---Izga, Concubine of Lord Klar POV
“You’re late,” says an arrogant voice off to one side of the road.
I slow my jog to a walk.
“You need to run, not stop,” snarls an unfamiliar voice, although this time I discover the source. A sweeping glance and I discern four goblins resting by the side of the road. The corpse of a female hobgoblin with a crudely tied blood-stained bandage around her head lays between them, serving as a table of sorts. They must feel safe and somewhat brave because common knowledge says the night vision of a hobgoblin is poor compared to a goblin. The goblin slaves believe they can see me, but I can’t see them.
“Clan Head Sakvorpa assigned me a special mission, so I believe you are the ones who are up to no good or at least being lazy. So, hurry off before I tell the Head Goblin.” Name dropping is always useful in situations like this. The Mistress isn’t especially cruel towards them. In fact, they are beneath her notice. The Head Goblin has an entirely different view.
“We meant no harm,” another says in a shrill voice full of panic. “We are gathering all the dead from the northern side of the road, so they will probably need there you most.”
A pleading voice adds, “See, we helped set you on the right side. Tell the Mistress, tell the Head Goblin. We are going now.” A hasty quiet ruckus begins and then ends.
I continue jogging until I spy the brush rising in the distance and dart across the road to the southern side. Once across, I take cover amongst a convenient pile of rocks and discover several trails into the brush to choose from. My fellow assassins must have gathered here first. The cover certainly drew me, so why not them? From here, each must have cut their own trail into the brush. I follow the one closest to the road, which shortly ends beside a split tree trunk with a perfect view. I then follow a cross pathway that joins another trail running parallel to the road and I follow it. Same again, leading to an observation position. A cross pathway and then a parallel trail. As Lord Klar rode his beast along the road, the assassins must have shadowed him and, slowly over the distance, gathered. At some point, I suspect he will reach the ambush site, then those following would be in a position to cut off his retreat or prevent any rescue party from reaching him. Should I be worried? Their plan seems masterful…
One more observation point along, a tumble of rocks with a narrow viewport and I spy a riding boar, with a feed bag about its head. Looking up and down the road, I spy in the general direction of Hobgoblin Town at least two corpses laying halfway across the road. Lord Klar’s mischief?
Their mutterings warn me of their approach. I assume they are going to use the observation point and so hide in the undergrowth directly behind. Where they must stand, where I just stood. Their arguing grows louder as I settle into cover.
“Why must we observe?”
“Because like I have told you, orders are orders.”
“Better to observe instead of trying to cross the road and end up dead.”
“Well, stay here while I check on the others. If anything moves, one of you finds me, while the other stays.”
Silence and then, shortly after, conversation. “Glad she has gone. No talent simply in charge because she is older.”
“Whatever. The boar’s tail swishes, that’s it… Eh?”
The observing assassin manages to half turn towards me, exposing her neck, which I take advantage of. I bend my knees and princess carry the guard assassin’s corpse down along the trail and roll her into the undergrowth. Then fetch her partner, deciding to undress both and pose them in an intimate position. The Clan Head would deny any such affection and punish those caught. I wonder what she would make of this scene, two assassins while on a mission being slain while in a half-naked embrace. I return to the observation point and decide to lie in wait further along the trail. The third assassin, on return, would find the observation point abandoned and immediately be cautious. The spray of blood from hitting the neck artery of the observer is also an issue.
Crouching down, I wait with a sturdy tree limb in one hand.
The third hurries along the trail and I thrust my tree limb between her legs, catching and tripping her. As she tries to use her arms to stand while shaking her head, I jump on her back and flatten her to the ground again.
“Silence or death?” I ask while slipping a dagger about her throat.
She nods her head.
“How many assassins are on the mission?” I whisper.
“At least forty I know of.”
“Why is the Mistress hunting Lord Klar?”
“Because he supports Lord Torngul of course.”
“She has never had the ambition to be Lord of the Valley. Why isolate Lord Torngul?”
“Is that you Izga?”
I slap the back of her head. “Answer my question.”
“Another has the ambition and the coin.”
Using the breast wrap from one of the two lovers, I gag her mouth. With the other breast wrap, I bind her wrists and, using a loincloth, I bind her ankles. I carry and deposit her between trails and then brain her with the pommel of my dagger. I place a finger on her throat and find a pulse. There is a slight chance of death, but I can’t risk her alerting any other assassins, even if she chose silence instead of death. I sigh with relief. My honour remains in tack, in the purest form. She decided silence; therefore, I am honour bound to preserve her life and not deliberately slay her.
The groups of two, one intently observing while the other is guarding against danger, are easy pickings because they believe all their enemies are on the road, not stalking them from behind in the brush. The one guarding isn’t guarding, of course, but taking a nap, complaining, fidgeting with a weapon, a rock, a stick, anything to relieve the boredom. Assassins are creatures of action. Name the target, complete the mission, and return. This wasn’t an assassination mission. When I found three assassins, I knew after a time the third would need to visit another observation point, so I would murder the two and wait along the trail for the return of the third. Lord Klar’s seed made me faster and stronger with heightened hearing and night vision. I utilised those advantages to the maximum clearing the southern brush of assassins by dawn. Eighteen assassinations. Huh. Must have been forty all up, not the number on this side of the road.
---Luda, Goblin Concubine of Lord Klar POV
Peering through the brush, I await his signal. A wink in the night, which only my night vision can see, and I scamper toward him. The final distance is a lizard crawl, on my hands and feet until I snuggle underneath his cloak. His body warmth is like a return home, more, it is a welcome. A brief lingering, and then I take the arrows tied to my back and refill his quiver. This time, six to add to a cache of three.
“How many left?” he whispers.
“Between us, so far, we have made at least fourteen corpses, husband.”
His hand pats my head, his fingers then worm their way into my hair to messuage my scalp, and I am in bliss. Such a simple show of affection, yet I know this absent gesture of his is genuine.
“Have you found our enemy?”
I know I should have by now, yet his quiver was down to three arrows. He shows no concern.
“I would rather ensure your live, husband.”
His hand leaves my head to allow his arm to embrace my shoulders. “That wasn’t the plan, wife.”
“Three arrows?”
“More than enough. Do you think they could defeat my sword? Or my dagger? I will hear them despite their skill before they can close and therefore hunt the hunters.” He squeezes me with affection. “Now go, do as I bid. I assure you I am difficult to slay and knowing who hunts me is more important.”
I extend my hand until I cup his cheek. His warm eyes glance down and shower me with love. Then they turn hard and I almost flinch.
“I do as you command me, Lord. I will not fail you.”
---
He, like most small creatures who creep about in the shadows, is always alert. Suspicion keeps a goblin in the harsh hobgoblin world alive, and he isn’t any different. More than once, I need to freeze. I know I hadn’t given away my position. He simply exercises caution, frequently. Stopping, listening, his eyes scanning every bush, every shadow.
From the shadows, he whispers to his female hobgoblin mistress. Her red eyes glowing with anger and frustration, yet with him, a concession. A conversational tone, still master and servant, yet respectful.
“What do you report?” she whispers. Once again, I thank Lord Klar’s seed for my excellent hearing.
From the shadows, he whispers, “His goblin has disappeared Mistress, most believe she is in hiding, too scared to fight, or he has sent her away somehow to protect her.”
Having excised that slur with blood already, I restrain my murderous urge and continue to listen.
“You heard her,” she hisses. “We find the dead without the arrows which slew them. He has help. It can only be his goblin. She isn’t cowering. Where have the clean-up crews recovered most of our dead?”
“The northern side of the trail, Mistress, from arrows.”
I gloat. They are yet to discover my corpses then.
“Take them off clean up duty, fetch more from Town if you must, but tell them to fan out on the northern side of the trail and slowly walk towards us, stabbing every bush, looking behind every tree and searching under every rock. They are goblins. They should know how and where goblins hide. He cares for his wives, so her capture could prove beneficial. Now go.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
There is no point in following him. I know what his task is and the chance of being captured or slain by an overcautious goblin is great. Better simply to hide and observe his mistress and her force of hobgoblins, who wait in hiding for my husband. Shortly after her Head Goblin leaves, she joins one group of hobgoblins. What amazes me most is she doesn’t have a personal guard or even a couple of escorts. Is she that confident in her skills?
I am about to move, mainly to avoid the goblins, who at some point will beat the brush in the area I am currently hiding when I overhear a faint scrape. Instantly, I freeze my body in place. Slowly, I crane my ears in the noise's direction. Another scrape, these noises aren’t loud or obvious, in fact, the masterful quality of the stealthiness is to be admired.
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My night vision glimpses a shoulder, the shade of cloth an almost perfect match for the vegetation. She has outrun at least one goblin shadowing her. Are these one of many goblin guardians and they now reposition to protect her? Without my caution, I would have been none the wiser and possibly dead now, if not at least revealed. My body becomes statue-like. When I am certain they crowd around her again, I allow a silent breath to escape between my lips. At least four guard her, although I admit this is an estimate as I can only observe from my current position. This would, I reckon, be a minimum to watch over her from every direction. I am intrigued she employs goblins… could she have trained them as assassins also?
I shift from my position, circling behind the ambush, uncertain how I can assist if Lord Klar falls into her trap.
“Ugh, do you mind?” whispers a voice from under my boot, which I immediately shift.
Ground cover shakes and shifts. It would seem I have stepped upon her buttocks as her goblin face turns to meet mine.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“It seems great minds think alike?”
I quirk my head.
“I assume you intend to spy on them the same as me and have identified this is the best position. I can occasionally glimpse her goblin bodyguards when they change position, have a clear view of the road, and can observe three of her four hobgoblin groups.”
“I… well yes. A word of caution. Goblins will overrun the brush to the west at some point, searching for me.”
“Good to know. Our watcher observed them leave Hobgoblin Town at dusk, but we don’t know who they intend to ambush. Would you know?”
Who is this female goblin? Should I trust her? Their watcher? Who are they?
“Why should I trust you? What if you are a ploy, pretending to spy on the ambushers, but lay in wait as a lure for spies to capture or slay them?”
“Huh, never thought of that. What a delicious double blind, or perhaps triple blind.” Her brow furrows. “Pretend to spy to appear an ally, yet secretly a trap which protects the ambush, or even a camp. I like it, I like it a lot.”
Our conversation falls silent as we recall where and what we are doing and instinctively check to ensure we are still safe.
“Perhaps it is best for both of us if we separate?” she offers.
There is much to be said about an enemy of my enemy is my friend, yet what are the chances of meeting another in the middle of an ambush?
“Why do your people spy on them?” I whisper.
“My people? Interesting phrase. We are goblins. That Clan Head in particular harvests goblins to enslave them. We simply try to free them, allying with whomever we can.”
“Perhaps one of your allies is one of my friends?” I offer.
“Or perhaps you are fishing for the names of my allies to betray them? Somehow, I don’t fully trust someone who can think of a triple blind…”
“We are at an impasse, then?” I offer.
“I believe so, sorry.”
“Well, if I can prove myself by helping you, small or great, in the future, I will.” I don’t wait for an answer as I creep away from her position.
The false dawn rises behind me as I settle into position, needing, like her, to bury my body under leaves, while placing my head inside a bush. Her position is the superior one. I can observe the road, two of the four groups, one of those, the one she can’t observe, not that this matters much. I can sight the Clan Head where she currently waits, but none of her bodyguards reveals themselves to me.
A buzz arouses my interest, and yet I cannot identify the source. I wait and confirm the buzz is advancing directly towards me or in my general direction. Difficult to determine while in my current position, so I shuffle backwards out of my hiding spot and chance a cautious peek toward the buzzing. Twenty or maybe thirty goblins are bashing the brush with sticks, the thwacking and slapping generating the buzz-like noise.
The enemy of my enemy breaks cover and bolts on an angle towards the road. A direct path would take her perilously close to the groups of hobgoblins, while a more indirect path would take her closer to the goblin beaters who are sweeping behind the ambush site. The sweep will overrun my position as well and soon. The goblin beaters are rushing forward, while at least one of the hobgoblin groups chases the enemy of my enemy…
I don’t break any cover completely, yet hurry while keeping low to make the best use of the cover I can because silence is no longer necessary. I plan to intercept her escape path on the assumption she knows an escape route and I have none.
She is well ahead of her pursuers when I catch her up.
“Oh, welcome. I wondered when you would join me.” There is unbridled joy in her voice. “Left!”
I veer left, and she follows as a volley of arrows passes through the line we were running.
“Right!” I adjust and run hard, although I stay with her.
“Dive!” I follow her to the ground, and a flight of arrows passes over us. Then she is up and heading right and I am on her heels.
She runs down an incline and then up the other side. As we reach the top, several goblins join us. She and them then drop their shorts and wiggle their bottoms at our chasers. A volley of arrows drops short of our position and her display of defiance. I completely forget my life is in danger, trying to comprehend her game.
“Flash your green bottom, at them,” she half yells, half giggles.
I stare at her, trying to decide if she is mad or some genius.
Then I hear multiple chunky splats. My ears guide my eyes, and my legs turn to jelly for a moment. Hobgoblins writhe on the downward slope of the incline. Three are still, another five nurse a thick spear of wood through their torsos, another one is screaming, his upper leg dangles, and two others don’t appear wounded yet are bent over, holding their stomachs. A goblin visits each and silences them.
“Quick,” she says while pulling on my arm and she races while I stumble down the incline. A flight of arrows impales the high ground where we once stood. Where I once stood, and she flaunted her bottom. The other goblins flee back from where they came.
The young springy trees resume their natural positions. One by one, up to three goblins pull back on the tree, while a fourth goblin cuts the attached blood-stained log, with a sharp spear point like end, free. Once free, the holding goblins using a count to coordinate release the tree, which thumps the ground and after some back and forth resumes its natural position once again.
“How did you know they would follow? How did you know this gully and the trees would be in the right place? How?” I mumble.
“There is always someplace where we can set our traps and lures. Some are more ideal than others, of course, and we weigh risks against rewards. This time, we have been successful. There have been other times when we have underestimated our foe. But we must continue, regardless.”
---Clan Head Sakvorpa POV
“Call them back!” I yell my order, yet we have no one to obey.
The leaders of the two remaining mercenary groups look over their shoulders at me, the archers lowering their bows. I wave at them to return to me. Since dawn, no assassins have reported in and now the goblin beaters are charging forward in a wave, armed with beating sticks against an unknown number of foes.
How did they turn my trap against me? How did they know where I would set my ambush?
“Mistress, we must leave.”
His earnest voice wakes me somewhat from my stupor. My loyal Head Goblin. I pat his shoulder. As much reassurance for me as for him, I suspect.
Breaking cover, we hurry across the road and crash into the brush on the southern side of the road. The mercenaries clear a single file path, taking turns to keep up the pace. My bodyguards, I know, will need to break cover and follow. They will return with me or find me later, otherwise, their immediate family will suffer for their disloyalty.
“How did this happen, Master Goblin?”
“The hunters became the hunted Mistress.”
I wanted to stop and slap him silly, yet I know, if not now, I could do so later after I reach the safety of my fortified manor.
“Explain.”
“Assassins don’t make good ambushers. Assassins need to hold on to the initiative.”
“All they had to do was to observe and escort the prey, close off his retreat, and watch for reinforcements or rescuers. How hard can that be?” I growl under my breath.
“Their eyes were on the road. None expected to be attacked from behind, Mistress.”
“Behind? Arrows in the neck and the eye aren’t strikes from behind!”
“No. I don’t think they, whoever they were, had a plan, which made our situation worse. While we were trying to slay the Lord beside the road, two enemy assassins slew our assassins while they were observing him from the brush on either side of the road.”
“You know this how?”
“I followed the beaters and for every assassin's death by arrow, another was slain by a dagger, typically from behind and with complete surprise. They didn’t have time to wield their daggers or put their arms up to deflect any attack. The exceptions were throat slashed, which takes skill and speed, as you know, Mistress.”
“What of the assassins on this side of the road?”
“The assassin, single, knows you, Mistress.”
I stop my distasteful flight and grab at his shoulder. Instead of squeezing until I make him buckle in pain, I release my grip and hurry on. “How can you be certain?”
“Again, surprise attacks, yet the assassin made time to pose many of your slain assassins in amorous positions, their corpses half or fully naked.”
I grind my teeth and crack the bones in my neck, using my neck muscles alone. One of mine.
“I found one alive, tressed up, gagged. Their honour code Mistress, she must have chosen silence or, in other words, betraying three truths for her life. I removed her gag so she could beg.”
Their code. An insidious, spontaneous thing from many years ago, before I eliminated any internal competition in that regard within my assassins, or I thought I did. It permits failure to survive, which endangers others because a chain is only as strong as the weakest link.
“What will be the impact on our services from this mission failure?”
“If we assume the loss of all the goblin slaves beating the brush, those remaining will not be enough to service Hobgoblin Town. Initially, we will keep up an appearance of delivering, but as we work them hard, they will die from exhaustion. The fertilisation by burial service will need to be suspended. We will need to blood green assassins or forgo contracts. The risk there, of course, is mission failure. We guarantee our service, therefore we must hold back our few surviving veterans to clean up after any failures, Mistress.”
“Are you certain that is all? There are no further consequences?”
“We have failed our sponsor. An ally of Lord Torngul still lives. We may have a loyalty and morale problem among the remaining assassins.”
He states the obvious, yet how can I blame him? I asked. No, that is being soft. I need to work out my frustration and whipping the flesh off his back is exactly what I need. I am certain we both must feel the pain of failure in our own way.
--- Koria Keen Eye POV
I successfully resist. The first. Then another calling urge taunts me, and no sooner do I see this attempt off than another tries to summon my spirit and with willpower, I resist again. The fourth calling in what seems quick time is irresistible, and my spirit spirals out of the black and into the dark reality of night.
I struggle for breath; a distant gurgle reaches the ears of the body I am taking as my own. Hobgoblin. Female. I know this instinctively. Does this knowledge originate from the nanorobots in this body? They connect my spirit to this body as much as this body quests for a new life after its recent death. The nanorobots attack the wound site; they work around the foreign object puncturing the flesh. My lungs burn, and I don’t have the air to gasp as my spirit separates from this flesh. The once active nanorobots fall away, lose their excitement, and then as they slide into hibernation, I rise. My spirit glimpses upon the desolate corpse, an impaling arrow through her throat. A quick death, a good death, I lament. A moment later, the black welcome my spirit back.
The fifth calling is terrible. As the nanorobots respond to my spirit presence, I will them to cease. After a brief struggle to search for life, the impossible ends at my insistence. I suspect a brain injury terminal to recover from, yet I can’t eliminate the nagging unlikely possibility the nanorobots obeyed me.
The sixth and seventh are much like the fifth. Brain injury, from an impaling arrow to the eye and my command of the nanorobots improving. The seventh corpse dies the moment after my spirit enters and as my spirit returns to the black, I can linger. Perhaps there is a minimum time my spirit can remain to claim a new body? Dark leather pants, shirt, and gloves, skinny. Many daggers about her person. Confirmation, an arrow impales her eye.
I return to the black, and a moment later I descend again. I have no remaining will to resist. Are the summons occurring so often, I can’t resist? Or is the accumulation of summoning overwhelming?
The eight I reverse everything. I feel my spirit enter the body and immediately after; I rally the nanorobots to the wound site, my brain. My nanorobots strip resources, water, blood, and flesh from other parts of this awakening corpse until they make my old brain cells whole. The head and shaft of the arrow remain, and the corpse dies again. From this experiment, I know, that regardless of the number of times I am summoned, I can instruct the nanorobots. They do as my will bids and therefore, if I so desire, I can reject body after body, forever.
The ninth suffers from an arrow to the throat. I stand the nanorobots down until I glimpse another. A goblin peers into the corpse’s eyes. Celebrating her kill? My spirit shudders as my enquiring gaze finds a familiar spirit behind the peering goblin’s eyes. I command the nanorobots to action. Luda. I have no doubt. I spur my nanorobots on, sacrificing flesh and blood to heal. Withdraw the arrow sister, I beg in silence, my throat unable to speak without swallowing blood. I know this because I tried and failed. I return to the black without remembering the journey. Did I fall unconscious before death took me?
There isn’t an immediate tenth. My sister, I am now positive she lives. Participating in a battle of some sort, one which produces many deaths with the capacity to call me. Only Lord Farmer Hob can call me, each kill is his invitation to me. Confirmation is undeniable, and I must accept this truth. My sister lives in his presence. Can I? Has he forgiven?
The tenth calls me. I am willing, and my spirit is aggressive as I infuse and take control. Marshalling the nanorobots, I locate the wound with their help and put them to work. Extensive gashes through both cheeks, bones of the lower jaw in pieces, nasal passage full of blood, and I celebrate. No arrow shaft.
I blink, climb to my haunches and finish removing the crude cloth bandage around the lower half of my head. The blood. What price has this body paid to recover?
Pain. Sharp into the flesh. Slicing through, nicking my vertebrae, and penetrating up into my brain. My nanorobots educate me automatically, answering my wordless question of what and where like they did when I took ownership and asked. I guess they remember trying to pre-empt and be helpful. For my contribution to the analysis, I advise them this is an expert strike from an assassin or hunter and then my spirit flies free. A dagger remains in my corpse. I glimpse that much as I rise. If I could weep, I would. I don’t need to look into the eyes of my assassin now to recognise her spirit. Luda.
There is no eleventh call. Is that it? Called to a brief life and then death? Will I never see his face again? Will I never be able to plead my case?
No! He must kill again! This can’t be my last chance?