---LINMERE, SHIFTER OF THE GPA SCOUT SHIP POV
“Have you finished the sharpening yet?” hisses the full, round-bellied Zeria waddling into view. “They are trusting us to have the tools ready.” She bends over with a grunting effort, selects a pick, and runs a finger along the sharp edge. Inspecting her finger, she then stares at me. “You realise Lord Klar gave your arse to me and my twin, right? Anything he said. I even have my authority in writing.” She shakes her head. “You must have deeply disappointed him, and I can see why. Three days, two tools. At this rate, the Snow Months will be well and truly over, and you will be at best, halfway through.”
The sharpening wheel I sense grins at me. The pedals lay still at my feet. Physical labour could well be the death of me, I conclude.
Zeria reaches for a three-tail lash hanging from the wall. I don’t protest and lift my shirt to expose my back.
Fortunately, we are in the back of their shop, if you can call a vast tent, divided down the middle by a wooden log wall, a respectable place of business. One side is customer-facing, and the other is the workroom or, to Tinuna and I, the torture room. The torture room is now divided, originally by a tent cloth as a temporary measure, later by another wooden log wall built by Tinuna and I under the twins’ supervision. The twins trade anything and everything. They quickly profit by buying and selling from anyone who approaches them. The customer’s first mistake, as far as Tinuna and I are concerned.
The Old Crone gazes on in sympathy. She is considering other ways to rescue me by developing my magic. Personal enhancement using the nanorobots is the easiest manipulation, of course. I have become adept at healing. I am working on pain control while trying to make sure my cries of pain sound genuine.
I stretch out and place my hands on the sharpening wheel, exposing my back. Twenty lashes later, and I am sobbing, rivulets of blood ooze out of the wounds. Zeria has the knack of striking the same line and length more than once. I drop to my knees after the flailing once again and curse my weakness. How can I subject myself to these primitives?
“Get back to it. At this rate, you will be down to one meal a day, naps and work. Do better.” Zeria hesitates as she heads back to the shop’s customer side. “Crone, follow me. She must fix herself. You need to wander about the village and drum up some business. Earn your keep.”
“Lord Klar didn’t include my name on the parchment,” she states doggedly.
“No, he didn’t. But I am sure he will if I denounce you as a distraction. Then see how much time you can spend with your brat or worse, sympathise with Linmere and encourage her failure.”
The Old Crone spares me a glance, but we both realise there is no rescue from this torture. Pregnancy must make mothers to be grouchy. I am warming up to the condition if it allows this sort of behaviour.
---TINUNA, SHIFTER OF THE GPA OBSERVER SHIP POV
“I cannot swing the axe again.” I throw the tool to the ground and pout at Xoria. She smiles and leans back to stretch, pushing her enormous, round belly forward and out.
“The axe can’t be the problem. Linmere sharpened it yesterday.” I notice her deliberate smirk. “Your motivation can’t be the problem, considering Lord Klar has sanctioned anything I can dream up. What excuse do you have now?”
“My hands have blisters on blisters. The axe handle has more of my skin than my hands!”
“I noticed your gloves on the ground. Didn’t I mention not wearing them as a mistake?”
I advance on the bitch and splay out my hands. “The gloves don’t fit right, the axe slips, and the handle strikes the wood instead of the head. The jarring then travels up my arms.”
She peers at my hands. “Nasty. I suggest you heal them, put your gloves on, and swing the axe. This tree won’t fell itself.”
“We don’t need another log,” I say with emotion.
“No, we don’t. Fortunately, selling logs all cut to the same length will be a business opportunity for the shop. My sister and I can take advantage of this. Hence why you are.”
I absorb the light drizzle on my face and fuel my nanorobots, directing them to heal my hands again. I then slip my hand into one glove and do likewise with the other hand.
“Can’t you mumbo jumbo the gloves to be smaller once on your hands?” she quips.
“No. There is no mumbo jumbo. I could remove the moisture, perhaps, make the gloves slightly smaller, but they would be stiff then,” I hiss and then pick up the axe again.
“Thirty lashes minus one for each log you have cut at the right length by dusk today. I need to return to the shop in case Zeria dallies while motivating Linmere to ensure we open on time.”
---REXA, HIGH PRIESTESS OF KLUG POV
What now, I try to imagine! A second and third horn blast sounds and reverberates through the Temple.
Many who watched with glee now scatter like fowl with their heads cut off. My prisoner, though, seems relaxed. Perhaps he can enlighten me.
“Who is at my door, Chief of the Oath Keeper Goblins?” I ask.
His bold grin doesn’t reassure me. “Why, I suspect another who claims herself as the rightful High Priestess is sallying to challenge your presumption as the religious head of the Klugites.”
“If she is like me, I presume win or lose your life will be forfeit. Either as my petty revenge before I escape or celebrating my victory.” With a swish of my robes, I nod to his two guards. They drag him away, a worried confusion adorning his healthy, plump face.
---
His boots striking the stone floor with each step warn me of his approach. None of my servants seem to have kept their composure to announce him. At least the armour and weapons of the hobgoblin suggest he is in command of my army, such as it is.
“High Priestess, we have an army on our doorstep, or more precisely at the entrance to the valley, blocking the pilgrim route, isolating us.”
“Are they advancing to attack or camping? I assume if they did advance, we don’t have enough soldiers and others to repel them?”
He nods abruptly. “We have a start. With the aid of able pilgrims, we could guard the wall around the town, but food is our biggest issue. Our stores are low, and as soon as they surround us, within one ten days, we would need to surrender.”
Without intending to, I vocalise my thoughts. “If they blockade us, wouldn’t they also blockage the merchants from Hobgoblin Town? If so, we could purchase any food they carry.”
“A mighty plan, High Priestess. Who will visit Lord Torngul as your emissary?”
“I admit the urgency will need my attendance. Can I trust you to hold things together while I am away, although you will tell others I am meditating, asking Lord Klug to answer my prayer?”
“Certainly, my High Priestess.”
His immediate agreement is a concern, but I need to attend to Torngul Heartsplitter, Lord of the Grassplains. I can’t see any other way to ensure an ideal outcome.
---LORD TORNGUL HEARTSPLITTER POV
I throw the read report down at my feet and glare at my daughter, my Commander of the Goblin Guards of Hobgoblin Town.
“She or they are a day from my doorstep. How can we prepare to avoid appearing feeble and undefended?” I growl while shaking my head. Disappointment is consuming me.
“Father,” she says.
“Not at this moment,” I retort.
“Lord Torngul, all is as it should be.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “What makes you say that?”
“A minimal number of priestesses and a reasonable number of soldiers escort her. We have observed that they cart the bare minimum of stores with them. They travel light.”
I hold up my hand. “They hardly have far to travel.”
“You miss the point, Lord. There are no delicacies as would befit a High Priestess, let alone her entourage. We know the two armies at the entrance to the valley, so one or both could block their pilgrim route. The primary source of their coin and other goods.” She folds her arms. “We don’t need to impress with swords and spears, but food.”
“What if we show them nothing of our army, and they return with theirs?”
“They have already seen our army, or at least a goblin patrol, which surprised them, and then they asked about their business. Once our guests are in the city, they will see a squad of hobgoblin warriors patrolling—those we liberated from Sakvorpa. Meanwhile, we will prepare a feast, where you can dine on your fine food and boast of your army and riding boars into battle to slay all our foes.”
As my daughter leaves my presence, I glance at my wife. “Send word of our unbidden guest.”
---SHILIGA, SCRIBE OF LORD KLAR POV
“Loosen the leather throngs around my wrists. They hurt,” I protest.
“I took the risk most of the way with no bindings. We are close now, and unless I tie your wrists as I should, none will accept you as my prisoner.”
I don’t admit to my captor, but I am tired from the urgent pace, the rough trail, and simply being in the forest. Yuck! The overnight camp is dark, and the scary noises aren’t comforting. The lack of sleep hasn’t helped. I miss my bed. Why is this experience so different from before?
---
The forest gives way to long grass, saplings and sparse trees. Ahead, though, is a camp of countless tents.
“Who do you have there, brave Niba?” The sudden voice startles me, and it takes all the effort I can not to release my water. I hate this, erm, outside business. I should have learnt my lesson the first time, but being confronted by this stranger brings home an obvious difference. Lord Klar’s village wasn’t far away, and I could always scamper back. At that moment, I realise I am far from home and alone. Who is Niba to me anyway? What am I to her?
“My prisoner. I scouted his settlement when all others returned. To me goes the rewards!” Niba growls, whipping out a blade and dragging on my arm to position me behind her. I could’ve resisted, but why? Niba is my sole hope of succeeding, yet a chill wiggles down my spine.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
---
Goblins swarmed us when we reached the largest tent in the camp’s centre. The tent of Lord Warrior Hob, I presume.
We wait. Our impromptu escort fades away after a time. By late afternoon, with the sun low on the horizon, Niba and I wait alone. It seems our novelty value has gone to zero.
“I must be mistaken,” sulks Niba. “I thought bringing back a captive from Lord Klar’s village would ensure an immediate audience with Lord Warrior Hob. Perhaps for the others, viewing the settlement was enough.”
“In that case, return me to Lord Klar. I am certain he will reward you.” I can’t keep the happiness from my voice.
“Are you stupid? Is that why you were…”
The tent flap snaps back. “You were saying, Scout Niba.”
“Lord Warrior Hob!” Niba straightens to attention. “Easy to capture. She was easy to capture. She took strolls outside the village wall to the stream, gazing into the water. Who has time for that idleness?”
“You’re a female hobgoblin!” I blurt out. Fear stabs my heart as her eyes fall on me. How would I realise what to expect? Lord Klar said the Lord Warrior Hob would be a male.
Her cold, hard flint of a gaze frightens me. “Yes. I get that a lot. Apparently, most assume the Warrior Hob must be a male.” She glances at Niba. “Is she dangerous?”
Niba puts on a swagger and tilts her head in my direction. “She is afraid of the woods, the dark, being lonely and doesn’t like the idea of not knowing where her next meal is coming from and when.”
Lord Warrior Hob snatches the tent flap open, inviting us in.
I peer inside, and a hand on my back pushes me in. My body stumbles and alternates between falling and staying upright, and I shame myself by crashing into the floor of the tent. My arms and legs think for themselves and take off in four different directions.
“What is this?” asks another, amusement clear in his voice.
“She is my captive, Shiliga, Scribe to Lord Klar,” announces Niba. She then falls silent, edging away from the owner of the voice. A goblin that my nose can smell. A mixed odour of dark soil, sweat and unwashed stink rolls off him. His grinning mouth full of razor-sharp teeth is unpleasant also. I draw my limbs back to me and climb to my feet while trying to make myself small.
“Forgive my goblin friend. He keeps me from seeing the best in my guests as I want to do, mainly to my detriment,” jokes the Lord Warrior Hob.
Niba and I remain silent. Both hosts emit a menacing aura. I expected the Warrior Hob to wear magnificent armour—impressive but not scary. What she wears looks fine and well crafted, but nothing more than that.
“You are wondering about my armour?”
I jump. “Erm, yes.” I frown. “How did you realise that?”
“I have met many hobgoblins and goblins these past few months, and the questions all seem to be the same and in the same order. My guessing improves with each such meeting.” She flashes a deliberate fake smile at me.
My nervousness prompts me to respond. “Lord Klar would not have revealed that. He would allow the guest to surmise that his knowledge and wisdom are far superior to impress or intimidate.” My voice trails off, and I endure as my face warms to a stronger shade of green.
“Isn’t she delightful,” says Lord Warrior Hob to no one in particular.
“I reckon tasty is the word you should be looking for,” replies her smelly goblin companion.
“Possibly, but I expect Niba the Scout wonders about her reward.” The Lord Warrior Hob peers intently at Niba and rubs her hands together. That’s normal, right? I resist the urge to peek about for a way to escape. I don’t want to draw any attention. “It goes without saying her reward should mean a great deal more to her than that of her companions who followed orders exactly.”
“Well, they didn’t use their initiative, did they?”
I sense Niba release a breath and shuffle herself closer to me. The Lord Warrior Hob’s words have me on edge. Something doesn’t sound right about them. But nothing about this meeting is right.
“When you visited the village, did anyone see you?”
“No. No, Lord. I didn’t need to visit. I caught her gazing into a nearby stream.”
“See, I told you they must have been lying. They each had the same story, different words…” Lord Warrior Hob leans forward and swamps Niba’s attention. I am not her target, and even I sense my water isn’t far from release. Niba’s gagging draws my attention. The Warrior Hob’s smelly goblin companion is now behind Niba, enveloping her in fear with a rope around her neck.
“Why do you surmise I ordered the village and fort observed to confirm location and then leave?” The Warrior Hob waves a hand at the goblin.
Niba swallows and draws in a breath. “Because you knew everything you needed to know, you just needed confirmation, Lord.”
“Yes. It’s a pity you didn’t use that wisdom when required. So, what does a missing person from Lord Klar’s retinue tell him?”
“That he has an unknown, at least interested in him, if not his enemy, and you have lost any surprise.”
The Warrior Hob lounges back in her chair. The furniture is plain and functional, which I overlooked until now. “Yes, exactly. Somehow, you have proven that a lack of air makes you more intuitive and wise. More able to comprehend the greater design, my greater design. You see what position you place me in?”
“No,” squeaks Niba.
“See too much air, and you lose your wisdom.” She sighs at her goblin companion. “I can’t have Zib follow you around all day, strangling you to make certain you stay wise. It’s unfair to him, as he is busy doing my bidding in a smart, sneaky and purposeful way. Following orders to the letter, for example. We had a bit of a problem early on with goblins using their initiative. Strangling them cured them, which taught others by example. You must have missed that lesson.”
“Yes,” squeaks Niba. “The others always bid me stay on watch or hold the picket line. Skirmish forward. I was the female…” Her babble falters as she realises her words mean nothing to the Warrior Hob.
“To be fair, you could learn from this mistake. Unfortunately, your companions are aware you have returned with a prisoner, which was against orders. I must meet their expectations; otherwise, all my lessons will be wasted, and I don’t want to repeat the time and effort. Sorry.”
Niba gags. Her eyes fix on me, her sorrowful, wide eyes of surprise stay until her final breath. I shiver.
“What to do with you?” The Warrior Hob grabs a haunch of meat and takes out a bite. “You could probably tell me much about his people, the fort perhaps, but allow us to be honest. It is a primitive motte fort with wooden walls. I doubt you would hold enough value, your life, for his type of swap. Yep, yep, yep. Thoughts Zib?”
“Probably a spy for him, somehow. It would only work if he turned Niba. He could have also tempted her with an offer she couldn’t refuse when captured.”
The Warrior Hob nods towards me. “No reaction. No denial.” The Warrior Hob sighs and glances at the smelly goblin. “Certainly captured. He must have made Niba a deal that was too good to refuse. Shame.” She smiles and waves the haunch of meat at me. “I don’t suppose you know any details of the offer?”
I shake my head from side to side. She throws the bone on a nearby table, stands and draws her dagger.
She takes a single step towards me, and I freeze, mouth dry, eyes wide. I hear a snicker, and then intense pain shoots through both of my legs, and I scream. Then nothing.
---
The odour of decay floods my nostrils, and I am about to gag when a sharp pain shoots into both of my legs, distracting me. The chill of night is on me, and I shiver. Every attempt to budge results in a sharp pain in my legs. I realise I lay among the dead. Only night and my shut eyes protect me from facing the horrible, disgusting truth.
---LORD TORNGUL HEARTSPLITTER POV
From my second-floor window, I chuckle. As my daughter predicted, Klugak and his son rode out to meet the High Priestess on the back of their boars. Given the High Priestess rides in a coverage chair, two hobgoblins at the front and two at the back, the father and son sit too high to chat, and because the beasts are so large, they can’t close any distance. They could shout at her, of course!
My humour drains from me when I spy two goblins with bows repositioning along the building tops in line with the High Priestess. They are my daughter’s assassins, I am certain. What is she playing at? Oh no, at least two High Priestess guards have noticed them. One leans into the covered chair briefly. They continue. Desperation?
They turn off the main street and head towards the former Manor House of The Eater Clan. My daughter assured me that Sakvorpa’s former residence is now fit for a Lord or a High Priestess.
The High Priestess and her party will partake of an already prepared middle of the day meal, then have the afternoon to relax and make themselves comfortable. They could also witness the preparation for their dinner.
---
Dusk falls on Hobgoblin Town. My wife and I, escorted by one of my bodyguards, stroll across the main street and make our way to The Eater Clan’s former manor house. Two of the High Priestess’ hobgoblin guards and two of the city’s hobgoblin guards greet and usher us in.
Two of her priestesses wait for us in the Meeting Hall, loitering around the long table that was previously prepared. They seem to want us to sit.
“Fetch the High Priestess, please,” I say to neither and both.
They exchange glances, and one glides from the Hall. Was this some sort of power play? The High Priestess to enter after all were seated, so they must stand on her entry and then sit again after her? My mood sours.
She swishes into the Hall, arms waving about flapping a piece of light white cloth that joins the dress proper but is clasped at the wrist, producing a wing-type effect. Her face isn’t the most beautiful, yet it is smooth and unblemished, with a deep green complexion. Her age is indeterminate.
“Please position yourselves beside your respective chair.”
She blinks and then baulks. I ensured I spoke before she could demand anything of us.
“Be seated,” I announce. I seat my wife on my right, my bodyguard on my left, and then myself. The goblin servants supplied by my daughter seat the High Priestess and the two Priestesses.
The goblin servants pour each of us a mug of mead and then place a selection of fruit before us.
I lift my mug. “To our most gracious visitor, the High Priestess of Klug.”
She nods, and we all sip.
“Thank you for your hospitality. We have wanted for nothing.” She pauses a moment, then shares a playful smile. “Although none of us dared to venture outside in case we became targets for your goblin archers.”
“For your protection. Hobgoblin Town is an open town. We have no walls or gates. Some may presume we are defenceless because of this, but that is further from the truth because we will never need to defend our town.”
The two priestesses exchange glances while the High Priestess chuckles. “Some others must covet what you have…”
“They could, but at least one day, and usually two days, travel of grasslands surrounds us, and we would encounter any enemy in the field, on our boar’s backs, long before they could reach the town. While unlikely, if an enemy defeats us in the field, it means the town will not need to be destroyed by any conqueror. A simple change of owner will occur without losing further lives.”
A piece of apple hangs in her hand before her mouth. “That is surprising, Lord Torngul.”
“Lord of the Grassplains,” I add. She smiles and bobs her head. “Hobgoblin Town is where I rule from. The Grassplains is where my defence of the town begins.”
She finishes her apple.
We all turn and applaud when a goblin servant places the roasted boar runt before me. I stand, take the knife from the serving tray, and make the first cut to inspect the flesh. I roar a congratulatory cheer, and the goblin serving staff removes the boar. We will shortly be dining on our main course.
The High Priestess clears her throat. “Have any of your merchants mentioned any difficulty leaving the valley recently?”
“I shouldn’t think so. The Snow Months are for all to remain in the valley. There is no profit in dying in other valleys buried under heavy snow.”
“That is well because at least two armies are camped at the mouth of this valley presently. One or both are preventing our pilgrims from reaching us. A most disagreeable situation.”
I lean back in my chair. “An army will not survive the cold months unless they have prepared. Can you confirm if either carries salt with them?”
“Salt?”
“Yes. Salt will allow them to preserve the meat of any game they have hunted. Of course, they could hunt fresh herds, but only the largest and most aggressive ones roam during the colder months.” I bellow a laugh. “The hunters could become the hunted!”
The goblin staff serves the boar, gravy, and sides of vegetables, and all at the table tend to their meal. I signal to one of the goblin servers and whisper in his ear. Then, wait for him to leave.
“I have offered the guards and servants a portion of any remaining boar.” Of course, they share a gracious smile, but I suspect the High Priestess and her two Priestess’ counted on eating seconds or afters. At the meal’s end, our three guests scrape their plates spotlessly clean, sweeping up any remaining food with their bread.
The cake is next, and they easily fit their portions into their stomachs.
I strum my fingers on the table. “I have welcomed you to Hobgoblin Town, shown you hospitality and shared a meal with you. Was there anything else you need to raise? Although I will say now, the answer will be no if you want to establish a temple in Hobgoblin Town.” I don’t smile and, in fact, set a grim face.
“No, Lord Torngul, nothing of the sort. Our worshippers and future worshippers know where to find us. I admit there is another discussion I would like to have with you.”
She rises from her chair and receives a parchment from one of her priestesses as she passes them while sauntering towards me. The High Priestess smiles cheerfully at my wife as she passes her. Placing the parchment down before me, I notice a generous sharing of her cleavage. At that same moment, I sense conflict within my body, beginning with my arm. I am sensing hostile nanorobots. I drag my eyes from her breasts and locate several drops of blood on my wrist. Her withdrawing hand from that exact spot, without a doubt, the delivery mechanism.
---
Shouting and screaming woke me from whatever pit of darkness and struggle I had descended into. For how long, I can’t rightfully estimate. Scanning my surroundings, I note one goblin on the floor, bleeding and not moving. Another bleeding from the upper arm and bandaging. My wife and bodyguard defend me with blades drawn.
The High Priestess and a Priestess are standing at the far end of the Hall, with two of their guards covering them. The other priestess is no longer in the Hall.
“What is going on here?” I bellow.
“Is that you, husband?” My wife shuffles into my embrace.
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.