---Gorgrin, Blood Oath Follower POV

I toss the few remaining coins I have in my hand. When my father demanded payment for food, the females belonged to my Lord, yet when counting ownership, they belonged to my father. He won’t allow any to leave without first securing the extra land grant as promised. I trust my Lord; my father has a lower opinion of such a youth.

Pushing the door to my room open, I trudge once again down the hallway and through the main double doors of the manor and out onto the field of misery. Their eyes are upon me, in an instant. Questioning. Is today the day they leave? The least I can do is visit each camp, face them, listen to their woes, try to console them, and provide further vague assurances we will leave shortly.

Trekking back to the manor, near the end of the day, I need to sigh as my half-brother strides with determination toward me.

“Father says, you must pay for food for another day. Today is another day closer to being the last for your Lord to collect on his arrangement. If your Lord fails, then father will take his claim to Lord Torngul and demand compensation.”

His smug countenance is an irritant, yet one I must endure. I hold my fist full of remaining coins out, waiting for him to open his hand to receive them. This has been our ritual for the last few days, yet I know I am short of the agreed amount and when he counts them, he will know the same. I drop the coins into his palm and his vicious smile tells me he already knows.

“You are short, Brother. Enough for dinner tonight and perhaps we can prepare a surprise meal to break their fast in the morning.”

“That is enough for both meals as you know,” I growl.

“Not according to father,” he retorts.

I stomp towards him, lowering my shoulder into his as I pass him. He scrambles to keep his feet, the coins in his hand spray-free and he curses me under his breath as I make for the manor. My hands lean upon the double doors, and I pause instead of pushing them open. I believe a certain special place awaits me; this is my third evening wait in a row. If my Lord sends an agent, they will most likely meet me there. If the Lord arrives personally, he will simply stride up to the manor house, state his case and claim the females. I am certain he will know where I am and fetch me before he leaves.

---Izga, Concubine of Lord Klar POV

Squatting on Lord Klar’s shoulders, my lower half-naked, purely because of mishap, of course, I wonder if, with effort, I could hold the same position from the front. I imagine my naked buttock on his chest and my exposed loins in his face.

Cool water splashes upon my face, and I flick my head.

“What was that for, husband?”

“Mischievous thoughts.”

Was he able to determine my intent through our spirit link? “Thoughts?”

He chuckles. “Not exacting, yet enough to sense you are comfortable on my shoulders while I wade across the river, but you plot—something.”

After his last word, his body dips. Wild bubbling river water washes over his neck and swirls around my bottom and thighs, the coolness quelling the heat in my loins. “Husband!” I yelp.

I resist the urge to slap him as I am certain my punishment would be swift. He rises and we continue our wading of the river. He assured me he and Nudia, a goblin, have waded across at this location. Assurance or not, I would have done his bidding in total disregard for my safety. I am an assassin, to be utilised as he sees fit. I lick my lips. His concern, though, is touching. Further across, the depth of the river increases and once again my loins bathe in cool river water. This time I don’t yelp. Shortly after, he rises out of the river with me on his shoulders. We are clear of the nasty water at last and arrive safely on the opposite bank. Before he can swing me down, I slide from his shoulders, using his chest as the pathway of choice. Awkward yet confirmation of sorts as my ankles lock, allowing my legs to swivel around his neck, while my abdomen crunches, bringing my loin close to his lips while my hands grab for the back of his head.

I greet his accusing eyes with my best beaming, salacious smile.

“This is what you had in mind?”

I nod while holding my smile.

“We have an entire entourage of goblins and hobgoblins on the other side of the river. I assume intently watching us.”

I pout. “I will be several days away from you, Lord, and you are a loincloth away from being naked.”

---

I crouch within the undergrowth, listening and sniffing. Nothing. I dip my hand into my backpack and draw out a length of dried meat and a matching slither of cheese. Casually chewing, I recall my husband’s attentions, the hard uneven river stone underneath my half-naked body a harsh bulwark against his trusting, and I shiver in delight. More importantly, I was alone with him. Not next in line or finishing up because of another waiting or sharing. All mine, and he granted our coupling a generous amount of time. Rubbing my belly, I wonder. Am I jealous of Thalgora?

The snap of branches grabs my attention. By repositioning my head several times, I glimpse between the foliage, beyond my hiding place. A deer buck stumbles, an arrow jutting out of the animal’s hindquarters. After some quick work, a hunting party of five hobgoblins slaughter their catch. Along with another, larger animal, they hoist them on their shoulders using lengths of wood, each catch swinging underneath by their tied legs. I appreciate the simplicity and convenience.

Lord Klar provided me with directions, well landmarks in truth to reach Clan Beastbane. Following these hunters will probably be more reliable. Decided, I allow them to lead well ahead of me. Over the course of a day and night and avoiding two of their ambushes, they act as my unwitting but suspicious guides to their Clan manor house. Their gut is telling them ‘something is out there, possibly following them’. I ensure there is no proof.

From my top branch perch, the manor house and the surrounding steading are under my gaze. Large beams of round wood, one on top of the other, form the walls, while they made the roof using long sheets of bark. Amazing. There are other buildings, but none as impressive as the manor house. This is the manor house of a Clan, unlike the sagging old collection of timber that makes up Clan Hungry’s manor house, I decide.

The other surprise is the number of female hobgoblins. Does Lord Klar know?

Perhaps because of the recent warm dry weather, or simply because there aren’t enough houses, many women camp out on a common grass-covered area out front of the manor. Some are under cured leather tents, while others make do with a blanket over a suspended branch held up by two rickety branch frames. A few, mainly family groups of a mother and female children, huddle together around a campfire with no cover at all. A restless malaise is on them. They are waiting without an end in sight.

I finger the leather roll hanging around my neck on a cord of leather. I suspect their Clan Head awaits the written confirmation on the parchment wrapped within. My Lord made this hand-over difficult for me though. I need to identify his sworn companion Gorgrin by deed. He should be the male hobgoblin, caring for the female hobgoblins, protecting them, feeding them, and providing shelter while waiting. Also, I must deliver the leather roll to Gorgrin without the Clan Head or any of his Clan knowing of my presence. I need to wait for the night, that is a given. Trust in my hearing and night sight to avoid detection. I also need to will and wish some co-operation from Gorgrin. He must know someone is going to contact him, shouldn’t he?

---Koria Keen Eye POV

I rise to return to the darkness. Rising and falling are simply labels for my mind to cope with my spirit existence and the real world. The truth is unknown to me. The spirit world seems to play along and understand my intent. This I decide is all I require to functionally comprehend the position I find myself in. How do I think such big thoughts? Where is the Flint Arrows goblin?

Tentatively at first, I resist. This resistance is the opposite I have been attempting while within the blackness when he called me. Willpower, pure and simple. Yet I ascend. I recall my resistance when refusing his call and the blackness providing an anchor of sorts, a place familiar and of belonging with which to cling. Something which developed over a countless and unknown duration. Here I was trying to remain in an actual place I hardly knew now. Failure explanation is easy, simple. Yet returning to the black without being able to explain to him, is intolerable.

What have I got to cling to in the real world? Typically, my spirit possesses the body of one recently slain by his hand. Why this works as a draw or awakening I don’t know for certain. A plausible explanation is the elimination of their life, causes the fleeing of the corpse’s spirit and his mark of death upon it, to draw me or his wives. I try to sense for the tenth corpse, the nanorobots, and the corpse’s blood. The attempt feels like a hand trying to grasp an ever-fading presence, a cloth trying to wipe down dust but never able to contact the surface of the furniture or object subject to cleaning. Frantic, I cast my desperation in a wide arc. Everything, anything. I continue to rise.

A subtle jolt. A sense of myself, in the real world. Where? Did I truly discover this, or did I imagine salvation because of hopelessness?

I find myself, a dim tag, a shadow of a shadow.

I strive toward this potential presence, is this my future anchor? The darkness is approaching. I strive to claw myself further away, reach for this glimmer of an anchor. The anchor remains in place and my willpower latches onto this hope. My techniques and efforts to remain in the blackness, are now useful to draw me back into the real world. I know now, that I can’t simply resist or repel the drawing of my spirit back to the darkness. Possible salvation requires me to strive towards another destination, even if a shadow of a shadow.

I neither ascend nor descend.

---Dorgrav, Major Domo POV

“If you wish to remain in your position, you must find and bring to me all the spies in the manor. You hear me?” says my Lord and Master while crushing a parchment in his fist.

The timbre of his voice shakes the strength from my knees, yet I must remain upright.

“Yes, Lord. I will need c-coin to loosen the lips of the small rodents, and erm, who do we trust?”

His smile is predatory. “The three in my throne room and no others.”

I swallow. “Would I be able to call on Lady Trela to assist occasionally Lord?”

His eyes linger upon his wife until she blushes and under any other circumstances, my heart would fill with joy, now though I must expand my role into deeds and skills unknown. I grasp for any help he allows me.

“I am certain she will be able to provide counsel at the very least,” he replies, without facing me.

“Thank you, Lord. I strive to please.”

The Lady approaches me. Why?

“Firstly Dorgrav, we must recruit several new staff.”

“We do,” I squeak. Why can’t my voice behave? I separate my hands, my cap in my left hand only, to stop my display of nervousness.

“Who can we trust in the manor?” she purrs.

I know the answer to this question, the corners of my mouth rise. “Us three Lady.”

“Exactly.”

My cap hand almost joins my right hand until with effort I keep them separate. “What guarantees us our new staff will be loyal, Lady?”

Her smile matches my Lord’s. Predatory. “Because we know where a great many hobgoblins, naïve of Hobgoblin Town are or will be loitering. We could entice such innocents to serve in this house and you, good Dorgrav, we entrust to fetch them.”

“Me, Lady?” I swallow. “Where can I find these naïve servants?”

Her hands cup my face, while her eyes burn out mine denying me the opportunity to enjoy the warmth of her attention. “Why on Lord Klar’s land grant of course? We are aware he will shortly be responsible for many female hobgoblins and perhaps some would prefer our manor instead of his rough start. We simply need to find out.”

My hands play with my cap. I would need to leave Hobgoblin Town. Never have I ventured beyond the town limits. I hold back my tears of panic. “I, I am uncertain, Lady.” My eyes inspect my boots. “Travel beyond Hobgoblin Town?” I shake my head slowly from side to side.

His voice draws my attention against my will. “I will send two of my honour guard with you, for protection.”

“But we agreed we can trust no one else?”

“Now, now,” she says. “Not regarding manor loyalty, but in protecting you, certainly. Because if they fail to return with you, the Lord and I will ensure we capture them, torture them, and only then, slowly allow them to find the sweet embrace of death.”

But I will still be dead, is my worrying thought. I nod as words fail me.

“Good,” he says. “You leave in the morning so take the rest of today to prepare and I will select two of the honour guard so they can also prepare.”

I feel the bag before I realise what she gifts me, and she rewards my questioning face with an explanation.

“You may need the coin to lure them into service. Proof that we are serious. Recruit as many as you can, while replacing everyone in the manor would be ideal, I doubt you can entice that many.”

As I wander through the open double doors of the throne room, which close behind me automatically as well, courtesy of Lord Torngul’s honour guard, I wonder as I take a last look at the floor, walls, and ceiling of my home since a boy if I will return. After following my feet for a time, I stand before an asleep granny. Her eyes fly open, and I almost jump out of my skin.

Her warm thin hand pats mine. Comfort. From this simple contact, I decide I am not alone. From this simple contact, I decide I can trust granny. Against everything the Lord and Lady have advised, I explain my task and what the Lord’s solution is. Why do I do this when the Lord and Lady say to trust no one? Her kind caressing reminds me granny is this manor, surviving multiple Lords and Ladies and her warm knowing smile radiates care and patience. She is content to listen, and I need to confess to someone my fear of probable failure. These emotions make perfect sense to me, instead of logic, more the pity.

Her skin and bone hand rest upon mine now, the patting done with, it would seem. I need to lean forward, my ear in front of her mouth as she whispers the names of the servants, I must rid the manor of. She confirms some are simply lazy, while certain the others are the spies I am searching for. I ask how she knows, and she simply touches her nose with a crooked finger.

I stand tall. Not all the servants then. Twelve certainly, seventeen if I need the manor rid of the lazy ones as well. I weigh the bag of coins in hand, several coins less now, because of paying for granny’s consultation and consideration. No obligation, simply exercising my free will to reward. There is more than enough for some Clan savages, I am certain. The breaking of them into the ways of civilisation may prove more expensive… One step at a time I tell myself.

I stride forward with a new sense of purpose talking myself into believing I have a real chance of success.

---Lord Klar POV

We follow behind a laughing, jumping and cavorting Nudia. She is on top of the world as she perceives things. As best as I can determine we are heading out of the valley, although we are nowhere near the actual opening onto the plains. On our right, the river spreads into a catchment, a large pond, or a small lake at the base of a rise of land. The river found a way around, a path of least resistance as water always does, this time a shallow and wide out-pour. Further along, the river resumes a more natural flow, faster on a narrower riverbed.

Nudia is kicking at the flowing water, and she steps across lightly. Halfway across she calls back to us.

“My tribe found stones to line the crossing because mud is yuck, you know.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer as she waves us on to follow. Luda and I cross the ford and join Nudia on the rise of land on the other side of the river. This is an amazing hillock. Perfectly defensible, once we construct a wall of any sort to break up any uphill charge thinking to overrun the place. I scan the horizon in each direction, taking in the landscape and planning locations for a fort, village, and farming lands. Then I listen to what Nudia is saying.

“… your manor location is important. We will wall off the entire hillock, one gate facing the ford and another facing the fields. What do you think, Lord Klar?”

Her eyes search for mine, while I pretend to contemplate every word, including those I didn’t hear.

“Where does your authority come from, to design my future land claim?”

She blinks. The light green skin of her forehead gathers as she shakes her head while turning away from me. Her eyes land on Luda, who is ignoring both of us, content to gaze upon the wide-open spaces or nothing at all for all I know.

Several steps down the smooth hillside slope, and a hand catches my wrist.

“I apologise Lord Klar. I made certain assumptions.” A certain cautious enquiry is in her voice. My question was unexpected, in truth, even by me, simply a response to ensure I had a future say in the layout of my demesne.

With the help of the slope, I can rest an elbow comfortably on my knee allowing my eyes to meet hers. “This valley believes in its very bones that any goblins on my land grant are my slaves. While I dislike being a slave master, I will insist on being the master of every goblin and hobgoblin on my land grant. I will listen to all, but the final decision will always be mine.”

“But you don’t understand,” she says.

I raise an eyebrow. “Please explain.”

She pauses. Her eyes inspect every facet of my face I suspect. I catch a smirk from Luda who now rests on her haunches higher up the hillock.

“We have been searching for a home in this valley for generations, searching for a single father for generations and both are at hand. We, no, I, became a little excited. That is all. Of course, Lord, I and my tribe are your slaves, yet given your farming of our loins we thought our relationships much more mutual and agreeable.”

My disbelieving laugh is convincing enough given the look of dismay on her face. “The farming of your loins was at your insistence and my reluctance. My enslavement of your tribe was at your request, not my instigation. We are here, on this hillock because of your plans, not mine, yet I am now responsible for your entire tribe, but only on your terms.”

She slowly nods her head. “I see.”

I grab her chin in my hand, drawing her face close to mine. “You will explain to me now, all the plotting and scheming your tribe currently undertakes. All the groups you have knowledge of or manage, even if likely outside this valley.”

Between my fingers I feel her head move in agreement.

“I need you to be certain of what I need you to tell me. If, for example, I discover something you know now, but because of omission or me not asking the right question you withhold, carrying a child or not will not save you from my wrath.” I release my grip.

“As you wish Lord Klar. Everything.” She swallows while I settle my buttocks on the hillside. “We torment, interfere, harass The Eater Clan, who we consider our sworn enemy. They are the Clan, which originally enslaved us, so we can never forgive. They still enslaved some of our tribe’s descendants. We spy on the other Clans where we can without risk, but they have never been as important to us.” She lowers herself and shuffles in to sit beside me. When I don’t object, I feel her hand and arm snake their way around my arm drawing us closer.

“The males we send out in mercenary bands, some traders. We hear occasional news but in the main, we send them out with the expectation of them never returning, especially if they have fathered non-pure children.”

“Will your males remain now?”

I feel her arm strangle mine. “Lord, all your children will remain and bring you glory. Our uncertainty is over.”

“I see. Continue.”

“We made it our business to learn about all your wives.” She pauses and I feel her head turn. After a moment her head leans against my upper arm. “Luda. Can you explain Luda, Lord?”

“What of her?”

“Sometimes, I think you know much and other times I feel you know so little.” I meet her eyes with mine. “She is of this valley, yet from the Goblin Village…”

Somehow Nudia believes this is enough information. I shake my head.

“See, how can you not know?” She humphs. “They don’t leave. Ever. Yet one travels with you and shares your bed. How? Why?”

I throw my head back in sudden realisation, covering my ignorance with a chuckle. “A small thing really. I saved her life.”

“We have tried that.” Her eyes bore into mine. “With others of the village, I mean.”

I pat her small hands squeezing my arm. “They declared her dead from an arrow wound. Given up by all except her mother. So, I applied some healing plants, bandaged the wound to prevent further blood loss and the over the next several days dripped water into her mouth. Once she opened her eyes, they were all like, amazed and in awe. Unusual reaction, yet in the end, her mother insisted.”

“Days, you say.” She turns to find Luda. “Luda, can you show me your arrow wound? The one Lord Klar cared for, to save your life?”

Luda climbs to her feet in one smooth motion and strolls over to block our view of the mountains and forests towards the east while pulling back more clothing than is necessary to reveal corded muscle, her abdominals, especially. In male terms a pissing contest. I remember Duzsia’s arrow wound to the chest healing to perfection, Luda not as fortunate. Her lingering death from a gut wound was a factor I suppose. For now, useful.

Nudia turns Luda’s body slightly to face the western sunlight to illuminate her flesh and as I peek over her shoulder, I appreciate why. There is a wound, yet you need to know where to look to find the blemish.

Nudia’s fingers glide over the wound site. Luda giggles. “How much seed has Lord Klar put in you?” Luda’s giggling stops dead.

I reach around Nudia and pat down Luda’s clothes. “Why do you ask?”

“Many of those you farmed Lord Klar immediately noticed subtle improvements, different for each, different in extent, yet none missed out.” She points a finger at Luda. “Here we have a long-term, shall we say, a fortunate receiver of your seed with what we now know was a mortal would, which is almost whole as if no arrow actually impaled her.”

Has the miracle cure become more important than the impossibility of a valley village goblin leaving her village?

---Clan Head Sakvorpa POV

My eyes look down upon the merchant bowing before me with a certain amount of disgust. He insisted on delivering a message from his Clan Head and given my recent failure; I felt obliged to receive him. My pet goblin hands me the scroll and I break the seal.

Send all from your sight, except my messenger.

Clan Head Krilzak.

I tap the scroll into the palm of my other hand while keeping my eyes on the visitor. With a nod, I could have him slain and disposed of as if he didn’t arrive. After all, the large rug on which all my guests wait while before me is there to assist with absorbing leakage and allow discrete body removal. My servants then retrieve a duplicate rug from storage as if nothing happened. But no. I am certain Clan Head Krilzak would have had witnesses confirming he reached and entered my manor. I could simply ask him to reveal his secret in front of witnesses, but why when I expect chastisement, which will require a response if my Clan is privy to the insult.

I flick my eyes across the room and each of my guards trots out, closing the grand doors behind them.

“We are alone, say what you have to say.”

A quick nod of his head. “May I approach? I have another scroll to present to you.”

I scrunch up the first and allow the parchment to drop beside my throne as I place my arms on the armrests and allow my hands to drape over the ends. We are alone, why can’t he simply speak his Clan Head’s wishes, this drawing out is frustrating.

“Approach.”

He remains supplicant as he creeps towards me, the scroll leading the way. I grab the scroll when within reach and he immediately scurries back to the centre of the large rug, the exact spot we invited him to wait on, in fact.

If you wish to make amends, you only need to ambush and slay Lord Torngul’s messenger and escorts, who will shortly leave Hobgoblin Town to recruit more staff for his manor. We must prevent this in case they accidentally dismiss several key staff of great import to ourselves.

Clan Head Krilzak

Arising from my throne, parchment in hand I can’t help but think Clan Head Krilzak’s request is a statement of the obvious. Requesting my Clan to act is unnecessary, given as he says our mutual investment in the Lord’s staff. A glance back at his messenger and then I stroll towards the roaring fireplace. Evidence is best destroyed. I scrunch up the parchment and my throw lands the ball of evidence in the centre of the flames. The parchment burns well enough, although as I shake my head trying to make sense of several doubts, did the flames change colour briefly? I rush back to my throne and scoop up the other parchment and staring into the flames, throw the first message. A brief blue-green tinge and then yellow-orange. I swivel about on my heel and face his messenger.

The light from the fireplace reveals a face without expression, even though my bodyguard has plunged a dagger into his back. I know my bodyguard has prevented the assassin from slaying me because a heartbeat ago the dagger he was about to strike me with, clattered to the stone floor of my throne room. Before me, his upper body falls away. Did my bodyguard somehow cut his body in half? I twist my head to one side and spy my bodyguard equally frozen trying to comprehend reality. Then he bends over growling in pain. My eyes flash wide and then cold steel pricks my belly button and I lower my eyes. I hear the thump of my bodyguard’s corpse smack onto the floor.

“Good to have your attention. I didn’t appreciate your bodyguard slaying my partner, so an eye for an eye and all that.”

A scar runs across the face of the goblin holding the dagger at my waist. Courtesy of the firelight, I notice fresh black blood dripping from his weapon. Able to see passed my intruder, certain facts clear up some confusion. My bodyguard assumed as did I the messenger was one thin tallish hobgoblin, when in fact, comical or not, one goblin, in a complicated harness sat on the shoulders of another. A harness that could and in fact now is a quick release.

Another prick of his dagger draws my attention. “Worked it out yet?”

“Yes, ingenious, although not without risks.” I nod towards his dead companion.

“He assured us you didn’t keep a bodyguard with you when in your throne room. So, he needs to pay for that oversight.”

While I could assume that he is Clan Head Krilzak, my gut says no. Someone who knew of my failure took that opportunity to gain an audience and satisfy my expectation that Krilzak would want to meet and ask questions.

“I assume my asking who sent you would yield a lie or nothing?”

He chuckles. “How could you believe anything I would tell you?”

True. Any name given could be true, false, a misdirect. Even under torture, some assassins are skilled enough to sell a convincing version of the truth. It is why we train my assassins under the pain of torture.

“So, what now?”

“We wait.” He flicks his knife towards the far side of the fireplace.

“Are you certain we can’t wait on my throne? You could sit on my lap. I promise not to bite,” I purr. I sense he is a true professional, but never harms for a girl to try.

“No. I prefer a corner of your room, where perhaps a servant sweeps occasionally but otherwise no one gives a damn.”