---Lord Klar POV

By now, the goblin clan will learn of the new arrivals. I hope they recalculate their position in our alliance of circumstance. As Gorgrin approaches, a broad smile on his lips, I grab his forearm, and he holds mine, and we shake and wrap each other up in a masculine hug and release shortly after.

“You survived each other, which is a good start and given the numbers, somehow a rumour must have spread about my new settlement.”

Izga launches herself at me, and I catch her on my hips as her legs wrap around me, and we embrace. “Lord, it has been many days.” Her pouting completes a sorrowful picture of misfortune.

“Later, we have work to do,” I reply as I allow her to slide down and lean against me on her two feet.

Within goblin earshot, we exchange reports. Izga and Gorgrin’s assessment of the new recruits and my plans for the further development of the manor and the surrounds.

“Husband.” Chin up, Klaria thrusts several pieces of parchment towards me. As I receive them, I glance at and admire the thin spiderweb-like writing.

“Your second wife excels at ink craft, while your first wife excels at swordcraft, husband,” says Thalgora, her voice reverberating just below a growl. I note she adjusts her grip on the pommel of her sword. A sign I believe of self-control, not taking the simple solution and running her sword through my second wife.

Klaria’s hand rests on Thalgora’s right hand and slides alongside her sister-wife. Thalgora wins on height and body mass, yet Klaria milks sympathy, her beaming orange eyes staring until Thalgora glances down in acknowledgement. “Also, a masterful organiser is our Thalgora. She shuffled the newcomers into their Clan, so each piece of parchment has the names from one Clan, saving my delicate writing hand now and you time later.”

Did I luck out here? Thalgora, to my amazement, reluctantly tolerates this interloper. I imagine somewhat like a pet dog accepting a pet cat curled up, the larger spooning the other. Gorgrin grunts. His warning is unnecessary, but appreciated as he warns me of an approaching goblin delegation.

“Thalgora, find one hundred amongst the new arrivals to train as soldiers. All ages. If you want to prove your worth to me, I need at least ten who can hold a weapon and not look foolish in the next seven days.”

“Yes, husband.” Her voice lifts from growl to delight. She pivots and races away, gathering Zergoa and Voria.

“Gorgrin, start with the ferals, but add any others who can and begin hunting. We will need meat, fat sinew, and hide. As fast as we can slaughter.”

“Yes, Lord.” He glances over his shoulder, and his nose wrinkles slightly.

“I will talk to them about their grooming. Wait with me.” His face relaxes. “Izga, greet our guests, direct them to the top of the hillock, and advise them I will be there shortly.”

She pecks my cheek and glides away. I hope, in some small way, her impure blood linage will annoy them and perhaps cause them to drop their guard.

My eyes fall on Klaria. “Find any farmers or would-be farmers in those left. Send me any who can prove they can read and write.”

“Yes, Husband.”

“Gorgrin, Duzsia and Zoria with me.”

---

They rise as one massive stink cloud of sixty or more. Mothers with teenage daughters. Several singles. None are old, and none have babes in their arms. These are the ferals, and as I approach, a delegation of three breaks away from the crowd, and the general chat dies simultaneously.

They could be triplets in dress, a large fur over the head poncho and another front and back fur piece tied at the waist like an oversized lap lap. The lengths vary depending on the size of the creature the fur came from. One displays a good portion of her waist, where the poncho bottom edge doesn’t drop enough to meet the lap-lap. The size of her breasts is an obvious and significant contributor to the circumstance. Another has leg thighs exposed because of the narrow lap lap she wears. In contrast, the last has none of those exposures and, given her proud chin and forwardness, has somehow been elected, thrust into, or claimed leadership.

“I am known as Durrilsia, Lord Klar. I speak for all the ferals, and we will contribute to your clan if…”

She can’t continue because my fingers are around her throat. Her words of superiority and lack of humility spoil what was, until then, a fantastic day of achievement. Her hands, of course, beat on my forearms. My grip tightens. Gorgrin, I imagine, is behind me in a state of shock. Duzsia and Zoria step forward as the other two ferals take a nervous step forward. Apart from bashing me or charging me down, they are helpless. Their action is nothing beyond moral support, certainly not self-sacrificing loyalty.

As she drops her hands, I loosen my grip. I am certain finger marks will be on her neck for many days.

“Who am I?” I ask Durrilsia as I drag her larger, well-toned body closer until we are face to face. I overhear the ferals releasing a breath. They, and especially her, think of me as a teenager. Which, for all appearances, I am.

“You. Are. Lord. Klar.” Each word is an effort to speak.

“Do not mistake my youthful appearance for a lack of strength.” I release my grip further. “I am Lord Klar, and if you remain in my clan, you do so according to my need. You need to decide now if you want to stay or go. But let me say I plan on building greatness here, and to do that, I need loyal subjects who contribute so all can benefit.” I drop my hand from her neck and step past her to address the group. “Do you want more for your daughters than you had? Do you want, eventually, a safe place to live, plentiful food and a Lord who protects you?”

Most in the crowd nod, but if the response is genuine or not, only time will tell. “Face me, Durrilsia, Leader of the Ferals.”

Her head is down, and I place my finger under her chin. “You will need your superiority and pride in the days to come. Just don’t assume because of my appearance, I am weak. If Lord Klar is weak, why do Gorgrin, Duzsia and Zoria call me their Lord and follow me without hesitation?”

She drops to one knee. “I am sorry, Lord Klar. Punish me if you wish, but spare everyone else. You are right. I thought you as an upstart youth, ripe to beat on…”

I guess why someone would mention beating to someone they have never met before. “I am not your former partner. Even if you could beat on me, what would he care?”

Her eyes lift to meet mine. “I…”

“Do you have a daughter?” I hold out my hand for her to grab. Her hand stays for a moment and then accepts, and I raise her up.

“No. He blamed me.” Lips drawn back, frown lines. Her face darkens. A combination of pain and sorrow.

“Did you try with another?”

Her eyes open wide. “Another? Males don’t grow on trees, Lord.”

“It could have been him, not you?”

“His other wives had children…”

“Well, even lightning strikes nearby occasionally.” Duzsia and Zoria snicker behind me. “His other wives probably decided they would try another instead of facing exile like yourself.”

Her mouth drops open, and then slowly closes. “His first wife had two children, the others like me barren. They fell with a child not long before my exile. In fact, he threw their success at me to wound me.”

“Do you want me to test your loins now?” I offer, successfully maintaining a straight face.

She looks over her eyebrows at me and then towards the crowd. “Now, Lord?” Her hand searches under her poncho for her abdomen. A curt nod, decision made as tears well up in her eyes.

I sniff. “Perhaps a bath first, no offence, but there is an unpleasant aroma which clings to you.”

She wipes her eyes and throws me a smile of relief. “You would have taken me?” She stares at me for a moment. “You are the brazen one, aren’t you?”

“No. I am Lord of my Clan, and all will obey me.”

She closes her eyes. “Lord, our hair will always smell, the tangle.”

Dreadlocks, with a side serve of twigs and dry leaf. “Lack of hair has never bothered me,” I smirk. I reach for my dagger and open my eyes, fixing them on her hair.

She swallows. Slowly kneels. I grab a handful of her deep black tangle of hair and begin slicing. I avoid drawing blood, although my reserved touch leaves tuffs of hair behind as I stand back to inspect.

Duzsia steps forward, surprising me. She has a small knife and trims more delicately and precisely. Once done, I rub my hands over Durrilsia’s bald head. She purrs. This is not a trick of my hearing. I lean down and lightly kiss the crown of her head.

“Lord… I am overwhelmed. Please give me a moment before I need to face the rest.”

I grab her shoulders and hint at standing. She climbs to her feet. “You don’t need to.” I turn her around.

Before us, each of them is cutting away the dreadlocks of another. I flick my head at Duzsia and Zoria. Armed with knives, they move amongst the crowd despite the smell. I will need to reward them later.

Durrilsia’s two companions drop to their knees before me. “Durrilsia, join the rest, lead them to the river, and bathe. When done, find Gorgrin, Duzsia and Zoria and begin hunting. Tell your ferals that they will vote on the five greatest hunters amongst them, and if Gorgrin and my wives agree with their judgement, they will lie with me tonight.”

“Yes, Lord Klar. Do I…”

“You may claim my promise from today, and if you are in the top five, once again tomorrow night.”

She bolts, almost knocking her two companions over. I get to work as a hairdresser, conscious I don’t have Duzsia to tidy for me. Finishing, I give the other companion a small knife while I cut her dreadlocks. That way, she is close cutting the first.

Gorgrin clears his throat. “Lord, I believe Izga’s diplomatic skills have been exhausted. Goblins on their way.”

“Do they look annoyed?” I whisper.

“Oh, certainly, Lord.”

The first companion is done, yet she remains on her knees. I rub her head and kiss her crown. “Fetch me two more ferals. Now go, hurry.”

The crone is on her chair, and the four goblins on each end of two poles do well to keep her from tumbling out as they crab their way down the slope of the hillock. Izga remains at the crest of the hill, observing until I wave her away and tilt my head towards Thalgora. She nods in acknowledgement and jogs off.

I finish the second companion, and I speak before she can say a word. “You are finished, but remain in pretence that you aren’t.”

“Yes, Lord.” Her breathy reply is a surprise, but I have no time for questions. The two new ferals are young teenagers. The dark green blush on their faces tells me all I need to know. I glance at the first companion who accompanies them. She is about to speak, and I shake my head slightly. I position the two newcomers on their knees before me, a slight breeze carrying their scent away. I continue to trim the second companion. Heavy breathing from the other two is loud in the scheme of things, and if I can hear them, so can the goblins about to join us. Maybe this is a blessing…

The crone remains in her chair, and the four male goblin bearers lower the chair, allowing themselves a rest, while Nudia and another male goblin stand on either side. For a moment, I wonder where Luda is.

“Welcome, elder. What can your Lord do for you?”

Her mouth sours, yet strictly speaking, she and the entire tribe are my slaves, and every hobgoblin in this valley would enforce my right with much vigour. Whether it is my welcome, the trip down the hillock or both which has given her pause, she doesn’t berate me, maintaining her composure instead.

“The numbers of hobgoblin females, Lord. How do we ensure they don’t eat more than is their due?”

I pat the heads of the two new ferals kneeling at my feet. “These are our hunters. Once ready, they will bring back enough kills to support our immediate needs. Others will begin digging farm lots, which either they or goblins will plant. Our crop will be late, but should be near enough ripe before the cold returns. Any shortfall I have coin for.”

“The numbers. There was a certain concern, you understand.”

I cut a section of dreadlocks off of one newcomer. Her sensual yelp draws everyone’s attention. My eyes remain on the crone, noting she places a hand over her mouth, trying to disguise herself licking her lips. For my part, I caress the teenager’s cheek while trying to gather in another bunch of knots. She whimpers. Her offsider, a sister for all anyone knows, glances at her and then stares up at me. The original companions squirm, closing their legs. One awkwardly shuffles while kneeling beside me. The other while standing before me, behind the two teenagers.

Throwing a clump of dreadlocks to the ground, I reply, “No need for concern, although I admit the number joining us more than my original expectations, especially the wild ones once of Clan Beastbane and now mine.” I caress the shaven side of my subject’s head and feel her tilt into my palm, moaning.

“Wild ones? Is that your new name for them?” She wrinkles her nose. “Not ferals?”

“They are mine, so I would name them. The name Wild Ones is appropriate. Hunters in the wild and ardent lovers in my bed.” I toss another clump of dreadlocks to the ground.

The two teenagers hold hands, mouths firmly shut, while failing to suppress their sighs of desire. The companion behind them drops to her knees, her face wild with desire. Only Gorgrin and I can appreciate her desperation. I can only imagine the same look on her companion as I feel her shift on her knees to lean against my thigh. There is a mystery here. Am I the first male to pay them any attention? Long abstinence? Or, as Lord, grooming them, even in this rough fashion, is more than purely functional to them.

“They are fortunate…” She expels a breath. “To have a generous Lord who genuinely cares.”

“Is there anything else?” I ask with all the innocence I can muster as I finish cutting off most of the first teenager’s hair.

She clears her throat. I feel an arm snake around my leg. “Seeding.” I flash her a look of surprise. Holding a palm-facing hand up, she continues, “Several goblin females missed your erm blessing on that night, and I was wondering if, as our Master, you would service them?”

I pass a knife to the companion behind the first teenager. Her shaking hand grabs the knife and begins finishing the first teenager’s haircut. All this while I chew over her words. I am their master now. “I wouldn’t want to drag them away, even for a moment, from either building cottages or digging the foundations of the manor…”

“Yes. Both noble tasks, yet I presume only a moment of your time?”

I release a deep belly laugh, finishing with a broad, cheerful smile. “I will send some hobgoblins to assist your goblins with both building projects. I will not permit them to be idle and told them they must learn new skills. Building skill is as good as any other, and we need shelter, which reminds me.”

She holds up a hand. “Yes, Luda asked. We have many tents to spare, and your new subjects are welcome to them. But, as you say, building cottages will see us all out of the cold faster.”

I position the second teenager, turning and holding her head to one side and cut off a clump of hair. “Can Nudia remain and choose those hobgoblins most suited to building? We can guess, of course, but better to have the right ones first off as best we can determine.”

She nods while glancing at Nudia. Then she taps one of her chair bearers. Once up and ready, she faces me.

“Lord, we have caught a stray goblin snooping about. What do you want to be done with him?”

To assess my handiwork, I stroke the shaven side of the teenager’s head and ask, “What does he claim?”

“He warns of travellers in danger, yet he refuses to say who they are until he meets the one they instructed him to meet.”

With my dagger in my hand, I point to my chest. “Me?”

She nods. “We think so, but none recognise him, and his blood is mixed.” Her mouth chews as if trying to dislodge a foul taste. “We think he is an opportunist at best, Lord.”

I continue my harvesting of the briar patch. “Gorgrin, escort the elder and drag back this dreg of goblin kind for me to question.”

“Yes, Lord.”

As he escorts the crone up the hill, I notice four sets of eyes on me.

Nudia quips, “Are you going to service them or leave them on heat until you do, Lord Klar?” Three of them squirm. The fourth, bolder than the rest, licks her lips. “You must admit their desperate lust got to the elder. She was determined not to reveal our prisoner, to hold him for a further concession, yet here we are.”

I finish cutting the prominent dreadlock clumps of the second teenager and look up at Nudia. “I suspect she will recover my seed from the goblins I service?” I raise my eyebrows.

“I am certain she will. The lust of your subjects reminds her of her need. Ensuring she stayed in favour with you.” Nudia chortles. The unusual style of laughing is familiar… Koria.

My thoughts turn to my four new subjects.

Nudia questions on my behalf. “Can you trust these four with our secret, Lord Klar?”

I pat the heads of each. “Well, only you and I know, and we will tell no one. So if I find your slain body anytime soon, then one of these will be to blame, and since I will be outraged, I am certain I will simply slaughter them all in the most painful way I can imagine.”

The one I am patting trembles. The other three visibly so.

“Shoo now, Wild Ones, bathe in the lake, take these clothes, and return to your Lord when done. I just happen to have a tent with me,” hisses Nudia.

They all look at me. I nod, and they scamper off, racing each other to the lake, discarding their furs well before the water’s edge and wading in.

“Have you found any clues about the hobgoblin from last night?” I ask.

“No, we haven’t and…” She rubs her heels on the grass. “We can share my body, so one of us is aware during the night. There is late night, early morning movement about the camp. Still, no conversations, so we suspect they are had elsewhere, Lord.”

I stroke my chin with a thumb. Izga and or Luda need to lurk about the goblin camp tonight from a safe distance. Yet, I suspect any meeting will be in the strip of forest on either side of the river, probably north since I placed the hobgoblin tent camp to the south of the ford. The Wild Ones, I will camp north of the ford, but not before I learn some more.

“Is this a good place for a tent?” The humour in her voice alerts me more than the words, and I spare a glance in the lake’s direction. One of my new subjects, dressing on the run, is returning. I shake my head and wave her back. Stopping confused, she looks over her shoulder and then back at me. I wave her back again. Plodding, she joins the other three in the lake.

“Are you teaching life lessons again, Lord Klar?”

“They are one. The sooner they realise that fact, the better. That way, if one strays, the other three should try to save themselves from the betrayer by running to me and revealing the traitor.” I wave to Nudia to follow, picking a spot halfway between the group of Wild Ones finishing their haircuts and the river proper, where they are to wash themselves instead of the lake. As more of them notice, they break away from the group, ensuring they walk past Nudia and I. After one does, they all pause, offering to assist with the tent, which I graciously decline. I wave the four back several times when they try to return with fewer than all of them. The Wild Ones are all in the river amongst the tree line when the four finally realise what I want. Duzsia and Zoria, following behind the group, join Nudia and I, and we prepare for the four’s return.

“You know, Lord, when you have serviced these four, the others will look on with sad eyes and askance?” says Duzsia.

“Duzsia, I am certain Lord Klar has a plan,” quips Koria.

“What of Durrilsia and her speech of reward for hunting?” asks Zoria Oath Keeper using a sincere voice.

“Thank you for your support, Koria. I appreciate your positive words, especially while the other two loyal wives doubt my method.” I pout and raise my chin, pretending superiority.

“Lord!” they protest.

The four Wild Ones wade from the water, pausing once in their new clothes, their eyes on me, and I wave them on. They squeal in delight, the older two and the teenagers.

“What are your thoughts, Lord?” asks Koria.

“Whimsy. Now. I thought to seed these four fully, but perhaps simple pregnancy or not is my choice now, given the others will at least ask for the same service.”

I feel Nudia’s hand on my arm and face her. “You mean to say you have a choice?”

“I prefer a different term, control. A female, only requires one sperm to fertilise her, and once the race is won, we waste the others. So, instead of wasting seed, control allows me to only put several into the race each time and not an entire load.”

“But the entire goblin tribe? They each only received a single sperm. All of them couldn’t stop chirping about how much seed you gave them, how they felt stronger afterwards… Myself included.”

I draw Nudia into an embrace. “When one says something, the others will confirm, regardless of their truth, to compete. Before I succumb to the lust haze, I can control the quantity of seed, if a recipient will fall pregnant and, if so, the sex of the child.”

“Why do you tell us now, Lord,” asks Zoria.

“Because while not safe beyond destruction, we are safe enough.”

“But what of the stories? What of us?”

I gaze into Duzsia’s eyes and share a warm smile with her. “You are my wives, my seed strengthens you, and so I deliberately share my strength with you while ensuring you don’t fall pregnant, although once we finish the manor, that may change.” I let a sheepish smile slip through my guard. Their bright, glowing faces are my reward. “Others, I have also seeded with a full load and chosen to beget with child. Thalgora and some goblins and, before them, the hobgoblins of the Clans. Once I enter the lust haze, though, I lock in my preference, pregnant or not and if pregnant, male, or female child, because those who I lay with while under a lust haze receive few actual seeds because I must last the distance.”

There is a silence as the four Wild Ones draw closer.

“We are especially favoured then, Lord,” says Duzsia.

“You are my wives. Although I also favoured Nudia and others I thought I had a bond with or sympathy for.”

“So, those few spread the rumour of great revitalisation and strength?” whispers Nudia. “Including myself.”

“And others, of course, whether or not they feel the same, confirm the illusion so as not to feel less or miss out. Regardless, they will all begin to show if pregnant, and that is further confirmation. Otherwise, how would a male last a day or more with multiple partners?”

“The meat?” asks Zoria.

“That is still required. I still need to maintain my strength!” I belly laugh. The four Wild Ones hesitate when near to us, their jogging slowing, sharing cautious looks. I wave them on, and favourable smiles return to their faces.

“Hello, Lord.”

Izga?

I look over my shoulder and then receive her in my arms and on my hips. “What have I done to earn your company?”

“A spy.”

I drop her to land in front of me. “Explain.”

“When the ferals charged the river, a female hobgoblin was slow to join them. Dressed her in furs like them, permitted her hair to be cut off, but there wasn’t a hunter’s grace about her when she finally made her move.”

My face questions Duzsia and Zoria. “They all smelt and looked the same. Apologies, Lord,” says Zoria.

“Continue,” I grumble.

“Thalgora spotted her lingering and sent me to investigate.”

The story isn’t complete. “What did she overhear? Where is she now?”

“Certainly, your last conversation.” Her face darkens. “She is behind the tent.”

My four Wild Ones join us, faces twisting in confusion, given they only overheard half the conversation. “Join Izga and I. You may know who the stranger is.” I don’t wait for their reactions, striding around the tent instead, eager to meet this interloper. I thought my wives would detect and prevent such lapses with their heightened senses. Maybe the smell was too overpowering because of their improved senses.

A face-down corpse-like body, hands and legs secure, waits for me. I push on the body with my boot, and with a yelp, the body, which I note is pregnant, rolls over. Surprise quells my building anger.

“What is Zinmog’s daughter, feral at that, snooping on my land?”

“Lord. Lord… I… have been exiled. My father sees enemies everywhere. He has chased many family members, distant and close from his manor. He swears, somehow, you have tricked him.”

“Me?” I shake my head. “What have or haven’t I done?”

“Lord, would you untie me?” She rolls over slightly to show her tied hands.

Placing my hands on my hips, I say, “Not just yet. What did you overhear?”

Her eyes tear. “That you favoured me or thought we had a bond?”

I glance at Izga. “In all the conversation, that is what you heard?”

“Yes, Lord. I swear. I am alone, and to hear your words… While my father places no value on me, others would still think I am worth ransom. Why do you think I hide amongst the shunned… smell like this, embrace these rough furs? A Clan Head’s daughter, while not as valuable as a son, should be due some comforts, and yet for many nights now, I have gone to sleep under the lights in the sky.”

“Many nights? Didn’t we bid each other farewell recently?”

She drops her head, and tears flow down her cheeks. “He did what he said he would.” Lying back, she says, “My sister and I look similar.” She hitches her chest. “He said he would replace me with her. I am truly dead to him now. Lord, I throw myself upon your mercy. Please.”

“Explain how he thinks I have tricked him?”

“The crop grows too well. He believes no such thing is possible and there is some kind of magic at work. His greatest fear is the grain will disappear overnight after toiling for days to bring the harvest in.”

Fear of the unknown, change. Clan Hungry fails because of being set in their ways and not wishing to bend, even slightly, to anything else, let alone going from subsistence farming to secure farming, producing an excess that can be put back into next year’s crop as seed or sold off. What to do with her? She can’t remain a feral. They will have new clothes as soon as I can find some, and her pregnancy will continue to bloom. The skinny Clan Hungry females will spot her and recognise her immediately or eventually and be tempted.

My silence prompts Izga. “I can take care of her, Lord.”

I ignore the gasps from our four Wild Ones and our captive. “It would solve many potential problems…” I sigh and growl. “Fortunately for her, I am a kind Lord and a pregnant female I can’t slay or ordered slain. Untie her hands and feet while I think some more.”

Four warm bodies move closer to mine, and they assume I am agreeable by not objecting. Four sets of everything entwine and caress me.

“We will never betray you, Lord,” says one of the older Wild Ones.

“Our lives are yours, Lord,” says one teenager immediately after, which the present context makes little sense, but I don’t have time to debate the finer points.

I unbind myself from them with care. “Return to Duzsia and Zoria.” They slink away, trying for sexy, but my eyes and mind are on the slightly showing daughter of Clan Head Zinmog. She raises her arms to embrace me, and I step back, shaking my head. “Move closer, and I will order Izga to slay you and save myself further angst.”

She drops her arms and pouts. “As you order, Lord.”

I glance at Izga, who is silently smirking. After my withering look of betrayal, she clears her face of emotion and shrugs.

P.S. If you read my story on any website besides Royal Road and Scribble Hub, the website has copied my story without my permission.