While observing the herd of new goblins file through the farm gate I remembered I needed to discuss my wives and their pecking order, with my wife, Rexa. I curse under my breath.

Another approaches on soft footfalls, yet not as silent as I am certain she can. Zoria. She positions herself on my right-hand side, slightly behind me. I take a deep breath, how dare she.

“Remove yourself from that position before I break you in half!” I growl.

Her feet scrape as she takes a sidestep, relinquishing Milga’s customary position.

“Lord Hob, how can I prove my loyalty to you?”

I continue to watch the long line, so many, yet there were over two hundred heads … how many females and young did the other goblin tribes capture?

“There is another ransom, she accompanied the elder. Bring her to me, although I suspect I will be sending you with her to claim another ransom.”

“Lord Hob …? I …”

I hear no more, except for the screeching return of the elder.

“Lord Hob, look-see at our haul! Some in poor condition, but those who pilfered my stores and there were many, they cleaned them out they did and now follow us … also I have news!”

“Apologies Lord,” huffs Zeb. “Their arrival I expected, the numbers though … Redagar will be …”

“Redagar,” I finish. “Question this lot, I need potters and those with the skill to fire the pots they make. Any fit and healthy, female or male, assign to Redagar they can assist with building their own shelters.”

“As you command.” Zeb charges forward to organise the rabble, shouting orders to them and the Ten Spears equally.

“Elder, please …” I wave an open hand in the direction of my cabin’s table.

As we settle around the table, I notice the elder nibbling on her fingernails, before I can ask, she speaks.

“Duzsia is alive Lord Hob. They say she sneaks around Blood Suns lands telling any survivors to either make for my caves or directly to the farm. The latest ones still mention her, so two, possibly three days ago they assure me she spoke to them.” Her frail hands flap about smacking mine and I think she is about to jump out of her chair.

I should be ecstatic. Instead, I shove the feeling down, I need her before me, and nothing less will do.

“How big was the Blood Suns tribe?”

“Bigger than the three tribes thought or dreamt of Lord Hob. I know over two hundred heads tell everyone that number were slain, yet what everyone doesn’t know is two hundred warrior males is the most each of the three tribes can field, although most are really hunters. They scoured the land yet didn’t stay and search in detail because they couldn’t or didn’t want to believe the Blood Suns tribe could be bigger than theirs.” Her eyes blaze with excitement, recognising the mistake the other tribes made. To not search the land in detail for every living member of the Blood Suns tribe, sheer folly.

I lean forward upon the table, nodding in agreement, which encourages her to continue.

“My caves the key Lord Hob! The threat of the boar protectors keeping the already reluctant invaders away from the mountains providing survivors with a perfect sanctuary. There are many Blood Suns villages at the foot of the mountain ranges because the Blood Suns couldn’t expand in any other direction and any near the middle of their lands subject to the drunks. The berserk ones would attract many to them, lured by mead, plunder and debauchery. Most of their female camp followers were kidnapped from other tribes which is why they hated them so much.”

Her face now leers at me. “No tribe breeds, well now I guess bred like the Blood Suns.”

My head is full of questions, yet one dominates.

“Their pregnant women go off alone and returned with a child or not as the case may be?”

“That is the proper way, why would Blood Suns be different?”

Are Blood Suns women hardy or have unusual genetics which ensures survival? Can a Blood Suns woman during childbirth call for help? There must be an explanation and I have made the perfect friend to find out. Although … as I observe my Speaker of Law wrangle the gaggle of newcomers, many of the woman nurse a jar, holding the plain thing close as if all or nothing depended upon that single possession.

“What is in the jars they carry?” I idly ask.

“Honey, Lord Hob. The berserks ferment mead the others consume a portion daily … why do you ask?”

I have an ah-ha moment. Honey has a reputation as an antibacterial with healing properties amongst other more outlandish claims, but in essence, in moderation and not as mead, honey is one of the better foods. I rise from my chair and zombie-like march towards Zeb, I need to find out.

“Lord Hob?” he calls.

I wave him away and find a goblin female with a jar, not difficult, yet a goblin seeing a Hobgoblin make a beeline towards you is intimidating and I make no allowance …

“You, why do you cradle that jar so? Give it to me,” I growl.

She turns and bends her body away protecting the jar. Several children surround her while others, with jars, also back away trying to conceal as well as protect their treasure. As a test, this proves much, while probably damaging my reputation.

Zeb catches up to me. “Lord Hob? Do you need anything?”

“No.” I place a hand on the cringing shoulder of the female I accosted, her children try to interfere, yet their feeble attempts are no contest against my size and strength.

“Please Lord Hob, we seek refuge, we were told you were a Hob, who wasn’t a Hob and would welcome us, our jars are all the value we could take with us before fleeing …” She slowly turns about choosing to face the Hob threat, clutching the jar to her waist, her eyes searching for mine. Dropping to one knee, bowing her head, she says, “Lord of Goblins.”

As if in solidarity they all copy her actions male, female and children, extolling my new title, ‘Lord of Goblins’.

“Rise, now, all of you. I am not interested in stealing your jars, I simply wish to know why you place such a high value on the contents?”

“Honey, Lord our jars contain honey. The drunks make mead from our treasure, we though know in its natural form our golden treasure protects a mother during childbirth and our warriors after a battle. It is a lifetime devotion though Lord, a dollop each day.”

I count five children around her and ask the obvious. “How many children have you given birth to?”

“Seven Lord.” Her face blushes a deeper green.

“She doesn’t know what causes it,” shouts one.

“Yes, she does, she enjoys the trying, any season,” yells another.

She turns away from me as the green blush spreads to her neck and shoulders.

With my hands on her waist, I pick her up, lifting her high. Without a doubt, all can see her, and she can see them. I can only imagine the look on her face, although her initial struggling settles soon enough.

I bellow, “Behold the Champion of Mothers until another does better all show her the respect, she is due. So speaks the Lord of Goblins.” They are all in enthralled silence. “From now on any Mother who can give birth to at least seven children surviving through their first year will be acknowledged as Champion of Mothers.” I scan the crowd and most hold their mouths open. “As such, they will always be next to take a portion of boar during the feast after the Lord of Goblins. Their jars of honey will always be the first to be filled to ensure their daughters receive the golden treasure and able to birth many. Finally, a Champion of Mothers will always be able to gain an audience with the Lord of Goblins.” I smile wide and long. “I promise to listen only though, my actions will be based upon what is good for the Farm.”

Civilisation needs population and if Blood Suns and their ways can assist in this then I endorse their methods.

“Lord of Goblins, Champion of Mothers.”

“Lord of Goblins, Champion of Mothers.”

“Lord of Goblins, Champion of Mothers.”

“Lord of Goblins, Champion of Mothers.”

The chant goes up! Our guests are not the only ones, many from the Farm made their way here also after the initial shouting, gathering behind me. I lower the Champion of Mothers, her blushing not done. Her children crowd around her. She speaks softly to them and then manoeuvres herself around to face me once again.

“Lord our source of honey is lost to us, how will our jars forever be full?” she whispers, yet many goblin ears prick up upon hearing her question.

“I assume the field of gold flowers is where you collected your honey?”

“There are other places Lord, yet the honey from there is particularly cherished …” Her faces flushes deep green again.

“What aren’t you telling me, Champion of Mothers?”

Hands covering her face she mumbles, “If added to a meal, your mate will oft times want you …” She nods in a weird way, downwards.

Her embarrassment, the eavesdropping of others about us, I can’t hold back, and my belly laugh is deep and joyful. The laughter of her tribespeople ripples out from us enjoying the first celebration of life since running from death. My laughter I realise, an impossibility for a Hob. I appreciate at that moment they accept the truth, which Koria or possibly Duzsia spoke of, they would be made welcome if they found the Farm.

I grip her shoulders, capturing her eyes in mine. “We have some beehives from near the gold flowers, yet I suspect the flowers are key to your purpose.” She yields a slight nod. “Still, know honey is available and if all else permits we will try to obtain more hives.”

“Thank you. Lord of Goblins.”

Squealing erupts from near my cabin and as the crowd turns towards the source, the Ten Spears to a hunter flush deep green. The attention of so many a shock and as one of the juvenile boars makes a run a couple of the Spears fall about themselves trying to recover the escapee. Their frustration complete when the huge Sow snorts and the juvenile escapes the pursuers to return to the mother. A chuckle rises from the crowd, while the Ten Spears retreat behind my cabin and herd the two Sows and their young around the crowd and to the pens. The strung-up boar they haul holds their hungry interest longer …

A hand lunges at my arm, I catch the movement in my peripheral vision and expecting the worst, take a step back. The heavily pregnant goblin stumbles forward, yet before she ploughs into the ground, I catch her.

“Lord your wife Rexa sent me to find you, I am ready. My waters have broken.”

The Mother of Champions is at my side. “Lord, childbirth is between a mother and her child, this has always been the way …”

I smile. Kind and full of charity. “Listen all,” I shout out across the crowd. “I am the Hob who isn’t always Hob-like, otherwise why would I generously welcome the survivors of the Blood Suns to the Farm, possibly at risk of retaliation of the other three tribes.” I pause to allow my captive audience to consider my words.

“Why do I share, helping where I can? I do this because I want more for everyone in this valley and everyone includes those in childbirth. They should not be alone. They should be helped. They should not be put back to work immediately after. In fact, these Mothers to be will have two days’ rest, regardless of whether the child survives or not. My Speaker of Law will see this is enforced.”

“No Lord!” comes a shout from the back. Jotor. He is brave now his daughter is well pregnant, and he thinks I owe, whereas I agree with Milga we tolerate him. Milga … she is on my mind, yet I need to focus on this moment. I almost turn my gaze away from my petty petitioner and instead, towards the forest of the Flint Arrows. This would’ve cost me momentum. She is smart and in any case one more day and I either meet her again or begin a vengeful rescue.

I raise my hand high pointing towards the Head Goblin of Farmers. “Behold the Head Goblin of Farmers, an exulted overseer of the Farm who tends to the crops, preparing to harvest the biggest crop in his life I would reckon. Is that not so, Jotor?”

“Yes, Lord. And we need all the farmhands we can, toiling every day. Two days off, after every birth when you have seeded most of the females on the Farm will make this challenging task more difficult …”

The collective gasp of the new arrivals drowns out the salacious giggling of everyone else.

“Most believe those I have seeded will die in childbirth, certainly you are one of those are you not?”

Many look upon him and he shrinks, taking half a step back. Then his shoulders shape. “No Lord, my daughter, your wife is seeded by you, I cherish her and wish nothing more than her to survive childbirth.”

“Well then Jotor I say to you as I say to everyone here, the more mothers and newborns who survive childbirth will see those mothers return to work after two days rest than otherwise and once those newborns grow, they will provide you with more farmhands than even you can manage Jotor, Head Goblin of Farmers.”

“You are my Lord Hob. I am your obedient subject. I appreciate you listening instead of simply slaughtering me when I wish to … discuss things. I look forward to an excess of farmhands, Lord.”

That settled I have a mother about to give birth hanging on to me. Apart from creating an open space, I guide the expectant mother in front of all. I ensure she listens to my words and her eyes are always upon me. When the pain of childbirth begins her concerns otherwise drift away upon her screams. When the baby emerges and I tap the boy child on the bottom to make it take its first long breath and holler in response I know I have won over the crowd, most of them mothers in any case. After inspecting the afterbirth, I stand, wiping a trace of sweat from my brow thinking perhaps I should have done the same for the mother …

“Help her and the child to a bed, two days’ rest. That is the Law.”

As I make my way through the crowd, I listen to the chatter behind me, mothers comparing notes, reflecting how they could have used help with one of their births and so on until my hearing fails me. The Ten Spears are finishing the penning of the two sows, somehow Redagar has managed to build more pigpens, or at least enough. His efforts thin the woods and forests about us, and I thought he strived to conserve old-growth, but perhaps the explanation a simpler one. The trees still standing are hardwoods and due to his copper tools, the felling of them would be difficult work and waste time he doesn’t have.

These Ten I recognise, not by name, but by boar hunt scars. These are my original Ten Spears.

“Lord we apologise for failing to hold our catch and accept your judgement willingly …” offers one, a male.

“Your name?”

“Rotaz, Lord of Goblins.”

“The timing of your return was perfect, the chase of the young boar a great moment in the context of my meeting with our new guests. And no harm done, all boars are now safe and sound.”

He releases a breath. “You are generous Lord.”

Once standoffish I notice the others move closer to their speaker, previously wondering about their fate I suspect … They like others must be wondering when the real Hob in me will emerge, after generations of knowing Hobs, my difference is unsettling to them in a different way, and they continually expect the worse and express surprise when I treat them as fairly as I can. My internal Hob and I are, in the main, in an uneasy alliance, his breaking point, of course, being childbirth – female business, none of a Hob’s concern and he hides away instead of celebrating new life. It is obvious to me now, the Farmer Hobs before did their duty and the result none of their business.

“You are my originals and learnt your lessons well, yet I need ask you about your time spent with the Laughing Tusks and the culling of the Blood Suns.”

They hold their silence …

“There will be no punishment.” I open my hands before them. “We could be fighting the Laughing Tusks in the days ahead and I need to know what you know about them.”

They creep forward and gather in a circle about me. A good sign.

“Lord, we know we were sent to learn battle, Meb though kept us to the rear, he told us countless times he promised you, Lord, none of us would be slain and he would keep his word,” says Rotaz.

“Yes, Lord,” says another in support.

I hold up a hand. “I have no reason not to believe what you say, so speak freely please.”

“We guarded the prisoners, females and children, very few males and those elderly. Nearby Meb’s battle wounded were treated. Not many Lord. We befriended them, water, meat from any animals we hunted, and they told us things, horrible things Lord, without us prompting. It was like they needed to share their nightmare …”

I place a hand gently upon his shoulder. He nods in return.

“The Blood Suns cared nothing for their own lives Lord. Always they would slay one Laughing Tusks, often two, three or more not uncommon. They ignored their wounds until blood loss defeated them. As the days went on, we saw more Grim Weavers and Sharp Fangs help the Laughing Tusks and with their arrival a change of tactics. One of the wounded describing how the Grim Weavers would double team one of the berserks, one jeering while holding a shield with two hands protecting both from the berserkers’ rage, while the other tried to shatter the knee. Some failed of course but once the berserkers’ knee was shattered, usually with a club, the one-legged berserk can be slaughtered with arrows, which the Grim Weavers and Sharp Fangs loosed with close-range accuracy.”

“Meb suffered many dead Lord,” another adds.

“Enough that his brothers would consider him easy pickings?” I ask.

Several, return shrugs.

“The other tribes, including the Blood Bones didn’t mix with their allies, unless in battle. We never saw any of their dead or wounded, they cleaned up their own,” offers a new voice.

Another adds, “W … we also …”

Several sets of eyes are upon him, they fear what he has to say.

“Continue,” I say.

“We also took pity on the other Blood Suns, Lord. Away from the borders and deeper into their lands, the Blood Suns were more like, um more like other tribal goblins I guess Lord. Quiet villages, some hunters, mothers and daughters gathering from the wild. The Laughing Tusks finding an easy enemy spilt their blood, part vengeance, part cruelty and word spread from survivors and as the days went by, we found empty villages which the Laughing Tusks and the other tribes burnt. You could tell each tribes progress by the smoke reaching for the sky.”

The sole female speaks up. “What he is trying to tell you is we felt these Blood Suns were different and took pity on them, secreting food, leaving caches about to avoid being seen together. When we did meet, we told them about the Farm, but the giving of directions difficult, most in all their lives never left their villages or nearby surrounds. The few that did we never met.”

I nod. “You did well, goblins must show kindness to other goblins if they deserve such grace because if goblins don’t Hobgoblins never will.”

They exchange glances.

I smile wide and long. “Except me of course.”

They chuckle. A nervous chuckle. I wave them to continue.

Rotaz continues, “Once the mountain foothills were reached the call came that over two hundred Blood Suns heads were on stakes and apparently that number of warriors or hunters is greater than any of the other tribes, so they declared the cull complete. Yet none questioned the lack of pure Blood Suns females and young captured. Most prisoners clearly once Laughing Tusks, some from other tribes and instead of freeing them they allowed them to vent their rage on their former masters and then treated them as worthless wretches and possibly slaves. We don’t know what became of them, Lord.”

The holding of the captives from me makes sense now, too few and too confusing. The conclusion of my former allies being the Blood Suns wasn’t a pure tribe, they captured females from other tribes to birth their young. The numbers didn’t add up though, even my Ten Spears could calculate that fact and how does that explain the abandoned villages. If you slay over two hundred males there needed to be at least two hundred childbearing age females if the ratio between the sexes is fifty-fifty, at most a few percentage points on one side or the other.

“Where do you hunt now?”

“The Blood Suns lands are unfriendly now, many Grim Weavers hunters, they act friendly yet many a time they stumble upon us, and then apologise for their clumsiness, after chasing away our prey. We would ask permission to hunt in the forest between the Farm and the Head Village Lord.”

I furrow my brow despite my efforts not to. I didn’t think that area was forbidden …

“And once cleared we would need to camp above the cliff and return to the North Forest … begging your permission Lord.”

I grin. Their reasoning obvious, clear the last place of boars which is nearby and then they have no other choice.

“We won’t capture or slay all the boars, Lord, we thin the herd, they need enough survivors to rebuild their numbers while we wait for our captive Sows and young to grow fat. We have many mouths to feed now … until the crop is harvested and then there are stores to be collected for the snow months …”

Holding up a hand and chuckling I gather myself and say, “Enough Rotaz, as my First Ten Spears you will always have the honour of hunting new ranges first. So, go with my approval where you want, to the West. If you find any Blood Suns stragglers between the Farm and Head Village, guide them to the Farm is all I ask.”

“Yes, Lord.”

Ten toothy smiling faces nod in approval and as one they go and prepare for another hunt. A huge mother sow snorts at me as I observe the pigpen. The stench strong yet not overpowering I decide, although the direction of the breeze a significant assist.

“L … Lord.”

The frail weak voice a surprise from her.

“Yes, Zoria.”

“I have Karo with me, she wishes to speak.”

I turn away from the pigpen rail and face them. “Speak.”

“Lord of Goblins, I wish to remain, I wish to go through the trail to become your wife. I can add to your glory, my acting is as good as Zoria’s tracking skills and I would offer to be a spy for you.” She drops to the ground, her hands about my ankle.

“Stand. You accept I will own your Spirit?”

“Yes, Lord, you own Zoria’s, and she is none the worse from such a thing. Also, I believe me being captured by one of Meb’s brothers would be advantageous to you.”

It seems the groups sent out to capture the healthy female goblins of the valley follow a similar group make up. I guess if it works, why would you change anything until it doesn’t.

“What of the goblins in the elder’s camp who will recognise you? Some have now returned to the Laughing Tusks.”

She smirks. “They know my fate until then not after. I will grab onto one of their better guesses when we meet as people like to be right, although if they are slow, I will have another prepared.”

Knowing the answer, I still ask. “And how will you safely arrive in one of his brothers’ camps?”

Without batting an eyelid, she declares, “Zoria will guide me, observe for a while to ensure I am not in any immediate danger and then report back to you where I am Lord.”

“I would never have guessed …” I muse.

They wait in silence and I raise an eyebrow when Zoria says nothing. “What, nothing to say, Zoria? No pleading about how you will prove your loyalty?”

Crossing her hands in front of her, she says, “After much thought, I believe you will be the best judge of my loyalty and when you know, I am certain you will tell me.”

“Fetch my Speaker of Law to the river Zoria, Karo and I will meet you both there.”

She opens her mouth to question and quick as shakes off the urge and runs to do my bidding.

“You will be last on a long list of wives, you understand,” I say as we amble towards the northern river.

“Is it true you seeded all the females on the Farm over two days?”

I nod and we walk on in silence.