---Lord Klar POV

Through flurries of snow, two rectangular shapes emerge from a snowbank. Their presence is the reason for the snowbank in the first place, of course. Undulating snow covers the rest of the landscape, from the mountain cliff face in the distance to the coastal waters and bobbing ice nearby. I stare at them for a moment. The shuttles are still here, although I suspect snow must be cleared. I sigh with relief. With luck, Diasha’s will be operational. At worst, there is mine, not perfect, but better than nothing. My desperation has reduced my caution. I no longer care if the shuttle I use has one side missing.

“What are …” Her voice closes off. I swivel about.

Blue fingers on the end of a blue arm curl around my concubine’s throat.

“How could you so quickly replace me, my love?” Her speech is slow and deliberate. “Especially since I have gone to such lengths to be with you. I waited because I knew you would return to me. Please, let us embrace.” She needs to form each word somehow before speaking.

Diasha? But how? I twisted her neck. The blue of her skin, her voice. These two signs, I believe, confirm she is not alive, yet somehow, she still exists.

“Release her first.” My words are gentle like I am talking to a child.

“She has your spawn, but she lacks your thread.” She flings my concubine off to one side. My eyes stay on Diasha. I must trust that the mother of my child is strong enough to survive.

“My thread?”

“Like your two wives, or should I say, former wives, Luda and Koria?” Her blue lips curl back to reveal snow-white teeth. Her thick white tusks protrude proudly. She waits for my reaction.

“Those who can survive prove themselves worthy. Thread?”

Her posture deflates slightly. “Oh, my love, your ignorance of yourself is so endearing. Maybe if you had my training. Oh, well.” She pauses. Her statue-like stillness is disquieting.

“Diasha?”

“You, my love, saying my name is and will ever be special. I clung to yours, dearest. As I rose and my body sunk into the snow, I didn’t realise what had happened. But then, I knew.” She pauses for a time. Collecting her words? “When I ran to embrace you, your overwhelming love for me made you forget your strength. Alas, my fragile body failed. But as you can see, I have remade myself.”

She does an ungainly twirl in front of me. The flying tatters of her spacesuit and undergarments reveal more bluish flesh. How could she mistake my killing of her as an accident of passion?

She stares at me. “Your nanorobots welcomed me back, and they, augmented by my engineering talent, made me anew. They do love water, don’t they?” She casts her eyes skywards for a moment. “Sunlight helps also, but you know what?”

I shake my head. I can’t speak. She died, her spirit left her body, and then she forced her spirit back into the corpse. If that is what she tells me, I feel a certain Déjà vu at that moment. My spirit was injected into a Hob body on a burning pyre. But that was science, wasn’t it? She willed this for herself, somehow.

“I believe I am a better person now. My fate in your hands made me choose my love. I could remain my old self, full of doubt and shy. Forever remembered as weak. The subject of belittling whispers at royal balls and grand ceremonies. Allow my spirit to leave this world, leave you.” She leans forward, raising a fist. “Or I could be worthy of you, my love. Strong. Impervious.”

“Worthy?” My one-word questions sound so dumb, but my mind is trying to make sense of the fact I killed her. But she stands before me… making excuses for my murder of her.

“Nanorobots are marvels of engineering. When my undying love of you enabled my spirit to reclaim my lifeless body, I felt lost and lonely, lying helpless in the snow.” She quirks her head. “Then I talked to them. Engineer to nanorobot.” Her frigid blue lips part once again in a chilling parody of a smile. “Challenge accepted. How do we make my inadequate and fragile body better? Worthy of you, my love?” She claps her hands and jumps on the spot. Is this genuine emotion? “A hobgoblin’s body is mostly water. Snow is water, and with a little help from sunlight and much trial and error, erm, and practice, I have returned to you, my love.”

“My Thread?”

A humph. “Oh, my love, you need to look. They are invisible-to-the-eye threads leaving your body. One for each of your wives. My eyes, of course, are different now, you know, because my body died. My nanorobots and I devised a new way to see.” She waves a dismissive hand at me. “I won’t bore you with the engineering, but I can see beyond light and dark, shall we say?”

She stands before me, and I don’t recall how. The twirling and hand waving. Were they distractions? Her cold blue hand reaches out past my face. Not towards me, but beyond me. Why?

A flash of a sword strikes her wrist, and I jump back. Diasha growls. Her head swivels about, defying all normality.

“Tut-tut,” she says.

In a slow, questioning motion, she eyes her wrist. She peers at the sword, now stuck in her blue flesh. My concubine can either let go of her sword or continue to slide closer to a not-living horror.

“Run!” I scream. The eyes of my concubine blink. My concubine releases her sword and bolts as Diasha’s other hand balls up into a fist.

Diasha takes a step and then another. Like her speech, she needs to prepare. After four more, she stops to remove the sword from her arm and face me. Her smile from between dead lips is haunting enough. Her trying to project a pleasantness into the effort is macabre. Somehow, I must destroy her before she destroys my wives. Given her attempt to reach behind me, I can only assume she can sever the threads binding my wives to me. My inner Hob boils up to the surface.

“What did you try to do?” I scream at Diasha.

She drops to her knees, quirking her head. Somewhere in this monstrosity, the young, insecure female royal remains. Cold dead eyes and open hands plead her case. “Your wives distract you, my true love. I thought I may be able to help you focus on us.” Dead, blue, hairless eyelids flutter in my direction.

He propels me forward before I can consider any doubt. Sword in hand, I swing with all my pent-up disgust, aiming for her neck. In slow motion, she leans away, but worse is the look of betrayal she impossibly casts back at me from her dead eyes.

My blade strikes and slices about halfway through her frozen flesh. I jerk the sword back to no avail. Her hands wrap around the blade. Cold radiates from her grip. I release my sword and reach for my concubine’s sword lying in the snow. A loud snap, and I turn about, swinging my sword blindly. She is too far away, and I air swing. Most of my now broken sword drops to the ground. The rest of the blade remains stuck in her neck.

“My love, I will save us both. Your wives blind you, and I mean to remove their…”

The swing of my concubine’s sword meets the blade of my sword in her neck. With a great sense of satisfaction, I witness her head roll from her shoulders. Her head lands face down in the snow while her body remains statue-like on its knees. Around me, snow flurries dance on a strengthening breeze.

“We should burn her body.” My concubine’s warm breath is visible. Diasha spoke with none.

Without looking at her, I reply, “I thought I told you to run.”

“I am no coward,” she huffs. “When it became plain, she was slow, I stopped running.”

Well, I couldn’t fault that logic. As to burning Diasha’s body…

---Drulag, the last descendant of Duzsia, the Relentless POV

We didn’t enter at the first opportunity. She insisted we travel further south before heading west into Hobgoblin Town Valley. Where I might add, the forest growth was thickest. No traveller could avoid the forest to enter this valley. I accepted that. I didn’t understand why we passed up several well-worn trails. These wisely passed through thinning forest areas, reaching towards the mountains. Instead, we sort out game trails. Or did she knowingly lead me through a maze of them? Something about avoiding Klugites and their new temple in a cavern was the reason she gave.

Would these Klugites really cause us that much trouble? I hadn’t sworn loyalty to High Priestess Naro. Although the Klugites who raided our valley celebrated the discovery of our settlement with enthusiastic mayhem and bloodshed. No particular interest in surrender. The young and females scattered to save their lives. It must have been when my wife… they used her. I bury that particular memory back into the deep, dark corner of my mind it momentarily escaped from. I failed her then, which led to her death before High Priestess Naro.

---

Breaking from the forest depths, a wall of shoulder-high green grass greets us. I pause in relief, soaking up the sunlight’s warmth. I silently watch her shiny rear plunge into the grass as she continues striding forward.

“What?” she asks over her shoulder. Do I dally often enough that she automatically needs to check? 

I take a few steps into the grass. “Didn’t we agree you would return to Stone Corner when we reached the grass plains?”

She shrugs as if agreements count for nothing. “I am Milga Stone Blood, of the hobgoblin line, and I can do what I want.”

That sounds strangely brave. Perhaps the further she is from Stone Corner, the bolder she becomes?

“Milga Stone Blood, the fifth, would probably disagree,” I call after her. She is tromping through the grass plains, not even waiting for me. I am the reason she is even here. “Stop.” She ignores me with a high wave to follow. “If you die, I will cart your body back to Stone Corner so Five can stomp on your corpse. You hear me?”

Again, she waves over her shoulder. Shortly after, she disappears into taller grass. I shake my head and jog to catch up. She is easy to find. The jingle of her chainmail armour and the clank of her metal scabbard against that armour are giveaways. The swath of grass destruction she leaves in her wake is also helpful.

---

By late afternoon the next day, we break through the grass and find a river. She agrees to rest only if we don’t start a fire. Instead, she declares, like last night, our shared body heat will be enough. Last night still haunts me. I am about to argue with her when I spot a campfire further up the river. One tap on her shoulder, and I point.

She rises on her toes. “Follow along the edge of the grass. I will march right into their camp.” She returns to her usual height and faces me. “Make certain to use that bow Five gave you if they get stupid and hostile.”

“Um, yes. But isn’t this my quest? What would my new wife have to say if, when the tale was told, I didn’t lead?”

Milga looks me up and down. “Your soft leather armour is for sneaking. I have chainmail over soft leather over ring mail.”

“What about your face?”

She closes a small door on her helm to cover her face and then opens it. “Happy?”

“No,” I grumble. “I have tried on one of those helms, and you can’t see or hear much.”

“Which is why you have to pick off any cheeky cowards if they try to sneak behind me.” She thumps my chest and then tromps off.

I curse and bolt up the slight incline, scrambling at the top until I am back into the grass.

---

Sneaking forward, I find the perfect vantage point in time to see several fur-clad male hobgoblins jump to their feet, weapons ready. I realise her clatter would sound strange to anyone who hadn’t heard heavy metal armour rattle before. Just like these primitives, I suspect.

“You all males?” she asks.

It’s obvious, isn’t it? What is she playing at? What happened to asking if she could share their fire?

One of them steps towards her, not the smallest or the largest. “Why do you ask?”

She scans the five of them. “I have played with three at once before, you know, one for each hole, so easy. Five could be a challenge, but you know, I am willing if you boys are.” She ends her sentence with a broad, pleasant smile. I wonder what she is doing. Does she really mean what she says? Then I think back to last night.

Even the leader sports a slack mouth. I spot another approaching. My first thought. Can she take six? The dropping of a bucket shatters the stalemate as all eyes turn towards the intruder. A female! Maybe Milga is still in with a shot.

“Is she with one of you or more? I mean, four would still be a pleasant challenge.”

“She is mine,” says the one who stepped forward.

“Like I said, four is still good, so how about it?”

I hear the momentary swish of the arrows and then observe four hobgoblins drop. Arrows impale their heads.

The last male swivels about, trying to spot the impossible.

His female whimpers.

Milga curses. “Five, you bitch! Get out here now!” Milga stamps her foot.

“Ransom!” yelps the male, his voice unusually high.

One goblin, who isn’t Five, scoots down the slope to reveal herself. “Five says you are to get your metal bum home before she takes a belt to it.”

Milga removes her helm and pouts. She really does pout. “But look at them?”

The goblin ignores her. She places a foot on the side of each head and pulls the arrow out. One she needs to push through. 

“But look at them,” Milga says again. “I need to get with child,” she whines.

The goblin wipes the blood off the arrows on the furs of the dead. The steel arrow points explain everything.

I slide down the slope and approach the camp. The leader puts his hands up. “Ransom?” he squeaks. His female eases away from him, shuffling closer to Milga.

The goblin looks the leader up and down. “We don’t care about you. We are here to prevent Milga from finding new playmates and to ensure she returns home. So, get moving.” She waves a handful of arrows at Milga by way of encouragement.

“You ride the wolves?”

The goblin bursts out into laughter. “Of course! How do you think we caught up to you? You want us to haul your armour, or will you jog back wearing it?”

Milga mumbles.

“What?” asks the goblin, cupping her ear and leaning towards Milga. Only I notice the broad smile.

“Haul my armour,” she says in a naughty, childlike voice.

The goblin whistles, and four wolves, three with riders, trot down the slope quickly to surround the campsite. Milga removes her armour, handing a piece at a time to a goblin.

“Who are you?” I ask the leader.

“M… Morgren, son of Clan Head Jarlgren.”

I shrug. “Who?”

“My father is Head of Clan Beastbane. He will pay you a ransom for my safe return.”

I point to the female. “Who is she?”

“You can have her if you let me go.”

I smirk. “I think she likes Milga more than you.”

His female knows armour because she deftly assists Milga in removing every single bit, binding like pieces together before handing them off to the goblins.

He grabs at his head and mumbles, “Why did I go searching for him?”

“Who?” I ask.

She answers, “Thalgrin, his brute half-brother. Most would welcome his death, including me.”

“Shut up, bitch,” he shouts. “That is…”

Milga’s gauntleted backhand slap ends his reply. One of his tusks goes flying. He immediately drops to his knees, searching for it. I am uncertain why. It’s not as if you can stick it back in place. I notice the female turn her foot back and forth. A sinister satisfaction spreads across her face after she stops. He crawls about the campfire searching, much to her amusement.

Milga pats my shoulder. “Goodbye. Don’t forget to visit again. I am certain I will be free to escort you again by the time you do so.”

“Doubt it,” snickers a goblin. “Milga has found you a husband. She expects you to be full of arms and legs shortly after the wedding or busy trying.”

The four goblins ride away, a downcast Milga jogging behind them.

“Tie him up,” I tell her.

Now, to him. “If you resist, I stab.”

She shakes a bucket and declares she will be back to cook. I wave her away.

“Where do I need to go to collect your ransom?”

His head flicks towards the mountains. “The foothills. Our Clan hunts there, and my father’s lodge is up there.”

“How many days?”

“Two, maybe three, but I know the way.”

I am sure he does, just as I am confident he will lead me into an ambush. We eat, and then I question her. She wants to be taken to the village across the river. Although we can’t see it from here, it isn’t far away, according to her. She even suggests those in the village might pay me for him. I read the fear in his eyes. To calm him, I quickly suggested I think his father would pay more. Nevertheless, I agree to take her to the village in the morning.

---

After walking through an eerily abandoned village, we cross a ford under the shadows of a wooden walled keep and village. The fortifications are a surprise, to say the least. Isn’t the village too deep in the valley for such precautions? We follow the village wall and find ourselves behind groups of onlookers, mainly hobgoblins but also a smattering of goblins. We wind our way through quickly enough. One group takes an interest in us and follows.

We are through the crowd and onto a path. Those following us stop at the edge of the crowd. I consider crossing the path and weaving through the crowd on the other side when she taps my shoulder. Parading towards us are several warriors, and folding in behind them are the onlookers on either side of the path. I hear cheering every so often.

The path leads to the closed gates of the village. The crowd on either side of the path shoulders closer to each other, daring us to break through them. All the while, the parade draws closer.

Swallowing my panic, I try to calm myself. What is the worst thing that can happen? Death? Mutilation? We are where we are not supposed to be, so what?

Between their cheers, several names become clearer. My knees go weak when I hear a name. Duzsia, the Relentless. They cheer for other names, but her name dominates. I stand tall as I wait.

---

“Who are you?”

His female kicks my shin. As I am about to curse her, a warrior’s helm intrudes. The eyes inside are intense. Threatening.

“Who are you to be standing in the way?” she growls.

I want to say, the father of our children. Instead, I announce I have a captive I want to sell and force him to show his face.

“Meet Morgren, son of Clan Head Jarlgren,” I say.

The future mother of my children releases a most joyous and pleasing laughter.

“Morgren, meet your brother, Vormgren.” Sure enough, he and several other fur-clad hobgoblins join us. A female warrior type takes great pleasure in her task, herding him forward.

“Keep moving. We are in a parade, remember?” hisses a third female. She, though, is no warrior. Although two other female warriors flank her. At her urging, everyone continues walking toward the slowly opening village gate. Somehow, I must thank Milga. Her idiocy in following me too far has resulted in the capture of someone my future wife seems interested in. 

My prisoner’s female dashes off towards the crowd as we reach the gate. There is a surge of four or five hobgoblins who crash into her, sharing hugs and kisses. The group who followed us. Her family? Do I need to thank Milga for two things? The non-warrior female seems especially displeased as her eyes follow the family until she passes through the gate.

All pass through, and to my amazement, the gates remain open. I hold my breath and take a step back. A giant greying wolf, tongue lolling out of its maw, lopes through the open gate. The captives, including the two brothers, shuffle closer to each other, but everyone else is calm. The wolf nuzzles my future wife instead of ripping her head off. They must be friends, I conclude. Good to know, but what have I stepped into?

---Tinuna, Shifter of the GPA Observer Ship POV

He gags me tight. A noose goes around my neck, the tail of which loops around the rope binding my wrists and then ties off at the rope binding my ankles. He is close enough that my nanorobot-laden sweat mingles with his. He doesn’t fall to me. Her nanorobots do precisely what she described. They neutralised mine.

He throws me over his shoulder, and the noose instantly draws tight. I labour to draw each breath. I can’t bend my legs to provide some slack because his meaty arm rests behind my knees to hold me in place.

He pauses for a few heartbeats, and then we pass through a doorway. I can still see the pair of main doors across the chamber. Have I been asleep while she plotted around me? Or simply overconfident and obviously underestimating Rexa. I have read as many reports as possible about her, although I console myself with the fact that I only confirmed who she was now.

A torch burns in a holder beside the hidden door. I assume he must take this in his spare hand to light our way.

His arm shifts up to my buttocks. “Take a long breath, my pretty. We have some steps to climb down, and the jolting always tightens the noose.” He chuckles as he fondles my bottom. Is this my fate? His toy until she returns to take my blood.

I discard my rising anger and bend my knees to take as many deep breaths as possible. Whatever becomes of my body, I must endure to live. Death now would be unacceptable. I did not give up my shifter body for nothing.

He growls and drops to one side as if bending a knee.

“Whomever you are, you will not survive this folly.” He throws me down, and I groan in pain from jags of uneven rock. He peers into the darkness.

My ears hear nothing. I notice the trickle of blood from a small slash behind his knee. Should I remain on my belly or try to roll onto my back? The question answers itself as a noise draws his attention while a small knife impales my palm. The distraction of the noise also covers my second groan. I roll on my side to conceal the knife from his view but still make it available.

He turns back to me. I am sure he is about to check my bindings. Instead, a knife blade pierces his cheek, and he swivels away from me.

He eases the blade from his cheek. Blood seeps through his fingers as his hand covers the wound. “Pest! Vermin! Show yourself,” he growls.

I pluck the knife from the palm of my hand and saw back and forth on the first cord of rope within reach. My nanorobots stem any bleeding.

Another noise, but more distant. I hear him take a step and then pause. There is no time to concern myself with him.

His body shadows mine. I assume he is bending over me to recheck my bindings. Then he yelps. He growls, and I hear a clanking on the stone shortly after. Did he throw the knife away or actually find a target?

His footfalls are rapid and fading. Then silence. I cut the rope behind my back. Straining, I try to part my hands. Nothing. I extend my legs and don’t tighten the noose. Hope wells within me. I feel out another piece of rope to cut.

His slow, perhaps careful footfalls grow louder. He is returning. The knife is cutting as fast as I can.

The light of the torch comes and goes. He stands over me, swaying or rocking, and I finally pay him attention.

“Whoever it was has fled, I reckon. I almost had them with that last charge, and they must have crapped themselves. So, just you and me now, my pretty.” He bends over my body, eyes wide as I am sure he spots the cut rope. In that instant, I strike with the knife. He is quick for such a large hobgoblin. Instead of stabbing under his jaw, my thrust goes wide, slashing deep into his neck. He straightens and tries to growl or shout, difficult to tell as he sort of gurgles. With my hands now free, I push myself up onto my knees. His hands are on his throat as best I can determine, as the torch is now on the ground beside us. I slash at the insides of his thighs, trying to sever a particular artery.

His hand grabs the top of my head and squeezes. His powerful grip weakens shortly after, and he keels over to one side.

I cut off the noose around my throat, next, the rope between my ankles.

“Psst.”

My saviour? I can’t afford another trap, but what other option do I have?

---

We are beyond the vast, habitable space of the cavern where the temple is being established. This is one of the many rough rock tunnels that branch off the main cavern. We are deep into the mountain; I know that much. My nanorobots have slowly healed my wounds during our journey. Shortly after, my rescuer calls a holt, and we rest on a rugged, rocky outcrop.

“I am glad you saved yourself,” she says.

My crone. Of all my acquaintances, none were friends, not even her, I thought.

“Why did you help me?”

“I have never liked Klugites. An enemy of theirs is a friend of mine. Plus, your beauty is extraordinary. I can’t help but think tying my fate to yours will either see me better off or quickly dead. Either is good at my age, I reckon.”

“Would you have any water?”

“Yes. But we need to go a bit further along.”

She says no more, content to sit in the quiet.

Somehow, my straining to see in this inky blackness has revealed light and dark shapes. It is not perfect vision, but at least I should avoid acquiring more lumps and bumps. I take a lesson from Rexa and command my nanorobots to enhance my vision in the dark. My thirst grows.

Apparently, seeing at night under the stars is different to seeing in the dark deep underground.

A gentle tap on my shoulder.

“None follow,” she declares, and we continue.

---

I follow my crone through a narrow opening, a tubelike hole.

“Feel for a large rock and roll it in front of the hole, please, High Priestess,” she whispers.

With the rock in place, she leads me around a corner and shortly after, the soft glow from a lantern sheds light on my new residence. Barely enough level ground for both of us to sleep on, I conclude. I suspect the furs are for warmth and to cushion the smooth rock that will be our bed. Could this be a lava tube? Preferably dormant, I hope.

She reaches into the dark and presents a bowl of water.

“Drink, High Priestess.”

I drain the bowl quickly, not spilling a single drop. She takes the bowl from me and places it back into the dark.

“There is a slow water spring in this cave, which is why I selected it.”

“What now?” I ask.

“I thought… Well, I thought you would have a plan by now,” she squeaks.

“Humour me. What do you recommend? After all, something must have motivated you to find this cave for a start.”

“Hobgoblins don’t really notice goblins, but she did. I knew then she had a big secret, and I needed to avoid her. You wouldn’t have noticed me because you were too busy acting important, but I stayed close to you. When I couldn’t, I would explore the tunnels behind the temple. When I found this one, I hid away here. I would wait a while, even an entire day, and then return.”

“You overheard everything we spoke about in the Chamber?”

“Is it all true?”

“Yes,” I say while studying her face.

“Are your nanorobots going to steal my freedom?”

I humph. “My nanorobots would make you friendly towards me, but if your mind is strong, you could resist.” I wonder if my tiger has any feelings for me or if my influence has faded over time?

Her petite body relaxes, and she waggles her finger in the air. “Not so with her. She has bound many with the Klugite ritual. They die in the water, and then she brings them back to life like a full priestess of Klug. All of them obey her absolutely. It is those who we must avoid. But if we escape, where do we go?”

Good question, but if Lord Klar won’t visit me, I must visit him. Again. This time, I will need to be more diplomatic.

“How long can we stay here?”

She shrugs. “Depends on how much you eat, maybe two days. Because if we leave here again, it is to escape for good or not at all. They will slay me. They will milk you for your blood.”

I slice my hand with the knife she threw at me to escape with. “Drink.”

Her tongue licks at the bleeding palm of my hand until I believe she has had enough. “If thirsty, drink. You cannot delay. Although, given what has happened so far, I believe my blood is weaker than Rexa’s. But you should be able to enhance your body somewhat. Perhaps liven up old muscles?”

“I will treasure what you gift me, High Priestess.”

I cradle her shoulders in the palms of my hands so we look eye to eye. “Don’t call me High Priestess. I think Rexa has firmly won her title back. No, I need to find another. Perhaps he can change my fortunes and yours.”

“What should I call you?”

“Tinuna.”

“That is no goblin or hobgoblin name. Others will immediately doubt you, suspect you. I will call you Tigoma instead.”

A lazy shrug, and I concentrate on making my rock bed softer with some furs. As I fall asleep, I regret my initial euphoria over the two barrels of blood I bathed in. They offered me more than I had, but I needed more of an advantage to compete with the likes of Rexa. I needed to sample better. I will only know the truth when I absorb blood and seed from the penultimate source, Lord Klar.

While I try to deny the obvious, I must admire Rexa. She returned to an unfamiliar body and activated most, if not all, of the sleeping nanorobots it contained. Then, she converted her flesh into a formidable force using her mastery of them. Her only weakness appears to be one of her own making. A false belief that she needs to have Lord Klug’s lineage in her blood.

As I close my eyes, a scary thought crosses my mind. What makes me the expert? Rexa is the one who has proven knowledgeable and skilful in using nanorobots. I should heed her words if she has determined she needs Lord Klug’s blood. Aren’t I after the same blessing?

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.