I sidle up to the outside corner of the kitchen cabin, trying to spy upon the Forest as dusk falls, will there be another group? How often will they arrive? Am I that desperate for more goblins?

“What are your thoughts?” asks Milga.

I glance over my shoulder and find her comfortably swinging in the porch hammock chewing on dried meat.

“What?” she asks.

“I need to ask the Head Hob for a complete pottery crew I didn’t know I needed until now. I had my chance and took spears instead. What I have planned will proceed much faster if I have skilled workers, yet I doubt he will grant me a second favour …”

In a deadpan voice, my partner replies, “Return the forty Spears? Or supply him with two bodyguards, forgo the cost of the ten spears returning those he gave you …”

I nod. Although I made things worse by suggesting a different need for his potters. The encroaching darkness of night competes with a bonfire near the original boar pen. My occupation of the kitchen cabin didn’t prevent the preparation of tonight’s boar feast, apparently. The feast organisers making do somehow. Good, my absence has bred some initiative in my goblins it seems.

“Husband …” I turn to face the caller. “The arrivals from yesterday are settled, and they know not to venture out until told to,” adds Luda.

“How many?”

“Fifteen females, five males and five children of various ages. They will need time to recover yet goblins do this better than most creatures.” She leans against a post, settling in somewhat. So, I know there is more. “I needed to warn the one you first met to stay. She wanted to follow the trail back and lead in others. She talked of caves guarded by a boar, I thought immediately of the elder’s camp, perhaps we should send someone to check?”

Would goblins run to a known place with a huge ferocious guardian … how desperate would they need to be to ignore such a reputation?

“If somehow there they would be in good condition,” I muse. Am I talking about livestock or sentient beings? “The elder left a quantity of food behind, too much to carry.” I approach my wife, placing my hand behind her head securing eye to eye contact. “Assure her we will fetch them, although any hints to ensure they don’t fight who we send would be good. Can you send Bekto to me when you return?”

She nods and I kiss her forehead. With a broad smile upon her lips, she ventures over to the sizzling boar and claims a portion before disappearing into the night in the direction of the birthing barracks and our Blood Suns guests.

“You won’t leave again to visit the Head Hob, will you?” asks Milga. There is a slight tremor in her voice yet with me laying down the law in the meeting she shouldn’t have any worries.

“Can you nominate two who would be loyal guards?” I ask, turning my head to face her and then cocking an eyebrow.

“Two of your wives.” A nervous cackle, until the meat in her mouth, becomes a swallowing challenge forcing her into a coughing fit.

I rush to her and receive a lump of meat spat at me. Wiping off the boar, I kink my head to one side.

“Sorry partner, on the plus side I know you care about me …”

“Maybe not as much as before you spat upon me.”

Returning to slump against the outside wall of the kitchen cabin I watch Milga recover by chewing on another portion and then return to my thoughts. Perhaps the Head Hob’s appreciation of the three cooks can be stretched further, willing to offer a pottery crew on temporary loan, he can’t have them all making bricks already. I won’t know until I ask, which I must as the alternative is to try and teach some Farm goblins about making charcoal and smelting in a clay furnace. Time! Time is against me and a round trip to the Head Hob with an uncertain outcome adds to the toll. Giving back the forty spears is another option, but if I don’t take them with me on the slight chance he agrees, I must cart them back in a second trip … more time.

“Can you see if we have some spare goblins to learn to hunt, ask the Copper Village recruits and Blood Suns? We have forty spears. Also, some from Copper Village wretches were once our apprentice archers so get them back into practice. I don’t have anything else …” I am tired again; I need to exercise more delegation.

“No trading back the spears then?”

Without looking, I reply, “No, we need them here if we have pairs of hands who can wield them and the more time we have, the better they will be.”

“Your wife approaches …” Milga jumps from the hammock and ducks around a corner of the kitchen cabin, venturing into the night. Why does she leave?

“Husband!” Her voice happy, with a sharp tooth smile beaming towards me. Probably the smartest of my new wives picking up quickly on the fact I expect all my wives to contribute and not merely sit naked upon my bed as trophies.

“I have a task for you.”

With that leading statement, I explain to her what a bellows does and how to make the vital piece of equipment explaining the same thing several different ways until I am certain she comprehends the task. I return her hug and kiss and my new wife skips away determined to at least collect the leather tonight to make an early start at first light.

Alone.

The Farm is quiet under a night sky, all the residents are no longer moving about, although I do wonder if there is a watch. I should probably know the answer to that question I ask myself upon reflection! As for my wives, I am certain they are busy earning my glory by watching over our new guests. How am I earning glory?

Her voice pierces the night air. “You sad for yourself, tough at the top, is it?”

“Not tough. A problem with a thin solution and time is running out …” I don’t know why I semi-confess to an almost stranger, what does the elder owe to me? I destroyed her quiet hideaway and removed her from a position of authority. From behind, the light from the embers of the cooking pit shrouds her face in shadow, yet I feel the piercing examination of her eyes.

“Whatever the solution I would advise against leaving the Farm, you have only just appeared and shared words of confidence. The ruckus after your quick summon to the Head Hob is a warning. You need to be seen here, send others.”

My dismissive face while listening to the first sentence must have given me away, the last sentence is spoken almost as an order. Seriously, I ask myself, would the Head Hob gift me the use of a pottery gang?

“Thank you,” I say and then stroll off towards my cabin.

---

My wives wait for me, yet Koria seems to have me all to herself. After a respectable aftercare cuddle time, my other wives begin to invade and demand in turn, until I exhaust them all, or at least satisfy them.

The first to clean up from the wash bucket, Koria’s naked body glistens with water droplets as she ambles back to the bed wiping herself down.

“Koria, I am glad you have returned.”

She throws the wiping cloth over her shoulder and hands-on-hips, replies “Ask your question, Lord Hob.”

My other wives go still, settling into a comfortable stop, washing or drying. Whispering dies as they take a temporary vow of silence.

“Do you have any news of Duzsia?”

Koria saunters towards the bed, I notice Lazsia scramble off allowing my messenger to snuggle into a close sitting position beside me. My need to know growing since her dramatic return … yet this is our first quiet moment if I ignore the presence of my other wives. I don't know if they have enquired yet, I suspect not, given their silence.

“We decided to search for the knife separately to cover more ground, she stayed in the mountains while I travelled to the lowlands near the South River. Many a village there burnt out, food scarce. I told any Blood Suns I could approach the way to the Farm to seek food and shelter, with the friendliest Hob I know.” She smiles, her eyes a blaze of adoration.

“Were there many?”

“There were two hundred heads on stakes, yet I believe that many still live because very few corpses littered the ground. Also, I could only find the occasional fresh burial place and not a single pyre.”

I place her head upon my chest, while I draw in my other wives around me.

“Chief Grol suggested the wives and children chose suicide when their husbands died. In fact, he says each of the invading tribes needed to gather the corpses of the women and children and place them inside one or more cottages and fire them, to burn the bodies.”

A tear rolls down her cheek and my other wives aren’t much better.

“Sad if true husband. I didn’t venture into any villages, but from a reasonable distance, I can tell you many cottages lacked rooves, probably burnt out. You would need to check up close for bones to confirm or deny his story,” offers Koria.

“That’s enough for now, we can’t change anything which has happened …”

Koria touches my arm and I look into her eyes.

“Husband, as I made my way back, I skirted along the mountains in the hope of finding Duzsia and heard a strange rumour instead while eavesdropping. Scouting patrol camps, more than one and from different tribes, the campfire talk was about a great warrior, he bested Chief OuzOuz Blood drinker and his two berserk bodyguards single-handed. All they know is he has a serious slash wound to his foot and uses Flint Arrows in his bow. Oddly, while they all search for him, none know what they will do when they find him.” She cackles. “They can’t believe he escaped the search of the village where the battle took place. Could this be another Hob?”

Why would a Hob be involved in a war between tribal goblins, but if unattached perhaps he is looking for his place? I inwardly chuckle – my own storming across the lands couldn’t have been mistaken by onlookers … A cold shiver runs through me – perhaps my display has been joined to this event to start the rumour, my arrival confirming a rampaging Hob, the result being the slaying of Chief OuzOuz? How far has this grown? The last thing the valley needs is the rebirth, even if rumour, of a Berserk Warrior Hob in bloodthirsty rage.

A tap on my forearm draws me from my thoughts. “Husband?” asks Koria.

My words slow. “Possible wife, quite possible.” I blink and inwardly shake my mind back to the present, and go to the age-old diversion, ask a question to force the other speaker to change their own thoughts. “Are you ready to teach Archery again?”

“Of course, husband, especially since you return to me some of my former students …”

Before sleep, I kiss each of my wives in turn as I say their name. In my mind I roll through each of their assignments, Luda harvests sinew and makes bows, Rexa takes care of the Blood Suns arrivals with assistance from Zuxa and Lazsia, while Bekto is busy making bellows. And now Koria will train more archers. My wives contribute to my glory and I must do as much if not more.

---

The next morning, I untangle myself from Koria. My other wives have long ago woken and started their day it would seem. I kiss her forehead and whisper, “Have this day, tomorrow I need you to work …”

Spear ready and armour secure, I open the door to my cabin and welcome the morning sun. The first stop is the kitchen cabin and halfway there …

“Lord Hob, a moment,” calls Zeb Stone Grim.

I halt my quest to break my fast and wait for him. Instead of an explanation, he tosses a river stone to me.

“Do you know of a weapon which can throw those? The children like skimming them across the river and thrown from a short distance at a foe they would at least suffer a headache. Better would be something with the range of a bow …”

“I don’t know if the weapon I am thinking of will have the range of a bow but would throw a stone a good distance across an open field. It is called a sling. Made from leather.”

“Wait Lord, I will fetch Bekto, I know she works on something else for you, but if you describe it to her, and the crafting simple, she will be able to teach others …”

“Lead and I will follow.” My stomach growls in protest, but I tell it this is important.

Under a rough and ready extension to the back of my cabin, a roof of sorts held up by two poles, we find Bekto shaping leather. I hesitate to disturb her, while Zeb has no such qualms.

“Yes, Speaker of Law? Oh, husband …”

“I need to describe to you a weapon, fairly simple and of leather … could you teach others while continuing your work for me?”

“Possibly, describe what you need …”

I explain the basics of a sling, a pouch for the stone and two long strands.

“Easy, I will make one before you send some volunteers my way and then demonstrate to them.”

I kiss her sweaty forehead and leave with Zeb.

“Who did you have in mind?”

“I thought some of the older children under the guidance of two or three responsible adults?” offers Zeb.

“Won’t these children try out what they have just made?”

He smiles his knowing smile. “I plan on it. The children are too short and weak to pull a bow but swirling a sling around and letting the stone fly sounds perfect mischief for a child.”

“What if they kill themselves or each other?” I grab his arm. “An adult?”

“They can practice hitting river water first …”

I nod.

“… plus, the ammunition is at their feet there,” he adds, finishing with riotous laughter.

Does he laugh because his daughter is back from presumed death, the thought of children causing havoc or both reasons? Does it matter I ask myself? Laughter is its own reward, and my bonded servant deserves as much as this world can bestow upon him.

---

I finally break my fast, alone – hot stew and I can’t help but smile at the taste. I don’t count Zana and Gato as wives, both I consider more as accidental companions regardless of their misconceptions and yet once they served me, both politely announced their intentions. While they couldn’t fish for ore, they could help weave baskets and promptly left the kitchen cabin to do so.

Pushing my empty bowl away I head for the kitchen cabin door to begin my search for Milga or Zeb. My shadows are no longer conveniently at my disposal, Zeb’s interruption brief this morning and then onto other business. Wait, I school myself as I exit the kitchen cabin. Didn’t I order everyone to work as if their lives depended upon it? Therefore, didn’t I bring this, whatever this is, upon myself? Gazing upon the fields, boar muck is being spread down each row of the nearest field. A gang of Redagar curses and swears while using their copper saws to cut planks, I assume for the boar pen wall. Children are delivering full water skins and taking empty ones. A Ten Spear returns with a boar strung upside-down along a log two goblins holding each end. As they lower the boar to the ground Luda and Zoxa are upon the beast. I assume to skin and harvest sinew and after, Zoxa will prepare the carcass for tonight’s feast.

As I approach, one then another and then the rest of the Ten Spears notice. Most have a varying amount of red blood splatter upon them and instead of cleaning the mess down, they beam with pride holding their spears upright in an almost salute. Ten sets of eyes follow my every step. Half of these are Copper Village skinnies, although not so skinny after I suspect, ten days gorging on protein. Those not carrying the boar providing two skins and several strands of sinew. Luda not impressed so they must have failed in some way to meet her expectations. Although this confirms they do slaughter in the field and help themselves. The others are from the Farm, I identify them by their good body condition not by recognition. I need to be able to do that more, see them as individuals …

“Where do you hunt?” I ask.

One steps forward, and I recognise her, one of the original twenty from Copper Village, although her name escapes me.

“Lord if it pleases you, I will answer, this Ten Spears is under my care.” She bows low and straightens slowly.

Hands behind my back I stride around them, no eyes follow me, yet some blush green, some white knuckle their spears and others try to stand perfectly still. When I return to my start spot, I notice the leader must have followed me around and yet I didn’t notice. I am uncertain if that is good or bad!

“Line up, a rank of five at the back, a rank of four at the front offset so I can see all your faces.”

With a minimum of fuss, they sort into formation.

“I have an important mission for you. You are to escort the elder back to her camp. We suspect there are some Blood Suns survivors there and we need them led back to the Farm. You may encounter Laughing Tusks on the way there. Tell them you are hunting. If on the way back and escorting Black Suns tell them they are your prisoners of war to face my judgement.”

“Lord,” she whispers.

I swivel around to face their leader.

“We have been hunting in the Blood Suns Tribal Lands for these past five days, the Laughing Tusks are nowhere to be found, yet there are others … they skulk about, stay out of sight … we have been leaving them portions of boar meat. We’ve been showing them kindness …”

I can’t speak. Her bottom lip quivers, my silence is being interpreted as anger or disfavour … I cough. Then quick as a snake I reach for and embrace her. She blinks as I release her.

“Well done. When you return from the elder’s camp with those hiding there try to entice any strays to join you. Yes?”

“Yes, Lord, as you wish, we leave as soon as we find the elder.”

I smirk. “She may not know of the plan so if she resists tell her Lord Hob needed to send another.”

She quirks her head, but other than that she orders her troop to spread out and ask about the elder.

“Two gangs of pregnant goblins harvest your pebbles Lord,” announces Zeb when he finds me staring at the sow pen.

Turning to face him I raise an eyebrow.

“They can float in the water, carrying buckets of swill is getting to be beyond them.”

I nod. “Do we have any of the original twenty from Copper Village still nearby?”

“Perhaps five,” he replies.

I appreciate he doesn’t ask why; Zeb obeys until he believes he can offer useful comment.

“I need those five to start teaching others how to weave grass into baskets instead of nets.”

He chuckles. “No need Lord we have a gang weaving nets for the Ten Spears, I will instruct them to weave baskets instead and stack them near the kitchen cabin, close to the swamp pebbles?”

I nod and return a smile.

As he swivels to leave … “Can you ask Milga to meet me?”

His turn to nod.

“Lord Hob,” calls Zoxa.

As I approach, I notice the butchered boar. The beast has been dissected into each leg, head and body, each piece laying upon a cured skin, which explains why the kitchen cabin is no longer required.

“Can I offer you …”

Her words attract my attention away from the beast preparation in time to see her sweep back a skin.

“A little something, I have been saving Lord, you look slightly skinner than I remember …”

Grinning, I hoist the roasted boar leg upon my shoulder and shortly after find myself nestling on a chair feasting at my cabin table.

“Is all that for you?”

Milga.

“I will share with those who work for my glory …”

She reaches for and slices off a good portion. I stare at her, eyes wide open and about to swear!

While flapping her stolen portion at me she asks, “What do you hold mead in once you have fermented the honey?”

Now I know she doesn't know how mead could be made before now, so she has been her usual inquisitive self …

“Barrels, wooden bowls or pottery from the Head Hob?” I suggest. Then chuckle, realising the Blood Suns must have done something given the volumes they supposedly consumed.

“Yes and no. What you do is capture some Head Village Potters." She waves away my look of concern, again waggling her portion of boar in my face. "Don’t fret this act was many generations ago. With teachers, however reluctant, you learn how to create pots, shape clay, fire clay and so on. I believe you were after some pottery skills?”

I slide the rest of the leg towards her. She waves the offer back of course, but I have clearly demonstrated my appreciation. Her mouth is now stuffed full of boar while trying to smile.

“Where are my potters?”

She flicks a thumb towards the new birthing barracks.

“Where do they collect the clay from?”

She mumbles not making any sense.

I sigh and she gets the message, gulping down the dregs of her gluttony.

“The same River as Head Village yet further East. They needed to gather the clay at night to avoid any confrontation with the tribes’ Berserks. Once done, then cart it back to their villages which were generally placed closer to the mountain range.” She sneezes and I dodge the spray. Without apology, she continues. “The drunks would demand jugs in exchange for being left alone, a time-honoured tradition apparently. I haven’t been able to find any who actually brew the mead yet.”

“Given the Blood Suns berserk reputation I have gone off the idea of mead as I suspect the goblin body can’t handle drinking to excess and I don’t need drunks on the Farm so let’s hope we never find any.”

She nods, with a solution grin across her lips. I suspect any Blood Suns who do hold such knowledge won’t survive long enough to pollute the Farm with mead. But I am only guessing of course, based upon my partner’s solution for my third original wife. And on that happy note, an unpleasant question for her …

“Would you accept returning to the Flint Arrows Tribal Lands on a diplomacy mission?”

She spits out a small amount of boar meat, having the good sense to turn her head away from me this time.

She sighs and waves a come-hither hand at me.