“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 – 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?”
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“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.