---REXA, HIGH PRIESTESS OF KLUG POV
After many ten days of failure, my guards don’t discreetly tell me their news. Instead, they take it upon themselves to parade their prisoner through the streets of Temple Town in celebration. They have convinced themselves that they have captured the plunderer of my pilgrims. They are fools.
Two days ago, they dragged the miserable goblin before me. His armour and clothes, worn out and threadbare in places, draped over him. Too big for him. Stolen or rescued from discards, most likely. Weaponless and not much of a threat. How could he have terrorised my pilgrims more than once, let alone for many ten days?
Many pilgrims swore a wild feline beast accompanied the goblin bandits, yet all we had was this pathetic creature. Somehow, my guards concluded that his ripping out of the throat of his sole victim was evidence enough. However, the goblin bandits never inflicted such barbarity on any of my pilgrims until our captive did.
The bizarre need for urns is the sole link between our skinny goblin terror and the bandits. But even this link needs clarification. He consumed the contents of the one he found there while the bandits fled with all of theirs.
---
My guards, one on either side, escort him barefoot into my Temple Hall. He wears a coarse woollen robe, maybe with a loin cloth underneath. Our prize prisoner seems content—a stark contrast from our first meeting.
While my first instinct was to order the guards and the prisoner slaughtered when they first presented their triumph, I resisted the impulse. My followers may not have appreciated my direct reaction. Instead, I ordered them to take him away and prepare him.
That decision led to a discovery.
Two days ago, his blood was, erm, confusing. Several crones and my analysis couldn’t determine which lineage dominated. This morning, the crones, without collusion, proclaimed his lineage as Lord Klug. Another mystery.
“Name?” I ask.
He throws me a defiant smirk. “I have some questions first.”
In unison, my two guards swing their sheathed swords, aiming for behind his knees. They are so coordinated that the goblin skips them both with perfect timing. The mocking chortle of the goblin ends when, moments later, the lash of my slaver’s whip slices through the woollen cloth on his back. The whip twitches again to force the goblin to take a knee.
“Name?” I ask.
“Zorottor Black Tooth, Chief of the Oath Keeper Goblins,” he states plainly, and I inwardly wildly laugh my arse off.
My blacksmith identified the armour as Oath Keeper. He stated that the crafting was exceptional, even if worn down by use. The owner was the last mystery. My captive, though, is too thin to fit the armour.
“You seem to be a shadow of your former self, chief? Or a liar?”
He growls as best he can in reply, “I am no liar. Hard times is all, and I am not ashamed to say, many days and nights lost in the valley forest.”
“Tell me your story, Chief Zorottor. Entertain me and explain yourself. You may well live.”
He confirms the rumour of goblin spies, although none, him included, have discovered who sent them. He has seen the beast, but wild and alone. According to him, the spies coated their weapons with poison, slaying his two troopers. This poison forced him into an unfortunate circumstance and his present condition. He apologised for his desperate action.
“An expertly woven tale.” I slow clap. Those about the hall murmur their agreement. “You forgot one detail, Zorottor Black Tooth, Chief of the Oath Keepers. What were you and your troopers doing skulking around our land?”
Several beads of sweat pop on his forehead.
A horn blast draws everyone’s attention.
---CASSIA HIPPOLYTA SUTLER, SCIENCE OFFICER OF THE GPA BATTLECRUISER LIONHEART POV
“No!” screams a female.
This desperate, pleading shriek penetrates and awakens me. A distraction. I release my kill early. The chunk of throat flesh missing is an exact match for my mouth, I note. The wound’s oozing red blood is the sum of my progress, yet I am certain a red smirk paints my green lips.
“Cahisu, why did you save us only to feed on us?”
Her sobbing is annoying. She is alone now on the field. After I am done with her, I will need to chase the many who fled. A hunt? A shiver of anticipation lightning bolts through my body. Shaking my head doesn’t erase these thoughts from my immediate desire. Why am I trying to do that?
“I am Galla. You must remember me, you must!”
She was one of the first pair. I quirk my head. My eyes find and examine the bloody mess at my feet. The throat is torn out. The red blood pooling, human blood.
My eyes catch hers, and her screaming stops. Has she been screaming all this time?
I remember impregnating her with his seed. She will give birth to a half-something. My avenging experiment. My joke. Yet, deep inside, something of what I was still called to me. The Science Officer, part. I am slaughtering my scientific experiment.
I lick my lips. The iron in this red blood ignites a primordial instinct and urges me forward. An easy kill before the hunt.
I need to spill, no, guzzle more red blood.
A stinging slap to my face draws my gaze. Swaying her head, she shrinks back and stumbles.
It is a moment of clarity. My scientific intellect resurfaces. I am a crew member of the GPA Battlecruiser Lionheart. I am civilised. I was once human.
Like a haze dropping, the urge to drink human blood fades.
She is still within arm’s reach when my sanity returns. Her sobbing face, tear tracks running down her face, stares up at me. My loss of control hits me in full force. What have I done to myself?
“Are you back?” she whispers. Her voice breaks.
“Yes,” I release a long breath.
“What now?” Her hands, palms up, wave about us.
I don’t need to observe what she points out. My victims.
“I must leave.”
---
I swim towards the final shore at dawn.
The previous shores and island hopping are behind me. Each taught me much about currents, endurance, and recovery. What I could and could not devour. How to defend myself from the creatures of this world’s ocean. The Lizardman tolerance for saltwater acted as a catalyst, enabling my nanorobots to extract water from the sea. Usefully, I won’t suffer from thirst.
Everything led up to this last part. The sea was widest here. Between the end of the island chain and the continent’s shore proper. In the distance, over the undulating waves, I can see trees!
A proximity alert sounds off in my ear. The heads-up display bleeps to pinpoint the location. The dot on the display attempts to scale with the intruder’s size, although not perfectly. Still, the size of the dot is large, the biggest yet.
I wait until the optimal range.
They are direct creatures. An alpha predator, jaws open wide, with multiple rows of teeth, shark-like but with a whale’s blowhole. I triangulate my aim between the creature’s eyes and its blowhole. I’m ready for a second attempt, but not a third. The creature might swallow me by then. This specimen is the largest I have seen. The dot didn’t lie.
An alpha. Territorial. How long has this creature determined who lives and dies? Prevented trespass.
I squeeze the trigger. I hit my target accurately as the explosive ammunition blasts open a large wound hole. Unfortunately, my death continues to bear down on me. I squeeze off another round, which precisely follows the path of the first. The benefit of advanced technology. Each round can paint the target for another round to follow.
The creature’s body rolls to one side and veers away. Wake waves roll over me. Shortly after, the carcass wallows as low waves wash against it. My environmental suit warns me of my high heart rate. The proximity alert sounds off.
I swim as fast as I can, without splashing, towards the shore. The carcass is bait, attracting every other predator in the nearby ocean.
From the shore I am swimming towards, a fleet of canoes launch. They race by me. The rhythmic drop and stroke of short paddles power the slim vessels. They glide over the waves, targeting the developing feeding frenzy.
When I reached shore, several returning canoes had beat me there. The goblins unload their catch and quickly launch again. They aren’t taking any meat from the alpha predator. They are fishing the predators, devouring the carcass.
I take my first stride on this continent, and every urgency stops. The hoots and hollering of the goblins celebrating their catch die in their throats! The general hive of activity, once busy securing the catch and relaunching their canoes, halts. These short green creatures who, before my arrival, stirred with purpose now do nothing but gape with open mouths.
“Continue!” I bellow.
Goblins lift their faces and cast sideward glances, and fearful half looks in my direction. Then, like a lumbering machine, the goblin activity winds up again. However, I notice the incoming canoes land further along the shore, giving my position a wide berth.
By noon, the carcass disappears, and the canoes return to shore. The fussing over the catch continues well past dusk, and several huge bonfires are lit on the sandy beach to continue the work.
My proximity alert sounds, and I swivel to face the intruder.
A female goblin child offers a fillet of fried or smoked fish by outstretching her arms.
The moment I take the offering, she scampers away. My eyes follow her. Her parents, I assume, wrap the child up in their embrace. While others sneak curious glances at me.
I strike inland, away from the goblin village. Lord Klar would not be here, I am certain.
---
A chatter wakes me in the morning instead of my proximity alert. I must have slept high in a tall tree.
I loosen the rope around my waist, which tied me to the broad tree branch, and climb to my feet. Below me are several goblins who abruptly stop pointing their fingers at me.
I hit the anti-grav module and then leap from the branch. The goblins scatter in every direction as I float downwards.
Several old females gingerly approach me while the rest keep their distance. I tap the side of my space helmet, and the opaque outer visor lowers to reveal my face.
The old female goblins thrust their faces into the ground. A whisper reaches my hearing, ‘Warrior Hob’.
“Stand,” I command. “Who is in charge of your village?”
“We are of several villages, Lord Warrior Hob. We must obey your will, oh great one. All goblins will die in your service if they must,” says one of the old females.
“What is different today from yesterday when a mere child approached me?”
“Lord, we assure you we obeyed. All the villagers worked into the night until we preserved and stored the bounty you delivered. No one has eaten from your boon except you.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Time to test a hunch. “When did the last Lord Warrior Hob command goblins?”
They share nervous glances. “We are humble fisherfolk unaware of the events on the vast plains and inland valleys. This is the first time in our memory that Lord Warrior Hob has been amongst us. You are a legend, and you are a myth. Your will be ours. All goblins bow before Lord Warrior Hob.”
The fervour suggests the Warrior Hob is their chosen leader, possibly the one who vanquishes their enemies. However, if needed, I reckon I could lead them into any battle, and they would willingly die for me.
“Follow,” I command. It suddenly dawns on me that the environmental suit distinguishes me as Lord Warrior Hob. Being a female hobgoblin doesn’t seem to be a factor, as none flinched because of my feminine voice or appearance. Living memory or the oral history of several generations has prepared them for my arrival.
I can conclude that the previous Lord Warrior Hob also wore an environmental suit, or perhaps even a combat suit. Any previous human visit to the planet’s surface could have left one behind. Maybe the original mining expedition did, although they would have left behind a specialist mining suit. Each variation shares the same need, water and sunlight, for function and renewal. Simultaneous is optimal.
As I enter the first village, a mass of goblin flesh seethes and roams around me. The number of goblins, though, would far exceed the number capable of living in this village. The news of my presence must have spread rapidly.
I check the status of the environmental suit, and while it is in optimal condition, the power level is lower than I would like. Goblins are small, yet a mass of them could knock me down. My need for a high power level to sustain a force field to resist that tragedy is currently an unpleasant reality.
The female elders lead and then usher me up a staircase of stone. Each step is narrow and of low height to suit goblins. I take two at a time and hope I don’t misstep. They curve around a large stone until the elders and I reach the flat top. From this vantage point, I observe this village and the coastline. The technology in the suit enhances my sight. Seven goblin fishing villages dot the coast. The number of fishing boats equalling the number of huts, hovels, and cottages. Even goblins have ranks from poor to rich. Civilisation always seems to result in haves and have-nots. I wonder how wide the gap is here?
Two hundred, maybe more fearful, goblin faces focus on me. They don’t utter a sound as I take the time to assess my environment and situation. An absolute obedience out of proportion to anything reasonable. I am a stranger in a strange land, yet their obedience to a legend dictates their actions.
---
“Are you going to speak or continue to spy?” I ask. My proximity alert had detected a presence. My suit even identified the intruder as a goblin instead of an unknown humanoid. It learns to better ensure the occupant’s survival. I wonder if the data is being transmitted back to the suit’s manufacturer, even on this far-flung planet from the centre of human civilisation.
A short distance from the villages, I found an east-west running stream. In the middle of the day, lying out in the stream on the smooth stone streambed, my environmental suit recharges and repairs itself.
“Lord Hob. Your speech. The elders were confused.”
Her meek voice, full of fear, is a wonder. The elders must have sent her. To question. To brave my wrath at such insolence. She must be expendable.
“What’s confusing about them continuing their way of life? Sharing my boon amongst them.”
Her footfalls result in a water splash. She is brave, from hiding in the tall grasses on the bank to entering the stream.
“The legends claim Lord Hob emerges to make war on evil and, once done, leaves peace and prosperity in his wake.”
I chuckle. “What do you and yours know of war? Weapon skills?”
She sniffs. “We fight off bandits all the time, seeking to steal our females and food. Those fishermen who spearfish in the rivers are our defenders.”
“And if they join my army, who will defend your villages then?”
“Aren’t bandits evil?” she squeaks.
“Possibly. But wouldn’t it be better if the bandits followed me into war? If they die there, they will certainly leave your villages alone.”
My proximity alert flashes. Fifteen male goblins and seven female goblins.
“I suppose. Anyway, I must report back.”
“No, you must draw closer and stand beside me. Now! I insist.” I sit up in the stream and stare into her fearful face. “You wish to disobey me?”
She shakes her head and takes a step towards me. I climb to my feet. She takes another step, and then her ears twitch. She peers into the tall grass and faces me, eyes wide. In an instant, she is beside me.
“They, how?” she stutters.
I extend the force shield around her and engage in camouflage mode.
Our guests did indeed use stealth to make their approach, or I suspected as much, given their slow advance.
“Lord Hob, where has your armour gone?” she whispers.
“Not gone, simply not appearing. Now hush. When they take me prisoner, you must run back to your village and assure the elders I am on my warpath, and they need not fear for me or themselves.”
---
The fall captive, take me to your leader, and then reveal my environmental suit in all its legendary glory, worked all the way up the plains and into each valley. This conserved lives and swelled the numbers of my army. Valley after valley identified the same evils—the ever-present scourge of slavery, of course, but also Klugites.
None mentioned Lord Klar until we had visited several valleys while trekking up the great plains. I guessed he would be there. This was my gamble confirmed, of course. From the heights of the various islands I swam to, I had assessed the major continent from afar. Three land masses had smashed together in the years of planet forming.
The middle land mass became the present-day plains. On the east side, the middle and eastern land masses were of equal density or near enough. They rose together to form an enormous, high-peaked mountain range. However, the western land mass fared poorly, to be submerged beneath the central land mass. The west edge of the middle land mass rose to form an enormous cliff face while also developing into a mountain range. Oddly, the western land mass was vast enough to result in a liveable area. In contrast, the coastline of the eastern landmass plunged directly into the sea.
From travellers and merchants, I discovered that Lord Klar was a favourite of and under the protection of Torngul Heartsplitter, Lord of the Grassplains. The ruler of Hobgoblin Valley. A valley that featured a vast plain if his title suggests anything.
The critical point was that Hobgoblins ruled this valley instead of goblins. This inherently made the valley a dangerous place for goblins. Klugites had also fled there, having recently endured a curse if the gossip proved true. All the pieces fit. Lord Klar would undoubtedly be in the eye of, if not the architect of, this storm.
The Klugites were a convenient group to name my enemy. My goblins had heard of their deeds over the years, and they became more horrific with each telling. Once my army makes war on this valley, I am certain Lord Klar will reveal himself. Then, we can discuss his future and my salvation, specifically the return of my human body.
---
“How has the scouting gone?”
The scruffy bandit leader’s head dips. “We haven’t discovered a path through the thick forest. Even keeps goblins out.”
“Disappointing,” I murmur. It seems there is only one way to advance into this valley.
“We have gifts, Lord Warrior Hob.”
“What can you drag into my comfortable tent tonight, my enterprising bandit?”
He darts out of my tent and returns alone after a long, insulting delay. The wide-grinning smile on his face is, I am sure, no match for my angry frown. Yet his confident bow before me is fearless.
“We have news, Lord Hob.” His head bobs up and down. “Our watch on the forest has paid off. Several parties of strangers, none associated with the army before us, have vanished into the darkness at the same place and not returned.”
His suspicion is sound. “They know a way through!” I whisper.
He grins in triumph. “I have sent a troop and another to follow the first. We will find this way for you.”
Then the slim, dark green-skinned goblin flashes pointed teeth in my direction and whistles. He and his band were my first sworn followers, the raiders of the goblin fisher villagers.
Hands bound, feet bound to permit small steps, a bedraggled hobgoblin crashes through the tent flaps. Behind him, four goblins with spears jab at him.
The prisoner’s presence reminds me of the original purpose of the meeting.
My bandit bows. “We have another two if this one expires under your questioning, Lord.”
The hobgoblin scrambles to his knees. He spits in my direction. “You lead this rabble?” he growls.
I ignore him and flash a broad grin at my bandit. “How did such a proud hobgoblin warrior fall to us?”
“Even hobgoblins need to pee, Lord. Something they insist on doing alone.”
I nod and slide out and up from my chair. Apparently, the Warrior Hob must do any lording from a proper chair, not that the prisoner will recognise me as such. My camouflage circuit has perfected an armour and clothes disguise.
“For a while, we’ve been spying on your army. You seem to be busy preparing for an assault. But all this does is block the entrance to the valley, one I wish to lead my army into. When is your army setting out to do anything?”
---MORRAGA, RETINUE WARRIOR OF STONE CORNER POV
Goreripper lifts her head and sniffs as she slows. I don’t urge her to haste; she is warning me.
Grabbing a fist of fur, I lift a leg over and slide down from her back.
“What does your wolf tell you now?” asks Vrozila. She and her wolf are behind us. Our scent disguises what Goreripper has smelt. I hold up a fist.
Arrow-nocked, I edge further along the narrow trail. A secret, or at least not so well-known, trail into Hobgoblin Valley. Something especially useful, when on a special mission for Milga Stone Blood the Fifth.
Creeping along the game trail, I am certain I pick up the scent Goreripper baulked on. Feline beast. Has a wild cat made the clearing its lair? It is a game trail. Perhaps it chased prey and now drinks from the river?
Further along the trail, I smell goblins. The gentle breeze blowing in my face picks up, and shortly after, I smell hobgoblin.
A clash of weapons, the ringing of a blade on a blade, startles me.
A deep belly laugh follows. What?
“You are improving, Mistress,” says a male voice. Goblin?
“We don’t have the time for you to train me until I master the weapon, but I don’t wish to seem useless,” replies a female voice. Hobgoblin?
“Have you decided whose audience we are seeking first?”
“My father would be best, and then he can introduce me, but it seems like a waste of time to travel to Hobgoblin Town and then double back.”
“You have met Lord Klar, though, have you not? Mistress?”
A lengthy silence ensues. Have they finished their practice?
“I was a girl, then. I doubt he would recognise me. His other head being fully engaged with his females.”
A boisterous chuckle erupts. “Yes, Lord Klar was known for sowing his seed.”
I scamper into the clearing with my nocked arrow loose and pointing down. As too many sets of goblin eyes and one set of hobgoblin eyes turn on me, it is the languorous roar of the giant cat that causes me to pause. My words catch in my throat.
Four goblins with dual-wielding daggers approach me while their hobgoblin mistress leans against her feline beast as we do with our wolves. They have formed a bond.
“I can introduce you to Lord Klar,” I say in haste while retreating a couple of steps.
They stare past me, and a moment later, Goreripper growls on my right and Vrozila and her wolf advance on my left.
“Introductions,” says the female hobgoblin. “You first, since you are the intruders.”
What difference does that make? I let it go.
“Fine.” I grip the arrow and bow in one hand, and with a flourish of the other, I say, “I am Morraga, Retinue Warrior of Milga Stone Blood and well known to Lord Klar.” Not completely true, but the hobgoblin doesn’t need to be aware of that fact.
“Well met. I am Zinia, daughter of Lord Torngul Heartsplitter, Commander of the Goblin Guards of Hobgoblin Town.”
I disguise my mirth in a cough. Her title wins if the number of words is the measure. Her jutting chin, daring me to challenge her superiority, is a warning. She is a child, yet the powerful beast supporting her would make anyone pause.
Waving at Vrozila, I say, “We are journeying the same way, then. We have a message to deliver to Lord Klar, and you are most welcome to join us. As I said, we could introduce you to him.”
---
Vrozila and I led the way, at their insistence, in single file because of the terrain. We crossed the river and threaded a path via game trails and clearings through the forest and foothills under the shadow of the eastern mountains, which defined this side of the valley. We also skirted around any cultivated fields on this side of the river.
On the evening of the third day, Vrozila and I were certain we had arrived at Lord Klar’s village or township. The giveaway was the round fort on the hill above the village—the only one of its kind in this valley.
We didn’t strike a campfire that night. Vrozila and I were thankful for our extra blankets and our wolves for warmth.
---
Staring at the open gate, both Vrozila and I wait. The female hobgoblin guards didn’t seem intimidated by our wolves, which unsettled us but had to be endured. Perhaps bonded wolves were common in this valley. Beyond the gate, a thinnish female hobgoblin approaches. Her eyes inspect us as she takes each step.
“Welcome to Lord Klar’s village. One of you may follow me to meet him.”
The stroll through the village and towards the round fort was in silence. No deliberate hostility existed. She seemed lost in thought.
“We aren’t meeting in the fort?” I ask as she leads me onwards.
She shakes her head and leads me to a large cottage, perhaps a storage shed, opening the door and waving me in.
A tall yet youthful hobgoblin, who I assume is Lord Klar, pauses his pacing and welcomes me with a handshake. The table we settle at has water, cheese, and some apples to share. Far from a grand banquet.
“Lord, you and your servant seem preoccupied, so I will be direct.”
He nods, yet I am uncertain if he will heed my words.
“There are two armies currently encamped at the mouth of the valley.”
His face seems to awaken as he finds mine. “Two armies, you say. Any chance they will fight each other?” He chuckles.
“A possibility, of course. One belongs to the High Priestess of Lord Klug, while…”
“Which High Priestess?” I frown as he continues, “Two exist, one in this valley and another located further north.”
“The one further north. We have been trailing them to see who they intend to attack, Lord. It seems Hobgoblin Valley.”
“No, not Hobgoblin Valley, the second High Priestess, which should work out, win or lose for us all.”
There is no concern on his face, no tensing of his body. This news is a nothing to him. What occupies his thoughts, I wonder?
“Lord, there is the matter of the second army. Goblins from different tribes, unfamiliar or feuding but united. Their leader hasn’t been sighted, but there are rumours. Someone Milga reckoned you would be interested in. The Warrior Hob.”
Lightning strikes him. He bolts upright in his chair, his eyes wild. His sudden wrenching of my arm forward, his grip almost bone-breaking, causes me to yelp in pain. His eyes, a nose length away, bore into mine.
“What is certain?” he inquires. His growl sends a shot of raw fear down my spine.
“Only what the occasional soldier we snatch says. Wild in their belief that they are serving a Warrior Hob on a warpath. Please, Lord, release me.”
“Sorry.” He releases my arm and drops back into his seat once again.
“They have numbers, Lord, but aren’t otherwise an army, more like many goblins travelling in the same direction.”
His head rises. “That doesn’t diminish the threat.”
“We noticed something amiss when the herds migrating north were thinned from previous seasons. An army needs to be fed.”
“All sizes or the smaller animals?”
I quirk my head. “All sizes.”
“So how do you presume the goblins slaughter the bigger animals? Something or someone as powerful as the Warrior Hob would bolster their efforts, don’t you reckon?”
I swallow. “I will convey your theory to Milga, Lord.”
He sinks into deep contemplation again, and I can only surmise his nod acknowledges my intent. I push the chair back and climb to my feet. At that moment, I remember another duty. “Travelling with me is Zinia, daughter of Lord Torngul Heartsplitter, Commander of the Goblin Guards of Hobgoblin Town, who also requires an audience with you.”
He waves a hand. “Solgia will see to it.”
---
Our silent march back to the gate is intolerable. Milga led me to presume Lord Klar would warmly welcome any of her followers.
“What ails your Lord?” My hand grabs her arm to swing her around to face me. Being shorter, I need to look up. My scowl, I hope, conveys my desperation and demand for an answer.
“Fate has sent a doom upon us. Our destruction will probably be a race between the Warrior Hob and the Abomination.” A hand on my shoulder and a radiate smile return to her face. “Knowing Lord Klar’s good fortune, he will probably send one to destroy the other.”
“The Abomination?”
“She commands the cold and snow and has already taken two of Lord Klar’s wives from him. We have sent an expedition to save a third but haven’t heard from them yet. They are overdue.”
“Tell Lord Klar that we are remaining in this valley and will report anything we find that could aid him.”
She nods. As we mount, I tell her Zinia will shortly pay Lord Klar a visit.