Lord Torngul Heartsplitter trumpets his voice across the mid-afternoon crowd. “I announce a tournament. The prize will be awarded to the most skilful, the most valiant and to the most loyal.” He pauses and the crowd leans forward in anticipation. “The contestants will battle for six places within my Honour Guard, instead of four as now. Voria, Trela, Zergoa and my newest Drusia will need to compete for their places, so the field is wide open, and I invite one and all to compete.”

His shadow shades me as I sit like a schoolboy in a small chair beside his larger and lavish throne chair upon a hastily erected dais, specially built for the announcement and to conduct the tournament over the next few days, depending upon the number of contestants. The only acknowledgement of me is the position of my chair, significantly on his right-hand side. I catch a few questioning glances my way, some obvious, most subtle. My observation of the crowd is equally inquisitive. Several groups gather, there are sub-groups aligned to them, but not publicly or at least not on this occasion. Signals vary from finger manipulation to several different clothing adjustments and messages passing by bumping into each other, accidentally of course.

More of interest is the arrivals and departures from the audience. I can’t associate names to faces, yet I do observe a curious fact; many in attendance at the beginning of Lord Torngul’s speech who do leave, with few exceptions, shortly return. As for any new arrivals they all do leave after they make some form of contact with a group or subgroup in the crowd.

There is some boosting, with an occasional group favourite stepping forward, taking a bow, and then demonstrating with a flurry of weapon swings and stabbings while throwing their bodies about why they should be victorious. Then, upon the breeze, mouth-watering flavours draw everyone’s attention and the audience drifts towards the source.

“Eat and welcome to all!” Torngul shouts. Female hobgoblin servants wheel out from a nearby stone building spit roasts, the metal base covered in charcoal, while a bar with a turn handle skewers the roasted beast above the radiating heat. They stand by them to load up the plates of anyone who approaches them.

Torngul shuffles back until he once again settles into his throne. Voria on his right hands him a beverage, while Trela hand feeds him shredded roast from the left.

“Let the games begin,” he whispers between mouthfuls.

“Do I detect a hint of enjoyment?”

He clears his throat and leans into my ear. “I am on a win-win. If this is an elaborate ruse by the High Priestess Rexa, she will bring this all down in her own good time. If not, all the better to serve Lord Farmer Hob once again. Either offers me the chance to wield the power I have been granted by the situation and when it ends I will either return as your servant in the future dispelling my delusions or be forever released from her machinations.”

I swallow. I thought him convinced … “Your attitude then is fatalistic, unconcerned the effect your actions will have upon my wives, one of whom is your daughter?”

“You say daughter and I do enjoy the illusion and moving forward I hope her to be real but, in the meanwhile, I will enjoy myself, although I do commit myself to support your aims in case you and I are real.”

The wily old goblin had me convinced … yet what does that matter?  As long as he plays his part with loyalty, that is all I need.

“That is all I have Lord,” declares Trela.

“Good timing my dear. Make certain you collect samples from several of the spit roasts. It would appear some of our guests don’t trust our cooking.”

As she saunters off to do her Lord’s bidding, I am certain I overhear Voria hiss the word ‘slut’.

“Jealously becomes you dear.” As he speaks, he grabs her wrist twisting until she has no option but to land on his lap. He then kisses her lips hard and long, his tongue disappearing into her mouth. Her face glowing green and after a moment of resistance, she returns his aggression. When their lips part he twists her wrist back and she jumps off his lap he slaps her leather-clad bottom resulting in a loud whack. For a moment silence descends over an already quiet crowd given their previous antics although the murmuring recovers with something new to talk about.

Trela storms towards us, the dais hardly interrupting her stride with a plate of shredded roast meat in either hand, her eyes revealing her intent as she claims Lord Torngul’s lips while straddling his lap with a plate hovering either side of the throne. Torngul grabs at her chest armour, specifically the breast bumps and pushes her back. Her head leans forward, neck stretching until the distance is too great. She pouts.

“I expect my offer of meat to be reciprocated tonight, Lord,” she growls. Those nearest to the dais overhear her every word and as a result, another ripple of gossip spreads across the gathering as Trela resumes her duty.

“That will thin the challengers as they are now all aware of the extra duties, I expect from my honour guard. There were rumours, of course, you know, prior. I have simply decided to confirm them to remove any misunderstanding and avoid future tantrums.” With his elbows resting upon the armrests of the throne, he waves his honour guard forward until their thighs bump into the back of his hands. He immediately wraps a hand around their upper legs climbing higher until he reaches the apex of their legs. I notice, to their credit both of his honour guards blush green yet neither protest, instead they nibble on their bottom lips with the occasional lick of their tusks.

I refrain from asking him if he is truly Zeb Stone Grim … I assume he will be more circumspect when Luda is present, maybe? Now though, there are none to restrain him, not even me as I am his favoured nobody sitting on his right-hand side to be certain yet sitting on a small low chair. More avail themselves of the food now, proven safe? As dusk falls the offer of wine is added to the drinks menu, until now, mead only.

Mead enlivens the celebration, while wine, an uncommon drink in this valley, sends many into a drunken stupor. The number of hobgoblins asleep on the cobbled street accumulates as time ticks by. Lord Torngul only sips, firstly a mug of mead and then a glass of wine, while Voria and Trela aren’t permitted mead or wine.

A huge crunching whomp echoes behind us. Lord Torngul glances over his shoulder while everyone else still capable tries to focus on the pile of flesh now littering the cobblestone street.

While I am still trying to comprehend, I hear Lord Torngul chuckle and crane my head up to face him.

“Seems my manor required some housekeeping.” He then sips his wine.

Why do I feel he read the arrivals and departures in the crowd better than I did?

--- Luda the nameless POV

The light from a single candle holds back the gloom of night in the room.

“Here.” I hand Zoria one of my daggers.

“I am naked … a dagger doesn’t change that.”

Ignoring my sister wife’s gripe, I creep towards the door and place my ear upon the bound polished wood. Zoria simply follows me, her footfalls loud enough for even an adolescent hobgoblin to hear. I would like to curse her, instead, I stay quiet. I jump to the non-hinge side of the door just in time to avoid the door bursting open and smacking me down. A shadowy figure charges through crashing into Zoria and with unerring aim places a dagger at her throat while Zoria’s weapon skitters away, the shock releasing her grip.

My dagger is around the intruder's throat. At the same time, we relax our grips and back away quirking our heads. Even Zoria remains quiet. Our faces are largely in shadow, the single candle fluttering yet staying alight through the commotion. I instinctively identify the intruder as my sister-wife and as Zoria climbs to her feet I know somehow, perhaps by her open welcoming arms while frowning she is arriving at the same conclusion.

Sheathing my dagger I declare, “I am sister wife Luda.”

Following my cue, Zoria says, “I am sister wife Zoria.”

Hands resting on her hips, the intruder replies, “I am sister wife Izga, here to assassinate you mistress.”

“How am I your mistress,” asks Zoria.

Izga shakes her head and sidles up against me her lithe body wrapping around my shorter goblin body like a snake her hands being especially familiar with my lumps and bumps.

“I am a hobgoblin, you are a hobgoblin, how can she, a mere goblin be your mistress?” demands Zoria now quickly changing her tune, fearing she is somehow missing what is due.

Before I can speak Izga purrs, “Because she captured me with ease, didn’t slay me and forced me to face Lord Klug and fall into his arms. When he took me … I never knew such bliss …”

“Once or twice,” snaps Zoria.

“That is enough is it not?” Izga quirks her head.

Zoria cackles only stopping when she hitches her chest.

“I must apologise on behalf of sister wife Zoria, she has been serviced by Lord Klug every day and every night for the past several days and her mind is slightly addled from screaming too much, especially where she should be humble when conversing with another sister wife.”

Zoria recovers sticking her nose in the air. “I can’t help it if Lord Klug desires me over all his other wives …”

My slapping her face interrupts her superiority, her hand grabbing at her waist for a non-existent dagger an unexpected reaction and a warning.

“Lord Klug takes protecting his wives seriously. Your servicing was to ensure his seed was plentiful to hasten your improvement. How can I say this not to offend? Erm, I can’t.” I shrug. “He cherishes and loves us all equally never be deluded to believe anything else.”

“Several days, day and night?” Her pitiful voice grabs our attention. Tears spring forth and run down Izga’s cheeks. “I have a single morning of lovemaking to sustain me and yet this ungrateful bitch in front of me has been serviced several times beyond my imagination … you wound me more deeply than any dagger sister wife.” Izga hugs me with a ferocious fervour.

“I … I, well how about we capture you and leave you trussed up to await Lord Klug’s pleasure?” offers Zoria.

“Oh.” Izga releases me with a jerk. “There are two more intruders in the manor tonight. Who would they be targeting?”

“How do you know that?” quizzes Zoria, the doubt in her voice plain.

I snap a reply, “Why do you have to …”

Izga’s hand covers my mouth to muffle my words. “When my mistress defeated me so easily, I learnt from her.” She points at her ears. “Hearing. I practised every spare moment to improve … this is a waste of time, what do we do now?”

“You and I will sneak out.” Facing Izga, I point a thumb over my shoulder at Zoria. “And leave the noisy one behind so we can surprise the two intruders.”

I feel Zoria’s hand upon my shoulder, and I smile.

“You can’t leave me behind and claim all the glory, I was once an accomplished huntress, I can sneak, plus I have sweated black ooze tonight which must mean Lord Klug’s seed has cleansed my body and improved me beyond … well beyond either of you,” she huffs.

I wipe the smile from my face and turn to face Zoria. “If you can remember to be quiet, then you can follow several paces behind us and charge in when you hear any shouting or clash of weapons. Agreed?”

“Yes, sister wife.” I detect the sulk in her voice and allow it to slide for now. It dawns upon me though from her response Zoria is used to being threatened, she may even expect such leadership. Lord Hob never did trust her as a goblin and didn’t know why. I think I do now …

I nod and with a hand on Izga’s hip, I guide us both through the door and once a short way down the corridor, we pause to listen. With some satisfaction, I note Zoria crouches behind the threshold of the door, naked yet once again gripping a dagger.

I overhear first, yet Izga glances at me a heartbeat after. Weapons clashing and then silence. We rush along the corridor and climb a set of wide stairs, our bare feet soundless upon the stone. With haste, we approach the double doors to Lord Torngul’s throne room, both flung wide open. As we sneak a peek the assassins each have a garotte around the throats of Duzsia and Zergoa. Duzsia’s hand inside the loop sustains her existence while Zergoa bashes her assailant against a wall trying to stun her attacker.

“Help Zergoa,” I whisper while pointing her out.

I rush forward, twin daggers ready and position myself behind Duzsia’s attacker. With two quick stabs my daggers pierce her biceps, so she loses strength in them, and I then stab her thighs, my daggers impale her flesh sliding past the bone and exiting out the other side. Duzsia swivels about and grabs for her throat. She finds all the fight has left the assassin and Duzsia gently lowers her to the floor, a face full of pain and bafflement staring back.

I glance across at Zergoa who is massaging her throat. Her attacker is an unconscious heap laying on the floor. Izga leaps at me in celebration. “I brained her, thinking you may want to ask questions. Yes?”

“Yes, exactly, although I prefer to wound.” My hand sweeps over my victim. “But as always it depends upon the circumstance.”

“You got them!” growls Zoria. “Without me.”

I march towards Zoria and place my hands upon her hips gaining her attention. “This time, yes. We could storm in because we knew you would be our backup. You understand?” I shake her hips even with her ardent resistance. Her eyes open wide as realisation dawns. My strength is at least equal to her, possibly stronger.

“You are strong, for a … for a goblin,” she gasps.

“I have been receiving Lord Klug’s seed longer than you. Quantity is important, but regular donations are more so,” I add.

I feel her sinewy arms wrap around me. “Can I sneak in, to your room and be serviced regularly you think?” she whispers.

I whisper back, “That will depend upon Lord Klug, not I, sister wife. My advice though is don’t be afraid to ask and don’t sulk or whine.”

Her kiss on my cheek is acknowledgement enough and I note she introduces herself to Duzsia and Zergoa who greet her in return. Following Izga’s lead Zoria says hello.

“Nice timing sister wife,” says Duzsia while nodding at me.

“Credit belongs to Izga, who is supposed to be throttling me and instead overheard these two, sneak in.”

“Should we hold them until Lord Klug returns?” asks Zergoa while dragging the unconscious one until she rests beside the other. She then binds the other assassin’s wounds to prevent the blood mess from expanding as much as anything else.

Duzsia and I exchange looks and I wave my hand towards her, encouraging her to reply certain we are of like mind.

“No. We will question them now,” replies Duzsia.

They both refuse to talk, even when Izga takes over from our squeamish efforts and taps a dagger point up under their fingernails.

“It seems Lord Klug will need to acquire another wife to receive any answers,” mutters Zergoa.

Duzsia and I shake our heads at the same time and then smirk.

I speak up first though. “No sister wife Zergoa, no more sister wives. These two will die tonight.”

Her eyes search out the faces of Duzsia and I, pleading.

“How many wives of Lord Klug do you count in this room, and you want to add another?”

“What about exposing this plot? They could have been targeting Lord Klug?” says Zergoa.

I grab Zergoa at the hips and look up into her eyes. “Lord Klug is with Lord Torngul, everyone knows this, so these two and Izga were to kill who they came after and no one else. Therefore, we slit the throats of these two and throw them out of Lord Torngul’s manor as a message.”

“What about me,” stammers Izga.

I nod to Duzsia. “Your sister wife will draw her dagger across your neck until you bled, although avoiding any veins. Enough for us to believe you have died or would. We will bundle you up with these two and their bodies should cushion your fall to ensure you survive.” I smile a wide, bright smile in her direction.

“Cushion my fall, from what height?”

I turn to Duzsia who replies, “This floor, to be convincing. At worst you will be in pain if you fall badly, as long as you don’t die all will be well. Make certain one, preferably both of their bodies are underneath you when you land.”

Witnessing Izga gulp is a normal reaction, yet she doesn’t realise the power of Lord Klug’s blood.

“You, my sister wives, all believe this is best?” She surveys the room and receives a nod from each of us. The wounded assassin begins to yelp, probably imminent death the motivation. Zergoa reaches across and drags a dagger across her throat and the former unconscious assassin as well. She then approaches Izga who swallows and closes her eyes. When Zergoa is done Izga’s throat bleeds well but eventually, the blood dries.

We place the two assassins side by side and tie their opposing arms and legs together and instruct Izga to climb on top of them both, half her body weight on one and a half on the other. Duzsia and Zergoa grab one end, Zoria and I hold the other. We shuffle to the balcony and release. The two corpses stay as one, while Izga grips their armour. The sudden stop is loud, and we perch ourselves on the balcony to observe the mayhem as a result.

After a short while, Lord Klug is the first to reach the bloody mess. He quickly recognises Izga and feeds her some of his blood by forcing her to bite his wrist. He slaps her away while untying the ropes and using them to separately tie the hands of the other two.

A few of the more inquisitive hobgoblins join Lord Klug, with lanterns shining light on the scene.

Lord Torngul joins the crowd, Voria and Trela clearing the crowd from his immediate personal space.

Lord Klug looks up. “Who did this skinny one attack tonight?” he shouts.

“Your goblin, Lord,” shouts back Duzsia leaning over the balcony.

Lord Klug looks for confirmation from Lord Torngul who nods.

“I claim this assassin as my property to find out who sent her and afterwards, I will determine her fate.” With that said, Lord Klug throws Izga over his shoulder and feigns difficulty to stand but manages as he struggles towards Lord Torngul’s manor’s northern gate. Lord Torngul follows him with Voria and Trela close by. None inspect the bodies except for a casual look as all know none will want to claim them and assume the night goblins will clean up the mess like they usually do.

--- Lord Klug POV

“Be still until we are in the manor,” I whisper.

Lord Torngul pats my bodiless shoulder. “I assume the other two were after Zergoa and Duzsia, such a waste given both will bow out gracefully. Still, the attempt means at least two of the contestants will profess loyalty to me yet report to another. Voria and Trela, I will be disappointed in you both if you fail to identify any spies quickly and efficiently,” he growls.

“Yes, Lord, none will escape our vigilance.”

We continue in silence and part at the wide stairwell. I carry my compensation to my room and once inside close the door behind me. Zoria greets me, while Luda inspects Izga, and I lower her to the floor to make that easier. After wiping her throat, Luda fetches water and dribbles some into her open mouth. Zoria wraps herself around me and I am about to explode when Luda saves her.

“Zoria, fetch two or three full water skins, some fresh clothes, for yourself and Izga and prepare at least three bedrolls.”

In the shadows I notice her mouth open and then close; she then rushes off as instructed much to my surprise. I place a finger under Luda’s chin. “You will tell me later, yes?” She nods then wraps a piece of cloth from her shift around Izga’s throat.

“We noticed you fed her some blood, Lord. Can I suggest you offer her some seed tonight? She was awake when you reached her, we saw you offer her your arm. Yet now she is unconscious, and I suspect internal bleeding or organ damage …”

I nod and begin removing her soft leather armour, weapons, and clothes with Luda’s assistance. She does murmur occasionally which is a good sign. Duzsia returns in fresh clothes and offers us a set for Izga, which I wave away and lifting her I place her semi-conscious body upon the bed.

Staring into Zoria’s eyes, I order her to sleep on a bedroll. I flick a wrist at Luda. “On the bed wife, I may need some assistance.”

She scopes up the three water skins. “Yes, Lord.”

---

I wake in the morning and understand why Izga lays still, due to her body trying to recover. I thought Luda would be the first awake, yet perhaps she has a hangover from the many recent night shifts. The strangest sight belongs to Zoria, she lays across the bed with my feet warming against her naked stomach and her arms especially entwined to hold them in place, while asleep. How? More importantly why?

I rouse Zoria and order her to fetch enough food for all of us to break our fast.

Once she leaves, I wake Luda. As she opens her sleepy eyes her face softens, and she places a delicate kiss upon my lips.

“Quickly, tell me about Zoria.”

She rubs her eyes. “You need to ask her about her past. She didn’t have loving parents if she had parents at all. Whoever looked after her, treated her as vermin, she responds to orders. I believe your early rejection of her was an instinct response on your part. She is incapable of taking any sort of initiative beyond pursuing her self-centred aims. Order her, and you will soon realise what I say. How is Izga?”

“I am about to wake her. It would be useful if I am seeding her when Zoria returns.”

Luda nods and smiles and we proceed like last night the timing is almost perfect, and I suspect Luda’s hearing is the key. In fact, I now realise how she could do the same for the past several days and inwardly smile. Izga moves and moans underneath me this time and then I allow her to rest. To my surprise, our meal portions and drinks are set out.

“Thank you, Zoria.”

She is about to accept the praise when she spills. “Luda ordered me to. I am good at obeying, Lord.”

Zoria is broken. She did tell me her story, long ago although I didn’t pay much heed to any specific details … possibly a mistake then with ramifications now. I was too concerned she would seek revenge after I slew the Ranger Hob. My only takeaway at the time being he raised her. I recall several of my wives being missing also contributed to my many distractions then. How can I forget my inner Hob? What a mess I was in then. I remember some, maybe with this understanding, I can encourage her to go beyond doing what is ordered. She certainly displayed potential when first revealed in Torngul’s Throne Room … maybe I read too much into that performance though? She would have sensed all those present were “mine”, including herself. Did she believe the confrontation at the time a family squabble, her surprise appearance needing her to establish herself in the pecking order whereas before the Ranger Hob ordered and she obeyed? Now, afterwards, there are others, not of family, in a valley she isn’t familiar with, and she, therefore, returns to doing what is ordered?

I finish and decide to stay in, ordering Zoria to clean up the room and return the dishes. While Izga sleeps on one half of my bed I entertain Luda on the other half, and we fall asleep with my goblin wife snuggling upon my chest.

“Lord?”

I hear the whisper this time, uncertain how many times she has already asked. My head turns towards Izga while wearing a welcoming smile.

“Water?”

I nod. “Zoria fetch water please, three mugs.”

“Yes, Lord.” Her voice projection suggests she is or was laying on the floor.

I kiss my spy while we wait. “Who decided it would be a good ruse to throw you off the third floor of the manor?”

“Your wives, Lord. Upon reflection, the death of the other two and my remarkable survival would be a tale told for many years and your claim upon me sealed by attack upon one of your own.”

I comb my fingers through her hair and her head rises so my fingers dig into her scalp. “I will need to parade you around in chains and possibly a collar for a time, is that acceptable?”

“I live to serve,” she purrs.

“Water,” announces Zoria in a quiet voice as she holds each mug in turn to Izga’s lips.

After the third Izga thanks her sister wife and Zoria retreats from our sight. Luda shifts and I roll slightly so she falls off with a yelp. My reward, a playful slap on my chest. Izga’s eyes plead on her behalf, glancing at my loins to make her request plain. My arm scoops and supports her as she slides upon my chest. I call Zoria to my bed.

“Lord, two approach our room, should we not dress at least dress to receive them?” whispers Luda.

I grab the back of her head and bring her lips to mine. “Do you recognise the steps or perhaps other noises to identify who approaches?”

“Are you testing me, Lord?” I nod. “What can I expect for a reward if correct?”

“What do I receive if you are wrong?” I counter while caressing her nose with my index finger.

She frowns, in that delightful quizzical way. “You can take all of me whenever you wish, Lord. I am uncertain what else I can offer?”

“You must challenge Duzsia and Zergoa again and let them win.”

As if stung she recoils from me. “Lord! Lord? How can you ask me this, we are one apiece, the third round the decider …?”

I shrug.

“This is required for other reasons …” Her words are more for her than me and I notice Zoria and Izga scrutinise our conversation.

“You are my clever goblin wife are you not?”

She grins and licks her lips. “Oddly, Zergoa and Voria approach Lord, although right or wrong I will lose tomorrow morning to Duzsia and Zergoa, but only just and only after I cause them pain.”

“You are that confident?”

“I will be after you lay with me this afternoon and tonight!”

There is a knock on our door.

“Zoria, see who is at the door, please.”

I am clothed in a naked Luda and Izga, yet Zergoa still tries to devour me with her eyes. Voria’s gaze holds steady upon my face trying to avoid any indiscretion.

“Lord Torngul Heartsplitter wishes to discuss a private matter with you in his throne room. He requests you come alone.” Voria finishes and then slapping Zergoa on her shoulder leads her outside my room, closing the door behind her.

My wives prepare me, and I march with some haste to meet Lord Torngul in my finest clothes. Duzsia and Trela usher me into the throne room and close the double doors behind. Lord Torngul lounges upon his throne and waves me to a seat on his right-hand side, a glass of wine rests waiting for me. After settling in the chair and taking a sip he clears his throat.

“Thalgora. All fear her, and none wish to marry her …” he says and then takes a deep drink from his glass.