---Luda, Goblin Concubine of Lord Klar POV

A wave of goblins floods past our position, down the incline, across the shallow gully and up the other side to disappear into the brush behind us.

“They didn’t attack us?”

She casually smirks. “No, they are running towards their freedom.”

“Where is that?”

A shrug. “Exhaustion, then thirst and finally starvation.”

I take in their faces, young, old, middle age, male, female and then I study her face.

She giggles. “Furrowing your brow is not a pretty look for you.”

I open my mouth but don’t know what to say. Her apathy for fellow goblins is plain.

“Don’t worry about them.” She places her hands on my shoulders briefly and I need an effort of will to resist shying away. “Some of my tribe will follow them and guide them. Save their lives once the euphoria has subsided and they need to feed themselves. When the sudden truth hits them, they don’t know how after so long being trough fed.”

Her disdain for them is obvious. Why does she treat me better than them?

“I must return to my husband.” I blurt out the words when a simple goodbye would have done as well.

“He is one lucky goblin, I am certain,” she says, while placing her hands on her hips.

I easily imagine her hearty ridiculing laughter. I nod. Curt and to the point. Incapable of a clever rebuke or even a simple rebuke towards a goblin so full of confidence and in undisputed command.

My retreat from her presence is more of an undignified rout. I flee. My legs slow when my body bursts through a hedge and the road underfoot. The memory of her parting, derisive smirk haunts my mind still. Backing into the brush beside the road, my hands grab fistfuls of hair. I release my grip before I rip and instead issue a low, hissing chuckle. With my strength, courtesy of Lord Klar’s seed, my effort would quickly result in the loss of all my hair. She used bluff and bluster. If we ever came to blows, she would be nothing. If we ever meet again, our exchange of words won’t be so one-sided, I decide.

Feeling better, I skirt the edge of the road, sticking to cover in case there are a few strays of Clan Head Sakvorpa still lurking about. My heart fills with joy as I spot Lord Klar’s boar down the road. Yelps of protest from across the road spoil my moment. Crouching back into some bush, I remain still while scanning the brush across the road in the cursing's direction. Breaking from the brush across the road is a goblin, in a tan-green soft leather outfit including a hood, shirt and breeches, resisting every step forward. The pusher is someone I recognise, Izga, showing off a broad triumphant smile.

I dash across the road to join her, peering into the brush behind them in case the noise of her prisoner has drawn any other goblins or hobgoblins loyal to Clan Head Sakvorpa, yet none show. Was I being cautious, or did I doubt my sister-wife’s skill? Her waving arm distracts my thoughts and I follow her gaze. Lord Klar turns about at the urging of others and waves back. Frantically, I wave as well. What am I doing? Competing against my sister-wife for scraps of his attention? Am I that insecure? Am I playing mind games against myself now?

Jogging into view, are the rest of our sister-wives, in full armour, swords and bows at the ready. They reach Lord Klar first and each receives a hug and kiss in thanks, while Izga continues to prod the reluctant captive towards them, a loop of rope around the prisoner’s neck. I watch from a distance as Lord Klar and our sister-wives mount their boars and nudge them towards us.

On a road leading east, Izga and I look up at Lord Klar and our sister-wives riding their boars, wondering who will offer us a lift.

“Zergoa, you will guard our captive, place her before you on your saddle, and swaddle her with your cloak, and we will all pretend to do the same for some imaginary treasure. None must be able to observe we have a prisoner with us. When you dismount, they are a part of you, nothing less,” commands Lord Klar.

“Yes, husband,” she replies. Izga throws her the rope, and she lifts the captive onto her beast and settles the rigid goblin body before hers on the saddle.

Then Lord Klar simply offers me his arm and I race to him with love in my heart and a broad smile on my face.

“You must be mine then,” says Thalgora to Izga, who accepts the offer.

“And Zergoa, for your prisoner’s benefit, if they make a sound, you can slice off a finger each time,” he says.

At a leisurely pace, an amble on boar back, we continue along the road until dusk. The stunted and sparse crops on either side of the road are more than a hint. At the end of this day, we are on Clan Hungry land. Dismounting, my sister-wives set up camp in the failing light while I scout around our camp to ensure we haven’t somehow gained any interlopers. Lord Klar trusts me to perform this duty. Sight, hearing and smell I have been refining after receiving his seed.

Finding camp is too simple an exercise. Follow my nose. Thalgora hands me a plate of fried eggs and cured boar on my return. My sister-wives and I are wondering about this obvious sign of our presence, yet all remain silent around the campfire while eating our fill.

All eyes are on me as I am the last to finish. Klaria grabs my plate and when she returns, her eyes join mine. Our cloak bundle struggles every so often, testing. A rope ties off the gathered ends of the cloak to make an impromptu sack with our prisoner inside. Lord Klar stands off to one side of the bundle and nods toward Izga.

Izga does the honours, releasing the prisoner from Zergoa’s cloak. Before the prisoner can think, let alone move, Zergoa’s sword rests on its shoulder. Izga gets busy, peeling back the assassin’s clothes. There are several layers, different colours on reverse sides, enabling the wearer to best match their clothing with the natural surroundings they operate in. Ingenious. Izga stops to preserve our now revealed female prisoner’s modesty, leaving her wearing a breast wrap, which covers a modest pair of breasts and a loincloth. Izga pushes the prisoner down until she sits. Our prisoner’s eyes skit about as Izga ties her legs and then her arms, dragging them behind her back first. Zergoa’s sword lifts from her shoulder as Izga stands over her.

“You are a personal bodyguard of Clan Head Sakvorpa, aren’t you?” asks Izga, using a pleasant conversational voice.

She spits in Izga’s direction, which Izga adroitly dodges. “And you are the traitor, Izga!” she retorts in defiance.

Lord Klar’s skinny and youthful body takes one swift step forward. His hand is around the bodyguard’s neck before any of us can blink, lifting her off her feet in one smooth motion. Not only I, but the other wives recoil slightly and then swoon, as we drink in his strength and poise. The prisoner goes limp, her eyes bulging. I am certain her mind is trying to reconcile the anomaly. His skinny body could perform such a casual display of strength.

“I have had a bad day,” he rumbles. “Being ambushed, taking cover in a hole for most of a night and swallowing dust has left me unhappy. While my wives may prefer you answer our questions without protest and thereby avoid any delightful suffering at my hands, something inside of me hopes you will be stubborn and require violent and painful persuasion.”

Tears roll from her eyes and create tracks through the road dust on her cheeks.

“What duties do you and your fellow bodyguards perform for your Mistress?”

She sobs and hitches her chest. Lord Klar’s grip must have relaxed enough for her to breathe.

“We are to secret ourselves near to her and intercept any assassination attempts. When not on duty, we train neophyte assassins or test ourselves against each other.” She closes her eyes and exhales.

“Goblins protecting a scheming dishonourable hobgoblin bitch. I find your loyalty exceptional, commendable.” I am certain Lord Klar, as do we, his wives, notice she doesn’t protest his name-calling, which means… “Why are you and your fellow bodyguards so loyal?”

“I… She will slay them if she finds out…”

“We best make sure she doesn’t find out then,” growls Lord Klar and I tingle within. Klaria licks her lips, her tongue playing with her tusks as it sweeps over them.

“She holds our families. Brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers… our children, whomever we hold dearest to us.”

“Where?”

“We… we don’t know. They bring them to us, blindfolded, unannounced, to prove they are alive and tell us they are being well treated.”

“Where do you and your fellow bodyguards sleep?”

“If not guarding the Mistress outside of her manor, then inside her manor, where we share a common room. Before you ask, there are six of us. All escorted her today.”

“How big a failure for her was today?”

She shakes her head, which suddenly stops. I realise Lord Klar’s grip once again presses on her throat. Her hand rapidly taps his arm. His grip lingers before easing.

With tears escaping shut eyelids, she draws in an audible breath. Klaria straightens her posture and leans forward, eyes bright. She is enjoying the suffering of another; it seems.

“So many goblins gone will mean she will have a tough job keeping Hobgoblin Town clean.” She sniffs back, leaking snot. “So many assassins dead will mean apprentices will have to be used.”

“Open your eyes.”

She cracks her eyelids open and then fully opens them. I guess she realises nothing has changed.

“That’s better.” Lord Klar draws her closer until a hand width separates their noses. “Are apprentices likely to succeed when sent on missions or fail?”

Klaria crosses her arms, the palms of her hands upon her breasts and, if I am not mistaken, wishing those hands were Lord Klar’s.

“Although well trained, a veteran accompanies them on the first few missions, which can’t happen now. The, the Mistress guarantees success, so, so I assume the loss of apprentices will happen.”

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“Was this an ambush for me?”

She turns her head away as best she can. He shakes her entire body, while growling, “Keep silent. I like this game.”

Klaria’s hands pause, trying to drop to her lap, yet the light from the campfire would reveal her wanton display and they instead return to kneading the flesh and nipples of her breasts. No other sister wives are visible to me, they are behind me or in the shadows beyond the campfire light, which, being so close, distorts my night vision. They are further away and fully able to view what is happening; I am certain. Interrogation, Lord Klar style. A youth with the strength and power beyond what his years or bulk would suggest. Lord Torngul looks the part, while Lord Klar is the part behind a façade of youthful innocence. In a contest, I am certain my father would be at Lord Farmer Hob’s mercy.

Her arms flail about, trying to tap his forearms while screaming, “Yes! Yes.” Tears fall from her eyes as his shaking stops.

Klaria’s hands drop to lap.

“Who was going to pay her for my life?”

Her hands wave at Lord Klar, while her head shakes from side to side. “I promise on my child’s life I don’t know. Her sponsor is another Clan Head, that I can tell you because his guards protested being separated from him as we did when separated from her.”

Lord Klar stares at her. Then, straightening his arm, he slowly examines her every curve, up and down. His predator's eyes turn my will to jelly, and I need to check myself or I would be naked in a flash in his embrace. I am certain, unknowingly; that she draws her thighs together.

“I am prepared to release you now, but I want to ensure you survive your next meeting with your Mistress. So, suppose you didn’t return immediately because you followed me. What information would see you rewarded instead of being slain?” The kind tone in his voice is warm and inviting, as expected from a sympathising youth. Klaria’s jaw drops and her hands pause.

The eyes of Lord Klar’s prisoner fall upon those in front of her. I realise, almost breaking into laughter, she can see into the dark, at least a small distance as the campfire light is slightly behind her. I wonder what my sister-wives are doing to themselves, hopefully, nothing. Klaria’s secret is safe because our prisoner doesn’t have eyes in the back of her head. Her desperate eyes fall upon me, seeking confirmation or promise of honesty or both, wondering if our husband speaks the truth or is simply getting her hopes up so he can cruelly crush them.

“He means what he says,” I reply to her questioning look. “He punishes those who are our enemies, yet protects those who prove loyal.”

Swallowing, she says, “If I could propose a way for a single assassin to reach you and slay you… Lord.”

“Mmm, well, always the dream of my enemies, I am sure. Perhaps we should string this out a little, after all, the answer to her dilemma after one observation of me, by a spy of hers, would be unbelievable.”

He releases his grip and allows her to stand. She stumbles and his free hand shifts to support her while he removes his noose of fingers from around her neck. Once she is steady, he swivels her about and frees her hands.

“How about this? You followed us to Clan Hungry, to learn what is probably already common knowledge. We came here to part pay for the goblin slaves I have bought. We then plan to lead them to our modest land grant. You overhear some of my wives grumbling about the rough conditions, no roof over their heads, scarce food and so on, and you believe one may be open to bribery.”

Our prisoner slowly nods and with that encouragement, Lord Hob continues, “Failing that, an additional goblin among many will probably go unnoticed, which will allow a goblin to spy upon me and my wives. You can provide simple directions to my land grant. This means you can probably return to us for an update on our story, but don’t volunteer, of course. Bargain hard, say you need to see your family before you go in case you don’t survive. Complain you haven’t been in the field like this before or for a long time. Think of other excuses on your journey back.”

He reaches down and frees her legs. We all realise at once, that she could easily bolt, yet our Lord simply rests on his bottom, and leans back, his straight arms stretching out behind him, supporting his upper body. She swivels about to face him, biting her lip.

“You are going to free me? Like you said?” She checks the faces of those in front of her and then bursts into tears. Our Lord reaches forward and gently embraces her, whispering words of comfort and support in her ears. After a time, they separate.

“They love you, don’t they, each one of them? You would sacrifice your life for any one of them and they would sacrifice their life for you… This is easy to understand given what you have shown me, even the lowly goblin you cherish…”

“Is the story enough to keep you alive?” he asks.

She wipes tears from her eyes. “She won’t trust me. Another or perhaps two others will follow me to observe my loyalty.”

“Accidents can happen.” Even my heart warms to his kind smile.

“Do I leave now?” she asks as her eyes peer into the night.

“Pick a camping spot not far away, but plausible, so if she interrogates you, you can describe the view into our camp and how we spent the night.”

“Yes, Lord.” She takes an uncertain step and looks back. Then another. One more. At a distance, Lord Klar calls her back. With a bright green face, she dresses. Leaving for a second time, she quickly disappears into the black of the night and beyond the range of our night sight. Not long after, she returns. Within what I suspect is the viewing distance of her night sight, crushing the ripple of doubt growing amongst all of us, except Lord Klar, I am certain.

“Why didn’t we ask her name?” I ask no one in particular.

After a brief tut-tut, Lord Klar replies, “To know her name would mean we met our spy face to face, and that didn’t happen, of course.”

---Lord Klar POV

When I next meet our Eater Clan spy, I will ask her how she described to Mistress Sakvorpa our night of love, passion, and debauchery. I needed to make up for my neglect of some, remind others I hadn’t forgotten them and, from a purely efficient functional point of view, strengthen others, including Voria. And find time in the night to sleep. Although I must confess, Klaria fell into a category of her own, especially when I told her that the prisoner’s well-trained assassin goblin ears would have heard every stifled moan and salacious stroke of self-gratification during her interrogation. After all, mine did.

This alone time with each of my wives and concubines provided the opportunity to prepare them for exposure to our goblin companions and their fanaticism over linage. Instructing each of my entourage as appropriate in a hushed whisper to refine a single linage of blood within. None knew what the linage was of course, but better one strong linage than the mixed linage of Izga and suffer being ignored. I am certain none of Nudia’s goblin tribe would take any orders from my assassin, purely because of her impure bloodline. With Izga, I made her a promise. Somehow, we would work around her situation now that her blood was pure. I also informed her of a special mission she must undertake. A mission only she had the skills to complete for me. I didn’t realise at the time how she would make me pay for building her up so.

Our meeting with Clan Head Zinmog went smoothly enough. I suspect our more than obvious camping on the edge of his land grant provided him with plenty of warning of our pending arrival. Nudia kept her word, exactly. Two hundred and fifty goblins, typical ratios of adult males and females to children. Somehow, she wasn’t one of them. How the Clan Head didn’t miss her presence mystified me. Unless to him, goblins are vermin and like cats of the same species, they all look the same to him, even if one of them meows differently.

I traded the slave goblins for a bag of coin, the equivalent of one month’s worth of grain. Clan Head Zinmog also received his land grant document from me, which he immediately waved above his head in celebration without breaking the seal. I thought he would invite us to eat with him, instead, an awkwardness developed, and we simply mounted up and left, two hundred and fifty goblins slaves following behind us, silently, on foot. I headed directly for the river, where Nudia and I crossed not so many days before and where Izga would start her mission. By mid-morning, I had tested three potential fording places, the first time caused a huge stir amongst the goblins and Klaria, after the third, they accepted I must know what I was doing or left me to whatever fate my actions would or wouldn’t bring down on me.

We left the farms of Clan Hungry behind by the middle of the day, and while I knew we were now on my land grant, the river still didn’t reveal a place where we could force a crossing in reasonable safety. As I survey the grass plains on our side of the river and cast my eyes across the other side of the river, I notice the rise of the land. The goblins take my moment of distraction to decide to fuss about. The chat rises, some laughter from children mostly and then cooking fires and the smell of food wafted across the mass gathering. I guess we are stopping here for a time.

“Duzsia, the number of goblins?”

“Yes, Lord, you are correct. Throughout the day, our numbers of slaves have swollen. Fortunately, they didn’t forget to bring enough food with them.”

“Good to know,” I say. “If anyone needs me, I will be down by the river, testing the depth.”

“When the food is ready, I am certain one of your wives will find you and, after some agreeable begging from you, feed you.” I catch her smirk and chuckle in reply.

---

I wade into the river and shortly after the water is swirling around my throat and I am not halfway across.

“What are you doing?”

I recognise her cheeky voice instantly. Nudia. Without looking, I reply, “I’m uncertain if I can entrust you with such secrets.”

“Perhaps I am mistaken. My tribe tells me you like taking dips in the river, been doing so since you led them from Clan Hungry.”

I swivel about in the water to face her. “Refreshing, don’t you know?”

“Possibly. I prefer at most waist-deep myself.”

“Well, jump in and I will meet you halfway?”

“How about I race you to the other side?”

I study her face and then glance behind me. Her mocking laughter draws my attention and I wade towards the shore.

“You little sneak, you have found a ford already, haven’t you?” I call out as I advance upon her.

“Of course, what else is a girl to do while waiting for the father of her child to return?”

I scoop her up and swing her around. She flings her arms out, her head back, recklessly giggling like the goblin children playing back at the camp. Dizzy, I stop and gently embrace her.

“I noted two hundred and fifty goblin slaves. An exact count waited for me. Did you have to make the number exact?”

“A number is a number. Would two hundred and forty-one have a different meaning? Would that change the number of coins in the bag you gave the Clan Head? Plus, there is a lesson for you. The hobgoblins of this valley don’t count goblins as partners, even the more knowledgeable goblins, such as my tribe.”

Her tribe? Is she a chieftainess or was she speaking in general terms? I shake my head. “No, I guess not.”

“Let me show you the ford I found for you.” She grabs my hand and tugs me while I smile and resist as another goblin rushes toward us.

“You!”

Nudia sobers up immediately. “We meet again, perhaps introductions are in order?”

Luda slams into my body, wrapping her arms around my naked waist above the loin cloth. “May I introduce my wife, Luda,” I say.

Nudia’s smile doesn’t dim. Instead, she introduces herself, “I am Nudia of Zoria Oath Keeper linage and I carry the child of Lord Klar.”

Luda’s body slumps against mine. Any jealous, possessive, or joyous energy within her is now gone. She is my wife, yet Nudia will give birth to my child. I understand her distress and I intend for my wives to fall pregnant when the time is right.

“You are no stranger. Forgive my rudeness from before,” whispers Luda.

“You weren’t to know, and it is proper to be cautious when you meet a stranger lurking about an ambush.”

I reach down to my clothes and armour and start dressing while leaving the two female goblins to size each other up. On our journey to meet Clan Head Zinmog, our conversations recalled our ambush exploits and, while I suspected Nudia and Luda had met, only now do I have absolute proof. Nudia meows differently from other goblins.

Two sets of hands fuss over me, each trying to claim an unknown prize because of their efforts. Luda’s hands feel their way around my waist as she helps tie off my armour and energy, returns to her body as she snuggles into me once done. Luda takes a step back, an amusing smirk on her lips. She competed to deliberately tease Luda, to make her feel insecure for her enjoyment.

Her eyes on her competition, Luda forces a light chuckle. “Did you round up all the Eater Clan goblin slaves? Would have been a task and a half I would imagine.”

“Yes, fairly certain. Sixty-two, I think.” The politeness of her reply covers for the obvious irrelevance she has for other goblins, which Luda didn’t pick up on.

“Are they in the camp now or yet to join us?” asks Luda.

Nudia bursts into laughter, slapping her thigh, her face going a deep green. “They are from this valley, without linage. We would never taint our blood with the likes of them. No, we snuck them into the slave houses of Clan Hungry. While Clan Hungry isn’t perfect, they aren’t deliberately cruel, they simply don’t care, whereas the Eater Clan will sacrifice slave goblins to meet a contract if they need to. They have a better life now and their loss weakens The Eater Clan, our original enslavers. Double the fun.”

I am… I don’t know. I feel Luda tense up and through the spirit bond we share, a mutual confusion. Aren’t all goblins the same? Of equal value at least to each other? While I want to ask as many questions as required, to understand, I have a more urgent need.

“Show me to the ford, will you, Nudia?”

“Yes, Lord Klar, follow me!” She drags out the last word. Happiness? Celebration?

As she trots off in front of us, we have time to recover and share multiple glances. My inner Hob laughs long and hard at my expense. His return after being quiet for so long is a shock I don’t need besides Nudia’s revelation. Then I realise his return is because of the shock I felt after hearing Nudia’s revelation. My settlement will contain over four hundred like-minded goblins, proud defenders of their lineage, looking down on other native goblins as much as hobgoblins look down on any goblin, linage or not, in this valley.