---LORD KLAR POV

Our quarry, seemingly without a care in the world, faces the river, calmly tying off his loincloth.

Without looking, he says, “The youth, Lord Klar, I assume?” He bends over to pick up his heavy woollen overcoat. “Oddly, I didn’t hear you. Fortunately, a change in wind direction gave your scent away.” The coat over his body, he bends over and reaches for the chain. “The Matriarch likes your seed, you know.” He flicks the mass of metal out and dives his head inside. A wiggle of his body, and the chainmail settles on the coat. Zergoa nudges me. She is concerned I am being mesmerised by his talk, allowing him to prepare. I shake my head at her.

The green of his skin is a multitude of shades. Like the repairs have started, but his body needed the agents of repair elsewhere and therefore couldn’t finish. Good muscle mass and definition are on display, and his body maintains a certain level of flexibility, as shown by how he so efficiently dresses in his armour. Although, this routine being familiar would also be a contributor. With his back to us, he is now lacing his leather armour. In between, he gives me a rundown on the Matriarch and the goblin tribe. Mainly self-congratulations on how he helps them from time to time, and they provide him with a place to rest. I assume all of this is to prove that we share a common interest in the tribe and are working towards the same goal. I use this time to plant my bow and several arrows nearby, then ready my shield and sword.

He ties off his sword belt and swivels to face us. “Three? You share the same scent. Therefore, I assume you both lay with him and absorb his seed.” His knowing smirk annoys, yet neither Zergoa nor Voria responds.

“Your name?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “I am not important enough to trouble you with my name, Lord Klar. After all, establishing a new Clan must demand much of your time.”

I flash him teeth and tusks. “Who did you slay in the leaves, and where is the body?”

His thumbs rest in his sword belt, and he rocks back slightly on the heels of his boots. “No chit-chat, straight to the point, yes? The rush of youth.” His head looks to the sky, yet I notice his eyes dart towards his shield and then return to focus on me. “I have killed no one for many days, and I swear on my mother’s life.” He holds a hand to his heart.

True or false? If true, then he travels with others. His delaying tactics make more sense because even armed and armoured, his back to the river. To survive, three opponents would be a challenge. If false, he has ice water running in his veins. Such is the level of confidence he exudes or the acting skill he projects.

“A witness then? An innocent bystander who can identify the guilty party?”

He scuffs his boot on the muddied rocks underfoot and, while doing so, edges closer to his shield. I sense the tension in Zergoa and Voria as they suck in deep, steady breaths to relax. “Left, right now,” I whisper.

One shuffle, a smooth sweep of his hand, and he makes a grab for his shield. As he looks up to sprint away, Zergoa awaits, sword and board at the ready, blocking him. Voria advances from the left while I advance to hold the centre.

“Leaving?” I ask. “This Lord of this Clan’s lands demands to know your name,” I growl.

“Xorbrim,” he replies.

“Lineage? I assume the old crone will have tasted your blood, you, being such a valuable ally of the tribe.”

He pretends to chew for a heartbeat. “Zoria Oath Keeper, of course. Otherwise, the Matriarch would have rejected me.”

His relationship was beyond friendship, as he called her Matriarch while I deliberately described her as an old crone, and he took a moment to consider his response.

An arrow strikes and hangs limp from his sword arm’s shoulder. The arrow’s force pushes his shoulder back, yet he recovers quickly, using his round shield to sweep the arrow away. Another arrow sticks out of his thigh, and a backward sweep clears the dangling projectile.

“Die you murderer,” screams a barely recognisable voice from on high, I assume in a tree.

“Is that Luda’s voice, Lord?” asks Zergoa.

I didn’t answer, but I knew she would be near as I sent her north to spy. Initially, I thought the corpse could have been hers, but I told her to spy from height, not from the ground, so unlikely. Her mission was to observe from a distance and report back, which required her to survive. While the slain goblin could be anyone, in my heart, given Luda’s arrival, I knew the blood was from Nudia. I want them to explain and tell them they didn’t need to place themselves in such danger. To simply enjoy Nudia’s cheekiness… Remember, Koria, try to reconcile more of what happened. The storm of arrows allows me to recover, yet one final question bothers me. Why did Koria allow Nudia to creep so close to the meeting place? I will probably never know, and now I have lost both. They probably tracked or trailed behind the old crone and then, once reasonably confident of a direction, raced ahead, looking for a suitable meeting place. After arriving, they would have found a place to hide and watch from. Somehow, they were spotted and didn’t know.

Arrows continue to rain down on him. He crouches to present a smaller target, his shield covering more of his body.

“Can you call the archer off?” he asks.

“She names you a murderer and probably needs to vent some ill feelings towards you, which, when she arrives, will probably be a good thing, don’t you agree?”

He doesn’t answer, and shortly after, the rain of arrows stops.

“I suspect you will meet your accuser soon,” I quip.

---

“One of his two bitches slew Nudia, Lord. No call to surrender, just… just decapitation!” screams Luda. Her green skin glows while spittle flies from her mouth.

He flashes a friendly smile. “See, a witness and true to my word. I didn’t slay the traitress spy.” His gaze homes in on something behind me. I assume Luda, and then his eyebrows rise. “I suspect your goblin needs to confess herself, and I wouldn’t want to…”

“Stay!” I growl as I look behind me. Luda cringes, bent over as if punched in the stomach, her bow limp in one hand, ready to drop to the ground instead of supporting her. Her last arrow falls from her other hand. My shield arm sweeps her to me, and childlike, her head hangs down. “What have you done to her?”

Again, he flashes a friendly smile. “Me, nothing. I can recognise the heavy burden of guilt in anyone, and she has it bad.”

I need to hold her up as her knees buckle. We discussed her mother. All forgiven. We are away from Hobgoblin Town; she is amongst other goblins and free, as my wife, to roam amongst hobgoblins. What am I missing? Now is not the time. She will need to endure while I deal with this Lord of Zoria Oath Keeper.

“Surrender or my wives will make you.”

He scrutinises Zergoa and Voria and smiles. All I want to do is wipe that confident, friendly smile from his lips! “Three against one, and you may have been a challenge boy, two females against me? I will take my chances.” His sword twirls, a combination of wrist and grip manipulation, a show to intimidate. He charges Voria on his left, leading with his shield. At the last moment, she squats, leans back and then throws her foot out, clipping his ankle. She ends up on her bottom, helpless, while he sprawls forward. He twists his body and places his head behind his shield for protection as he crashes into the stone and mud of the riverbank. Zergoa’s sword slides across his throat as he climbs to his feet.

At about the same time, I feel cold steel rest against my throat.

“Sorry, Lord, I have failed you,” whispers Luda, her tearful eyes searching for and finding mine.

“Yes, I didn’t think we could sneak up on a Lord and his pet goblin, but today has been full of goblin surprises.” The shrill voice of my captor rings in my ears, full of victory.

Another adds, “I propose a trade, your Lord and his useless goblin for our Lord?”

Voria climbs to her feet and brushes off clumps of mud while sizing up the interlopers. Zergoa disarms her prisoner while I feel my jailor draw my sword free.

He sits on his shield; I notice as he greets those behind me. “Your timing is perfect, my daughters.”

“Yes, father, a howling, screaming goblin shouting murder before dawn is certain to attract attention.”

“What say you, young Lording, a trade?”

Crap, crud and curse his entrails. Is there another way out? Will I have to let him go? What is the price of his vanity? “How about a fight to the death?” I offer, somewhat grasping for a solution. Zergoa and Voria have enough presence of mind and trust in me to hold their tongues. My captor, though, sucks in a deep breath. I command my nanorobots to prepare for speed and agility.

“Death is serious business? What is in it for me?”

“I mean to slay one of your daughters for the death of Nudia. Decapitation would be my preference. I would think the easiest way to achieve that justice would be over your dead body.” My turn to smile. “If you slay me, then the three of you walk free. I swear it, and my wives will uphold my oath.”

Zergoa interrupts, “I believe they owe you two lives, Lord Klar. The life of Nudia and her unborn Hob child.”

“Good point. I will claim the lives of both of your daughters once I slay you unless you slay me first.”

At least his smile fades as he glances behind me. I don’t know what the difference is between losing one or both if he is dead and unable to mourn or celebrate their lives. Perhaps the end of his line? Yes, a plausible explanation. With one alive, his lineage would continue. He is of Zoria Oath Keeper lineage, and yet given his concern, perhaps he is more.

I niggle. “If you put up a stout fight, my wives could persuade me to execute only one of your daughters and breed the other to replace the lost babe.” The cold steel on my throat presses, and I feel a rivulet of my blood snake down my throat.

“Such confidence in one so young.”

I detect a nervous tremor in his voice. “Do you accept or decline?” I raise an eyebrow. “On my Clan Land, we will always know you as Xorbrim the Craven if you decline,” I smirk. “I will ensure the tale of your cowardice spreads far and wide.”

“If you survive, young Lord,” he replies. His fake smile attempt fails this time. “How do we proceed? Trust?”

“Lord Klar!” calls a masculine voice. Distant and yet close. My eyes search the opposite bank of the river, and I spy Gorgrin waving his axe wildly above his head in the pre-dawn. Five wild ones flank him on either side. I wonder in an instant where Zoria, Duzsia and the other wild ones are, but any answer would also inform my unwelcome company.

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“You are running out of time, Lord Xorbrim, as I suspect my servant will bring me reinforcements and tip the odds in my favour.”

“Yes, your hunters. Warriors, they aren’t.” His upper lip curls. “At most, they will get in the way and pay with their lives. Otherwise, they will scream when they witness the first spurt of a companion’s blood.”

“Perhaps. Let us conclude this. If your daughter returns my sword, I will advance on you as you will advance on me after the return of your sword.”

He climbs to his feet and positions his shield on his arm while holding out his hand for his sword. All this time, his eyes never leave me. I hold his gaze without flinching. Without hesitation, we advance. He doesn’t charge, and neither do I. We do the time-honoured circling dance, feinting with our swords and raising our shields to block as required. His movements quicken, and I speed up my own to match and meet his strikes. Sweat builds up on both of us as dawn rises.

I flick my sword towards his face. He leans back and drags his shield up to deflect my stroke. I halt and drop. My shield edge strikes the top of his boot and then up to block his return strike. His grimace is reward enough, his limping retreat confirmation.

Allowing him a breath, he rewards me with a quip. “Nasty trick.” He tries to stretch out his foot to relieve the pain, his level of success unknown to me as I press forward, leading with my shield, sword on high, seeking an opportunity. He retreats, trying to buy himself time. Our shields clash, and swords meet. I feint with my sword, trying to stab his foot and he jumps back using his shield arm for balance. My shield edge slants forward and strikes under his chin. This draws blood and a shout of pain. My speed is superior because of my nanorobots, or more especially, my command of them.

“Slay him, Lord, so we can execute the murderer of Nudia,” screams Luda as I catch sight of her pacing behind me.

Looking up at Lord Xorbrim, I instead notice his daughters briefly reach and squeeze each other’s hands while standing behind him. He launches a sword and shield attack, which, on most, would have placed the defender in a tight spot. I meet his sword with my shield and turn my body enough to avoid the snake-like strike of his stabbing sword. His eyes open wide while his sword and shield drop their guard slightly.

“No one can move so fast.” He throws his shield off his arm, and his sword shortly follows with a clatter. “You have been playing with me, revealing enough to thwart, but in reality, you could have defeated me at any time. What are you?”

“I am Lord Klar, and you and your daughters are my prisoners. One of you will die for the murder of Nudia, a Zoria Oath Keepers tribe goblin.”

Luda jumps about, clapping her hands. “Justice! Justice for Nudia!” Zergoa and Voria disarm our three guests, taking the extra step without asking to bind their hands behind their backs. From the brush beside the river, several tens of wild ones rise and advance towards us, bows drawn. From within their ranks, Duzsia the Relentless and Zoria Oath Keeper emerge, and I open my arms in welcome. They each hug and release me, to stand on either side.

“Where is Nudia’s body?” I shake one of his daughters by her tusks.

The other answers for her, “What does it matter? Wolves or other wild animals have probably dragged her away by now.”

I slap the smart grin from her face. Her head snaps about, and she loses a tooth. My other hand still holds her sister. “I will make this easy for you. Answer the question, or your smart-mouth sister will die now. Where is Nudia’s body?”

With my eyes, I try to drill into his daughter’s soul.

“Why do you welcome an agent of Rexa into your arms, Lord?” asks Xorbrim.

All greeting celebrations end, and silence awaits my reply. I thought Duzsia’s body was a bounty hunter, although a sidekick and a pathetic one to the male bounty hunter, yet Xorbrim recognises her.

“She is an agent no more.” Yet, I know my grip on his daughter’s tusks relaxes slightly as the question catches me off guard.

“Rexa and her Priestesses brainwash their agents. She will betray you, Lord. I witnessed this done before.”

Zoria breaks free of my embrace and faces Duzsia’s accuser. “I am pure Oath Keeper blood, and I say she is loyal to Lord Klar, and that is the end of it.”

With the lapping of river water as a backdrop, Xorbrim and Zoria stare at each other.

I feel a tug on my arm. Luda is crouching at my feet, and I would need to bend down to hear her whispers. Do I? Or should I intervene in the staring competition? She tugs again, and I bend down to join her.

“Xorbrim is Zoria’s son, Lord. Among the Oath Keeper goblin tribe, they know him as Xorbrim the Undying as he has been suckling on Lord Farmer Hob’s blood since he was a babe, and his two daughters are also his wives.”

I straighten and drag Zoria back into an embrace using my sword arm, force-marching her and Duzsia at pace and away from the accuser of one and son of the other. I trust Zergoa and Voria to guard the prisoners. There are also over fifty wild ones. Not all of them, then, so I hold on to some hope the rest are still out hunting. Is hunting really important now? I ask myself. The tangle of relationships I have discovered swims about in my head until they are a whirlpool of irreconcilable conflicts. Blood, blood will need to be spilt to settle this, and I will be the poorer in the end.

“Zergoa, take one of his daughters and ensure the Wild Ones find and recover Nudia’s body, please.”

I continue to walk along the riverbank with my shield arm around Duzsia and sword arm around Zoria. I need time to think, although I note that the headaches and ear pain have gone. Have I done everything as bid, or is the agent behind those afflictions now satisfied and returned from where they came from?

---IZGA, CONCUBINE OF LORD KLAR POV

“Give me a dagger, at least,” she hisses.

My eyes are on the threat, yet if I don’t answer the foolish farmer’s hobgoblin, she will protest louder, regardless of the danger. “No. As a helpless pregnant female, they will capture you. As a dagger-wielding hobgoblin, they will see some fun.”

Five female hobgoblin leather-clad huntresses, long knives in sheaths on their hips, each with an arrow nocked in their bows, thread their way through the forest a short distance off. The concern is they are following a two-day-old trail. Our trail, well, to be more precise, the trail of a farmer, the pregnant one who moments ago fretted and then a heartbeat after argued, she required a dagger.

“What are you going to do with your share of the reward?” voices one of them.

“Quiet back there. The trail may be old, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t about.”

Thankfully, their loose chatter had alerted me to them earlier, my mind on hunting game for dinner while my prisoner asked twenty questions about her future.

“Are you afraid those five will capture you and take you away? Never to be seen again?”

Her bottom lip trembles. “Of course. Why would you ask such a thing?”

“So, if I told you, you must stay here, hidden under leaves and branches, to be safe. You would stay until I killed them and returned?”

Her eyes dart towards the distant five shadows and then at me. “You swear to return. You won’t leave me here… not knowing?”

I grab her shoulders. “You know how we always left our camp in a roundabout way?”

She nods, remembering.

“Well, they aren’t. But I need to be there to take advantage, and I work best alone. You understand?”

She nods again. There is a resignation in her eyes, and I hope this is genuine, not me seeing what I want to see. I point to the hollow between the tree roots and scatter dead branches and leaves over her after she settles herself.

With a nod, I circle away until I pick up their trail.

---

Ahead, the leader signals a halt. Then she points at one and snaps her hand to the left. She repeats and sends another to the right. They slink through the undergrowth, the sunshine unable to outline them as they keep to the shade. She signals another forward, and she keeps to the trail. The last, a surprise, she swivels about and almost catches me out. Left, right and central, with a lookout towards their rear, which means the leader must be archery over watch.

I wait for a scream. There are three chances.

My back is against a tree trunk, the bow ready, arrow nocked. The blood-curdling scream sounds and I step around the trunk. The rear lookout turns her head to look over her shoulder, and I release. As my first arrow flies, I reach for another upright at my feet, nock and wait.

The lookout chokes out a scream as the arrow pierces her chest. The leader glances towards her, and as she raises her head to follow the arrow shaft back to me, my second arrow impales her chest. She stands for a moment, and I doubt. Then her bow drops from her hand, and she stumbles backwards. I nock another arrow while charging down the rough trail.

The lookout coughs out black blood, her eyes wide and tearing. If she is not dead now, her death is inevitable. Stepping around her, I find the leader’s bow. I drop into a crouch, and my eyes scan the woods.

A rustle of leaves and I dive away in the opposite direction. A short sword swings down, and the blade embeds into the tree root I crouched behind with a thunk. In a prone position, I release my arrow. Her mouth wide to scream swallows my arrow instead. I would have been proud of my aim at any other time, except we were barely one body height apart.

Another scream sounds out, and I consider luck is on my side. I set one trap along the trail, walking it repeatably to give the false impression of use. Then set a trap on either side, assuming that others would run to aid the one trapped. The other traps I set around the camp on obvious paths of approach. My hope there was, as others ran to investigate the victim on the main trail, the other traps would strike them down. Only on the main trail leading into the camp did I set a deliberate trap for any rescuers.

Keeping under cover and avoiding the trail, I ease my way forward.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t be long, and if I can get help, the two of us should be able to pull you out of the pit. Keep binding your feet.”

With her footsteps thumping in my ears as she discards stealth for haste, I time the swinging of the tree branch to perfection. My sudden appearance and the follow-through swing after springing from behind the tree trunk are artistry. My position wasn’t far from the pit trap, but on an obvious path, she would need to take to run to help the other screamer.

I throw my lump of wood away and stare at her unconscious body, her face in bloody ruin, admiring my effort. I snap awake and bind her wrists and ankles and then continue her journey for her.

Hanging upside down, one ankle in a loop of rope, the huntress tries again to crunch her abdomen and swing her long knife at the rope. I could, of course, release her to fall, but where would be the fun in that? She is tiring. With a scream of determination, one almighty effort and her blade parts the rope, and she falls, landing hard. She shakes her head. My knife, shortly after, rests across her throat.

“Are you going to make me kill you, or will you behave yourself?”

Her eyes blink. “I will behave.”

I tie her hands behind her back and push her forward until we reach the bloody-faced huntress. She drags and carries her companion until we reach the pit trap, and I peer over the edge. In a corner, two feet in bandages, squats a hunched-over hobgoblin, the pit stakes surrounding her like prison bars.

I hear her noisy approach. Even the tied huntress beside me does. “Why didn’t you stay where I told you to?”

“There were screams… I thought if you were in trouble, I could help.”

“To hear those screams would require you to follow me,” I retort, trying to hold back my anger. Lord Klar would be extremely disappointed with me if she died, yet she doesn’t heed my advice.

“I waited a while… I knew you would hear me otherwise and send me back. I only wanted to help…”

“Stupid marks like yourself are why we usually succeed,” says the huntress at my feet.

“Well… not stupid… your chit-chat warned us of you, so there!” her childish response.

“Mazgia? Is that you?” echoes the voice from the pit, with no trace of pain in her voice. “Ouch, crap.”

I peer over, and she is trying to stand. Why? I check on Mazgia, who doesn’t speak, which is unusual. Tears flow down her cheeks. Her bottom lip trembles when she notices me looking, and she points towards the pit.

“Mor… Morgia?”

“Yes, sister. I didn’t know we hunted you, honest.”

Mazgia wipes the tears from her eyes. “You know why I cry, sister? You know why?” Strength returns to her voice.

“I said, I didn’t know. You must believe me. We are twin sisters! Our bond is forever.”

The huntress on the ground glances up and nods. To herself, I believe, but her confirmation is good enough for me.

“Is she a rival? Do we slay her now and leave her corpse as a warning to others?”

“What?” yelps Mazgia and Morgia as one voice.

I feel like slapping some sense into her, but I refrain. “Your father exiles you, asks, bribes, or makes your sister pretend to be you. He has second thoughts and decides you are better off dead than alive, and he asks your sister to do the killing but sends help with her to make sure of the job. How am I doing, Morgia?” I notice the huntress at my feet squirms ever so slightly. Is there more?

After a pregnant pause, Mazgia peers over the pit’s edge and asks, “Well, sister, was that the plan?”

I kick the huntress at my feet. “The rest of the plan now, or I’ll throw you into the pit.”

“We were to capture Mazgia. Ask Morgia to slay her, and when she refuses, follow their father’s orders and murder both. But we wouldn’t. We would have sold them into slavery instead… twins, you see.”

“What?” yelps Mazgia and Morgia as one voice.

The huntress wiggles and twists, her eyes searching. “What have you done with Arggsia and Qilroga?”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Your leader and her companion?” Her sorrowful nod expects the worst. “Dead by now, I suspect.”

“You didn’t need to kill them. They had ransom guarantees on them, as do I and Shazzola. We are worth more alive than dead.”

I bend down until our faces are a hand’s width apart. “I prefer my opponents dead. That way, they can’t seek revenge.”

I catch her movement, but the best I can do is grab at her leathers. As I fall into the pit from her leg strike, I take her with me. A twist and I hold her underneath me as we fall, and a black, bloodied stake erupts from her chest when we stop. Morgia rises, hobbling towards me, and my knife is out, shooing her back.

“While I am down here, do you want me to finish Morgia?” I flash Morgia a predatory smile, and she sinks back into her corner.

“No, I don’t think so. I need time to think. Can you get out of the pit?”

I slice off the tip of a stake closest to the wall and make a jump for the wall. My fingers don’t grab the edge, but a foot lands on the top of the stake. Limbering up several times, I then spring for the lip of the pit, scrambling until my elbows rest on the edge. I then swing my torso, so my foot grabs the edge, and I roll. Climbing to my feet, I spot Mazgia pacing and hear bloody face moaning.

P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.