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.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
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?