---SIBA, GRANDMASTER OF ASSASSINS POV
Lord Klar and I are alone in his room. Voria had left with the dishes for the kitchen once we had broken our fast. I am face to face with Lord Klar as I dangle off the floor with his fingers around my throat.
“You have lost a day. You are missing company.”
I can’t panic. I mustn’t show weakness. “We have spies inside Lord Klug’s Temple. It is a training place for our initiate assassins. I will meet with those who remain and do whatever you wish me to, Lord Klar.”
His shoulders relax slightly. Better than his fingers squeezing around my neck tighter.
“You haven’t been training, have you?”
“No.” I figure that is the only acceptable answer. Even if I had trained the nanorobots, which he gifted me every waking moment, his mood would not grace me with any praise. Lord Klar believes I have failed him somehow. Therefore, he would still find blame. My lack of dedication is an easy accusation. Yet, I realise now I have, in fact, failed him and myself as I took the simple gains for granted and deemed them enough.
“You will listen and learn from Voria. If she must throttle you to within a finger-width of your life, you will thank her and be ready to obey her again.”
“Yes, Lord Klar.”
“Why do you surmise I assign her?”
This answer bubbles up into my brain in a heartbeat. Voria hasn’t wasted a single drop of his seed or blood to hone herself. Healing scars would have been a luxury or vanity, yet I did so. It was his promise to me, but perhaps I could have done better. Voria directed deliberate, incremental improvements of herself with one aim. To be better.
“She appreciates your gift and doesn’t waste a single opportunity to improve. I must learn to do the same.”
---
Voria returns and drapes herself over Lord Klar, ignoring me dangling in his grip.
“Plans, Lord Klar?” she asks.
“You will train this one. No Trela. No, me. Every waking moment. Her improvement is essential. Otherwise, you will never receive seed or blood from me again.”
Voria’s release of him is immediate, leaping from the bed to stand in front of him.
“I will need a top-up Lord, as will she, before we begin the training.”
He discards me from his grip, and I tumble to the floor. I catch his glance of disgust. He expected me to land on my feet. I am certain I could have. Why didn’t I?
“You are quite bold on this trip, my dear,” he says with the merest hint of mirth.
“You are denying me much-promised seed while I beat her into shape. New seed means starting from the beginning. The lessons make more sense that way.”
I climb to my feet and back away as he engulfs her mouth in a dominating kiss. Their tusks lock and struggle for superiority, yet I sense Lord Klar is toying with Voria as he lifts and throws her on the bed. She rolls, smoothly disrobing as she does. Her raven black shoulder-length hair flies out and settles back into position as if under her control. I wondered why Voria owned a robe.
Without delay, he leaps on her and begins rutting. She squeals in delight. I lick my lips and then unlace my vest. Once done, my pants are next. I slide naked onto the bed, settling in an unused corner, wondering what my turn will be like. He never used my body like he now thrashes hers. The passion in their coupling is obvious. I remember our coupling was more functional, an obligation, regardless of my level of enthusiasm or desperation.
---
Voria and I lay on the bed, unable to stir. I can’t draw my legs together, so I doubt I could walk. Maybe slither or, at best, crawl.
“Whatever you did to piss him off, you need to do again when you and I are alone with him again.” Her finger traces the new skin, trying to reform the corner of my mouth. “This should be healed by now. Vorlora suffered an arrow ripping through one cheek and exiting the opposite cheek. Your wound is nothing in comparison. The healing of this will now have to wait for another time.”
“Why?”
The sulking in her voice reveals she still doesn’t grasp the pile of crap she is in.
“You can be pretty when you die or survive ugly. Given I will lose access to Lord Klar’s seed and blood if you haven’t improved, I will set your training priorities. We have two days, and if you have a pretty face, he will deem I have failed him.”
“Can’t I simply show my improvement?” I plead.
“What? Leap about? Roll? Dodge? Sneak?”
I nod. “Yes, exactly!”
“Do you see him with us now? Is he barking orders to judge those skills so he knows your current aptitude?”
I can’t restrain my doubtful sneer.
She continues, “Given he hasn’t assessed you today, how is he going to determine if you have improved in two days?”
After a couple of heartbeats, I close my open mouth.
---
After asking several of the Manor staff, I find a suitable robe and then rush to meet Voria in a room off the kitchen. I push open the slightly ajar door.
“What has taken you so long? Come in, shut the door,” Voria commands sharply.
I hasten to comply and pause as I take in the scene before me. Voria lounging naked in a giant tub of water.
“Shut your mouth, get naked and slip in,” she says.
I begin the removal of my armour and clothes.
“Why didn’t you change into your robe in our room?”
I shudder. “I thought to rush to meet you.”
“If you rush into anything, you’re usually unprepared when you arrive. Sometimes, this is unavoidable.” She idly flicks water in the tub and then casts her eyes over me. “What do you presume would have happened if you took the time to discard your armour and clothes in our room first and arrived here later than now?”
“You would have been angry with me arriving late,” I snipe.
She flicks water at my now naked body. “Naturally, but the preparation would have served you well.”
I climb in and goosebump. The water is cold!
Her head drops and then rocks from side to side. “You have much to learn, but let’s finish this lesson first. What is better? To rush, arrive unprepared and be yelled at, or take the time to arrive prepared and be yelled at for being late?”
“Either means I am being yelled at.” My teeth chatter as I speak.
“The first is failure. The second is judgment,” she says.
“Judgement?”
Her hand flicks and only the pain spreading from my nose informs me where she struck. My hands fly up to nurse my hurt.
“In the name of Lord Klug, why are you feeling the cold, and why are you nursing your nose?”
“I…”
“Use his nanorobots to warm your body, then use them to numb your nose if you don’t have the skill to heal.”
“How?” I squeak.
Voria’s hands grip the sides of the tub while her head does a flick-type thing. She is face-to-face with me. “Will your nanorobots to do your bidding. Order them, instruct them.”
“I don’t…”
Her hands splash into the water. A heartbeat later, she grips my ankles and draws me towards her, and my face is underwater. I splutter for breath and try to use my hands to grip the tub but find nothing to grip.
The room is upside as I rise out of the water and suck in a desperate breath.
“Lord Klar isn’t the only one with the strength to lift a useless goblin body.”
The top of my head just clears the water in the tub while she grips my ankles. The water rises to meet my head, and I swallow a mouth full of water instead of air as I try to prevent drowning. I crunch my abdominals and try to raise my upper body out of the water. I hear her laughter as she lowers me.
Upon release, I struggle to regain my balance. Gripping the sides of the tub, I climb to my feet.
“What can you instruct your nanorobots to do?” she asks as she rests her arms on the side of the tub.
Goosebumps cover my body. “Lord Klar said to will them to heal my face. He told me that the purge of black ooze would cleanse and repair my body.”
Her face is tough to read, yet I would be safe in saying she is deep in thought. Possibly the first time in a long time.
She leans forward and whispers, “You didn’t notice the superiority of his wives, concubines and others that he has rutted with and wondered how they gained their refined deadliness in combat or their sense of smell? Or perhaps how they could sneak in and sneak out of a goblin village without being noticed?”
“The Head Scribe! That hobgoblin bitch had me wondering how she escaped the notice of my goblin assassins. She is one of his wives.”
“Stop talking before you think!” she snarls. “You are spilling information, which is usually dismissed as rumour. Why do you reckon I whispered?”
I flop back. “We are in Lord Torngul’s Manor…”
Her mouth opens and then closes. “You are the Grandmaster of Assassins? You trade in information as much as murder. Secrets?”
“We lived in the Citadel. My partner and I ruled absolutely. Then he came, one of our own, an upstart, and somehow he defeated us. Then the mountain turned on us, and a huge avalanche destroyed our home. With no stores and provisions, we needed to leave. But where to go? It has been a trying time.”
“Oh, boo hoo! Your ancestors built from nothing. Time for you to build instead of living off your past.” She rubs her hands down her face as she lounges back. “You presumed that Lord Klar’s attention towards you meant your troubles were over. You could live off him now. He rarely grants something for nothing. He has expectations. Primarily, you must repay his favour.”
I sigh. “His attention was a sort of euphoria. I almost ate a disgusting bag of dust he presented me. Something about the dust of my and my husband’s enemy, which was also someone else before. It made little sense as I was seed drunk. Plus, I needed a friend with me! I am the Grandmaster of Assassins. My loyal friend, my husband, was dead. Who else could I trust to not throttle me with my throat clogged up with dirt?”
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---VORIA, SWORD BEARER OF LORD KLAR POV
I stare at the top of Siba’s head. The Grandmaster of Assassin’s chin is on her chest after her confession. Do I ask her where the bag of dust is now? Should I check her backpack for it? I swallow. Do I tell Lord Klar? This certainly explains his disappointment. His seed and possibly blood are not unexpected, but he also gifted her a bag of dust! I wonder who the ‘someone else’ was.
I splash water on my face to distract her and calm myself. Now is not the time.
“Let’s proceed with our first lesson.”
Her head rises. A thankful cheer graces her lips. “Yes, please.”
“You must connect with your nanorobots. Not simply will them to do a task, but search for them with your mind as individuals. They seem to be countless at first, but as you proceed, the one responding will become two, the two will become four, and so on.”
She closes her eyes. I let a smile slip as she shivers and goosebumps in the water. She didn’t question why I don’t shiver, and that is a concern on one level. Observation of others and your surroundings are survival must-dos. Perhaps the Grandmaster of Assassins is a title, not an indication of skill or talent? That would be an explanation, one that I would not suggest to Lord Klar as he has, it seems, invested a great deal in his latest project.
I contemplate flicking her nose again. Her eyes snap open first. Wide and bright.
“That is amazing! I feel them. I feel them all.” She pauses, and her brow knits. “Many are idle?”
“Yes. Even though you have willed your cheek to be healed, for example, the nanorobots won’t all tend to that task because you have left the organisation of resources, the nanorobots, to the nanorobots. Do you allow your assassins to pick their assignments?”
“No. But we try to match the best assassin to an assignment,” she replies.
“And who are we?”
Disarmingly, she replies, “My husband and I are responsible for critical or important assignments, and a select trusted number of experienced assassins are responsible for all other assignments.”
“Extend that to your nanorobots. Consider each assignment critical. Don’t allow them to decide.”
She nods while in thought.
“First things first. Assign a group to warm your skin. Since we are in a tub of water, they will use that water and nothing from your body. Anyone with nanorobots will find excuses to drink as much water as possible when their nanorobots are purposefully active.”
“I am still cold,” she chatters.
“Assign more, in increments, until you are comfortable. Don’t simply assign them all!”
“That’s better,” she gasps.
“Your body shivers to become warm, which spends the energy you have in store from what you have consumed. In wind-swept snow, this becomes a losing race. The nanorobots don’t use the energy you have stored from meals. They use water, hence why we are in a tub.”
She is silent and deep in thought.
“Stop!”
Siba stares at me.
“Don’t assign your nanorobots to any other tasks as yet.”
“Sorry,” she says.
“We must upgrade our nanorobots first.” Her face screws up in doubt. “Lord Klar has just seeded us. Count this as the latest best version of his nanorobots.” She leans her head to one side. “Alright, allow me to explain. Others may have commented that I always bathe after laying with Lord Klar. This is true, although not for the reason they presume. I am using the water to upgrade my nanorobots. Sometimes, this is a little or nothing. Other times, this can be huge. Especially if he hasn’t laid with you in a long time.”
“He is the ultimate source, then. The Grandmaster of Nanorobots?” she says.
I chuckle. “Yes, although I haven’t searched for anyone else.”
“Lord Torngul is lord over Lord Klar. Older, wiser, perhaps? Could he be better?”
I shake my head. “Their arrangement is unusual, and I don’t rate Lord Torngul’s Honour Guard superior to any of Lord Klar’s fighting wives, which they should be if his nanorobots are superior.”
“Trela tells me that Lord Torngul doesn’t rut with his Honour Guard, but she does, of course…”
“You may venture there, but I will stay with the certainty of Lord Klar. Speaking of which, the nanorobots in his seed will be the latest version, and they will naturally be grouped together when you connect with them. Each version does this. I have never questioned the convenience.” I flash her a broad grin. “Task them with upgrading others and, once upgraded, task them to do the same and so on. Understand?”
“Yes,” she says, and, with her eyes shut, she relaxes slightly into the water.
The wait isn’t long for her. It seems that the more Lord Klar does out in the world, the more significant the difference and the increment of improvement. Lord Klar returned to his village and then seeded her. He rode to Hobgoblin Town and conducted some business, but not much more than that. If my theory is correct, this should cause a small nanorobot improvement for her. It was a much longer process for me, which I did while waiting for her to be late.
She could be helpful as a test of some of my nanorobot theories. So, perhaps teaching her won’t be a complete waste of my time. But should I teach her all I know?
“That didn’t take long,” she grumbles.
I chuckle. “Go without his seed for half the year, and let me know how you go.” I clear my throat. “Now, you need to assign groups of nanorobots to the following tasks as a start. First is hearing, then vision, including developing night sight. To a lesser extent, taste unless you suspect poison threatens you. Your sense of smell is like taste in importance.”
“Oh,” she exclaims. “I overheard half a swear word from the kitchen.”
I doubt that the improvement would be noticeable so quickly afterwards, so I don’t encourage or discourage.
“Next will be strength, agility and dexterity. These are best improved while you are using them. Without you needing to provide the details, the nanorobots clearly identify which muscles and other areas need improvement. Some improvement is still possible while not training, but you need to imagine what you want, a description of sorts. Unfortunately, your imagined needs may be incorrect. That is why you will see Lord Klar’s wives and others, like me, in many practice fights. It appears to everyone else as normal training, but deep down, it is more.”
“Will practice fights also improve your weapon skills?”
“Yes, but you need to assign nanorobots to observe and improve. Because of this unusual training method, it would be unusual for the two sparing to be hurt, but don’t assume.”
She places her hands on the tub’s sides, about to climb out, I guess. But then changes her mind. “To practice in and near the Manor, I will need to take a water skin, won’t I? For things such as unloading a wagon, leaping and rolling from a height or knife throwing practice?”
“Since you will be busy for the rest of the day and night, we will meet again tomorrow morning and chat again.” I put on a firm, don’t disappoint me face. “Under no circumstances will you heal your cheek or improve your appearance. Do you understand me? No circumstance.”
She sighs. “I understand. All my efforts will be in other improvements.”
I nod, climb out of the tub, and reach for a cloth to dry myself.
A knock sounds at the door. “Voria, are you a prune yet? The kitchen staff mentioned you have spent much time there.”
Trela. I stride to the door and raise the crossbar. “Push your way in,” I say after stepping back.
“Oh!” Her hand covers her mouth. “You’re not dressed.”
I dangle a cloth. “Yes, I believe the word is naked. Would you mind fastening the door and handing my robe to me?”
“You don’t have other things?” She nods at my loins.
“No, but I have company.” I wave one hand at the tub while the other grabs my robe from Trela.
Siba’s head eases out of the water. Then she waves.
“Still playing with others, then.” I am dressed in my robe as she grabs each of my forearms. “Perhaps you’d enjoy a town stroll and an afternoon picnic?”
“That would be wonderful. Perhaps you can ask your servants if they can make good use of a goblin. You know, keep her out of trouble while we are busy.”
She titters. “I am certain they can keep her busy and out of mischief.”
---SHILIGA, SCRIBE OF LORD KLAR POV
Plump, plump noises wake me.
I crack open one eye and see them in the dawn light. Goblins. They work in silence except for the shovelling. They spread a white powder over the dead and then shovel the nearby dug-out dirt back into the mass grave.
“That’s enough,” calls out a female voice. “We can still fit a few more in. Pack up and dig out an extension.”
“But you said we can…”
I feel the blade silence him, the sound of the weapon sliding rapidly in and out of his flesh, chilling. I shut my eyes.
The flop of his body into the trench follows.
“I knew we could add more.” She chuckles. “But we need to prepare for the future!” she screams.
The clatter of tools and the clumping of boots fill my ears. Several heartbeats later and the sound of shovels striking dirt is all I hear.
The chill of the day keeps the corpses from rotting rapidly, but not enough for me to ignore the stench. Some have been there longer than others, of course. In the middle of the day, I hear them pack up and catch her screaming new orders about attending to the latrines.
While feeling sorry for myself, pain draws me back to the present. A sharp pain in each shin.
I slither across a couple of corpses towards the forest side bank of the trench until a dirt wall stops me. I bite my lip and instantly regret my foolishness. Blood taste. Not mine. I wonder how much blood covers me and has soaked into my robe. Ew. Stop this, I berate myself. Think! No, I must listen.
After a time, I raise one hand and no matter the stretch, I can’t reach the top. I release a breath.
The twin pains niggle my shins again.
In an instant, I choose to trust. What else is there? Remain in the trench until they spread white powder on me and then dirt to bury me forever?
I slide up the dirt bank, my legs propelling me as my body hugs and tries to emerge as small as possible against the exposed black soil. My hands reach the edge, and their pulling adds to my legs pushing until my eyes can see above the trench.
Grass. Tall grass.
My slithering on my belly continues until my body snakes through the grass.
The twin pains are sharp and cruel. I wince, trying to catch my breath. As I recover, I overhear snippets of chatter. A chatter that is growing louder. Towards me.
If I stand and flee, they will see me. Could I slither further into the long grass? There is no pain in my shins. Is that a sign? No. Sharp and cruel is code for stop. Niggle is to go. Therefore, no pain must mean stay. Will these interpretations save me or condemn me?
“Stop talking about her…” says one voice.
“She’s a bitch. She went too far.”
The rustle of the grass is now loud in my ears. They are close by. Then, nothing except further conversation.
“She is the overseer of punishment duty. Suck it up. We have done our time.”
“She still needs to pay. Xazed and us were brothers. We have been fighting, slaughtering and pillaging for the Warrior Hob for five months now, and she sticks her sword in him. Bitch!”
“Yeah.”
The grass rustling shortly after sends me hope.
Silence much later and twin niggles of pain confirm my trust in whatever or whoever has taken an interest in my escape. I slither forward, and then I freeze in fright. I peer over my shoulder, and the flat, bent, and broken grass behind me is an obvious trail that even a juvenile tracker could follow.
As I consider the worst, twin niggles in my shins wake me.
I slither in haste. My rustling of the grass is loud to me. I am certain goblins could hear the noise as well, and yet there is no pain in my shins.
These strange signals of pain continue into the afternoon. I break out of the grass, and my slithering body crashes over wagon ruts. This is a well-used path; I scanned both directions. The wheels have dug in while several boots have trampled down the grass. I slither across, adding black soil stains to the grass and bloodstains on my robe.
After a time, I suffer a niggle in my right shin only. Head more in that direction, perhaps? I do as I am told, and my slithering continues until dusk. The pains in my shins guide me, and no goblins catch me.
The night is on me when a sharp pain stabs both of my shins. I freeze.
Twin niggles of pain in my shins wake me. I’m enveloped by the dark, silent night, hearing snores on the breeze.
Three sets of twin niggling pain strike my shins. Does that mean I slither as fast as possible? Crawl?
The three sets of niggling pain strike my shins again. I climb to my feet and bolt. I don’t glance back or sideways. This is death or freedom. I reject the possibility of re-capture.
---CASSIA HIPPOLYTA SUTLER, LORD WARRIOR HOB
“She is away, then?” I ask Zib, my loyal first captain. His brigand, thieving ways never cease to deliver value to me.
“Yes.”
His one-word answer, an invitation, of course. “Speak.”
He doesn’t hesitate! “I don’t see the need. You know where Lord Klar is. We have a path through the woods to reach him. We simply need to wear down the troops of the self-appointed High Priestess of Klug, and he will be at your mercy.”
“Yes, they don’t appreciate the cold, do they?”
“Our spies report their food stores are low. They must leave the field or hunt the plains as we do.” His wide, devouring grin speaks to the impossibility of that option to them.
“Did she require much support?”
He quirks his head. “Support?”
“Did we need to turn a blind eye, avoid her, provide clear paths? Tell me all the details you have discovered.”
“There is not much to tell. We found where she climbed out of the trench. Her trail through the grass was easy enough to follow. At night, she bypassed a snoring sentry.”
I pace around my captain. “We presumed her being a scribe she would scream for release from the bloodied corpses, surrender instead of enduring. We trusted if she somehow stomached that, she would blunder into the first or second patrol she would meet. She met none, as far as we can tell.”
“I can have the patrols flogged?” His voice rings with glee as he suggests punishment.
“No.” I raise my finger. “But she achieved above and beyond expectations. We knew nothing. The how, when, her whereabouts until you checked the trench for her and chatted to the night sentries in the afternoon before their shift.”
“No.” He rubs his head, his thinking pose. “She displayed superb skulking skills, far and above what you would expect from a scribe, or she was incredibly lucky. Her timing was near perfect.”
“Yes. Although I would say it was perfect timing. Not even a heartbeat off. She escaped in broad daylight, of all things. You needed to alert all the night sentries, didn’t you? Since we didn’t know her location, we couldn’t warn just one or two guards about where she might cross.” This lapse of my perfection could grow into a wild rumour. I’ll tackle this later.
“Yes, Lord Warrior Hob. She found training areas to crawl through, too many coming and goings to track.” He bows his head.
“I am learning about my enemy, Zib. I presumed Lord Klar was my sole opponent. When I met his wives, I sensed they could be a challenge. I hoped they would be at most diversions only, which I could assign to my best. This Scribe, and her uncanny ability to escape, without significant assistance from us, throws some doubt on that assumption.”
He shrugs. “Simple. We will follow her with an infiltration/assassination team and see how far they get. Inflict some losses, see if we can anger him, and while full of emotion, he will confront us directly.”
The tactic had worked before, of course. Then I snap my fingers. “They are on the tip of my tongue. The group that operated for that upstart King of the Valley before we dethroned him.”
“The Silent Knights?” he quips.
“Yes, stupid name, but the promise of a visit from them gripped that entire valley in terror.”
He scuffs a boot. “If we allow them to go on a mission, they will bolt.”
I dig my thumbs into my belt and swagger. “Sworn brotherhood, Zib. We assign half to go. They bolt, and we slaughter their brothers. If the first half fails, I am certain the second half will want to seek revenge.”
“Perhaps. They aren’t helping us much now, being buried up to their necks and all.”
I chuckle because of their stupidity. “They are still honouring their contract to the King of the Valley, so will serve no other until that expires in two seasons. Ridiculous, but it speaks to their loyalty, which we can exploit.”
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