---Thalgora, First wife of Lord Klar POV

“We heard shouting,” says Zergoa. Duzsia and Zoria appear together, flanking her.

I am tempted to ask them some questions. But why listen to hearsay when you can ask the source?

“It seems wine likes Klaria, but Klaria can’t handle wine.” I stride off towards the boars, which I assume are in the care of Voria. Someone who I believe is in the dark as much as I. Each step I take inflames my anger. Pausing, Voria and the boars insight, while behind me I hear them struggle with Klaria through the long glass I decide to quench my anger. I wrap my mouth around the lip of the wine bottle and guzzle down the contents like a cheap mead. Wiping my mouth using the back of my hand, I flip the bottle into the long grass and decide my anger can wait until I meet Lord Klar.

---

The road ahead cuts through a sprawling expanse of brush. Thus, we reach the end of the grass plains. Beyond this point are the farmlands, the hills for hunting and then the mountains for mining. As we approach the boundary, I spy a couple of hobgoblin corpses on the road ahead and call a halt. The other boar riders rein in beside me until we span the road, six boars abreast. We lean forward on our saddle pommels and evaluate the scene before us. Klaria again surprises me, staying quiet although sullen with a slightly pouting look. She also appears none the worse after throwing down more than half a bottle of wine, when etiquette defines half a glass as sufficient in polite company.

“While dramatic, I don’t believe a six-boar charge down a road with ambush possibilities on either side is the best course of action,” offers Voria.

“Would Lord Klar have ridden this way?” asks Klaria. I try to hold back a sigh. Why would she even speak, given her delicate situation with the three and drunken humiliation earlier this morning?

“Yes, Second Wife,” I reply. “Luda is with him. Also, given we are away from the manor, I can reveal I sent Izga to trail behind them on foot as well. She found a spy in the manor who reported Lord Klar’s leaving to someone unknown.” I hold back my logical suspicion, as they have enough information for now. I know this is petty, yet if they can have secrets, so can I.

“What do you suggest we do, First Wife?”

I inwardly smile because of the weight of sarcasm in her words. She certainly has gumption. “Well, it depends upon your boar handling skill. But if you can ride your beast and lead our five, we warriors will armour up, carry shield and sword, and advance on foot five abreast before you and hope to survive any ambush which awaits us or locate either Lord Klar, Luda or Izga before then.”

“Be at ease on that account, then. All in my family ride boars and we would take turns leading them away to be stabled. This will be no different.”

Her air of superiority almost makes my stomach turn, but if she can do as promised, I can tolerate a bit of snark for now. “Excellent. Duzsia and Zoria string your bows, one on each flank scanning the brush. Zergoa, Voria and I will advance up the centre with sword and shield.” I considered a boar charge, such a glorious thing to be a part of. Unfortunately, ambush aside, our beasts, weighed down with boxes, bags and chests, wouldn’t be able to gather much speed for the charge.

As we advance, the sun is high enough to illuminate the road and brush ahead without blinding us. Perhaps I have misjudged my sister-wives' motives for delaying? Boarcrap to that I decide!

---Lord Klar POV

During our amble through town, my cloak shrouded us both. An abundance of caution, I know, but I didn’t want to raise the interest of any goblin crews and, more to the point, the hobgoblins commanding them trying to earn citizenship. An unlucky encounter with one, trying to leapfrog others for citizenship, could cause an unnecessary entanglement.

On the outskirts of the town, I open my cloak a way and kiss the top of Luda’s head. “I apologise for leaving you behind.”

Her chest hitches. “Duzsia tried to explain…”

“Don’t compare the valley’s estimation of your worth with my certainty of your worth. You are my wife, were my wife in a past life, and will be my wife in a future life. Nothing can change that.”

She wipes her eyes upon her sleeve. “Are you certain Lord Farmer Hob? I remember you returning our spirits, Koria and mine. At the time a punishment, yet given what we now know, a permanent severance. You could, in one swift ceremony, extinguish our spiritual bond. Casting a useless wife aside, this useless wife.” Her sobbing tears at my heart. Fear and doubt ebb through our spirit link. The strength of her feelings hits me, turning my stomach. Is our body contact the key? The duration of our joining? Or is this simply a recognition of our mutual connection and trust?

I push back her fear and doubt, willing warmth, and love through our mutual bond while utilising my knees to steer the boar. One of my arms cuddles her waist while the back of the hand of the other arm caresses her cheek. Her cheek leans into my hand. Her hands surround my arm at her waist as we continue for a distance along the road, content.

Her body goes stiff as if waking from a nightmare and my immediate thought is, have I somehow caused this change?

“There are many, husband. It is as if they lined the road to lie in wait and are now gathering as we trot forward.”

“Smells like an ambush or an insistence of a meeting waits for us ahead and these are a precaution if we decide to turn back, turn off or otherwise halt. I suspect they will also ambush those who we expect to catch up to us.” I draw a drink from my waterskin, while my knees draw my boar to a halt. Her elbow strikes my chest without apology, and then she leans back and then forward.

“There is still enough of the night for a slippery, sneaky goblin to work her way behind them and strike them down, one by one, husband,” she whispers. “Can you tie off your wife’s armour, husband?”

“Are you certain you are up for this?” I ask, while I hug her into me and tie off the various leather throngs of her stiff leather breastplate.

“This I am up for, being alone for days, not so much.” Did I detect some gentle humour in her voice?

“How about a minor change of plan? Circle around, avoid, sneak, hide, whatever it takes. I need you to spy upon and identify who is behind our ambush so that even if I perish, you can report to Lord Torngul. He can then know who he must be most careful of and ultimately plot to defeat.”

“Perish?” she asks.

“I promise I will not die easy. First, I will string my bow and cover your escape. Which way do you think is best?”

“I will go back along the road, taking advantage of any cover. Those across the road will be a road width further away on one side. Night and shadows will take care of the rest. I am ready when you are my husband.”

“I will sight and release at some trailing beside us first and then when I take a few nearer the road, that will be your signal.”

“Yes, husband.”

“Hang off the side of the beast until you find an ideal spot to hide and wait.”

I hang my waterskin about the horn of the saddle and draw my cloak about me and Luda. Her goblin body contorts and slides over my groin and thigh until coming to a new rest, to hang off one side as we agreed. Her hand and fingers claw at my inside thigh for purchase. A most agreeable technique for us both, I am certain, as my groin twitches in response. I swallow and with my knees, nudge the beast forward.

A short way further along, I note her taunting grip releases my thigh. My beast and I amble forward and after several heartbeats, I draw my bow from its pouch and get to stringing the weapon while on the move. I then slide off on the wild brush side, reach behind me and lift off a quiver of arrows, hitching them to my hip. Drawing and knocking an arrow, I scan the brush for a target, finding none. I then scan ahead, then behind. None. I look under the beast between erm, yes, his legs and release. The female hobgoblin stands for a moment and then collapses with a quiet gurgle. I am uncertain why they don’t simply rush me, sure a few will die, but numbers matter…

My hands grab the reins of my beast and together we stroll further along the road while I scan the brush. I spot a shape moving through the brush and release. My night vision was refined enough to differentiate between essential features, especially the neck and eyes. As new targets reveal themselves, I release an arrow again and again until they are slain or take cover. Back along the road, I find another target and release. Peering around the rump of my beast, I catch a couple of new targets trying to cross the road in the open. They seem as much surprised by their deaths as the first one. I notice a depression ahead and drag on the reins of the beast to get him moving once again until I reach my last stand hole. I have a clear view between the legs of the beast without having to bend down and my line of sight ahead and behind along the road is good, while I can still cover the brush on my side of the road. Your move ambushers.

---Luda, Goblin Concubine of Lord Klar POV

I draw brush and sticks over me while I scrunch down in a goblin-sized depression beside the road. Across the road, I am blind. All I can observe is back towards town or the brush beside me. I hear them before I can spy on them as they creep along in the brush. I admire their skill. They are slim like Izga and I am certain their stealth skills were taught to them from an early age like her. I am just as certain they wield daggers like her as well. These aren’t assault-type troops, though, more like beaters or chasers to flush the game out during a hunt. While this may work with beasts, I am certain Lord Klar is no beast.

One assassin takes a step, landing beside my hole and then a brief yelp escapes her lips as an arrow shaft impales her throat. Her hands rush to the arrow shaft and wound, yet blood flows freely. She gurgles while trying to draw in air and drops to her knees. Her eyes open wide as she notices me and then she falls away to lie in silence. The light of life in her eyes fades, something I can observe, much to my surprise, which I attribute to my night vision. The how is beyond me, yet this closeness to someone dying is real and haunting. I need to force myself to take a breath.

With her dead eyes observing me, my hand snakes from cover, reaching for the arrow shaft. Lord Klar’s arrow. I decide I should collect these and somehow return them to him so he doesn’t run out, otherwise when his quiver is empty, what will he do?

I hitch my breathing as my eyes fly wide open, witnessing a glow growing in her dead eyes. A gurgle. Her eyes slow to close and open. Another gurgle. My hand darts forward grabs the arrow and pulls. Her head shifts forward, the arrow remaining secure. The glimmer of light in her eyes is no more.

My hand recoils to land upon my leather breastplate. The throbbing of my heart penetrates the stiff leather racing against my rapid breathing. The female lying dead before my eyes, Lord Klug’s kill. Zoria’s words return to me. Lord Klug should simply keep killing until all his wives return to him. Was that Koria trying to join us? Was that, or could that have been, her new body? I was too slow. I have killed her again. Tears flood my eyes as my hands try to cover my face and somehow hide my shame. How could I have not realised?

The night passes me by. Does Lord Klar know? Does he realise, with these slayings, he could return Koria to me? How can I make this happen? Remove the arrow immediately after death? Water?

“Azgrinia…” There is sorrow in her voice. I sink back into my goblin-sized hole. A shape looms over the body of the slain assassin. “I will slice him until he bleeds from every limb and then I will gut him, so he dies slowly, sister.” She rises and looks about and pauses as if she finds what or who she is looking for. “Puzsia, you goblin scum make certain a crew fetches her body. Any abuse of her flesh and you will pay,” she growls. She crouches, a kiss on her fingers, which then touches the corpse’s lips. She whispers goodbye and then, staying low, creeps into the brush.

If my husband’s theory is correct, given time, they should follow up behind him and pass right by me. When the time is right, I will circle wide around them and hopefully find the real ambush site and the mastermind. My thoughts of Koria, and my deliberations, unknown to me, consume a great deal of time. How long? The goblins? There will be no escape if they live through my attempt to slay them. I need to leave my hiding place behind, including what may have been.

On hands and knees, I ease my way out of cover and slide over the hobgoblin corpse. My touch to confirm the body dead, I tell myself. I listen. Silence. I wrestle the arrow free of the corpse’s neck and then scan my surroundings until my eyes spot the remains of a skinny tree trunk. Low to the ground like a lizard, I shift one limb at a time, hand, foot, hand, foot, all the while listening. My eyes scan the ground before me to avoid noise-making obstacles. I am in the log's shadow when I overhear a discussion.

“You heard her. We need to recover this one, all careful like.”

I hear one of them spit.

“Don’t do that. What if one of them sees you?”

“Pah, they are all gone forward now after the young Lord.”

“I wish we could be up at the front, not to fight, but to be there when she blows the whistle.”

“Have you never seen the beasts react to a whistle?”

“Nah, always clean-up crew for me. Like now really.”

“It is a sight. They buck and jump, short run, stop. I haven’t seen a rider yet who doesn’t fall hard, and she simply walks up and places a sword at their throat while those with her bind their hands and legs. Simple.”

Husband! Do I warn him? He didn’t say he would ride forward. He wanted to advance enough so those following would pass me by and give me my chance. I wait for them to lift and haul the body away. Their grumbles and swearing provide me with enough noise cover to make my way into the brush. Shortly after, I follow in the footsteps of an assassin, their skinny bodies still taller and slightly wider than mine, so I make good time until I find a corpse. Did Koria try to return to this body, I wonder? I remove the arrow and then traverse the brush to locate another assassin trail.

“How many left?” gripes a voice.

“Us three, we lost two, both arrows through the throat, under cover of the night out to one hundred paces. None have ever seen archery this good, even in daylight.”

“Well, the cost doesn’t matter to her, so we must see to our survival.”

“But he has stopped, dismounted. And no one has spotted his goblin plaything since he dismounted. So, she could be anywhere.”

“Probably hiding in a deep dark hole asking for her mummy if the reports on her are accurate.”

“Yeah, well, our spies in the manor certainty made sure her stay was a mind-disturbing one.”

They snicker at my expense, and I grind my teeth. I thought I imagined everything…

“After she cleaned up two of the Mistresses’ guards and freed some goblins, her death in the manor would have told everyone the manor was unsafe, so driving her insane was the next best thing. So, yeah, I imagine she is sucking her thumb somewhere, the Lord probably throwing his only liability away.”

“What?”

I don’t hesitate after slaughtering the first two and unsheathe a third dagger.

“No…”

And slash in a wide arc.

The good thing about assassins is they always carry daggers. Two crouching bodies now splay forward, the hilts of daggers sprouting from the back of their necks. While the third wears a new smile across her throat from ear to ear.

I collect several cleaner daggers and decide on a new progressive plan. Follow the assassin's trails and assassinate who I find. I am certain at some point they will lead me to the mastermind as well, so my husband can’t scold me for disobeying him in everything. Plus, if I slay them, my sister won’t try to return and fail. The fact she is trying means she can and somehow, I must encourage Lord Klug to slay another when his wives can better care for the kill after death.

 ---Clan Head Sakvorpa POV

“What do you mean, you don’t know where he is?”

The one before me must have drawn the short straw. Several other assassins hang back, afraid to admit their failure.

“The dark outline of his beast is plainly in sight, with occasional snorting. Yet, none are now brave enough to break cover long enough to confirm if he is still beside his beast or not.”

A lifetime devoted to their skills as assassins, and all I receive for my care and nurturing of them is failure. I slowly crane my head up to look about and study the dark sky above us, and then down until my eyes lock onto my messenger, who during that brief interval grew a sweating brow. “I just checked. It is still night. You are telling me no one can peer out from behind cover, under the cover of night and confirm he still occupies his hole or not?”

“No, Mistress. He hears us approach and lays in wait or sees us before we see him somehow. The first and second who tried ended up with an arrow in their eye.”

“The first and second who tried?” I grab her tusks and shake her head. “Are you telling me none have checked since? How long ago? Why?”

Excuses! He is a male, which means something, of course, but a skinny youth, who to date does most of his fighting with his middle leg. There have been no reports of his martial prowess, except for that one market bloodletting, and the report suggested luck more than skill. His wives, yes, all accomplished in one or more skills, especially his goblin… especially his sneaky, eavesdropping goblin, but we fixed her. Perhaps she hid with him… His goblin could probably hear their approach and warn him. That would make some sense, at least. Yet my spies reported her broken.

She shuffles about. I resist the urge to slap her and instead flick her back by push-releasing her tusks. “Only the last of the three checkers near survived Mistress, the arrow entering one cheek and exiting the other.”

“Your companions didn’t pop up beside him, I take it?”

She shakes her head. “No, Clan Head, we are at the limit of our night vision, yet given the skill of his archery, it is as if he sees us clear as day.”

I could round up a goblin to confirm his location, yet given the assassins are being slain through the throat or eye, the evidence suggests he lays in wait for them, perhaps not under or near his beast though. Could he and possibly his goblin be closer to the brush than we think? The assassins would spy out his beast to get a general direction and then look below and around, I suspect. This would allow an archer more than enough time to train their bow for such an exacting release. After all, I trained my assassins to pull off a similar feat, although three hits from three, with one not perfect, is still an impressive demonstration of accuracy. Then throw in the night, and I suspect I have underestimated my prey. This also means my spies don’t see as clearly as they should and perhaps they no longer need their eyes.

My assassins. The night was the reason they didn’t bring their bows. They could snag on the brush breaking their silence, was the theory. Now, who came up with that drivel? I swallow. Somewhere, I am certain someone is laughing at me because, bows or not, he sees them before they see him. My assassins would only die while carrying another unused weapon.

“Use the heads of the dead as decoys and draw him to release until he runs out of arrows.”

“Yes, Mistress.” She plays with her hands, so I wait yet again. “His quiver should be empty, about five deaths ago, as most quivers hold twenty-five arrows, give or take.”

Not twenty-five arrows, my dear assassin. My spy guaranteed she near emptied his quiver as she packed his mount. Still, does that translate to mean ten or fifteen deaths? That can’t be true. I refuse to believe that is possible. Yet my blood boils and before I realise my hands are around her throat. I growl into her face. “What does that matter? Use heads of the dead, although remove any arrows first, of course.”

She gasps for breath, and I throw her to the ground.

“Yes, Mistress,” she squeaks as she struggles to stand.

She doesn’t flee to do my bidding, choosing instead to stand before me, her head down. “What?” I snap.

“Very few, well almost none we find with arrows, Clan Head,” she says, her halting voice low between trembling lips.

“Go.” I fling an arm out toward her companions. Someone is helping him, returning his spent arrows. There can only be one. A sneaky, not so depressed as we thought and therefore not so useless, goblin.

She scrambles away from my immediate sight to share my words with her accomplices and most likely calls me names behind my back. So be it. After some chatter, they leave together. Dawn isn’t far away, and I need him to advance, preferably on his beast, but as I scan the mercenaries I have hired, four groups, a male leading four females I am still confident they will be more than enough to handle one young uppity Lording, tricks, or no tricks. I must remove all support for Lord Torngul until he is utterly alone and ripe for the taking. Especially since he believes his manor is a place of safety. By the slimmest of margins, I hold back my laughter. I am certain any spontaneous laughter while standing alone would cast doubt on my authority and to regain that would involve tedious and useless bloodletting.

“What do you report?”

From the shadows, he whispers, “His goblin has disappeared Mistress, most believe she is in hiding, too scared to fight, or he has sent her away somehow to protect her.”

“You heard her,” I hiss. “She found the dead without the arrows which slew them. He has help, and it can only be his goblin. She isn’t cowering. Where have the clean-up crews recovered most of our dead?”

“The northern side of the trail, Mistress, from arrows.”

“Take goblins off clean up, fetch more from Town if you must, but tell them to fan out on the northern side of the trail and slow walk towards us, stabbing every bush, looking behind every tree and searching under every rock. They are goblins. They should know how and where goblins hide. He cares for his wives, so her capture could prove beneficial. Now go.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

My Head of Goblins is a useful creature. He enjoys lording himself over my goblin subjects and I can depend on his success when given a task. Although, I may have confused guile for intelligence since he didn’t conclude as I did that the goblin bitch must be helping her Lord. Nevertheless, I am certain he will find her and with her as bait; I am equally certain Lord Klar will reveal himself. Maybe that should have been the play from the beginning, especially after Izga proved such a failure. An assassin of mine somehow defying her training and succumbing to someone else’s absolute thrall.

I recall their faces, especially the twinkle in their eyes as my spies took great delight in describing in overflowing detail her vocal carnal satisfaction when subject to his middle leg. Such enthusiasm for lust was difficult to accept as a mere subterfuge to gain his confidence.

If I had a choice, I would have sent another, but the new commission required an immediate report.

Losing Izga to him should have been at least a caution. None should be able to steal from me, none. Yet, I can’t allow this to be personal. This is business, first, second and third. My advisors convinced me that her betrayal was a freak anomaly because of incomplete training, nothing else. With the benefit of hindsight, sending a virgin to a sexual predator was always going to end in tears. Him the fiddler and she the fiddle. He somehow awakened a hidden, perverted vice within one of my better assassins, suggested my advisors.

Staring into the night sky, another thought strikes me. I wonder if I should have instead considered the impossible theft of my servant by him, absolute evidence not to underestimate him and not a mere glitch? Would I have been more cautious, and waited for more reports? Ifs and maybes, the torment of the indecisive. I must instead keep moving forward and strive for success.

Izga, Izga, Izga, you were always different. After all, what mother would leave their baby on a doorstep with a note which simply read, “Turn her into a weapon to feed death.” A challenge which I accepted and embraced as inspiration to expand my business from solely spying to include assassination and, until this moment, without regret.

I wrap my arms around my shoulders to stifle the shiver running down my spine. This setback will not end me or my Clan, I swear.