--- Lord Klar POV

After thoroughly inspecting each other, including our escorts, Lord Torngul and I share a sly grin.

In the cruck of his arm, he nurses Torngul’s black boar head styled helm, while adorning his body is a full breastplate of boiled leather armour matching his body shape. The polish of the black lacquer mirror-like under the mid-morning sunlight now bathing his manor’s courtyard. Matching upper arm rerebraces and lower arm vambraces shine just as well, while upper leg cuisses and lower leg greaves hold a deeper dull black for contrast and practical reasons. The legs would always be in contact with the flanks of his mount. On his hip, sword, and sheath. And the best part, my armour, is a match for his although my body mass is near enough to half of his. Both of us decide to wear soft black leather pants and hauberks underneath. This dress-up wasn’t about protection; this was about projecting strength and lifting my position from nobody to being Lord Torngul’s representative.

Lord Torngul selects Voria and Trela as his bodyguards, the trio waiting for their boar mounts to be ready. Both bodyguards evaluate my escorts while they drape themselves over their Lord. Zoria in proper armour, several pieces being upgrades to her original kit, and a match give or take to the honour guard armour, yet not enough to be mistaken for one. Lord Torngul’s daughter, Thalgora, selects soft black leather in the main, the exception being hard leather wrist guards. Zoria and Thalgora do compete in one area, both equip themselves with an array of weapons, swords, daggers, bows, and arrows.

Zoria’s lips slowly parting a silent first warning to us of Izga’s sauntering arrival. Thin linen strips of various colours drape about her torso and limbs and various throngs of leather cord bind the cloth severely to her flesh to ask the question of onlookers, is her modesty intact or not. Thin, decorative chains of gold affix to her face, throat, breasts, and loins. Hand on one hip, favouring one leg she nonchalantly hands me a loose end of a golden chain.

“Drag your slave behind you master, I only live to obey you,” she purrs. This only works due to her lithe body shape. Her pert nipples protruding from her modest breasts provide ample evidence to me at least, she is enjoying every judgemental morsel of those staring down at her in the courtyard. She drinks in the various looks thrown her way from those who must accompany her and those of Lord Torngul’s household assisting us, which range from wonderous to disgusting.

Lord Torngul, Voria and Trela mount their Boars first in that order all wearing cloaks, which cover them from neck to toe. Thalgora, not to be outdone swishes her cloak and sways her hips as she approaches to mount the next readied beast. She pauses, wraps my cloak about my shoulders and stretches her warrior body against the shoulders of the beast while steading the stirrup. With this assistance my climb into the saddle is simple. With a smirk, she climbs up and into my lap. The rigid high ends of the saddle, front, and back force our lower bodies to mash together and I am certain by the smile on her face and the wiggling of her bottom this is a deliberate and wanton act. She then holds out a hand for Izga, now also wearing a cloak and with a confident flair swings Izga up and around to sit behind the saddle. I immediately feel the squeeze of Izga’s arms as they wrap around my torso, worming their way in between my first wife and I. Zoria mounts a fourth, the female hobgoblin stable hand advising my wife the animal is the most docile and will follow the lead of my beast. She thanks the stable hand for her consideration. A small spontaneous thing, yet significant I believe.

She catches me staring at her. “What?” she asks. I shake my head and nod my beast forward using my heels.

Our procession consists of Lord Torngul with his honour guard following, then myself and Zoria trailing. Many stop to pay their respects to their Lord by nodding, our cloaks adding to the mystery, yet also concealing our surprise. We amble south first.

“Husband, my father has informed me of the order of our visits and the first is Grimg Greenfriend’s clan. They are responsible for the growing and harvesting of small crops, which they are very successful at, their village and farmlands are to the north. Lord Torngul counts them as a strong ally.”

She playfully slaps my hand away from her breast which I discover to my delight is not bound and floats free behind the soft leather of her hauberk.

“Does this clan have many males? Ages? Who will we expect to be greeted by?” I whisper in her ear, deliberately nuzzling as I do.

I hear a passionate sigh. “I wish to threaten you to behave, yet you have truly broken me as I crave your attention husband. Know that all others, even us to a large extent will be unimportant, except for Lord Torngul and Grimg Greenfriend. They will make any introductions if required.”

A feel movement from behind me and I shudder, trying to imagine what Izga may be trying to do as she withdraws her arms from around my waist and grabs at my shoulders instead, tugging even. Then her warm breath is upon my neck warning me of an incoming kiss. She continues her trail of kissing, ears, cheeks, bald head and finally my lips.

Thalgora’s eyes widen, and I brace for an emotional explosion, instead, she casts a kind set of eyes over my shoulder.

“Izga, be careful, the back of the beasts can be sensitive to them, with disastrous results.”

Izga pauses from her kissing. “Thank you, First Wife, I have my knees behind the back of the saddle and my feet are off the beast's rump. I did question a stable hand earlier in the morning to check on my antics, although I appreciate your concern for me as I am certain your husband does as well.” And with that said, she nips my ear.

“Why do I deserve that?” I squeal.

“You haven’t kissed your First Wife this morning, yet you allow your lowly slave to steal your lips, for shame master.” She giggles and then returns to her task.

“Such a demanding slave, husband, what shall we ever do with her?” She then cranes her head back and I take her lips in a deep passionate kiss, trusting the beast to continue to follow the other beasts ahead of us for a distracting moment.

We arrive at a large non-descript stone building, three stories high and dismount. One of the two female hobgoblin guards out front, having disappeared at our approach, only now returns. They honour their Lord with a crisp bow each and wait for us to dismount, our cloaks about each of us.

With Lord Torngul leading they open the wide front door, and we gawk at the lavish furniture of the greeting room. The guards leave us to ourselves.

“Lord Torngul, welcome. The Clan Head awaits your presence in the main chamber of the house,” says a female house servant, by all appearances. I suspect the real Lord Torngul would have skewered the servant for the afront, yet Zeb Stone Grim is of different stuff and instead waits. The servant knocks on the door and then pulls it open.

Stepping through the doorway, his cloak about him we do likewise and follow.

--- Grimg, Head of Clan Greenfriend POV

“He approaches …”

I hold up my hand and whisper words of calm. My guard swallows and breathes.

A curt nod of her head, voice neutral, she starts again. “Lord Torngul Heartsplitter and escort approaches while mounted, Clan Head Grimg.”

“Good. Please return to your post and greet the Lord.” Should I invite all his escorts in? That would be to recognise them, introductions made, and polite greetings would follow. Yet perhaps that would be prudent as the visit, while not official as confirmed by many spies would be due to his eldest daughter’s marriage. I chuckle to myself and then sober up as the husband is rumoured to be the nobody male who has been accepted by the Lord of the Grassplains and no one knows why. I scratch my chin. Unless that was always the Lord’s intent, bring in a stranger to marry off the violent one and then seal an alliance with the docile one.

Another of my servants approaches, breaking my thoughts.

“I can confirm you are the first he is visiting today, Clan Head Grimg.”

I wave her away. Appropriate, I muse. We have long been … friends. Why visit though? The announcement has been made, a great surprise to many of course and I am certain Clans are now plotting how to marry the docile one into their family, but to visit? The Lord could have requested our presence and around his grand table made the official introduction, bestow official recognition and be done swiftly. After all, none really care about who this unfortunate male is, who will be forever suffering for all of us…

There must be more to this than a simple recognition … but what?

As I lounge back into several cushions, my chair creaks yet holds. Several servants rush in and remove the grand table at the other end of the central room and chairs are set to fill up the space. Along the walls, four low serving tables are added. What is all this about?

I close my jaw as my Head of Household bows before me.

“Clan Head, the Lord’s company is many, and we thought to remove the table to allow the Lord as much space as he requires.”

I nod and wave him away. He scurries off, snapping at the help.

Eight chairs. We have always been the most loyal, and supportive. He visits us first with many from his household in tow. The visit is more than would be required for a wedding announcement, therefore more is to be expected… Which means our reaction will influence his other Clan visits?

“What do you make of the Lord’s visit?”

He clears his throat. In a word disappointing. My heir must collect his thoughts…

“He does us great honour and he wishes to tell us something behind closed doors. Our secret to keep and therefore sell to other Clans if in our interest. Or with carelessness reveal to the other Clans so they can be better prepared when they receive him.”

I hold back from nodding my head, I don’t wish to grant him easy appreciation, even so, my heir seems more observant than I give him credit for.

“How many of our Clan should receive the Lord?”

“You and I, Clan Head and with seven in his party, one trusted servant who will greet them and then will knock as a warning, before entering. I will open and close the door when the servant’s hands are full.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You? Act the servant?”

“I simply wish to ensure our Clan can benefit from this visit. I would like to think the servant will survive the meeting also, but if she is careless then her life may be forfeit.”

“Good. Select a suitable servant, pretty you understand, and explain her duty.”

Leaving my side to obey, he pauses and peers over his shoulder. “Clan Head, I would assume the Lord has broken his fast, so I will suggest he is served small tastes of our crops, a reminder of what we contribute and appropriate for the time of day. Yes?”

I nod and manage to relax. As my heir grabs for the door handle, I ask, “You don’t you fear Lord Heartsplitter will slay us, given he outnumbers us?”

Without looking he says, “He would lose more than our Clan. Another Clan Head would be installed, and the Town denied our crops.”

“But what of our lives?” I retort.

“Aren’t we also servants?” He opens the door and disappears through the doorway towards the kitchen.

My healthy heart beats rapidly. My heir gets it, he truly gets it. Not long now and I can rest before my death. A living advisor instead of an old morose hobgoblin waiting to try to forestall death until the right heir is found and failing, picking the least incompetent with my final breath. I decide he will stand by me when we greet Lord Heartsplitter as two responsible evaluations are better than one when a power greater than yours visits.

---

I eye the chair opposite mine. The high back an equal to mine, the cushion on the arms plump for extra comfort and the polish on the wood reflective. A fine visitor’s chair, befitting a Lord. Two ordinary chairs are immediately behind. His bodyguards are well known, or at least these two are. Then two chairs on one side and three chairs on the other side, tapering back. Somewhat like an arrowhead, but I dismiss the comparison.

My heir pats down his clothes which don’t need straightening. Good. He appreciates my invitation to stay. There is muffling commotion from the front of the house, our guests have arrived. A knock on the door. I stand. The door seems to open by itself as Lord Torngul steps through.

He sweeps his cloak back to reveal his full armour, breastplate, matching upper arm rerebraces and lower arm vambraces, all impressive as candlelight shines off the lacquer. The upper leg cuisses and lower leg greaves though are a deeper dull black absorbing the candlelight and subtly disguising the fact he has legs. I note the sword hanging from his hip and not much else as a fleeting thought of death enters my mind.

He is crushing me in a welcoming embrace before I can react. “Good health to you Clan Head Grimg of Clan Greenfriend. May your loins and crops never fail!”

I draw in a deep breath as he releases me and I open my eyes wide as Lord Torngul grips the shoulders of my heir and asks for his name without waiting for my introduction. This isn’t proper protocol? Is this a different Lord? Yet how can he change in a matter of weeks? I spy those in his company behind him and need every measure of restraint to maintain a straight face as they drop their cloaks across the backs of the nearby chairs.

“Please Clan Head Grimg take a chair and let me explain.”

His voice is behind me? I swivel around to find Lord Torngul relaxing in my chair. What? I can’t command him to leave, can I? A subtle touch on my elbow awakens me from my stupor and I begin walking forward unaware of my destination until I am in his company.

I land in his chair, my heir standing by my side.

Lord Torngul slaps his thighs. “Good! Good. Sitting amongst my company you don’t seem out of place.”

I mumble agreement yet not loud enough to drown out the heavy petting behind me. I recognise his daughter after an almighty effort to dispel my disbelief. She isn’t wearing uncomfortable battle-weary armour like a badge as is her way. No, for this presentation her clothing of choice is made from supple leather while her eyes are for only one other, soft, and affectionate, the sole male who accompanies Lord Torngul. Where are her fiery eyes, gnashing of teeth and generally angry demeaner? Worse is another female hobgoblin, young, slim … fine gold chain disappearing, reappearing under and over her thin strips of linen. This isn’t any clothing I recognise. Thin leather cord winds around her arms, legs, waist, and chest, cutting deep into her flesh… her hands fondle his loins while her eyes wish to devour him. Thalgora tolerates this …

His two bodyguards, Voria and Trela I recognise without introduction. An odd third stands with the young male. Armour and weapons like the bodyguards, yet her eyes are also upon this male. Trying to look away, yet unable to. Jealousy? No! There is desire, she awaits her turn… My eyes must be deceiving me, surely? How can this youth gather such female worship?

Lord Torngul calls to me, “First let me introduce Voria and Trela of my honour guard.”

They step free of the chairs, bow to me, and then take up a position beside him. Beside him! As almost equals. A dagger blade would have trouble slipping between his shoulder and their hips. They are too familiar… while I did attend the tournament announcement and hear various rumours during and after of their closeness, witnessing the intimacy upfront suggests the stories to be fact. The duties of the honour guards would be expanded! This is delicious! Those Clans seeking to place a spy amongst his honour guard would need to make full allowance for this new duty. Each visit to each Clan will be indisputable confirmation.

“Next is Lord Klar. Not a Lord of this valley yet he seeks to reclaim his rulership in another valley and is my honoured guest and now family.”

He untangles himself from feminine limbs and strides out to stand before me, my first real examination. A curt nod. He is much younger than I first thought, barely an adult, regardless of the fine armour I am certain Lord Torngul has gifted him which he now wears. How could such a youth, stranger to this valley be of value? How did he win the Lord’s acceptance and not simply be slain at first sight as a grubby upstart?

“I am grateful for Lord Torngul’s unwavering support and now as a member of his family I hope to serve him in a greater capacity while I plot my return.”

This is the announcement then, the true secret. This youthful stranger to the valley, Lord Klar will act in Lord Torngul’s name, possibly venturing beyond the Town and in so doing at the very least report on the Clans or worse interfere. Many will want to see him disappear.

“As you know the search for a husband has been difficult, especially finding the one who can appreciate my daughter’s unique qualities, an impossible challenge some would think. Lord Klar is that special one.”

Thalgora saunters out to join her husband while leading a gold chain! At the end of the gold chain, head down is the slim female hobgoblin. I do a double-take; the gold chain attaches to her nose! Thalgora rests her head upon Lord Klar’s shoulder, while the other curls at his feet like a goblin slave, yet she is clearly a hobgoblin. Why? How can this be? As an assassin wouldn’t her pride welcome death before this... this, humiliation?

“Not introduction you understand, purely for an explanation, the one warming Lord Klar’s feet is the assassin who was tossed out of my Manor and claimed by him. As you can see, more his plaything now.”

I believe I can count the number of days on my two hands until Thalgora becomes a widow. Still, I imagine the nights until then bliss and feel a stirring in my loins for the first time in forever. My heir shifts his boots, and I don’t need to check to realise his loins are equally if not more so, reacting to the display of pure lust before us both as the assassin’s hands wander.

“Finally, there is Zoria, recently made a citizen of Hobgoblin Town who lost her partner to Lord Klar several days ago in a clash of two mighty warriors in which the victor stands before you today.”

I swallow. Her predatory movement is both alluring and frightening as she positions herself behind him. This Lord Klar attracts threats into his bedchamber like a bee to honey. I am certain this Zoria plays the loyal admirer waiting to strike as does the assassin. What of Thalgora who none have previously been able to contain, let alone mollify the bottomless anger within her. Whatever his influence, it will be short and therefore tolerable until his unfortunate death.

“I thank you, Lord, for the introductions and erm, explanation. We have some light treats and drink if you wish to partake?” I ask, managing to project some semblance of normality as those around Lord Klar and he also returns to their chairs to join me. The assassin ensures I have a clear view of her while Zoria returning to stand behind Lord Klar allows my eyes, now full of lust to linger on the assassin while feigning to follow the bodyguard for as long as good etiquette allows.

“That would be most welcome, although small portions only as we have several visits before us.”

My heir leaves my side.

“Can I ask who you intend to visit next?”

“Good friends I would hope.” He smiles. “Clan Quickeyed and Clan Ironmonger.”

Yes, both have been loyal to the Lord of Hobgoblin Town, present and past. The merchants need a strong stable town to return to while iron tools and weapons are important in peace and war, yet more profitable in peace, especially if the Lord can negotiate a win-win outcome for the merchants to sell tools and weapons outside this valley. My servant arrives and leaves two platers, one for Lord Torngul and his honour guard and another for the rest of us. Both rest on low side tables. My heir hurries the servant from the room and positions each low table closer to each group.

I flash my Lord a cheeky smile. “What of Clan Beastbane and The Eater Clan, Lord?”

He picks off the plater before him, a slice of apple I observe. “They will be for another day and possibly without some distractions.”

The other clans, or more to the point, the suspect clans won’t know the full truth. This will be his test of us. Can we be trusted to keep his alliance with this unusual youth a secret? I suspect he will reveal this in an optimal moment of his choosing and wishes to have our support when he does.

---

After further nibbles and small talk, we gather in the front room and they wrap their long neck to floor cloaks about themselves. The last to do so is the assassin, I notice due to her nose chain, which they unhitch and tuck away. The subterfuge is complete. In public, they will once again be the respectable escorts of Lord Torngul, Lord of the Grasslands.

My heir closes the front door behind them and rests his back upon that same door for support. “What was that?”

“We need to keep what we have seen a secret. What of our servant, can we trust her?”

He grins. “I decided upon subterfuge. The servant is my younger sister. I believe we can trust her, but since I am head of our family line, I will agree to her death without protest if you wish.”

I release a breath between my teeth. Such ruthlessness, family line sacrifice for the good of the Clan. I didn’t think he had such good sense in him.

“Fetch her.”

---

She stands before me, her fingers entwining and shifting her feet. I place my finger under her chin to lift her eyes.

“What did you see this morning, what is your assessment?”

“I didn’t see anything Clan Head, so how can I say anything.”

My hand grabs and squeezes her chin, while my thumb and forefinger tug on her tusks. Her eyes close, tears escaping under the eyelids.

“You aren’t being smarter than you are?”

She tries to shake her head and fails. My grip is strong by design. I flash her brother, my heir, a questioning look. His face is stoic. My decision then.

“How can I trust a nothing like you to not sell out your Clan?” I slowly shake my head, tut-tutting as if stating my doubts aloud.

She opens her eyes, releasing a flood of tears. Regardless of the pain, she tries to drop to the floor. With her hanging, I release my grip and shortly after she is around my legs. The image of Lord Klar similarly worshipped flashes before me and I am instantly full of lust.

“Yes, Clan Head, I am smart. My brother can vouch for me, even if I am nothing to him. I know how to keep a secret, I know the import, that Lord Torngul tests us,” she whimpers.

I am about to open my mouth to issue the fatal order, looking at my heir to carry out my will when I feel her hands climbing up my thighs. Her face nudges my leg, seeking any bare flesh, licking with her warm tongue, scraping with her tusks, and nuzzling with her nose.

“I will not leave your side Clan Head, day or night to prove myself in your eyes.” Her pleading tearful eyes stare up from the ground, her servant’s smock off one shoulder revealing flawless dark green skin. My eyes appreciate the play of green shading gracing her shuddering shoulder and then they drift downwards to drink in the top curve of an extremely firm breast also shifting in the same rhythm. Her erect nipple is the difference between the smock staying in place or falling away and lust clouds my thinking.

I am Clan Head, and I can’t believe the pathetic reasoning happening in my head! I am mature, not old. I am fit and athletic from working the fields all my life. After the loss of my wives, I am due companionship, no, overdue. Worse, which I can’t even comprehend why, one glimpse of pure sexual domination by a youth a quarter of my age, somehow re-ignites my lust. Worse a willing accomplice is begging at my feet. For her life, perhaps, yet she understands the bed she is making.

 

--- Lord Klar POV.

 

“What did you say to the servant?”

Izga flutters her eyelids, her lips imitating a circle.

“You hung back when we left the main room, spill, now,” I demand, ignoring her pretend look of surprise.

She humphs. “Master, such forcefulness always wins me over.” She flutters her eyelids again. “She was marked for death, so I instructed her on how to negotiate with her Clan Head is all. Simple girl talk, Master.”

“Simple girl talk?” I shake my head.

“And some clothing modifications of course …”

I offer my hand. “Such as?”

She grabs and I decline to heave her up.

“Such as?” I ask again.

“I slit her smock a little on the shoulder, so when favouring one side she could reveal her best assets and maybe I further advised her to remove her breast cloth and loincloth…”

I hoist her up and around to sit behind the saddle and therefore me, upon the giant boar.

“Do you intend to advise and try to save all such unfortunates after every visit? Turning their Clan Heads into slaves of their lust?”

“Would that be such a bad thing? You enjoy me don’t you Master?”

I am certain she pouts behind my back but before I can answer, another does.

“She is a wonderful addition to our bed husband as is Zoria and what is more, I know you are well satisfied by them, so I have no fear of strangers taking you away, while as First Wife I can demand your attention when I require gratification.”

“Also, Master, I intend to collect on my worldly advice in the future. What do you think my saving of her life is worth to her?”