---LORD KLAR POV
“Are you done yet?” I try to keep the words level, but my frustration with the delay is growing. Dusk has now fallen on what increasingly seems to become a long, fruitless day.
Her face, tear tracks running down her glowing green cheeks, looks up at me.
“I have tried and tried, Lord. There were some early hopeful chances, and then, after a time, a force of will, blocked every attempt.”
I smash the side panel, and the cockpit door slides shut. None in the cargo bay dares look at my face. They know that to draw my attention now is to suffer my wrath.
“I gave you, no drowned you in my seed for a reason. Magic. What of it?” I ask.
She sobs. Why?
“Demand access,” I roar while roughly dragging her into a standing position.
We are face to face. Her eyes fly wide open while her hands grab for anything but me to steady herself. I lower her body so she can stand and then thrust her at the shuttle pilot control desk.
She careens between the pilot and co-pilot chairs, clipping and setting them off into an unequal spin. With an unexpected display of agility, she swivels about in time to fling her hands forward to save her spine from crunching against the rigid metal of the waist height control panel.
With hands firmly planted on the control desk, I hear her suck in a deep breath. Air in the cockpit swirls past me to gather around her. Humming and crackling, like a presence or primeval element, an unleashing of power splashes against the control panel.
A scream strangles in her throat as her body flies back from the control panel. I fling my arms out and catch her.
Her head arches until her eyes meet mine. “I haven’t failed, Lord. Some malignant intelligence blocks me. They, whoever they are, cackle and deride me.”
Her body slumps into my arms. A dead weight, although I hover my cheek near her nose and feel a waft of breath. After depositing her into a pilot’s chair, I join the others in the Cargo Bay.
“She has failed. Therefore, all prepare for a land journey back.”
Grim faces stare back at me. As one, they move with purpose, stowing away and cleaning up. My merchant daughter twins take the lead, braving an occasional winning smile my way. I can’t find the energy to berate them as they strive to bring order to chaos.
During one of these distractions, I sense, rather than see, Koria approach me.
“Can’t she try again?”
“No. She must recover first, and I am not waiting for the unknown.” I am terse, releasing the last embers of my anger.
“Did she explain why?”
I turn my head towards Koria, who now wears Thalgora’s face. “Are you challenging my judgement?”
“There must be an explanation, surely?”
“She said some unknown intelligence works against her. So even if she recovered, I assume another attempt would produce the same result.”
As Koria slips away to assist, Grolgia, my warrior hobgoblin, takes her place.
“Lord, I couldn’t help but overhear.” She leans forward, her breath tickling my neck. “Could it be her?”
I know who she whispers about—Diasha Talop, Engineer and Navigation Officer of the GPA Scout Ship. She is my lovesick admirer and the reason we are where we are now. With technical knowledge, she indeed locked out the controls. But to reject Linmere’s magic so forcefully, I refuse to believe the possibility she can now command that as well.
“No,” I reply.
“We should find her, make certain of her corpse.”
“No,” I reply.
I am confident she will find us on our overland journey back.
---
As dawn breaks, we prepare to leave. When I go to fetch Linmere, the shuttle hums and then shudders to life. Internal lights blink brightly, and the ship rises.
I smack the control to open the cockpit door, ready to celebrate and discover Linmere where I left her. Spineless slumping in the pilot chair. The ship lurches to one side and, after a slight hesitation; I spread my feet slightly. Looking over my shoulder, all my wives and concubines hang on to something. This is a novel experience for some. The fear on their faces contrasts with the determination of each to be brave in front of me.
As the frost burns away from the cockpit windows, the tall and sheer mountain cliff that separates the western continent from the valley looms up in front of us. I would like to know if the unknown pilot understands our situation. Then, as my doubt grows, the shuttle begins a steep climb. I hug the backrest of a pilot chair, and I hear everything loose in the cargo bay slide to the back. There was no need for this flight path; whoever they were, they could have taken a steadier approach. In a way, this gives me hope. This could be a playful tease rather than vindictiveness.
Fortunately, the shuttle’s current flight path is roughly in the direction I need to take, which is better than where I was.
Once over the enormous cliff edge, we skim a mountain range, one of the more modest, stabbing towards the grass plains. On the right is Hobgoblin Town Valley. I would recognise it from any point of view. I ignore the other valley.
As we approach the end of the mountain range, the grass fields of the plains before us, the shuttle slows. Shortly after, the shuttle lands on a long snowfield high in the mountains. The width is enough to accommodate the shuttle, with room to spare. The cargo bay door automatically opens. Glare from the snow brightens the interior of the cargo bay. I don’t know who arranged our flight. As a precaution, I lock the cockpit door to protect the unconscious Linmere.
Luda, Koria, Grolgia and I climb out. The only direction is forward, as the second shuttle skews itself to block any quick escape in the opposite direction. I notice the deployed landing gear of both shuttles and the imprints of their metal boots in the snow. There is no hovering. So, it’s not a quick stopover, then.
If our remote-control shuttle pilot wished us any harm, they could have rammed the shuttle at full speed against the cliff face. Because of that reprieve, I assume there will be some discussion first.
An obviously pregnant Grolgia advances with me. The equally pregnant merchant twins remain in the shuttle, standing in the open shuttle bay. Koria and Luda wait in the snow, ready to intervene. They have orders to follow once we take thirty paces from the shuttle.
We don’t reach that distance.
Koria and Luda scream my name and as I turn, I witness both being dragged on their bellies under the shuttle. The strength that would require boggles my mind. They kick back and dig their hands into the snow to resist. I charge back towards the shuttle.
A hammering freezing travels along my bond link with Luda and Koria. The dual shock drives me into the snow face first. Unknown hands are under my armpits, lifting. I struggle to my feet.
“She is back, Lord. She is back. Somehow, she is here,” hisses Grolgia.
I hear her words. The bond loss of Luda and Koria is a searing pain burning my mind and spirit. I lower my hands from my head, not remembering myself placing them there. An ache, like an echo, remains. Nothing else; they are gone as if they had never been. Tears well up in my eyes.
He growls at me. My inner Hob seethes with disgust. They are nothing, were nothing. Me, his host, is everything. Get to your feet! Anger! Revenge! Destruction!
Forcing myself to stubble forward with each step, my need for revenge grows. I skirt around the shuttle.
From behind, the abomination holds each of their necks in a vice-like grip, forcing their faces into the snow. Blue flesh radiates out as I hear the cracking of bones. As she lifts them, they gesticulate at each other like puppets in some show. She pretends they are talking to each other and then herself.
I watch Diasha, unable to act. Her lack of humanity stuns even me.
“You are in time, husband. Not only have I slain your false wives, but I have also severed their bond with you. Of course, I will permit you concubines but never suffer bonded rivals.”
I didn’t believe them dead until now. More accurately, regardless of the evidence, I didn’t want to believe they were forever gone. Burning rage ignites within me. I shout, “You stupid bitch! Your flesh is ice.” She blinks. “How can we ever embrace and consummate our union if I even wanted such a thing?”
She quirks her head. “I. Would. Not. Freeze. You. My. Love.” Her speech pattern has reverted. She is off balance. I look past Diasha.
Grolgia swings down from on high. I notice Diasha’s head shake slightly from side to side.
I raise an arm and shout a warning as Diasha raises a hand without looking to intercept the swing. Grolgia’s blade penetrates Diasha’s hand, stopping a quarter blade in. Diasha’s other fingers wrap around the blade and tug while her body swivels. The surprise manoeuvre draws Grolgia into the waiting grasp of Diasha’s free, now tightening hand. With a flick, Grolgia’s neck snaps. On release, her lifeless body collapses to land with a heavy thud between Luda and Koria on the snow.
My hands cup my head as I scream in anguish. Loss after loss. None of this makes sense. How did she regrow her hand? Reattach her head, for that matter?
“You underestimate me, husband. I felt her warmth as she made her approach. That is why I am superior.”
The memory of my first wife, GPA005, floods my mind. The emotion we found during the one leave life we spent together as a married couple fuels my response.
“No! That is why you are impossible. Love finds expression in a warm embrace and kind, supportive words. Making love is the unselfish sharing that occurs between lovers. Love is trust. On all those counts, you fail. You are a revulsion, the opposite of love, a never wife.”
Is my condemnation of her because I judge Diasha by human standards?
Instead of tears, icicles fall from her eyes to disappear into the snow at her feet. “I will sever the bonds to all your wives, free you from their distraction, so only I remain. If you don’t come to your senses even then, I will slay your concubines, as I have done here. When you have no one else but me, I am certain you will finally appreciate our true love.”
As I feel my mouth drop open, she mechanically turns on a heel and ploughs through the snow towards the side of the ledge. I desperately scramble on my hands and knees after her. She is sliding down the snow-covered slope when I catch her echoing words. My wives to the east will be next. She can see their bond links and will tend to them next.
Wives? Yes, but oddly, with a growing sick feeling, something is wrong. I reach out with my spirit, seeing what I suspect has always existed. But only one slivery trail, a slim tether is present. There is only my Head Scribe, Solgia. What of the others? Does this explain my unexplainable urgency? There is still the tithe of their spirit, but no link. Their flesh has died, I conclude, but they are still my wives.
No. No. No. This isn’t how it is supposed to go. I die first and then my wives. Once reborn, I call them back to me.
Slowly, I climb to my feet. This pain of loss is crippling, hurtful. Emotional. The physical pain of bond link loss has passed, yet I still hurt.
In some forlorn hope, my gaze stretches across the valley. The snow on the opposite mountain range blinks back at me under the morning sunlight. I try to follow the slope down to where Solgia is and fail. Yet, our bond link is present in my mind’s eye. A sliver of silver. I latch onto this like a lifeline for a drowning man and demand she heed my willpower.
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“Lord?”
“Solgia?” The freezing tears on my cheeks alert me to the fact I am crying. Joy? Sadness? Neither, I realise. It’s simply because of relief. I drop to my knees.
“All is well, Lord, I assure you. I thought, but never gave up hope, no matter how weak our link was.”
“Izga? Zergoa?”
“Lord, your enemies have slain them, but they are still present. Can you feel them? We called to you, always, but today is the first day you have answered.”
Feel them? Was that the nagging I felt, the urgency to return?
“Seek them out, Lord. Klaria taught us how. She is gone, but not forgotten. Duzsia, as well. She teaches her apprentice from beyond death. Voria is still loyal and stands with us.”
Using Solgia’s thread as proof that this will work, I seek my other wives. There is also the fact that Diasha, curse her frozen heart, can also see their threads.
How have I remained ignorant? When they swore their spirits to me, we communicated through our minds, so why haven’t I explored this further? Lack of need? Has distance ever separated us for this long?
I feel several faint traces and deliberately follow one I recognise with a desperation of uttermost need. I jump to my feet, with hope filling my heart.
“Duzsia.”
I sense her love before her voice explodes with joy in my mind. “We are defending you even when slain, Lord.”
“How?”
She giggles. “Which how? Defend you after being slain, or how they slew us?” She must sense my confusion because she giggles again. My carefree warrior wife of death-dealing. She giggles again. “Lord, they can never defeat us. We will always return to defeat them, and if not them, their descendants.”
“We have a new enemy. I must confess this enemy exists because of my folly. She has slain Koria and Luda.” I feel my knees buckling again. Strong arms hold me up. I realise that I have shut my eyelids tight. To open them would mean breaking my link with Duzsia. I can’t. I just can’t. The need to tell her everything is overpowering. Confession.
I recount my travels and deeds to her. On more than one occasion, I explain the danger of Diasha. She can sever our bond. Koria and Luda have become lost to us. The retelling of what she already knows calms me. Perhaps her confidence infects me. She has no doubts and no regrets.
I contact Izga, Zergoa, and Klaria next, and I exude confidence. There is no other option. I conclude this odyssey by warning Solgia. Death is coming her way.
My hands wipe down my face. Reset. I turn around to thank one of my concubines. I have only the twins left, so I wonder if I can guess their names correctly. After everything so far, the possibility of making a mistake and the game of apologising afterwards is something I look forward to.
“Not who you expected, Lord?” She drops to one knee.
Behind her, at a safe distance, the twins stand on either side of the elderly, frail-looking goblin crone. I would like to think they protect her, but I suspect they guard my interests.
“Tinuna. Your humility is unexpected. Stand and explain yourself.”
After admitting to harming Linmere and piloting the shuttles, she finishes by closing her eyes. Expecting reward? No, I conclude. She expects punishment but hopes for a reward if she can prove herself to me. One thing I agree with her is that Rexa has been reborn. Her solution, though, rankles, especially since Duzsia, Klaria and Izga were victims of the same method.
My analysis of her story is, of course, an escape. The hurt of losing Koria and Luda forever is still fresh. Suffering from this loss is my only defence for what I do next. Could I have talked myself out of doing what I was about to do? Of course. But I didn’t want to, and neither did my Inner Hob. I needed to do something that could help me defeat my abomination, even if the chance would be a non-zero possibility.
I gently place my two hands on her head and say, “All will be well.” I then shove her head deep into the snow at my feet. She struggles far longer than I expected, but the end is inevitable. I can sense the instant her spirit floats free of her technology-grown, perfect female hobgoblin flesh bag.
“Service or Death,” I ask.
“Service Lord Klar, always and forever service.”
I claim a tithe of her spirit, yet there is more. The nature of that more, I can’t define. I throw her from me.
“What was that?” I accuse.
She doesn’t move. Snow collapses in distorting her body’s outline in the snow. “Lord?”
Linmere rounds the edge of the shuttle and pushes through the snow towards us. “No, Lord Klar! Why her? Haven’t I been with you longer?”
I decide this is better. She is begging when, unknown to both, I intend to “marry” her and Tinuna. I need to fill an immense hole in my heart, and the convenience of their presence will do.
Linmere drops to her knees at my feet, and I slap her cheek. She falls back into the snow, shakes herself and crawls forward. “I beg you, Lord.”
“Zeria and Xoria, what do you say?” They are staring, mouths open, and I assume, trying to comprehend the situation. Perhaps even the brutality, as I can’t recall revealing this side of me to them. I need to call on him, my Inner Hob, who is always up for these moments. He sweeps away any residual humanity within me, allowing me to embrace his brutality.
The twins drop. Their faces are in the snow.
“I believe, Lord, that your will is their will,” croaks the Crone. Do I detect a sense of mirth?
“What of your will?”
She cackles and shrugs. “I am too old to be worried about such nonsense, but my loyalty was first given to the High Priestess, so where she goes, I go. Whom she swears her loyalty, I will obey if she commands me. The one grovelling at your feet is nothing compared to my High Priestess, so I don’t care. I also think my opinion wouldn’t sway you from your intent. No Hobgoblin Lord listens to a crone’s council when they should.”
She turns away towards the shuttle, gliding over the snow, or so it seems, given the rags she calls clothing, tents her body.
“It seems none are interested in advocating for you.”
“What of your seed? Surely, I am pregnant and will carry your child?”
I drop to my haunches and cup my hands on her cheeks. “I didn’t command any such seed I shared with you.”
“Command?” I see hope fly from her eyes. From her point of view, she simply had to be pregnant after receiving such a volume of my seed. Now, her last gambit to burden me with a claim is no more.
With my hands behind her head, I push her face into the snow. There is no struggle at first. Then she flails her arms and legs. An invisible force buffets me. I lean my body forward and then place my weight on her, using all the leverage available to me. Fortunately, her body is prone, arms and legs out to either side, but she tries to draw her knees up. Her body goes limp, and I catch her spirit. I try to conceal my relief.
“I told you I am worthy, Lord. Your seed ignited magic within me. My failure was that I hadn’t yet mastered my new power. I will correct this, so I choose Service, Lord Klar.”
As with Tinuna, there is more. With Linmere, though, it is more potent and wilder. I can now recognise the “more”. It is magic. I can’t determine how that infusion will affect me. Linmere exercises no proper control, simply wild emotional or situational responses. Like now, instinctively trying to push me away so she doesn’t drown in snow.
A baby’s cry grabs all our attention. The Crone cuddles a blood-covered infant. Its head sniping about at her chest. The twins run to her, Zoria winning by a step to snatch the baby and then shift away clothing to reveal a bare globe of dark green breast flesh. The head of the babe zeroes in, and its mouth latches on to the firm nub of a bright green teat.
“Sister, I am older,” huffs Zeria.
“Don’t be stupid, sister. We barely have our milk yet, and he will require four breasts, given his sire. Now, quiet before he believes we argue. Mother warned us we must be one in everything. She knew, as only she does, he would be power, but we must join him, not become a tool he throws away once we become useless or, worse, bothersome.”
“Yes, sister. I apologise. We are one. We need to suffer through like them and become his wives.”
Their whispers would have usually assured them of privacy, notwithstanding the Crone. Like all hobgoblins, they ignore any goblin in their presence. Unfortunately for them, my hearing is superior enough to overhear their chat. They are merchants from a long line of merchants. What they say isn’t sinister. It is simply a negotiation to improve their position. I can accept that.
The Crone glides past the twins towards me. “It seems your concubine’s babe was strong enough to survive its mother’s death. Do you tolerate it to live?” She still holds a bloody knife.
“As long as there is no reason not to.” I wave a hand at her.
She cleans her knife by stabbing the snow several times and wiping it on her rags. With a flick, the slim blade disappears into those same rags. By this time, Tinuna stands beside her, an arm around the goblin’s shoulder.
“What now, Lord?” asks Tinuna.
Another hobgoblin scrambles to her feet and pats off the snow from her clothes. “Yes, Lord,” huffs Linmere.
It’s not quite the dynamic of Koria and Luda, but they will have to do. “There is a cave we can visit to hide the shuttles, but we will also return to my village fort and try to work out how to defeat Diasha. On the way there, disable all her access. Only me and you two may pilot the shuttles.”
“It will be done, Lord Klar,” smirks Tinuna while Linmere shifts her feet awkwardly.
Grabbing her fangs, I drag Linmere’s face to within a finger width of mine. “You will spend every waking moment training your magic. If Diasha takes another of my wives before you control your power, expect pain as your reward.”
I fully expect that if she masters her magic, my threats will be nothing to her. So, it’s a win-win, I think. If I can torture her, that proves her magic control inferior, and if not, she should be powerful enough to do something. I just hope that something is enough to stop Diasha.
Tinuna informed me she had configured the shuttles.
“Good. Linmere pilot the lead shuttle low over the mountain tops. Follow them around to the other side of the valley. I will give further instructions then. Twins clean up here with the help of the Crone and load the lead shuttle. Tinuna and I will enjoy each other’s company in the tethered shuttle.” That last line must have made them all stupid, so I clap my hands to get them moving.
With Linmere, my seed, while effective, imbued her with a wild type of magic. Tinuna, bound as a wife before doing the same, I hope for a better outcome. To imbue more control and, over time, strengthen her magic.
---
Like the last time, the lead shuttle fits nicely within the cave. After discussing my intent with Tinuna, I encourage her to think of a way to fix the second shuttle. What can the Observation Ship do? The best she can promise is that the “hole” will be closed in and sealed. Although there won’t be a shuttle door on that side, at least passengers won’t be at risk of being sucked out into space.
The autopilot returns the shuttle to the Observation Ship for repairs by robotic fabricators. It will take time, she says. So? I may need a shuttle to take a certain someone towards this system’s sun and I would like to have the other available for use. This plan only works, of course, if Diasha still needs to breathe. If not, I imagine her bashing a hole in the shuttle’s side and escaping before the shuttle leaves this planet’s atmosphere. Maybe the fall will destroy her?
The twins have equipped and armed everyone, including the Crone, much to their taught hobgoblin disgust for goblins. They obeyed their Lord, though, without question. They even crafted a makeshift full-face leather helm for Tinuna. I insisted on her acceptance by explaining the attention her beauty would bring. When she protests, I mention her previous imperious visit to my village and her renown when she was once the beautiful High Priestess of Klug. For some reason, all the other hobgoblin females enjoyed her discomfort. Her Crone, though, consoled her with whispers of praise afterwards.
I wake to the smell of burning flesh—rabbit, if my memory serves. I need to hang a moment before sliding out of the shuttle bay. Before me, the Crone is hand-feeding shreds of rabbit to a splayed-out Tinuna, her head nesting in the Crone’s lap. Both are warming their bodies near a crackling campfire.
“We have a guest, Mistress,” I overhear the Crone whisper to Tinuna.
“Lord Klar, do you wish to eat?” asks Tinuna.
“No. I wish to continue with your, erm, growth.”
Tinuna lifts her head. I follow her line of sight. The morning sun casts more than enough light on a pile of clothes, black from the ooze. Last night, a purification. Why isn’t she drinking water?
“But, Lord,” hastens the Crone. “What of the bodies?”
Hands-on hips, I reply, “Bodies?”
She grimaces. “Luda, Koria and Grolgia, Lord.”
I collect my shock. “Where?”
“The twins packed them away in snow. They are in the shuttle, Lord. You didn’t know? Didn’t you say pack everything away?” The Crone glances with a cheeky smile at a now-sitting Tinuna.
I have the perfect reply. “Fetch them while I am busy with your mistress.” I grab Tinuna’s hand and drag her deeper into the cave.
---
“When can we expect your return, Lord?” sends Solgia.
“Shortly.” My response is brief, as I am still busy with Tinuna.
“We have learnt that the bodies of your wives, Lord, are valuable. While Duzsia and Klaria were from assassination, Zergoa willed hers to dust. She commanded her nanorobots to consume her water. You could do the same to Luda and Koria’s bodies.”
I roll away from Tinuna. “Return to your Crone. Tell her to do nothing with the bodies and wait for me.”
Tinuna grabs and holds her clothes to her naked body as she retreats from my presence.
“Explain.”
“We have a milk mother feeding your sons. To cut a long story short, there were three. Two proved too weak. By imbibing Klaria’s dust, your nanorobots transferred to her body, and now she feeds them alone. The transfer almost overwhelmed her because they still tried to fulfil their last order. It takes great will to command them to stop.”
I remember Klaria’s perfect dust heap, her clothes somehow tenting around and about the mound. Whereas Izga’s arms held their fragile shape until they collapsed. If I can turn Luda and Koria’s deaths into something else, perhaps their loss will mean something.
“We have lost Duzsia’s dust, and you have found a use for Klaria’s, including Izga’s arms. What of Izga and Zergoa’s dust?”
There is a long pause before Solgia replies. “We didn’t think, Lord. Zergoa’s dust should be at the bottom of the stake they tried to burn her at. Izga’s body should still have spears piercing it in the pit she fell into, although her slayers trophied her armour. This suggests they didn’t leave her body alone.” Solgia explains the path Izga took, followed by a description of the site of her death.
I forgive her, explaining she has had much more important things to take care of.
---
Three bodies with cloth over them are on one side of the cave, and the campfire is on the opposite side. A blackened pot swings from a tripod over the campfire, with one twin tending it. The other twin meets me before I can say a word, offering a bowl and spoon. I sweep my arm at her to fend off the offer.
“No, Lord. You must eat. The bodies are fine and can wait as we wrapped them in cured leather and stuffed them full of snow.” She chews a lip. “They are still stiff, Lord.”
I eat and walk. She follows while I leave the rest to chat, eat and warm themselves beside the campfire.
I stare at the two full-height and one short body.
“Double layers, Lord. Close stitching. No seam from each layer together.”
“Free Luda’s body first,” I mumble while pointing at the shorter of the three bundles.
I appreciate Zeria’s tenderness as she unwraps the first and then the second layer. Brushing down the ice, she places Luda’s body on the waiting spread-out first layer. Her action makes sense now. I thought her intent was simply to dry out the leather.
Does Zeria’s contempt for goblins take a secondary place to earning my favour, or is this simply a transaction? She doesn’t value Luda in terms of her race, but of her former position as my wife.
Examining Luda’s body reveals frozen fresh radiating from her neck and ankle. The deep, lasting finger depressions are a telltale mark. While I assume the twins packing of the bodies helped, the genuine agent of preservation had to be because of their cause of death. The freezing is an enduring state because of Diasha’s nature. The re-freezing of the otherwise melting snow was a helpful side effect.
I test each unwrapped corpse. My attempts to contact the nanorobots are a failure. Has Diasha destroyed them?
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