---Zorottor Black Tooth, Chief of Oath Keeper Goblins POV

 

“That scowl on your face never fades, Chief,” says my second in command.

If he only knew the actual depth of my grievance. Once, I was a carefree mercenary troop leader able to find and negotiate commissions. As fate would have it, we found the ultimate commission before age could weigh us down. Keeping the peace for a tyrant, protecting him from a valley of his downtrodden people. Now, I am reduced to playing the glorified scout. Another could have led this mission, who could scurry back with a plan. But no, we are an Oath Keeper Troop and must obey the High Priestess.

Each wild, windy, bitter day had passed with us spying on the false Klugites, watching them rebuild. The temple village growing into a temple town. They would mark out the cleared ground and not build on it. Only much later, but they still left gaps. Strange. Given the amount of stone carted in, the cavern is being transformed into a new temple, which must be grandiose. There was a flood of worshippers in the beginning, but now, only small groups arrive, and not every day.

“Did the goblin village question your request for food?”

“No, Chief, trade is trade to them. There were several grain carts. The villagers made the hobgoblins stay outside the walls while they took the carts in, loaded them, and returned them.”

“From the temple?”

He nods. The carts were two-wheeled, hand-drawn. There is not enough to feed the swollen number of hobgoblins and the lesser number of goblin builders. The river nearby would have been convenient for transporting the grain, except for a waterfall. Instead, they had hacked a rough track through the forest between the mountains and the river. Any suitable timber repurposed for construction. Across the river were the grass plains, a much easier path. However, transporting the grain back over the river and into the temple town was probably impossible. Only opposite the goblin village was a convenient ford.

“Return via the mountain path.” I hold a hand up. “Slower, I know, but much safer than skirting around the temple town or being spotted and found in the open on the grass plains. Report to our Oath Keeper High Priestess that now would be the time to strike. We need hobgoblins to ambush the carts along the track and prevent the false Klugites from securing more grain. Goblin archers on the other side of the river can harass anything that moves in the temple town, which still lacks a wall. Eventually, they must decide between staving or dying in battle.”

“Chief…” He draws out the single word while pointing towards the temple town.

Our perch in the mountains above the town couldn’t have been more ideal. Light cover from the brush. The mountains are not extensively rugged, as we marked several tracks across the lower reaches. We also found a way via the mountains to approach the goblin village as if we were from the valley’s interior. Sell the pretence that we are natives of the valley. The only challenge is the wind chill.

Below, though, are the beginnings of an expedition. Eight, maybe ten, hobgoblins. Over half are female warriors. Then, a young priestess emerges from the temple in the company of other priestesses. Did they pay her homage? What happened to the beautiful one?

We exchange looks.

“Yes, Chief. Looks like the young priestess is acting on the orders of the High Priestess, or they have overthrown the beautiful one.”

The young priestess deliberately grabs the chin of each and speaks to them. Then they kneel, and she performs some ritual over them. Nothing we had ever seen. Once done, they march down the track.

“Do you think they are going to visit the goblin village?”

“Chief, you got to be kidding. They are on a mission of some sort, and I think it will have to do with food.”

They could probably sack the goblin village, but that won’t solve their food shortage next season. None seem eager to be farmers, although some food plots are being prepared within the temple town. Follow now. It must be food. The amount they would need could only mean Hobgoblin Town.

“Return to Lord Farmer Hob Valley with the report, but with urgency, because I think their food situation is critical. Meanwhile, I will lead our Black Tooth troop on a forced march to the goblin village and lay in wait, covering the ford. If we are mistaken and they go to the goblin village, then no harm, but if they are going to cross the grass plains, they will have to fight to do so.”

---

They approach the ford as if on a stroll. No scouts, sharing light chatter, and one reads from a scroll to another traveller. Unbelievable. This is a dangerous world, always. Ten targets. Sixteen of us. We will target all but the lead two hobgoblins. As they step onto our shore, we release. Eight hobgoblins fall. As they fall, another two arrows impale them. The blood loss from the first arrows already discolours the river. The remaining two throw their hands up. One male and another female. By her robes, she is a priestess. The male isn’t a warrior, though.

“Walk to this shore. If you run, you will die.”

Every so often, a hobgoblin tries to move and receives another arrow.

“On your knees.”

I leave half the troop in cover and approach the two.

There are still hobgoblins moving. They are trying to crawl off the ford, with multiple arrows piercing their body.

I try to make my orders sound casual as I pick out Black Tooth originals to do my bidding.

“You two check on the hobgoblins in the ford. Make sure they are dead.”

Something stinks. All the various troop goblins came under my command after the losses. I wonder if these goblins aren’t drawing fully on their bows to make me look bad.

As I turn to face the priestess, she smiles at me. Her timing couldn’t be worse, as betrayal is on my mind.

“You would be most welcome to join us,” she says as she extends a bloody hand.

A priestess with a bloody hand was a common sight when we witnessed them welcome new worshippers. They then drowned them and brought them back. The Klugite ritual, which the crones said would capture your spirit.

My sword sings from the sheath, drawing a black, bloody line across her throat with the tapering tip. Her eyes go wide while coughing in her own blood. The male reaches for her, his hands around her throat, trying to stem the blood loss. Useless, but it will keep him busy.

Next, there is a yelp from the ford. One of my goblins is thrashing about in the river, a hobgoblin trying to drown him.

“You four help,” I shout. “Cut their throats, all of them, even the dead-looking ones.”

A sound is missing… I look back at my survivors, and the priestess is sucking in air, not gurgling! The two goblins with me take a step back. I take a step forward and stab my sword in her eye. I twist the blade and withdraw.

“You heathens,” shouts the male as he cradles her limp body. My hidden archers, seeing the hobgoblins still able to move, continue to release arrows into what we assumed were hobgoblin corpses on the ford.

I study her face this time. The blood pools in her eye socket as if obeying orders. I don’t want to, but I must. I check her throat. A thin line of fresh flesh, what you would typically see after weeks of healing. The wind catches her robe. The cloth snaps back and forth occasionally. Another commotion in the ford draws my attention.

Water, you fool!

“Drag them out of the water! You two help and work as a team. Two drag the body, and one keeps slitting their throats.” I notice two goblin bodies floating in the shallows of the ford.

His clothes are dry now, like hers. The priestess drew all the water from her clothes and has now done the same from his. How did she survive the damage to her brain? Didn’t I strike deep enough? With him cradling her, I slash at her throat. My sword is stuck in her neck bone as I try to withdraw the blade. He draws back her forehead to inspect my work, which frees my sword, and I swing again. Her head rolls from her shoulders, and shortly after, blood spurts from her neck. As a bonus, my blade slashes into his upper arm on the follow-through. He screams and pushes her body away while holding a hand over his wound. With one final pulse, her blood paints my armour.

I curse my bad luck. For good measure, I slash at his good arm to give him a matching wound.

There are four hobgoblins on the riverbank. All their throats were cut, yet I am underwhelmed by the amount of blood that splits from the wounds. Grabbing her head by her hair, I throw it up the bank.

I turn to face my hidden archers. “Two of you watch him.”

I race along the bank towards the four hobgoblins. I hack at their throats until their heads roll free. Their heads join hers further up the bank of the river. My arm aches as I finish the last of the eight. The blood splatter from my effort stains my armour and clothes. Any blood on my flesh shortly after disappears. How?

With the river close, I could wash the blood off, except being wet and cold is not ideal. I lick at the blood on my vambraces. I sense them in the blood on my tongue. They had to be there, of course. They lack any commands, so I swallow instead of spit. I awaken mine. They taught us to use them solely to purify our blood and make ourselves true Oath Keeper lineage. The crones warned us that any other use would lead us down the dreadful Klugite path of spirit capturing.

Cries of joy break my concentration.

The first two goblins of my troop into the river aren’t dead, just severely beaten and half-drowned.

Six archers gather wood while the rest of my troop stack the bodies in one pile and the heads in another. All avoid the Klugite hobgoblin blood on the corpses. These were hobgoblins that refused to die from mortal wounds. Somehow, water was vital. Something I accidentally discovered, I reminded myself. Almost too late.

Our captive remains silent as he bears witness with his hands and legs bound. His wounds weep blood, where we all know it should flow from the deep gashes I cleaved into his flesh.

I nod, and one from my troop strikes his flint. Sparkes dart towards the dry twigs and leaves.

The Klugite ones in my blood are stronger. Mine tell me as much as they surround them. Stronger how? I command mine to purify the Klugite ones. This they understand and do so by adhering to the Klugite ones.

Thirsty, I scoop water from the river into my mouth using my hands. As my thirst eases, more Klugite ones are mine to command. I order them to convert my weaker ones into stronger ones. They communicate by a means unknown to me. I don’t have any knowledge, and then I do. They are called nanorobots and proclaim they are a gift from Lord Farmer Hob. My thirst returns, and I quench it.

“Chief, we are ready to leave.”

Two fires, one larger than the other, blaze away behind us, lighting up the dusk. I am the last to scramble up the Grassplains side of the riverbank. One last glance at the fires, and I follow my troop into the tall grass of the Grassplains. With luck, we will fade away with our prisoner to escape any High Priestess vengeance. The mountain tracks would be better, but you can’t have everything you want in this world, and the sooner you learn to make do, the better the world will reward you.

Our prisoner’s wounds no longer bleed. This doesn’t surprise me, and in fact, I welcome his condition.

The former Klugite nanorobots are now mine and have almost finished the conversion. I pause and drain a waterskin. A test, I need a test. Using my dagger, I slice the palm of my hand. Immediately after, I will my nanorobots to reduce the blood flow and then stop the bleeding. There are enough nanorobots present to repair my skin. What a strange word. Why not heal?

I can’t hear my troop. Cursing, I sprint after them.

Shortly after, sooner than I thought, not only did I find them, but I didn’t feel tired at all.

None seemed to have missed me, yet as I finish that thought, the two Black Tooth originals I sent into the river are causally edging towards me.

 

---Linmere, Shifter of the GPA Scout Ship POV

 

“Wait,” I hiss. “Something is not right.”

“What?” asks one of them, but I can’t make out who as I am trying to concentrate.

The something isn’t a goblin or hobgoblin. It isn’t alive yet moves. Thankfully, whatever it is gradually fades from my awareness. The wind howls around us, and snow pelts against our faces. Otherwise, we are warm and dry thanks to the merchant daughters and their preparation. I shiver, but not because of the cold.

We push through the snow until two rectangular shapes loom before us. Lord Klar’s presence burns bright. He is ahead, not far to go now. My heart rate increases. There is another. A hobgoblin. Given the multiple cautions from the daughters, I assume she is Lord Klar’s pregnant warrior concubine.

The second shuttle was ours. Snow spills into the cargo bay because the door is missing. A narrow path through the snow leads to the first shuttle we follow. Using the butt of my dagger, I knock on the shuttle cargo door.

As I am about to knock again. The swish of the door sounds, and Lord Klar smiles down at me while offering a hand.

The shuttle cargo bay holds all of us, including the four pack animals. They resemble large goats. They are less cantankerous, although they still eat everything.

He hugs us all. Only when I look around do I notice the other female, sullen, leaning into a dark corner of the shuttle. This is who I must have sensed earlier, his warrior concubine who seems more like a scared child.

He hands me a frozen hand. “What is this?” I ask.

“The hand of Diasha. Didn’t you pass her headless body on the way to the shuttle?”

His smile slips when I shake my head. Luda and Koria also shake their heads. His face descends into thought.

“Did you find her head?” he asks. Before I can answer, he continues, “Probably not. The snow would’ve covered it.”

“Lord Klar, I did, erm, sense something, some being moving, not alive though.” I raise my hand and point vaguely behind me. “As I concentrated more, the presence faded.”

He looks at Koria.

“Yes, Lord, she has a useful magic skill. She can sense others from a distance.”

“Good,” he mumbles. Lord Klar is still deep in his thoughts, yet his wives and concubines make themselves busy. 

They have somehow decided that whatever the future holds, the shuttle will be part of it. The twins unpack supplies from the goats and start preparing a meal. They throw the warrior concubine several layers of clothes. Luda and Koria grab shovels and exit the shuttle. After a time, the warrior concubine joins them, shovel in hand. I observe all this while concentrating on my magic.

I detect Luda and Koria quickly. All the creatures I detect have varying levels of brightness. Not a light, like day and night, but a glow. The glow of warmth? Glow of life? The glow radiating from his two wives was more potent and vibrant than the glow radiating from the hidden goblins I found in the desert.

Meanwhile, the glow of the warrior concubine is weaker than his two wives and more potent than any of the goblins. The monster didn’t radiate a glow, which at first confused me. How could I detect this thing? This confusion lost me valuable time and gifted me a chance to think. Made me realise it would have been foolhardy to chase something I didn’t understand. Especially since the monster radiated a shining blackness, like basalt, instead of a glow. The hand of Diasha, thankfully, radiated nothing.

“Why do you have Diasha’s hand, Lord?” I ask.

I caress his cheek with the back of my hand, and his face comes alive. “Yes?”

“Diasha’s hand?”

“The shuttle cargo dock wouldn’t open to any code I knew or my hand, so I desperately tried her hand, and it worked.”

“Okay, so what is next?” I ask.

“We either figure out how to override her lockout or take the door from this shuttle and repair the other shuttle.”

After a slight chuckle, I say, “Lord, the other shuttle isn’t only missing a door but also some of the bulkhead supporting it. Your wives and I should know we spent much time using it as a boat.”

“We need to do something. Her hand doesn’t unlock the controls.”

Is this my moment? Can I push him into accepting me? He rubs his hands down his face, his eyes skyward. He desperately needs this shuttle operational. His need is my opportunity. He took me fresh after my spirit transfer into this hobgoblin body in the Medical Lab on the Observation Ship. After three times, my magic germinated on this planet. Strong enough for me and his wives to ride a scout ship fuselage to the ground, converting certain death into a chance. With future couplings, I need to demand more this time to ensure I continue to grow. I don’t wish to be once and done, a simple, off-the-cuff, pleasurable amusement any longer. 

“Perhaps, only perhaps.” His eyes lock onto mine. “Between the hand, my Shifter self, and this magic I seem to have control over, I could force a miracle to happen.” I flash him my best forlorn eyes. “I will try…” His lips smash into mine. The ferocity of his kiss overwhelms me. I am still ugly, I remind myself. He is not himself because of the slight chance of hope I offer him.

He breaks off the kiss, takes my hand and leads us into the cockpit. Using Diasha’s hand, he touches the control pad. The door to the cargo bay swishes shut, and he places the dead hand on a shelf.

He places his hands on the door on either side of my head. Our heads are a finger width apart, and his breath caresses my ear.

“You know, of course, that you look the most human a hobgoblin can look?”

I swallow. Name myself a fool. Lord Klar isn’t a native of this planet. He is a GPA. So, he appreciates the human and non-human female forms. His current form and the memory of his birth form provide him with a unique appreciation of the opposite sex of both races. I must imagine that to him, the flesh package a female inhabits is as interesting as the females themselves. 

His face withdraws slightly. A sharp pain in my bottom lip causes me to recoil, but the door holds my head in place. His tongue slides over the healing wound, and then nothing. Why did I even react to the pain? I am such a fool. He can take what he wants from me because I need him to accept and give me much more.

“Your blood carries nanorobots, and you exercise control over them, that is certain. This strange ability of yours to absorb energy, let’s call it magic, from the planet. How?”

“I believe, although my body isn’t Shifter, my spirit is enough to call forth the magic of this planet. The nanorobots, though, are an essential bridge. Tinuna said she felt the possibility when she shuttled to the planet once but couldn’t harness it.”

His salacious smile raises my hopes. “Do you ever wonder what your nanorobots could achieve if I drown you in my seed?”

I hold my breath while my heart pounds. Am I to receive what his wives thought impossible without their influence? Breathlessly, I reply, “Yes.”

---

His rigorous use of my body wonderfully exhausts me. His seed is everywhere, and I absorb every nanorobot-filled drop. From the first deposit to the last, they take over and convert mine and then search for and extract impurities from my flesh.

My lidded eyes observe his watch over me. His eyes have a tenderness, which is surprising after such lustful brutality. Almost as if he is two personalities in one body. The bruising and pain were unexpected. I guess he didn’t know his own strength. But after that, bliss. I know his seed numbed and healed after taking my remaining two virginal opportunities, so the second, third, and so on takings were a pure heady pleasure. 

“I apologise for any pain.” He sighs and takes a deep breath. “I needed to unleash him.” He holds a hand up as I try to mouth a question. “It is a long story, but there is another side to me. Brutal, yes. But it serves a purpose. This other side can service an entire goblin village and, in your case, can overload, swamp, flood, and drown your body in my seed far sooner than otherwise. But I needed to service all your, erm, holes.” He opens his eyes. A shy apology escapes from them, or more precisely, his look. “I need to give you every chance to break Diasha’s lock on this shuttle, and I sense time is running out.” His hands cup my face. “I feel a doom is closing in that I can only challenge when in the valley.”

“I…” He places a finger across my lips.

“You will need water, and soon. Run from here now and dive into the snow.”

I feel my nakedness. I glance at him. He picks me up, forcing me to stand. The compartment door to the cargo bay swishes open. His wives and concubines stare at me, and I absently feel him push me forward. I don’t stumble from the push while standing in front of the cargo bay door. Another swish, and the freezing air licks at my body. There is a sizzling sound, and then I feel every cell of my body burn. I feel nothing more except the sensation of falling as I pass out.

---

“Grolgia! Your turn and hurry.”

I hear boots landing next to my ears, and then overwhelming pain causes me to pass out again.

---

“Zeria! You and your sister, now!”

I dimly note the panic in the screaming voice and then nothing.

---

“How much longer, Lord?” Is that Luda’s voice?

“I would have thought this morning. She is different, not a goblin, obviously, but not even an average-looking hobgoblin. She has her magic. Perhaps that is where I made a mistake.”

“At least the black ooze has finished.” I don’t need to see Luda to know she flashed him a cheeky grin.

“Yes, that is at least finished. The shedding bought us some time because I made an incorrect assumption that would have resulted in the nanorobots feeding on her body.”

---

“Lord, Xoria and I will take over. Your meal is ready.”

“You certain you can keep the snow up to her?”

“Yes, Lord. She demands much less now, so the finish must be close.”

I hear a grunt and then pass out from tiredness, not pain at last.

---

“Open your eyes, you ugly bitch!” I feel the slap on my cheeks, but no pain.

“Why should I?” I groan. “If you are going to call me names.”

Koria’s arms wrap around me, and I feel the warmth of another body for the first time in forever, or so it seems.

“You had him worried and guilt-ridden. He described, well, it, so much of his seed. He didn’t believe you would absorb every drop. After all, there is always leakage and such.”

“Missed you too.” I grin.

“I will do you a favour now, but you may not think so immediately.”

There is a snap and then pain in my mouth. Not once, but twice. I immediately try to feel for them.

“Tell your nanorobots to repair over them. Your thin twigs tell everyone to ignore you. With none, nobody can prejudge. They must be cautious at first and try to decide what no tusks mean.”

Teeth can be complicated. With nanorobots suppressing the pain and easing the way, I extract the stubs of my tusks using my fingers. Then, I have them change the genetics of the replacement tusks. Make them an exact copy of the tooth adjacent, the one closer to the centre of the mouth. There will be a couple of lower jaw gaps for a time.

“How do you feel?”

“Naked.” My nanorobots are nullifying the chill factor of the freezing wind. There is a remnant pile of snow near me. Around the two shuttles, nothing but frozen, lifeless ground.

“We brought snow to you, then Grolgia tired of that and dragged your body to the snow.”

“That explains why I can see both shuttles and no snow around them.” I snap my head around. “That much snow?”

“That much snow. Which is why, Lord Klar believes, anywhere else except here and the nanorobots would have destroyed you in search of water. Probably turned you to dust was Lord Klar’s prediction.”

“I remember a black ooze. What about Diasha’s head?”

“We cleared that up. No head. Anyway, you have a duty. You need to release the craft for Lord Klar.”

I jump to my feet. This is my chance. Racing naked back to the shuttle, I pause and look over my shoulder. A strolling Koria smiles and waves me onwards.

I must succeed. Gaining his seed turned out to be the straightforward part. Becoming his wife would require a miracle, like gifting him the shuttle’s control. The ease with which the magic of this planet responds to my will fills me with confidence. I hope it is not misplaced.

 

---Solgia, Lord Klar’s Scribe and Wife POV

 

“Well, what are we to do now?” I ask.

Voria and Vorlora stand fidgeting before me in one of the storage buildings at the back of the fort. My bodyguards stand outside, ensuring no one can intrude.

“How are we to blame for a stranger turning up with Morgren and his stolen wife?” grouses Vorlora.

“You have noticed him eye you like a piece of meat, haven’t you?”

“Pfft! He thinks she is Duzsia the Relentless, as does most of this settlement,” replies Voria, who chuckles awkwardly afterwards.

“That is another issue. Vorlora isn’t Duzsia, and while having ‘her’ back has certain advantages, I think it best we confirm her death. Are we agreed?”

“Are you certain, sister-wife?” Duzsia’s thoughts fill my mind. I don’t answer. Such is my certainty that Vorlora will make her own name. She will do this or die trying. There is no point in Duzsia dying twice.

“What, Vorlora, you afraid of losing your one and only drooling admirer?” asks Voria.

Vorlora punches Voria in the shoulder in jest. “No, of course not. We have the sons of the only Clan Head we know against us. He should behave, although I hope he tries to rescue them. Maybe he will if I reveal my true self?”

“Agreed then,” I say. “Tell the stranger first. A pity the wife returned to her family without waiting for us to introduce her. It will cast doubt about who rescued her, so her family may or may not feel indebted to us.” I can’t help but kick at the packed dirt floor. If that happens, it would be such a loss, as we need something special to draw trade to us.

“By the same reckoning, Morgren is the stranger’s prisoner to do with as he pleases?” queries Voria.

“Yes, but one son is enough to either restrain his father or enrage him to do something rash,” I say.

---

I asked one of my bodyguards to fetch the stranger. He now stands before us, his eyes darting about the room but always returning, ever so briefly, to drink in the promise of Vorlora. Time to disappoint him.

“Welcome. I am Solgia. On my right is Voria, and on my left is Vorlora. Who are you?”

His jaw drops. His breathing becomes deep and frequent while squeezing his eyes shut and open. We wait.

“But …?” He swallows. “They shouted. They shouted her name.” He points at Vorlora. “Duzsia the Relentless they shouted. How can she not be her?”

“I wear her armour. As her apprentice, I claimed it and am trained in how she fights. Many make the same mistake as you.”

He buries his face in his hands. “No, you don’t understand. I am the last of her line. Duzsia, the Relentless’ lineage dies with me.” He sinks to his haunches.

I glance at Voria and Vorlora and step forward to pet his shoulder. “Maybe not.”

As he climbs to his full height, I retreat a step.

“What do you mean?”

“Oath Keepers use a technique to purify their blood. When they have mixed births, they teach the child how to eradicate any lineage out of their blood except for Oath Keeper.”

“I don’t want to be Oath Keeper,” he whimpers.

“No. But if you learn their way, you might teach it to a female with a drop of Duzsia, the Relentless blood, and over time make her your equal and then mate with her.”

His face screws up, an equal mix of revulsion and disbelief. He opens and closes his mouth several times before collecting his thoughts.

“It seems false, somehow.”

“You trying to convince yourself or me?” I reply. “Your intended must have some Duzsia, the Relentless lineage, in her blood to have any chance, so a distant or very distant descendent. You are simply teaching her to claim her full lineage.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs.

“What of your prisoner?”

“The female with him suggested you might pay a ransom or reward for him?”

I share a glance with Voria and Vorlora. “If reasonable, as we have one brother. Two would be handy but not essential.”

He smiles for the first time. “Arrows, descent dagger, rations, and some trade goods. Also, if I find my wife in the future, I would like to settle down here if we are unwelcome elsewhere.”

“Deal. But we will give you some silver and gold coins instead of trade goods. They are easier to transport, although their value could be erratic. Many don’t accept them.”

He stares momentarily at each of us, and our looks must convince him we are serious. “Deal.”

---

The days that followed were a wait-and-see. Our prisoners we held down in a pit, tied to poles at opposite ends. The spirits of Duzsia and when with us, Klaria watched over them. We let the lesser captives go, one at a time, every couple of days. There wasn’t any deep plan except the unlikely hope this would torment their Clan Head. Releasing them meant they wouldn’t cause any trouble, and they ate so much food!

The former wife of Morgren and her family stayed. Shortly after, they built a workshop. Finally, something going our way.

After Vorlora confirmed beyond any doubt she wasn’t Duzsia the Relentless, many stepped up to challenge her. More than one male sent in a female first. Each defeat of an opponent gained her begrudging acceptance amongst the settlement folk. Being male or female made no difference.

We knew she was on her way to making her own reputation when strangers would offer to buy her a drink instead of challenging her. Not long after, she trained others. Our guards were first. Those who were former huntresses, who before that were Beastbane female chattel. I am confident their Clan Head would be unimpressed.

Several patrons of The Lord’s Tankard proposed a barbaric contest after witnessing her training against multiple opponents. Vorlora was to face both of my bodyguards at once. I protested, of course, but they wanted to, and I let them have their way. After she disarmed them both, Vorlora offered special one-on-one lessons for a price.

For now, we had to keep things humming along and wait for Lord Klar’s return. With Klaria regularly visiting Izga and Zergoa, we were confident we would know of Jarlgren’s plans if he had any shortly after and be ready for him. He cursed and swore instead. He waited for someone or something, thought Klaria.

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.