---Lord Klar
The scribe’s legs dangle as her complexion takes on a darker shade of green.
“She is your charge. What say you?” I growl. From the corner of my eye, I note with satisfaction that Solgia’s body shivers.
“At least lower her so she may speak in her defence, Lord Klar.” Her voice is a squeak. She rightly guesses the level of my displeasure.
My fingers toy with Scribe Shiliga’s neck. Her quick pants to suck in air at least proves she would rather live than die.
We are eye to eye. “Do you deserve a second chance?”
She nods with as much vigour as my grip on her neck permits. Tears roll down her cheeks.
“We shall see,” I say as I lower her and release my grip.
Without massaging her neck, she drops to my feet and grabs for my right leg. “I will do nothing unless you command it, Lord Klar. I promise, I swear.”
“Take her from my presence and tell her what she must do to atone for her misguided inspiration.”
The two scribes, one supporting the other, scramble from the hut. Somehow, the former storage hut became my main meeting office.
---
“You three, what have you to say?”
Vorlora, Gorgrin and Drulag stand before me. Sent in after the scribes had left.
Vorlora chuckles. I step forward and raise my hand to strike. She bends over, laughing louder. Gorgrin and Drulag step back, sharing a worrying glance between them.
“What?” I growl.
“Sorry, Lord. Duzsia is, well, advising me. She says you are missing an opportunity. Dismiss Gorgrin and Drulag. They have done nothing but follow your orders and bear no blame.”
Both correct the relief on their faces as my gaze falls on them. I wave them away, and they hurry out of the hut.
“Well?”
“She says that Klugite dust is becoming known. Advantages, once whispered, are now proven. Did you not detect the swagger and confidence in Zinia when she visited? A mere whelp of a girl, parading around as if she grasped all the world’s secrets. So confident she shared with you her takedown of the two strangers carrying dust and boasting about the dust she liberated from ignorant Klugite pilgrims.”
I strum the table with my fingers. “It would explain the loyalty of her goblin companions and, if she spoke the truth, her tiger. A secret source of strength would embolden one so young.”
The back of Vorlora’s hand caresses my cheek. My eyes flash in her direction.
“Duzsia says you need to relax,” she purrs.
I raise my eyebrows. “With you?”
“Oh no, Lord. The Grandmaster of the Assassins.” Her fingers toy with my tusks. “She must have been aware of the goblin assassin in the ice. Her husband, maybe? The concentration of nanorobots in his blood and the resultant benefits would be difficult to hide. Then there is her cheek. She is female, and speaking from experience, all females aspire to be whole. Win her to your side.” Her hand squeezes my groin while her lips devour mine.
She breaks the kiss with impeccable timing. Duzsia.
“I offer her the goblin assassin’s dust. The dust of Izga?”
She chuckles. “Your seed as well. Instructions on healing and how to truly take advantage of your dust. Win her, win her assassins. You can decide afterwards if you need another wife. For now, another fanatical ally will do.”
Duzsia is right, of course. My silly young scribe has done me a great service. What Vorlora has done is more significant. She has awakened me. Losing Koria, Luda and others, the invincibility of the Abomination has weighed me down. Diasha, Diasha, Diasha, you must have limitations. She didn’t rush across the valley to pursue my other wives; otherwise, many would have fled before her. Such a happening would swiftly spread far and wide. Given the time that has passed between my wives being slayed and the goblin assassin’s slaying, she must have kept to the mountain snow and journeyed to this side of the valley that way. If so, warmth could be a weakness.
“Let’s hope my scribe succeeds, then.”
Her head drops to one side. “You won’t take charge of negotiations?”
“No. Not unless all is lost.” My hand cups her cheek. “Send in Milga’s retinue warriors. They have news apparently worth listening to.”
“Yes, Lord.”
---
I greet them standing, offering the warriors a seat at the table that dominates the single-room cottage.
Like me, Morraga lounges on a chair while the other leans on the doorjamb. The standing one, Vrozila, if I remember her name, seems nervous. Her eyes dart about the nondescript room as if every corner hides an enemy. Morraga, though, relaxes as I do. She pours us both a mug of mead.
“I was told you have some information.”
“Yes, Lord.” A sly smile escapes from between her lips. “For just compensation.”
“As long as you allow me to judge, it’s worth it.”
She nods and recalls the passing ceremony, the pyre for Clan Head Jarlgren’s sons. The mutters of betrayal by a creature, hobgoblin in appearance but ice cold. He agreed to an alliance, but apparently purely to see the creature gone from his Clan Hall. The creature was last seen heading towards the high mountains, and his regret was that he didn’t have it followed.
“Why do you surmise the Beastbane females tossed a slave’s body on the pyre? Wouldn’t that be a desecration?”
She sips from her mug and shrugs. “They hate their Clan Head or hate his sons? The slave’s body was rags and bones, a nobody.”
Morraga, with goblin senses, didn’t notice, but my nanorobot-enhanced senses did. Vrozila’s fingernails dig into the doorjamb covertly. Yet resolutely.
“A slave of Clan Beastbane or a worthless, pathetic stray of some visitor?”
I hear Vrozila’s teeth grind. Morraga’s eyes twitch. Did she hear?
“Hardly. The Clan would have slain such a pathetic creature and thrown her into the forest for beasts to maul. A waste of valuable food for the likes of her.”
“The Beastbane females must have truly hated their Clan Head and his sons to pollute the pyre with such a foul corpse.”
Morraga and I swivel our heads in perfect unison to catch the flush of green fury on Vrozila’s face.
“What do you know about this slave?” I growl.
“Yes, my lover, who previously appreciated myself better than I while coupled, but after that ceremony, seemed like someone new.”
Vrozila heaves her body against the door, which doesn’t budge. I climb out of my chair and stroll towards her, Morraga at my side.
As my fingers curl around her slim goblin neck, the pain of a dagger slash erupts from my forearm.
“Drop the dagger before I ram it up between your legs,” I snarl.
A weaker slash draws more of my blood as my grip tightens around her neck, and her body rises.
A realisation washes over her face. She remembers something from her past, perhaps. She recognises this move of mine. I am certain. Her dagger falls to the floor with a dead clunk as her eyes widen. The shallow cut on my arm is healing, while the deeper slash no longer bleeds.
“What are you?” asks Morraga as Vrozila’s dropping jaw tries to recall speech.
“You journeyed with Zinia for a time, didn’t you?” I sense her nodding. “She may or may not have told you, but she consumed the dust of Klugite worshippers, which enhanced her. I have been doing something similar for much longer.”
Morraga’s fingers trace the shallow slash on my forearm. Now, a line of light green mended flesh.
“He is not Lord Klar,” screams Vrozila. My grip tightens.
“You are not Vrozila!” I retort.
Morraga peers at and examines Vrozila. “She appears the same, yet?” Morraga squeezes one of her own breasts, trying to recall an intimate moment, perhaps.
“Please leave, Morraga. Getting the answers I require will be messy.”
“I… I can’t. We are of Milga’s Retinue. I can’t leave her behind.”
“She is no longer a loyal servant of Milga Stone Blood. Vrozila is no longer with us.” I jiggle the imposter. “Is she?”
Morraga casts a dark stare at me.
“Inform Milga when you see her next that Lord Klar told you to trust him. She will believe you.”
She examines me and then the imposter. I knock on the door, and as it cracks open, Morraga flees. I assume this is to prevent her from having second thoughts.
---
“Who am I?” I ask my plaything.
She sucks in a deep breath as I ease my grip. Her face contorts and twists as she screeches. “You are an impossibility. Lord Farmer Hob.”
I chuckle and share a wide smile with her. “Who is Lord Farmer Hob?”
With venom, she replies. “Also called Lord Klug. The destroyer of my family.” She gulps.
“Klugites worship Lord Klug. I am aware of that much, and they don’t seem to worship me now. In fact, they are a troublesome lot, as far as I am concerned.”
A flash of doubt crosses her face. A quirk of her head. “No. No! I am right about this. You are Lord Klug. Zeb Stone Grim!” My face must betray me. “Koria Keen Eye and Luda! You recognise these names, don’t you, Lord Klug?”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Yes, I do, Suda the Faithful. I assume somehow reborn.” Was being reborn a Flint Arrows trait? Milga and now Suda.
“Many times, always into a hard life. Slave. A used daughter. A child of poor parents or one parent. I presumed this was my punishment.”
“For being a scheming wife and traitorous mother,” I scowl.
“No, you filth, for failing to rescue my family from you,” she screams into my face.
I pace about the hut, imagining her head smashed and bloody against a wall, except I realise she will be reborn.
“I can’t have you spreading lies, so I will rip your tongue out, crush your fingers, and cut your ankles.” Colour drains from her face. “I will arrange for someone to feed you and ensure you live a long, miserable life.”
“No! This is my best body ever! I can’t endure returning to a life of starvation and abuse. I will tell you how I stole this body. Why I needed to. Anything?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Anything?”
She gulps. Her nod is slow.
“Tell me of your past lives.”
She begins with her first ‘seeing the light’. Her confusion and then realisation. I tell her to skip her lives until she talks about the Abomination. How Diasha grabbed her spirit. How she changed tethers. The burning of her body and then her search for one of her blood. It would stand to reason that Milga Stone Blood would be home to several tribes from the valley, including Flint Arrows. Suda’s kin, a reasonable probability.
The description of Diasha and her weakness away from snow confirms my suspicion. The first glimmer of hope.
“I will submit to being your wife.”
I almost miss her offer, being deep in my own thoughts. Planning the Abomination’s destruction, for example. How can I lure Diasha out of the mountains and trap her until the sun melts her out of my life?
“What? No! I reckon you should become somebody else’s problem. You both will have lots to discuss.”
Her bottom lip drops. “But I told you everything to escape being a cripple. You tricked me.”
I clamp down on her throat. “I will not cripple you, that I promise. He, though, may have other ideas.”
---
They eye each other with suspicion. Meeting them in this hut is deliberate on my part to show that this won’t involve any coupling. The chat will be about something else.
“How can I answer you?” asks Tinuna.
“We try to manipulate what we don’t truly comprehend,” offers Linmere.
I stomp away from them; otherwise, I could do something terrible. They have been receiving my seed daily, without fail. They were to be instrumental in my defeating the Abomination. Using their magic.
I slap the wall of the hut and repeat my words. “A simple request. Stop someone from speaking for a day. Using your magic.”
“Magic?” they ask in unison. Then they giggle.
In an instant, I’m across the room, my hands squeezing their throats. With both gasping for breath and faces blank, I slam them against the hut’s wall.
“You consume my seed and evoke envy in others because of that attention. You don’t want for food, drink or clothes. It is time you convince me you are still worth keeping alive.”
Their necks stiffen or not. A force surrounds and repels my grip. I counter by squeezing. The contest continues to turnabout until they can counter no more. Beads of sweat pop from their foreheads. Both gasping for breath. What are they telling me? Their lives must be in danger for them to use magic. Not danger, but striving under pressure or the weight of expectation. That inspires an idea.
“You will report to Zeria and Zoria and assist them in their merchant trade. You will obey the twins or suffer my wrath.”
They should develop many magical techniques to shortcut many of the tasks the twins set them to escape punishment for failure. I send Tigliga ahead of them with a note so the twins have a clear comprehension of the power they have over Tinuna and Linmere.
---
The contract with her signature is on the table between us. We stare at each other. The angry scar on her cheek draws my attention. She notices, of course and a green intensity colours her face.
“Mine and I have agreed to serve you, yet your scribe said she couldn’t sign on your behalf. What more do you want?”
“Some unwritten conditions.”
Her smallish goblin hands grip the edge of the table. A tactic to contain her anger, perhaps.
“What conditions? Speak plainly and let this be done.”
Next to the skin of mead, I place a bulging fine leather bag.
“I offer you the contents of the bag. A gift.”
She eyes the bag and sniffs. Then stiffens.
“I recognise the scent,” she gasps.
“Of your husband?”
She shakes her head. “No, the upstart who defeated my husband and I and claimed rulership over us all.”
“How could he possibly manage that?” I ask.
She licks her lips and takes a swig of mead from her mug. Her eyes never leave the bag.
“We wondered how,” she whispers.
“I offer you the bag’s contents on the condition you must accept my seed as well.” She drags her eyes from the bag to find mine. Her eyes are wide in disbelief. “Frequently.”
“What? No. Why? You have many others if the rumours are true,” she mumbles.
“Call it another gift.” My face oozes smugness.
She takes another swig of her mug. “One gift is enough to ensure my loyalty, Lord Klar.”
“Oh, this gift isn’t to ensure your loyalty.” I grab her by the chin and drag her across the table. Her punching of my wrist eases when our noses are a finger width apart. I drag the finger of my free hand along the scar on her cheek. “This gift will restore your beauty.”
Her face casts many emotions; hope, though, dominates as her hands go limp and tears pool in her eyes. I release my grip, and she slides back into her chair.
“My scar?”
I offer her my hand. She accepts and coyly shuffles around the table until we are face to face. Lifting her onto the table, she has enough presence of mind to tug at the belt holding her leather pants in place. I drop my pants in time to tug her pants free, returning to remove her loin cloth.
She lays back, shutting her eyes. I slap her bare bottom. Her eyes snap open.
“Better,” I say and then advance towards her.
---
“This had better be important,” I curse.
To her credit, Vorlora doesn’t flinch. She nods in confirmation.
I drag my loincloth and pants back on. For some reason, the Guildmaster and I have kept our shirts on through several bouts of coupling. Vorlora’s loud sniffing, a not-so-subtle hint.
“Will she be well enough?” Vorlora points towards the exhausted Guildmaster, naked below the waist, huddled in a corner of the hut.
“I don’t suspect she will disturb us if that is what you are asking.”
Vorlora shrugs and cracks open the door to receive something. The something is a goblin. Clothes are basic. A leather sleeveless coat. Soft leather britches. Arms and legs bound, she is a bundle at Vorlora’s feet.
“We caught her snooping on the fort. Yesterday, she strolled the length and breadth of the village but purchased nothing and, at dusk, returned to the forest.”
By we, I assume Klaria and/or Duzsia picked up her unusual behaviour and then informed Vorlora.
With my foot, I push her over until I can see her face. Dropping to my haunches, I study our spy. Well-fed and young but with callused hands and several scars suggest she has lived rough. She hasn’t spoken a word, so she grasps the importance of keeping her mouth shut.
“I doubt she will talk, and I can’t be bothered to persuade her,” I say as I climb to my feet. “Slit her throat and feed her to the boars.”
As Vorlora squats to scoop her up, she screams in protest while struggling.
“Shut up, bitch!”
I glance over my shoulder to witness a half-dressed Sibia stretching like a satisfied cat and slinking along to join Vorlora and I.
“You have no pants,” squeaks our death row prisoner, who then sniffs deeply. Her face shone a bright green shortly after.
“Mm, you wouldn’t either if it means receiving his seed more often.” Her hand slides along the inside of her thigh and then smears whatever she collects across the lips of our helpless prisoner.
The face of our prisoner reminds me of someone dying of thirst, taking their first sip of water. She grabs back Sibia’s hand and licks it between her fingers.
“Tell him everything you know, and I may share more of his seed with you.”
Sibia squats in front of our prisoner, deliberately positioning herself so the prisoner can appreciate the view of Sibia’s naked loins.
Niba, the bandit, was most forthcoming. She is a scout for the army of the Warrior Hob. Proficient in spear and bow. They are on the warpath to free all goblins from slavery, destroy the evil Klugites, and locate a hobgoblin, me. They found a secret way through the forest by following others. None wanted to follow her to my village. They had already learnt I lived in the valley, which was all the confirmation the Warrior Hob needed. She, of all of them, wanted to win higher praise by finding and describing my settlement. Confirm my presence.
The delirious look on Niba’s face convinced me my seed had a seductive potency. Niba confirmed this in a roundabout way when she offered me her virginity. Instead, I told her I would order her to be freed in a couple of days. I also suggested that if she ever wanted to return, she would need to exchange her life for valuable information.
After the hut door closes, Sibia’s hands are at work loosening the belt holding up my pants. I strangle her hands with one of mine, grabbing her attention.
“Have you been willing and imagining your cheek mended and smooth?”
“Yes, Lord Klar. I smear your seed on my cheek and capture your seed in my mouth as well. I wish to be whole as soon as possible.” Her hands struggle against my grip.
“Enough!”
Her hands fall away, and she sulks as if a petulant child. “Have I offended you? Are you now bored with me? You prefer the young virgin bandit instead?”
“Has my seed addled your brain? You are a Grandmaster of Assassins. Stop thinking with your loins.”
She stamps her foot. “How can I? Your seed invades my body and spreads beyond my loins. The energy in your seed creates a need. I have seen goblins demanding mead and never being satisfied. Your seed penetrates my very being.” The Grandmaster of Assassins then drops to her knees and sobs.
Grabbing her shoulders, I make her stand before me. “This will be fleeting. Before that, you must consume all the dust in the bag. It is best for you to be naked when done and find a friend to watch over you.” I hand her the bag of dust.
Her lip trembles. “What have you done to me?”
“Nothing bad. Remember the one who defeated you and your husband? Not only will you consume his dust, but you also carry my live seed. Now obey.”
She rushes past me. I cough. She then remembers her pants.
---
I re-read the parchment before me. Note again the signature of the Grandmaster of Assassins. A knock on the door interrupts my reflection, which I welcome. I expect this visitor.
Shiliga slinks into the hut and seals the door behind her.
“Lift your head, face me.” Her eyes meet mine. “Your need for adventure, disobeying my orders, must be tested. Do you agree?”
“I will do what you command of me, Lord Klar.” She surprises with a small courtesy.
“We have a prisoner—a scout, a spy if we are being truthful—and I command you to accompany her.”
“If that is your command, I obey.”
I slap the table. The sudden sound makes her jolt. “Less absolute obedience and more independent thought. I am on the verge of sending you to your death. To survive, you will need to plan and plot.” I sigh and wave to her, inviting her to sit at the table. “You will act as the scout’s captive. A scribe who is close to me, who knows certain secrets.”
Her lips tremble, and tears pool in her eyes. “But I do, Lord. What if I…”
“You won’t.” I raise a hand for her to stop. “I will prepare you.” My hand shifts a bag on the table to rest under her eyes.
“Is that dust?”
“You will start as a captive, but you must win the trust of the Warrior Hob and prove your worth to him. Submit to him, possibly. You will return to me once you determine you can learn no more.”
“What if they discover I am a spy?”
“You swore to obey me, did you not?” She nods. “I expect you to command your body to kill itself.”
She gulps but nods.
We spend the next day coupling, and I ask Solgia to wait with her after she consumes the dust. The day after, my seed and the dust transformed her. I promptly extinguished her overconfidence that same day, extolling the importance of humility to enhance her chance of survival. She will be no warrior, so she must depend on keeping her wits about her. Enhancing her hearing and sense of smell, for example, to at least compete with the goblins in the Warrior Hob’s army.
In the morning, before she leaves, she shows her control by commanding her nanorobots to eliminate all the hair on her body except for her eyebrows and head. If needed, she will destroy her heart, but no more. I didn’t want her dust captured. She consumed Grolgia’s dust, which was not as valuable as the dust of Koria or Luda but was still beneficial.
---
The door opens, and the Grandmaster of Assassins rushes towards me.
She is full of energy and delightful smiles, and three paces away, she leaps at me. I could step back, but I decide to catch her. Her arms wrap around my neck, and her lips and tongue devour mine.
I grab her arms and force her loose. Before she pouts, I deposit her into a chair at my table. With one hand on the back of her chair and the other on the table, I lean over her, a finger width separating our noses.
“We have business to conduct.”
She pouts, of course. “I miss you.”
“No. You miss my seed. Any intimate feelings you have about me may exist deep down, but for now, you crave my seed and nothing else.”
She folds her arms. “Of course, I have feelings for you, silly. Don’t you believe me?” She flutters her eyelashes.
“Why wouldn’t I trust the word of an assassin?”
She pokes her tongue out. “Now you are mocking your one true love. It is completely unacceptable since I am in mourning, having recently lost my husband. Your embrace rescued me from despair. Don’t underestimate how you saved me.”
I nod and retreat to my side of the table. “Business now, though. I am about to release a couple of sons of Clan Head Jarlgren. One or more of your assassins will shadow them and report on their reunion with their father.”
“Is that all? Certainly.” She leaps across the table, and her lips are again on mine. She then nips my lower lip, drawing blood. Her eyes roll back in her head, her body flops back onto the table, and silence fills the room.
Several heartbeats pass before her eyelids flutter. Her eyes find mine, and then she licks her lips.
“Are you recovered?”
Tears fall from her eyes. “You have made me so happy, Lord Klar. Why didn’t you tell me your blood is pure Klugite?”
“I didn’t presume it was important.” Not an outright lie, I tell myself. After all, Oath Keepers treasure their own lineage. Drulag chases Duzsia, the Relentless lineage. I am certain Milga keeps her own lineage pure.
“We are all Karo and Ligia lineage, which had benefits and allowed us to survive many generations. Some activated our nanorobots, as you call them. To be Grandmaster, you needed to. But we always hunted for pure Klugite blood. We hoped that nanorobot activation would be easier and strengthen us if we could find one such as you.” She wipes the tears from her eyes. “Lord, can I please drink some more? Whatever you ask of me, and mine will never be too much, I promise.”
“Lay down on the table and open your mouth.” I shove my thumb into her mouth and slash the thumb open on one of her teeth. Her saliva will counter my blood clotting somewhat. I command my nanorobots to not heal until she has her fill.
She falls asleep. Does blood intoxication exist? I withdraw my thumb and command my nanorobots to heal. My mouth is dry, and as I reach for mead, I grab the water skin off the nearby wall instead.
I could carry her back to her people or let her recover in a chair outside the hut. Instead, I leave her in the hut and wander off to visit the wet nurse Mora and my sons.
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.