Her reply confirms the obvious, preferring males who doubt their bravery, and therefore easier to control, the lessor menace. I survey the crowd who cast their eyes down when subject to my gaze, without a doubt my Hobgoblin presence intimidating. A rewarding tingle skips down my spine – I relish this sense of absolute power over them and more, their acceptance that this is the pre-ordained natural way of things upon sighting me.

Under the grasp of my fingers the elder’s neck trembles. I savour the sensation for a moment.

My observations note the almost uniform hue of their green complexions and yet they must have spawned from different tribes, the symmetry of their faces or lack of, the clue. Each tribe identifies feminine beauty differently, starting with the face, although there are other bodily exceptions.

“If you were once Grim Weavers move to my right.” My left arm points right. They spare a look towards the elder and I feel her head nod under my grip. Three slim, tall for goblin females push through the crowd. Their askance of the elder bothers me on some level. Don’t they accept their lives are mine … there is a quiet squeak. I release my tense grip on the elder’s neck hearing an audible release of her breath as I do.

“If you were once Sharp Fangs move to my left.” I wave my left arm pointing left and four females comply before I lower my arm. Similar in appearance to Grim Weavers, both tribes border the plains needing fast runners or food gathering is some sort of challenge or … neither of those explanations I inwardly chuckle acutely aware I don’t know for certain.

“If you weren’t once Laughing Tusks step back.”

Over half, twenty or so shuffle to the back of the crowd. They carry weight, rounder overall and a plumpness in the face. The three brothers must enjoy a lasting peace for their folk to benefit in such a way from the fruits of their labours.

“If you were born here raise your hand.”

Eventually all seven goblin children present raise their hands. Their heads larger than right for their bodies, sinewy arms and legs. The oldest a male child around ten years, an uncertain guess on my part, yet alike, building muscle mass, the weight of the Laughing Tusks honed by athletic activities like the Grim Weavers or Sharp Fangs. An impressive micro community, perhaps grounds for a larger experiment in the future.

“Blood Suns?”

Most of the rest, a mix of shapes and sizes, some blending. Can I assume the raiding of other tribes results in this pot puree of goblin kind? I also draw the conclusion the female goblin body shapes are more a result of their environment instead of male goblin preference, especially where life and death are about survival skills. Only the most physically and possibly mentally suitable survive as they undergo this testing daily. The Laughing Tusks in contrast can look forward to at least one meal, if not more every day.

“Who in this group hasn’t raised their hand?”

Two female goblins, half extend their arms. I wriggle a finger at them to come hither. They shake their heads.

The elder growls, “Both stupid. If he meant to kill you, he would have done so by now.”

The first is a mature female, her stalking grace present yet undercover given a bent over posture and rounding of her shoulders. Her timid hesitation a disarming ruse of some sort for sure. Face to face her eyes try to relax under my gaze, not to foil nervousness though … I grin at her attempt to conceal stone cold death. Someone I know quickly comes to mine, although this one considers herself better than everyone else here, has killed, animal and goblin Kind, and will kill again if needed. Yet she knows to try and hide her true self while standing before a prey more powerful than herself, yet calculating, always calculating how to slay such a prize, the infinitesimal crease lines scrunching upon her forehead her tell or sign.

“I was taken by Blood Suns from the Farm and after a season, escaped.”

Being the Farm Hob I should know her then, but alas I conclude I am not the exact same Hob. My left-hand grabs for her right, calluses. Wielding a shovel or a spear I wonder. She pulls her hand away to be free, while stepping back, a silent indignant snarl gracing her face. I release my hold to humour her.

“If you tell me the truth, I promise to set you free,” I state.

She stares at me from a blank face, wondering like many before her, can this Hob be trusted to keep his word. I return a friendly smile.

“I am a huntress from Flint Arrows and wish to return, immediately.” Her chin juts out, resolute.

The elder chuckles. “So not lucky then, she has slain two males trying to claim rulership over us, one death a sudden spear thrust in the eye, the other a spear throw through the neck.”

I say to the huntress, “This camp will pack and then I will escort you back to your tribe.”

She chews her lip.

The elder breaks the silence. “How will we survive the Blood Suns?”

“Trust me. If you can safely lead me back to the battle site, I can guide you past the Blood Suns.” I am certain they will be busy fighting others before we break camp otherwise how did I make it this far.

The second rushes towards me, dropping to her knees. “I claim ransom. I am from another valley and if you return me my ransom is yours, I swear.”

A shadow falling across me gives warning. Under normal circumstances I doubt any sign would be given, but emotion sometimes gets to the best of us. I release the elder and fling out my right arm lifting the Flint Arrow huntress up by her neck. The strangling yelp alerts the other bowing at my feet, her fearful eyes darting between the huntress and me. The elder, back bent rubs her neck, while her eyes study me.

“It seems you have an enemy, fresh as of this moment? So, explain huntress before I snap your neck.”

Her attempt to swallow fails until I loosen my grip. “While not her, others like her kidnapped me …”

I flash a grin. “You lie, mere goblins could not succeed in such an endeavour against one of your tribe.”

She struggles in my grip, a futile protest.

“A Hob commanded them …”

“Now I believe you more. Still, the one at my feet belongs to me now and I forbid you to slay her. If she dies by any means my promise to you will be forfeit.”

Her fists swat at the dark green muscular arm holding her, while her face screws up in frustration. All the while I smile. “You done?” My voice calm and even. She nods and I release her. A small drop. Cat like she lands on her feet as natural as I would expect.

“I am aware of these ransoms and accept. We must escape Blood Suns lands first, so I will do my best to protect you as will the huntress.”

The face of the huntress swivels to meet mine sharp teeth grinding and the knuckles of her fists a pale green.

“You done being indignant?”

A pause, then a curt nod follows, the green returning to her knuckles.

The elder stands beside me, like any second in command would and I am curious why. Putting this aside for now I address the crowd.

“Pack up everything you wish to take, although the heavier the burden the longer the journey and if you fall behind, especially if we are being chased you will need to randomly drop your goods, better to take what you cherish and need, to travel light. Now go.”

They all urgently run about, even ransom and huntress.

“Why don’t you fight or disagree with me?” I ask the elder.

“I am old and surrender to your strength, many would be hurt or die resisting you and I doubt we would win, because we would need to slay you.” Her feet shift upon the ground. There is more she is trying to say … “I have lived a long life and no other Hob in my living memory can recover from the wounds you suffered in under a day. Several days of care should have been required and you sitting up should have warned me …” Her voice deepens with those final words ... perhaps regret or folly, in any event admission, failure to protect her makeshift tribe and now subject to the powerful will of another and return to her way of life before a distant prospect.

I bend a knee in front of her, so our eyes meet. “Well, I hope to provide all who join me with a better life, more so a safe life.”

“That is a big …  erm, what is your title?”

I scratch the back of my head, while smiling. “I have several, but Lord Hob will do for now.”

She nods slowly. I am certain she is conversant with all the ‘titles’, like Farmer, Smith and Head and wonders what I am. Squealing pigs draw my attention and I climb to my feet.

“We grew our guardians, a more certain process than nature,” she explains. After a smirk, she adds, “They are good eating also.”

---

By dusk we reach the battle ground and with effort I recover my hunting spear. The beast is still intact, and I order my new goblin friends to prepare a feast. The cooking smells spread across the camp as the flesh sizzles and fat drips from the carcass. Any misgivings about advertising our presence ‘to outsiders’ reduces from open protests to mumbles between bites of boar flesh. Full mouths rarely shout, while those with full stomachs rarely complain.

The huntress, spear in hand sprints from the surrounding forest towards me. I hold her shoulders. “Catch your breath, swig some water.”

She shakes her head from side to side. “A party of twelve approaches, spears and armour, two scouts following your trail. We must douse the campfire and lay in ambush.”

“Perhaps I am expecting them, the two scouts, female?”

She nods.

“One of the remaining ten spear carriers, female?”

She shakes her head.

“Erm … I will stand guard while you feast with the others. If I am wrong and you hear the sounds of battle gather as many as you can with you and either help me or flee.” The Ten Spears should be elsewhere, not free to chase after their absent Lord Hob. The sole explanation, these are a second squad of Ten Spears for show if nothing else. Zeb would organise their creation if he thought they would be needed, and we did have spare spears …

Her head snaps back. “Flee? Flint Arrows do not flee when someone pledges them a service. I will stand with you.”

“As you wish.” Leaving her somewhat flummoxed I stroll towards the solitary game trail leading into the battle clearing. Moments later the huntress darts about me, crouching, advancing in quick bursts then taking cover. Along the trail she leans into the brush lining the sides and then I find what I am searching for, a narrow section. Perfect, as I can stand astride the path.

“Lord Hob will I hide in ambush?”

“No, guard my back, if they are hostile, they will soon work through the vegetation and try to outflank me.”

“As you wish Lord.”

Within shadow cast by fading light a voice calls out. “Who are you to stand across this path?”

“Your Lord Hob!” I shout. “Come forth and greet me as you should.”

The huntress, presenting her spear slips around my body to face them. “You are certain they are yours Lord?”

“I recognise the voice, so don’t stab anyone.”

“Yes, Lord.”

Do I detect sulking in her reply?

“Lord Hob, husband!” Koria sings out, charging down the path.

Another close behind, although silent follows. Not a wife then, must be my partner. Behind the first two, the Ten Spears jog into view, shadow shapes in late dusk light.

Koria leaps upon me her arms about my neck, laying multiple kisses upon my lips and face, while her legs wrap around my torso gaining purchase to grind her loins upon me. I hear the huntress suck in a deep breath.

“We meet again Vuzsia Dead Eye,” says Milga Stone Blood in a predatory calm voice.

Koria releases me from her attentions joining my partner in a staring competition, their twin gazes fix upon my new friend.

I step to one side of the game trail fully revealing my present company. “I see you share a past, for now follow me back to camp and remain silent.”

---

The Ten Spears feast alongside my new friends, there is suspicion although my presence quells any open dissent except for the three who surround me. There is an unspoken understanding it seems, the others gathering away from us four, maintaining a respectable distance or providing enough space for sudden slaying. Koria insists upon perching on my lap, while Milga casts wary looks at Vuzsia. I demand they eat first.

With bright innocence, I ask, “Three of the Flint Arrows tribe reunited far from tribal lands, who is willing to share first?”

Milga clears her throat. “She is from a favoured family Lord Hob, who earnt her name quicker than most …”

“You still doubt.” Vuzsia shakes her head, her words even. “I earnt my name like all others, you were simply denied beyond all reason and none know why, the Council didn’t explain …”

Milga spits. “Politics.”

Almost a whisper, Koria joins the conversation. “You must admit Vuzsia you earnt your name the fastest amongst the female huntress’ …”

“What Dead Eye? My name is easily proven, how did you earn Keen Eye? I assume accuracy yet there must be more …” She eyes Koria briefly. “Stone Blood of course is as easily proven as mine, many witnessed your bravery Milga again and again, never flinching and ever resolute in the face of charging prey …” She saves sad eyes for Milga. “I can’t control which family I am born into although I can apologise for my family name, while none question the decisions of the Council.”

“Yes, of course you are right Keen Eye is more than accuracy, although now I serve my husband Lord Hob and am beyond tribal politics. When you reunite with your family, I am sure there will be a huge celebration … I know they miss you.” Her last words questioning … near enough to teasing.

“We are not a family Koria Keen Eye, we are a dynasty, how could you fail to see that!” There is a heat in her words. “My return won’t be welcomed after two years absence. The plans and counter plans of those years will require much catching up.” She throws an immaculate flesh clean leg bone far over her shoulder with a grunt. “All the while I must tread carefully not to be ensnared by other families or spoiling my own families’ machinations.”

Her final words full of frustration and I can’t hold back a chuckle, drawing looks from the three of them. “The Farm is simpler. I am Lord Hob, and everyone answers to me.”

“Vuzsia, now! With me,” says Milga, trying to hold back a burst of laughter, her head nodding in the direction of Koria.

“What do you mean?”

A hand reaches between my legs, unknown to me the same hand responsible for loosening the leather throng binding my pants in preparation.

“A wife is about to demand servicing from her husband …” Milga offers a hand to Vuzsia to help her up.

“Oh!” The surprise of the situation startling Vuzsia into accepting.

Vuzsia and Milga leave me with Koria … Vuzsia finding some words as she retreats, “It’s not Farming season …”

---

A general silence looms over our march, all perhaps acutely aware of the possible danger we face while within Blood Suns Tribal lands. I do or say nothing to quiet the situation as I prefer the threat to keep everyone in line.

“You do that when not in planting lust Lord Farmer Hob?”

I eye the questioner, the elder. She must have subtly worked her way along the line to march by my side. Koria, Milga and Vuzsia insisting they scout ahead, while the Ten Spears lead from the front.

“I service my wives when I have the time and they have the inclination.”

“Wives?” she screeches.

“An experiment of sorts I admit, yet I hope to be bountiful.”

“There is no such covenant, Hobs use and dispose … of all things.”

My memory flashes back to Zata, Kexo and Jora, didn’t they claim to be my wives …

“When was the last time you talked to a Hob?”

She didn’t answer, instead falling back along the line and out of my sight. What I did notice after a short while, an increase in chatter.

---

Slices of cold roasted boar broke our fast, the meat lasting to provide lunch while marching and overall allowing us to make up time otherwise lost due to a slow march such that at dusk, leaning on the Farm gate Zeb Stone Grim waits for us.

“Lord Hob welcome back and I see you haven’t returned to us empty handed, there could be some crowding in the barracks though.”

“Make do and see that Redagar has in his future plans to build more barracks, he would be busy now I wager so no immediate need to annoy him.”

“Yes, Lord Hob, is there one amongst our new guests they answer to?”

“That would be me!”

Zeb’s eyes don’t stray off me while the elder hustles forward ensuring she invades his personal space.

“There is an elder amongst them, who to her credit reared a guardian boar to protect her settlement of runaways until I slew the beast, hence their need for alternative protection.”

The elder puffs up her chest, laying hand on hand over her heart upon hearing my words.

“Law Speaker Zeb Stone Grim I present the elder I speak of.” I place a hand upon her shoulder.

Zeb nods in her direction wearing a polite smile. He waves a welcoming arm towards the Farm. “Follow me and we will soon have you settled for the night and we can make adjustments as needs be in the morning.”

A stream of goblins flow around me to follow Zeb and the elder, with more than one female goblin making their presence known with flirtatious giggles, lingering touches, or daring hand holding with words of thanks. Enjoying their simple attentions brings a pure joy to my heart and then resolution. None, pregnant by my loins will die during childbirth if I can help.

The clearing of a throat breaks my moment and while I want to yell, I don’t as the procession is almost done.

“Yes, Milga Stone Blood.”

“Lord Hob, Vuzsia Dead Eye requests permission to leave for her tribe at first light.”

I swivel about to face my partner, to her left stands Vuzsia and to her right stands the ransom goblin.

“How do you intend to reach your Tribal lands Vuzsia Dead Eye?”

“Travel East to towards the plains until I find a shallow river crossing – I know one exists. The kidnappers carried me across one. Then travel back West on the other side of the river until I reach my lands.”

I spare a look at Milga. “Did you explain the perils of such a journey, Laughing Tusks on this side of the river and Blood Bones on the other …”

“Yes, Lord Hob. Vuzsia is convinced, travelling alone she will be able to avoid all others.”

I nod. “See that she carries as much food and water as she needs. She can take, as a gift, one of the spears from our new friends to protect herself as a last resort.” To Vuzsia I say, “I wish you best of luck if your skill fails you.”

“Thank-you, I did … didn’t think you would …”

I place my hands upon her shoulders. “You will always be welcome here if things prove too difficult. As for letting you go, I have enough lives to be concerned with without trying to keep another with me, especially one which doesn’t want to be.” I nod and withdraw my hands. “So, go with Milga now and prepare for tomorrow morning.”

Milga smiling, slaps Vuzsia’s back and together they turn away. Did Milga rescuing Vuzsia from my fornicating make them friends or is she trying to hustle away potential competition for her position?

“What is your name?”

“Karo, Lord Hob. When will you return me to claim my ransom?”

I lean on my spear. “One of mine is already on a mission to claim a ransom, so when she returns – a few days yet and not before. In the meanwhile, make yourself comfortable. I am certain Milga, if not Zeb as well has informed the entire Farm of your offer and I believe my acceptance means you won’t run in any case, is that true?”

“Yes, Lord Hob.”

I wave her away and she hurries off to catch up to Milga and Vuzsia or at least follow in their footsteps.

For me, I dream of my own bed and turn towards my cabin.

“Lord Hob?”

I try not to sigh and fail. Several female goblins from the elder’s camp hurry towards me. Once they stand in front of me, no one speaks until several prod one of them forward.

“We, we overheard Vuzsia Dead Eye is going to return to her Tribal lands, we would like to return to ours … Laughing Tusks.”

I nod and wave them to continue.

“We could offer her passage through our lands in exchange for her protecting us.”

Several sets of hopeful eyes find mine, waiting for me to decide their fate.

“You can take that risk of course or I could meet with Meb Sharp Eye and organise your return.”

Between them they exchange nervous glances, the speaker rubbing her hands, stalling, until others nudge her.

“Most generous Lord, except we are from his brother’s villages, so Brother Meb wouldn’t be helpful …”

Seven goblins stand in front of me from over twenty or so Laughing Tusks. The others are either content to wait for me to decide their fate or will possibly request their return to Meb in the morning. Being from different sub-tribes there doesn’t seem to be any animosity, either now or in the past. Perhaps they were in constant danger when with the elder and now with being on the Farm, another unfamiliar place they consider their circumstances still tenuous, therefore keeping a lid on any sub-Tribal grievances. Could I use them as political pawns, are any important enough for others to care?

Studying their faces, none appear to be hunters or otherwise dangerous and yet to hold them would require watching and possibly imprisonment, distractions not worth the trouble I decide. Meb of course may expect me to hold them … fortunately he is busy.

“If Vuzsia agrees then I won’t object, you are free to leave with her. But! If she says no, I must insist you stay on the Farm until other arrangements can be made. Agreed?”

They all grab at me jumping and smiling. “Thank-you, Lord Hob, thank-you!”

“Away now, I need sleep.”

As a group they watch until I am safely inside my cabin. For what reason I don’t know.