Lord Hob blessed our hunt, and I will not let him down. I glance at Duzsia and she wears a permanent grin like me as we race downhill towards the firepit to begin our mission. Duzsia, my sister wife and the one who laughs and enjoys her new position in life. She is no longer the stray or the one without family in the tribe and I am happy for her.

The flames of the first firepit grow as each of our long running steps carries us closer. The wooden token from Redagar turns in my hand as I try to work off my excitement.

We slow up and ten sets of eyes from the first gang we reach simply stare at us, after pausing in their work. Each pair treating our arrival differently depending upon their place in the production line. They don’t pick up another bloody body to toss when standing in front of the pile of twisted headless torsos and tangled limbs. Another pair simply drops the corpse they carry, while others returning to the pile halt in place. A pair mid toss at the edge of the firepit completes their task. One doesn’t seem any more in charge than another yet before our arrival each pair participating in the task in an even unnerving rhythm. I flash the wooden token at them, and a glimmering light of life returns to their eyes. They rush towards us and line up in twos, except for one who stands off to one side. There is no indication by dress or demeaner he is in charge; the only indication is he stands separate.

“We honour the token Mistress, Redagar calls us to service on your behalf.”

His words aren’t resentful, there is almost a sense of eagerness in his voice in fact. My eyes glance at the immediate surroundings and understanding grows within me. The ground is black with blood, viscera, limbs, heads, fingers, and toes litter their work area … then a stench reaches my nose at the turn of a breeze.

“We have been here many days Mistress and you don’t get used to the smell …” he offers.

I take a step back and I need to curse the wind as the smell follows. I swallow and keep my stomach down yet can’t hold my face straight.

A weak nod. “He warned me that I must ensure you take three days of food and water for twelve. So please fetch the required stores and return.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he replies. He false starts, lingers, while the rest of the work gang scatters. “Are you a wife of Lord Hob?”

I feel the warmth rise across my face; I can’t withhold my pride and blush. “Koria Keen Eye, first wife of Lord Farmer Hob Klug.”

He bows. He definitely, utterly, certainly bows before me! “I am Jozox at your service, Gang Leader in the service of Redagar.” He then runs off.

I tap Duzsia on her shoulder. Despite the stink, her mouth remains open, eyes wide. A gentle elbow to the ribs and she closes her mouth and follows my lead. I retreat from the firepit trying to escape – everything.

The wait isn’t long.

“Do any of you know where Zoria first hid?”

“No Mistress, she stumbled towards the gang working the pits that night, none knows from where.”

“Line up in front of me, we are going to spread out and walk towards the mountains, we know she spent some time in that direction so a good place to start. What you are looking for is a trail, not two feet, someone dragging their body along. Jozox, can you demonstrate how?”

“Yes, Mistress.” He drops to the ground and then drags himself along as if one leg is useless.

I blink, wondering if he would have done the same closer to the firepit where blood soaks the dirt.

“That is enough, study the trail he has left behind, that is the track we are looking for …” I eye each in turn and receive a knowing nod. They fan out almost evenly, Duzsia and I stay on the far left and far right respectfully so we can corral in any who stray. As the morning sun rises, one puts up his hand and we gather to him.

“Well done, let my sister-wife and I lead for now. Stay close and don’t forget to look about and warn us if any others approach.” They nod in reply and my sister-wife and I jog off, the trail easy to follow.

We reach the bush, find traces of blood and multiple footprints leading off in a roughly southwest direction and continue our chase. Again, the trail is easy to follow, more so when others and their careless footprints join the chase. Early morning and a lazy wide South River is our first obstacle, yet those running from us lead the way. They found or knew of a shallow and we wade, walk across – the current slow and the depth shallow. What I assumed would be a delay, a pleasant cooling respite instead. Glancing back to ensure they follow; I notice many of the gang drop and wash several times. I am tempted to allow them to enjoy this luxury until thoroughly clean, yet my Lord’s honour denies me, delay is my enemy.

To my surprise the tracks continue southwest, there is no attempt to wade either East or West along the river to discourage tracking, confidence, or foolishness? The mountain range to the South an impenetrable barrier, the cliffs to the West their sole hope. Duzsia and I jog on, the smell of the hunt replacing the smell of grizzly death in our nostrils. This chase is exhilarating, and my sister-wife agrees with a giggle when I glance towards her on more than one occasion.

“Mistress …” There is stress in his voice. I call to Duzsia and we halt and look back. The ten who follow are bent over sucking in deep breaths. I am confused, then I realise we have been jogging for over half the day without rest and yet my legs know they have worked but aren’t tired. As we approach, Jozox wheezers and straightens.

“You both run like the wind, Mistress. We are used to hard work and long hours, but jogging isn’t what we do. Let us catch our breath and we will follow once again.”

I can’t explain either, I do know if we can outrun Redagar’s gang then our chances of running down exhausted runaways and their chasers is better than good, even if they have a lead.

“Jozox, hand me rations and water for four days, enough for two. Report back to Redagar we ordered you and your gang to return, and we are certain we will return in four days.”

He looks back to his gang, most slow nod in agreement. “You are Mistress, first wife and we obey.” He hands off food and water to Duzsia and me and we bid them farewell as they turn about and trudge back. I look at Duzsia and we follow the trail once again at a jog.

At dusk, we think we spot someone or something in the distance, some movement at least. The land around us now consists of rolling hills, the looming mountain range to the South close while the cliffs to the West beginning to reveal jagged detail. The danger with rolling hills, simple, we could easily jog over a rise and find a great number of goblins in the dip. Choosing a position below the crest of the next hill, so our silhouettes aren’t easily seen against the setting sun we scoff down food and water. Once sated we resume our pursuit, creeping up the rises, looking over, and then scrambling down the lows, occasionally listening. We need to be in a hurry yet can’t afford to be ambushed or face superior numbers by accidentally running into them.

On the verge of night, a quick whisper to Duzsia and we agree to sleep, taking turns to lay in watch, my sister-wife first.

In the still pre-dawn, words whisper across the hills … I wake Duzsia and we crawl to the top of the next rise. The slopes of the Southern mountain range reflect the morning sun from the East indicating steep treeless stone, confirming a barrier none would attempt to cross. Even if it seems we can just reach out and touch the peaks and slopes they are still a half a day travel away at least. The cliff face more directly West is closer and the eerie feeling of being boxed in travels up my spine. The tall forests I grew up in and hunted always seemed endless …

My sister-wife grabs my arm. Her smile reassuring, her youth more daring and spirit freer, perhaps I am over-reacting as we return to eavesdropping.

“… be too far now,” says one.

“We shouldn’t have rested, we almost had them.”

“… need to be able to fight …”

I smile at my sister-wife and she nods confirming she heard the words also. We scan the horizon … a group of five, possibly six hurry over a rise and then disappear. We wait for them to rise again and as they disappear; we crest the rise under us and sprint down the dip and up the other side, diving to ground.

The group of six hurry over a rise and then disappear. I pat Duzsia on her shoulder and she returns a grin, we are faster, fresher, and fitter than those we chase and pace ourselves to match their progress. We recover condition while our prey tires, perfect exhaustion hunting. Chase until they drop, although this is usually best on four-legged animals, not a herd of your own kind …

Middle of the day and they pause, with one standing proud on a rise, his gaze fixed in one direction, towards the cliff. I tap Duzsia on her shoulder and we slip down the slope of the rise until out of sight.

“Do we sprint to the cliff and come upon both groups from the North?” I ask.

I notice her grip tighten on her bow while brandishing the weapon. “We can lay in wait while they battle and then choose our moment.”

“We will need to do more than jog to circle around enough …”

Her free hand cups against my cheek. “Lord Hob is depending upon us, he believes he needs to protect us at all times, his precious wives, his fragile females. This is our chance to prove ourselves.” I notice her eyes moisten. “When he woke me for his trip, I couldn’t believe he believed in me …” Her eyes blink and she looks away. “I thought he chose me first … then I worked the same calculation he must have …” She looks into my eyes again. “The new wives unproven, Rexa inexperienced, Koria a certainty, which means Luda would need to stay.”

“Why did Luda need to stay?”

As the words leave my lips, I realise the selfishness of my question. My sister-wife is trying to tell me she is here only because Lord Hob came to a logical conclusion, not because he thought her best for the task. Her hand leaves my cheek, the warmth swept away by a cooling breeze.

“Speaker of Law Zeb wouldn’t survive the loss of both daughters … he thought of your father …”

I reach out and cup my hands on both of her cheeks. She is hurting, the playful child has come face to face with her true worth according to Lord Hob, yet the big buffoon probably has no idea what he has done. Lucky for him his first wife will accept the responsibility.

“You put yourself in his boots then, would you have made a different choice?”

I feel her face shake slightly under my hands. “No, possibly Rexa, yet she and the Head Hob would make for an awkward meeting and I think Lord Hob saves her for when he needs ‘the awkward’.”

I strong-hand her face to look at mine. “There is also another thing you are forgetting, he didn’t expect to release us to chase his honour, he thought he would be able to protect us while returning to the Farm like any other trip. He said yes to setting you and I free from his protection … think on that.”

She mumbles her reply. “He didn’t plan on that happening and yet he said yes …” Her eyes open wide and her entire body shakes for a moment with excitement.

“Welcome to the world of Lord Hob, sister-wife, he likes to plan, and we have stepped outside of that now, and I am certain he worries about us.”

Duzsia frowns. “Worries about us?”

How could she not think he wouldn’t worry about us … does she think so little of herself to assume he thinks even less?

“Duzsia!” I call and regain her attention. “He is working towards some sort of plan and he continually adjusts his plan as new problems and advantages arise … I have been trying to keep track …” My confession time now, I guess. I so wanted to keep this to myself, my foolishness, believing I can think ahead like him … for him. “I want to help him with his plans … not just as he does them but ahead of time, do you understand?”

She smiles. “You wish to be like Milga?”

It … didn’t occur to me, but yes, exactly, like Milga, to be trusted and not only allowed, encouraged to further his plans because of that trust … my sister-wife has seen right through me and nailed my deepest desire … first wife yes, but I want more, I want to be Lord Hob’s partner and equal. Actively work towards his goals …

My hands edge around her head and pull her towards me in an awkward embrace. “Yes, sister-wife, I admit only to you, like Milga.”

I hear her muffled reply. “A simple kiss would have been enough gratitude, please release me.”

I release her and add, “Never forget, he didn’t need to agree to allow us to chase down his ransom, yet he did. If he thought you frail or me for that matter, we would be at the Farm now instead of on this chase.”

She blushes. “I don’t think he had much choice once we declared his honour at stake with Redagar and his work gang as witnesses.”

I laugh and place my hand over my mouth to stifle the noise. “I don’t think that is a tactic we should employ often. While not a true Hob, I think backed into a corner he will revert to his true nature.”

Duzsia leans forward. “I remember his bloodlust on the road, and we were lucky his little head can overrule his big head when in the grip of his true Hob nature, otherwise I fear we would be dead and in pieces now …”

I shudder as does she.

“Come sister-wife, regardless of how or why we are here, this is our opportunity to prove to him we are partner wives not simply frail incubators for his future children.” We both caress the curve of our stomachs and share a look. After a couple of heartbeats, we reach out to pat each other’s shoulder.

---

“They are climbing?”

Duzsia’s voice squeaks in surprise. They are desperate enough to climb while tired!

The six arrive when their prey are a quarter of the way up the cliff face. Smiling, hands-on-hips they nudge each other and point while staring up at them.

“Do you think you won’t fall Blood Suns fools?” shouts the tallest.

One flings a spear, which falls short and clatters back down. They sigh almost as one. Only now do I notice they don’t have a bow between them. I suspect the Blood Suns know as well now as they try to rest in place, a couple needing to move up the cliff face slightly further until they find a comfortable perch. Six chasing three. The three should have run along the cliff face to choose a better climbing point, the one they are climbing now is a dead-end, a smooth outward curve extends out ahead of them, impossible.

“Koria cast your keen eyes behind us, could we climb up above spear throw distance and rain down arrows on the six and the three?”

“That is a good plan until we run out of arrows, therefore we must slay them all before we do …”

On my back I carefully slide to the far side of the bush we hide under. The giant rock beside us will prevent the eyes of the six from spotting me, the three though, an idle look in my direction could be my undoing. I scan the cliff face; the only possibility is a medium climb and witnessing a spear cast already the possible ledge would be in range. They would need to move to be directly underneath us, and this glimmer of hope might fool them into remaining instead of retreating while still being able to watch the three.

Heavy shade bathes us all as the cliff face blocks sunlight from the setting sun. This could be our moment. Firelight over my shoulder draws me back under the bush.

“Are they going to cook over the fire?” I ask Duzsia.

“I think this is a tactic, their prey must be hungry.”

“Chief! It is Chief OuzOuz the Blood Drinker is it not?” shouts one of the six while the others chuckle loud enough for all to catch the derision and disrespect in their voices.

Another calls, “Yes we have fresh meat, we will only sear it so there is blood for you.”

A howl of rousing laughter follows, then the aroma of sizzling meat reaches my nose and I almost sigh in appreciation.

“Duzsia, we leave now before we can’t see our hands.”

Quietly sliding from under the bush, ensuring the boulder hides us from the six we dash for the cliff face. I doubt the three will raise the alarm if they spot us, why would they warn the six? We climb while behind us the jeering by the six continues. I cut our climb short, while lower there is an ideal ledge providing us with a line of sight on the six and the three with ample room to pull full strength on our bows. We catch sleep while the six celebrate and I assume the three try to console themselves.

The morning sunlight strikes those perching on the cliff face earlier than the six at its feet. One of the three looks our way, another throws a pebble at him and shakes his head. I assume that must be the Chief, along the lines of; ‘an enemy of our enemy may be our friend, so we need to make sure we don’t crap on their ambush.’

The dawn watch, stretching and greeting the rising sun takes a private moment to release his water after a short climb from the camp proper, which rests in a hollow at the base of the cliff. I nod to Duzsia and she releases. Standing prey, silhouetted by the rising sun, medium-range and my sister-wife places her arrow through his neck, probably missing his neck bone. He grabs at the arrow shaft of course as he drops gurgling to the ground.

A tent flap closes behind another as he emerges and looks about. Opening his mouth to raise the alarm he swallows my arrow shaft and drops down dead. I need to ensure we bring a tent next time …

The other four sleep soundly in their blankets. Duzsia taps my shoulder. The three are making their move, climbing down, one eye on the camp another where they need to step.

“If one of the three falls, release upon the close sleeping one before the falling one hits the ground. I assume he will be silent as he falls to his death …”

No sooner did I speak, did Duzsia and I need to release. The remaining two waste time trying to wake the dead beside them, providing my sister-wife, and me ample time to draw, aim and release. The Chief and his companion abandon all caution and with risky haste climb down the cliff face. Duzsia and I place an arrow each into the Chief’s companion.

The Chief immediately stops and stares at us. “Duzsia remain, release if he moves.” I climb down. His eyes are frantic, trying to spot an out, and yet, in the open, hanging from a cliff face, an arrow is certain to find him given our demonstration. One which I am certain he was cheering on before he became the target.

I inspect each of the six.

“We are Laughing Tusks. We hunt Blood Suns …” The arrow through his stomach a lingering death as black blood dribbles from between his lips, brows knitting.

“I will relieve you of your confusion, you are in the way.” I slice his throat with my flint dagger and reclaim my arrow as I do for each of them, can’t have any feigning death and live to tell tales.

I find the one of the three Blood Suns who fell from the cliff face. Broken leg for sure, unconscious, nasty head gash. I slice his throat. I locate the other, reclaim both arrows and draw my arrow nocked bow upon the chief.

“Duzsia climb down and join me.”

“Why?” calls out the Chief.

“I am in search of a ransom, a special knife. Your life in exchange.”

He studies me for a time while checking on Duzsia’s progress. He doesn’t have the knife, if he did, he would try to gain assurances from me not to kill him once he gave it up. Once down Duzsia gets to work, searching each, then grabbing the corpse by the heels and stacking them near the tent.

“The knife?”

He leans against the cliff and raises his hands, a deliberate balancing act. “I don’t have the knife.”

I pull back on my bow, the ache in the wood and sinew music to my ears – gathering strength to launch death upon whom I target.

“Wait! Wait! I know who does, I swear!” The high pitch of his voice confirming his panic and another fact.

“I have left them as I found them sister-wife.” She looks up at the non-chief. “Do I wait on the burning to add him?”

I almost congratulate her for her initiative, the implied threat. I try to Hob growl. “No, we are thinking.”

His face relaxes and shortly after the fire begins to crackle and flames rise. Smoke will draw others so we must decide.

“Climb down, dropping your weapons first.”

A dagger, an axe, both copper weapons. He must have traded with the Smith Hob or taken them from a dead goblin who did. His bodyguards were only equipped with fire-hardened tipped spears. Interesting, Lord Hob provides or leaves us with the best weapons; he values our skills to protect him and trusts us not to betray him, although capturing our Spirits makes the second trust a small ask. Duzsia has his weapons before he jumps the short remaining distance, favouring me with a pleasant smile after his smooth landing. I wonder If I am now meant to fall into his arms …

“Explain. I don’t believe it would be too late to add you to the fire …”

“We started as a party of twenty …”

“Not the long story, the part where you and the knife parted ways,” I demand.

“The night we took the knife, we split up, two following me, another three hiding behind us until sure the Laughing Tusks you have slain stayed with us. The other three were going to circle back and ambush those chasing us. Maybe they did and died or maybe they didn’t and simply ran away with the knife.”

Duzsia standing well back at the ideal short bow range scoffs! “You, the Chief gave up the knife!”

I hear her bow draw … he throws his hands up, he did also.

“I needed to give them something to prove I would find and join them later … believe me, I speak the truth.”

“No.”

An arrow whistles by to impale the Chief through an eye.

“Your father always says if someone has to tell you their statement is true, more chance than not it is false. The truth of a statement doesn’t need to be proclaimed if it is, in fact true,” says Duzsia from behind me.

“He isn’t the Chief,” I reply. “The fear in his eyes, he never drew the copper weapons … we could have tossed a spear at him to see how he caught it and then threatened him to check his stance, but I grew tired of the game once I knew he didn’t have the knife.”

When Duzsia doesn’t reply I look behind me.

Without looking she says, “You can search and drag him to the fire. I will gather more wood.”

I smile and nod. My sister wife is tired of this game as well. The glorious end of our Quest snatched from us in a blink of an eye.