---LORD KLAR POV
I needed to ensure that my window of opportunity was as wide open as possible. The bandages had to go.
I cut the knots, binding the bandages to allow them to fall away before she tries to reabsorb what I have captured.
“Yours is Klugite blood! Don’t do this. I can offer you riches, the devotion of as many females or, if you prefer, males as you desire.” The higher pitch and pleading in her voice are encouraging signs.
Yet her revelation was odd. Her blood wasn’t Klugite. I’d never tasted that blood before, not that I’m an expert. Her priestess and guards are full of Klugite blood. Why not her?
“My body will be your plaything,” she pleads.
I don’t imagine I could trust her while she is full of nanorobots, so her offer amuses me. Anyone taking it up would fall under her influence, or any failure would encourage her to try harder or scheme better. If I was a target too difficult, I am certain she would try to influence others within my circle.
“Take me as your wife. I will show you ancient texts that describe how. Please.” She sniffs. “I will be completely yours and totally submissive.” A single tear rolling down her cheek is a nice touch.
Not the complete truth, but I resist replying and being distracted by a debate with her. Then, her words strike a nerve within me. Only Lord Klug, Lord Farmer Hob, has ever taken wives using that technique if it describes what I did so long ago. The Priestess of Lord Klug took control or command over others using the method, but this never resulted in a husband-wife relationship. A master, slave relationship was the ideal outcome from the priestess’s point of view.
“What lineage is your blood?” I ask.
“Klugite, but an offshoot,” she whispers.
“Garbage. I will have multiple goblin crones line up and taste your non-Klugite blood. They will claim you false, casting you out and therefore never to be a High Priestess of Klug again. To wander powerless and shunned for the rest of your days.”
“No, you can’t. My blood is so rare.”
“What does that matter once you are dead?”
Our silent battle of nanorobots continues. The conversion phase is over, as she has driven enough at my nanorobots that I can’t isolate and outnumber her nanorobots to entrap them and force conversion. I dedicate a portion of my nanorobots to upgrading those I have captured, utilising the water from her blood. This will weaken her body and provide superior reinforcements; otherwise, her nanorobots would eliminate those I captured one-for-one. This is a numbers game now, and I need to do better than one-for-one.
“How can your nanorobots be so superior? I am Lord Klug’s High Priestess, the benefactor of his wonderful gift.”
“You have been wasteful with your time, High Priestess. Lazy. Unworthy. Even more reason for the crones to denounce you. I am just a boy who discovered them, felt their presence and embraced them.”
“Time! Time! I have felt them, learnt to nurture them for hundreds of years, you worm!”
“Hundreds of years? Lies. I will take immense pleasure in seeing you wither and die naturally before I do.”
“I will escape, I swear it. Then I will do everything to ensure your death!”
“We will have a race then. While you are my prisoner, I will have crones taste and identify your blood. Then I will round up all your lineage and slit their throats in front of you while you hang in chains from your dungeon cell.”
“No! No!” she screams. Her nanorobots falter, and I destroy many before she can recover. “No,” she whimpers. “I am Lord Klug’s true High Priestess. You can’t do this. Only I comprehend his true purpose, the plan for his worshippers. I alone can show them the way.”
“I see no one special in this cell.” I snort. “Simply a pathetic female hobgoblin with a delusion of being important and who no one will miss. I hear of another who claims to be the High Priestess of Klug, so the world doesn’t need two.”
“She is an Oath Keeper sneak,” she hisses. “Tricked everyone she did at the passing of High Priestess Rexa. Usurper and murderer of many lineages to become High Priestess.”
I laugh in her face, two finger lengths from mine. “Then she probably worked hard and deserves to be appointed High Priestess of Klug.”
“No!” she screams, and a surprisingly light spray of spit hits my lips. “There was a process, a ceremony that was to be followed.”
I scoff. “What are you saying? High Priestess Rexa, the long-lived, planned for her demise? Ahead of her time for a successor? No one would imagine that.” I am baiting her now. The time, time comment, Rexa, was known to have secured my blood after my death, which would promote a long life. Zoria’s son, the Xorbrim the Undying, drank my blood from barrels after birth. Her overreaction to my threat to kill any of her blood. The rare but possible re-life ability of former Flint Arrows goblins. All these hints point to one conclusion.
“There was a process, I tell you!” She sniffs. “Don’t mock the Klugite religion.” She licks her lips, yet they remain dry.
“I am not mocking the Klugite religion, simply the long-lasting High Priestess who presumed she would live forever. One who, as a hasty last-moment act, needed to write a succession process. As it turns out, it is a faulty one, given the evidence. How could someone outside the chosen circle, an Oath Keeper of all possibilities, subvert and mock the process?”
“NO! No! It was well-considered. That Oath Keeper slut, she didn’t understand her place and meddled in my plan!” She tries to swallow but coughs instead.
At last! My broad grin must give me away as, for a moment, her nanorobots lose some of their fight. I don’t retort. I am busy directing my nanorobots to gain every advantage I can from her lapse. As she draws her attention back to her nanorobots, I draw my nanorobots into a defensive position.
“Slut or not, the Oath Keeper is the undisputed High Priestess now, with you as my prisoner. Accept defeat, resign yourself to be my plaything.”
“Never! I would rather die!” To speak her few words takes effort. Her forehead grows warm.
I flash her a devious grin. Either she takes it as a warning or has no energy to continue. “I could arrange that, but it is what you want, right? I am determined to eliminate your bloodline first, so we will keep company going forward.”
She opens her mouth wide and then closes it. The inside of her mouth, including her tongue, is dry. Her retort dies.
“You realise now, you sense you have lost?” I quip.
A couple of tears from sunken eyes roll down her cheeks. The show of emotion is a surprise, or is this display a trick to gain sympathy? Perhaps there should have been more because I know my nanorobots have been feeding off her to convert her nanorobots to be as strong as mine. Dehydration?
She collapses. Her body hangs from the manacles as I step away.
“So thirsty,” she whispers. The words are so muted, I reckon only a goblin’s hearing or mine could hear them.
I could order my nanorobots to dehydrate her body and convert her flesh to dust. For now, I will place them in maintenance mode after they have converted all her remaining and outnumbered nanorobots.
I fetch a waterskin and permit her to take sips. The desperation in her eyes fades. A certain sign she would remain alive, at least for now. She must sense, though, that any nanorobots in her body won’t heed her.
Leaving her cell, I make directly for my room and sleep. Lord Torngul volunteered to take care of the slaver. While I wonder what he did, I am too tired to care now. I take many draws of water from a waterskin hanging in my room, shift Voria to one side of the bed and then welcome sleep.
---
My morning wake-up is delightful, and when Voria finishes, I reward her with my undivided attention.
“Your seed is most gratifying, Lord.” She licks her lips clean. “What are your plans for today?”
She is lounging, naked, on her legs, her firm nipples on pert breasts threatening to poke my eyes out while her luscious smile is trying to draw me in once again.
“I have a meeting with Lord Torngul. I need to check my prisoners, the beasts.” I flash her a grim smile. Unfortunately, I am uncertain if I will have any time for you today.”
She pouts. “Well, perhaps I can play with the assassin if she arrives before you return to me?”
“Yes,” I reply. Perhaps I am losing my touch. When told of my want for her, I would have presumed she would have dropped everything and rushed to me. Be here, waiting for me last night, demanding my favour.
As I dress, Voria snipes, “I will catch up with Trela. Us girls can discuss our men.”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
---ZOROTTOR BLACK TOOTH, CHIEF OF OATH KEEPER GOBLINS POV
hear heavy boots marching towards my cell. My home away from home after the High Priestess left to pray to Klug for guidance. She and hers will need more than guidance when the Oath Keepers decide to attack, although it would have been nice to lead them.
A clang on the bars, and my eyes blink and then peer into the waist of a hobgoblin. As I scan upwards, admiring his fine leather armour, I realise this isn’t an ordinary soldier visiting to deliver harsh words, torture or the slop they call food. I climb to my feet and try to flick gunk from the rags I wear as clothes and straighten them out at the same time.
“Zorottor Black Tooth?”
“Yes?”
I see his hand wave to someone behind him, and then he marches away. Two male hobgoblins grab me. Unusual, is this finally my death? After the initial panic, it became clear my situation was about to improve. Bath, new clothes, new armour and, while disappointing, although understandable, no weapons. I follow the two soldiers into a familiar temple.
“I am Gzak, Commander of all the soldiers in the town and temple.”
I bow. Not out of respect, exactly. I sense my survival is at stake. I also keep my mouth shut. After all, he has called me into his presence, so he either needs me for something, to do something, or to kill me. The third option would be a distant last because why would he have me made presentable?
“What do you notice is different about this hall today?”
Initially, I suspected the question was a trick, yet I couldn’t explain why. “There is no audience present. The High Priestess must still be communing with Lord Klug, as she is absent. The Priestesses must be out and about doing priestess stuff since they are also absent.”
“Yes. But much more.” He waves to a chair, and I slide into it and make myself comfortable. I point to a mug on a small table, and he nods. A sip, and I am pleasantly surprised to taste wine. “This morning, an unusual thing happened. All the Priestesses cried out in anguish, grabbing at their heads. Once that initial shock subsided, they rushed for the town’s main gate. Those from both temple and town.”
“Strange,” I say no more because I know no more, and I am certain he will make his point shortly.
“My soldiers tried to talk them into explaining and then tried to restrain them. For their own good, of course. But some priestesses simply anointed them with their blood. According to witnesses, the soldiers released them and marched back to their barracks. So, you can see my problem?”
“All who could lead the faithful have now abandoned the temple and the town.” I raise an eyebrow. “Including the High Priestess?”
“Yes. The truth there is she and others ventured further into the valley to meet with Lord Torngul Heartsplitter for, well, um, aid. Food and the like.”
“To withstand a siege. From another High Priestess or from a Warrior Hob or both?”
He paces away from me. “Well, anyone, really.”
“Who do you expect first?” I realise my voice carries a level of humour, but I can’t hide it.
“That is where you come in. I would request that you visit your camp and offer your High Priestess the temple and the town. The gates will be open and the inhabitants welcoming.”
“But don’t these Klugites hate those they are about to welcome?”
He nods. “Yes, possibly, but I have explained the situation to my soldiers, and they have explained the situation to everybody else. If they want to live and worship in the future, they must accept a new priesthood because their current one has abandoned them.”
“As simple as that?” I say with a huge amount of disbelief in my voice.
“Well, that and the fact my soldiers will hold the gates open, and if anyone within the walls disagrees, they can throw their lives away on Oath Keeper swords and spears.”
“When am I to live?”
“Now. Supplies are in a backpack near the doorway. Leave with my blessing. If we see you at the head of your soldiers approaching the gate, it won’t be closed on them. Ignore anyone racing around predicting the end, as they are still trying to accept their abandonment by the High Priestess.”
I nod. Climb out of my chair and pause. “If I hadn’t been here, what would you have done?”
Find a fool to volunteer and hope that, at worst, your soldiers capture him or her alive to explain our offer.
---SIBA, GRANDMASTER OF ASSASSINS POV
A light cough wakes me. I glance outside. Night? Why didn’t she wait until morning? Where are my two guards? How did she approach my bed without waking me?
“You will make your way to Hobgoblin Town. Being a goblin shouldn’t be the issue it once was, but head directly for Lord Torngul’s Manor, no deviations,” says his Head Scribe to me as if I am hers to order about.
As I clear my head, she continues, of course. She says Lord Klar has spoken to her, yet there isn’t a written message. Irritatingly, it seems I must simply accept her word. Do I have a choice? I do, for a heartbeat, imagine my dagger piercing her heart and watching as her blood pools around her fallen body. Then I need to blink wide awake as she keeps issuing orders at me.
“Further, do you have any assassins who have spied on or ventured into Lord Klug’s Temple in the valley of Farmer Hob?” She raises her hand. “Before you ask, Lord Klar didn’t explain why. He will provide you with further instructions when you meet him.”
“Why does he ask for me? I could assign many competent assassins to succeed at whatever mission he has in mind.”
“He didn’t provide your assassins with the gifts he bestowed on you.” Her smugness irritates me, and she relishes my discomfort.
I can’t help blushing like a juvenile gobbling as fleeting memories resurface and my acts of debasement because of his salacious attentions hit me in my loins.
She adds, “Your recollection of his efforts is timely. He now summons you to serve. Please don’t disappoint him.”
She stoops through the goblin hut door and strides away. Her footfalls, and another set fade into the night. Who would aid her? I seethe, grumbling under my breath and clenching my fists. I am so livid my nails draw blood from my palms.
I hear distant laughing.
The Head Scribe? But how did she overhear me? My stomach sinks. Nanorobots of course, and others say she is one of his wives. What does that mean in practical terms, I wonder? What of the other one with her? I presumed my gifts from Lord Klar were the best anyone could hope for. Am I mistaken? When I face him, I will demand an explanation and find out.
“Guards!” I scream.
Two males, the best of my assassins, burst into my hut.
“Why did you allow her in without waking me first?”
They exchange stares. “Who Grandmaster?”
“Lord Klar’s Head Scribe,” I growl. Their faces are blank. “Are you telling me that no one has entered my hut tonight?”
“No, Grandmaster,” they answer as one.
“Leave. Don’t fail me again.”
I lay back in my bed, trying to comprehend how assassins can miss an intruder. Eventually, I return to sleep.
---
The tall, dark gates of Lord Torngul’s Manor loom up before me. The dark of night after dusk is nothing to my enhanced sight as I see two female hobgoblin guards patrolling the walkway above. At the perfect moment, I dash forward and am in the shadow of the walls. The guards would have to lean over to spy on me, not that they could see me, given my dark leathers.
I edge myself around the base of this and the next wall and spy an opening. Second Floor, I judge. No light escapes the room. Either the occupants are asleep or out eating dinner. Ideal. I will prove my worth by demonstrating my skills. I will demand more from Lord Klar if there is more to be gained.
I unravel my rope and hook and begin twirling the hook end.
“Need a ladder?” asks a voice in the dark behind me.
The twirl crashes at my feet as I spin around. A goblin? Male?
“Are you seeking to break in also?” I ask in disbelief.
“No, nothing like that,” he says. Then snickers. “I am the City Watch.”
“Watch?”
“Our superiors warned us that Lord Klar would expect a visit late today. Although not this late, I assume you must be her.”
“Expecting?” Did the guard say late? No, he meant extremely late. Did Lord Klar want me to leave immediately after his Head Scribe visited me? Absurd. But possible…
“Is your speech limited to single words?” He chuckles. “Use the gate. You have nothing to prove. But we presumed there would be more than one.” He shrugs. “Anyway, I am off on my rounds. Maybe we will properly meet tomorrow, eh?”
He fades into the dark of the night, and I am alone to contemplate my embarrassing failure. If the target is warned, entry into any building becomes more difficult, yet I attempted entry without first observing. I assumed the gate guards were my only obstacles. How can I call myself Grandmaster now? How can I aspire to greater rewards once this failure becomes common knowledge?
My stomach sinks. What do I do about my late arrival?
---
“Welcome,” says the female hobgoblin guard while opening the gate to the Manor. The snorting of beasts within a nearby stable draw my attention. She continues, “They are restless. It has been a while since they have been out.”
I nod. Somewhat taken aback by the friendliness.
“You can take a bath through there.” She points to a doorway. “Or you can meet Lord Klar directly by taking the stairs and turning left down the hallway. His room is the last.”
“Thanks.” I shuffle inside and hear the gate fastening and the crossbar clunk into place behind me. As I cross the courtyard, I suspect eyes observing me. I am amongst allies, I convince myself and ignore the urge to investigate. Lord Klar is my priority.
I knock on the door.
A female voice answers, “Enter.”
Darkness greets me upon entry until the hallway lantern casts light into the room. With my enhanced eyesight, I see her. A female hobgoblin, wearing a loincloth and nothing else. Her breasts are proudly on display while her hands work at oiling her armour. Two daggers and a sword are leaning against the desk she is using to care for her armour.
“Where is Lord Klar?”
She smiles at me. “Probably talking to Lord Torngul or torturing prisoners.” My jaw drops of its own accord. Why, I don’t grasp. He is a Lord, after all. Her light laughter interrupts me. “Lord Torngul is where he is.” She sniffs. “Take a bath. You will have time. Lose some of the leather, and he may be interested in coupling with you.” A wink. “I don’t mind sharing with one, and it’s not as if the extra effort will inconvenience him.”
I remember how many times he took me and presumed myself especially alluring to warrant his attention, and yet this prowess seems to be his reputation.
I dash out of the room like a gobbling youth instead of a Grandmaster. My loins are wet, and my body is wanting. What have I become? What have I sold myself into? Drunks, drug addicts, and even gamblers I am aware of can’t help themselves. The fact is, Lord Klar is my drug, drink and high risk bet all rolled into one. He has absolute power over me.
My lateness is another factor. Punishment? Somehow, my body reacts differently to what I expect, and I almost drop to my knees. An absurd bright burst of pleasure starting in my loins spreads to other sensitive areas of my body.
---
We busy ourselves catching our breaths after our playtime, yet she recovers first.
“You are good fun, aren’t you,” she purrs. “I can see why Lord Klar invited you to his bed, or has Lord Klar been your instructor in such things?”
I didn’t sense any malice in her question, which surprised me yet again.
“Instructor,” I say breathlessly.
Instantly, she sits upright on her legs, shifting the blankets away. She is naked and on perfect display. Her skin is flawless, smooth and a uniform shade of green. She is clearly a warrior. Where are her scars? Even her raven black hair glows.
Lord Klar marches into the room, and dread rolls over me. How come I didn’t hear him, especially when a hobgoblin could?
As I try to comprehend the fact, his hand suddenly grips my throat, propelling me across the room. The wall, fortunately, stops me from flying too far from him. I ignore the pain and instead climb to my feet.
He stands over me. The grimace on his face and growling from between his lips force me back until the wall stops me again. He stares into my eyes, saying nothing. What does he want me to say? Apologise? No. That would be a mistake.
“In the future, when you ask for me, I will set out immediately, Lord Klar.”
He backs away. After an almost playful bounce on the bed, his head landed between Voria’s thighs, which were already in position. Voria was no longer on her legs but sprawled out. Her loins and breasts were ready to accept whatever attention Lord Klar deemed. Shortly after, moans of pleasure escape from her lips.
Lord Klar raises his head. “Food,” he grunts and then lowers his head.
I draw on leather pants, grab a leather vest, and sprint for the door. My breasts wobble as I dash along the hallway while shoving my arms, in turn, into the armholes of the vest. Down the stairwell, two female hobgoblins pause as I try to lace up the vest. At the foot of the stairs, two male hobgoblins gloat as one of my breasts peeks out.
I finish lacing the vest. Gathering myself, I ask the two where the kitchen is. They point, and I race in the direction they show. I hear them chuckling behind me.
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.