---Clan Head Sakvorpa POV
“Given the demise of my client, perhaps we can renegotiate in good faith?” he asks.
So, am I to believe my daughter raised the coin by herself to hire an expert assassin? I suspect her new alliance partner funded most, if not all. A gamble, then? If my daughter succeeded, he would claim the agreed payoff, whatever that was, and if she failed, he would, with grace, write off the loss. No one enjoys losing coin… The only question is who? The letters would seem to implicate Krilzak, yet he is my co-conspirator to disposing of Lord Torngul and too obvious. Maybe, if a loss, my doubting Krilzak is the fallback payoff? The more I consider this, the more I doubt he would gamble on a snivelling daughter of mine. As merchants of the plains, he trained them from birth to read people to ensure they secure the best possible bargains. Honouring an agreement is in their blood; they would rather die than break such a binding.
His ever-present dagger reminds me I should solve my immediate problem first. “Would this negotiation include buying your freedom?”
“Perhaps,” he replies. “I have several options. Murder you, knock you out and tie you up or tie you up if I thought your yelling would provide a sufficient distraction. Fortunately, or unfortunately, your Clan members are beyond jumpy and on edge now and, I believe, prone to overreact. Kill before talking, for example. Therefore, I am prepared to listen to any reasonable proposals.”
I flash him a pleasant smile. “Good, I suspect my daughter has a loyal few watching and waiting for her triumphant announcement. It may disappoint them when the sole survivor is the assassin, and he tries to escape retribution, especially theirs.”
He clears his throat. “Yes, something like that. Your offer?”
I giggle with dizzy delight. “Your freedom for an introduction to your master.”
“No. Take my life now.”
I sigh. “Don’t be so dramatic. An opening offer only. What can you offer for your life?”
“A special gold coin.”
“Gold coin? Are you mad?”
“You need to listen. A special gold coin,” he retorts.
I grunt. “Explain special.”
“You may, within reason, request a mission.”
“Deal!” I swivel about, offering my hand.
“Deal?” His face is blank, and then furrow lines form on his forehead. He suspects… something. Blinking, he accepts my hand, and we shake.
His dagger disappears into the folds of his clothes, and he tosses a gold coin in the air—an easy, graceful catch.
Once I climb to my feet, I toss the gold coin back to him. His eyes flashing wide is a special reward as I stroll to my throne. “I need you and yours to assassinate Lord Klar. You can, of course, try to take him alive, but dead is good enough.”
“Are you certain? A simple slaying of a young upstart could be a waste of our services?”
I swing onto my throne and place my arms along the armrests, my hands curling around the ends. The armrest provides familiar emotional support, reassurance, and comfort—the empty hide beneath my seat, the designated place of my bodyguard, not so much.
“No. I suspect he will be a challenge and worthy of your freedom,” I reply with a coolness of certainty.
“My Guild Master will determine worth and value. If he considers the mission too dangerous or has a low chance of success, he may instead indenture me into your service for a time. Is that acceptable?”
I release a cackling laugh. “If the choice is still mine, I will send you on the same mission. Although you could name what you require, which can assist and ensure success, I promise to provide.”
“Can I perhaps trouble you for an escort from your manor?”
There is an eagerness in his voice. So disappointing.
“Guards!”
The doors to my Throne Room open, and two of my four guards enter.
“You!” I point to the one on the left. “Escort our guest out. No harm is to come to him.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
My guest glances at the corpse of his companion. Or maybe the fancy contraption? Then his eyes search for mine. “You asked for your freedom,” I say. “We will return their bodies to the ground. The gadget is mine to study, and I offer my thanks.”
A curt nod, and he hurries away behind my guard.
“You.” I point to my remaining guard. “Arrange for the disposal of the two corpses. Ensure you position the goblin on top of my daughter’s corpse in such a way to suggest he is using her for his pleasure, clothes optional. Ensure her face is on display and guards are ready to catch any witnesses who are, shall we say, displaying excessive emotion. Ensure they join the subject of their emotion in the same dirt hole.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
I eye my guard from head to toe. Armour, weapons, and clothes are standard Clan issue. There are no personal touches, no frivolous embellishments. Plain.
“For every sad and possibly crying witness your dressing up of the corpses reveals, I will pay you a gold coin. How does that sound?”
“Yes, Mistress, I will endeavour to do my best and not disappoint you.”
“Good, yes, very good.” My encouraging words and my offer mean nothing. Her face remains stoic, non-emotional. I resist the urge to shake my head and instead carry on. “As for the corpse of my bodyguard, return the body to her family and once buried with honour, her family is free to go since she has completed her service.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
I wave her away with a flick of my hand. Once the doors are closed, I have time alone to think. Perhaps I should start with a missive to Clan Head Grimg Greenfriend for purchasing some goblins. I flip open one armrest and reach in for ink and parchment. This also reveals my emergency nest egg of small gold ingots embedded in the arm's wood. All accounted for. Once the armrest is closed, I flip open the other armrest and fish out sufficient gold coins from the cavity beneath to ensure I pique his interest.
Street cleaning is so menial and tedious, yet any failing there would expose me to questioning, and I must avoid questions, especially from Lord Torngul.
---Lord Klar POV
“What do you need to confess to me?” I ask Koria as the last rays of the setting sun fade.
Her body rolls onto mine, her pigeon chest breast squishing against my chest while her leg wraps over and around mine. Eyes down, stroking my chin, she says, “Disloyalty. Falling for my mother’s lies instead of trusting in you and our bond. The horrible hollowness afterwards.”
Luda has never voiced such an apology. Why does Koria feel the need to unburden herself? I remain silent and passive, not even grunting acknowledgement or disagreement.
“After your death, we completed your quest, Lord Klug.” Her head snuggles into my shoulder. Is she chasing a rewarding pat or words of praise? “We recovered the armour from the Flint Arrows and then hid our prize where none would think to look.”
Several questions spring to mind. One specifically about the armour, for example. If what others have said is true, the armour didn’t remain hidden, yet I sense now is not the time to interrupt. I want to know every instant she felt she betrayed me and what she did to make amends. A cool evening breeze reaches the other side of my body, and a glance confirms Luda is no longer warming my side. She sits upright, the black waterfall of her long hair filling my view.
“I should have led your wives against Rexa, yet pregnancy and the loyalty of the Ten Spears to her as the first wife would have made any assault bloody and uncertain. I am sorry.” She sniffles. “Instead, we slunk away to The Farm and left her in charge of Head Village. Bartered grain with the goblin tribes to keep the peace and without fan fair birthed your children.” Her hand caresses my cheek and then drags my face over to look at hers. “Why don’t you say something? Yell or scream, at least.”
“Continue.” A single-word response is all I offer her. Cruel? She carries a burden of guilt. I aim to listen for as long as it takes for her to apologise to herself. Their mother is gone, as is their father, which leaves me as their sole constant going forward. Therefore, I need them to release their past, so our future is about the future.
Her leg squeezes against mine, and her hand's unmistakable balling on my chest alerts me. “The Ten Spears visited The Farm under order from Rexa. They shattered our peace when they took your children from their mothers. Their explanation, the absolute imperative to raise all your children together… Do you hear me, Lord Klar? Do you care?”
I feel her chest hitch against mine and can’t help using my arm to wrap her closer to me. Luda cannot stifle her sobbing well enough. Her pain I would warrant as raw as Koria’s, yet she doesn’t seek the comfort of my embrace. Her weak, reedy voice sobs, “Hostages to begin with and then taught to worship Rexa." Luda’s head drops.
“Sister, having returned to Lord Farmer Hob long before me, I imagine you have lived a different, more satisfying life now. I must accept the past is the past which I cannot change and look forward to the future.” A light kiss on my lips, and then she continues, “I won’t forget those who fought by our sides though and completed the impossible with us, like recovering the armour with Milga, Kor and Duzsia.”
“Except Kor,” Luda says, with an absent, dream-like air about her.
“Yes, except Kor.” Melancholy weighs down on her words. “There at the start, unable to keep up and returning to the Matriarch in disgrace.” A pause, possibly to collect her thoughts. “I can still taste the satisfaction in denying Rexa. We thought she may have sent her own expedition, but she never did.”
Luda turns to look over her shoulder. “Why did Duzsia leave us?” Tear tracks run down her cheeks. Her hands mess with her hair, trying to conceal them without success.
Koria is like an automaton now, bereft of emotion. “She thought her work in the valley done, her oath to Lord Farmer Hob complete and believed Rexa would never allow us to raise our children. Duzsia wanted to warn the world of Rexa’s madness instead of staying with us. Her decision wasn’t to punish us, sister, but to save herself and others if possible.”
Luda draws up her knees, flinging her arms around them and then takes up, rocking on her bottom. “Her leaving emboldened Rexa even more… The Ten Spears feared and respected Duzsia. While Duzsia intimidated Rexa.”
To my great relief, Koria chuckles, the first of such in a while. “She feared her so much she declared we would hold a huge celebration to honour her death instead of the sombre mourning everyone expected. You, Milga and I are the only ones who knew the truth. She still lived and escaped using the mountain gap north of the Flint Arrows’ tribal lands. If only we could have told her many years later, Duzsia's possible return would have haunted the first wife in her dreams.”
“Our morose acting was so convincing she didn’t question,” adds Luda. I like to imagine, out of my sight, Luda cracking a slight smile after speaking those words. I hope she did.
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“No, sister, she wanted to believe Duzsia was forever dead. As for acting, I drew on my pain of losing my child to her.” Her warm tears soak through my clothes.
Luda growls. “No more, sister, I can’t survive any more memories.” Her hands surround her head. “This second life hasn’t been all happy bliss for me like you think. I have been surviving on the memories of my host. The mother and daughter love they enjoyed, trying to find some peace. So please, no more.” Luda climbs to her feet and hurries off, wiping tears from her eyes with a last fleeting look between Koria and I.
“Why did Zoria leave you to die?” I ask. I can’t allow Koria to shut down and Luda’s state of mind is another concern when I thought my goblin wife was content.
“Didn’t she explain?” She shakes her head and answers her own question. “I guess not.”
Koria plays with my fingers dangling from my arm around her chest. “For months, we were smuggling out Klugrath’s pregnant victims, denying Rexa more fanatical followers. After many successes, a group betrayed us to Rexa instead. Half of the group pulled out, which should have alerted us. They were the traitors. I drew our pursuers away while Zoria escaped with those we escorted. Milga had left the valley years before.” She snickers in delight. “Taking most of the ironworkers with her, which displeased Rexa a great deal. The shortfall forced her to delay her plans without a reliable supply of iron weapons and tools.” Her voice lowers. “Then Rexa had our father assassinated while walking the streets of Head Village. Someone had been spreading rumours regarding the unsavoury intimacy between Rexa and her son Klugrath, and she blamed our father. Luda didn’t accept our father’s death initially until she lit his pyre.” Koria sits up and wipes her face down using her hands. She tries to force a smile. “I decided I would go out in an act of worthy sacrifice. A better fate than being caught and tortured by Rexa. Also, Zoria held some influence over Rexa and to preserve that, losing my life, I decided I was an acceptable exchange.”
I suspect the use of my blood for healing after birthing a hobgoblin babe, and long-life properties are the sum of her influence. “Didn’t your death leave Luda all alone?”
“Yes, and no. After our father’s death, Luda withdrew to The Farm, raising bees and harvesting honey. She shut down. Now I have time to think., I believe I am the foolish one. I still wanted revenge.”
“And release?” I grab her hair and contort her body, to position her face in front of mine.
Tears form yet do not spill from her eyes. “Yes! In those last moments on the wall, I wondered if Duzsia or Milga had found a better future. You don’t understand, Lord, I was alone. Then upon death, I entered the black and realised your promise of spirit return was true for the first time. I knew my past would need to be explained on my return, and I was ashamed. I didn’t do enough, and then, when offered a heroic escape, I took death. Are you satisfied now? After death, I would be free of Rexa and an impossible fight. I ran away. Is that what you need to hear me say?”
I release her hair. She turns her body about to lie on mine, her hands reaching for my shoulders so she can slide her goblin body forward while on mine. With a hand behind her head, I guide her closer. Our lips meet, and I take what is mine and more with unrepentant savagery.
---Nudia, Suppressed Spirit POV
I listen to her words from my mouth, which we also share mind to mind. Am I to believe the spirit of Koria Keen Eye has stolen my body? Am I to accept the hobgoblin who seeded my tribe is Lord Farmer Hob, Lord Klug, the one revered by the Klugites, our sworn enemies, the everlasting foe of Zoria Oath Keeper? She talks of Milga Stone Blood, Duzsia the Relentless and even Luda as if they once knew each other, names from legend, each held in high or low regard depending on the storyteller. These impossibilities should burst my heart wide open. Fortunately, I am not in control of my body.
How can I resist one who saved Zoria Oath Keeper, the origin of our lineage? What Oath test is this? Her calling to his seed and taking command of my unborn, crushing absolutes. Wait! On the night of the great seeding, the hobgoblin he called Briksia especially quiet, in awe. The Crone proclaimed her of Oath Keeper linage. Could the truth be that she is the returned spirit of Zoria Oath Keeper? Is that possible?
I must struggle free. My tribe needs to know…
“Behave.”
One word from her, Koria Keen Eye, and my will falters. Why?
“I would like to ask questions, understand?”
Her presence within me is like a fortress, walls high and wide, and I am tiny. Helpless. Time passes. How much time, I am uncertain. Then I sense the flood of his seed. Euphoric. Invigorating. Controlling.
“Once again, we have satisfied our Lord. With that, my control is once again absolute. But, if we agree to tell the truth, we can ask each other questions.”
“You own me. How will I know when you tell the truth?”
The vibration of her powerful spirit shatters my resolve. I know she draws on his seed while she denies me.
“I may not be Oath Keeper, yet I will swear on Lord Klug’s name to speak only truth.”
I try to contain my excitement—the truth. From a legendary past life, from the memories of one who once lived.
“Could Briksia be Zoria Oath Keeper reborn?”
She shudders. Why?
“I didn’t realise there were others returned to him.”
Her presence flees. With her leaving, instantly afterwards, my presence becomes an incapacitated spark. Her fear blankets me.
---Koria Keen Eye POV
My new goblin body stiffens. Fortunately, Lord Klug and I lay apart on the grass, enjoying the afterglow of our coupling, and he is none the wiser. The revelation that other wives of Lord Klug have been reborn is… a shock. Which wives? Those in name only and not pregnant? The pregnant ones? No, it would make more sense for those he spirit-captured. Have they told him the fate of the others? What do those spirit-captured think of my past?
I climb to my feet and look at my husband. “I should return to her tribe.”
He rolls over and props his upper torso up with his arm bent at the elbow. “I apologise.”
I kink my head, and a smile is his answer.
“I should have returned your spirit to a corpse. Not a half alive, half dead tribal leader of some sort, which I haven’t yet worked out of what.”
“I should have accepted your first invitation instead of… you know, being afraid.”
“Go. They will expect you,” he says with a calm softness.
As I begin a stuttering walk down the incline of the hillock, I hear voices in the wind. I pull up and strain my ears to catch the words.
“Here… along… water.”
I concentrate and strain my hearing to encourage greater eavesdropping. For a heartbeat, his seed stirs within me. I ignore this odd sensation as joy upon joy, the speakers' words in the night's dark form proper sentences.
“We can’t wait in the stream, fool. We either wait on this side of the ford or cross,” says a crackling, impatient voice.
“Yes, venerable one.”
“Hobgoblin hearing is a failing. With care, we will be across the river and be able to confront him for answers while he is alone. You are certain of this?”
“Yes, venerable one. Each wife has one from our tribe trailing them, and the goblin wife left his side after dusk. Only Nudia is with him.”
“We will know soon enough if Nudia’s loins have befuddled his judgement.”
Their voices are from her body’s past and present, Nudia’s tribe. I must let Lord Klug know how they put him down and reveal he and his wives are being followed. Also, if I could see them, I could point them out to Lord Klug… Why can’t I see them?
“Do we lift?”
“Yes. If you drop me into the cold water, I will curse you no matter what.”
A fresh voice joins the conversation. “When will our mercenary troops return venerable one?”
Mercenary troops? How big is this tribe which Lord Hob has allied with?
“That is a good question. When we left our former masters, I sent a pigeon. Therefore, the message will wait for their arrival.”
“The tribe can’t underestimate this hobgoblin youth and his many wives. While I have confidence that we could overwhelm them, our losses would be many. Our mercenary troops adding to our numbers would prevent him from even thinking of such resistance; therefore, we will be in control. Holding some of his wives as hostages if necessary.”
They don’t talk like staunch allies. Do I report back to Lord Farmer Hob or continue to spy?
“We still need to play the long game. Any false moves and an entire valley of hobgoblins would unite against us. Which means you must remain hidden for a time, yet.”
Who would need to remain hidden? The whispering male voice was goblin-like but also deep enough to be hobgoblin-like. My mind skims the surface memory of my host. Shock, surprise. Hobgoblin.
“As you advise. What of his blood?”
“We will contrive a way of tasting. We must, as his prolific seeding and the invigorating properties are more like Klugrath from legend than a nobody hobgoblin youth. His linage will reveal the truth.”
Four goblin shapes pop out of the darkness. The black of the night somehow recedes. I don’t question the miracle. In between the four is a bent-over fifth shape. The venerable one? Wait, Klugrath? Why do they compare him to Lord Farmer Hob? I remember him trying to seed the female goblins of The Farm, but we fixed that by ensuring all the eligible females were married and with plentiful food, they could sire a child of their own. Then, he tried Copper Village, but the potters, coppersmiths and ironsmiths there treated the female goblins as their partners. The females found the ore, and the males worked the ore. He ignored their protests, and shortly after, Milga exploited and convinced most of them to follow her and escape the valley.
“I assume he will have an accident if unsuitable, but what of those born from his loins?”
“They will refine their blood like always and given his seed, even if they start fifty-fifty Oath Keeper and his lineage, I am certain by the day of their first bleeding they will be Oath Keeper or close enough.”
“They followed the ancient teachings to manipulate their births?”
“Yes. There may be a few slip-ups. I don’t have the patience to teach like I once did. But all females? Are you still certain of your choice?”
Choice of birth? What magic is this? Did Zoria Oath Keeper teach this? Wait! I… I can ask her, can’t I? Briksia is her now if Nudia’s guess is correct. I can’t wait. Why haven’t they all talked to each other?
“Female hobgoblins will be less threatening and expected. How many did he seed successfully?”
She chuckles, coughing twice. “All of them.”
“Over two hundred hobgoblin females. A good portion could have been male given that number.”
Oh, Lord Farmer Hob, so many…
“The mothers choose during conception. Change is impossible now.” Her response is absolute and sharp.
“Yes, of course.” I detect, knowing the obvious, frustration in his voice, the first such uneven uttering by him in their conversation so far. His follow-up question, once again in a normal tone. “Can we conceal so many newborns?”
“Along this river, we will create additional concealed settlements in the forest like we did when guests of Clan Hungry. The females will be adults before anyone knows of their existence, as the hobgoblin clans of this valley will avoid this distasteful goblin territory, I am certain.”
The question and answer between the crone and the hobgoblin, after dusk beside the river, is strange on many levels, given the implied secrecy. They must have absolute confidence in their seclusion or feel strong enough to defeat any who discover their plot. My hearing picks up their words as If I am standing beside them now, yet learning about their plans fills me with the dread of capture. I can’t seem to drag myself away to safety…
“You feel safe enough with your four bodyguards?”
His voice draws my sight to the left of the goblins. He towers over them. Hobgoblin. My host freezes my body in place. I feel myself fall forward. I concentrate and break her physical procession in time to force my left foot forward and catch myself. The slope of the hill proves to be my enemy, not my friend. Their goblin ears are almost certain of hearing a goblin body roll end over end down the side of the hillock. I shake off the near disaster.
“Yes. Now go back into hiding. While his ears are hobgoblin, her ears are goblin and revealing you before the return of the mercenaries could cause her to question her purpose.”
“Question my purpose!” Her rage rips through my conscious mind. I don’t understand how she can…
“Think foolish wife of Lord Farmer Hob, Lord Klug. You have consumed his seed, improving my body. You hear them chat beyond what is typical for a goblin, and I would consider my hearing excellent, to begin with. Your eyesight now penetrates the ink black of night at a range abnormal for any goblin. This is his seed. The only explanation. What is he?”
“None of us know. He appeared to us like any other hobgoblin. One which my tribe, the Flint Arrows, slew by crushing his chest and yet he returned. Through a ceremony, he captured our spirits and married us beyond life and death, it now seems. His present body differs from the one he wore when we first met him.”
Why do I feel the need to answer her question? I try to shake my head and fail.
“Know, Koria Keen Eye, legend or not, the shock of losing my body is over. The ownership of my body is once again a contest.”
I quickly think, “Only until I consume more of his seed.”
“Yes. This is why I would like to negotiate a truce between us. I swear on my linage I won’t betray your occupation of my body if you allow me a voice in our actions. What say you?”
I could run through probable reasons, but I suspect she could listen in any way…
“Why?” I ask, my blunt thought.
“You heard her. They have a secret that could question my purpose. I wish to uncover that secret.”
I ask the obvious question. “What is your purpose?”
“My male hobgoblin child will one day lead our tribe back, and he will vanquish all the Klugites in the sacred valley.”
There is a touch of the dramatic in her reply, and I can’t comprehend why. Is her son going to be a great warrior? A great war leader? Are goblins and hobgoblins going to flock to him, fight, and die for him?
“I sense your doubt. It will not dissuade me, especially from someone who takes my body for their convenience,” she continues.
We hear the quiet footfall slashing of water and break out of our discussion. After a brief mental exchange, we rush her body back to Lord Klar.
On our way back, Nudia informs me of the names of Lord Hob’s current wives. She describes more wives than my assessment could account for if they needed to be spirit-captured. Did he gain more? The flattened grass shows we are where we should be, but no, Lord Hob.
We race over the hillock and spy Lord Klar, stepping out distance lengths in the dark.
“Are you certain he is right in the head?” she asks.
We cautiously approach him in time to witness him bash a stake into the ground using his fist.
“Do I appear convincingly mad?” he asks while bashing another stake without looking up. Did he hear us approach?
“Don’t answer him. He doesn’t want an answer, I am certain.”
“Yes,” I reply. I catch and release her derision.
“Good. I assume you are here to warn me of her arrival?”
About to open my mouth, he waves me to silence.
“We will walk to meet her, and if she asks, we can say with a modicum of honesty we were staking out the hill.”
As a couple, we stroll to the crest of the hillock and spot the venerable crone and her four bodyguards. My superior night sight catches her bemused look, which does not surprise Nudia and I.
“What were you doing, Lord Klar?”
A nervous chuckle escapes his lips. Is he acting?
“Nudia proposed a certain layout, which differed from my plan, and I wanted to measure and compare. We didn't start until late afternoon, and the night somewhat spoiled my efforts. I must thank Nudia for her help without complaint, which I am grateful for. I didn’t hold her from other duties, did I?”
“No Lord, no duties to speak of. I am looking for a tribal stray who should be in her tent by now, not measuring a hill in the dark.”
“In that case, I relinquish her to your care.” I deliberately wrap an arm around her shoulders, squeeze, and release.
Unless I specifically looked, I would not have noticed the crone’s subtle sniff. Mission successful then.