---Nudia and Koria Keen Eye POV

“Ten female hobgoblins in a steady jog head towards the woods,” says a goblin scout.

I drag her to me, and we share a warm embrace. She is one goblin scout of several we sent out trying to determine the direction and strength of the attackers sent to capture or slay Lord Torngul’s emissary.

“Is this the only place of ambush? Seems convenient,” says Koria in my mind.

I withdraw my scoffing. “There does seem to be a handiness as the effort to drive a road through the brush, compared to a slightly longer road around, makes little sense unless, like all others, there was a drive to make all roads straight.”

“Gather the others and lay an ambush in place, hurry.”

The scout takes off, and I jog after her. The thirty goblins with me know what we need and work quickly to prepare the ambush site. I study the edges of the woods or bushland, searching for the hides. My Lord Klar enhanced eyes and the fact I know what I am looking for reveals the positions. All face outwards, ensuring excellent lines of sight on the surrounding grasslands. A screen of five scouts protects our rear and spy on the three we are covering. In the last report, they strolled along the path at their leisure, leading their riding beasts without a care in the world.

Meanwhile, two lines of five female hobgoblins wearing matching green cloaks and iron skull caps jog ever closer to us. A few goblins wait on their bellies in the tall grass, although their positioning is a fair distance away. There isn’t a path for the attackers to take, so the assumption was they would skirt the edges of the brush. This wasn’t wrong once spotted, but we couldn’t take the chance they would circle wide and rush the three riders from ahead. I imagine the three riders counter-charging to meet the threat, but then what?

I draw on my bow, as do those with me. One hundred paces or thereabouts is the optimal range for our short bows. The strain creaks on the layers of glued wood, an encouraging crooning. As one, twenty-five arrows release on the line of five joggers closest. Groans and gasps, and then we draw again. A single shout and the two lines form a circle of nine behind shields, the tenth writhing on the ground an arrow through one side of her cheek and out the other side. The other twenty-four arrows yield no return.

“Allow me,” whispers Koria. Her presence dominates my body. My fellow ambushes await my command to release because more arrows don’t seem to be a solution. I notice them shift about, sneaking sideward glances. Several arrows ‘stuck’ in our targets, and those targets simply swept the edge of their round shields across the shafts to clear them.

I hear my bow creak on the drawing, as do others. Koria Keen Eye utilising my body releases. A wet thunk and one of the four facing us pauses and then topples backwards, the arrow’s feathers sticking out of the hobgoblin’s eye. The arrow threaded between the skull cap’s bottom rim and the round shield’s upper rim. I draw in a breath, as do those around me. My stomach dances with excitement as the mission goes from difficult to possible.

Without a word, our prey shuffles to close the gap, yet Koria is quicker. Her next release is equally fantastic and surprising. Through the gap in the circle, her arrow flies into the back of the neck of a hobgoblin on the far side. The shaft strikes below the skull cap’s rear edge, through the cloak’s heavy material and above the edge of whatever arrow-proof armour they wear, which deflected our initial volley. The body falls away, causing a murmuring within the circle until one of them curses for silence.

“Let them wait for a while, as they are on an urgent mission and will need to move or fail. Our next volley will be at their feet. A difficult moving target, yet normally boots are made of leather.”

While I am attentive to Koria’s words, I also notice the cautious glances from my fellow ambushers. While we practice perfecting our archery, those two releases show an expert or master level of skill. Indeed, more than I have been capable of in the past. Added to this was Koria’s drawing of the bow and arrow release technique. A subtle difference from mine, yet one fellow archers would notice… and notice they did, given the results of the first release.

“I apologise. I have drawn too much attention on us?” Koria, of course, senses my concern.

“I don’t know yet.”

“My ego. The second release should have simply hit the skull cap…”

---Lord Klar POV

The cottage reminds me of the one we stayed at in Clan Hungry. Clay brick walls, eight outward radiating wooden beams supporting a thatched roof, thin cloth separating the main room from the bedroom, or more appropriately, the bed nook. The door is the sole difference, not of wood, hung hide instead, privacy without security.

The crone greeted my arrival into the goblin village as a sign I was here to seed the few I missed. Not entirely true, but given the situation, I took advantage of her presence, acquired the supplies for my scribes, and sent them back to their tent on the hill.

The hide door sweeps aside. Is this the last? I ask myself.

“Don’t be so surprised, Lord.”

The entry of the crone is a complete shock… I manage a curt nod while dragging a cloth across my naked loins.

“There is another, but she refused, so I believe your duty is done.” The last word hangs in the air, an askance about it.

There is no inclination on my part to indulge her. She can get what she wants second-hand. “I will take my leave.” My strides are long and direct. I cast the door flap aside with a slap as I escape to breathe fresh air. I hear her quiet snicker, which drives me to further haste. My grim determination melts as a chill breeze reminds me I am short of my usual clothes. As I turn about to fetch them, I remind myself to find Luda and Izga. They need to be sent on a special mission. Spy on the crone tonight and find out who the hobgoblin is.

I crash into a hobgoblin. Recovering first, I grab at him and save my victim from sprawling across the ground. Behind him, two females suck in a deep, whistling breath.

“I am alright, Lord.” His eyes look down and then up again into mine. “Perhaps clothes first? Lord?” asks Dorgrav.

As if on cue, the breeze picks up. One of Lord Torngul’s bodyguards hands my fallen sheet to me. The slow extension of her arm coordinates with her and her fellow bodyguard’s admiring looks. Allowing them their fun, I wait and, once surrendered, wrap the cloth around my loins and head back to the cottage.

Once inside the cottage, I drop the sheet and wrap my loincloth about my nether reaches.

“Allow me, Lord Klar,” says one of Lord Torngul’s Honour Guard.

“No, allow us.” They approach, licking their lips until both playful tongues settle on their tusks.

I brace for accidental pampering. “What are you doing here, Major Domo Dorgrav?”

His face brightens, given my acknowledgement of his importance. “Lord Torngul sent me on a mission. He thought because of his patronage of you and given the abundance of female hobgoblins, he was certain would be attracted to your service.” He draws a breath. “You could ask if any wish to serve Lord Torngul. He offers a small stipend, room, meals, and at least one day of free time every six.”

I look over my eyebrows. “Shouldn’t you be selling the deal to any of my followers I present to you? If any?”

“No, I don’t believe so. I believe Lord Torngul thought you would be more generous if I stated their service conditions first.” His hands fiddle.

“How many?” I need to crane my head around a bodyguard as she ties off the leather throngs of my shirt.

“Tw… twelve, although seventeen would be appreciated. Erm, Lord.”

Her hands pause and then resume. She didn’t know, yet there didn’t seem to be a secret about the requirement as Dorgrav spoke in front of them. Or does he lack the necessary awareness and caution?

I stamp my foot into one boot and then the other while returning her smile as she crouches at my feet, holding my boots in place.

“Ladies, I assure you Major Domo Dorgrav will survive, but I need to scold him somewhat for his bold approach. Please leave us.”

They both glance at Dorgrav for confirmation. The fear in his eyes is real, but he manages a nod of ascent. Lord Torngul must have him on a succeed-or-die mission, which means the Major Domo shouldn’t trust anyone, including Lord Torngul’s Honour Guard.

Once the door flap sweeps back, I grab Dorgrav, who yelps and drags him to the bed nook. As he is about to protest, I shake my head.

“We whisper only. So, tell me the full truth before I strangle you.” A hand, feeble and slow, rises and points towards the door. “I tell them only what they need to hear, as should you, by the way. Not the entire truth the entire time. Spill all you know before I throttle you.”

He squeaks. “Lord Torngul suspects spies in the manor. I talked to granny, who by means unknown knows who they are. Twelve, she says. But there are five more who are lazy, and she said we may as well kick them out while we are at it.” Granny? The old goblin who sat outside our room. Perhaps he senses my confusion. “She was the one who kept an eye and ear on your room.”

“That doesn’t leave him with many loyal servants to teach the new servants?”

“I don’t know a great deal about the how. He says he wants new ones, not tainted by Hobgoblin Town, the country bumpkins who can be trained. One who can cook would be handy. Another not afraid of the beasts, but the rest, young, will do.”

“Alright, stay here for the night, and I will fetch you in the morning to see if any are interested.”

He glances towards the door. “What about the Honour Guards?”

I look about the cottage and smirk. “Tell them to sleep on the floor while you take the bed.”

He sniffs, and his mouth turns sour. “You certain there isn’t another less lustful smelling cottage?”

I almost take pity on him, almost. “This or under the night sky.”

His hands fiddle again, and he looks about at a loss.

“I take my leave, Major Domo.” His hands brush up against my upper arm, which I ignore. Once outside, I find the two bodyguards tending three riding beasts. “He is ready for you.”

I head towards the ford. Dusk is closing in, but I need to ensure Luda is ready to spy on the crone before then so she can secure a suitable position. Nudia/Koria would be helpful also, although I somewhat regret sending Izga on a spoilt-brat-minding mission.

Overhearing groans and crumbles, I head south along the river. On the opposite bank, tents of hobgoblins. On this bank is a gaggle of goblins handling armour and weapons, occasionally dragging a piece to the river and returning.

They fall silent as I approach, and Nudia stands up amongst them. Her frown clears, and she meets me before I have a chance to inspect their efforts thoroughly.

“Your spoils, Lord. The crone instructed us to clean them of blood and prepare them.”

I smirk. “They couldn’t be adapted for goblin use?” I quirk an eyebrow.

She returns a joyful smile. “Not really, although on first look, you would think so. The metal armour is many fine links, while the leather is supple. Underneath is a heavy bedding-like layer. Our arrows were useless, Lord.” She leans in, while waving me to lower my head. “Koria’s archery, though, was their doom.” She bites the inside of her cheek. “I am under suspicion, Lord, her archery skill superior to mine, and many now question and glance in confusion at me instead of offering congratulations. I know some told the crone about my great archery.”

I pat her shoulder and straighten. “We will sort something out. For now, what do you have for me?”

“Ten sets of quality armour, with close weave cloaks. Both are beyond this valley to craft. The leather armour and undercoats, while possible to be crafted here, are unlikely. Their swords and shields are good quality as well. One last thing, one survivor.” She flicks her head toward a tree, and in the shade, they splayed a female hobgoblin against the trunk. I assume her arms and legs are drawn back around the trunk and tied off. Her body hangs.

I raise an eyebrow. “Is she dangerous?”

“She survived an arrow through her cheeks and was left behind by the rest of the troop when they dashed to complete their mission. Koria suggested we target their boots, which we did, but it would surprise you how many arrows landed into open screaming mouths while they squirmed on the ground hanging on to their feet.”

I look into her eyes, open my mouth, and then shake my head. Ten sets of armour, therefore nine slain. “All of them but her?”

Her face crumbles slightly. “Volleys of twenty-five arrows, Lord…”

My eyes forgive her while my hand caresses her cheek. “Are you busy, or do you wish to assist?”

“Assist!” Her broad smile is a beacon.

Black blood oozes from the matching holes in her cheeks. Her head rises as we approach. The tip of one tusk is missing, and two dry tear trails run down her face, one side missing the cheek hole, the other collecting.

I am sure she swears or curses us. Unfortunately for her, any venom in the words is lost as the cheek holes distort what she says. A solution is at hand as I place two leaves to cover them both.

“How did I deserve this goblin bitch? Look at my face! My tusk…”

“Perhaps we could come to an arrangement.” Her eyes catch mine. “I can’t restore your tusk, but I am fairly certain I can mend your cheek holes.”

She spits. A leaf floats away from a cheek, and I fold my arms. I think she tries to say sorry. What the heck, I go with that and replace the leaf.

“So, I assume you ask me questions, and on the outside possibility I believe you can heal my cheeks, I tell you all I know?”

“Yeah, sounds farfetched, doesn’t it?” A causal nod of my head confirms my words. “Why take a slim chance like that? Best you certainly stay as you are. My goblin friend and I will simply torture you until you tell us something useful.”

“Do you want me to fetch some sharp and pointy things, Lord?” says Nudia with an abundance of eagerness.

I notice our captive shiver. “Oh, look,” I say while pulling out a slim knife, a hair or two on the blade. “This should work. I think we can turn those holes into an almost ear-to-ear smile.” I twist the knife back and forth while advancing with an evil grin on my lips.

“Cure. I choose the cure. You cut my cheeks anymore, and I will survive until I starve, unable to hold food in my mouth long enough to chew.”

I drop all happiness from my face and glance back at Nudia. “Such a shame.” I drop my knife-wielding arm and stow the weapon. “What can you tell us? I assume you work for someone?”

“Who do you think most able to find and buy our armour?”

While I suspect an obvious answer, I am not guessing. She needs to be telling. “That is for you to answer.”

A long sigh. “Clan Head Krilzak Quickeyed, his merchants, travel the valley, and if something is out there, he is the first to acquire it.”

“And the plan?”

“All slain, their beasts taken as well, if possible.”

My hand caresses back imaginary hair. Extreme! “Slain?”

“Yes, they were on a mission to change things in the manor.”

“Spies?”

Her eyes flash wide for a moment. “Yes, spies. Not only his, of course, but he couldn’t be selective, as all were to be turned out.”

I wonder if Dorgrav blabbed, because I am missing how their mission’s purpose leaked. “Who found out?”

“Who found out?” Her face turns, and she frowns.

“How did Krilzak know his and other Clan Head spies were being replaced?”

She tries to shrug and fails. “Maybe the two Honour Guards escorting him told or grumbled to others about their mission, and Krilzak’s spy found out and made more enquires. I am guessing now, though. Do we still have a deal?”

“Are you a virgin?”

The question opens her eyes in a flash. “Whoa, what sort of question is that?” she hisses. Suppressing the need to yell, yet still needing to convey her disgust.

“I need to administer the cure for your wounds, meaning I need to lie with you.”

Her chest develops a rapid rise and fall. “There aren’t many males, you know, and training takes up much of my time. Then we must spar. Of course, they permit us time to sleep and eat, but beyond that, a morning here or there is all the free time permitted to us.”

My chuckling rises as she lists her excuses.

“Shut up!”

My hands pat the air. “Calm down. You may scare someone. I understand. So, the short answer is yes.”

“Yes,” she pouts, settling her chin on her chest.

“A few more questions.” She lifts her chin and stares at me. “Do you wish to give birth, and if so, a male or female?”

Tears spring from her eyes. She examines Nudia’s face, which nods. “Male, please?” she squeaks.

“Do you wish to enjoy our coupling or quickly done?”

“Enjoy?” The surprise in her voice is complete. “Mother always cursed the male who took her… savage she named him, not that he stayed to guide me into adulthood.” She closes her eyes, and nodding her head is enough confirmation for me.

“Free her. She will need time to recover.”

“As you wish, Lord. I will untie the knots, though, as the rope is of excellent quality.”

What isn’t of excellent quality? Perhaps a merchant will be my future vocation, I muse. A shape falls towards me, and I catch her upper body by instinct. Her panting breath fans my neck while a gentle mewing seeps out between her lips. I believe Nudia takes her time releasing the rope around her ankles, but eventually does. I hoist my prize on my shoulder and haul her further along the riverbank and deeper into the forest.

I curse under my breath, and my prize shifts. “Forgotten something, nothing for you to worry about.” I didn’t tell Nudia/Koria to spy, and I didn’t remind Luda. I hope at least Luda remembers, or best case, the crone doesn’t meet with anyone tonight.

“Now remember,” I add. “I can assist, but you must wish with all your heart, night and day, to want your mouth to heal. Will you do that?”

“Yes, of course, to rid myself of this wounding, anything.”

“Good. Don’t forget. I don’t like my seed wasted.”

Her body shivers, hopefully in anticipation.

---Goblin Crone, Keeper of Secrets POV

“Put me down. I dislike being your sack of goods,” I say, losing patience with him.

I know he chuckles as his knees bend and I slide from his back. For this meeting, I can’t trust the four who usually cart me about.

“When will your tribe suspect your long walks are for a different purpose?” he rumbles.

“Never, I hope.” My eyes penetrate the gloom sufficiently to guide him—the shadows and darkness in the northern forest after dusk beyond his hobgoblin’s sight. The river gurgles in the distance, and while curious to know if he can hear the same or more, I resist asking the question.

“How did the ambush requested by your Lord go?”

I grunt and then spit. “Well enough, although some disturbing news.” I find a log and squat down, resting my aging bones. I expect my body to protest. Not a single twinge.

“What?” he asks.

Was my surprise that obvious? His seed. Could that be the explanation? I feel the warmth rise on my face, yet he can’t detect my blush as night conceals my embarrassment. I must confess and climb to my feet to face him, swallowing in preparation.

“I have taken a liking to his seed.” I release a deep breath and await his judgement. Silence. “I sampled from the several females he serviced today and…” Why is this difficult? What does it matter how I obtained his seed? “My body is not as sore. My bones don’t ache as much.”

“This confirms a number of suspicions.” He turns away and paces. Is he rejecting me? The tribe? Is he turning his back on us because of my wanton indiscretion? I wander off to the opposite side of the clearing, my heart hammering in my chest. Am I running away into the night in case I die from this? To be all alone? “The characteristics of his seed remind me of another’s. Have you tasted his blood?” He swivels to face me.

My heart stops. I hold my breath. Wait, how does he know where I now stand?

“You can see in the dark?”

“Yes. And hear as well, if not better than most goblins. Except for the ones who have consumed his seed, I suspect.”

What does this mean? My mother and her mother and so on always spoke of our benefactor, keeping an eye on us but never staying long. He would seed our tribe in days past, yet my mother’s generation was the last and always begetting goblins. Writings tell that initially, we goblins of Zoria Oath Keeper spawned hobgoblins, and equally, they all died fighting her. Or any survivors mercilessly hunted down.

“Who are you?” My voice squeaks because none of my ancestors has ever asked. Nothing has been written. The goblin tribe of Zoria oath Keeper simply reasoned we were special to have a mighty benefactor.

“How many times have I been asked, and yet, perhaps, near the end, your ears will hear the truth? Extasy and lament will be my gift to you if you ask to know one more time.”

“No, Lord, you mustn’t!” Two voices rise from the shadows, and two female hobgoblins storm forward, bursting from cover. They must have been still as rocks; I reason to avoid detection. Or full of his seed. Does the seed just invigorate, or does it allow more?

I focus on the two arrivals. They are almost identical, with long black hair, more muscular than lithe, tusks long and wide of girth. Their armour and swords are of high quality… beyond the crafting skills of anything I have seen.

“Meet Yalozansia and Argrovsia, my bodyguards.”

“Lord,” they yelp while I fall back to land on the log. I am sure my jaw is working on speaking yet failing.

The two of them rush to my side, one places a waterskin to my lips, and I sip. The other, with gentle strokes, rubs my back.

“I apologise. You, of course, recognise their names?”

I nod in panic. “They are the names of the two Oath Guardians who secreted Zoria Oath Keeper’s baby son from her valley. It is because of them our tribe exists. How can they still live?”

“They don’t, unfortunately, and I am sad every time I think of them.” He thinks of them. How can he think of them? “They are my daughters, their mothers, my former bodyguards. Their mothers, my former bodyguards, and so on.”

He drops to his haunches before me. My head swims about in shock because of the implication. “You… you are?”

“Yes, Matriarch of the Oath Keeper Goblin tribe. I am the son of Zoria Oath Keeper, and you are the first to know and meet Xorbrim the Undying.”

How? Why? Who?

---

My face is wet as I flutter my eyes open. Above me hover three sets of eyes. The kind smile on the lips of one of them is a warm welcome.

“I knew one from my mother’s lineage would not die from shock!”

He chuckles. How can he now chuckle after almost killing me with this secret of his? “How?” I croak from between thin lips.

His kind smile demands my forgiveness, and my face softens despite my attempts to remain harsh.

“Most mothers would send their son off with a blanket and a favourite toy. Instead, she gifted me a barrel of Lord Hob’s blood, pure, undiluted, and two young Oath Guardians to secret me out, tell me of my mother, and eventually become my wives. Then after one generation birthing hobgoblin females.”

My head tries to comprehend. “Over two hundred years, even Rexa is aged, they say, withering and wrinkled…”

He caresses my shoulder. “You forget she lived as an ordinary goblin for several years before consuming Lord Hob’s blood. Diluted blood, in fact. Another gift from my mother to the one we all loath. While I, from birth, sipped at Lord Hob’s pure blood and my daughters sipped to enhance themselves. While I protested and made the offer each time, they are sworn to protect, not to accompany me forever and refused long life.”

“So, it is true. Zoria Oath Keeper is our saviour.”

He stands, yet I notice the tears form in his eyes. “Yes, and no. She was alone in the beginning, a wife few knew about and not with child. The other wives of Lord Hob were more secure in their future, so she clung to Rexa. Zoria is the reason Rexa lived through birthing her hobgoblin son, Klugrath. Only when Rexa became a power-hungry First Wife did she realise her error. When grown, Klugrath raped my mother, which, unknown to him, produced me. My mother hid her pregnancy by secluding herself in the Oath Keeper Tower. Her disappearance suited Rexa also, by all accounts. Are you disappointed?”

P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.