---Duzsia, the Relentless, Concubine of Lord Klar POV

I stare at the young, sheltered hobgoblin assassin. She is probably more warrior than an assassin, yet naïve all the same. While another on this mission would be useful, is she that second?

Throwing her my spare blade, I curl my fingers at her. My invitation. “If you can make me work to defend myself, maybe I will reconsider.”

I flash twin daggers at her and bend my knees slightly. She returns me a predator’s smile as she flips to her feet, sword in hand.

An overhead strike is her opening. She assumes her weapon reach is an advantage. I dart back. Bending her knees, we circle; she lunges forward, occasionally testing my reactions. A slash and thrust from her break up any rhythm in our dance. I cross-dagger, parry and attempt to twist the sword from her grip. After an instant of surprise, she re-grips. She doesn’t strangle the hilt, only a firm grip. Good. With a grunt, she wildly slashes—her first sign of impatience. I swerve behind the arc of her swing. My left-hand dagger snakes out, striking her upper arm, and drawing a trickle of blood. She retreats a step and resets her stance—my turn to be surprised. I thought I would now be defending a flurry of revenge strikes…

“Why do I feel you can strike me at will?” she says. The back of her hand wipes sweat from her brow as the linen cloth of her sleeve darkens with a blot of blood.

The sun blazes down, and the only relief is an occasional gust of cooling breeze. I sense my Lord’s nanorobots working inside me, their “noise” loud as they busy themselves to cool me under my heavy coat, chain, and leather armour.

She comes at me again, trying to dance around me, exhausting me because of the weight of my armour. I entertain her by taking deeper breaths and slowing my efforts to face her. She strikes. I guide the flat of her blade across my forearm, the armour protecting my parry of finesse. With my other hand, I smash my fist into her forehead as her head follows through.

This rocks her back on her heels, and she shakes her head.

“How? How did you do that?” she mumbles.

“Reflexes…” I reset my stance. My daggers in hand, they float between us, waving about and ready.

Taking a practice swing with the sword, she then narrows her eyes. A deep breath, and she steps forward, leading with swings, stabs and slashes, aiming not for my body but for my daggers. I need to work because she gives up on a single winning strike and settles for a contest of will and endurance, looking to deal me a wound here and then there. She takes advantage of her reach and keeps moving around me, her linen shift absorbing her sweat while striking out with the sword. This is her best set yet. The blade flows, acting as an extension of her arm.

With sweat dripping off her, she sucks in several deep breaths and comes to a standstill. Sheathing a dagger, I move in and wrestle my sword free from her grip. She drops to the ground, her head down.

“You did well,” I say.

Her head slowly cranes upwards. “Well? I didn’t draw a drop of your blood.”

“What did you do with his seed your drank?”

Her head slowly collapses to one side. “Do?”

Perhaps the effects are yet too subtle for her? I know Lord Hob must have planted a significant quantity of seed in her to encourage her body to heal the holes in her cheeks. I grab her tusks and shift her head one way and then the other to inspect the wound. She tries to resist but surrenders when she realises I have the strength to insist.

“Don’t look at them.” She tries to pout.

“They are closed, a thin skin grows over them, and flesh is filling, inside to out. How many times did Lord Klar fill you with his seed?”

“I… I lost count.” Her face flushes bright green.

“Yes, he can have that effect if you overindulge. What did you do when he left you?”

“Did as he said. I laid all night in the shallows of the river. I thought him mad, but he threatened never to lie with me again if I didn’t obey him.” Her sheepish look swallows up whatever pride she has left. She is his. Her want for more has become a need, regardless of any self-awareness.

“And in the morning?”

“At sunrise, I was to find the Major Domo, break my fast and wait for him.”

“And you felt no different?” Am I wrong? Surely after such a volume of seed in such a short time, even if busy healing her cheeks, she would feel something extraordinary…

“I… well… this is not easy.” She pants. “I craved his touch, wished for his child to sprout inside me.” She glances at her loins. “I still feel his presence within me. You probably think I am mad, but I do. He calls to me, and my loins heat… I burn for him.”

“Concentrate on his presence within you. Instead of thinking like a desperate, abandoned slut, take command and direct them to heal your cheeks. Imagine your face as it once was.”

She looks up, her mouth open. I draw my hand back, and she closes her mouth, nodding. I almost chuckle as she squeezes her eyes shut. Is this her trying really, really hard? I shake my head. Eighteen seasons, I remind myself.

She whistles a breath from between her teeth. “That is better… I mean, the thought of his touch is good, but the thought of my cheeks healing is better, so when we next meet, he will see me whole.”

“Up! We must introduce ourselves to the Major Domo as his travelling companions.”

Her brown eyes sparkle and a joyful smile crosses her lips. She attempts to rise and then falls back down. “A moment, I assure you, only a moment…” Her voice is weak.

“Imagine yourself rested and your muscles ready…”

She quirks her head and then squeezes her eyes shut again. After several heartbeats, she climbs to her feet, her head down. In a quiet voice, she says, “His seed is your source of power as well. Why you never tire and, and whatever else?”

“Yes, lust is pure frustration. If you want to catch his eye, command his presence inside you to improve yourself. Now we must go.”

“Everyone says he favours the skinny wife, but you aren’t… skinny and, well, while young, I have too much muscle to ever be slim.” Her hands hold her modest breasts. “These are smaller than even yours…”

I throw my head back in full-throated laughter.

“You don’t need to make fun of me…”

I grab her tusks and drag her entire body forward. “He has plenty of seed to go around, and he likes all shapes and sizes. Such is his lust.” I shake her head, using her tusks. “Improve yourself using his seed. Show him value.” I release her. “The fact that he spent so much seed on you amazes me, so he has a plan for you. You must take all the time between now and when he calls to improve yourself. I am certain he doesn’t care if you live or die, but with every improvement you make, your survival chances will improve, and you may end up in his arms forever.”

“Forever? What do you mean?”

“Have his child, of course…” I cover my slipup well enough, I believe, as I gather her to me and force-walk her back to the Major Domo’s tent. Time to tell the Major Domo he has two more in his escort. Two wild ones jog towards the lake, pausing on seeing us do the same. I glance at my apprentice. “Let’s race them. Remember to command his presence inside you…”

She returns a curt nod, and we break into a sprint, as do the two wild ones.

 

---Lord Klar POV

“How is the wall building progressing?” I ask Izga, who, in her way, slinks seductively in my presence, one arm resting on the gate post above her head to stretch out her twisting body. Her linen shift clings to her sweating body, her nipples firm and threatening to defeat their material constraint, and all the while, she pouts.

“You haven’t forgotten me, Lord, have you?”

I drag her face to mine, using her tusks. Instead of being offended, she melts into my forceful demand for her attention. “The walls?”

“As you commanded, Lord. They are completing the one around the manor first.”

Beyond the hill, shouting and protest, murmurs of murder and demands for justice drift from across the river. Zoria Oath Keeper tribe goblins on the march.

“Return my assassin to me now. Skirt around the hill while I face the approaching horde.”

Her body straightens. The acting is over as her face loses all softness. “You want to face them alone?”

“I am innocent, am I not?” I wink and then make a direct line for the ford; well, I need to criss-cross down the hill first, avoiding walls and trenches.

---

The lead goblins are about to step into the ford when I hail them.

I rest my hands on my hips. “Hold! I will tell your crone when you can leave your village. Return immediately, or I will hold her to account!”

Several goblin voices shout, “you can’t”, and then the mob quietens. Three female goblins in white robes step forward, their eyes red. One of the three speaks. “The crone is dead!”

“Why? How?” I shout back, raising my balling fists into the air. My eyes scan the goblins with an intensity few cannot shy away from. The river water now laps at my knees.

The lead white robe glances back at the two with her and takes a deep breath. “She was last seen in your company, Lord.” Her words hang in the air. There is a heavy expectation as all await my reply.

“Negotiation!” I shout. I draw a parchment from inside my leather armour and wave the document above my head. “You will find my signature on the document. It waits only for the crone and the Oath Keeper goblins to complete certain tasks, and I will declare the tribe free. She was my guarantee.” I lower the document. Bowing my head, I add a slight shake and mumble under my breath. “Who can guarantee our agreement now?”

I am acutely aware that the goblins across the river will hear my words. Their response is quick.

“Can I read the agreement, Lord?”

She asks her Lord. This is a good sign as she, whoever she is, still acknowledges our obligation to each other. I wave her forward using the document, and shortly after, she appears before me. I hand over the document, then, taking heavy steps, I retreat to the hillock side of the ford and drop to the ground. Holding my head, I try to perfect a forlorn, brooding figure, contemplating a severe loss. The discussion across the river only occasionally rises into a loud debate, which is quickly hissed down by the majority. I sense the crone scarcely shared her plans because they direct most of their ill will towards her.

“Lord!” I slowly raise my head. “May I approach?” asks the lead white-robed female goblin.

I wave her forward while remaining seated. As she fords across the river, I estimate I will need to look up into her eyes. Perfect.

“Lord, the document is a revelation. Your promise of freedom is most generous, and while I am not the crone, I am her senior apprentice and now, by the common will of the tribe, her successor.” She almost reverently hands the document back to me, certainly with great care. “There is no timeframe? Is that right?”

I shake my head from side to side. “Yes. A list of tasks, which once done, means your tribe’s servitude is over, and none in this valley can return you to slavery.”

Her eyes dart about and then settle on mine. Perhaps she is braver since she can look down on me. “Lord Torngul, his signature is missing.”

“A mere formality to ensure other Clan Heads don’t contest the tribe’s status. As I am sure you know, Lord Torngul’s Major Domo camps near the lake. What you may not know is Duzsia, my concubine, will leave in the morning with him and take this document with her for Lord Torngul’s signature.” I crack a gentle smile. “I am certain you have noted how his name and the space for his signature are somewhat squeezed in above mine and the crone’s names?” She nods. “Well, the crone insisted his signature needed to be added. She went to great pains to explain it wasn’t because she didn’t trust me. The crone wanted protection from other Clan Heads.”

While tempted to flatter the memory of the old crone with words of how tough she bargained and her standing her ground during negotiations floated about in my head, I dismissed them. The goblins could decide how they remembered this change in their circumstances and who was responsible.

“Lord?” Her hands play with the edges of her robe. “A further consideration.” She swallows. “Would either of your wives, Thalgora or Klaria but able to accompany the tribe when we earn our release to ensure none can try to call our freedom into question as we leave the valley?”

I climb to my feet, and she steps back. Her eyes glance up and then down, staring at the ground between her feet. “Thalgora will most likely be heavy with child. Klaria, possibly. If either is indisposed, I will accompany you. How does that sound?”

She jumps up and down on the balls of her feet, her hands flailing about, trying to find purpose. She then latches them around my waist. Bouncing back almost immediately after realising her forwardness.

“Return to your tribe. When do you believe they will attend to their work?”

She quirks her head.

“I thought perhaps some time to mourn the loss of the crone?”

“She will burn tonight. Tomorrow the tribe will return to work, Lord.” With that said, she turns on her heel and hurries back across the ford, pushing into the crowd. Several heartbeats later, a cheer and then, as one, they head off toward their village.

Her arm sliding around my neck is my first hint of her presence. “That went well, Lord Klar.”

“Yes. The crone’s mysterious death is a small price for them to pay in the end. Their freedom is far more important.” I wrap my arm around her slim waist and stroll back to the hillock. “You will observe their work, ensure other, loyal hobgoblins assist them, learn from them.” I drag my finger down the length of her nose. “This is important, Izga, just as important as your presence when overseeing the construction. You must eavesdrop on their conversations to ensure they don’t conceal surprises from us. Xorbrim was unexpected, and I don’t wish a repeat.”

“Yes, Lord.”

I release her, and she takes the hint. As she runs off, I slap her bottom, perhaps firmer than I intended, as her yelp carries a touch of pain. Dusk is trying to conclude, the yellow of the sun filling the western horizon.

Her walk is uneven yet improving. “You may approach if you feel brave enough to do so,” I offer in a soft, kind voice.

“Lord. I didn’t intend to interrupt. I take walks for my leg, my healing. There is no need to talk to me.”

Her hasty shuffling reaches my ears. She is looking to retreat into obscurity.

“Your idea was masterful,” I say.

“Nothing, Lord. I serve. I only wish to serve you well and remain safe, and you are a kind, Lord.”

“Still, I believe a reward is due. You only need to ask.” Her shuffling freezes, and sobbing replaces the former. “I don’t intend to force you to accept a reward if you don’t wish to…”

“No, Lord. My sobbing is from overwhelming happiness. I, well, when you explained the document’s purpose, I thought Lord Torngul, as a late addition, would add story and weight to the document, but I never believed you would agree. I had two versions prepared, just in case.” She pauses. “The second is in the fire, Lord. I assure you, and as you requested, my apprentices were busy with other tasks.”

“You follow orders, show initiative. You deserve a reward.”

Her arms drape across my shoulders while her fingers walk down my chest. Tears wet my neck. While doing my best to maintain her embrace, I swivel about to face her. Her light green completion in the fading light is magical. Perhaps the moistness from the tears on her cheeks is responsible. I forget that as her desperate, passionate kisses try to own my lips.

She breaks for a deep breath. “Take me, Lord. I claim my reward.”

 

---Klaria, Second wife of Lord Klar POV

Under the morning sun, I inspect the cultivated fields, dropping to my haunches occasionally to scoop up a hand full of soil. Crumbling the dirt between my fingers each time, I try to give off the impression that I know what I am doing. What I am doing is simply imitating what I have observed the goblins do. When asked, they informed me they tested for moisture in the soil. Whatever, I am alone and therefore making myself available.

A bird call causes me to pause. I grab at the soil again.

“You have the confidence of Lord Klar?” says a voice from within the forest. His words are loud enough to travel far, yet I have ensured all who could overhear work in new fields far away.

“Yes. Why do you even ask?”

“My Master and your sponsor feel somewhat ignored, given your hasty departure and subsequent lack of contact. This is…”

“Enough!” I hiss. “What do you think I am doing now? Checking dirty, useless soil for fun? No, I hoped one of my sponsor’s servants would take advantage of this opportunity. Lo-and-behold, one does, and instead of exchanging pleasantries and plans, he accuses and derides. Now behave as you should and report the wishes of your Master.”

Birdsong and the rustling of leaves accompany me. I don’t regret my tone. After all, who does this servant think he is?

He clears his throat. “Have you been able to confirm Lord Klar’s lineage?”

“No. There was a goblin crone, but she and her grandson somehow came to blows. They killed each other in a most bizarre way, not that her cooperation was a given, anyway.”

“You must taste his blood. Your strong bond with him should reveal his blood lineage and confirm alignment with yours. My master must know.”

I don’t need Lord Klar’s blood to know who he is. While I respect my mentor, loyalty to him is nothing when I know who I am married to, who couples with me and strengthens me with his seed. “Why the urgency? We have only recently arrived, and there is much to do. Idle questions beyond present emergencies will sound suspicious. Understand that I don’t fear Lord Klar. It is his concubines, who vie for his attention, and backbiting is in their blood. I would make myself a target of their venom.”

“You must settle the question. Other Clan Heads are acting against Lord Klar, and my master needs to know if he needs to interfere with their plans to protect Lord Klar or assist in their plans to remove a pretender. Do you understand now?”

Remove a pretender. His words cause my head to swim.

“Do you understand?” he hisses, calling me out of my thoughts.

“Yes. I will try over the next few days and hope I don’t raise any suspicion. How can I contact you again? I can’t loiter in this field every day.”

“I cherish the wisdom of my master. He thought you would have difficulties. Watch for waggoneer visits in the coming days, at least once every couple of days. They are regular visitors to Clan Greenfriend, but will call in on this fledgling clan to offer trade or purchase goods.”

“Who should I contact?”

He chuckles. “They will contact you. I must go now. I would think you have been checking this soil for too long.”

There is a quiet rustling of foliage, and I can only believe my acute hearing is a boon from Lord Klar’s seed. I am envious of his other wives and their plentiful consumption; from now on, I will not waste a drop. I will task every donation of his seed to improve every facet of my existence. A voice startles me.

“Daydreaming, second wife?”

I don’t need to look up. In fact, I scoop up a soil sample instead. “Thinking about how we can water this soil is my present concern, first wife.” Climbing to my feet, I stretch out my arms, using the diversion to look about to confirm we are alone. I command my stomach butterflies to be calm.

“Do you truly know about soil?”

I hear the disbelief in her voice and choose to ignore it and her question. “What is the real reason for your visit?”

Whether by chance or design, her shadow engulfs me as she closes the distance between us. “We have unfinished business, I believe.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Business?”

She pats her big belly. Her death sentence if the rumour about her having twins is true and yet such a glorious death? Birthing the twins of the reborn Lord Klug. We are barren no matter how much he ploughs his other wives and me. I don’t understand, yet I can only assume this is because of his will. As much as Thalgora, by his will, is pregnant. The effort to resist rubbing my stomach takes all my self-control.

“Spirit link is a word you said in the past. You also mentioned a name, Lord Farmer Klug, and his being reborn. Your father isn’t your birth father, and in fact, your blood is of the Klugrath lineage. Time for answers, second wife.”

“Ask Lord Klar. I have no secrets from him. He commands my silence in these matters, and I would suffer death before I reveal anything to anyone.” I allow the soil to slip through my fingers. A breeze carries the now dust away. Is this my end, I wonder.

“As much as I want to know the answers, I respect your oath to Lord Klar to keep your truths as I do, and I suspect all his concubines do. For example, have you seen Zoria since yesterday?”

I slowly shake my head. How did I not notice? She could be on a mission for Lord Klar. Nudia, though, Lord Klar explained. Why is an annoying goblin worthy of mention, yet a missing concubine doesn’t rate a word?

I voice my theory. “The surrender of Xorbrim and his two wives and then throw in the old crone’s death yesterday, and he wanted to ensure we knew the truth in case others tried to spread rumours? While you raise Zoria’s disappearance, what of Luda? Is she self-reflecting? Is she the exception, an intellectual goblin?”

To my delight, Thalgora chuckles. “Yes, our Lord Klar commands unconditional loyalty, even if he subjects us to mystery and secrets.”

“Why do you visit me? The truth, please,” I ask.

“I am having triplets. My death is certain.” Her eyes bore into mine, and I resist the urge to buckle at my knees. “You will become the first wife. As such, you must become more than you currently are. At the very least, you need to learn to defend yourself.” She lays a gentle hand on my shoulder. “As I said, when your family first proposed your marriage, he can’t worry about your safety and his own. I would like you to train in sword and shield, either after your other duties or during the day under Voria, while I pretend to command the farming. After all, as is plain, I am out of shape to wield a weapon.”

“You aren’t that out of shape, first wife,” I reply.

“No?” Her hand drops from my shoulder, and she paces about me. “You need the time to get into shape because I fear my birthing of Lord Klar’s heirs will be sooner than full term. I have Lord Klar’s blessing in this, although I made the change all about me and my condition.”

Behind me, I hear the tingling of water. I don’t look. “We will swap tomorrow. I will advise my hobgoblins today.”

“I thank you for not turning around. They press on my bladder something cruel, and I can’t always hold back the urge to empty.”

“You take all the romance from pregnancy first wife…”

The warmth in her chuckling is a surprise, as is this gentle side to her? No consideration for goblins, though, and given her mother’s plight and her witnessing the tragic event, understandable. Understanding and becoming closer to Thalgora are two different things.

 

---Luda, Goblin Concubine of Lord Klar POV

“And look at what we have here!”

Lost in my thoughts while pulling the rope in, I hear them now well enough.

“Her fishing line is rather more like a rope. I wonder how she believes she can catch anything?” A feminine voice?

Their chuckling and laughter ripple through the several attackers, closing in on me. I arbitrarily choose the one who interrupted my solace. With a burst of speed from a standing start, I am leaping at him, my dagger free from its sheath and sweeping towards the large pulsing vein in his neck. I am certain I hear his blood pulsing as easily as I see his pulse rate increase.

His hands grab his bloody neck as I kick off from his body and land on another nearby. A female, eyes wide, fumbling for her sword. The crook of her arm reaching for her sword provides a step as I crouch and sweep my dagger across her neck. As her hands reach for her neck, my other foot perches on her shoulder, and I kick off to land smoothly behind her. With that momentum, I dart into the thickets and shrubs of the forest proper growing beside the river.

“What was that?” screams a female voice.

“A goblin?” queries another female.

“Well, she took out two of our own easily enough. Time for payback,” says a third.

“You want to go after that? She isn’t any goblin I have met before,” says a fourth between breaths.

“She had surprise on her side. She is just a goblin,” retorts the third. “Now put your balls back in place, ladies, and draw your weapons. It is goblin hunting time.”

They should have listened for me instead of chatting. They follow my exit path while I observe from cover far away. My positioning is perfect as they expose their backs to me while forcing their larger bodies through the brush in a single line. As the last follows, I dash across the small clearing and leap on her shoulders, sweeping my dagger at the neck of the male in front of her. She squeals and raises her sword to stab over her shoulder. I am gone, jumping down while dragging my bloodied dagger down the side of her head. The leather of her skullcap saves her ear, yet what they all lack is sufficient protection for their necks. I nick her artery and dart off to find cover. Of course, their gurgling on their own blood earns me curses from the surviving two. I hear chopping and more cursing, and then the two survivors burst back into the clearing from a bush next to where they entered. The bloody and still-standing corpses of their companions blocking their retreat.

“Just a goblin, you said,” hisses the last female.

The male slaps her down. “Hold her off while I go fetch another team. Can you last longer than the others?”

“Why don’t I return to camp, and you try to last longer than the others?”

“Because I outrank you. That is why!”

She snarls while approaching him. “Our leader died from an ambush under the dagger of a single goblin. You and I are…”

My arrow pierces his neck, the arrowhead either piercing her chest or just short. She catches his collapsing body and then pushes the dead weight from her.

“Do you want to live?” I ask from the forest cover.

Sword out, she faces one way and then another. “They… they were careless. I am ready for you and your tricks…”

“You don’t seem certain.” I sneak away.

She turns at the sound of my voice, either a good guess or good hearing.

Her eyes dart about, occasionally peering into the undergrowth when my eyes can once again spy upon her and the clearing after re-positioning.

I consider a leg wounding, yet her hard leather armour seems to provide sufficient coverage, and she moves too much. Do I slay her? My eyes inspect the first two. A net spills from one backpack, while another has a pole with a loop of rope at the end. Weapons to capture? Hanging from her belt are three balls, all connected by lengths of rope.

“Why do you hunt here?” I ask.

She faces me, or at the cover, I hide behind.

“We smelt blood.”

“How can hobgoblins smell anything except the stink of their arses?”

She straightens. “We are the Klugite Hunters.”

While I am confident, that means something to someone… Did they smell the graves of Zoria, Xorbrim and his two daughters? They would all be of Oath Keeper blood, wouldn’t they?

“One sniff, and you hunt, then kill?”

“Don’t be ludicrous. We capture them, and our pet goblin tastes their blood. If Klugite, they die.”

“And if not Klugite?” I ask, pushing for an answer.

“We have expenses, and we captured them. You cross the swords.”

Cross the swords? There is no need for deep thought or wonder. They sell them into slavery.

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.