---NARO, HIGH PRIESTESS OF KLUG POV
The faithful worshippers of Lord Klug, an equal mix of goblins and hobgoblins, more females than males of the latter, line the cobblestone streets of Head Village, which is no longer a village. The outskirts reach a quarter of the way towards The Farm, and I am told only a few of the original buildings remain. She knocked most down to widen the main street, which leads straight as an arrow from the main gate to the Under Cliff Temple of Lord Klug. The buildings that replaced them were all stone, including the squat inner wall. Rexa did some things right, I begrudgingly acknowledged to myself.
The clear blue sky above welcomes me as much as their cheering as I parade towards the inner wall gate, which is currently thrown open on this special day. I, the new reigning High Priestess of Klug, venture forth amongst the faithful to introduce myself and permit them to bask under my holy glory. Their cheering is boisterous and rousing, their smiles wide. Novices, Acolytes, Adepts and Priests line the street, manning barricades to hold the press of the crowd back.
My head snaps towards a sudden movement. A shape darts left, causing the nearest Ten Spear Guard to chase while another shape leaps into the opening. The spear tip aiming for my heart moves slowly under my gaze. Is it his blood? In this moment of life or death, my forearm sweeps the spear’s shaft to one side with ease while I move inside the assailant’s guard and, with casual ease, step forward. My dagger penetrates the assailant’s eye socket and withdraws as quickly. A heartbeat later, the same dagger slams into the hidden sheath under my flowing robes, and I resume waving to the crowd.
Through the gate, I sense the herd following in my wake, filling the main street behind me like a flood. I imagine with some satisfaction the corpse of my attacker now trampled under the press of the faithful.
The pain alerts me, and I swivel to search for the source. On top of a warehouse a few streets back, I spy the archer pulling back on his bow for another release. I snatch a spear from one of my gawking Ten Spears and fling the weapon at my assassin. The spear and the arrow pass in flight. My eyes follow the arrow, and I catch the missile. The archer stares at me, his smile dropping. Then his eyes open wide as he realises my impossible spear throw is about to end him. He pivots his hobgoblin body to run. Why didn’t he duck? The spear shaft transfixes him, in one side of the body above the hip and out the other side under the armpit.
My Ten Spears crowd about me, offering their bodies as a flesh shield.
“An arrow impales your shoulder, High Priestess,” hisses one in awe.
“Push it through,” I command. There is a small lump below the collarbone, so the head is almost through. I grit my teeth in pain as the arrowhead slices apart the remaining thin layers of my flesh. Grabbing the head with one hand and the shaft with the other, I wrench the head free.
“Draw the arrow back,” I command. My breathing is deep and rapid.
“We have no bandages, High Priestess. The blood loss could kill you.”
Pulling my robe off my shoulder, I stare down at my naysayer as a portion of cloth caught around the arrow shaft rips. “Grab it and be quick!” I feel my inner flesh rub on the arrow shaft as they slide it free from my body. I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from screaming. Black blood flows and then coughs to a halt. My flesh closes over while a choir of gasping from my Ten Spears escapes their lips. I straighten my robe, ensuring my hair sits on the same side as the rip.
“Assume parade positions,” I whisper. As trained, they hear and obey, although they now double guard on each side, the rectangle of before now a close-hugging square.
The crowd looking on closest is still silent. Did they really see what they saw?
I wave to them. “A clothing mishap, nothing more. I would not want to flash my bare breast now, would I?” I project several loud and warm chuckles towards witnesses still dithering and again return to parading and waving.
Reaching the Shrine of Water, I kneel at the river’s edge, scope up a handful, and pour the water into a waiting mouth. These are, the afflicted. Those with ailments that won’t heal, diseases that find no cure. Lord Klug, at this spot, is said to have healed his wives, extending their life as a last gift. A reward for their devotion as his wounds finally took his life.
I take my second knife from underneath my robes and slice the palm of my hand.
“Show your tongue,” I command the first. I squeeze my hand and allow drops of blood to fall on the eager, protruding flesh. Then, with the finger of my other hand, dipped in the same blood, I draw a circle of blood on the green forehead of the youth kneeling before me.
“As I draw this circle of life on your forehead, you drink from the holy blood of Lord Klug flowing through me to aid your body and cure your illness. Believe in Lord Klug, and anything is possible.”
I shuffle along to the next and repeat my performance. Many press closer, some wading across the river instead of staying on the ford to inspect my efforts. The need to slice my hand multiple times is almost annoying by the end.
With the last supplicant done, I raise my hands. “Believe in Lord Klug. Believe I am his holy agent who can walk amongst you and share his miracles with you. Now go, spread his faith, and let all you meet know that High Priestess Naro is his devoted worshipper and your humble servant.”
They waver. A few, although reluctant, shuffle off.
“Go, I say!”
They fear I will offer the last few remaining something more, yet I have no more. I believe Lord Klug’s few drops of blood will take some days to make a difference where it can, and by then, I will be ready for the religious fervour. Now is the time for them to return to their everyday lives, their monotonous routines. Their contentment. Before today, they believed I would be the same as High Priestess Rexa, sit in the Temple and make demands without giving back. The showing of myself today is solely a curiosity for the non-believers. For the believers, a relief their new High Priestess will reveal herself and bless them.
My Ten Spears, well Twenty Spears when you count them all, surround me close, in a square formation as we march back to Lord Klug’s Temple. As we approach the Temple, I notice the balcony high above. I contemplated waving to the faithful from there, but I needed to prove to them my faith in Lord Klug would deliver real benefit, and what better way than to walk amongst them and heal? The Novices, Acolytes, Adepts and Priests clear our way, and shortly after, the main doors are closed behind us.
With no sunlight, the glow of lanterns takes over in the vast antechamber. Beyond our gathering area are rows of benches leading to the holy dais from where I preach to the already converted. I will change this.
Twenty Ten Spears kneel around me. One, slightly taller and broader than the rest, looks up into my eyes.
“We are in awe of you, High Priestess, and wonder why you even need us. We are feeble compared to you. Wounds are nothing, assassins too slow when assaulting you or too dim-witted to realise they endanger themselves even when they think themselves safe at a distance.”
“Is this how you all feel?”
Murmurs of assent are their response.
“Let me tell you of a tale then.” I look at each. “Lord Klug was mighty, and many a foe fell under his blade, or if the legends are true to his throttling of their necks.” They chuckle, and I smile. There is a certain disbelief about the throttling because of the strength required, and none have been able to replicate the feat except on goblins. Klugrath, Lord Klug’s first son, was the only known exception, although that could have been a rumour of Rexa’s. They wrote the old tales from memory, of course, and they didn’t note that hobgoblins were few in Lord Klug’s time. Therefore, the prime target of his throttling would have been goblins…
“Lord Klug died at the Shrine of Water because his enemies, like cowards, nibbled at him. He slew many, of course, but fresh assailants again and again overwhelmed even the mighty warrior he was. So, your role is to protect me from the same fate. Die in my stead if needs be by throwing yourself at my enemies so I may recover in the time your sacrifice buys me. Do you accept this fate on my behalf?”
They crowd forward and paw at my robes. Some males, primarily females, are now a hobgoblin mix of the many tribes which once claimed territory in this valley. Rexa would never accept Ten Spears from the other three valleys who worshipped Lord Klug. She didn’t believe they would defend her like those first tribes conquered and brought into the worship of Lord Klug. And if the legend is true, their orphaned hobgoblin heirs are all granddaughters of Klugrath.
“On your feet, my proud warriors, you will never crawl on your knees unless I command you.” They snap to attention. “Line up and receive my blessing.” As each one approaches, I slice my hand and cover their mouth, forcing them to drink until the wound heals. Each staggers back in shock, eyes wide. Initially, the line slows. They believe in Lord Klug, yet seeing the muted reaction of the first drinkers, doubt surfaces in them. Then the first few recover from their daze. Leaping high, they thrust their spears downward and quickly take to shadow fighting. An immediate and noticeable improvement in speed and, given the first, is still swinging away when the last of them feed, endurance.
The first approaches me, her lungs expanding as she sucks in some air. After several deep breaths, she takes my hand and kisses my palm. “My life is worthless unless I die in your service.” Then she stands to attention, her spear butt striking the stone floor of the temple. The echo startles all but my bodyguards. The line grows, and I move along as each joins, and they all swear the same oath to me.
“Each month, we will repeat this ritual, my blood for your blood, until I fall pregnant and give birth to the next High Priestess.”
The first steps forward. “What if you birth a male High Priestess?”
“Lord Klug will ensure I will birth a female.” There is no trace of doubt in my words as I eye each of them. “To the males present, I considered one of you as my seed donor, but that would single you out and change our relationship, perhaps causing me to value your life more than my own, even for the briefest of moments which would be unacceptable.”
As one, they answer, “My life is worthless unless I die in your service.”
“I forbid you to lie with each other. No other life, but mine is important.”
As one, they answer, “My life is worthless unless I die in your service.”
“After several months of receiving my blood, like me, you will control your breeding, male or female child, to make a baby or not. You can lie with as many others as you like, but no coupling will produce offspring. You must have no parental distractions.”
As one, they answer, “My life is worthless unless I die in your service.”
“If one of you dies in my service, then the rest will decide to replace them or not. All must agree on the candidate you present to me. My life will depend upon your sacrifice, and only a special few can believe without seeing as you have witnessed today. I suspect assassins will thin out as the years pass because we will kill the best, so they can’t teach those who follow.”
As one, they answer, “My life is worthless unless I die in your service.”
The hasty slapping of sandals on stone heralds his arrival. “What is all this yelling, stomping, and cracking of spears for? The Holy Scribes are transcribing sacred scripts to disseminate across the land to other Templ…”
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My fingers are around his skinny hobgoblin neck, and he squeaks to silence. His eyes bulge. Probably a combination of lack of air and recognition that he has intruded on his High Priestess.
I raise his body as a test, choking him further as I do—his body swings free while in my grasp.
“High Priestess, I plead with you to release your Scribe Servant. I am certain he realises his mistake by now.”
I release my intruder, and his body collapses in a heap while I turn to face the Holy Scribe. His, or is he a her? The voice, either way, is recognisable, deep, and rasping.
“I believe your plea was perhaps too late, Holy Scribe. My apologies, of course, and in the future, I will take more care of my servants.” I nudge his body with my foot. Lifeless, I decide.
“Lord Klug’s servants, High Priestess,” he corrects me while folding his hands within the sleeves of his robe.
“Well then, I await his judgement. Until then, to avoid any repeat, I will assemble my bodyguards in quarters closer to mine.”
He turns away and then looks back over his shoulder. “There are none such quarters vacant, High Priestess.”
“The Scribes are currently closest, are they not? Wouldn’t they save the strain on their legs if they moved closer to the Scribing Rooms?” My eyes flick high and to my right toward where my interloper came from.
“They are, erm… were the rooms where High Priestess Rexa’s closest relatives slept. They still contain many of their possessions, and no one seems to know what to do with all their flashy treasures.”
I favour him with a predatory smile. “Two birds, one stone. They were the Holy Scribes’ original quarters, were they not?”
His nod is slow and deliberate. Reluctance?
“Please instruct a team of scribes to document the possessions of each room. Show the list to two of my bodyguards so they can decide what is to be done with each item. They will hire labourers as necessary, and when cleared, an occupied Holy Scribe room nearest to mine will move to the vacancy.”
“Yes?” He could object, but I know from their writings that the Holy Scribes protested their relocation. They suspected High Priestess Rexa didn’t trust her relatives and wanted them as far away from her as possible. Crowding the Scribes around her quarters meant a more loyal than most, faction of the Temple’s servants were within close striking range of her than anyone else. I wish to have the same assurance, except those closest to my quarters will be loyal unto death to me.
“Settled then and until my bodyguard can move as one into the rooms closest to mine, they will gather here once a month with their High Priestess making as much noise as they must. Will relocation take a month?”
“I will assign a team immediately, High Priestess.” And with that last statement, he swivels about, robes flapping. Was the corpse of his scribe forgotten?
I turn to greet their silence. “I know, but throttling a thin scribe doesn’t count.” There is doubt on their faces. They wish me to acknowledge the feat yet struggle to disregard my statement. First, because I proclaimed it, and second, it is close enough to a truth. The legend recalls the throttling of fully armed and armoured warriors, battle-hardened and eager to fight.
“Each day, a fresh pair will assess what the Scribes document. If you can’t read, start learning. Those who can read teach those who can’t. They will probably document several rooms in a day, so the last pairs may not be needed, but reading and writing are essential skills you must all master to remain in my service.” Several sport pale green faces, but not as many as I suspected.
“How many are familiar with a bow?”
Three of my bodyguard step forward immediately—a fourth steps forward several heartbeats later.
“Are there no childhood hunters amongst you?”
Two more reluctantly step forward.
“Can any of you read?”
Three of them raise their hands. Good enough, I decide.
“There is a book written or possibly dictated by Koria Keen Eye while heavy with child about the fine art of archery. And not to be outdone, on her deathbed, Vuzsia Dead Eye dictated her thoughts on the subject as well.”
One of my bodyguards slowly raises her hand. “High Priestess, didn’t she join her tribe and resist High Priestess Rexa’s efforts to convert them?”
“Yes, but once captured and awaiting judgement, it is said she demanded a scribe. Legends say Koria Keen Eye and Vuzsia Dead Eye shared a great rivalry, but who knows the whole truth?”
“Were there scribes two hundred years ago?” asks another of my bodyguard.
“The fact these books exist and credited to archers we know for certain walked the land suggests there were.”
A giggle draws our collective attention. Under the gaze of us all, she gulps and says, “What if the authors were archers, yet not those archers, but to gain attention for their written work, they used their names? It would be cheeky, would it not?”
“Cheeky, yes, but if their teachings prove sound, do we really care?” I pause for a moment. “I will wrestle a copy of each from the clutches of the scribes who guard the Temple Library. You need to ensure you take care of the books. Otherwise, the scribes will nag me to the end of my days.” They hesitate until I flash them a warm smile, which they return.
“Day and night, at least two of you will spar here in case the scribes produce a list to be checked. Apart from that duty, carry on with your usual routine. I go now to my quarters to pray and don’t wish to be disturbed unless the circumstances are dire. I will instruct all who I meet. None but my bodyguard can call upon me from now on.”
I consider taking a lantern. Yet, since childhood, my eyes have adapted to the dark, only requiring a glimmer of light to be present for me to see clearly. Yet I don’t know she is there because of either sight or sound. Instead, I pick up her scent, or more specifically, the smell of her blood. I intercept her goblin leap by wrapping my fingers around her throat. To her credit, she still stabs at my arm, the only part of me within reach of her short, razor-thin dagger.
“Stop that,” I command as several streams of blood drench the sleeve of my robe. She blinks and raises her hand to strike again. I shake my head from side to side and squeeze a little more. She lowers her dagger, and I relax my grip. My goblin assassin takes a deep breath, and colour returns to her face. I also confirm the source of her bleeding since raising her above my head means my nose is level with her loins.
“Who sent you?”
She tries to shake her head while in my grip, but I get the message.
“I can steal your spirit and know the truth regardless, but I don’t want another slave. Who sent you?”
She pats my arm. I assume as a hint to lower her. This accidentally causes the sleeve of my robe to give in and slide down the length of my arm. No stab wounds. She glances between my arm and my eyes several times. I lower her. Now, though, her body shakes. I reason her confidence has fled.
“Now, you believe me?”
She squeezes her eyes shut and offers me a slow nod. When she opens her eyes, a tear falls from each.
“Who sent you?”
“I am the lowest of the low. I test. How easy or difficult it is to gain access to the Temple. Can I move around without being challenged? To sneak around undetected. You, walking alone, unguarded. I thought luck was on my side, so I struck.” Her whimpering tone is annoying by the end. Then the smell of urine assaults my nose, and I drag her away.
“That was messy. Let me know next time.” Her clothes still carry the smell, of course. She whimpers into her hands. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t know. There is a contract on your life, but I am to scout and report back, expendable otherwise.”
“What else do you know? You must know something?”
She squirms and then settles. “I am one of five scouts. We live together, train together and wait for missions. Our trainer visits wearing a mask. We don’t know their name. They are called boss. While we wait, they expect us to practice the techniques taught to us by our trainers. When they return, they test us. If one fails, we all fail and must practice again until the boss returns to test us again, and if we all pass, they teach us new techniques. That is all. That is my life now.” Some fight returns to her voice towards the end of her speech.
“What would your next advancement be?”
“If I survive sufficient missions, I can graduate to Inquisitor. They usually train in a group of three…”
I wave an open palm. “Your masters expect two of the five scouts to die?”
She chuckles. “I wish. We suspect the numbers are higher, but.” She pats her chest. “Lowest of the low.”
“What rank is above Inquisitor?”
“Only one, Assassin, and they tend to keep to themselves.” She tilts her head to one side.
“How does one become an apprentice scout?”
I feel her neck muscles tighten. She wants to do anything but answer. “What is your game, then? Torture the captive goblin with mind games and stupid questions? There is nothing interesting to know about me.”
“I insist.” I squeeze and shake her to prove my level of interest.
She coughs. “Alright, no need for that. My parents died when I was young, boo-hoo for me, so I made my way to your Head Village and ran with one of your town’s urchin gangs. Thieving food mainly, some pick-pocketing or running distractions, while others in the gang pickpocketed the onlookers. In my teens, I outgrew the urchins and, after a couple of tests, joined the local Thieves Guild. Less thieving and more of a protection racket. Shopkeepers would pay the guild not to rob them. To encourage those who didn’t purchase protection, we would rob their business many times. We also tipped the urchins to learn their routines and follow them to find their homes if they were rich enough to keep a separate house. Most, though, lived above their shops, so easy pickings. Some hired guards. We would wait for them to be dismissed because they were more expensive than us and then resume robbing them. After a few years, several familiar faces were no longer in the guild. Then I found out why. A special visitor would talk to a few chosen by the Guildmaster and make them an offer. I took up the offer like many before me, and instead of sticking to the mission, I foolishly tried to commit my first assassination.”
“That’s better. So, if I stole your spirit, you would only end up reporting what you found out. The Guildmaster would then assign another, totally unknown to you, to the assassination mission?”
“No, there is a stage for the Inquisitor in between. I am to scout out for dissent, the unhappy few, or perhaps those in debt or greedy. By using them, the general thinking is that they could provide access or an emergency escape path. Even blackmailed for favours. The Inquisitor follows with smooth talk and offers to secure at least two or more if possible. Then I assume one or more assassination plans will be made.”
“That all takes time, so how long have you been skulking about in Lord Klug’s Temple?”
“Three days and ten nights.”
I blink. “How does that work?”
“Infiltrating always begins at night, returning several times, gradually stretching into the day as I find safe places to observe from to get to know the routine of the Temple. No one in this Temple is actively searching for anyone who isn’t supposed to be here. Several times I have borrowed clothing and acted as a servant, with no one questioning the new face standing before them. They assume someone else must know me. That is one of the first lessons they teach. The bigger the organisation and the Temple of Lord Klug is one of the biggest, the easy it is to blend in. All you need is confidence backed up by knowing some names of those in charge.”
What she tells me is somewhat confronting and worrying. Was Rexa this vulnerable? Are those who attacked me outside from the same guild as my goblin friend here? Somehow, attacking me in broad daylight seems opportunistic. My new friend describes a coordinated effort to retrieve information, which they will then turn into a plan. Those outside acted impetuously. They are more like relatives of Rexa if the rumours about them are fact.
“How many more days and nights would you otherwise expect to be here if I didn’t catch you?”
Her head leans to one side, face frowning. “What does it matter?”
“Answer for now. Trust me.”
She chuckles. “Trust you? Alright then, two days and two nights. I need to sift through the Scribes, which normally I would consider a challenge. They are the one group who pride themselves in knowing their fellow scribes, as they always greet each other by name and rank. Their rank usually also includes who their master is as well. Tricky, although you did me a favour by throttling one of them.”
“Why? One less name to remember?” It is my turn to chuckle.
“No, nothing so simple.” My chuckle dies in an instant. “The scribes junior to the dead scribe will try to prove themselves to the master of the dead one so they can step up into the vacant role. That means many scribes wander about simply trying to talk and get closer to those who have a say. I can eavesdrop on these conversations and learn more about what each scribe wants or needs as they make offers and counteroffers to secure the promotion.”
I slowly nod. “When filled, this will probably produce a lower ranked vacancy, which again starts the conversations and the bargaining.”
“Yes, exactly, until a master promotes one novice and a new normal begins.”
“They will settle this in two days and nights?” Her sigh confirms she detected the doubt in my voice.
“Of course. Scribes are generally well-read and intelligent. When one vacancy is being discussed, the brightest of the scribes know another vacancy will open immediately after. They plan and deal on that basis. I overheard immediately after the death, two of the masters negotiate away the direct replacement to support each other on the replacements after that.”
“Alright, take your two days and nights.” Her jaw drops. “It is simple. I slay you, and they will send another, and I will have to wait another ten or more days for the second infiltration and then probably several more days before the assassin arrives. In comparison, you are almost done, so the other steps will be sooner rather than later. I only ask you not to assassinate anyone. If you do, I will hunt you down and torture you slowly.”
“I… won’t. Spying only, I assure you, and then I am gone.”
“Can you write?”
She frowns. “Why?”
“I need you to write about everything you have discovered while here.”
“That will take another day, at least,” she grouses.
“Do you have to be somewhere else in three days?”
“Alright, as long as I can tell my boss that we had this conversation so that they can warn the assassin, you are expecting them.”
“It’s a given, anyway, after the fools who tried to assassin me today. All assassins would expect me to be on my guard. I know, I won’t ask you if they were part of your guild because you wouldn’t know, anyway.”
“Can I go?”
I release her, and she immediately drops her wet breeches and loincloth. She fishes out a fresh loincloth from a pouch belted to her waist and then darts off into the darkness, unaware I can see her until she turns a corner. I find the set of steps I need and climb them for three levels. I traverse this level and find another set of steps, guarded by a Ten Spears assigned to the Temple. They allow me to pass without question. I pause for a moment. So, by showing outward confidence, anyone of my height and shape in my robes could simply stroll past the guards. Troubled, I continue the climb until I reach the highest floor and my quarters. I have much to think about.
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