---Lord Klar POV

“What are you doing over there?” growls his father.

There is some cautious shuffling and skirting of the camp and shortly after, Morgren stands beside, yet slightly behind his father. An apologetic nodding from son to father finishes the reunion, much to my amusement, which I keep to myself.

Jarlgren folds his arms and rocks back on his heels. “As promised, I will now hear your proposal.” Three of his personal hunt face me, while another three, position themselves behind me. It is at this point, that Gorgrin steps between two of his former Clan Head’s personal hunt to join me, back-to-back.

“Gorgrin?” I hear the questioning and sense of betrayal in Clan Head Jarlgren’s voice.

“Yes, father,” Morgren chirps like a fool. “Your bastard has sworn blood oath loyalty to this young Lord.”

“Quiet Morgren. Gorgrin, is this true?”

“Yes, father. Zolag and Zorg bore witness to my free will.”

Jarlgren’s eyes fall heavy upon Morgren, and I sense the question he craves to ask dies on his lips because the answer would probably yield embarrassment instead of clarity.

Our camp rests on a modest knoll, with a mix of clearing, light forest, and heavy forest all around. With the rising sun behind them, another Clan Beastbane group, their leather hunters garb, long knives, and bows a match for the Clan Head’s personal hunt attire, lope through the long grass towards us. What will this arrival add to the mix? The Clan Head’s widening smile and Morgren’s slumping posture suggest a great deal.

One of the six raises his hand. “Father!”

Jarlgren glances at Morgren but again doesn’t ask, which means this newcomer must be a specific younger half-brother.

“Welcome Vormgren,” says Jarlgren.

After embracing his father, he embraces Morgren. “Good to see you alive, brother. I contemplated a rescue but decided given your captors were heading deeper into father’s lands, he would be better able to intercept and plan your freedom.”

“Yes, thank you brother, your instincts are remarkable.”

With an arm around each of their shoulders, Jarlgren says, “As promised, I will now hear your proposal.”

“Thank you, Clan Head. Once we return to your steading and I am well-rested, I am certain I can present my proposal and answer any of your questions in the best possible way.”

His face drops while he clears his throat. A frown. He is considering what he can say to demand a resolution now. Perhaps he is shy about inviting strangers into his home?

“You will say your proposal now or never.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I have returned your son to you. Should I have held him indefinitely?” As he is about to open his mouth to speak, I continue, “I thought to build trust between us, so I released him immediately into your care upon your arrival.” Opening my hands, I try to project a kind face. “I know a father’s love for his son is endless and separation would have weighed heavily upon you.”

He grunts and glances at Morgren, his jaw shifting as if trying to dislodge a foul taste.

“Same goes for my proposal. If poorly presented, you could reject my plan and your sworn oath doesn’t carry beyond that point, which means you could simply slaughter me. I must be able to prepare and present the best version of my proposal, especially since I now have two other lives who rely upon me.”

Morgren’s eyes go wide with wonder. My audacity? Vormgren schools his reaction, yet the corners of his mouth rise slightly, perhaps in appreciation of my argument. My attempt to stay alive for a while longer, to the annoyance of his raging father.

Jarlgren covers nothing up! “Clan Head Krilzak is correct. I feel as if I have been taken, yet the specifics elude me.” He grunts as if trying to cough up something repulsive. “Right then. Bring your blood oath sworn and, if you must, the vermin. Keep up. If you fall behind, I will consider you are trying to escape, which will break your side of the oath.”

---

I bend over, my hands resting on my knees while drawing in deep breaths. I violently cough to disguise changing my point of view every so often. My eyes take in everything I observe of his steading. The Clan Head disappeared into his hall upon arriving, his two sons following him. Their hunters rest in two groups away from us and I note some yet to arrive. Meanwhile, female hobgoblins are now running water to them, ignoring us. Nudia did well. Her short legs meant she needed to take three paces for every two of ours and she rests at my feet recovering. Gorgrin grins at me off and on between deep breaths.

“Why are you so full of joy, blood oath sworn?” I ask.

“I should be flat on my back, like the twins.” His hand flicks lazily in their direction. “Don’t overestimate my capabilities, Lord. I freely admit, pride is holding me up right now, but also something else.” His eyes narrow, and after a curt nod, he continues. “After mixing blood with you, a strangeness overcame me. I thought myself poisoned somehow. At each rest, I drank water as is usual, except I needed more than usual. I needed to satisfy what I thought was an endless thirst. And now, I remain standing even after several of my father’s personal huntsmen have been felled like the twins or are still to arrive.” His eyes beam with pure joy. “If this is the sole moment of triumph, I share with you Lord, know beyond doubt I am content as my father set a cracking pace.”

“Yeah, he has that effect,” quips Nudia, while stroking her belly.

Gorgrin’s eyes fall on Nudia. The silence between them drags out to be almost awkward and yet Nudia knows when to say nothing.

“I admit I am my father’s son and he taught me goblins are vermin. But I am sworn to serve Lord Klar, and I have observed your cleverness and your bravery and now your stamina. To the best of my ability, I will protect and support you, I swear on my honour.”

“As I will you,” she says right back.

His face scrunches up, trying to comprehend, I am certain, how a goblin could possibly protect and support him, a giant hobgoblin bastard son of a Clan Head.

“You will soon appreciate our goblin,” I retort. “Nudia will hear a hobgoblin long before a hobgoblin can see her. You can whisper instructions and be certain a goblin has heard them when few others will. She acts her part well, either the helpless victim and disobedient slave as required, yet always shows her true metal when needed most, either a brave accomplice or stalwart companion.”

“I understand, Lord.” He bobs his head.

“Good, I suspect now will be an ideal time to snoop about the place. Gorgrin, please show me about the steading and feel free to add any information, rumours, and guesses. Don’t decide its usefulness, leave that to me.”

He picks up his pack, while Nudia picks up our shared pack.

Corral, then slaughter yards, salting shed, storage shed and finally the steading, which I decline to enter. We observe two hunting groups return, all male hobgoblins. The game they bring back is young, and not plentiful. Drawn faces with dark green circles under their eyes and every step, a labour, no bounce, no signs of joy given they are home hints of long-term exhaustion. Signs of many fruitless days in the wilds and too few at rest on the steading. The females, in contrast, are under-worked as the hunters can’t supply enough meat, which leads to mischief. A couple of groups tried to distract Gorgrin and Nudia to allow another group to corner me alone, a vulnerable youth, and have their way with me. Only the first group was close to success and that was purely because of the surprise of the unexpected.

Upon dusk, our time was up. Earlier, Gorgrin showed us to his thinking spot, a flat rock outcrop overlooking the steading at around roof height. We took advantage to rest and observe. The general dispersing of hobgoblins about the steading a hint they were searching, and we didn’t need to think long about who for. After almost making our way back to the steading proper, I deliberately went left instead of right, like Gorgrin and Nudia, so the searchers would find us. Nudia sighs because of my deliberate spoiling of her efforts.

---

Our finder leads us straight into the steading proper and then into the eating hall. A long table made of one tree trunk by the looks runs the length of the hall, with Clan Head Jarlgren at the head. A vacant place setting at the foot of the table calls to me. Along one side, sat shoulder to shoulder male hobgoblins. Along the other side sat female hobgoblins with a generous space between them. An odd arrangement and I wondered where an additional male would sit, as there wasn’t any spare place available on their side of the table. Following my guide, I seat myself at the foot of the table, while Nudia squats on the floor nearby, yet away from the table. Gorgrin is on my right, although this means he sits with the females, perhaps a tangible hint of a future seating crisis for Clan Beastbane. Somehow, this amuses me. The arrangement doesn’t seem to bother him though, at least outwardly, and I can’t read his mind to know the truth.

A bevy of female hobgoblins serve, at least one for every two at the table and they lay three roasted boar carcasses evenly along the length of the table, with some token vegetables as garnish. The Clan Head receives his portion first and then others. I am far from an honoured guest as I am the last to be served and instead utilise my time to observe. Is the meat diet the secret to their above normal yield, although still poor, of male births? Each server slices huge portions for the males, while more modest portions with vegetables are for the females. They do so without instruction, so I assume their usual process.

My server’s bright smile and ample cleavage reduce me to putty. To her questions about what to serve me, I reply with wide-eyed, nodding, quips complimenting her prominent feminine features and goofy smiling while staring long enough into her eyes to entice her to bloom a deep green blush. I glimpse the Clan Head’s face through the crook of my servers’ arm to ensure he accepts my youthful ogling as fact, aligning with his preconceived opinion of youth in general, I suspect. His current view of me overriding the fact my cleverness captured his son and forced him to listen to my proposal within his steading, instead of on top of a windswept knoll in the middle of nowhere.

The Clan Head slams down his two-prong fork and knife and declares, “I refuse to eat in front of it.” His finger stabs at Nudia. “Get rid of the vermin immediately!”

None move, so I whisper, “To me, slave, hurry.” Upon arrival, she scampers under the table between my legs. I slice and fork another mouthful of boar into my mouth as if nothing of import just occurred, while my eyes deliberately bounce along with the sway of my server’s bottom as she leaves the hall.

A grunt from the Clan Head and shortly after, the general clatter and chat of dining resumes.

Servants clear the table and when done, the Clan Head stands, metal mug in one hand while flourishing his other. “You are now rested and fed so, I believe the time to present your proposal is upon us.”

I stand and my eyes scan first one side and then the other side of the long table. I take a moment, appearing, I hope, deep in thought.

“Clan Head Jarlgren, while talking in front of your entire family, could not please me more. I would suggest a smaller audience. I ask this because the proposal will take time to gain momentum and perhaps others, upon hearing the details, could act first and establish themselves before us. Benefiting by stealing our opportunity.”

His eyes dart towards Vormgrin and then study each of his male progeny. “All leave except Vormgrin.”

I expect protest, yet none do, including Morgren. All give their father a curt nod and file out of the hall, the servants following behind.

“We are alone. I trust Vormgrin, as he has proven the best of them all so far.” He takes a sip from his cup. “Your proposal and I will brook no further delay!”

I place my hands behind my back and stroll to the halfway point of the table. “Your hunting grounds are near exhausted and after years of slaughter, there are fewer mature game animals to breed for the next generation. While the hunting is the providence of the male hobgoblins and fortunately or oddly, Clan Beastbane has a significant number of males, their exhaustion after each hunt is plain to see. It now takes longer to make fewer kills.” I point out several animal trophies, heads mounted on the hall walls. “When was the last time Clan Beastbane hunted animals of these sizes?”

His hands grip the edge of the long table and his muscles bulge. The weight of the table is too great, of course, yet his internal rage is plain to see, while Vormgrin lounges back.

“The first solution is straightforward. New hunting lands.”

Jarlgren releases his tension with a loud outburst of cynical laughter. “We have tried grovelling at Lord Torngul’s feet without success.”

I suspect they ask for more land, which would imbalance the tens of years of Clan land allocations.

“Don’t grovel next time. State the facts plainly in a missive which I will carry to present your words to him. Such as, if he doesn’t grant new hunting lands, then there will be less meat, year upon year, and he will need to explain to the good people of Hobgoblin Town why. If it is a case of too much land for one Clan, offer to give up your poorest grants, the ones decimated. Your hunters will know which ones.”

Slumping back into his chair, his face sobers up somewhat. “Clan Beastbane have owned the grant over these lands for many generations and you say give them up, no not that, simply swap them for other land?”

“Yes.” I pause. “That or continue to fail until there is no Beastbane Clan.”

He chews on an empty mouth and waves me on.

“New lands are only a temporary fix because you simply don’t want to meet the current demand you want to exceed the demand and instead of the excess driving prices down in the valley, you want to trade with merchants who will sell outside of the valley.”

His eyes take on a shine as he straightens in his chair.

“In your land swap, you will ask for some grass plains lands, but and this is the big but, it must be next to permanent water. A stream will do, a river is better. Because on those plains you will cultivate boar, to begin with, because I assume some or many in the valley train the beasts the Lord Torngul owns?”

“That will be difficult,” says Vormgren, with an idle scratch of his cheek. “The Eater Clan capture boar from the eastern forest, only when ordered to by Lord Torngul. They then, in ways only known to themselves, train the beasts.”

“What makes the eastern forest special?”

Father and son exchange looks. The younger explains, “Many who venture into the eastern forest never return. Apart from being an ancient growth forest, rumour is that the very shadows will strike you down. The proof is impossible to come by because no one has found the bodies of the missing.”

Jarlgren continues, “The Eater Clan have a secret which allows them to round up and capture one or two beasts every so often, without harm and that is all anyone knows.”

“Interesting,” I murmur to no one in particular.

The Eater Clan, with Izga’s help, needs further investigation. I know they take care of Hobgoblin Town, but they seem to have ‘other duties’ beyond what anyone would expect. Something to attend to later. I need to cover off another step of my proposal now.

“For now, the primary aim is to breed a ready supply of boar, by claiming a grass plains land grant near permanent water. Build large corrals and stockyards and capture as many wild boar sows as you can as startup stock. Trade some of your stock to one of the nearby farming clans for feed grain, the lower quality which they can’t sell or if they do, they don’t get a good price for the effort of growing it.” I tap a finger on the table, considering if I should or should not add a twist to the plan. I look upon father and son. They project interest, so I roll the dice. “Is there a farming clan that shares a border with your hunting grant?”

They both laugh as one. “Yes,” answers Jarlgren. “I think you know the Clan Head, Zinmog.”

That I do, more a goblin than a hobgoblin, let alone Clan Head. “Would you object to gifting him an adjacent land grant?”

They push back their chairs. Have I angered them that much?

The younger places his hand on the forearm of the father and they draw their chairs back in.

“For nothing?” whispers Jarlgren.

“Short term nothing, long-term repayment of the favour. They, like you, have exhausted the land grants they depend on. They can’t extend into the grass plains, no water, they can’t extend east, another farm clan, they can’t extend north, no water and rugged forest. North-west, part of your existing land grant is their only chance, I believe.”

“What do we gain?”

“To rejuvenate the soil, they will need to plant beans, too many beans and perhaps another clan who need to feed boar could relieve them of their excess.” I smile, splaying my hands wide. “You gift a land grant. Lord Torngul, because your holdings are now reduced, assigns you a new land grant. That should be a quick transaction. Again, I offer to present the missive on your behalf. You just need to decide if you want to expand your hunting grounds first or try to establish your boar breeding first. I am certain you can negotiate with Clan Head Zinmog to plant beans in the land grant he gives up and if by some accident, boar happen to overrun the fields occasionally, oops.”

“Like you say, oops,” says Vormgren. He glances at his father, a smirk on his face.

“Let the other Clans digest the change for a year and then offer to give up existing land grants for new ones, which further your aims.” I swallow as I know my next words will challenge tradition and I need to keep my nerves in check. “If you expand your hunting land grant, start training your female hobgoblins as hunters.”

Both stand up, kicking their chairs back to crash into the walls of the room.

“Never!” shouts Jarlgren, the veins in his neck pop out, black and throbbing.

“Consider what I say.”

He shakes his head and marches around the hall, every step a crushing stomp. I sidle backwards along the table, edging towards my chair. Vormgren remains at the table, yet his rapid breathing suggests he may breathe in more than breathe out and puff up until bursting.

Several times, Jarlgren approaches my position and then turns away, deep green fury upon his face. I suspect he voluntarily checks himself, not unintentionally wanting to do me harm. I lounge back in my chair and wait for the storm to pass. He approaches again.

“Hunting is sacred to the Beastbane Clan.” He lowers his fists. “Male hobgoblins have honed this craft over generations, father and son tradition passing on a lifetime of skill.” With his anger in full flight, he manages to steal a look at Vormgrin. "No female may touch, let allow own and practice with a bow, spear, or knife. This is simply not our way, has never been and never will be.” He grinds out the last sentence between gnashing teeth.

I lean forward to rest my elbows on the long dining table. This is going to be a hard sell, but I must try. “You know, when I left Hobgoblin Town, females were fighting for a chance to join Lord Torngul’s honour guard. They can do this. Ask your hunters if they need to rest. If they rest, who will hunt? While strolling around your steading today, there were too many females contributing nothing while eating your dwindling food stores. They need to be made productive.”

His head quirks, an instant snap like motion. Reminds me of a chicken head… flicking.

“They are yours.”

I blink and glance at Gorgrin for confirmation. “What did you say?”

“We will gift them to you instead of payment by coin or the like. You will petition Lord Torngul on our behalf to gift a hunting land grant to Clan Hungry in exchange for a virgin hunting grounds land grant. You take our excess females as payment and breed boar with our blessing.”

I slump down in my chair. This isn’t sane. How can many lives simply be given away?

“Your generosity, Clan Head overwhelms my Lord. I agree on his behalf. We will only accept family groups or orphans, so they do not burden us with too many young, too many elders and too few able to work.”

“Your Lord’s win-win proposal is welcome!” I then witness them clasp hands at the forearm. “Also, since you have presented your proposal and I considered slaughtering you afterwards out of spite for threatening the life of my son, I add allowing you to live as part of our agreement.” His smile is one of generosity and delight. I can only figure, training female hobgoblins as hunters was a step too far, against deep intractable tradition, yet having fewer mouths to feed is a more acceptable and immediate solution, which will probably mean his hunters can take a rest as well.

Gorgrin leans across the table and looks into my eyes. “Leave the details to me, Lord. I will ensure the families which they gift to us are reasonable. I estimate this will take five days, maybe six. Where shall we house and feed them afterwards?”

My mind is still reeling and swirling, five days. Maybe six? “I am not sure,” I mumble.

“Master?”

I look down upon Nudia, cheeky supportive Nudia, and smile. “Yes?”

“Would you be able to liberate your seeded goblins and their families from Clan Hungry so they can join you and your female hobgoblins wherever they end up?” she whispers, her eyes filling with moisture.

The Clan Head’s joyful voice draws my attention. “See you in the morning. Ask a servant and they will show you a spare room to sleep in.” Father and son and their fading laughter are my sole reprieve from needing to answer Nudia immediately. How did this plan go wrong? How did I end up being responsible for more lives, more females?

---

I am uncertain how I ended up in a room to sleep overnight so I could wake up the next morning, but that is where I find myself instead of being slain and my spirit wandering the void. I am a GPA, a veteran of many missions and yet a primitive hobgoblin outsmarts me. How? Nudia nudges my lips with salted meat, which I open to chew on. This repeats until she offers me water from a wooden mug which I drink without thinking, simply going through the motions. Then she tugs at my arm. Again, and again. I feel like swatting her away until she destroys me with her pleading eyes, and I climb to my feet instead. She slaps each piece of my armour in place and ties the leather throngs to ensure, I assume, I am presentable. Gorgrin, she informs me, went out into the steading at dawn to announce the migration and I am expected to at least present myself as the figurehead and confirm that Lord Klar is indeed accepting responsibility for any who wish to leave.

When I step out the front double door of the steading, bright sunlight illuminates a wall of female hobgoblins of all ages waiting for me. They occupy the full frontage of the steading and at great depth. Where will they stay? Who will feed them? Their eyes are full of hope. Contrary to the rise of bile in my stomach, I plaster a welcoming smile on my face.

Gorgrin leads closer and whispers in my ear, “Many more than I thought have shown interest Lord, perhaps your tour of the wider steading yesterday was a positive introduction.”

Positive in what way, I ask myself, as I am certain my pecker shrinks and tries to hide when I consider the obvious. “Isn’t this too many? Clan Head Jarlgren can’t afford to lose this number, can he?”

“He will decide. Be aware that I asked for five days because there are Beastbane villages deeper northwest, and they will need time to make the journey here and decide.”

“There could be more?”

“As I said, the Clan Head will decide exactly how many.”

A heavy hand lands on my shoulder. “Nice turnout on a nice day. Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Klar?”

“How many families?” I say in disbelief.

“Oh, at least what stands before you now, I should think. Some of my hunters are going to claim some as family stock, which if they do, they must support by hunting while their family works on the steading. A return to balance, as it were.”

How can I reduce this number? “Aren’t you concerned about being attacked? Who will defend your land grants?”

He chortles. “None want the wild forests and hills, Lord Klar. If some misguided attacker does, well, we will send a runner off to Lord Torngul while we hide our families and pick off the trespasses from ambush or stalk them at night until rescue arrives. Hunt them like prey, have some sport and such.” His eyes wander off into distant thoughts…

“You have thought of everything then…”

His eyes return to meet mine. “Yes, with fewer mouths to feed, the pressure on my hunters to bring home game, the pressure on the animals to breed and the pressure on the Clan to provide Hobgoblin Town will reduce. I am glad after our meeting and feel extremely generous, so please don’t doubt the magnitude of your payment. Oh, and I will be certain to speak highly of you to other Clan Heads, you have certainly won me over…” He raises a single finger beside his head and shakes the digit.

All of his words carry a full weight of joy, as he can see an easy return to his clan’s glorious past. By the time I think to answer him, he is out of earshot, chatting to Gorgrin. I note way too much agreeable head nodding from my blood oath sworn and wonder what I don’t know.

“For what it is worth, Lord Klar, I liked your entire idea. Teaching the female hobgoblins to hunt, is farfetched but everything else is of merit. When I am Clan Head, I will speak with you again, I am certain. I would like to trade our meat outside this valley and be rich, but I am patient and can wait. For now, I will get to live in the glory days of our Clan once the animals restock and grow. Enjoy the hunt once again and I am certain my father will be there as well.”

Vormgren saunters off, another I have made happy. Oh joy, I say to myself. A small hand tugs at mine and there is some relief as Nudia has my hand and not a random hobgoblin child. She leads me amongst the families. They introduce themselves by family name and ask where they will go if they join me. The first few answers are vague and then I decide to the sheet with them. Lord Torngul needs to issue a land grant to his daughter, my wife. From there I talk about breeding boar and preparing the meat for trade in the valley and beyond the valley, although the second part will be many years away, I caution. Only after lots of hard work, I add. Some are cautious, few outright reject the plan, and most are supportive, at least to my face. I celebrate the rejections most.

Gorgrin meets me middle of the morning and looks me up and down. “Lord, I thought you would have been gone by now? I have heard of your plan, so you need to secure the land grant on behalf of your wife, Lord Torngul’s daughter!” He winks and his elbow knocks into mine. “The sooner the better, I would think.”

“He was waiting for me. Apologies Gorgrin and master.” She stands beside me, our pack upon her back and a smile on her face. “Come on, master, time to go. Gorgrin knows his Clan and knows what we need.”

I appreciate Nudia covering for my lapse. I should have left as soon as possible, yet my mind is still wrapping itself around the number of lives I will be responsible for. Aren’t I supposed to be hunting down Rexa, or at least returning to her valley and dismembering her, erm, my cult?

“Log coming up, master, you need to step high…”

Step high… yes, in more ways than one, it seems.