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.
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—”
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.
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.
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—”
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.
