with them?¡±


    ¡°Vorlora. Duzsia can travel with her. Her presence shouldn¡¯t be an issue, as the abomination has passed. If we are mistaken, she must return to the village.¡±


    ¡°What if they¡¯re too deep, too west?¡± I ask.


    ¡°She will return to the light and await her next summons.¡±


    ¡°Lord?¡± asks a timid voice.


    I wheel about to face both scribes to find one trying to silence the other by force, covering their mouth. Under my gaze, the game stops.


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t know what she asks for,¡± says Tigliga, the shorter but older sister.


    ¡°I am of age now, sister, and can speak for myself.¡± She pokes her tongue at her sister and then faces me. ¡°Lord, I volunteer to travel with Gorgrin. Since consuming dust, I shouldn¡¯t be a burden, and I can make a record of what happens. A map, like Solgia scribed.¡±


    I am sure I show her my best father¡¯s kind face as I approach her. She guesses my answer before I speak and bolts down the rope ladder.


    ¡°Since she consumed dust, Lord, she dreams of being more. Instead of accepting her modest fortune and safe position as a scribe in your service.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Tigliga. I suspected it was something I said.¡± I chuckle at my joke. The humour dies in their blank looks. As I cough to break the silence, they both roar in laughter at me. ¡°I sense mischief!¡± I grouse.


    ¡°We have been waiting for the opportunity, Lord,¡± says Solgia. ¡°It¡¯s a pity Shiliga missed out.¡±


    ¡°Next time,¡± I say.


    <h2>---Zorottor Black Tooth, Chief of Oath Keeper Goblins POV</h2>


    My skin itches, and I have the scratches to prove it. The twitches seem constant. Worse, I must activate my nanorobots, as they all go dormant after an ever-shortening period of activity. Because of the Oath Keeper training, I surmise. The crones taught all to purify our blood and then command our nanorobots to sleep. Years of such practice and the state became involuntary, like breathing. There is no other explanation. Instead of nanorobots restoring my body during sleep, they go dormant, much to my frustration.


    Does this explain the losses? There is no overnight rebuilding, so perhaps.


    It was another dawn, yet under the heavy canopy of the forest, this state was subtle, more like less dark. My eyes are a blessing as they permit me to continue my search for a way out. The forest and the game trails always offered hope of escape, yet the Criss Cross nature confuses.


    The braying of a beast and its evident pain shatters the forest¡¯s muted chitter. I must be near the forest¡¯s outskirts, yet I can¡¯t head straight towards the noise. The forest doesn¡¯t provide direct routes.


    Moving swiftly back and forth, getting closer and then farther away on the game trails, there was a moment when the braying stopped. I took a long breath to prevent tears. I guessed for a while. Then, their shouting guided me.


    ---


    The smell of smoke from their campfire finally saved me from the forest. I took a chance on the smallest game trails. The thorns, stabbing from twigs, cursing¡ªnow all worth it. The night sky replaced the forest canopy.


    I lick my dry lips and try to swallow saliva, which isn¡¯t there. Thirst and then hunger. Not far behind them two are nanorobots. With those thoughts propelling me forward, I try to maintain all the guile and stealth goblins are renowned for as I sneak forward towards my saviour¡¯s camp.


    Hobgoblins. No goblins on watch. Good, I have a chance then.


    ---


    A waterskin and cold leftovers are within reach, yet nanorobots dominate my priorities. This makes little sense to me; however, my body rebels. I can narrowly avoid sneaking in a straight line to a specific tent. An unknown scent attracts me and drives me onwards. I berate my foolhardy thoughts and have enough strength of will to insist on patience. A direct approach would guarantee discovery, and I frequently pause to counsel caution at myself to avoid losing everything.


    Easing my body under the flap of a tent, the smell drives me ever onwards. An insatiable consumption to quench. A single prone body, under covers. Female hobgoblin.


    My jaws are ripping at her throat. Civilisation has left me; raw animal need is on me. I drink deeply as her heart continues to pump her blood. I try to saviour my reward. But her blood cannot sate my need. How can that be? The scent is here. What have I missed?


    I rip away the covers from her bedroll.


    My eyes skim over her youthful nakedness and fix on a long, narrow wooden shape resting in the crook of her arm. My nostrils fill with the sweet scent as I lunge forward to claim what I need. Ripping the top off, I upend the container and pour the contents down my throat. Then I gag. So dry. A water skin is within reach, and I gulp down the water. I repeat this cycle until the container is empty.


    I swiftly scan the contents of the tent. Then dizziness, followed by a darkness, overtakes me.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.026 The Abomination

    <h2>---Voria, Sword bearer of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    A crackling sound reverberates through my body, reviving me. I can''t be dead since I can hear, although darkness surrounds me. Am I in the void, the after place I once overheard his wives whisper about? I am warm, and my arms are strong and energised instead of cold and wet, which is welcomed. I draw in a deep breath.


    Not in the void, then. I''m still trapped under the avalanche.


    The snow about me snaps and contorts. The surrounding softness hardens. In an instant, ice replaces snow. How? I hear the stamping of a heavy footfall. I bite the inside of my cheek to stifle my scream. What now?


    I endure as I try to eavesdrop on a one-sided conversation. The confidence of the feminine voice dominates a fearful masculine voice.


    The conversation ceases with a whimper of pain.


    "Excellent!" A single celebratory word, the feminine voice, speaks out clearly and firmly.


    "Lord Klar," the same voice screams. ¡°I will continue to free you from your wives! The secret is to sever their bond, to release you from their selfish interest until I alone will be your last one.¡± While the words were loud, I felt, to my dismay, the speaker standing nearby¡ªa presence. I released my breath, my shout for rescue dying on my lips. Death hovers over me, I am sure.


    "Good. Perfect. I am certain they will charge at me through the snow. What will they do when the snow they wade through becomes ice? Stay to have their bond severed or break free to slip and slide down the icy slope." Her laughter rings in my ears, and after a time fades, because of the growing separation of distance, I hope.


    Freeing my dagger, I strike the ice above me and chip off a small piece. That direction offers no quick escape. I slide back down my former snow tunnel, now ice, with an impenetrable roof. At a certain point, the distinction between snow and ice becomes unclear. I dig there, sweeping the mush behind me. The mush compacts the snow it lands on. This makes room for more.


    At some stage, the dark turns to light. I can only assume dawn is arriving. With a muted hope in my heart, I stab at the ice above with my dagger. Penetration. Another strike, and I break through. Several more thrusts and I make the hole big enough to fit through. The bright rays of the morning sun warm my cheeks. Lord Klar''s or, more precisely, Grolgia''s nanorobots have kept me dry, strong, and warm all this time, but nothing beats the comfort of sunshine and a breeze blowing through your hair.


    My eyes open wide in shock. I am on the edge of chaos.


    As I check downhill, the amount of ice continues, although eventually becomes snow. On the up slope, you can see ice and a bare mountain peak. Snow has destroyed and torn a gash through the ancient forest that once clung to the mountainside. Equally disturbing is the single dark imperfection within the sheet of ice. As I squint, I take in a sharp breath.


    A goblin''s head and torso are visible, protruding from the ice.


    <h2>---Diasha Talop, Engineer and Navigation Officer of the GPA Scout Ship POV</h2>


    With a final exhausting gasp, I grab at the snow. Plunging my hands in the pure white chill of slush is a relief and a lifesaver. Mine.


    Snow is my natural habitat. Deep down and within, I realise this now. In my hubris, the engineer in me experimented, gathered data, and then worked through calculations. Cold loss varies with the time of day and night. What number of rest periods and for what length would be required to reabsorb moisture from the warmer air of the valley? Freeze it to replenish what I lost. A challenging energy equation with ever-shifting variables for air temperature, humidity, cloud cover, sunlight, etc.


    But my revenge is reality, and venturing below the snowline will always be a net energy loss equation. At best, as now in a colder season, an intolerable slow pace, with extreme vulnerability, I conclude. I can see Lord Klar and his wives picking at me. Delaying my return to the snowline until I am no more from the sun beating me down and the warm air sapping away my strength and power. Learning this lesson now is enlightening and humbling.


    I flop onto my back and stare across this accursed valley. My Lord Klar and his false wives are here. I mean to find them and draw them into my environment. After all, I chuckle. I can''t expect them to take me with them like they did when they thoughtfully programmed the second shuttle to follow the first. No cargo bay door, a blatant invitation. How could I say no?


    ---


    Staring skywards while my body lays deep in the snow, recovering from my foolishness, I discern the spirit link of one of his wives. A thin, water-like ribbon ebbs and flows, stretching from the sky to the ground. He is on the move. Linmere or Tinuna must have granted him control of the shuttles. Choosing to rest and recover, I continue to study the spirit link. My mouth relaxes into a delicious smile as my vision follows the end of the link. Now, at rest in the mountain range.


    He has found a secure spot for the shuttles. Therefore, I have a destination. To safely arrive, I''ll take this mountain arm to reach the immense mountain range at the valley''s head, then travel the length of the other mountain arm I can see across the valley. Simple, I say to myself.


    It sure beats the certainty of dying from journeying straight across the floor of the valley. Such overconfidence. I thought I could wander about the valley and eventually find him and his wives. How I miss the driving rain, sleet, and snow along the coast. The wild storms, the freezing air. The tumult.


    ---


    I stride across the snow-topped mountain range of this world. My legs push through the white powder as anyone else would slip through the air; such is my affinity for my environment. My nanorobots feed with every step. Therefore, snow and freezing air invigorate me, and I surge forward with happy abandon. Snow flies from me in all directions. Some fly higher, caught on a mountain breeze, some float back down, and some clump into balls and plummets.


    I am a snow fury! Day and night, I race along my snow highway on top of this world. Once a royal of space-faring humanity, now a frozen hobgoblin of immense power. My joyful cackle bursts from my lips occasionally in celebration.


    Behind me, a rumble erupts, and I halt to observe.


    It seems my carelessness has generated an avalanche of snow. A roll of white quickens down the side of the mountain to crash through forested foothills, ripping and churning. The green foliage and brown tree trunks add to the somersault of snow, increasing the destructive power. I watch in fascination until the hush of the chill breeze returns. It seems all around has drawn in an expectant breath and then nothing.


    I revel in this newfound chaos and destruction.


    My passing continues to launch several avalanches in the following days, yet these are accidents. Their size and power vary, yet the greatest of them overrun the green of the valley below the snow line. I realise the creation of a snow avalanche will be the key. Harnessing this is how I will trespass into Lord Klar''s warmth. But I need to control the location. The where. I need target practice.


    ---


    I ponder the stone building off in the distance. Some wooden shelters for farmers or perhaps traders surround the stronghold. They have made a wise choice. A plateau is a superior defensive location, although this site is more like an extension sprouting out from the mountain range. Despite a significant accumulation of snow above the area, my efforts to churn cannot generate an avalanche.


    This is a physics and engineering challenge. The snow is dense and immovable because the mountain slope does not have sufficient incline to generate a natural avalanche. So, I need to either increase the incline or reduce the cohesion. Increasing the incline is impossible. I can''t raise a mountain. Yet snow can melt, and the water breaks the cohesion and lubricates. Could the solution be so simple?


    ---


    I dive into the snow as anyone else would dive into the water. My nanorobots push and compress the snow to either side of me relentlessly as gravity drives me deeper and deeper. A couple of body lengths deep, and my progress slows. The snowpack layer is compact and rigid. Fortunately, it is also slim. The next layer is softer and thin. I discovered that the layers of snow in a snowpack can vary from hard to soft and thick to thin.


    Several body lengths down, I find the perfect layer to split this snow slab. Finger width, hard snow.


    My nanorobots draw out the cold of this layer to recharge themselves. We can neither create nor destroy energy, only transform it. The hard snow melts. Some water flows back into my tunnel, but the majority remains between the layers as I expand the ice melt area.


    After a while, my nanorobots reached their limit in absorbing cold. To my bitter disappointment, the slab remains in place. I then utilise this energy to create a set of ice steps to climb out.


    If I can''t send them an avalanche, perhaps I can send them some snowballs?


    I form balls of ice as tall as I am, using the nanorobots to push, contour and compress the surrounding snow.


    Mid joy, I stare at my blue-green hands. They radiate cold even here, on a snow-covered mountain. Something I have taken for granted hits me at this moment. My nanorobots project my will beyond the confines of my body. How? What of my snow marching and snow swimming? The fact science cannot explain this feat is the sole certainty. Who am I kidding? My return to life was an impossibility. My love for Lord Klar notwithstanding. I exist beyond scientific explanation, something I have been denying until now.


    The remaining balls of ice take longer to prepare than the first as I try to study and comprehend the process. With ten prepared, I melt the ice, which fixes them in place. A gentle push for each ball, and they roll down the slope of the mountain.


    With a thumping, crashing descent, they gather speed, plummeting towards the buildings on the plateau.


    The roar grows until deafening. My hands cover my ears. Over half of the ice balls bounce skywards and, upon landing, careen off course. I reach out to steady myself as the snow shifts under me. Snow and air vibrate. The few remaining ice balls reach the plateau and crash through the few mature trees in their way, and my heart sings. Not specifically what I wanted, but enough to gain the attention of my victims.


    Small greenish figures spill out of their humble abodes in no time, and I chuckle in delight.


    A deafening crack sobers me. The echo bounces around the mountain range, setting off other loud cracks. Less than a body length away, a crevasse in the snow appears and then grows wider and longer. It races across the mountain slope. Then the roar begins and doesn''t stop building. An enormous sheet of snow descends, heading towards the plateau and its inhabitants. The sheet stumbles and then somersaults into an angry rolling wave of snow and ice.


    The speed of the avalanche outpaces my attempts to follow as I sprint after it. I am like a proud parent, sending off their grown child to do their bidding.


    Unable to follow the avalanche down, I climb to higher ground.


    The avalanche''s ball of ice and snow obliterates the sparse forest on the mountain''s lower reaches. Momentum carries the slab forward, crashing into the buildings outside the stronghold. A brief wait for another answer. I witness an avalanche''s power against the stronghold''s stone walls.


    From my vantage point, I cannot determine if the stronghold no longer exists or if the snow and ice conceal it. The answer can remain a mystery, as I need to examine the technique. The balls of ice were the key, I decided. Like skiers, the ice balls, bouncing and dense, must have triggered the avalanche. Adhesion reduction was necessary but not pivotal.


    ---


    It is him, or of him?


    A more pungent scent this time. I am confident now.


    Does a shadow of his follow me?


    My journey across the mountain range after the avalanche was carefree as I was between places. His valley stretches out towards the east. Beyond the humongous cliff face, in the west, lay my sole reason for delay. Beyond is where I was reborn. I recklessly dedicate time to remembering.


    My reawakening occurred just over there, where I discovered my true purpose. Lord Klar will be mine and mine alone.


    This awareness of him is recent. I wonder about the coincidence as I am now travelling across the other mountain range, approaching the location where Lord Klar has, I suspect, hidden the shuttles. Does he send his agents to intercept me? That would suggest he knows where I am. How? Has the sudden increase in the number of snow avalanches been my folly?


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    I push these thoughts to the back of my mind, yet doubt remains. I scan the sky and detect no spirit links. Not him; otherwise, I would see him as a common source of multiple spirit links. None of his false wives, but perhaps a concubine? Enough of his seed would taint them with his presence, I suspect.


    A smell of him but not his smell, which my reconstructed nose can now detect.


    After causing several avalanches by accident during my travels, I can confidently pinpoint an ideal location. Here is perfect: over thirty degrees slope, give or take. The recent snowfall and the wind picking up, so all it needs is a trigger. My trespass is the best as I churn through the snow as I travel.


    I continue, heading lower down the mountain slope, attempting to lead whoever shadows me into my trap.


    Once I have them, I dive into the snow and tunnel or ice, step higher until I return to where I first sensed their scent. No, beyond scent, the familiar presence of Lord Klar. I stifle a chuckle, like an aftershave or an antiperspirant, maybe?


    I depend on them being confused for some time, especially since I seal the tunnel as best I can with loose snow. Then, I start my churn at the top of the mountain range.


    ---


    The rumble of the avalanche quietens. With a swagger, I descend amongst the tumult of snow. No need to search the snow field. My nanorobots will find their own. They will find a concentration of Lord Klar''s nanorobots when tasked.


    I am still trying to figure out how. It could be a scent detection because when I first sensed him or her, my awareness of their presence appeared and fled. It''s like the scent of aftershave being carried on an uncertain breeze. For example, it''s not a definite lock that a missile system relies on.


    Zig, zagging down the snow slope, I depend on my nanorobots; they don''t fail me. Two tiny hands snatch at snow three body lengths away. I hoped my nanorobots could do better than that. Too close.


    I withdraw to what I hope is a safe distance. A head emerges amidst the two hands. Goblin? The creature''s eyes fly wide open.


    "Why would a goblin smelling of Lord Klar want to follow me?"


    His brow furrows while his hands dig vigorously, and even his shoulders wiggle and waggle to shift the snow away.


    "I am, I am¡­"


    His surprise is obvious. No notion of who or what he followed.


    "Perhaps this is personal?" I wiped out a stronghold and surrounding buildings several days back. He could be a survivor, and with Lord Klar''s blood and nanorobots, someone most likely to do so. Revenge then. I am guessing, but I don''t care. A sneak is never full of good intentions.


    He sets his now free elbows in the snow, and his torso rises. The desperation and surprise in his eyes captivate me. He probably deemed himself superior to all his friends and enemies. This superior goblin must have spied me high in the mountains, savouring my destruction. He reasoned I was involved, but failed to comprehend my level of blame. How could he? He measures power in terms of himself.


    His being trapped in this snow avalanche has convinced him otherwise.


    Through the soles of my feet, my nanorobots do my bidding. I can''t help but show off.


    Horror now fills his eyes as the surrounding snow compacts and transforms into ice. His elbows slip, and his torso drops back down. I imagine his legs are scrambling. Trying to gain purchase on the ice.


    Balling up ice and snow, I throw it at his escape hole. Maybe he surmises I am a poor aim as I miss him with most throws. He doesn''t realise that I have questions for him, and I want him to give up the idea of survival, let alone escape.


    I freeze the snow pile around him. He yelps in surprise. Did he assume I could just freeze snow once? While he has been scrambling, my nanorobots have gathered energy, hence the icy slush at my feet.


    While I wait for him to exhaust himself with different doomed ideas of escape, I craft a comfortable chair out of the snow. Once I''m done, I lounge back and wait in comfort.


    Seeing he is not done, I experiment. I command my nanorobots to detect him, or more specifically, Lord Klar''s nanorobots in him. At our present distance apart, I need to concentrate to detect him. This means he was closer when I inadvertently felt his presence. Did he stalk me within striking distance but didn''t? Waited in ambush, but perhaps out of arm''s length? Did his lack of height interfere?


    "What do you want?" he asks.


    I flutter my eyes open and stretch out in my chair. "Some answers."


    He sticks his chin out. "Do I have any chance of living afterwards?"


    I tap my chin. "Unlikely."


    "Then why would I," he yells.


    "I could make your death slow and painful?" His face remains stoic. "I will hunt down all the survivors of your stronghold and slay them slowly." He grinds his teeth. "That just leaves, ripping an arm and leg off, cauterising the wounds and allowing you to live."


    He swallows and whispers, "No."


    So, ego, then. The goblin doesn''t care about others. I assume he commands his nanorobots well enough to subdue any pain I can inflict. Still, others seeing him as a cripple doesn''t appeal to him.


    ---


    He tries to keep some secrets, but snapping off a couple of fingers and threatening to do the same for his ears and nose seems to cure him. He babbles about many things, proud of his lineage, prouder of his current blood. A citadel of assassins, unknown to most but the precious few who hired them. The most helpful piece of his snivelling confession was the story of his metamorphosis from skilled assassin to grandmaster. He imbibed dust that tried to kill him but won the battle of will and commanded them instead.


    How does one of Lord Klar''s wives become dust?


    Then I chuckle. The scout ship. It contained the weapon designed by Ed, or as his mother named him, Erasmus Dadaces Forest. The full explanation isn''t that simple. Too much time has passed. For this to be accounted for, the weapon must be on the Observer Ship. Worse, someone must be onboard and still in command. Am I at risk or is an enemy of my enemy, my friend? After all, one of his wives is now dust.


    I shout out in triumph. Challenging Lord Klar and promising to remove his wives. My reasoning is simple. If the weapon targets me, I will have ample time to gain control over my nanorobots because I will have abundant snow to feed their thirst.


    ---


    I detect no warmth from a living body inside the mountain cave. As I stroll in, I discover the first shuttle towards the back, around a bend. It''s not obvious from the cave entrance, yet it''s too easy. The damaged second shuttle isn''t here. Interesting. With the missing shuttle door, I am sure no passengers were onboard if docked on the Observer Ship. So, either auto return without passengers or elsewhere on this planet, with or without passengers.


    A cold campfire and little else. I can only assume Lord Klar and his wives are now together in his village.


    I return to the snowline. My onward trek along the mountain range is more like a tourist savouring the journey instead of being fixated on the destination. There will be an optimal distance between the snow line and his village, and I mean to find it. An avalanche will assist, as would drawing him into the mountains.


    ---


    Hunters. I observe them at their trade, checking a trap line. Small game is their target, yet, at dusk, when they check the many traps, they find few contain animals. They grumble around their campfire about the lack of game. Some are even so traitorous as to blame their Clan Head. Others are quick to berate them.


    The cold months are approaching as I relish the night air while waiting for these hunters to unintentionally guide me. They mentioned Lord Klar and how his contrary view to their Clan Head could have been the way forward. They casually mentioned how things had grown worse, not better, under their Clan Head before they all turned in for the night.


    A surprise. The hunters feel so secure they don''t post a watch.


    Once out of the high ranges and recent game trails, they lead me along ancient, well-trod game trails. Some paths are wide enough for two or three people, all with a firm footing. They all head towards one destination as other trails, like the streams in a valley, wind their way towards a river. The crisp, chill air sustains me, yet I must rest at night. I must accept this cost because my recovery isn''t complete by the following day.


    I acknowledge taking a risk, but need to learn more about Lord Klar''s neighbours.


    They didn''t lead me to the main building of the settlement. Smaller cottages and log cabins were where they found their journey''s end. I needed to lurk at night and overhear angry shouting and demanding rhetoric to locate the most prominent building and possibly the residence of the Clan Head.


    I grin as I finally find an enemy of my enemy. He can eliminate Lord Klar''s wives if my eavesdropping on his hunters is not idle boasting.


    ---


    "As you can probably deduce, Clan Head Jarlgren, I prefer snow and ice instead of trees and trails." He would forgive my recent ignorance if he could appreciate what I needed to endure to be here. The experimentation required to achieve the best unit operation balance between walking and resting is burdensome. Walking would cost me fluid from melting. I would then need to rest and reabsorb moisture from the air to freeze. Travelling in a cold or half-frozen river or stream helped, of course. But each moment away from the snow weakened me.


    The banging on the main hall entrance and the servant''s entrance breaks me from my contemplation. I made ice to hold fast both entrances. The servants quiver in one corner of the hall. A couple of his protectors are now silent after attempting a reckless attack on me.


    "What of my sons?"


    I will defend myself from anything that swings an axe at me. Catching their weapons, I drew them to me and blew my icy breath in their face. Even with frozen noses, they screamed. Intolerable! My grip on their necks was the solution, but at no time did he tell me they were his sons. Apparently, all who sat at the table sharing a meal with him were his sons or daughters. Knowing this, I will be extra careful from now on.


    "A mistake. I apologise, of course, but I simply defended myself."


    This Clan Head has more sons. Why carry on? Isn''t the royal rule an air and a spare? It seems he has several.


    His eyes stay on the corpses of his sons. "You attacked my clan. What did you presume would happen?"


    I quirk my head. "After the first, I thought they would realise their impotence," I reply. If only I could tell him, confess my present state, but you know, I can''t. What about the many times I had to trail his hunters to find his hall? Time wasted recovering in the snow, and now this journey. Trees and game trails are not my preferred environment, so I am not currently at my best. I must finish this visit quickly.


    He rises, his face glowing with anger. He steps towards me, and then a switch must go off in his brain as he halts. What if someone told him the true feelings of his hunters? Many whispered against him, yet I am still taking this chance to save him from himself. I don''t understand my excessive generosity. Ah, yes, the enemy of my enemy concept. My family appreciated those types of allies. Everyone had skin in the game beyond simple plotting.


    "They act to defend me. Nothing else concerns them until I call them off," the Clan Head says with bitterness.


    Should I tell him blind loyalty and thoughtless action doesn''t result in anything good? After all, my grandparents married nobodies because the family demanded them to. In that simple act, we slipped from fourth in line to the throne to eightieth because of blood purity. I had no interest in the throne, which may explain why I love Lord Klar. I love him so much that I returned from death.


    Time is pressing. "Did your recent plans go stray? Maybe your spies died unexpectedly, or the information flow became a dribble from Lord Klar''s village?"


    His fists land with a thump on his splendid table. The whimpering of his servants is the only other noise in the room, and he shouts at them to shut up. With a flick of his head, his remaining two sons approach them, axes drawn.


    "What do you know about this?" he demands.


    "Your collection of armour." I broad grin with delight as his face contorts once again. "You need to accept what I am about to say next. Will you at least hear me out?"


    He turns his back on me. His muttering makes little sense except for every third word, a swear word. I somewhat sympathise with his frustration. Royal and in line for the throne, I had little chance of climbing higher. I lost interest, of course, and forged my career while searching for true love and escaping their hideous marriage plans for me. As a reborn frozen hobgoblin, I doubt my line would consider me marriage material now.


    I sigh, and a puff of cold air escapes between my lips. He needs to accept an explanation from someone who has just killed a couple of his sons and locked him up in his own hall.


    Through gritted teeth, he growls his agreement.


    "Lord Klar''s wives serve him after death. Their spirits can linger if they find something that resonated with them when they lived. Such as their armour."


    His jaw drops. He wishes to disbelieve. Instead, his eyes brighten, alive with comprehension. I explain the unexplainable. My words ring true against all he knows and believes, no matter how incredible. Those still in his hall catch their breath, waiting for their Clan Head to respond. His body drops into his chair at the head of the table. The relief of an explanation was not enough to overcome the exhaustion from many nights of nightmare sleep.


    "What now?" he murmurs.


    "To confirm our alliance, I have dealt with them."


    "Dealt with them?"


    ¡°They will no longer betray you, although I caution you to not collect any more of his wives'' armour.¡±


    ---


    My departure from his hall was swift. Somehow, they accepted the moisture dripping from my body as sweat¡ªamazing. Yet, if they had attacked me, I would have been uncertain of the outcome.


    I meditate and begin absorbing moisture from the night air. After a time, my body stabilises to some extent. Instinctively, I sensed my end was close. Before I can comprehend the possibility of my entire body melting, I sense the warmth of another.


    "Reveal yourself," I say in a casual tone.


    A girl in rags, timid step after timid step, approaches. Goosebumps decorate her arms and legs. Her shoes are rough leather tied and wrapped around her feet. Since the Clan Head''s people know about the death of his sons, she should too. Is this do or die for her?


    "I hate my existence." She spits out the words with a potent venom.


    "The Clan Head believes his clan is the strongest in the valley. Go back to him."


    "I am not of his clan, not of his valley. A captive only, traded as a child many times."


    I hold up my hand to stop her angry prattle. "Return to your master before he fetches you and punishes you."


    A thin smile draws across her lips. "That would be difficult for him. I stabbed him in the neck as he attempted to make a mother of me."


    I cast my eyes over her again. My first question is how? "Was your master old, infirm?"


    "He was, but he gifted me to his son for this trip to Clan Head Jarlgren."


    I should freeze her¡­ "On your way, then. Seems you can take care of yourself."


    "Spirits. Wives returning. I understand all of this. I need to aid you."


    "How does a youngster know anything?"


    "I am aware of the neck vein. The vein in the leg. Both can bring down the mightiest of hobgoblins. I know a husband with multiple wives. Knew him as Lord Klug. You call him Lord Klar, but they are the same. I tell you because I presume you won''t slay me for the blasphemy I speak."


    Slay her? Who am I speaking to?


    "I won''t slay you, but you should leave now as I am busy, too busy for an escaped slave who is not much more than skin and bones."


    "Not this time," she shouts. "After countless lifetimes of suffering, I find myself here." She slices her hand and flings her blood at me. A droplet or two lands on my tongue and freezes. I don''t understand. The blank look on my face must betray me. "Blood is important on this planet, you stupid bitch!" she screams. "How can someone be so powerful and not grasp that simple rule?" She chews her lip while I try to devise several slow ways to take her life. "You are right. I need to find another. Where did you, an imbecile, grow up? You will never appreciate the insight I can offer."


    With that said, she turns her back to me. I dash to my feet and close the distance between us. She shivers, and then my hand throttles around her neck. Slowly. I wish to savour her cold descent into death.


    She rasps out several halting words, "Know this, you stupid bitch. You are slaying Suda the Faithful, originally a goblin of the Flint Arrows." She gasps. "Enemy of ¡­"


    Who is or was she? Self-interest, self-importance, much? Well, slave, I am royalty.


    I see her spirit slip from her flesh. She shakes her ghostly head from side to side. A finger points at me, and she still seems to mouth words at me. Breathing on the ghostly visage of her rising spirit, her face locks up. Like his wives, I can interact with her. The difference is that I have solely targeted the spirit link between them. My hand reaches above my head and settles around her neck.


    As her face defrosts, I note the surprise and effortlessly read her lips. "What are you?"


    I complete the freezing of her body. Then, with my other hand, I draw her spirit back until the apparition settles gently over her frozen body.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.027 A Time of Strangers

    <h2>---Rexa, High Priestess of Klug POV</h2>


    After many ten days of failure, my guards don¡¯t discreetly tell me their news. Instead, they take it upon themselves to parade their prisoner through the streets of Temple Town in celebration. They have convinced themselves that they have captured the plunderer of my pilgrims. They are fools.


    Two days ago, they dragged the miserable goblin before me. His armour and clothes, worn out and threadbare in places, draped over him. Too big for him. Stolen or rescued from discards, most likely. Weaponless and not much of a threat. How could he have terrorised my pilgrims more than once, let alone for many ten days?


    Many pilgrims swore a wild feline beast accompanied the goblin bandits, yet all we had was this pathetic creature. Somehow, my guards concluded that his ripping out of the throat of his sole victim was evidence enough. However, the goblin bandits never inflicted such barbarity on any of my pilgrims until our captive did.


    The bizarre need for urns is the sole link between our skinny goblin terror and the bandits. But even this link needs clarification. He consumed the contents of the one he found there while the bandits fled with all of theirs.


    ---


    My guards, one on either side, escort him barefoot into my Temple Hall. He wears a coarse woollen robe, maybe with a loin cloth underneath. Our prize prisoner seems content¡ªa stark contrast from our first meeting.


    While my first instinct was to order the guards and the prisoner slaughtered when they first presented their triumph, I resisted the impulse. My followers may not have appreciated my direct reaction. Instead, I ordered them to take him away and prepare him.


    That decision led to a discovery.


    Two days ago, his blood was, erm, confusing. Several crones and my analysis couldn¡¯t determine which lineage dominated. This morning, the crones, without collusion, proclaimed his lineage as Lord Klug. Another mystery.


    ¡°Name?¡± I ask.


    He throws me a defiant smirk. ¡°I have some questions first.¡±


    In unison, my two guards swing their sheathed swords, aiming for behind his knees. They are so coordinated that the goblin skips them both with perfect timing. The mocking chortle of the goblin ends when, moments later, the lash of my slaver¡¯s whip slices through the woollen cloth on his back. The whip twitches again to force the goblin to take a knee.


    ¡°Name?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Zorottor Black Tooth, Chief of the Oath Keeper Goblins,¡± he states plainly, and I inwardly wildly laugh my arse off.


    My blacksmith identified the armour as Oath Keeper. He stated that the crafting was exceptional, even if worn down by use. The owner was the last mystery. My captive, though, is too thin to fit the armour.


    ¡°You seem to be a shadow of your former self, chief? Or a liar?¡±


    He growls as best he can in reply, ¡°I am no liar. Hard times is all, and I am not ashamed to say, many days and nights lost in the valley forest.¡±


    ¡°Tell me your story, Chief Zorottor. Entertain me and explain yourself. You may well live.¡±


    He confirms the rumour of goblin spies, although none, him included, have discovered who sent them. He has seen the beast, but wild and alone. According to him, the spies coated their weapons with poison, slaying his two troopers. This poison forced him into an unfortunate circumstance and his present condition. He apologised for his desperate action.


    ¡°An expertly woven tale.¡± I slow clap. Those about the hall murmur their agreement. ¡°You forgot one detail, Zorottor Black Tooth, Chief of the Oath Keepers. What were you and your troopers doing skulking around our land?¡±


    Several beads of sweat pop on his forehead.


    A horn blast draws everyone¡¯s attention.


    <h2>---Cassia Hippolyta Sutler, Science Officer of the GPA Battlecruiser Lionheart POV</h2>


    ¡°No!¡± screams a female.


    This desperate, pleading shriek penetrates and awakens me. A distraction. I release my kill early. The chunk of throat flesh missing is an exact match for my mouth, I note. The wound¡¯s oozing red blood is the sum of my progress, yet I am certain a red smirk paints my green lips.


    ¡°Cahisu, why did you save us only to feed on us?¡±


    Her sobbing is annoying. She is alone now on the field. After I am done with her, I will need to chase the many who fled. A hunt? A shiver of anticipation lightning bolts through my body. Shaking my head doesn¡¯t erase these thoughts from my immediate desire. Why am I trying to do that?


    ¡°I am Galla. You must remember me, you must!¡±


    She was one of the first pair. I quirk my head. My eyes find and examine the bloody mess at my feet. The throat is torn out. The red blood pooling, human blood.


    My eyes catch hers, and her screaming stops. Has she been screaming all this time?


    I remember impregnating her with his seed. She will give birth to a half-something. My avenging experiment. My joke. Yet, deep inside, something of what I was still called to me. The Science Officer, part. I am slaughtering my scientific experiment.


    I lick my lips. The iron in this red blood ignites a primordial instinct and urges me forward. An easy kill before the hunt.


    I need to spill, no, guzzle more red blood.


    A stinging slap to my face draws my gaze. Swaying her head, she shrinks back and stumbles.


    It is a moment of clarity. My scientific intellect resurfaces. I am a crew member of the GPA Battlecruiser Lionheart. I am civilised. I was once human.


    Like a haze dropping, the urge to drink human blood fades.


    She is still within arm¡¯s reach when my sanity returns. Her sobbing face, tear tracks running down her face, stares up at me. My loss of control hits me in full force. What have I done to myself?


    ¡°Are you back?¡± she whispers. Her voice breaks.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I release a long breath.


    ¡°What now?¡± Her hands, palms up, wave about us.


    I don¡¯t need to observe what she points out. My victims.


    ¡°I must leave.¡±


    ---


    I swim towards the final shore at dawn.


    The previous shores and island hopping are behind me. Each taught me much about currents, endurance, and recovery. What I could and could not devour. How to defend myself from the creatures of this world¡¯s ocean. The Lizardman tolerance for saltwater acted as a catalyst, enabling my nanorobots to extract water from the sea. Usefully, I won¡¯t suffer from thirst.


    Everything led up to this last part. The sea was widest here. Between the end of the island chain and the continent¡¯s shore proper. In the distance, over the undulating waves, I can see trees!


    A proximity alert sounds off in my ear. The heads-up display bleeps to pinpoint the location. The dot on the display attempts to scale with the intruder¡¯s size, although not perfectly. Still, the size of the dot is large, the biggest yet.


    I wait until the optimal range.


    They are direct creatures. An alpha predator, jaws open wide, with multiple rows of teeth, shark-like but with a whale¡¯s blowhole. I triangulate my aim between the creature¡¯s eyes and its blowhole. I¡¯m ready for a second attempt, but not a third. The creature might swallow me by then. This specimen is the largest I have seen. The dot didn¡¯t lie.


    An alpha. Territorial. How long has this creature determined who lives and dies? Prevented trespass.


    I squeeze the trigger. I hit my target accurately as the explosive ammunition blasts open a large wound hole. Unfortunately, my death continues to bear down on me. I squeeze off another round, which precisely follows the path of the first. The benefit of advanced technology. Each round can paint the target for another round to follow.


    The creature¡¯s body rolls to one side and veers away. Wake waves roll over me. Shortly after, the carcass wallows as low waves wash against it. My environmental suit warns me of my high heart rate. The proximity alert sounds off.


    I swim as fast as I can, without splashing, towards the shore. The carcass is bait, attracting every other predator in the nearby ocean.


    From the shore I am swimming towards, a fleet of canoes launch. They race by me. The rhythmic drop and stroke of short paddles power the slim vessels. They glide over the waves, targeting the developing feeding frenzy.


    When I reached shore, several returning canoes had beat me there. The goblins unload their catch and quickly launch again. They aren¡¯t taking any meat from the alpha predator. They are fishing the predators, devouring the carcass.


    I take my first stride on this continent, and every urgency stops. The hoots and hollering of the goblins celebrating their catch die in their throats! The general hive of activity, once busy securing the catch and relaunching their canoes, halts. These short green creatures who, before my arrival, stirred with purpose now do nothing but gape with open mouths.


    ¡°Continue!¡± I bellow.


    Goblins lift their faces and cast sideward glances, and fearful half looks in my direction. Then, like a lumbering machine, the goblin activity winds up again. However, I notice the incoming canoes land further along the shore, giving my position a wide berth.


    By noon, the carcass disappears, and the canoes return to shore. The fussing over the catch continues well past dusk, and several huge bonfires are lit on the sandy beach to continue the work.


    My proximity alert sounds, and I swivel to face the intruder.


    A female goblin child offers a fillet of fried or smoked fish by outstretching her arms.


    The moment I take the offering, she scampers away. My eyes follow her. Her parents, I assume, wrap the child up in their embrace. While others sneak curious glances at me.


    I strike inland, away from the goblin village. Lord Klar would not be here, I am certain.


    ---


    A chatter wakes me in the morning instead of my proximity alert. I must have slept high in a tall tree.


    I loosen the rope around my waist, which tied me to the broad tree branch, and climb to my feet. Below me are several goblins who abruptly stop pointing their fingers at me.


    I hit the anti-grav module and then leap from the branch. The goblins scatter in every direction as I float downwards.


    Several old females gingerly approach me while the rest keep their distance. I tap the side of my space helmet, and the opaque outer visor lowers to reveal my face.


    The old female goblins thrust their faces into the ground. A whisper reaches my hearing, ¡®Warrior Hob¡¯.


    ¡°Stand,¡± I command. ¡°Who is in charge of your village?¡±


    ¡°We are of several villages, Lord Warrior Hob. We must obey your will, oh great one. All goblins will die in your service if they must,¡± says one of the old females.


    ¡°What is different today from yesterday when a mere child approached me?¡±


    ¡°Lord, we assure you we obeyed. All the villagers worked into the night until we preserved and stored the bounty you delivered. No one has eaten from your boon except you.¡±


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Time to test a hunch. ¡°When did the last Lord Warrior Hob command goblins?¡±


    They share nervous glances. ¡°We are humble fisherfolk unaware of the events on the vast plains and inland valleys. This is the first time in our memory that Lord Warrior Hob has been amongst us. You are a legend, and you are a myth. Your will be ours. All goblins bow before Lord Warrior Hob.¡±


    The fervour suggests the Warrior Hob is their chosen leader, possibly the one who vanquishes their enemies. However, if needed, I reckon I could lead them into any battle, and they would willingly die for me.


    ¡°Follow,¡± I command. It suddenly dawns on me that the environmental suit distinguishes me as Lord Warrior Hob. Being a female hobgoblin doesn¡¯t seem to be a factor, as none flinched because of my feminine voice or appearance. Living memory or the oral history of several generations has prepared them for my arrival.


    I can conclude that the previous Lord Warrior Hob also wore an environmental suit, or perhaps even a combat suit. Any previous human visit to the planet¡¯s surface could have left one behind. Maybe the original mining expedition did, although they would have left behind a specialist mining suit. Each variation shares the same need, water and sunlight, for function and renewal. Simultaneous is optimal.


    As I enter the first village, a mass of goblin flesh seethes and roams around me. The number of goblins, though, would far exceed the number capable of living in this village. The news of my presence must have spread rapidly.


    I check the status of the environmental suit, and while it is in optimal condition, the power level is lower than I would like. Goblins are small, yet a mass of them could knock me down. My need for a high power level to sustain a force field to resist that tragedy is currently an unpleasant reality.


    The female elders lead and then usher me up a staircase of stone. Each step is narrow and of low height to suit goblins. I take two at a time and hope I don¡¯t misstep. They curve around a large stone until the elders and I reach the flat top. From this vantage point, I observe this village and the coastline. The technology in the suit enhances my sight. Seven goblin fishing villages dot the coast. The number of fishing boats equalling the number of huts, hovels, and cottages. Even goblins have ranks from poor to rich. Civilisation always seems to result in haves and have-nots. I wonder how wide the gap is here?


    Two hundred, maybe more fearful, goblin faces focus on me. They don¡¯t utter a sound as I take the time to assess my environment and situation. An absolute obedience out of proportion to anything reasonable. I am a stranger in a strange land, yet their obedience to a legend dictates their actions.


    ---


    ¡°Are you going to speak or continue to spy?¡± I ask. My proximity alert had detected a presence. My suit even identified the intruder as a goblin instead of an unknown humanoid. It learns to better ensure the occupant¡¯s survival. I wonder if the data is being transmitted back to the suit¡¯s manufacturer, even on this far-flung planet from the centre of human civilisation.


    A short distance from the villages, I found an east-west running stream. In the middle of the day, lying out in the stream on the smooth stone streambed, my environmental suit recharges and repairs itself.


    ¡°Lord Hob. Your speech. The elders were confused.¡±


    Her meek voice, full of fear, is a wonder. The elders must have sent her. To question. To brave my wrath at such insolence. She must be expendable.


    ¡°What¡¯s confusing about them continuing their way of life? Sharing my boon amongst them.¡±


    Her footfalls result in a water splash. She is brave, from hiding in the tall grasses on the bank to entering the stream.


    ¡°The legends claim Lord Hob emerges to make war on evil and, once done, leaves peace and prosperity in his wake.¡±


    I chuckle. ¡°What do you and yours know of war? Weapon skills?¡±


    She sniffs. ¡°We fight off bandits all the time, seeking to steal our females and food. Those fishermen who spearfish in the rivers are our defenders.¡±


    ¡°And if they join my army, who will defend your villages then?¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t bandits evil?¡± she squeaks.


    ¡°Possibly. But wouldn¡¯t it be better if the bandits followed me into war? If they die there, they will certainly leave your villages alone.¡±


    My proximity alert flashes. Fifteen male goblins and seven female goblins.


    ¡°I suppose. Anyway, I must report back.¡±


    ¡°No, you must draw closer and stand beside me. Now! I insist.¡± I sit up in the stream and stare into her fearful face. ¡°You wish to disobey me?¡±


    She shakes her head and takes a step towards me. I climb to my feet. She takes another step, and then her ears twitch. She peers into the tall grass and faces me, eyes wide. In an instant, she is beside me.


    ¡°They, how?¡± she stutters.


    I extend the force shield around her and engage in camouflage mode.


    Our guests did indeed use stealth to make their approach, or I suspected as much, given their slow advance.


    ¡°Lord Hob, where has your armour gone?¡± she whispers.


    ¡°Not gone, simply not appearing. Now hush. When they take me prisoner, you must run back to your village and assure the elders I am on my warpath, and they need not fear for me or themselves.¡±


    ---


    The fall captive, take me to your leader, and then reveal my environmental suit in all its legendary glory, worked all the way up the plains and into each valley. This conserved lives and swelled the numbers of my army. Valley after valley identified the same evils¡ªthe ever-present scourge of slavery, of course, but also Klugites.


    None mentioned Lord Klar until we had visited several valleys while trekking up the great plains. I guessed he would be there. This was my gamble confirmed, of course. From the heights of the various islands I swam to, I had assessed the major continent from afar. Three land masses had smashed together in the years of planet forming.


    The middle land mass became the present-day plains. On the east side, the middle and eastern land masses were of equal density or near enough. They rose together to form an enormous, high-peaked mountain range. However, the western land mass fared poorly, to be submerged beneath the central land mass. The west edge of the middle land mass rose to form an enormous cliff face while also developing into a mountain range. Oddly, the western land mass was vast enough to result in a liveable area. In contrast, the coastline of the eastern landmass plunged directly into the sea.


    From travellers and merchants, I discovered that Lord Klar was a favourite of and under the protection of Torngul Heartsplitter, Lord of the Grassplains. The ruler of Hobgoblin Valley. A valley that featured a vast plain if his title suggests anything.


    The critical point was that Hobgoblins ruled this valley instead of goblins. This inherently made the valley a dangerous place for goblins. Klugites had also fled there, having recently endured a curse if the gossip proved true. All the pieces fit. Lord Klar would undoubtedly be in the eye of, if not the architect of, this storm.


    The Klugites were a convenient group to name my enemy. My goblins had heard of their deeds over the years, and they became more horrific with each telling. Once my army makes war on this valley, I am certain Lord Klar will reveal himself. Then, we can discuss his future and my salvation, specifically the return of my human body.


    ---


    ¡°How has the scouting gone?¡±


    The scruffy bandit leader¡¯s head dips. ¡°We haven¡¯t discovered a path through the thick forest. Even keeps goblins out.¡±


    ¡°Disappointing,¡± I murmur. It seems there is only one way to advance into this valley.


    ¡°We have gifts, Lord Warrior Hob.¡±


    ¡°What can you drag into my comfortable tent tonight, my enterprising bandit?¡±


    He darts out of my tent and returns alone after a long, insulting delay. The wide-grinning smile on his face is, I am sure, no match for my angry frown. Yet his confident bow before me is fearless.


    ¡°We have news, Lord Hob.¡± His head bobs up and down. ¡°Our watch on the forest has paid off. Several parties of strangers, none associated with the army before us, have vanished into the darkness at the same place and not returned.¡±


    His suspicion is sound. ¡°They know a way through!¡± I whisper.


    He grins in triumph. ¡°I have sent a troop and another to follow the first. We will find this way for you.¡±


    Then the slim, dark green-skinned goblin flashes pointed teeth in my direction and whistles. He and his band were my first sworn followers, the raiders of the goblin fisher villagers.


    Hands bound, feet bound to permit small steps, a bedraggled hobgoblin crashes through the tent flaps. Behind him, four goblins with spears jab at him.


    The prisoner¡¯s presence reminds me of the original purpose of the meeting.


    My bandit bows. ¡°We have another two if this one expires under your questioning, Lord.¡±


    The hobgoblin scrambles to his knees. He spits in my direction. ¡°You lead this rabble?¡± he growls.


    I ignore him and flash a broad grin at my bandit. ¡°How did such a proud hobgoblin warrior fall to us?¡±


    ¡°Even hobgoblins need to pee, Lord. Something they insist on doing alone.¡±


    I nod and slide out and up from my chair. Apparently, the Warrior Hob must do any lording from a proper chair, not that the prisoner will recognise me as such. My camouflage circuit has perfected an armour and clothes disguise.


    ¡°For a while, we¡¯ve been spying on your army. You seem to be busy preparing for an assault. But all this does is block the entrance to the valley, one I wish to lead my army into. When is your army setting out to do anything?¡±


    <h2>---Morraga, Retinue Warrior of Stone Corner POV</h2>


    Goreripper lifts her head and sniffs as she slows. I don¡¯t urge her to haste; she is warning me.


    Grabbing a fist of fur, I lift a leg over and slide down from her back.


    ¡°What does your wolf tell you now?¡± asks Vrozila. She and her wolf are behind us. Our scent disguises what Goreripper has smelt. I hold up a fist.


    Arrow-nocked, I edge further along the narrow trail. A secret, or at least not so well-known, trail into Hobgoblin Valley. Something especially useful, when on a special mission for Milga Stone Blood the Fifth.


    Creeping along the game trail, I am certain I pick up the scent Goreripper baulked on. Feline beast. Has a wild cat made the clearing its lair? It is a game trail. Perhaps it chased prey and now drinks from the river?


    Further along the trail, I smell goblins. The gentle breeze blowing in my face picks up, and shortly after, I smell hobgoblin.


    A clash of weapons, the ringing of a blade on a blade, startles me.


    A deep belly laugh follows. What?


    ¡°You are improving, Mistress,¡± says a male voice. Goblin?


    ¡°We don¡¯t have the time for you to train me until I master the weapon, but I don¡¯t wish to seem useless,¡± replies a female voice. Hobgoblin?


    ¡°Have you decided whose audience we are seeking first?¡±


    ¡°My father would be best, and then he can introduce me, but it seems like a waste of time to travel to Hobgoblin Town and then double back.¡±


    ¡°You have met Lord Klar, though, have you not? Mistress?¡±


    A lengthy silence ensues. Have they finished their practice?


    ¡°I was a girl, then. I doubt he would recognise me. His other head being fully engaged with his females.¡±


    A boisterous chuckle erupts. ¡°Yes, Lord Klar was known for sowing his seed.¡±


    I scamper into the clearing with my nocked arrow loose and pointing down. As too many sets of goblin eyes and one set of hobgoblin eyes turn on me, it is the languorous roar of the giant cat that causes me to pause. My words catch in my throat.


    Four goblins with dual-wielding daggers approach me while their hobgoblin mistress leans against her feline beast as we do with our wolves. They have formed a bond.


    ¡°I can introduce you to Lord Klar,¡± I say in haste while retreating a couple of steps.


    They stare past me, and a moment later, Goreripper growls on my right and Vrozila and her wolf advance on my left.


    ¡°Introductions,¡± says the female hobgoblin. ¡°You first, since you are the intruders.¡±


    What difference does that make? I let it go.


    ¡°Fine.¡± I grip the arrow and bow in one hand, and with a flourish of the other, I say, ¡°I am Morraga, Retinue Warrior of Milga Stone Blood and well known to Lord Klar.¡± Not completely true, but the hobgoblin doesn¡¯t need to be aware of that fact.


    ¡°Well met. I am Zinia, daughter of Lord Torngul Heartsplitter, Commander of the Goblin Guards of Hobgoblin Town.¡±


    I disguise my mirth in a cough. Her title wins if the number of words is the measure. Her jutting chin, daring me to challenge her superiority, is a warning. She is a child, yet the powerful beast supporting her would make anyone pause.


    Waving at Vrozila, I say, ¡°We are journeying the same way, then. We have a message to deliver to Lord Klar, and you are most welcome to join us. As I said, we could introduce you to him.¡±


    ---


    Vrozila and I led the way, at their insistence, in single file because of the terrain. We crossed the river and threaded a path via game trails and clearings through the forest and foothills under the shadow of the eastern mountains, which defined this side of the valley. We also skirted around any cultivated fields on this side of the river.


    On the evening of the third day, Vrozila and I were certain we had arrived at Lord Klar¡¯s village or township. The giveaway was the round fort on the hill above the village¡ªthe only one of its kind in this valley.


    We didn¡¯t strike a campfire that night. Vrozila and I were thankful for our extra blankets and our wolves for warmth.


    ---


    Staring at the open gate, both Vrozila and I wait. The female hobgoblin guards didn¡¯t seem intimidated by our wolves, which unsettled us but had to be endured. Perhaps bonded wolves were common in this valley. Beyond the gate, a thinnish female hobgoblin approaches. Her eyes inspect us as she takes each step.


    ¡°Welcome to Lord Klar¡¯s village. One of you may follow me to meet him.¡±


    The stroll through the village and towards the round fort was in silence. No deliberate hostility existed. She seemed lost in thought.


    ¡°We aren¡¯t meeting in the fort?¡± I ask as she leads me onwards.


    She shakes her head and leads me to a large cottage, perhaps a storage shed, opening the door and waving me in.


    A tall yet youthful hobgoblin, who I assume is Lord Klar, pauses his pacing and welcomes me with a handshake. The table we settle at has water, cheese, and some apples to share. Far from a grand banquet.


    ¡°Lord, you and your servant seem preoccupied, so I will be direct.¡±


    He nods, yet I am uncertain if he will heed my words.


    ¡°There are two armies currently encamped at the mouth of the valley.¡±


    His face seems to awaken as he finds mine. ¡°Two armies, you say. Any chance they will fight each other?¡± He chuckles.


    ¡°A possibility, of course. One belongs to the High Priestess of Lord Klug, while¡­¡±


    ¡°Which High Priestess?¡± I frown as he continues, ¡°Two exist, one in this valley and another located further north.¡±


    ¡°The one further north. We have been trailing them to see who they intend to attack, Lord. It seems Hobgoblin Valley.¡±


    ¡°No, not Hobgoblin Valley, the second High Priestess, which should work out, win or lose for us all.¡±


    There is no concern on his face, no tensing of his body. This news is a nothing to him. What occupies his thoughts, I wonder?


    ¡°Lord, there is the matter of the second army. Goblins from different tribes, unfamiliar or feuding but united. Their leader hasn¡¯t been sighted, but there are rumours. Someone Milga reckoned you would be interested in. The Warrior Hob.¡±


    Lightning strikes him. He bolts upright in his chair, his eyes wild. His sudden wrenching of my arm forward, his grip almost bone-breaking, causes me to yelp in pain. His eyes, a nose length away, bore into mine.


    ¡°What is certain?¡± he inquires. His growl sends a shot of raw fear down my spine.


    ¡°Only what the occasional soldier we snatch says. Wild in their belief that they are serving a Warrior Hob on a warpath. Please, Lord, release me.¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡± He releases my arm and drops back into his seat once again.


    ¡°They have numbers, Lord, but aren¡¯t otherwise an army, more like many goblins travelling in the same direction.¡±


    His head rises. ¡°That doesn¡¯t diminish the threat.¡±


    ¡°We noticed something amiss when the herds migrating north were thinned from previous seasons. An army needs to be fed.¡±


    ¡°All sizes or the smaller animals?¡±


    I quirk my head. ¡°All sizes.¡±


    ¡°So how do you presume the goblins slaughter the bigger animals? Something or someone as powerful as the Warrior Hob would bolster their efforts, don¡¯t you reckon?¡±


    I swallow. ¡°I will convey your theory to Milga, Lord.¡±


    He sinks into deep contemplation again, and I can only surmise his nod acknowledges my intent. I push the chair back and climb to my feet. At that moment, I remember another duty. ¡°Travelling with me is Zinia, daughter of Lord Torngul Heartsplitter, Commander of the Goblin Guards of Hobgoblin Town, who also requires an audience with you.¡±


    He waves a hand. ¡°Solgia will see to it.¡±


    ---


    Our silent march back to the gate is intolerable. Milga led me to presume Lord Klar would warmly welcome any of her followers.


    ¡°What ails your Lord?¡± My hand grabs her arm to swing her around to face me. Being shorter, I need to look up. My scowl, I hope, conveys my desperation and demand for an answer.


    ¡°Fate has sent a doom upon us. Our destruction will probably be a race between the Warrior Hob and the Abomination.¡± A hand on my shoulder and a radiate smile return to her face. ¡°Knowing Lord Klar¡¯s good fortune, he will probably send one to destroy the other.¡±


    ¡°The Abomination?¡±


    ¡°She commands the cold and snow and has already taken two of Lord Klar¡¯s wives from him. We have sent an expedition to save a third but haven¡¯t heard from them yet. They are overdue.¡±


    ¡°Tell Lord Klar that we are remaining in this valley and will report anything we find that could aid him.¡±


    She nods. As we mount, I tell her Zinia will shortly pay Lord Klar a visit.

 3.028 The Small Players

    <h2>---Vorlora, wolf rider and concubine of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I pat Old Wolf as I study my two companions. Neither of them shows elation nor despondency. As if reading each other¡¯s mind, they draw an extra blanket around their shoulders, as we can¡¯t risk a campfire. Gorgrin, his wife, is well pregnant and, if the rumours are true, sick of his fussing. Drulag, still searching for a wife with Duzsia, the Relentless blood flowing in her veins. Beyond that condition, I don¡¯t imagine he cares.


    ¡°Stay warm until I return,¡± I offer. They mumble a reply. ¡°Be watchful. I am certain someone follows us. Riding Old Wolf into the mountains, I hope to return with Voria as quickly as possible.¡±


    Lord Klar insisted they accompany me. I don¡¯t grasp why, as riding Old Wolf, I can travel faster and further.


    ---


    The path¡¯s slope represented a challenge, and I dismounted from Old Wolf to save him from hardship. Duzsia assures me I¡¯m on the right path despite the biting wind chill on my face. A vast ice sheet, high in the mountains, appears under a darkening evening sky. I take a step back. How? The old-growth forest still stands on either side while someone or something has obliterated everything in its path.


    Duzsia shares the name of the who, with me. I stare, unsure of the time. The Abomination did this. I now appreciate the reason for Lord Klar¡¯s concern.


    ¡°Vorlora!¡± Voria¡¯s rasping voice surprises me as much as her flopping out of cover does. Her thin face is of greater concern.


    Old Wolf licks her face until a radiate smile breaks out. I offer Voria a haunch of boar during this distraction, which she snatches from me.


    Halfway through, I wrestle the haunch from her. ¡°Your belly is full.¡± She throws me a rude glare, and I chuckle.


    ¡°His seed provides warmth and quenches thirst from the snow but doesn¡¯t satisfy hunger.¡± Her fingers curl at me, pleading for the return of her meal.


    ¡°As long as you throw the bone to Old Wolf.¡± At her nod, I hand the meal back to her.


    In between bites, she explains how she evades the goblins, concluding with her narrow escape from the Abomination.


    ¡°I need to find the goblin¡¯s body,¡± I whisper to her.


    She swallows and shakes her head. ¡°I comprehend the abomination has left, yet, to return.¡± Her eyes beg me. ¡°I can¡¯t. Not yet, at least.¡±


    ¡°No. I wouldn¡¯t ask you. Old Wolf and I will find him in the morning and return to you as quickly as possible.¡±


    ---


    Staring at the frozen body under a warming sun, nothing changes. Duzsia¡¯s voice is silent. Her worrying presence confirms she was supposed to finish this task by now. Whatever this is, it¡¯s dragging on.


    The goblin¡¯s mouth is frozen open, and I instinctively slice my left hand and squeeze my fist to deliver several drops of blood onto his tongue.


    After several heartbeats, Duzsia¡¯s joy permeates my mind.


    ¡°How did you guess?¡± she asks.


    ¡°A hunch. I assumed we were to confirm that Voria still carried Izga¡¯s dust. It wouldn¡¯t make any sense to be here unless we were going to harvest this goblin¡¯s dust, as well. Yet, nothing happened. So, it twigged. Why not try fresh nanorobots?¡±


    ¡°The goblin¡¯s frozen state has caused the nanorobots in its blood to enter a kind of hibernation. With your blood added, they are waking them, but the process will still take time.¡±


    I glance at Old Wolf, and with effortless loping strides, he melts away into the nearby forest to hunt.


    The sun is overhead when the goblin¡¯s legs vanish into dust after his other body parts, and the pile resting on them falls into his boots. I delicately remove his pants just as I did his other hollow clothes. Next, I lay, chest down, on the snow and ice, reaching into the goblin¡¯s hole and chip away at the ice surrounding his boots.


    Dusk is fast approaching when I return to a sleeping Voria with another bag of dust.


    <h2>---Shiliga, Scribe of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I urge my nanorobots to hasten my thin body, but even with their aid, I can¡¯t catch up to Vorlora, Gorgrin, and Drulag.


    Mid-afternoon, I still have the choice to return to Lord Klar and beg his forgiveness. If I continue, then what? Can I continue? The trail is vague at best, with several game trails joining haphazardly, any of which could be the wrong one to follow. I refrain from screaming out my frustration. The danger is great. Parchment, quill, and ink, which I can use except in combat, are all I carry with me. A wild animal would likely slay me.


    ¡°What do we have here? A stray, far from home?¡± A voice calls out, seemingly from nowhere and everywhere.


    Panic rises within me. My once calm heart races. My body is ready to spring into action. Flight! No! I am Lord Klar¡¯s scribe. I straighten, crossing my arms over my chest, clutching sheets of parchment there.


    ¡°Well met. Please take me to whoever is in charge. I am Lord Klar¡¯s scribe and have his offer to present.¡±


    My rapid heartbeat slows as a silence takes over. I should be dead, but I¡¯m still alive. Hope rises within me.


    ¡°Lord Klar, you say?¡±


    I confirm yes, but I¡¯m unsure if they expected an answer.


    ---


    I am blindfolded, yet they warn me of hazards and take care of me.


    ¡°Who do we have here?¡± asks a female voice.


    ¡°She says she is a Scribe from Lord Klar bearing an offer.¡± The derision and disbelief in his voice are plain.


    ¡°I sense you don¡¯t trust her,¡± she replies humorously.


    ¡°How did Lord Klar discover us? She is alone. A piece of parchment is all that protects her from harm. Ridiculous!¡± he snorts.


    ¡°Remove her blindfold.¡±


    I blink and find myself amongst goblins in a makeshift camp. Meagre possessions are in bundles, with a few bags and even fewer boxes.


    ¡°I am Grandmaster Sibia. Yes, we fled with almost nothing. So, what does fate offer us?¡±


    Before exposing my foolishness, I discreetly cough. Someone had sliced through one of her nostrils. ¡°I am Shiliga, Scribe to Lord Klar, and all he requests is loyalty. For this pledge of service, he will offer a village of cottages, food, and a purpose. The village isn¡¯t grand, but it should provide shelter enough to survive the snow months. Beyond that, he makes no promises because it depends on whether you accept his protection.¡±


    A general uproar breaks out across the camp, and while I didn¡¯t imagine my offer to be harsh, perhaps I have overstepped. My concern melts away when she stands, and her angry face fixes on my goblin escort.


    His eyes sweep the camp before he steps back, gesturing at something. Two large hobgoblins. One of them, at least, has sworn allegiance to Lord Klar.


    I recognise their bellowing voices and decide to be stern with them before their tongues betray my foolish gambit. If they don¡¯t cooperate, we will lose everything.


    I swivel about, and before they can utter a word, I yell at Gorgrin and Drulag, surprising them.


    ¡°Where have you two been? You can¡¯t protect me when you aren¡¯t with me. Luckily, I am amongst the civilised. What do you have to say?


    Their sword sheaths are empty, the goblins ensuring they behave at spear point. Gorgrin gapes, trying to find words. Drulag, though, promptly reacts to the situation.


    ¡°Apologies. We suspected we were being followed and momentarily left you to investigate. We called out for you to wait, but as you have previously mentioned, we must face you when you¡¯re lost in thought.¡±


    Gorgrin adds, ¡°My apologies as well. In our haste to catch up to you, we weren¡¯t as careful as we should¡¯ve been and paid the price by being ambushed.¡±


    ¡°No harm done.¡± I swivel around to face Sibia.


    ¡°Would it be too much to return their weapons? A sign of trust between us,¡± I offer.


    Sibia saunters back to her fallen log throne and lounges into a surviving bough. She snaps her fingers. ¡°A sign of trust, then.¡±


    I ignore, as best I can, Drulag and Gorgrin receiving their weapons and instead offer Sibia a piece of parchment. A word-for-word copy of what I said.


    ¡°There is no need for haste. Decide when you are ready, perhaps in the morning. With your permission, I would like to return to our camp.¡±


    ¡°Weren¡¯t you strolling along the trail?¡± says a harsh voice behind me.


    ¡°Yes, of course. Our camp is above the trail. We would need to leave our camp occasionally to meet you.¡±


    ---


    Around our campfire, we spoke little. I would hush them when either of them opened their mouths to speak instead of eating. They were assassins. As such, I am confident they would spy on our camp. Gorgrin and Drulag took turnabout guarding the camp overnight.


    We broke our fast and hit the trail.


    On reaching their campsite, the goblins had fled with all their possessions. Not what I expected.


    ¡°You certainly have a way with words, young scribe,¡± quips Gorgrin.


    My withering stare, as intended, cuts off his chuckle.


    <h2>---Zinia, daughter of Lord Torngul Heartsplitter POV</h2>


    ¡°You, perching astride your huge cat, makes you a target, my daughter,¡± jests my father.


    ¡°You, perching astride your beast, is similar, father,¡± I retort.


    Then we embrace, sharing a chuckle. The walls of his throne room trapping the noise from our joyful reunion.


    In no time, we are sharing a meal with his wife in the chair next to him. Between bites, I share all the news I have. Especially about the High Priestess of Klug. Our trek through the forest and my recently acquired assassins swearing an oath of loyalty to me and training me in dagger fighting so I don¡¯t cut myself. I am intentionally vague about how I gained my tiger, but he saw right through me.


    I delicately, snippet after snippet, unveiled to him the secret of urn dust.


    To finish, I mention the two Stone Corner retinue warrior goblins riding wolves.


    ¡°What are your plans now, daughter?¡± he asks.


    ¡°I am certain you grasp, like I do, that Klugak and Kreldak can¡¯t be trusted.¡±


    He smiles one of his knowing smiles. ¡°Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.¡±


    ¡°My new followers are busy recruiting goblins. Oh, before I forget, I have announced that I am the Commander of the Goblin Guards of Hobgoblin Town.¡± I flutter my eyelids. ¡°I hope that meets with your approval, father.¡±


    He busts out laughing. ¡°A grand title, for sure. Did the Stone Corner goblins at least smile when you announced yourself?¡±


    ¡°No, why should they?¡±


    ¡°Never mind. Raise your Goblin Guards. We will need protection from any desperate survivors of the losing army and perhaps an attack from the winning army.¡±


    ¡°What of the abomination?¡±


    He reaches across the table, his giant hands capturing mine. ¡°We must trust Lord Klar. I am certain he will solve that dilemma.¡±


    <h2>---Suda, the Faithful POV</h2>


    Her caress of freezing cold burns. I don¡¯t fathom how I can be dead, and yet this mad bitch can not only grasp my spirit but force me to remain amongst the living instead of reaching for the light. On my death, my spirit always, without fail, reached for the light. Once there, I wait for rebirth. What now?


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    What is she expecting? My spirit envelops my former pubescent body. Why? What is she waiting for me to do, precisely? It isn¡¯t a warm, breathing body. It¡¯s an ice-cold corpse. Did she somehow, after death, return to her body? It¡¯s the simple explanation, however impossible, that has any chance of making sense.


    I mouth the words, ¡®I don¡¯t understand or know how,¡¯ and close my mouth.


    She throws my spirit across the small clearing. She must regret her rashness right away as she storms after me. I fix my aim on the light and rise, urging haste. Wonderfully, my pace of ascent increases enough to evade her desperate lunge to recapture me.


    Her eyes track me. On a whim, I descend and circle behind her. Her body rotates to face me. I realise after a time that my dead body acts as a tether. Usually, when I ascend, I am so disappointed I want nothing to do with my body. Returning to the light and gaining another chance is a desperate need. An unexplained and ever-present condition. Now, though, not so much.


    Her cold death grip has changed something. Finally, I feel in control.


    Below me, though, she bends over, resting her hands on her knees. Her body labours to straighten and take a step, and each step after that requires enormous willpower. Drops of water form on her blue-green skin. Coldness no longer radiates from her body.


    I follow.


    She struggles to continue throughout the night.


    As the sun rises, genuine fear spreads over her face. Floating above her, though, I note the mountain snowline is close¡ªperhaps close enough to save her from her folly. The drops of water are now rivulets, the number increasing as her struggle continues.


    Sunlight hits her face, and she collapses to her hands and knees. An instant row of sweat beads pop from her forehead, join and roll off her face. There is no reflective ice shine. Her forehead skin and sprouting hair sloughing off, sliding into her eyes, blinding her. The bone white of her skull gleams in the morning light.


    My first thought is to fetch fire and finish what her hubris has started. Without a body, I can only bear witness.


    Half of her head is bone when she crawls into the first fingers of snow. The snow a moment later melts. She pushes forward and crashes into more snow. That snow quickly melts. This continues to repeat until she reaches deep snow. The snow melts beneath her, but the depth is such that she doesn¡¯t need to lunge forward to dive into more. She sinks instead.


    When she finally surfaces, rising out of the snow despite the sun shining down, the top and forehead of her head are bone encased in ice, devoid of blue-green skin and the pretence of hair. All semblance of being a frozen hobgoblin is gone.


    She stares directly at me, and I jolt. How is that possible? My body is a fair distance down the mountain. No longer do I sense any tether, any restraint. Why don¡¯t I rise towards the light?


    Her hands take turns, mimicking a rope pull. Then, my spirit jerks in her direction, descending towards her. No, I silently shout. How could I have been so foolish? Somehow, I have transferred my tether to her. Did her grip on me earlier make this possible? What does it matter? I must escape. How?


    I seek the light. There is no other choice.


    Why did I wait until she regained her strength?


    I crave to be one with the light. With all my willpower, I force myself to rise.


    The warmth of the rising sun welcomes me. I rise. Below me, she eases into cover under trees lower down the mountain. As she does, I gain height as her grip on my spirit tether slips. I can¡¯t work out why, but I am certain sunlight weakens her. It¡¯s the only explanation. However, once she is in the shade, her strength settles and then increases.


    I will not reach the light. My tether to her has no more stretch to give, and I yield height to her first tug downward.


    There remains one last chance. Instead of up, I head downwards but maintain my distance from her. As this arc of travel meets the ground, I can merely hope.


    The ground below me is familiar. I watched her crawl over it during the night. My sight follows her trail down the mountain, and I glimpse my body in the distance. Instantly, I cast a spirit tether towards my body. This casting is imagination and willpower. A spirit tether must be a thing, real; otherwise, what grip does she have on me? When tracking her, I must have done this or something similar, but without thought. The first tug back to my body started a transfer to her body.


    Now, I must complete the reverse. I am uncertain what to do, yet I am urging a return to my body and growing the strength of my tether seems right.


    I gain a slight purchase on my body. The thinnest, the weakest of connections. I throw all my willpower into the connection, none into resisting her, hauling me towards her.


    My body is now the focus of my tether. This is my resistance to her efforts instead of direct opposition.


    We are equal. Neither of us can gain an advantage.


    As the middle of the day approaches, I jolt closer to my body. The jolt¡¯s strength and frequency increase around midday until I sense the snap, and my spirit flies towards my body. I soar over my body and rise. The light calls to me. It¡¯s the natural way of things, and I release my control over my spirit.


    A tug on my spirit sparks an immediate panic. I dive towards my body to discover Beastbane female hobgoblins are carrying my body down the mountainside. When they stop, my body is first on a stacked log platform.


    The females of Clan Beastbane are preparing other bodies for the funeral pyre. I am no one important, although I recognise the others. Sons of Jarlgren. This must be an act of petty revenge on their part. They intend to add my body to the pyre and spoil the ceremony. A pathetic slave female joins the sons of Jarlgren in their journey to the afterlife.


    I don¡¯t see any other spirits lingering around their bodies. Few can see and return to the light.


    Clan Head Jarlgren and his remaining sons join the ceremony. The honour guard of hunters chases the women from the site they have laboured at until dusk. My spirit stands beside Clan Head Jarlgren as he lights a torch and fires the funeral pyre.


    I didn¡¯t realise a simple fact until too late.


    Without a body, my tether ceases. My spirit rises towards the light. The bitch changed me. I don¡¯t have to rise and return to the light if I can find another body.


    I search for my blood. The Clan Head, his sons and the honour guard are not of my lineage. As I widen the search circle, I sense the draw of the light strengthening. This is the way of things. Will I have the choice still after my next death? To remain?


    Several Beastbane females observe from afar. All aren¡¯t of my lineage. I didn¡¯t expect any of Clan Beastbane to match my lineage.


    Completing this final ever-widening search circle, I detect two life forces. Goblins, likely spies. One isn¡¯t of my lineage. The other, the other is! My excitement distracts me. I must think.


    What now? The light brought me back to a recently deceased member of my family lineage. This goblin is most certainly alive. I tether my spirit to the blood of my distant relative. The draw towards the light grows, and I rise. I commit my entire being to this slim tether, and as I do, the chill of the night air swirls around my distant relative. Is this because of the bitch? Has her freezing grip scarred my spirit?


    I gather the swirl of chill and form it into a tight ball, then punch through my descendant¡¯s body and target her heart.


    Her spirit doesn¡¯t fly towards the light but scatters into the night. I descend into the corpse of my relative, as I have done countless times before.


    ¡°Vrozila, why are you so cold?¡± says the other goblin. Her hands are busy rubbing my limbs, and then she must detect the coldness of my heart and rub it there. My new heart doesn¡¯t respond to my will. Then I welcome her body¡¯s warmth on mine. Her flesh warming my flesh. My spirit wills my heart to pump. The first weak pulse is lifesaving. The second is more so. As fresh blood pulses through my new heart, the lack of chill allows strength to return. My companion¡¯s body warmth radiates towards mine, and with each heartbeat, my new body returns to life.


    The hard nipples of her breasts wakening me to our flesh-on-flesh closeness. On the cool night breeze, the mumblings of the Clan Head, his remaining sons and the honour guard trudge back to the Clan Hall. I am confident we are safe, yet my companion doesn¡¯t roll off me.


    I lay still. My nipples are firm. Do I welcome this female intimacy? I had convinced myself the night air was the cause. What would Zeb, my husband, say? He enjoyed our coupling. I did my duty and birthed two children, Koria and Luda. None could fault my commitment to the Flint Arrows tribe.


    Lord Farmer Hob¡¯s meddling was our downfall. He stole my family from me and is now nothing but dust. I can never sate my revenge. The Klugites who followed after his death were worse. The internal reconciliation of that reality took several spirit rebirths because my descendants were always the lowest of the low. This current body, though, was different.


    The slinking of her body on mine sends excitement to my loins. This isn¡¯t me. The former owner of this body is to blame. A hot breath caresses my neck. I swallow and close my eyes. My body refuses to shift away or otherwise break this spell I am under.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you want this?¡± asks a sultry voice.


    I release a breath instead of replying.


    Her lips slide down the edges of my ear and send tingles of sexual glee to my loins. A stab of pain. Her teeth withdraw from my ear lobe. I am in shock. A spot in the middle of my loins swirls in pure pleasure. How did she know? Not remembering how, my legs are now over hers, drawing our bodies together tighter, trying to be one instead of two.


    Light kisses dance my neck, the wetness cooling to chill following in their wake. My back tries to lift in an arch.


    Her lips are about my breasts. The flesh of the mounds, the stiffness of my nipples. First one, then the other, she assaults. I am too weak and too ruined by the discovery of ecstasy to mount any resistance. My final thought as I volunteer my body up to this wonder of a companion is if Zeb had pleasured me so, I am certain we would have had more children or at least more attempts to do so.


    <h2>---Vorlora, wolf rider and concubine of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°I left two and returned to find three, yet I smell nothing but disappointment,¡± I say with some amusement.


    Gorgrin and Drulag squat opposite Shiliga, the scribe, around a dying campfire. Yet none rushed for their weapons before I spoke. At the very least, the goblin should have heard my approach and warned the two deaf hobgoblins.


    Instead, three forlorn faces greet me as I assist Voria down from Old Wolf. Gorgrin at least climbs to his feet to assist and settle Voria into a blanket beside the campfire.


    As they tell me their tale, I stoke the campfire to life. Then roast some wild game, courtesy of Old Wolf, over the flames for Voria and me.


    ¡°Wait a day for Voria to regain all her strength, and then all return to Lord Klar. I am certain he would find the scribe¡¯s plan amusing.¡± I shrug. ¡°The goblin village isn¡¯t being used now and will provide them shelter through the snow months. I can¡¯t fault the idea or the plan.¡±


    ¡°What will you do?¡± the scribe asks.


    ¡°I will track and catch up with the goblins and convince them they have chosen poorly.¡± I flash a big grin.


    ---


    If all the goblins had been assassins, tracking them would have been impossible, or at least it would have taken longer. I didn¡¯t search further into the mountains or from their original direction. This left towards the river or Lord Klar¡¯s settlement. Searching wide sweeping arcs proved effective because they couldn¡¯t eliminate every false step. As Old Wolf and I gained on them, he picked up their scent, and then we followed in a direct line.


    Watching them cross the river from afar was a better alternative to surprising them by announcing our presence or their scouts finding us first. Either could cause panic amongst them and lead to lives being lost. I hoped waiting until the end of the day would exhaust most of them, making them more inclined to listen.


    With a superior sense of smell, excellent hearing and motivation, goblins were difficult creatures to surprise. Distraction always worked best when we hunted Oath Keepers. I hoped the same applied to assassins and their non-assassin baggage.


    Yelps of warning and screams of dismay informed me that someone had spotted Old Wolf. They were now circling into a protective circle, possibly around a central campfire. With them hurrying towards the centre, the chance of goblins ambushing me was less likely.


    She was easy to spot. Several watchful assassins surrounded her while the Grandmaster directed her subjects and their defence.


    ---


    ¡°Hail, Grandmaster Sibia,¡± I shout across the din and general scurrying. Had they never seen an enormous wolf before?


    All eyes focus on me. Several whispers mention Duzsia the Relentless, while others speak of a second name, Duzsia the Deathless. The second was unexpected. Did the rumours confuse my position, not accepting Duzsia¡¯s death?


    ¡°I am not Duzsia the Relentless. My Mistress is dead. All I have inherited is her armour and, I hope, some of her skill.¡±


    The assassins advance in my direction as one, while the farmers and crafters with the young shy away. Sibia shoots me a sharp glance. Old Wolf appears by my side as she opens her mouth to speak. Her words die in her throat. The assassins halt their advance, their eagerness for an easy kill being recalculated with each breath they take.


    ¡°As an emissary of Lord Klar, I offer peace. A few days ago, Lord Klar¡¯s scribe made your tribe an offer.¡±


    Grandmaster Sibia strides towards me, her assassin¡¯s parting before her in protest, voicing their concerns.


    ¡°She could have been anyone? Her escorts, one the bastard son of Clan Head Jarlgren and the other unknown by name or reputation. Would you trust your tribe to such as them?¡±


    I cross my arms over my chest and broaden my stance. ¡°So, you sulk off instead of presenting yourself to Lord Klar with his written promise?¡±


    ¡°So they can capture and imprison us for ransom?¡±


    ¡°When has Lord Klar ever committed such a betrayal? At worst, he could have called the parchment false and sent you on your way. I would presume you would send emissaries of your own into Lord Klar¡¯s fort first.¡±


    She sighs. ¡°These are difficult times for us. An unknown enemy has destroyed our citadel, and for the first time in many generations, we are homeless and landless. We can¡¯t be too cautious.¡± She throws her head back and chuckles. ¡°The offer seemed too good to be true. A Hobgoblin offering shelter to a tribe of goblins.¡±


    ¡°The village did house a tribe of Oath Keepers. It is empty now because he granted them their freedom from slavery when they finished the work they promised him. Is that a deed of a goblin hater?¡±


    ¡°Would Lord Klar welcome us now?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°My scribe wasn¡¯t the one insulted. But he typically decides things for himself.¡± I brighten up. ¡°You can try to make a better second impression?¡±


    ¡°Me? Sending an emissary initially would be preferable.¡±


    ¡°Certainly, but I believe that option is now lost to you.¡±


    Many of the assassins murmur, and some whisper protesting advice to her or offer to go in her stead. Her hand wave quiets them.


    ¡°We leave now. I assume your wolf can carry both of us?¡± she offers.


    ¡°At night?¡±


    ¡°Others whispered that Duzsia the Relentless could see in the dark. As her apprentice, I would expect you to be her equal in at least that, or am I wrong?¡±


    A goblin¡¯s ability to see in the dark for a short distance is common lore. Something extraordinary in a hobgoblin. Was the Grandmaster guessing? Trying to figure out Duzsia¡¯s legend and hopeful that seeing in the dark was one advantage she had.


    ¡°My wolf will guide us at night, so we need not to be concerned.¡± Grabbing a handful of fur as I swivel, I leap on Old Wolf¡¯s back. My Mistress has been talking to me all this time, amused by this goblin¡¯s caution, yet respectful. Leading and being entrusted with the health and well-being of many lives is never easy.


    I offer my hand to the Grandmaster.


    She whispers over her shoulder and then steps forward to accept. I swing her up to straddle Old Wolf¡¯s back before me. I wanted to avoid being stabbed in the back.


    ---


    Into the black of the night, Old Wolf lopes long without protest, although I believe our combined weight will test him. The distance to Lord Klar¡¯s village is a greater test.


    ¡°What can I expect when before him?¡±


    ¡°What was your last message to them before you departed?¡± I reply.


    ¡°Nothing special, except to follow in time. Worst case, we are on the right bank of the river to make our way to Hobgoblin Town if Lord Klar rejects my offer.¡±


    ¡°Who sliced your cheek?¡±


    Her body tenses and then relaxes. ¡°Why would that be important?¡±


    ¡°I once suffered from an arrow piercing both my cheeks. His offer to you may be more generous than you could hope.¡±


    ---


    At dawn, we reach the outskirts of the goblin village and dismount. I release Old Wolf to hunt, but I detect his exhaustion. Once out of sight, he will rest.


    ¡°Does your wolf need to hunt often?¡± she asks.


    I grin at her. ¡°Merely when hungry.¡±


    Her cheeky slap on my shoulder is encouraging. I guess being pressed against another body, even a hobgoblin one, for the night, is an exercise in trust.


    ¡°The village appears run down.¡± My look must giveaway my disappointment. ¡°It won¡¯t be a challenge for my crafters to fix, though. We would welcome the shelter.¡±


    ---


    When the middle of the afternoon arrives, there is a substantial period of waiting, which I suspect tests Grandmaster Sibia¡¯s commitment.


    The door of the small hut opens and casts sunlight over us. Shiliga, the scribe, whooshes in to join us.


    The Grandmaster stands until Shiliga seats herself. The goblin is extending herself to be courteous. Her set jaw suggests she is swallowing buckets full of pride.


    Shiliga unrolls and pushes a piece of parchment before the Grandmaster.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.029 Decisions

    ---Lord Klar


    The scribe¡¯s legs dangle as her complexion takes on a darker shade of green.


    ¡°She is your charge. What say you?¡± I growl. From the corner of my eye, I note with satisfaction that Solgia¡¯s body shivers.


    ¡°At least lower her so she may speak in her defence, Lord Klar.¡± Her voice is a squeak. She rightly guesses the level of my displeasure.


    My fingers toy with Scribe Shiliga¡¯s neck. Her quick pants to suck in air at least proves she would rather live than die.


    We are eye to eye. ¡°Do you deserve a second chance?¡±


    She nods with as much vigour as my grip on her neck permits. Tears roll down her cheeks.


    ¡°We shall see,¡± I say as I lower her and release my grip.


    Without massaging her neck, she drops to my feet and grabs for my right leg. ¡°I will do nothing unless you command it, Lord Klar. I promise, I swear.¡±


    ¡°Take her from my presence and tell her what she must do to atone for her misguided inspiration.¡±


    The two scribes, one supporting the other, scramble from the hut. Somehow, the former storage hut became my main meeting office.


    ---


    ¡°You three, what have you to say?¡±


    Vorlora, Gorgrin and Drulag stand before me. Sent in after the scribes had left.


    Vorlora chuckles. I step forward and raise my hand to strike. She bends over, laughing louder. Gorgrin and Drulag step back, sharing a worrying glance between them.


    ¡°What?¡± I growl.


    ¡°Sorry, Lord. Duzsia is, well, advising me. She says you are missing an opportunity. Dismiss Gorgrin and Drulag. They have done nothing but follow your orders and bear no blame.¡±


    Both correct the relief on their faces as my gaze falls on them. I wave them away, and they hurry out of the hut.


    ¡°Well?¡±


    ¡°She says that Klugite dust is becoming known. Advantages, once whispered, are now proven. Did you not detect the swagger and confidence in Zinia when she visited? A mere whelp of a girl, parading around as if she grasped all the world¡¯s secrets. So confident she shared with you her takedown of the two strangers carrying dust and boasting about the dust she liberated from ignorant Klugite pilgrims.¡±


    I strum the table with my fingers. ¡°It would explain the loyalty of her goblin companions and, if she spoke the truth, her tiger. A secret source of strength would embolden one so young.¡±


    The back of Vorlora¡¯s hand caresses my cheek. My eyes flash in her direction.


    ¡°Duzsia says you need to relax,¡± she purrs.


    I raise my eyebrows. ¡°With you?¡±


    ¡°Oh no, Lord. The Grandmaster of the Assassins.¡± Her fingers toy with my tusks. ¡°She must have been aware of the goblin assassin in the ice. Her husband, maybe? The concentration of nanorobots in his blood and the resultant benefits would be difficult to hide. Then there is her cheek. She is female, and speaking from experience, all females aspire to be whole. Win her to your side.¡± Her hand squeezes my groin while her lips devour mine.


    She breaks the kiss with impeccable timing. Duzsia.


    ¡°I offer her the goblin assassin¡¯s dust. The dust of Izga?¡±


    She chuckles. ¡°Your seed as well. Instructions on healing and how to truly take advantage of your dust. Win her, win her assassins. You can decide afterwards if you need another wife. For now, another fanatical ally will do.¡±


    Duzsia is right, of course. My silly young scribe has done me a great service. What Vorlora has done is more significant. She has awakened me. Losing Koria, Luda and others, the invincibility of the Abomination has weighed me down. Diasha, Diasha, Diasha, you must have limitations. She didn¡¯t rush across the valley to pursue my other wives; otherwise, many would have fled before her. Such a happening would swiftly spread far and wide. Given the time that has passed between my wives being slayed and the goblin assassin¡¯s slaying, she must have kept to the mountain snow and journeyed to this side of the valley that way. If so, warmth could be a weakness.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hope my scribe succeeds, then.¡±


    Her head drops to one side. ¡°You won¡¯t take charge of negotiations?¡±


    ¡°No. Not unless all is lost.¡± My hand cups her cheek. ¡°Send in Milga¡¯s retinue warriors. They have news apparently worth listening to.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    ---


    I greet them standing, offering the warriors a seat at the table that dominates the single-room cottage.


    Like me, Morraga lounges on a chair while the other leans on the doorjamb. The standing one, Vrozila, if I remember her name, seems nervous. Her eyes dart about the nondescript room as if every corner hides an enemy. Morraga, though, relaxes as I do. She pours us both a mug of mead.


    ¡°I was told you have some information.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡± A sly smile escapes from between her lips. ¡°For just compensation.¡±


    ¡°As long as you allow me to judge, it¡¯s worth it.¡±


    She nods and recalls the passing ceremony, the pyre for Clan Head Jarlgren¡¯s sons. The mutters of betrayal by a creature, hobgoblin in appearance but ice cold. He agreed to an alliance, but apparently purely to see the creature gone from his Clan Hall. The creature was last seen heading towards the high mountains, and his regret was that he didn¡¯t have it followed.


    ¡°Why do you surmise the Beastbane females tossed a slave¡¯s body on the pyre? Wouldn¡¯t that be a desecration?¡±


    She sips from her mug and shrugs. ¡°They hate their Clan Head or hate his sons? The slave¡¯s body was rags and bones, a nobody.¡±


    Morraga, with goblin senses, didn¡¯t notice, but my nanorobot-enhanced senses did. Vrozila¡¯s fingernails dig into the doorjamb covertly. Yet resolutely.


    ¡°A slave of Clan Beastbane or a worthless, pathetic stray of some visitor?¡±


    I hear Vrozila¡¯s teeth grind. Morraga¡¯s eyes twitch. Did she hear?


    ¡°Hardly. The Clan would have slain such a pathetic creature and thrown her into the forest for beasts to maul. A waste of valuable food for the likes of her.¡±


    ¡°The Beastbane females must have truly hated their Clan Head and his sons to pollute the pyre with such a foul corpse.¡±


    Morraga and I swivel our heads in perfect unison to catch the flush of green fury on Vrozila¡¯s face.


    ¡°What do you know about this slave?¡± I growl.


    ¡°Yes, my lover, who previously appreciated myself better than I while coupled, but after that ceremony, seemed like someone new.¡±


    Vrozila heaves her body against the door, which doesn¡¯t budge. I climb out of my chair and stroll towards her, Morraga at my side.


    As my fingers curl around her slim goblin neck, the pain of a dagger slash erupts from my forearm.


    ¡°Drop the dagger before I ram it up between your legs,¡± I snarl.


    A weaker slash draws more of my blood as my grip tightens around her neck, and her body rises.


    A realisation washes over her face. She remembers something from her past, perhaps. She recognises this move of mine. I am certain. Her dagger falls to the floor with a dead clunk as her eyes widen. The shallow cut on my arm is healing, while the deeper slash no longer bleeds.


    ¡°What are you?¡± asks Morraga as Vrozila¡¯s dropping jaw tries to recall speech.


    ¡°You journeyed with Zinia for a time, didn¡¯t you?¡± I sense her nodding. ¡°She may or may not have told you, but she consumed the dust of Klugite worshippers, which enhanced her. I have been doing something similar for much longer.¡±


    Morraga¡¯s fingers trace the shallow slash on my forearm. Now, a line of light green mended flesh.


    ¡°He is not Lord Klar,¡± screams Vrozila. My grip tightens.


    ¡°You are not Vrozila!¡± I retort.


    Morraga peers at and examines Vrozila. ¡°She appears the same, yet?¡± Morraga squeezes one of her own breasts, trying to recall an intimate moment, perhaps.


    ¡°Please leave, Morraga. Getting the answers I require will be messy.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I can¡¯t. We are of Milga¡¯s Retinue. I can¡¯t leave her behind.¡±


    ¡°She is no longer a loyal servant of Milga Stone Blood. Vrozila is no longer with us.¡± I jiggle the imposter. ¡°Is she?¡±


    Morraga casts a dark stare at me.


    ¡°Inform Milga when you see her next that Lord Klar told you to trust him. She will believe you.¡±


    She examines me and then the imposter. I knock on the door, and as it cracks open, Morraga flees. I assume this is to prevent her from having second thoughts.


    ---


    ¡°Who am I?¡± I ask my plaything.


    She sucks in a deep breath as I ease my grip. Her face contorts and twists as she screeches. ¡°You are an impossibility. Lord Farmer Hob.¡±


    I chuckle and share a wide smile with her. ¡°Who is Lord Farmer Hob?¡±


    With venom, she replies. ¡°Also called Lord Klug. The destroyer of my family.¡± She gulps.


    ¡°Klugites worship Lord Klug. I am aware of that much, and they don¡¯t seem to worship me now. In fact, they are a troublesome lot, as far as I am concerned.¡±


    A flash of doubt crosses her face. A quirk of her head. ¡°No. No! I am right about this. You are Lord Klug. Zeb Stone Grim!¡± My face must betray me. ¡°Koria Keen Eye and Luda! You recognise these names, don¡¯t you, Lord Klug?¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ¡°Yes, I do, Suda the Faithful. I assume somehow reborn.¡± Was being reborn a Flint Arrows trait? Milga and now Suda.


    ¡°Many times, always into a hard life. Slave. A used daughter. A child of poor parents or one parent. I presumed this was my punishment.¡±


    ¡°For being a scheming wife and traitorous mother,¡± I scowl.


    ¡°No, you filth, for failing to rescue my family from you,¡± she screams into my face.


    I pace about the hut, imagining her head smashed and bloody against a wall, except I realise she will be reborn.


    ¡°I can¡¯t have you spreading lies, so I will rip your tongue out, crush your fingers, and cut your ankles.¡± Colour drains from her face. ¡°I will arrange for someone to feed you and ensure you live a long, miserable life.¡±


    ¡°No! This is my best body ever! I can¡¯t endure returning to a life of starvation and abuse. I will tell you how I stole this body. Why I needed to. Anything?¡±


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Anything?¡±


    She gulps. Her nod is slow.


    ¡°Tell me of your past lives.¡±


    She begins with her first ¡®seeing the light¡¯. Her confusion and then realisation. I tell her to skip her lives until she talks about the Abomination. How Diasha grabbed her spirit. How she changed tethers. The burning of her body and then her search for one of her blood. It would stand to reason that Milga Stone Blood would be home to several tribes from the valley, including Flint Arrows. Suda¡¯s kin, a reasonable probability.


    The description of Diasha and her weakness away from snow confirms my suspicion. The first glimmer of hope.


    ¡°I will submit to being your wife.¡±


    I almost miss her offer, being deep in my own thoughts. Planning the Abomination¡¯s destruction, for example. How can I lure Diasha out of the mountains and trap her until the sun melts her out of my life?


    ¡°What? No! I reckon you should become somebody else¡¯s problem. You both will have lots to discuss.¡±


    Her bottom lip drops. ¡°But I told you everything to escape being a cripple. You tricked me.¡±


    I clamp down on her throat. ¡°I will not cripple you, that I promise. He, though, may have other ideas.¡±


    ---


    They eye each other with suspicion. Meeting them in this hut is deliberate on my part to show that this won¡¯t involve any coupling. The chat will be about something else.


    ¡°How can I answer you?¡± asks Tinuna.


    ¡°We try to manipulate what we don¡¯t truly comprehend,¡± offers Linmere.


    I stomp away from them; otherwise, I could do something terrible. They have been receiving my seed daily, without fail. They were to be instrumental in my defeating the Abomination. Using their magic.


    I slap the wall of the hut and repeat my words. ¡°A simple request. Stop someone from speaking for a day. Using your magic.¡±


    ¡°Magic?¡± they ask in unison. Then they giggle.


    In an instant, I¡¯m across the room, my hands squeezing their throats. With both gasping for breath and faces blank, I slam them against the hut¡¯s wall.


    ¡°You consume my seed and evoke envy in others because of that attention. You don¡¯t want for food, drink or clothes. It is time you convince me you are still worth keeping alive.¡±


    Their necks stiffen or not. A force surrounds and repels my grip. I counter by squeezing. The contest continues to turnabout until they can counter no more. Beads of sweat pop from their foreheads. Both gasping for breath. What are they telling me? Their lives must be in danger for them to use magic. Not danger, but striving under pressure or the weight of expectation. That inspires an idea.


    ¡°You will report to Zeria and Zoria and assist them in their merchant trade. You will obey the twins or suffer my wrath.¡±


    They should develop many magical techniques to shortcut many of the tasks the twins set them to escape punishment for failure. I send Tigliga ahead of them with a note so the twins have a clear comprehension of the power they have over Tinuna and Linmere.


    ---


    The contract with her signature is on the table between us. We stare at each other. The angry scar on her cheek draws my attention. She notices, of course and a green intensity colours her face.


    ¡°Mine and I have agreed to serve you, yet your scribe said she couldn¡¯t sign on your behalf. What more do you want?¡±


    ¡°Some unwritten conditions.¡±


    Her smallish goblin hands grip the edge of the table. A tactic to contain her anger, perhaps.


    ¡°What conditions? Speak plainly and let this be done.¡±


    Next to the skin of mead, I place a bulging fine leather bag.


    ¡°I offer you the contents of the bag. A gift.¡±


    She eyes the bag and sniffs. Then stiffens.


    ¡°I recognise the scent,¡± she gasps.


    ¡°Of your husband?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°No, the upstart who defeated my husband and I and claimed rulership over us all.¡±


    ¡°How could he possibly manage that?¡± I ask.


    She licks her lips and takes a swig of mead from her mug. Her eyes never leave the bag.


    ¡°We wondered how,¡± she whispers.


    ¡°I offer you the bag¡¯s contents on the condition you must accept my seed as well.¡± She drags her eyes from the bag to find mine. Her eyes are wide in disbelief. ¡°Frequently.¡±


    ¡°What? No. Why? You have many others if the rumours are true,¡± she mumbles.


    ¡°Call it another gift.¡± My face oozes smugness.


    She takes another swig of her mug. ¡°One gift is enough to ensure my loyalty, Lord Klar.¡±


    ¡°Oh, this gift isn¡¯t to ensure your loyalty.¡± I grab her by the chin and drag her across the table. Her punching of my wrist eases when our noses are a finger width apart. I drag the finger of my free hand along the scar on her cheek. ¡°This gift will restore your beauty.¡±


    Her face casts many emotions; hope, though, dominates as her hands go limp and tears pool in her eyes. I release my grip, and she slides back into her chair.


    ¡°My scar?¡±


    I offer her my hand. She accepts and coyly shuffles around the table until we are face to face. Lifting her onto the table, she has enough presence of mind to tug at the belt holding her leather pants in place. I drop my pants in time to tug her pants free, returning to remove her loin cloth.


    She lays back, shutting her eyes. I slap her bare bottom. Her eyes snap open.


    ¡°Better,¡± I say and then advance towards her.


    ---


    ¡°This had better be important,¡± I curse.


    To her credit, Vorlora doesn¡¯t flinch. She nods in confirmation.


    I drag my loincloth and pants back on. For some reason, the Guildmaster and I have kept our shirts on through several bouts of coupling. Vorlora¡¯s loud sniffing, a not-so-subtle hint.


    ¡°Will she be well enough?¡± Vorlora points towards the exhausted Guildmaster, naked below the waist, huddled in a corner of the hut.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suspect she will disturb us if that is what you are asking.¡±


    Vorlora shrugs and cracks open the door to receive something. The something is a goblin. Clothes are basic. A leather sleeveless coat. Soft leather britches. Arms and legs bound, she is a bundle at Vorlora¡¯s feet.


    ¡°We caught her snooping on the fort. Yesterday, she strolled the length and breadth of the village but purchased nothing and, at dusk, returned to the forest.¡±


    By we, I assume Klaria and/or Duzsia picked up her unusual behaviour and then informed Vorlora.


    With my foot, I push her over until I can see her face. Dropping to my haunches, I study our spy. Well-fed and young but with callused hands and several scars suggest she has lived rough. She hasn¡¯t spoken a word, so she grasps the importance of keeping her mouth shut.


    ¡°I doubt she will talk, and I can¡¯t be bothered to persuade her,¡± I say as I climb to my feet. ¡°Slit her throat and feed her to the boars.¡±


    As Vorlora squats to scoop her up, she screams in protest while struggling.


    ¡°Shut up, bitch!¡±


    I glance over my shoulder to witness a half-dressed Sibia stretching like a satisfied cat and slinking along to join Vorlora and I.


    ¡°You have no pants,¡± squeaks our death row prisoner, who then sniffs deeply. Her face shone a bright green shortly after.


    ¡°Mm, you wouldn¡¯t either if it means receiving his seed more often.¡± Her hand slides along the inside of her thigh and then smears whatever she collects across the lips of our helpless prisoner.


    The face of our prisoner reminds me of someone dying of thirst, taking their first sip of water. She grabs back Sibia¡¯s hand and licks it between her fingers.


    ¡°Tell him everything you know, and I may share more of his seed with you.¡±


    Sibia squats in front of our prisoner, deliberately positioning herself so the prisoner can appreciate the view of Sibia¡¯s naked loins.


    Niba, the bandit, was most forthcoming. She is a scout for the army of the Warrior Hob. Proficient in spear and bow. They are on the warpath to free all goblins from slavery, destroy the evil Klugites, and locate a hobgoblin, me. They found a secret way through the forest by following others. None wanted to follow her to my village. They had already learnt I lived in the valley, which was all the confirmation the Warrior Hob needed. She, of all of them, wanted to win higher praise by finding and describing my settlement. Confirm my presence.


    The delirious look on Niba¡¯s face convinced me my seed had a seductive potency. Niba confirmed this in a roundabout way when she offered me her virginity. Instead, I told her I would order her to be freed in a couple of days. I also suggested that if she ever wanted to return, she would need to exchange her life for valuable information.


    After the hut door closes, Sibia¡¯s hands are at work loosening the belt holding up my pants. I strangle her hands with one of mine, grabbing her attention.


    ¡°Have you been willing and imagining your cheek mended and smooth?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Klar. I smear your seed on my cheek and capture your seed in my mouth as well. I wish to be whole as soon as possible.¡± Her hands struggle against my grip.


    ¡°Enough!¡±


    Her hands fall away, and she sulks as if a petulant child. ¡°Have I offended you? Are you now bored with me? You prefer the young virgin bandit instead?¡±


    ¡°Has my seed addled your brain? You are a Grandmaster of Assassins. Stop thinking with your loins.¡±


    She stamps her foot. ¡°How can I? Your seed invades my body and spreads beyond my loins. The energy in your seed creates a need. I have seen goblins demanding mead and never being satisfied. Your seed penetrates my very being.¡± The Grandmaster of Assassins then drops to her knees and sobs.


    Grabbing her shoulders, I make her stand before me. ¡°This will be fleeting. Before that, you must consume all the dust in the bag. It is best for you to be naked when done and find a friend to watch over you.¡± I hand her the bag of dust.


    Her lip trembles. ¡°What have you done to me?¡±


    ¡°Nothing bad. Remember the one who defeated you and your husband? Not only will you consume his dust, but you also carry my live seed. Now obey.¡±


    She rushes past me. I cough. She then remembers her pants.


    ---


    I re-read the parchment before me. Note again the signature of the Grandmaster of Assassins. A knock on the door interrupts my reflection, which I welcome. I expect this visitor.


    Shiliga slinks into the hut and seals the door behind her.


    ¡°Lift your head, face me.¡± Her eyes meet mine. ¡°Your need for adventure, disobeying my orders, must be tested. Do you agree?¡±


    ¡°I will do what you command of me, Lord Klar.¡± She surprises with a small courtesy.


    ¡°We have a prisoner¡ªa scout, a spy if we are being truthful¡ªand I command you to accompany her.¡±


    ¡°If that is your command, I obey.¡±


    I slap the table. The sudden sound makes her jolt. ¡°Less absolute obedience and more independent thought. I am on the verge of sending you to your death. To survive, you will need to plan and plot.¡± I sigh and wave to her, inviting her to sit at the table. ¡°You will act as the scout¡¯s captive. A scribe who is close to me, who knows certain secrets.¡±


    Her lips tremble, and tears pool in her eyes. ¡°But I do, Lord. What if I¡­¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t.¡± I raise a hand for her to stop. ¡°I will prepare you.¡± My hand shifts a bag on the table to rest under her eyes.


    ¡°Is that dust?¡±


    ¡°You will start as a captive, but you must win the trust of the Warrior Hob and prove your worth to him. Submit to him, possibly. You will return to me once you determine you can learn no more.¡±


    ¡°What if they discover I am a spy?¡±


    ¡°You swore to obey me, did you not?¡± She nods. ¡°I expect you to command your body to kill itself.¡±


    She gulps but nods.


    We spend the next day coupling, and I ask Solgia to wait with her after she consumes the dust. The day after, my seed and the dust transformed her. I promptly extinguished her overconfidence that same day, extolling the importance of humility to enhance her chance of survival. She will be no warrior, so she must depend on keeping her wits about her. Enhancing her hearing and sense of smell, for example, to at least compete with the goblins in the Warrior Hob¡¯s army.


    In the morning, before she leaves, she shows her control by commanding her nanorobots to eliminate all the hair on her body except for her eyebrows and head. If needed, she will destroy her heart, but no more. I didn¡¯t want her dust captured. She consumed Grolgia¡¯s dust, which was not as valuable as the dust of Koria or Luda but was still beneficial.


    ---


    The door opens, and the Grandmaster of Assassins rushes towards me.


    She is full of energy and delightful smiles, and three paces away, she leaps at me. I could step back, but I decide to catch her. Her arms wrap around my neck, and her lips and tongue devour mine.


    I grab her arms and force her loose. Before she pouts, I deposit her into a chair at my table. With one hand on the back of her chair and the other on the table, I lean over her, a finger width separating our noses.


    ¡°We have business to conduct.¡±


    She pouts, of course. ¡°I miss you.¡±


    ¡°No. You miss my seed. Any intimate feelings you have about me may exist deep down, but for now, you crave my seed and nothing else.¡±


    She folds her arms. ¡°Of course, I have feelings for you, silly. Don¡¯t you believe me?¡± She flutters her eyelashes.


    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I trust the word of an assassin?¡±


    She pokes her tongue out. ¡°Now you are mocking your one true love. It is completely unacceptable since I am in mourning, having recently lost my husband. Your embrace rescued me from despair. Don¡¯t underestimate how you saved me.¡±


    I nod and retreat to my side of the table. ¡°Business now, though. I am about to release a couple of sons of Clan Head Jarlgren. One or more of your assassins will shadow them and report on their reunion with their father.¡±


    ¡°Is that all? Certainly.¡± She leaps across the table, and her lips are again on mine. She then nips my lower lip, drawing blood. Her eyes roll back in her head, her body flops back onto the table, and silence fills the room.


    Several heartbeats pass before her eyelids flutter. Her eyes find mine, and then she licks her lips.


    ¡°Are you recovered?¡±


    Tears fall from her eyes. ¡°You have made me so happy, Lord Klar. Why didn¡¯t you tell me your blood is pure Klugite?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t presume it was important.¡± Not an outright lie, I tell myself. After all, Oath Keepers treasure their own lineage. Drulag chases Duzsia, the Relentless lineage. I am certain Milga keeps her own lineage pure.


    ¡°We are all Karo and Ligia lineage, which had benefits and allowed us to survive many generations. Some activated our nanorobots, as you call them. To be Grandmaster, you needed to. But we always hunted for pure Klugite blood. We hoped that nanorobot activation would be easier and strengthen us if we could find one such as you.¡± She wipes the tears from her eyes. ¡°Lord, can I please drink some more? Whatever you ask of me, and mine will never be too much, I promise.¡±


    ¡°Lay down on the table and open your mouth.¡± I shove my thumb into her mouth and slash the thumb open on one of her teeth. Her saliva will counter my blood clotting somewhat. I command my nanorobots to not heal until she has her fill.


    She falls asleep. Does blood intoxication exist? I withdraw my thumb and command my nanorobots to heal. My mouth is dry, and as I reach for mead, I grab the water skin off the nearby wall instead.


    I could carry her back to her people or let her recover in a chair outside the hut. Instead, I leave her in the hut and wander off to visit the wet nurse Mora and my sons.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.030 Hard Truths, Hard Lessons

    <h2>---Linmere, Shifter of the GPA Scout Ship POV</h2>


    ¡°Have you finished the sharpening yet?¡± hisses the full, round-bellied Zeria waddling into view. ¡°They are trusting us to have the tools ready.¡± She bends over with a grunting effort, selects a pick, and runs a finger along the sharp edge. Inspecting her finger, she then stares at me. ¡°You realise Lord Klar gave your arse to me and my twin, right? Anything he said. I even have my authority in writing.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°You must have deeply disappointed him, and I can see why. Three days, two tools. At this rate, the Snow Months will be well and truly over, and you will be at best, halfway through.¡±


    The sharpening wheel I sense grins at me. The pedals lay still at my feet. Physical labour could well be the death of me, I conclude.


    Zeria reaches for a three-tail lash hanging from the wall. I don¡¯t protest and lift my shirt to expose my back.


    Fortunately, we are in the back of their shop, if you can call a vast tent, divided down the middle by a wooden log wall, a respectable place of business. One side is customer-facing, and the other is the workroom or, to Tinuna and I, the torture room. The torture room is now divided, originally by a tent cloth as a temporary measure, later by another wooden log wall built by Tinuna and I under the twins¡¯ supervision. The twins trade anything and everything. They quickly profit by buying and selling from anyone who approaches them. The customer¡¯s first mistake, as far as Tinuna and I are concerned.


    The Old Crone gazes on in sympathy. She is considering other ways to rescue me by developing my magic. Personal enhancement using the nanorobots is the easiest manipulation, of course. I have become adept at healing. I am working on pain control while trying to make sure my cries of pain sound genuine.


    I stretch out and place my hands on the sharpening wheel, exposing my back. Twenty lashes later, and I am sobbing, rivulets of blood ooze out of the wounds. Zeria has the knack of striking the same line and length more than once. I drop to my knees after the flailing once again and curse my weakness. How can I subject myself to these primitives?


    ¡°Get back to it. At this rate, you will be down to one meal a day, naps and work. Do better.¡± Zeria hesitates as she heads back to the shop¡¯s customer side. ¡°Crone, follow me. She must fix herself. You need to wander about the village and drum up some business. Earn your keep.¡±


    ¡°Lord Klar didn¡¯t include my name on the parchment,¡± she states doggedly.


    ¡°No, he didn¡¯t. But I am sure he will if I denounce you as a distraction. Then see how much time you can spend with your brat or worse, sympathise with Linmere and encourage her failure.¡±


    The Old Crone spares me a glance, but we both realise there is no rescue from this torture. Pregnancy must make mothers to be grouchy. I am warming up to the condition if it allows this sort of behaviour.


    <h2>---Tinuna, Shifter of the GPA Observer Ship POV</h2>


    ¡°I cannot swing the axe again.¡± I throw the tool to the ground and pout at Xoria. She smiles and leans back to stretch, pushing her enormous, round belly forward and out.


    ¡°The axe can¡¯t be the problem. Linmere sharpened it yesterday.¡± I notice her deliberate smirk. ¡°Your motivation can¡¯t be the problem, considering Lord Klar has sanctioned anything I can dream up. What excuse do you have now?¡±


    ¡°My hands have blisters on blisters. The axe handle has more of my skin than my hands!¡±


    ¡°I noticed your gloves on the ground. Didn¡¯t I mention not wearing them as a mistake?¡±


    I advance on the bitch and splay out my hands. ¡°The gloves don¡¯t fit right, the axe slips, and the handle strikes the wood instead of the head. The jarring then travels up my arms.¡±


    She peers at my hands. ¡°Nasty. I suggest you heal them, put your gloves on, and swing the axe. This tree won¡¯t fell itself.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t need another log,¡± I say with emotion.


    ¡°No, we don¡¯t. Fortunately, selling logs all cut to the same length will be a business opportunity for the shop. My sister and I can take advantage of this. Hence why you are.¡±


    I absorb the light drizzle on my face and fuel my nanorobots, directing them to heal my hands again. I then slip my hand into one glove and do likewise with the other hand.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you mumbo jumbo the gloves to be smaller once on your hands?¡± she quips.


    ¡°No. There is no mumbo jumbo. I could remove the moisture, perhaps, make the gloves slightly smaller, but they would be stiff then,¡± I hiss and then pick up the axe again.


    ¡°Thirty lashes minus one for each log you have cut at the right length by dusk today. I need to return to the shop in case Zeria dallies while motivating Linmere to ensure we open on time.¡±


    <h2>---Rexa, High Priestess of Klug POV</h2>


    What now, I try to imagine! A second and third horn blast sounds and reverberates through the Temple.


    Many who watched with glee now scatter like fowl with their heads cut off. My prisoner, though, seems relaxed. Perhaps he can enlighten me.


    ¡°Who is at my door, Chief of the Oath Keeper Goblins?¡± I ask.


    His bold grin doesn¡¯t reassure me. ¡°Why, I suspect another who claims herself as the rightful High Priestess is sallying to challenge your presumption as the religious head of the Klugites.¡±


    ¡°If she is like me, I presume win or lose your life will be forfeit. Either as my petty revenge before I escape or celebrating my victory.¡± With a swish of my robes, I nod to his two guards. They drag him away, a worried confusion adorning his healthy, plump face.


    ---


    His boots striking the stone floor with each step warn me of his approach. None of my servants seem to have kept their composure to announce him. At least the armour and weapons of the hobgoblin suggest he is in command of my army, such as it is.


    ¡°High Priestess, we have an army on our doorstep, or more precisely at the entrance to the valley, blocking the pilgrim route, isolating us.¡±


    ¡°Are they advancing to attack or camping? I assume if they did advance, we don¡¯t have enough soldiers and others to repel them?¡±


    He nods abruptly. ¡°We have a start. With the aid of able pilgrims, we could guard the wall around the town, but food is our biggest issue. Our stores are low, and as soon as they surround us, within one ten days, we would need to surrender.¡±


    Without intending to, I vocalise my thoughts. ¡°If they blockade us, wouldn¡¯t they also blockage the merchants from Hobgoblin Town? If so, we could purchase any food they carry.¡±


    ¡°A mighty plan, High Priestess. Who will visit Lord Torngul as your emissary?¡±


    ¡°I admit the urgency will need my attendance. Can I trust you to hold things together while I am away, although you will tell others I am meditating, asking Lord Klug to answer my prayer?¡±


    ¡°Certainly, my High Priestess.¡±


    His immediate agreement is a concern, but I need to attend to Torngul Heartsplitter, Lord of the Grassplains. I can¡¯t see any other way to ensure an ideal outcome.


    <h2>---Lord Torngul Heartsplitter POV</h2>


    I throw the read report down at my feet and glare at my daughter, my Commander of the Goblin Guards of Hobgoblin Town.


    ¡°She or they are a day from my doorstep. How can we prepare to avoid appearing feeble and undefended?¡± I growl while shaking my head. Disappointment is consuming me.


    ¡°Father,¡± she says.


    ¡°Not at this moment,¡± I retort.


    ¡°Lord Torngul, all is as it should be.¡±


    I stare at her in disbelief. ¡°What makes you say that?¡±


    ¡°A minimal number of priestesses and a reasonable number of soldiers escort her. We have observed that they cart the bare minimum of stores with them. They travel light.¡±


    I hold up my hand. ¡°They hardly have far to travel.¡±


    ¡°You miss the point, Lord. There are no delicacies as would befit a High Priestess, let alone her entourage. We know the two armies at the entrance to the valley, so one or both could block their pilgrim route. The primary source of their coin and other goods.¡± She folds her arms. ¡°We don¡¯t need to impress with swords and spears, but food.¡±


    ¡°What if we show them nothing of our army, and they return with theirs?¡±


    ¡°They have already seen our army, or at least a goblin patrol, which surprised them, and then they asked about their business. Once our guests are in the city, they will see a squad of hobgoblin warriors patrolling¡ªthose we liberated from Sakvorpa. Meanwhile, we will prepare a feast, where you can dine on your fine food and boast of your army and riding boars into battle to slay all our foes.¡±


    As my daughter leaves my presence, I glance at my wife. ¡°Send word of our unbidden guest.¡±


    <h2>---Shiliga, Scribe of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    ¡°Loosen the leather throngs around my wrists. They hurt,¡± I protest.


    ¡°I took the risk most of the way with no bindings. We are close now, and unless I tie your wrists as I should, none will accept you as my prisoner.¡±


    I don¡¯t admit to my captor, but I am tired from the urgent pace, the rough trail, and simply being in the forest. Yuck! The overnight camp is dark, and the scary noises aren¡¯t comforting. The lack of sleep hasn¡¯t helped. I miss my bed. Why is this experience so different from before?


    ---


    The forest gives way to long grass, saplings and sparse trees. Ahead, though, is a camp of countless tents.


    ¡°Who do you have there, brave Niba?¡± The sudden voice startles me, and it takes all the effort I can not to release my water. I hate this, erm, outside business. I should have learnt my lesson the first time, but being confronted by this stranger brings home an obvious difference. Lord Klar¡¯s village wasn¡¯t far away, and I could always scamper back. At that moment, I realise I am far from home and alone. Who is Niba to me anyway? What am I to her?


    ¡°My prisoner. I scouted his settlement when all others returned. To me goes the rewards!¡± Niba growls, whipping out a blade and dragging on my arm to position me behind her. I could¡¯ve resisted, but why? Niba is my sole hope of succeeding, yet a chill wiggles down my spine.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ---


    Goblins swarmed us when we reached the largest tent in the camp¡¯s centre. The tent of Lord Warrior Hob, I presume.


    We wait. Our impromptu escort fades away after a time. By late afternoon, with the sun low on the horizon, Niba and I wait alone. It seems our novelty value has gone to zero.


    ¡°I must be mistaken,¡± sulks Niba. ¡°I thought bringing back a captive from Lord Klar¡¯s village would ensure an immediate audience with Lord Warrior Hob. Perhaps for the others, viewing the settlement was enough.¡±


    ¡°In that case, return me to Lord Klar. I am certain he will reward you.¡± I can¡¯t keep the happiness from my voice.


    ¡°Are you stupid? Is that why you were¡­¡±


    The tent flap snaps back. ¡°You were saying, Scout Niba.¡±


    ¡°Lord Warrior Hob!¡± Niba straightens to attention. ¡°Easy to capture. She was easy to capture. She took strolls outside the village wall to the stream, gazing into the water. Who has time for that idleness?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a female hobgoblin!¡± I blurt out. Fear stabs my heart as her eyes fall on me. How would I realise what to expect? Lord Klar said the Lord Warrior Hob would be a male.


    Her cold, hard flint of a gaze frightens me. ¡°Yes. I get that a lot. Apparently, most assume the Warrior Hob must be a male.¡± She glances at Niba. ¡°Is she dangerous?¡±


    Niba puts on a swagger and tilts her head in my direction. ¡°She is afraid of the woods, the dark, being lonely and doesn¡¯t like the idea of not knowing where her next meal is coming from and when.¡±


    Lord Warrior Hob snatches the tent flap open, inviting us in.


    I peer inside, and a hand on my back pushes me in. My body stumbles and alternates between falling and staying upright, and I shame myself by crashing into the floor of the tent. My arms and legs think for themselves and take off in four different directions.


    ¡°What is this?¡± asks another, amusement clear in his voice.


    ¡°She is my captive, Shiliga, Scribe to Lord Klar,¡± announces Niba. She then falls silent, edging away from the owner of the voice. A goblin that my nose can smell. A mixed odour of dark soil, sweat and unwashed stink rolls off him. His grinning mouth full of razor-sharp teeth is unpleasant also. I draw my limbs back to me and climb to my feet while trying to make myself small.


    ¡°Forgive my goblin friend. He keeps me from seeing the best in my guests as I want to do, mainly to my detriment,¡± jokes the Lord Warrior Hob.


    Niba and I remain silent. Both hosts emit a menacing aura. I expected the Warrior Hob to wear magnificent armour¡ªimpressive but not scary. What she wears looks fine and well crafted, but nothing more than that.


    ¡°You are wondering about my armour?¡±


    I jump. ¡°Erm, yes.¡± I frown. ¡°How did you realise that?¡±


    ¡°I have met many hobgoblins and goblins these past few months, and the questions all seem to be the same and in the same order. My guessing improves with each such meeting.¡± She flashes a deliberate fake smile at me.


    My nervousness prompts me to respond. ¡°Lord Klar would not have revealed that. He would allow the guest to surmise that his knowledge and wisdom are far superior to impress or intimidate.¡± My voice trails off, and I endure as my face warms to a stronger shade of green.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t she delightful,¡± says Lord Warrior Hob to no one in particular.


    ¡°I reckon tasty is the word you should be looking for,¡± replies her smelly goblin companion.


    ¡°Possibly, but I expect Niba the Scout wonders about her reward.¡± The Lord Warrior Hob peers intently at Niba and rubs her hands together. That¡¯s normal, right? I resist the urge to peek about for a way to escape. I don¡¯t want to draw any attention. ¡°It goes without saying her reward should mean a great deal more to her than that of her companions who followed orders exactly.¡±


    ¡°Well, they didn¡¯t use their initiative, did they?¡±


    I sense Niba release a breath and shuffle herself closer to me. The Lord Warrior Hob¡¯s words have me on edge. Something doesn¡¯t sound right about them. But nothing about this meeting is right.


    ¡°When you visited the village, did anyone see you?¡±


    ¡°No. No, Lord. I didn¡¯t need to visit. I caught her gazing into a nearby stream.¡±


    ¡°See, I told you they must have been lying. They each had the same story, different words¡­¡± Lord Warrior Hob leans forward and swamps Niba¡¯s attention. I am not her target, and even I sense my water isn¡¯t far from release. Niba¡¯s gagging draws my attention. The Warrior Hob¡¯s smelly goblin companion is now behind Niba, enveloping her in fear with a rope around her neck.


    ¡°Why do you surmise I ordered the village and fort observed to confirm location and then leave?¡± The Warrior Hob waves a hand at the goblin.


    Niba swallows and draws in a breath. ¡°Because you knew everything you needed to know, you just needed confirmation, Lord.¡±


    ¡°Yes. It¡¯s a pity you didn¡¯t use that wisdom when required. So, what does a missing person from Lord Klar¡¯s retinue tell him?¡±


    ¡°That he has an unknown, at least interested in him, if not his enemy, and you have lost any surprise.¡±


    The Warrior Hob lounges back in her chair. The furniture is plain and functional, which I overlooked until now. ¡°Yes, exactly. Somehow, you have proven that a lack of air makes you more intuitive and wise. More able to comprehend the greater design, my greater design. You see what position you place me in?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± squeaks Niba.


    ¡°See too much air, and you lose your wisdom.¡± She sighs at her goblin companion. ¡°I can¡¯t have Zib follow you around all day, strangling you to make certain you stay wise. It¡¯s unfair to him, as he is busy doing my bidding in a smart, sneaky and purposeful way. Following orders to the letter, for example. We had a bit of a problem early on with goblins using their initiative. Strangling them cured them, which taught others by example. You must have missed that lesson.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± squeaks Niba. ¡°The others always bid me stay on watch or hold the picket line. Skirmish forward. I was the female¡­¡± Her babble falters as she realises her words mean nothing to the Warrior Hob.


    ¡°To be fair, you could learn from this mistake. Unfortunately, your companions are aware you have returned with a prisoner, which was against orders. I must meet their expectations; otherwise, all my lessons will be wasted, and I don¡¯t want to repeat the time and effort. Sorry.¡±


    Niba gags. Her eyes fix on me, her sorrowful, wide eyes of surprise stay until her final breath. I shiver.


    ¡°What to do with you?¡± The Warrior Hob grabs a haunch of meat and takes out a bite. ¡°You could probably tell me much about his people, the fort perhaps, but allow us to be honest. It is a primitive motte fort with wooden walls. I doubt you would hold enough value, your life, for his type of swap. Yep, yep, yep. Thoughts Zib?¡±


    ¡°Probably a spy for him, somehow. It would only work if he turned Niba. He could have also tempted her with an offer she couldn¡¯t refuse when captured.¡±


    The Warrior Hob nods towards me. ¡°No reaction. No denial.¡± The Warrior Hob sighs and glances at the smelly goblin. ¡°Certainly captured. He must have made Niba a deal that was too good to refuse. Shame.¡± She smiles and waves the haunch of meat at me. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you know any details of the offer?¡±


    I shake my head from side to side. She throws the bone on a nearby table, stands and draws her dagger.


    She takes a single step towards me, and I freeze, mouth dry, eyes wide. I hear a snicker, and then intense pain shoots through both of my legs, and I scream. Then nothing.


    ---


    The odour of decay floods my nostrils, and I am about to gag when a sharp pain shoots into both of my legs, distracting me. The chill of night is on me, and I shiver. Every attempt to budge results in a sharp pain in my legs. I realise I lay among the dead. Only night and my shut eyes protect me from facing the horrible, disgusting truth.


    <h2>---Lord Torngul Heartsplitter POV</h2>


    From my second-floor window, I chuckle. As my daughter predicted, Klugak and his son rode out to meet the High Priestess on the back of their boars. Given the High Priestess rides in a coverage chair, two hobgoblins at the front and two at the back, the father and son sit too high to chat, and because the beasts are so large, they can¡¯t close any distance. They could shout at her, of course!


    My humour drains from me when I spy two goblins with bows repositioning along the building tops in line with the High Priestess. They are my daughter¡¯s assassins, I am certain. What is she playing at? Oh no, at least two High Priestess guards have noticed them. One leans into the covered chair briefly. They continue. Desperation?


    They turn off the main street and head towards the former Manor House of The Eater Clan. My daughter assured me that Sakvorpa¡¯s former residence is now fit for a Lord or a High Priestess.


    The High Priestess and her party will partake of an already prepared middle of the day meal, then have the afternoon to relax and make themselves comfortable. They could also witness the preparation for their dinner.


    ---


    Dusk falls on Hobgoblin Town. My wife and I, escorted by one of my bodyguards, stroll across the main street and make our way to The Eater Clan¡¯s former manor house. Two of the High Priestess¡¯ hobgoblin guards and two of the city¡¯s hobgoblin guards greet and usher us in.


    Two of her priestesses wait for us in the Meeting Hall, loitering around the long table that was previously prepared. They seem to want us to sit.


    ¡°Fetch the High Priestess, please,¡± I say to neither and both.


    They exchange glances, and one glides from the Hall. Was this some sort of power play? The High Priestess to enter after all were seated, so they must stand on her entry and then sit again after her? My mood sours.


    She swishes into the Hall, arms waving about flapping a piece of light white cloth that joins the dress proper but is clasped at the wrist, producing a wing-type effect. Her face isn¡¯t the most beautiful, yet it is smooth and unblemished, with a deep green complexion. Her age is indeterminate.


    ¡°Please position yourselves beside your respective chair.¡±


    She blinks and then baulks. I ensured I spoke before she could demand anything of us.


    ¡°Be seated,¡± I announce. I seat my wife on my right, my bodyguard on my left, and then myself. The goblin servants supplied by my daughter seat the High Priestess and the two Priestesses.


    The goblin servants pour each of us a mug of mead and then place a selection of fruit before us.


    I lift my mug. ¡°To our most gracious visitor, the High Priestess of Klug.¡±


    She nods, and we all sip.


    ¡°Thank you for your hospitality. We have wanted for nothing.¡± She pauses a moment, then shares a playful smile. ¡°Although none of us dared to venture outside in case we became targets for your goblin archers.¡±


    ¡°For your protection. Hobgoblin Town is an open town. We have no walls or gates. Some may presume we are defenceless because of this, but that is further from the truth because we will never need to defend our town.¡±


    The two priestesses exchange glances while the High Priestess chuckles. ¡°Some others must covet what you have¡­¡±


    ¡°They could, but at least one day, and usually two days, travel of grasslands surrounds us, and we would encounter any enemy in the field, on our boar¡¯s backs, long before they could reach the town. While unlikely, if an enemy defeats us in the field, it means the town will not need to be destroyed by any conqueror. A simple change of owner will occur without losing further lives.¡±


    A piece of apple hangs in her hand before her mouth. ¡°That is surprising, Lord Torngul.¡±


    ¡°Lord of the Grassplains,¡± I add. She smiles and bobs her head. ¡°Hobgoblin Town is where I rule from. The Grassplains is where my defence of the town begins.¡±


    She finishes her apple.


    We all turn and applaud when a goblin servant places the roasted boar runt before me. I stand, take the knife from the serving tray, and make the first cut to inspect the flesh. I roar a congratulatory cheer, and the goblin serving staff removes the boar. We will shortly be dining on our main course.


    The High Priestess clears her throat. ¡°Have any of your merchants mentioned any difficulty leaving the valley recently?¡±


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t think so. The Snow Months are for all to remain in the valley. There is no profit in dying in other valleys buried under heavy snow.¡±


    ¡°That is well because at least two armies are camped at the mouth of this valley presently. One or both are preventing our pilgrims from reaching us. A most disagreeable situation.¡±


    I lean back in my chair. ¡°An army will not survive the cold months unless they have prepared. Can you confirm if either carries salt with them?¡±


    ¡°Salt?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Salt will allow them to preserve the meat of any game they have hunted. Of course, they could hunt fresh herds, but only the largest and most aggressive ones roam during the colder months.¡± I bellow a laugh. ¡°The hunters could become the hunted!¡±


    The goblin staff serves the boar, gravy, and sides of vegetables, and all at the table tend to their meal. I signal to one of the goblin servers and whisper in his ear. Then, wait for him to leave.


    ¡°I have offered the guards and servants a portion of any remaining boar.¡± Of course, they share a gracious smile, but I suspect the High Priestess and her two Priestess¡¯ counted on eating seconds or afters. At the meal¡¯s end, our three guests scrape their plates spotlessly clean, sweeping up any remaining food with their bread.


    The cake is next, and they easily fit their portions into their stomachs.


    I strum my fingers on the table. ¡°I have welcomed you to Hobgoblin Town, shown you hospitality and shared a meal with you. Was there anything else you need to raise? Although I will say now, the answer will be no if you want to establish a temple in Hobgoblin Town.¡± I don¡¯t smile and, in fact, set a grim face.


    ¡°No, Lord Torngul, nothing of the sort. Our worshippers and future worshippers know where to find us. I admit there is another discussion I would like to have with you.¡±


    She rises from her chair and receives a parchment from one of her priestesses as she passes them while sauntering towards me. The High Priestess smiles cheerfully at my wife as she passes her. Placing the parchment down before me, I notice a generous sharing of her cleavage. At that same moment, I sense conflict within my body, beginning with my arm. I am sensing hostile nanorobots. I drag my eyes from her breasts and locate several drops of blood on my wrist. Her withdrawing hand from that exact spot, without a doubt, the delivery mechanism.


    ---


    Shouting and screaming woke me from whatever pit of darkness and struggle I had descended into. For how long, I can¡¯t rightfully estimate. Scanning my surroundings, I note one goblin on the floor, bleeding and not moving. Another bleeding from the upper arm and bandaging. My wife and bodyguard defend me with blades drawn.


    The High Priestess and a Priestess are standing at the far end of the Hall, with two of their guards covering them. The other priestess is no longer in the Hall.


    ¡°What is going on here?¡± I bellow.


    ¡°Is that you, husband?¡± My wife shuffles into my embrace.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.031 Guests Arent Always Pleasing

    ---Lord Klar POV


    ¡°Well met, Lord Torngul,¡± I announce as I drop to one knee and bow my head.


    His eyes blink as if waking up, and a wide, cheering smile grows across his face as warmth reaches his eyes. ¡°Can you tell me what has happened?¡± he replies.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you know? Think, search for your memories.¡± I notice the High Priestess try to retreat further into the darkness of the corner, where she and her entourage have sought refuge.


    ¡°Her blood,¡± he mutters and glances down at his forearm, which is now clear. ¡°My blood against her blood¡­ This makes little sense. I said something, no, I issued orders¡­¡±


    The back of a hand caresses Lord Torngul¡¯s cheek, and he doesn¡¯t even glance to check who. ¡°Lord, your commands favoured the High Priestess to an absurd level. This shocked all your loyal retainers and followers. We waited and hoped this confusion would be temporary.¡±


    A female hobgoblin in fine armour, a sheathed dagger and an empty sword scabbard steps forward. I assume one of Lord Torngul¡¯s Honour Guard. He took only one?


    ¡°No, Lord. Your wife sells herself short. She counselled us to wait. Lady Trela Truehearted is pure and steadfast in her opinion and protection of you. Then, even we witnessed the questioning on your face and the struggle. Our concern for you permitted their cowardly attack. So, you owe your life to your goblin servants, Lord.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know the name of his Honour Guard, but she seemed as much to favour Lord Torngul as she did Lady Trela. Given Lord Torngul was in command again, I scoop up the dead goblin and climb to my feet. With a nod to Lord Torngul, I carry the brave servant out to find an empty room.


    Tearing a gash in my thumb, droplets of my blood enter her mouth, which I cradle open using my other hand. Ripping her shirt away reveals the lack of any armour underneath and a deep blade thrust to the stomach. I water this wound with my blood as well.


    Scanning the room, I cannot find what I¡¯m looking for. I notice a lineup of weapons, primarily swords, though. Did Lord Torngul and his visitors check their bigger weapons here before the meeting? Why this Manor House? Many escape tunnels exist; many more undoubtedly remain hidden. A perfect way to sneak armed troops or assassins.


    First things first, to the kitchen.


    ---


    Pots and pans litter the floor. A heavy cutting bench lays over on one side. Flour, vegetables and an assortment of other ingredients cover the stone floor. In this mess rests Zinia, catching her breath with two other goblins. Oddly, Zinia waves a nine-tail whip about and, as I am about to speak, stabs a trussed-up hobgoblin in the stomach, laying on his side across from the three of them.


    Three pairs of eyes focus on me. The hobgoblin groans.


    ¡°Lord Klar, it seems you received my message. A little late, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    I beam. ¡°Perhaps you could have sent the message earlier?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°Your lack of haste will, I am certain, count against you in the eyes of my father!¡± she snaps while waving her hands about the kitchen.


    ¡°Let¡¯s leave that to your father.¡± I reach across and pluck a waterskin from the wall. ¡°We will meet again, I am certain.¡±


    ---


    With careful dribbling, I feed my patient the entire water skin. With the careful directing of my nanorobots, I control the surprisingly large number within the goblin and put them to task. Confident she is safe from death, I instruct my nanorobots to improve hers. Possibly sentimental, but something inside me sees Luda lying before me.


    ¡°I presumed I cured you of this softness. Why save a goblin?¡± he screams inside my head.


    ¡°Leave it be,¡± I growl back at my inner hob.


    ¡°The goblin is not one of your wives, not Luda. You are strengthening someone who is not loyal to you. It is a waste.¡±


    ¡°Who are you talking to?¡± asks a familiar voice. I didn¡¯t realise I had spoken aloud. My three-word response would be meaningless, yet it still requires some sort of explanation.


    ¡°My patient,¡± I lie. ¡°She is trying to examine her wound.¡±


    ¡°Pfft, if you say so. Anyway, my father wants to speak to you, Lord Klar.¡± Her voicing of my name suggests I am about to be in trouble.


    ¡°Right behind you.¡±


    ---


    As I enter the Hall, I gain the attention of all present. Am I in trouble?


    ¡°We have decided that the High Priestess needs to holiday with you, Lord Klar. She certainly can¡¯t remain in Hobgoblin Town after her attempt at whatever that was over me. Further, I don¡¯t wish to see her free to return to her temple and be able to plot again.¡±


    I pause for a moment and notice the confusion on Zinia¡¯s face. ¡°As my Lord requests.¡± As I am about to pivot to leave, I swallow down some rising mirth. ¡°I have a request, though.¡± He nods. ¡°I would like to leave you with one who let us say, caused some delay in my journey here. We will need to speak in private, though.¡±


    ---


    I return to the room from before and find my patient gone. Not unexpected, I guess. Blood stains paint the table she recovered on.


    ¡°Is this your doing?¡± he asks in a playful voice while pointing out the blood stain.


    ¡°No. A moment of weakness, which I will probably pay for.¡±


    He leans against the table and chuckles. ¡°So, who is this prisoner of yours?¡±


    ¡°Most recognise her as Vrozila. Stone Blood wolf rider pledged to Milga Stone Blood the Fifth. But she is Suda the Faithful, the former wife of Zeb Stone Grim.¡±


    His face changes, colouration to deep green, his bottom lip drops, his head shakes from side to side and many other performances. He tries to reply at least twice before saying, ¡°How does that happen?¡±


    ¡°I am uncertain, but probably similar to Milga Stone Blood. I have heard your wife¡¯s tale, her re-life¡¯s, all particularly unpleasant, until this last one. She likes it best, and slaying her is probably the best threat, although cutting her heels and breaking her hands is another fate that settles her occasionally. Make no mistake though, if she can escape, she will.¡± I chuckle. ¡°Since I am taking care of one for you, perhaps you can take care of one for me?¡±


    He wobbles his head and laughs. A full, deep, agreeable laugh, with lacings of irony, I am sure.


    ¡°Alright, when can I expect her?¡±


    ¡°Now!¡± I shake my head, trying to cover my mirth. ¡°Her complaining was the reason for my delay.¡±


    ¡°You intended this all along, then?¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I confirm. ¡°Call her an envoy from Stone Blood, but keep her under surveillance. Don¡¯t allow her to leave your Manor or be alone within it. Plus, an opportunity for you to catch up.¡±


    He grimaces, and I can¡¯t fault him for his reaction.


    I continue, ¡°It should be an even match as you have landed me with another High Priestess of Klug. I already have a former one, and if the stories are true, there is a third with an army at the entrance to this valley.¡±


    He crosses his arms and rests them on his chest. ¡°And another army of goblins led by a Warrior Hob. They were a distance apart for some time, a standoff for some reason. Then this third Priestess of Klug advanced enough into the valley to block pilgrims, and some say refugees, from joining your prisoner and her temple.¡±


    ¡°The Warrior Hob is going to be a problem, to me at least. We caught one of his scouts, and it seems I am on his target list, but I don¡¯t grasp why.¡± I study Torngul¡¯s face and take a breath. ¡°I propose we reunite the worshippers of Lord Klug, as in my two High Priestess¡¯ of Lord Klug, step down, and we empower the third to take over. That would mean a more substantial Klugite presence within the valley but may delay the Warrior Hob, or they could wipe out or at least weaken each other?¡±


    ¡°I seem to remember something similar in the past when the goblin tribes united against Rexa, and only for the Warrior Hob would they have succeeded.¡± His face blanks, and then some gibberish spills from between his lips. ¡°Rexa, your former wife who founded a religion in your name¡­¡±


    I nod, confirming. ¡°I am sorry¡­¡±


    ¡°Rexa clung to power until the end.¡± He scoffs, ¡°Never one to readily surrender what was hers.¡±


    ¡°What do you know about the High Priestess you have placed into my care?¡± I ask.


    ¡°She is a High Priestess of Klug. They don¡¯t seem to like the idea of relinquishing power. That is why we have so many now!¡± He slaps me on the shoulder and laughs, deep and guttural.


    ¡°Perhaps threats?¡± I mumble. ¡°The rest of her days as a cripple with broken ankles and hands. Offer the Oath Keepers a mission and purpose once again.¡±


    His face loses all humour. ¡°I trust the Oath Keepers have done their duty and found their High Priestess. Their watch is done,¡± he replies with great conviction.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Yes, that is my simple reply. I did not instigate their creation and dedication, but another did. One I betrayed in the end. I took away her chance to reconnect with her son. Murdered them both¡­


    Torngul nee Zeb Stone Grim¡¯s voice awakens me to the present, enough to hear his words at least.


    ¡°She controls her nanorobots.¡± His face blushes. ¡°I probably need to thank Zinia for defeating her. My daughter fed me some mystery dust and while touch and go, I managed to control the nanorobots before they turned me into another Duzsia.¡± He pauses in thought. ¡°The black ooze is disgusting, by the way. Luckily, she warned me about that as well. I think I will kill them all.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I gasp.


    ¡°Where did you go?¡± he asks.


    ¡°Lots of things on my mind at the moment.¡± I try to smile away his concern.


    ¡°I don¡¯t doubt,¡± he murmurs. ¡°In the end, it came down to numbers. I had more nanorobots than the High Priestess.¡±


    I grab a mug and slit my thumb on my teeth. ¡°I need to offer you some of my blood. It will contain nanorobots, and I will instruct them to strengthen your nanorobots. Before I leave, I will train you on how to control them. What happened to you today will never happen again.¡±


    He chuckles. ¡°I was so looking forward to your seed.¡±


    I pause the bloodletting. ¡°If you prefer.¡± He sways his head. ¡°The blood works because you already have enough nanorobots. They simply need lessons.¡±


    ¡°I will take your seed,¡± says a feminine voice.


    We both face the owner. Zinia. I wonder how much she overheard.


    ¡°You will not!¡± admonishes Lord Torngul. I raise an eyebrow. It seems that Zeb has taken his fatherly duties forward into his new life.


    She pouts. ¡°Such a spoilsport, father. Well, perhaps a cup of his blood and some lessons then?¡±


    I clear my throat. ¡°Time for us to return to the hall and inform everyone that the show is over.¡±


    Zinia play-punches my shoulder. ¡°Not yet. We have the slaver I have captured. He was her protection or escape. Confident brute and all. He knew about the same escape tunnel we did.¡±


    Torngul and I share a glance. Death would be the most straightforward fate for someone so dangerous.


    ¡°What? Did I capture him so one of you could murder him in cold blood?¡± spits out Zinia.


    Torngul wraps an arm around her shoulders. ¡°Let¡¯s see if we can reason with him first, shall we?¡±


    As he guides her back to the Hall, I doubt the possibility, but I am prepared to be surprised.


    ---


    ¡°Zurlaga, everyone behaving themselves?¡± asks Lord Torngul.


    ¡°Yes, Lord, thanks to your daughter¡¯s goblins and some handy rope. I have also sent for Azesia, Xormora and Mayia.¡±


    The High Priestess, her priestess, and two guards, arms and legs bound, squat in one corner of the Hall, with two goblins guarding them. The slaver shares their fate, although he slumps in the opposite corner. A bandaged arm goblin and the one I aided watch over him.


    The crash of a body draws our attention. At the entrance to the Hall, a female goblin in armour, head hooded and hands bound, wiggles and swears at our feet.


    Voria stands over her, a hand covering her toothful grin. ¡°Our prisoner is so clumsy, Lord. No wonder we took so long to reach Hobgoblin Town.¡±


    ¡°I instructed you to wait for me outside the Manor. What if I hadn¡¯t yet discussed her with Lord Torngul?¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°I spied a couple of goblins scurry off and called out to them. One recognised me as a former Honour Guard of Lord Torngul, and they told me the fighting was over. So, either you had told Lord Torngul, or her appearance would conveniently raise the need for such a conversation.¡±


    ¡°Voria?¡± calls Trela.


    Voria screams in delight, and the two females meet in a warm embrace, joyful tears streaming down their faces. Next, they cup each other¡¯s cheeks, studying their faces.


    ¡°You look well,¡± says Trela.


    ¡°Being a Lady suits you,¡± says Voria.


    Lord Torngul clears his throat. ¡°Later, you two can talk. Lord Klar will stay for a couple of days.¡±


    ¡°Will we boss?¡± shouts Voria in surprise.


    ¡°Lord Torngul has spoken, and we obey,¡± I reply.


    ¡°We are dumping the bitch here, though, aren¡¯t we? Immediately?¡±


    I tasked Voria with attending to Suda¡¯s basic needs and preventing her escape during our brief journey. Suda adapted to her new body all too well and escaped twice, but because of Voria¡¯s vigilance and dogged pursuit, she recaptured her. If we handed Suda off to Lord Torngul, the promise of my seed probably had nothing to do with it.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you warn Lord Torngul of her tricks, provide him with hints on how best to guard her?¡± I offer.


    Voria growls and stomps toward Suda, who had by now gathered herself and rested upright. I have no doubt she could have sprung to her feet, but I am certain she is trying to listen and take in all the information she can. With a not-so-gentle tug, Voria loops a rope around her neck and has Suda standing.


    Three more female hobgoblins, with armour identical to Zurlaga¡¯s, make their way into the Hall and present themselves to Lord Torngul. After some words, they take control, commanding the goblins as well. One grabs the rope and custody of Suda from Voria. Voria, though, gains the rope around the High Priestess¡¯ neck. Honour Guards and goblins escort the priestess, slaver and two guards out of the Manor. We tag along behind. Voria, High Priestess and me last.


    ---


    ¡°Where have you been, Lord Klar? I have been waiting for my reward,¡± purrs Voria as she spreads her naked self across the bed in our room in Lord Torngul Manor. A familiar room. Assigned, I am sure, on purpose.


    ¡°I suspected you and Trela would still be catching up,¡± I retort.


    She pouts, of course. ¡°No. He hushed us and said to save any chat for the morning.¡±


    I put on a dismal face. ¡°Well, I am here now and ready to reward you.¡±


    ¡°No. If we plan to stay for a few days, I¡¯d rather not rush things since it¡¯s late. I wish to saviour our union, as it is so rare to be alone with you.¡± That said, she curls under the sheets and closes her eyes.


    I am certain she wants me to take her, but the night is late, and I still need the night for dark deeds. After discussing options with Lord Torngul, I decided that the High Priestess and her entourage required prompt treatment. The longer they had nanorobots in their blood, the longer they would be a threat to those who didn¡¯t. In particular, anyone trying to guard them.


    Starting with the guards, I fed them my blood and commanded my stronger nanorobots to convert any other nanorobots they encountered. The nanorobots within the guards were few and passive. Most likely, there was a natural increase in the number they were born with, transferred from mother to child. Then, an additional number was introduced by the High Priestess to ensure loyalty. After converting them all, I ordered them to self-destruct. The horrified faces of the guards relaxed immediately, given there wasn¡¯t any pain. The guards were loyal pawns. Maybe they expected physical torture.


    The priestess was different. The number of her originals was much higher. They were active instead of passive, and maintenance of the physical body was their primary task. No one had instructed her on how to control and direct her nanorobots. There were also additional nanorobots, more potent than the originals, which would have been from the High Priestess to ensure loyalty. The disarming took longer because my nanorobot invasion was identified as an infection. The nanorobots in her blood automatically responded and moved to the point of infection. I needed to concentrate on the task, this time converting her nanorobots, forcing them to recognise my commands. With these ad hoc reinforcements, I reached a tipping point in numbers, and it became a matter of time before I could finish. This challenge prepared me for the High Priestess.


    I am certain dawn wouldn¡¯t be far away, but I needed to rest and drink. As I draw from a second waterskin, one empty waterskin lay on the dry, dusty cobblestones of the dungeon hallway. Lord Torngul¡¯s Manor had six prison cells, which needed hasty preparations to accommodate his guests. On one cell, the lock wouldn¡¯t work on another, the lock was troublesome. The single certainty was the lock on the High Priestess¡¯ cell.


    ¡°Have you finished? Is that wine you are drinking?¡± she asks.


    Her voice was familiar now. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be sleeping?¡±


    ¡°I promised my father I would ensure his prisoners wouldn¡¯t escape, especially since Lord Klar dismissed any guards sent to assist.¡±


    ¡°So, your confidence in me is low, then?¡±


    ¡°One thing doesn¡¯t infer the other. Little young me wouldn¡¯t want to question your male confidence, even though you seem a little older than me, and yet the way my father holds you in high regard¡­¡± Her finger slides down my upper arm. ¡°Plus, talk of your blood.¡± She giggles. ¡°Your seed. My father¡¯s protest.¡±


    ¡°I will not go against your father¡¯s wishes,¡± I state with finality.


    She hisses. ¡°I am not the little girl you first met at my father¡¯s table. While Thalgora was all muscle and threats and Shaza thought of nothing but marriage, I observed and learnt. Preparing for the day, I would be my father¡¯s right hand and, eventually, on his passing, his natural heir. Your seed and blood will ensure I have every chance to succeed. Name your price.¡± She swings a leg over and deftly lands on my lap, staring into my eyes.


    ¡°Your father¡¯s blessing.¡±


    Her face twists into frustration and then relaxes. ¡°So be it. No point in straddling your lap any longer¡­¡± She wiggles her arse, pauses, and when she receives no reaction from me, bounces off my lap. ¡°Aren¡¯t you done?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I take a deep drink from the waterskin.


    ¡°Are you thirsty, or is water important?¡±


    I eye her and chuckle. ¡°You recognise it is, don¡¯t you? Didn¡¯t you instruct your father on how best to swallow dust?¡±


    ¡°Dust? Crazy talk!¡±


    I push myself up and off the stool while leaving the deflated water skin behind. ¡°Time for you to guard from afar. Keep company with your two goblin assassins from a safe distance behind the dungeon door to this hallway.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to keep the company of assassins¡­¡± I place a finger over her lips.


    ¡°Go before I retract the gaining of your father¡¯s blessing.¡±


    She waddles away, glancing once over her shoulder to ensure I appreciate her departure. Despite the occasional torch in the hallway, my enhanced sight effortlessly catches every provocative sway.


    The clang of the dungeon door fastening is my signal to open the High Priestess¡¯ cell door. Twirling the key over in my hand, I step forward, insert and turn the key. With a final click, the lock shifts, and I push open the door.


    A flickering torch light in the hallway enters the cell. The cells are narrow; at the end, wrists and ankles are chained to secure the prisoner to the wall. The slight spread of her feet allows waste to drop into the bucket between them.


    Her head lifts, and the hate in her eyes is something real. She sees a youth before her, not the former Lord Klug, who she is supposed to worship and who is the head of the Klugite Religion.


    ¡°Lord Torngul has sent me to ensure you can¡¯t infect others with your will.¡±


    ¡°Is that what you did to Lord Klug¡¯s priestess? Where was once warmth is now hollowness. Our gentle awareness of each other vanquished. She drew strength. We drew strength from each other. This is a mistake. Tell Lord Torngul he is mistaken. We will leave this valley and build a temple elsewhere if he desires.¡±


    ¡°I doubt he will permit such leniency. His word in this valley is final, and I am but his instrument.¡±


    ¡°Kill me! I don¡¯t wish to lose my connection with Lord Klug, I would rather die instead,¡± she screams.


    I ignore her and wrap a heavy bandage above each knee and another around her waist.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± she protests.


    Drawing my dagger makes her glow. I surmise the purpose of the bandages is now unimportant to her. Tears pool before her eyes.


    I slice several V incisions on each thigh as she screams, although I sense they aren¡¯t real. She has practised control over her nanorobots; they are blocking the pain. I expected some skill, given her attempted takeover of Lord Torngul and her enforced loyalty over her priestess and guards, but I needed confirmation.


    Her blood oozes down her thighs until stopping at the bandages where it pools and soaks the cloth black.


    I repeat the same at her waist, the V starting high under each breast to meet below her belly button. The blood once again soaked the bandage black.


    Between fake screams, she asks, ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    I left a small canteen to her lips. ¡°A drink before we continue our conversation?¡±


    She nods, and I tip. The instance the taste hits her tongue, she bucks, but I am ready. With my other hand, I pinch her nose closed with my fingers while using the heel of that same hand on her chin to ensure the canteen stays in place. She spits out some of my blood, but this dribbles down her chin and will gradually be absorbed through her skin. Late arriving reinforcements, perhaps.


    After battling with the priestess, I realised I would need volume to defeat the High Priestess. I contemplated adding seed to my blood, but for some reason, I couldn¡¯t go through with the self-extracting step required. Instead, I decided to bleed her. Nanorobots would flow out with her blood until she commanded them to tend the wound instead. Her skill in commanding the nanorobots would determine her losses; others would remain occupied, unable to immediately defend against my invasion.


    I remove the canteen, grip her mouth, shut it, and secure her head in place. Then, I press my forehead against hers.


    My immediate command to my nanorobots is conversion. I need as many of hers as possible to become mine. She has nanorobots travelling to the wounds, healing them, and suppressing pain. She will need to re-prioritise. That will be my window of opportunity.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.032 Instruction

    <h2>---Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I needed to ensure that my window of opportunity was as wide open as possible. The bandages had to go.


    I cut the knots, binding the bandages to allow them to fall away before she tries to reabsorb what I have captured.


    ¡°Yours is Klugite blood! Don¡¯t do this. I can offer you riches, the devotion of as many females or, if you prefer, males as you desire.¡± The higher pitch and pleading in her voice are encouraging signs.


    Yet her revelation was odd. Her blood wasn¡¯t Klugite. I¡¯d never tasted that blood before, not that I¡¯m an expert. Her priestess and guards are full of Klugite blood. Why not her?


    ¡°My body will be your plaything,¡± she pleads.


    I don¡¯t imagine I could trust her while she is full of nanorobots, so her offer amuses me. Anyone taking it up would fall under her influence, or any failure would encourage her to try harder or scheme better. If I was a target too difficult, I am certain she would try to influence others within my circle.


    ¡°Take me as your wife. I will show you ancient texts that describe how. Please.¡± She sniffs. ¡°I will be completely yours and totally submissive.¡± A single tear rolling down her cheek is a nice touch.


    Not the complete truth, but I resist replying and being distracted by a debate with her. Then, her words strike a nerve within me. Only Lord Klug, Lord Farmer Hob, has ever taken wives using that technique if it describes what I did so long ago. The Priestess of Lord Klug took control or command over others using the method, but this never resulted in a husband-wife relationship. A master, slave relationship was the ideal outcome from the priestess¡¯s point of view.


    ¡°What lineage is your blood?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Klugite, but an offshoot,¡± she whispers.


    ¡°Garbage. I will have multiple goblin crones line up and taste your non-Klugite blood. They will claim you false, casting you out and therefore never to be a High Priestess of Klug again. To wander powerless and shunned for the rest of your days.¡±


    ¡°No, you can¡¯t. My blood is so rare.¡±


    ¡°What does that matter once you are dead?¡±


    Our silent battle of nanorobots continues. The conversion phase is over, as she has driven enough at my nanorobots that I can¡¯t isolate and outnumber her nanorobots to entrap them and force conversion. I dedicate a portion of my nanorobots to upgrading those I have captured, utilising the water from her blood. This will weaken her body and provide superior reinforcements; otherwise, her nanorobots would eliminate those I captured one-for-one. This is a numbers game now, and I need to do better than one-for-one.


    ¡°How can your nanorobots be so superior? I am Lord Klug¡¯s High Priestess, the benefactor of his wonderful gift.¡±


    ¡°You have been wasteful with your time, High Priestess. Lazy. Unworthy. Even more reason for the crones to denounce you. I am just a boy who discovered them, felt their presence and embraced them.¡±


    ¡°Time! Time! I have felt them, learnt to nurture them for hundreds of years, you worm!¡±


    ¡°Hundreds of years? Lies. I will take immense pleasure in seeing you wither and die naturally before I do.¡±


    ¡°I will escape, I swear it. Then I will do everything to ensure your death!¡±


    ¡°We will have a race then. While you are my prisoner, I will have crones taste and identify your blood. Then I will round up all your lineage and slit their throats in front of you while you hang in chains from your dungeon cell.¡±


    ¡°No! No!¡± she screams. Her nanorobots falter, and I destroy many before she can recover. ¡°No,¡± she whimpers. ¡°I am Lord Klug¡¯s true High Priestess. You can¡¯t do this. Only I comprehend his true purpose, the plan for his worshippers. I alone can show them the way.¡±


    ¡°I see no one special in this cell.¡± I snort. ¡°Simply a pathetic female hobgoblin with a delusion of being important and who no one will miss. I hear of another who claims to be the High Priestess of Klug, so the world doesn¡¯t need two.¡±


    ¡°She is an Oath Keeper sneak,¡± she hisses. ¡°Tricked everyone she did at the passing of High Priestess Rexa. Usurper and murderer of many lineages to become High Priestess.¡±


    I laugh in her face, two finger lengths from mine. ¡°Then she probably worked hard and deserves to be appointed High Priestess of Klug.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± she screams, and a surprisingly light spray of spit hits my lips. ¡°There was a process, a ceremony that was to be followed.¡±


    I scoff. ¡°What are you saying? High Priestess Rexa, the long-lived, planned for her demise? Ahead of her time for a successor? No one would imagine that.¡± I am baiting her now. The time, time comment, Rexa, was known to have secured my blood after my death, which would promote a long life. Zoria¡¯s son, the Xorbrim the Undying, drank my blood from barrels after birth. Her overreaction to my threat to kill any of her blood. The rare but possible re-life ability of former Flint Arrows goblins. All these hints point to one conclusion.


    ¡°There was a process, I tell you!¡± She sniffs. ¡°Don¡¯t mock the Klugite religion.¡± She licks her lips, yet they remain dry.


    ¡°I am not mocking the Klugite religion, simply the long-lasting High Priestess who presumed she would live forever. One who, as a hasty last-moment act, needed to write a succession process. As it turns out, it is a faulty one, given the evidence. How could someone outside the chosen circle, an Oath Keeper of all possibilities, subvert and mock the process?¡±


    ¡°NO! No! It was well-considered. That Oath Keeper slut, she didn¡¯t understand her place and meddled in my plan!¡± She tries to swallow but coughs instead.


    At last! My broad grin must give me away as, for a moment, her nanorobots lose some of their fight. I don¡¯t retort. I am busy directing my nanorobots to gain every advantage I can from her lapse. As she draws her attention back to her nanorobots, I draw my nanorobots into a defensive position.


    ¡°Slut or not, the Oath Keeper is the undisputed High Priestess now, with you as my prisoner. Accept defeat, resign yourself to be my plaything.¡±


    ¡°Never! I would rather die!¡± To speak her few words takes effort. Her forehead grows warm.


    I flash her a devious grin. Either she takes it as a warning or has no energy to continue. ¡°I could arrange that, but it is what you want, right? I am determined to eliminate your bloodline first, so we will keep company going forward.¡±


    She opens her mouth wide and then closes it. The inside of her mouth, including her tongue, is dry. Her retort dies.


    ¡°You realise now, you sense you have lost?¡± I quip.


    A couple of tears from sunken eyes roll down her cheeks. The show of emotion is a surprise, or is this display a trick to gain sympathy? Perhaps there should have been more because I know my nanorobots have been feeding off her to convert her nanorobots to be as strong as mine. Dehydration?


    She collapses. Her body hangs from the manacles as I step away.


    ¡°So thirsty,¡± she whispers. The words are so muted, I reckon only a goblin¡¯s hearing or mine could hear them.


    I could order my nanorobots to dehydrate her body and convert her flesh to dust. For now, I will place them in maintenance mode after they have converted all her remaining and outnumbered nanorobots.


    I fetch a waterskin and permit her to take sips. The desperation in her eyes fades. A certain sign she would remain alive, at least for now. She must sense, though, that any nanorobots in her body won¡¯t heed her.


    Leaving her cell, I make directly for my room and sleep. Lord Torngul volunteered to take care of the slaver. While I wonder what he did, I am too tired to care now. I take many draws of water from a waterskin hanging in my room, shift Voria to one side of the bed and then welcome sleep.


    ---


    My morning wake-up is delightful, and when Voria finishes, I reward her with my undivided attention.


    ¡°Your seed is most gratifying, Lord.¡± She licks her lips clean. ¡°What are your plans for today?¡±


    She is lounging, naked, on her legs, her firm nipples on pert breasts threatening to poke my eyes out while her luscious smile is trying to draw me in once again.


    ¡°I have a meeting with Lord Torngul. I need to check my prisoners, the beasts.¡± I flash her a grim smile. Unfortunately, I am uncertain if I will have any time for you today.¡±


    She pouts. ¡°Well, perhaps I can play with the assassin if she arrives before you return to me?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I reply. Perhaps I am losing my touch. When told of my want for her, I would have presumed she would have dropped everything and rushed to me. Be here, waiting for me last night, demanding my favour.


    As I dress, Voria snipes, ¡°I will catch up with Trela. Us girls can discuss our men.¡±


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    <h2>---Zorottor Black Tooth, Chief of Oath Keeper Goblins POV</h2>


    hear heavy boots marching towards my cell. My home away from home after the High Priestess left to pray to Klug for guidance. She and hers will need more than guidance when the Oath Keepers decide to attack, although it would have been nice to lead them.


    A clang on the bars, and my eyes blink and then peer into the waist of a hobgoblin. As I scan upwards, admiring his fine leather armour, I realise this isn¡¯t an ordinary soldier visiting to deliver harsh words, torture or the slop they call food. I climb to my feet and try to flick gunk from the rags I wear as clothes and straighten them out at the same time.


    ¡°Zorottor Black Tooth?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    I see his hand wave to someone behind him, and then he marches away. Two male hobgoblins grab me. Unusual, is this finally my death? After the initial panic, it became clear my situation was about to improve. Bath, new clothes, new armour and, while disappointing, although understandable, no weapons. I follow the two soldiers into a familiar temple.


    ¡°I am Gzak, Commander of all the soldiers in the town and temple.¡±


    I bow. Not out of respect, exactly. I sense my survival is at stake. I also keep my mouth shut. After all, he has called me into his presence, so he either needs me for something, to do something, or to kill me. The third option would be a distant last because why would he have me made presentable?


    ¡°What do you notice is different about this hall today?¡±


    Initially, I suspected the question was a trick, yet I couldn¡¯t explain why. ¡°There is no audience present. The High Priestess must still be communing with Lord Klug, as she is absent. The Priestesses must be out and about doing priestess stuff since they are also absent.¡±


    ¡°Yes. But much more.¡± He waves to a chair, and I slide into it and make myself comfortable. I point to a mug on a small table, and he nods. A sip, and I am pleasantly surprised to taste wine. ¡°This morning, an unusual thing happened. All the Priestesses cried out in anguish, grabbing at their heads. Once that initial shock subsided, they rushed for the town¡¯s main gate. Those from both temple and town.¡±


    ¡°Strange,¡± I say no more because I know no more, and I am certain he will make his point shortly.


    ¡°My soldiers tried to talk them into explaining and then tried to restrain them. For their own good, of course. But some priestesses simply anointed them with their blood. According to witnesses, the soldiers released them and marched back to their barracks. So, you can see my problem?¡±


    ¡°All who could lead the faithful have now abandoned the temple and the town.¡± I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Including the High Priestess?¡±


    ¡°Yes. The truth there is she and others ventured further into the valley to meet with Lord Torngul Heartsplitter for, well, um, aid. Food and the like.¡±


    ¡°To withstand a siege. From another High Priestess or from a Warrior Hob or both?¡±


    He paces away from me. ¡°Well, anyone, really.¡±


    ¡°Who do you expect first?¡± I realise my voice carries a level of humour, but I can¡¯t hide it.


    ¡°That is where you come in. I would request that you visit your camp and offer your High Priestess the temple and the town. The gates will be open and the inhabitants welcoming.¡±


    ¡°But don¡¯t these Klugites hate those they are about to welcome?¡±


    He nods. ¡°Yes, possibly, but I have explained the situation to my soldiers, and they have explained the situation to everybody else. If they want to live and worship in the future, they must accept a new priesthood because their current one has abandoned them.¡±


    ¡°As simple as that?¡± I say with a huge amount of disbelief in my voice.


    ¡°Well, that and the fact my soldiers will hold the gates open, and if anyone within the walls disagrees, they can throw their lives away on Oath Keeper swords and spears.¡±


    ¡°When am I to live?¡±


    ¡°Now. Supplies are in a backpack near the doorway. Leave with my blessing. If we see you at the head of your soldiers approaching the gate, it won¡¯t be closed on them. Ignore anyone racing around predicting the end, as they are still trying to accept their abandonment by the High Priestess.¡±


    I nod. Climb out of my chair and pause. ¡°If I hadn¡¯t been here, what would you have done?¡±


    Find a fool to volunteer and hope that, at worst, your soldiers capture him or her alive to explain our offer.


    <h2>---Siba, Grandmaster of Assassins POV</h2>


    A light cough wakes me. I glance outside. Night? Why didn¡¯t she wait until morning? Where are my two guards? How did she approach my bed without waking me?


    ¡°You will make your way to Hobgoblin Town. Being a goblin shouldn¡¯t be the issue it once was, but head directly for Lord Torngul¡¯s Manor, no deviations,¡± says his Head Scribe to me as if I am hers to order about.


    As I clear my head, she continues, of course. She says Lord Klar has spoken to her, yet there isn¡¯t a written message. Irritatingly, it seems I must simply accept her word. Do I have a choice? I do, for a heartbeat, imagine my dagger piercing her heart and watching as her blood pools around her fallen body. Then I need to blink wide awake as she keeps issuing orders at me.


    ¡°Further, do you have any assassins who have spied on or ventured into Lord Klug¡¯s Temple in the valley of Farmer Hob?¡± She raises her hand. ¡°Before you ask, Lord Klar didn¡¯t explain why. He will provide you with further instructions when you meet him.¡±


    ¡°Why does he ask for me? I could assign many competent assassins to succeed at whatever mission he has in mind.¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t provide your assassins with the gifts he bestowed on you.¡± Her smugness irritates me, and she relishes my discomfort.


    I can¡¯t help blushing like a juvenile gobbling as fleeting memories resurface and my acts of debasement because of his salacious attentions hit me in my loins.


    She adds, ¡°Your recollection of his efforts is timely. He now summons you to serve. Please don¡¯t disappoint him.¡±


    She stoops through the goblin hut door and strides away. Her footfalls, and another set fade into the night. Who would aid her? I seethe, grumbling under my breath and clenching my fists. I am so livid my nails draw blood from my palms.


    I hear distant laughing.


    The Head Scribe? But how did she overhear me? My stomach sinks. Nanorobots of course, and others say she is one of his wives. What does that mean in practical terms, I wonder? What of the other one with her? I presumed my gifts from Lord Klar were the best anyone could hope for. Am I mistaken? When I face him, I will demand an explanation and find out.


    ¡°Guards!¡± I scream.


    Two males, the best of my assassins, burst into my hut.


    ¡°Why did you allow her in without waking me first?¡±


    They exchange stares. ¡°Who Grandmaster?¡±


    ¡°Lord Klar¡¯s Head Scribe,¡± I growl. Their faces are blank. ¡°Are you telling me that no one has entered my hut tonight?¡±


    ¡°No, Grandmaster,¡± they answer as one.


    ¡°Leave. Don¡¯t fail me again.¡±


    I lay back in my bed, trying to comprehend how assassins can miss an intruder. Eventually, I return to sleep.


    ---


    The tall, dark gates of Lord Torngul¡¯s Manor loom up before me. The dark of night after dusk is nothing to my enhanced sight as I see two female hobgoblin guards patrolling the walkway above. At the perfect moment, I dash forward and am in the shadow of the walls. The guards would have to lean over to spy on me, not that they could see me, given my dark leathers.


    I edge myself around the base of this and the next wall and spy an opening. Second Floor, I judge. No light escapes the room. Either the occupants are asleep or out eating dinner. Ideal. I will prove my worth by demonstrating my skills. I will demand more from Lord Klar if there is more to be gained.


    I unravel my rope and hook and begin twirling the hook end.


    ¡°Need a ladder?¡± asks a voice in the dark behind me.


    The twirl crashes at my feet as I spin around. A goblin? Male?


    ¡°Are you seeking to break in also?¡± I ask in disbelief.


    ¡°No, nothing like that,¡± he says. Then snickers. ¡°I am the City Watch.¡±


    ¡°Watch?¡±


    ¡°Our superiors warned us that Lord Klar would expect a visit late today. Although not this late, I assume you must be her.¡±


    ¡°Expecting?¡± Did the guard say late? No, he meant extremely late. Did Lord Klar want me to leave immediately after his Head Scribe visited me? Absurd. But possible¡­


    ¡°Is your speech limited to single words?¡± He chuckles. ¡°Use the gate. You have nothing to prove. But we presumed there would be more than one.¡± He shrugs. ¡°Anyway, I am off on my rounds. Maybe we will properly meet tomorrow, eh?¡±


    He fades into the dark of the night, and I am alone to contemplate my embarrassing failure. If the target is warned, entry into any building becomes more difficult, yet I attempted entry without first observing. I assumed the gate guards were my only obstacles. How can I call myself Grandmaster now? How can I aspire to greater rewards once this failure becomes common knowledge?


    My stomach sinks. What do I do about my late arrival?


    ---


    ¡°Welcome,¡± says the female hobgoblin guard while opening the gate to the Manor. The snorting of beasts within a nearby stable draw my attention. She continues, ¡°They are restless. It has been a while since they have been out.¡±


    I nod. Somewhat taken aback by the friendliness.


    ¡°You can take a bath through there.¡± She points to a doorway. ¡°Or you can meet Lord Klar directly by taking the stairs and turning left down the hallway. His room is the last.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡± I shuffle inside and hear the gate fastening and the crossbar clunk into place behind me. As I cross the courtyard, I suspect eyes observing me. I am amongst allies, I convince myself and ignore the urge to investigate. Lord Klar is my priority.


    I knock on the door.


    A female voice answers, ¡°Enter.¡±


    Darkness greets me upon entry until the hallway lantern casts light into the room. With my enhanced eyesight, I see her. A female hobgoblin, wearing a loincloth and nothing else. Her breasts are proudly on display while her hands work at oiling her armour. Two daggers and a sword are leaning against the desk she is using to care for her armour.


    ¡°Where is Lord Klar?¡±


    She smiles at me. ¡°Probably talking to Lord Torngul or torturing prisoners.¡± My jaw drops of its own accord. Why, I don¡¯t grasp. He is a Lord, after all. Her light laughter interrupts me. ¡°Lord Torngul is where he is.¡± She sniffs. ¡°Take a bath. You will have time. Lose some of the leather, and he may be interested in coupling with you.¡± A wink. ¡°I don¡¯t mind sharing with one, and it¡¯s not as if the extra effort will inconvenience him.¡±


    I remember how many times he took me and presumed myself especially alluring to warrant his attention, and yet this prowess seems to be his reputation.


    I dash out of the room like a gobbling youth instead of a Grandmaster. My loins are wet, and my body is wanting. What have I become? What have I sold myself into? Drunks, drug addicts, and even gamblers I am aware of can¡¯t help themselves. The fact is, Lord Klar is my drug, drink and high risk bet all rolled into one. He has absolute power over me.


    My lateness is another factor. Punishment? Somehow, my body reacts differently to what I expect, and I almost drop to my knees. An absurd bright burst of pleasure starting in my loins spreads to other sensitive areas of my body.


    ---


    We busy ourselves catching our breaths after our playtime, yet she recovers first.


    ¡°You are good fun, aren¡¯t you,¡± she purrs. ¡°I can see why Lord Klar invited you to his bed, or has Lord Klar been your instructor in such things?¡±


    I didn¡¯t sense any malice in her question, which surprised me yet again.


    ¡°Instructor,¡± I say breathlessly.


    Instantly, she sits upright on her legs, shifting the blankets away. She is naked and on perfect display. Her skin is flawless, smooth and a uniform shade of green. She is clearly a warrior. Where are her scars? Even her raven black hair glows.


    Lord Klar marches into the room, and dread rolls over me. How come I didn¡¯t hear him, especially when a hobgoblin could?


    As I try to comprehend the fact, his hand suddenly grips my throat, propelling me across the room. The wall, fortunately, stops me from flying too far from him. I ignore the pain and instead climb to my feet.


    He stands over me. The grimace on his face and growling from between his lips force me back until the wall stops me again. He stares into my eyes, saying nothing. What does he want me to say? Apologise? No. That would be a mistake.


    ¡°In the future, when you ask for me, I will set out immediately, Lord Klar.¡±


    He backs away. After an almost playful bounce on the bed, his head landed between Voria¡¯s thighs, which were already in position. Voria was no longer on her legs but sprawled out. Her loins and breasts were ready to accept whatever attention Lord Klar deemed. Shortly after, moans of pleasure escape from her lips.


    Lord Klar raises his head. ¡°Food,¡± he grunts and then lowers his head.


    I draw on leather pants, grab a leather vest, and sprint for the door. My breasts wobble as I dash along the hallway while shoving my arms, in turn, into the armholes of the vest. Down the stairwell, two female hobgoblins pause as I try to lace up the vest. At the foot of the stairs, two male hobgoblins gloat as one of my breasts peeks out.


    I finish lacing the vest. Gathering myself, I ask the two where the kitchen is. They point, and I race in the direction they show. I hear them chuckling behind me.


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.

 3.033 Students

    <h2>---Siba, Grandmaster of Assassins POV</h2>


    Lord Klar and I are alone in his room. Voria had left with the dishes for the kitchen once we had broken our fast. I am face to face with Lord Klar as I dangle off the floor with his fingers around my throat.


    ¡°You have lost a day. You are missing company.¡±


    I can¡¯t panic. I mustn¡¯t show weakness. ¡°We have spies inside Lord Klug¡¯s Temple. It is a training place for our initiate assassins. I will meet with those who remain and do whatever you wish me to, Lord Klar.¡±


    His shoulders relax slightly. Better than his fingers squeezing around my neck tighter.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t been training, have you?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I figure that is the only acceptable answer. Even if I had trained the nanorobots, which he gifted me every waking moment, his mood would not grace me with any praise. Lord Klar believes I have failed him somehow. Therefore, he would still find blame. My lack of dedication is an easy accusation. Yet, I realise now I have, in fact, failed him and myself as I took the simple gains for granted and deemed them enough.


    ¡°You will listen and learn from Voria. If she must throttle you to within a finger-width of your life, you will thank her and be ready to obey her again.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Klar.¡±


    ¡°Why do you surmise I assign her?¡±


    This answer bubbles up into my brain in a heartbeat. Voria hasn¡¯t wasted a single drop of his seed or blood to hone herself. Healing scars would have been a luxury or vanity, yet I did so. It was his promise to me, but perhaps I could have done better. Voria directed deliberate, incremental improvements of herself with one aim. To be better.


    ¡°She appreciates your gift and doesn¡¯t waste a single opportunity to improve. I must learn to do the same.¡±


    ---


    Voria returns and drapes herself over Lord Klar, ignoring me dangling in his grip.


    ¡°Plans, Lord Klar?¡± she asks.


    ¡°You will train this one. No Trela. No, me. Every waking moment. Her improvement is essential. Otherwise, you will never receive seed or blood from me again.¡±


    Voria¡¯s release of him is immediate, leaping from the bed to stand in front of him.


    ¡°I will need a top-up Lord, as will she, before we begin the training.¡±


    He discards me from his grip, and I tumble to the floor. I catch his glance of disgust. He expected me to land on my feet. I am certain I could have. Why didn¡¯t I?


    ¡°You are quite bold on this trip, my dear,¡± he says with the merest hint of mirth.


    ¡°You are denying me much-promised seed while I beat her into shape. New seed means starting from the beginning. The lessons make more sense that way.¡±


    I climb to my feet and back away as he engulfs her mouth in a dominating kiss. Their tusks lock and struggle for superiority, yet I sense Lord Klar is toying with Voria as he lifts and throws her on the bed. She rolls, smoothly disrobing as she does. Her raven black shoulder-length hair flies out and settles back into position as if under her control. I wondered why Voria owned a robe.


    Without delay, he leaps on her and begins rutting. She squeals in delight. I lick my lips and then unlace my vest. Once done, my pants are next. I slide naked onto the bed, settling in an unused corner, wondering what my turn will be like. He never used my body like he now thrashes hers. The passion in their coupling is obvious. I remember our coupling was more functional, an obligation, regardless of my level of enthusiasm or desperation.


    ---


    Voria and I lay on the bed, unable to stir. I can¡¯t draw my legs together, so I doubt I could walk. Maybe slither or, at best, crawl.


    ¡°Whatever you did to piss him off, you need to do again when you and I are alone with him again.¡± Her finger traces the new skin, trying to reform the corner of my mouth. ¡°This should be healed by now. Vorlora suffered an arrow ripping through one cheek and exiting the opposite cheek. Your wound is nothing in comparison. The healing of this will now have to wait for another time.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    The sulking in her voice reveals she still doesn¡¯t grasp the pile of crap she is in.


    ¡°You can be pretty when you die or survive ugly. Given I will lose access to Lord Klar¡¯s seed and blood if you haven¡¯t improved, I will set your training priorities. We have two days, and if you have a pretty face, he will deem I have failed him.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t I simply show my improvement?¡± I plead.


    ¡°What? Leap about? Roll? Dodge? Sneak?¡±


    I nod. ¡°Yes, exactly!¡±


    ¡°Do you see him with us now? Is he barking orders to judge those skills so he knows your current aptitude?¡±


    I can¡¯t restrain my doubtful sneer.


    She continues, ¡°Given he hasn¡¯t assessed you today, how is he going to determine if you have improved in two days?¡±


    After a couple of heartbeats, I close my open mouth.


    ---


    After asking several of the Manor staff, I find a suitable robe and then rush to meet Voria in a room off the kitchen. I push open the slightly ajar door.


    ¡°What has taken you so long? Come in, shut the door,¡± Voria commands sharply.


    I hasten to comply and pause as I take in the scene before me. Voria lounging naked in a giant tub of water.


    ¡°Shut your mouth, get naked and slip in,¡± she says.


    I begin the removal of my armour and clothes.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you change into your robe in our room?¡±


    I shudder. ¡°I thought to rush to meet you.¡±


    ¡°If you rush into anything, you¡¯re usually unprepared when you arrive. Sometimes, this is unavoidable.¡± She idly flicks water in the tub and then casts her eyes over me. ¡°What do you presume would have happened if you took the time to discard your armour and clothes in our room first and arrived here later than now?¡±


    ¡°You would have been angry with me arriving late,¡± I snipe.


    She flicks water at my now naked body. ¡°Naturally, but the preparation would have served you well.¡±


    I climb in and goosebump. The water is cold!


    Her head drops and then rocks from side to side. ¡°You have much to learn, but let¡¯s finish this lesson first. What is better? To rush, arrive unprepared and be yelled at, or take the time to arrive prepared and be yelled at for being late?¡±


    ¡°Either means I am being yelled at.¡± My teeth chatter as I speak.


    ¡°The first is failure. The second is judgment,¡± she says.


    ¡°Judgement?¡±


    Her hand flicks and only the pain spreading from my nose informs me where she struck. My hands fly up to nurse my hurt.


    ¡°In the name of Lord Klug, why are you feeling the cold, and why are you nursing your nose?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    ¡°Use his nanorobots to warm your body, then use them to numb your nose if you don¡¯t have the skill to heal.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± I squeak.


    Voria¡¯s hands grip the sides of the tub while her head does a flick-type thing. She is face-to-face with me. ¡°Will your nanorobots to do your bidding. Order them, instruct them.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­¡±


    Her hands splash into the water. A heartbeat later, she grips my ankles and draws me towards her, and my face is underwater. I splutter for breath and try to use my hands to grip the tub but find nothing to grip.


    The room is upside as I rise out of the water and suck in a desperate breath.


    ¡°Lord Klar isn¡¯t the only one with the strength to lift a useless goblin body.¡±


    The top of my head just clears the water in the tub while she grips my ankles. The water rises to meet my head, and I swallow a mouth full of water instead of air as I try to prevent drowning. I crunch my abdominals and try to raise my upper body out of the water. I hear her laughter as she lowers me.


    Upon release, I struggle to regain my balance. Gripping the sides of the tub, I climb to my feet.


    ¡°What can you instruct your nanorobots to do?¡± she asks as she rests her arms on the side of the tub.


    Goosebumps cover my body. ¡°Lord Klar said to will them to heal my face. He told me that the purge of black ooze would cleanse and repair my body.¡±


    Her face is tough to read, yet I would be safe in saying she is deep in thought. Possibly the first time in a long time.


    She leans forward and whispers, ¡°You didn¡¯t notice the superiority of his wives, concubines and others that he has rutted with and wondered how they gained their refined deadliness in combat or their sense of smell? Or perhaps how they could sneak in and sneak out of a goblin village without being noticed?¡±


    ¡°The Head Scribe! That hobgoblin bitch had me wondering how she escaped the notice of my goblin assassins. She is one of his wives.¡±


    ¡°Stop talking before you think!¡± she snarls. ¡°You are spilling information, which is usually dismissed as rumour. Why do you reckon I whispered?¡±


    I flop back. ¡°We are in Lord Torngul¡¯s Manor¡­¡±


    Her mouth opens and then closes. ¡°You are the Grandmaster of Assassins? You trade in information as much as murder. Secrets?¡±


    ¡°We lived in the Citadel. My partner and I ruled absolutely. Then he came, one of our own, an upstart, and somehow he defeated us. Then the mountain turned on us, and a huge avalanche destroyed our home. With no stores and provisions, we needed to leave. But where to go? It has been a trying time.¡±


    ¡°Oh, boo hoo! Your ancestors built from nothing. Time for you to build instead of living off your past.¡± She rubs her hands down her face as she lounges back. ¡°You presumed that Lord Klar¡¯s attention towards you meant your troubles were over. You could live off him now. He rarely grants something for nothing. He has expectations. Primarily, you must repay his favour.¡±


    I sigh. ¡°His attention was a sort of euphoria. I almost ate a disgusting bag of dust he presented me. Something about the dust of my and my husband¡¯s enemy, which was also someone else before. It made little sense as I was seed drunk. Plus, I needed a friend with me! I am the Grandmaster of Assassins. My loyal friend, my husband, was dead. Who else could I trust to not throttle me with my throat clogged up with dirt?¡±Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    <h2>---Voria, Sword bearer of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    I stare at the top of Siba¡¯s head. The Grandmaster of Assassin¡¯s chin is on her chest after her confession. Do I ask her where the bag of dust is now? Should I check her backpack for it? I swallow. Do I tell Lord Klar? This certainly explains his disappointment. His seed and possibly blood are not unexpected, but he also gifted her a bag of dust! I wonder who the ¡®someone else¡¯ was.


    I splash water on my face to distract her and calm myself. Now is not the time.


    ¡°Let¡¯s proceed with our first lesson.¡±


    Her head rises. A thankful cheer graces her lips. ¡°Yes, please.¡±


    ¡°You must connect with your nanorobots. Not simply will them to do a task, but search for them with your mind as individuals. They seem to be countless at first, but as you proceed, the one responding will become two, the two will become four, and so on.¡±


    She closes her eyes. I let a smile slip as she shivers and goosebumps in the water. She didn¡¯t question why I don¡¯t shiver, and that is a concern on one level. Observation of others and your surroundings are survival must-dos. Perhaps the Grandmaster of Assassins is a title, not an indication of skill or talent? That would be an explanation, one that I would not suggest to Lord Klar as he has, it seems, invested a great deal in his latest project.


    I contemplate flicking her nose again. Her eyes snap open first. Wide and bright.


    ¡°That is amazing! I feel them. I feel them all.¡± She pauses, and her brow knits. ¡°Many are idle?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Even though you have willed your cheek to be healed, for example, the nanorobots won¡¯t all tend to that task because you have left the organisation of resources, the nanorobots, to the nanorobots. Do you allow your assassins to pick their assignments?¡±


    ¡°No. But we try to match the best assassin to an assignment,¡± she replies.


    ¡°And who are we?¡±


    Disarmingly, she replies, ¡°My husband and I are responsible for critical or important assignments, and a select trusted number of experienced assassins are responsible for all other assignments.¡±


    ¡°Extend that to your nanorobots. Consider each assignment critical. Don¡¯t allow them to decide.¡±


    She nods while in thought.


    ¡°First things first. Assign a group to warm your skin. Since we are in a tub of water, they will use that water and nothing from your body. Anyone with nanorobots will find excuses to drink as much water as possible when their nanorobots are purposefully active.¡±


    ¡°I am still cold,¡± she chatters.


    ¡°Assign more, in increments, until you are comfortable. Don¡¯t simply assign them all!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s better,¡± she gasps.


    ¡°Your body shivers to become warm, which spends the energy you have in store from what you have consumed. In wind-swept snow, this becomes a losing race. The nanorobots don¡¯t use the energy you have stored from meals. They use water, hence why we are in a tub.¡±


    She is silent and deep in thought.


    ¡°Stop!¡±


    Siba stares at me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t assign your nanorobots to any other tasks as yet.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she says.


    ¡°We must upgrade our nanorobots first.¡± Her face screws up in doubt. ¡°Lord Klar has just seeded us. Count this as the latest best version of his nanorobots.¡± She leans her head to one side. ¡°Alright, allow me to explain. Others may have commented that I always bathe after laying with Lord Klar. This is true, although not for the reason they presume. I am using the water to upgrade my nanorobots. Sometimes, this is a little or nothing. Other times, this can be huge. Especially if he hasn¡¯t laid with you in a long time.¡±


    ¡°He is the ultimate source, then. The Grandmaster of Nanorobots?¡± she says.


    I chuckle. ¡°Yes, although I haven¡¯t searched for anyone else.¡±


    ¡°Lord Torngul is lord over Lord Klar. Older, wiser, perhaps? Could he be better?¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°Their arrangement is unusual, and I don¡¯t rate Lord Torngul¡¯s Honour Guard superior to any of Lord Klar¡¯s fighting wives, which they should be if his nanorobots are superior.¡±


    ¡°Trela tells me that Lord Torngul doesn¡¯t rut with his Honour Guard, but she does, of course¡­¡±


    ¡°You may venture there, but I will stay with the certainty of Lord Klar. Speaking of which, the nanorobots in his seed will be the latest version, and they will naturally be grouped together when you connect with them. Each version does this. I have never questioned the convenience.¡± I flash her a broad grin. ¡°Task them with upgrading others and, once upgraded, task them to do the same and so on. Understand?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she says, and, with her eyes shut, she relaxes slightly into the water.


    The wait isn¡¯t long for her. It seems that the more Lord Klar does out in the world, the more significant the difference and the increment of improvement. Lord Klar returned to his village and then seeded her. He rode to Hobgoblin Town and conducted some business, but not much more than that. If my theory is correct, this should cause a small nanorobot improvement for her. It was a much longer process for me, which I did while waiting for her to be late.


    She could be helpful as a test of some of my nanorobot theories. So, perhaps teaching her won¡¯t be a complete waste of my time. But should I teach her all I know?


    ¡°That didn¡¯t take long,¡± she grumbles.


    I chuckle. ¡°Go without his seed for half the year, and let me know how you go.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°Now, you need to assign groups of nanorobots to the following tasks as a start. First is hearing, then vision, including developing night sight. To a lesser extent, taste unless you suspect poison threatens you. Your sense of smell is like taste in importance.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± she exclaims. ¡°I overheard half a swear word from the kitchen.¡±


    I doubt that the improvement would be noticeable so quickly afterwards, so I don¡¯t encourage or discourage.


    ¡°Next will be strength, agility and dexterity. These are best improved while you are using them. Without you needing to provide the details, the nanorobots clearly identify which muscles and other areas need improvement. Some improvement is still possible while not training, but you need to imagine what you want, a description of sorts. Unfortunately, your imagined needs may be incorrect. That is why you will see Lord Klar¡¯s wives and others, like me, in many practice fights. It appears to everyone else as normal training, but deep down, it is more.¡±


    ¡°Will practice fights also improve your weapon skills?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but you need to assign nanorobots to observe and improve. Because of this unusual training method, it would be unusual for the two sparing to be hurt, but don¡¯t assume.¡±


    She places her hands on the tub¡¯s sides, about to climb out, I guess. But then changes her mind. ¡°To practice in and near the Manor, I will need to take a water skin, won¡¯t I? For things such as unloading a wagon, leaping and rolling from a height or knife throwing practice?¡±


    ¡°Since you will be busy for the rest of the day and night, we will meet again tomorrow morning and chat again.¡± I put on a firm, don¡¯t disappoint me face. ¡°Under no circumstances will you heal your cheek or improve your appearance. Do you understand me? No circumstance.¡±


    She sighs. ¡°I understand. All my efforts will be in other improvements.¡±


    I nod, climb out of the tub, and reach for a cloth to dry myself.


    A knock sounds at the door. ¡°Voria, are you a prune yet? The kitchen staff mentioned you have spent much time there.¡±


    Trela. I stride to the door and raise the crossbar. ¡°Push your way in,¡± I say after stepping back.


    ¡°Oh!¡± Her hand covers her mouth. ¡°You¡¯re not dressed.¡±


    I dangle a cloth. ¡°Yes, I believe the word is naked. Would you mind fastening the door and handing my robe to me?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have other things?¡± She nods at my loins.


    ¡°No, but I have company.¡± I wave one hand at the tub while the other grabs my robe from Trela.


    Siba¡¯s head eases out of the water. Then she waves.


    ¡°Still playing with others, then.¡± I am dressed in my robe as she grabs each of my forearms. ¡°Perhaps you¡¯d enjoy a town stroll and an afternoon picnic?¡±


    ¡°That would be wonderful. Perhaps you can ask your servants if they can make good use of a goblin. You know, keep her out of trouble while we are busy.¡±


    She titters. ¡°I am certain they can keep her busy and out of mischief.¡±


    <h2>---Shiliga, Scribe of Lord Klar POV</h2>


    Plump, plump noises wake me.


    I crack open one eye and see them in the dawn light. Goblins. They work in silence except for the shovelling. They spread a white powder over the dead and then shovel the nearby dug-out dirt back into the mass grave.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± calls out a female voice. ¡°We can still fit a few more in. Pack up and dig out an extension.¡±


    ¡°But you said we can¡­¡±


    I feel the blade silence him, the sound of the weapon sliding rapidly in and out of his flesh, chilling. I shut my eyes.


    The flop of his body into the trench follows.


    ¡°I knew we could add more.¡± She chuckles. ¡°But we need to prepare for the future!¡± she screams.


    The clatter of tools and the clumping of boots fill my ears. Several heartbeats later and the sound of shovels striking dirt is all I hear.


    The chill of the day keeps the corpses from rotting rapidly, but not enough for me to ignore the stench. Some have been there longer than others, of course. In the middle of the day, I hear them pack up and catch her screaming new orders about attending to the latrines.


    While feeling sorry for myself, pain draws me back to the present. A sharp pain in each shin.


    I slither across a couple of corpses towards the forest side bank of the trench until a dirt wall stops me. I bite my lip and instantly regret my foolishness. Blood taste. Not mine. I wonder how much blood covers me and has soaked into my robe. Ew. Stop this, I berate myself. Think! No, I must listen.


    After a time, I raise one hand and no matter the stretch, I can¡¯t reach the top. I release a breath.


    The twin pains niggle my shins again.


    In an instant, I choose to trust. What else is there? Remain in the trench until they spread white powder on me and then dirt to bury me forever?


    I slide up the dirt bank, my legs propelling me as my body hugs and tries to emerge as small as possible against the exposed black soil. My hands reach the edge, and their pulling adds to my legs pushing until my eyes can see above the trench.


    Grass. Tall grass.


    My slithering on my belly continues until my body snakes through the grass.


    The twin pains are sharp and cruel. I wince, trying to catch my breath. As I recover, I overhear snippets of chatter. A chatter that is growing louder. Towards me.


    If I stand and flee, they will see me. Could I slither further into the long grass? There is no pain in my shins. Is that a sign? No. Sharp and cruel is code for stop. Niggle is to go. Therefore, no pain must mean stay. Will these interpretations save me or condemn me?


    ¡°Stop talking about her¡­¡± says one voice.


    ¡°She¡¯s a bitch. She went too far.¡±


    The rustle of the grass is now loud in my ears. They are close by. Then, nothing except further conversation.


    ¡°She is the overseer of punishment duty. Suck it up. We have done our time.¡±


    ¡°She still needs to pay. Xazed and us were brothers. We have been fighting, slaughtering and pillaging for the Warrior Hob for five months now, and she sticks her sword in him. Bitch!¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    The grass rustling shortly after sends me hope.


    Silence much later and twin niggles of pain confirm my trust in whatever or whoever has taken an interest in my escape. I slither forward, and then I freeze in fright. I peer over my shoulder, and the flat, bent, and broken grass behind me is an obvious trail that even a juvenile tracker could follow.


    As I consider the worst, twin niggles in my shins wake me.


    I slither in haste. My rustling of the grass is loud to me. I am certain goblins could hear the noise as well, and yet there is no pain in my shins.


    These strange signals of pain continue into the afternoon. I break out of the grass, and my slithering body crashes over wagon ruts. This is a well-used path; I scanned both directions. The wheels have dug in while several boots have trampled down the grass. I slither across, adding black soil stains to the grass and bloodstains on my robe.


    After a time, I suffer a niggle in my right shin only. Head more in that direction, perhaps? I do as I am told, and my slithering continues until dusk. The pains in my shins guide me, and no goblins catch me.


    The night is on me when a sharp pain stabs both of my shins. I freeze.


    Twin niggles of pain in my shins wake me. I¡¯m enveloped by the dark, silent night, hearing snores on the breeze.


    Three sets of twin niggling pain strike my shins. Does that mean I slither as fast as possible? Crawl?


    The three sets of niggling pain strike my shins again. I climb to my feet and bolt. I don¡¯t glance back or sideways. This is death or freedom. I reject the possibility of re-capture.


    <h2>---Cassia Hippolyta Sutler, Lord Warrior Hob</h2>


    ¡°She is away, then?¡± I ask Zib, my loyal first captain. His brigand, thieving ways never cease to deliver value to me.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    His one-word answer, an invitation, of course. ¡°Speak.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t hesitate! ¡°I don¡¯t see the need. You know where Lord Klar is. We have a path through the woods to reach him. We simply need to wear down the troops of the self-appointed High Priestess of Klug, and he will be at your mercy.¡±


    ¡°Yes, they don¡¯t appreciate the cold, do they?¡±


    ¡°Our spies report their food stores are low. They must leave the field or hunt the plains as we do.¡± His wide, devouring grin speaks to the impossibility of that option to them.


    ¡°Did she require much support?¡±


    He quirks his head. ¡°Support?¡±


    ¡°Did we need to turn a blind eye, avoid her, provide clear paths? Tell me all the details you have discovered.¡±


    ¡°There is not much to tell. We found where she climbed out of the trench. Her trail through the grass was easy enough to follow. At night, she bypassed a snoring sentry.¡±


    I pace around my captain. ¡°We presumed her being a scribe she would scream for release from the bloodied corpses, surrender instead of enduring. We trusted if she somehow stomached that, she would blunder into the first or second patrol she would meet. She met none, as far as we can tell.¡±


    ¡°I can have the patrols flogged?¡± His voice rings with glee as he suggests punishment.


    ¡°No.¡± I raise my finger. ¡°But she achieved above and beyond expectations. We knew nothing. The how, when, her whereabouts until you checked the trench for her and chatted to the night sentries in the afternoon before their shift.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He rubs his head, his thinking pose. ¡°She displayed superb skulking skills, far and above what you would expect from a scribe, or she was incredibly lucky. Her timing was near perfect.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Although I would say it was perfect timing. Not even a heartbeat off. She escaped in broad daylight, of all things. You needed to alert all the night sentries, didn¡¯t you? Since we didn¡¯t know her location, we couldn¡¯t warn just one or two guards about where she might cross.¡± This lapse of my perfection could grow into a wild rumour. I¡¯ll tackle this later.


    ¡°Yes, Lord Warrior Hob. She found training areas to crawl through, too many coming and goings to track.¡± He bows his head.


    ¡°I am learning about my enemy, Zib. I presumed Lord Klar was my sole opponent. When I met his wives, I sensed they could be a challenge. I hoped they would be at most diversions only, which I could assign to my best. This Scribe, and her uncanny ability to escape, without significant assistance from us, throws some doubt on that assumption.¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°Simple. We will follow her with an infiltration/assassination team and see how far they get. Inflict some losses, see if we can anger him, and while full of emotion, he will confront us directly.¡±


    The tactic had worked before, of course. Then I snap my fingers. ¡°They are on the tip of my tongue. The group that operated for that upstart King of the Valley before we dethroned him.¡±


    ¡°The Silent Knights?¡± he quips.


    ¡°Yes, stupid name, but the promise of a visit from them gripped that entire valley in terror.¡±


    He scuffs a boot. ¡°If we allow them to go on a mission, they will bolt.¡±


    I dig my thumbs into my belt and swagger. ¡°Sworn brotherhood, Zib. We assign half to go. They bolt, and we slaughter their brothers. If the first half fails, I am certain the second half will want to seek revenge.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps. They aren¡¯t helping us much now, being buried up to their necks and all.¡±


    I chuckle because of their stupidity. ¡°They are still honouring their contract to the King of the Valley, so will serve no other until that expires in two seasons. Ridiculous, but it speaks to their loyalty, which we can exploit.¡±


    P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.