---Lord Klar POV

“Are you taking me to Lord Klar?” squeals a distinct goblin voice, still a way off.

I haven’t resolved the problem at my feet, and another is wailing at me. This was to be bliss. Watching others work, build my manor and service whomever I liked. Sigh.

“Did you say something, Lord?” asks Izga.

I slow shake my head. Somehow, I need to hide her face and disguise her pregnancy. I need to buy myself some time.

“Izga…” I drawl. “Grab the bindings and make one long length. Then tie one end around her neck.” I notice Mazgia, daughter of Clan Head Zinmog, begin to open her mouth and growl at her. “We will lead our pet on her hands and knees.”

Izga, I notice, bites her lip to contain her laughter while the face of the Clan Head’s daughter darkens.

As I lead our pet around the tent to join the others, the four Wild Ones are about to comment until I stare them silent. Gorgrin raises an eyebrow and then pushes forward a tiny goblin. Not a youth or child, a short male adult. His long nose reminded me instantly of a particular valley, a certain village and a couple of goblin females fated to die while trying to birth hobgoblin babes. This is the first I have encountered a long nose goblin in this valley.

“Will you stop staring, please? I know there are few of my like, but you can be polite. You only need to try,” grouses a voice.

I blink. There is a pool of moisture in each eye I didn’t know about until that moment. Duzsia looms up in front of me, her hand on mine, taking the lead of my pet. “I will rescue you from this inconvenience, Lord.” She kisses both of my eyes and then my lips.

Clearing my throat, I shift forward to one side to make room for Duzsia while advancing on our diminutive guest.

“You have a message for me?”

He eyes all those around me. “What of these? I was told to tell you alone.”

“If any betray me, I will know, and they will die a horrible, painful death. The message?”

“As you wish.” He takes one last scan. “Know that Lord Torngul Heartsplitter, Lord of the Grassplains, has sent Dorgrav, his Major Domo and two Honor Guard to visit you to request a favour. One in the manor believes the Lord’s enemies will ambush them before they reach you and sent me ahead to beg you to protect them.”

“A trap, Lord?” says Zoria.

I drop to one knee. “Who has sent you?”

“A friend of Lord Torngul he didn’t know he had.” Perhaps he reads something in my eyes because his following words surprise me. “Please don’t strangle me. Fetch his daughter instead. She will vouch for me, and hopefully, that will be enough.”

I climb to my feet. “Zoria…”

“No, Lord, allow me. I know what she was planning for the day,” says Izga.

I nod, and she sprints from my sight, her lithe, athletic body distracting me until Gorgrin clears his throat.

“Right,” I mumble. “Gorgrin, Duzsia and Zoria lead these Wild Ones back to the rest. Our previous plan will need to be postponed. Hunt until they are exhausted. Stay out overnight if need be.”

“Yes, Lord,” says Gorgrin as he jogs off. The four Wild Ones flash me glum looks yet fall into line, with Duzsia and Zoria following in an easy-loping gait.

“What do we do with her?” asks Nudia, holding up the leash.

I face our guest. “What is your name?”

“Nobody. You can call me nobody and leave it at that. I am only revealed before you because I am paying a debt. I don’t choose to be here, mistrusted, and thought less of.”

Is he some sort of super spy? With a modicum of effort, he could easily pass as a goblin child, yet what about the nose? Nudia and I collapse the tent while waiting for Thalgora and Izga to return, and then we wait some more. I notice our guest now sits, yet the height difference between sitting and standing is almost nothing, or so it seems.

He stands as my ears pick at least two jogging towards us, and my eyes fall on Thalgora and Izga sprinting towards us. Are they racing? The answer becomes apparent as Izga leaps at me, wrapping her legs around my waist, her panting chest hitting mine as her lips crash into mine. Her hands run over my head, soothing my baldness.

Izga withdraws with a squeal, and Thalgora marches forward after putting my assassin to one side. My first wife embraces me, her lips and tusks entangling with mine.

“She is quicker, but I am long lasting, Lord,” says Thalgora through heavy breathing.

As Thalgora releases me, my arm lingers around her waist, and I swing her around with a gentle touch so my first wife stands beside me. A warm glow ripples down her face.

“This herald says you can vouch for him.” My free hand waves towards him.

She humphs. “None know Long Nose, Lord. A few know of him. He is a trusted messenger, and some mention other skills.”

I am satisfied for now. “Who would want to ambush Dorgrav?” I feel Thalgora wriggle slightly in my embrace. Did she make plain some concern?

“Someone who wants to weaken Lord Torngul, your sponsor, I believe,” he replies.

I grunt, part frustration, part controlling my urge to strangle him. “Who is the friend Lord Torngul doesn’t know?”

He leans, favouring one leg. “I have told you what you need to know. There is no ruse or falseness. What I was told to tell you is in good faith. Can I go?”

While wishing to know more, I wave him away, and he darts off, staying low. The long grass conceals him after several heartbeats.

“Hello Mazgia,” says Thalgora, with an unmistakable undertone of wonder.

I return my attention to Thalgora, who is now on her haunches with one hand under Mazgia’s chin, trying to study my pet’s face. Mazgia’s ears turn dark green while she wiggles her head to free herself from Thalgora’s grip.

“Enough, First Wife. You are acquainted then?”

Thalgora, returning to her feet, is like a cat stretching after victory, overboard with pleasure. “While sons are more important, the eldest daughter is usually a significant envoy for a Clan Head. Mazgia is no exception, so seeing her on all fours like a pet is amusing. I can’t wait for the explanation, husband.”

For all her civility, there is a twinkle of the huntress in Thalgora’s deep red eyes.

“Does she have a near twin like alike? She says her father has promoted her sister in her stead and cast her out.”

“Yes, husband, they are twins. Their birth slew their mother, not that their father shed a tear at the time if the rumour is to be believed.”

“Are twins rare?” I ask.

“She and her sister are the only ones well known in this valley. Elsewhere, who knows, maybe Clan Head Krilzak and his merchants could tell you tales of others.”

“Nudia, hand the pet’s leash off to Thalgora. Ask the crone to give you permission to lead a band of goblins in search of Dorgrav and his escort and try to protect them without them knowing you are. I assume she hates Clan Head Sakvorpa most, so tell her the ambushers are her last few servants in a final desperate bid to hurt Lord Torngul.”

“And when we find out they aren’t, Lord?”

I flash her a hungry grin. “I am certain you can torture whatever truth you need to convince those with you of this truth. But be wary. If not her, then I hope if she has a mysterious ally, they are behind the ambush, so knowing who that is would be extremely useful.”

“Yes, Lord. Being my idea, I am certain the crone will bless the raid.” A snap bow, and she jogs away.

I squeeze Thalgora’s waist. “Would you be able to hide our pet amongst those you train?”

Her hand caresses mine on her hip. “No, husband. She made her disguise from fur and dirt. I have no Wild Ones, and her pregnancy will be revealed once out of her furs. A pregnant Wild One would be difficult to explain, and then questions would follow.”

After kissing her, I say, “Return to your teaching. I need those few I asked for as guards to carry off a pretence.”

“Yes, husband.” As my arm falls from her waist, she says, “Keep her.” She points at Izga. “Away from your loins, as I wish to claim you tonight.”

Izga places both of her hands on her chest, throwing a convincing look of shock at the same time. “Perish the thought, first wife. I when never usurp your rights.”

Thalgora grumbles and jogs away toward a hundred or more female hobgoblins drilling on the grass plain under Zergoa and Voria’s watchful eyes.

I am confident my next order will please Thalgora and displease Izga. As far as I can see, there is no other choice, so I say what needs to be told quickly.

“Izga, take our pet back to the forest for seven days, and teach her survival.” I hold up my hand to forestall her protest. “Then return with her, and we should have a cottage to hide her in and for me to reward you.”

Izga pouts. “Seven days, Lord?” Her eyes fix on my loins.

“For you only, I will try to visit at least one or twice.”

Her focus returns to my pet. “Well, you may as well stand and follow me. Keep up, or I will take out my frustrations on you.”

I am alone for the first time in a while.

---

“Where the heck is he?” growls a female voice.

In response is a gentle reply, “She said towards the fields.”

“Shut up you. You are the reason we lost sight of the tent. It was there when we were on the hill but gone because of you and your lameness when we finally reached the bottom and stood in front of a wall of tall grass.”

“I am sorry, but I am trying to go as fast as I can.”

“Come on, girls, stick with your mother. We will find him. We have to.”

I listen to the conversation; my guess is these are all the hobgoblins who can read and write sent to me by Klaria. Stretching out, I continue to lie on my back, the tall lengths of grass surrounding me bending because of a light breeze. Underneath me, the tent flattened grass provides an adequate if not perfect bed and every heartbeat alone a joy.

“What is that over there?”

“Where over there, lame leg?” A couple of childish giggles reach my ears. “Where?” shouts a now familiar voice.

“Put one of your daughters on your shoulders, maybe?”

Some rustling. “Come sweet. Well, help lame leg. It’s your idea.”

“I see a flat square, mother.”

“Good girl. Keep pointing the way. Hang on to mother’s dress, Shiliga. Otherwise, we will never find you in this grass.”

“I am older than Tigliga, mother.”

“Yes, but shorter, and we need…”

Her voice drops to a whisper, but my hearing picks up her last words, “To keep pretending, because he will take you and your sister otherwise, such is his endless desire.”

“His what?”

“None of your business, lame leg. You have the best defence of all of us. None would touch a lame thing like you.”

“Why do you need to be so cruel?”

With her pitiful voice, the pain resonates and tugs at my kind side.

The grass parts. Two adult female hobgoblins and two teenage female hobgoblins, one on her mother’s shoulders, burst into the grass-squashed square. I sit up.

“You’re a teenager! I thought we were meeting a mighty Lord by the way everyone talked and went gar gar at the mention of your name. What trick is this?”

My single regret. She is too far away to strangle.

“If you stay, I may eventually meet your expectations.” The mother and her daughters don’t react. The lame female hesitates at the edge of the clearing. Did she detect the subtle threat in my voice, ignoring my words? If so, perceptive, or maybe a learnt skill trying to avoid situations of violence or danger given her lameness.

The taller yet younger daughter slides from her mother’s shoulders. Each daughter holds their mother’s hand as they approach, although standing back a safe distance.

“You can hardly be seventeen growing seasons! Come on, girls, we need to seek employment elsewhere.”

“Leave your daughters,” I say.

She turns back to face me. “What did you say?”

“Leave your daughters.”

“They are too young and need their mother.”

I share a hungry grin with her. She flinches. “I can test your words by simply slaying you where you stand.” I drop my voice and growl, “Leave your daughters.”

Griping her daughter’s hands, she drags them to her bosom. “They are mine. You can’t have them. I have heard talk about you.”

“I notice the fine cloth weave of your dress, the cut, stitching and embroidery. Your daughters, though, wear coarse sacks in comparison.”

She glances at each and then chin up retorts, “They grow too fast, no point in finery yet. What do you know about raising children? You are one yourself!”

“Then I would suggest I know them better than you. Leave your daughters.”

“We stay together. I will stay.”

I climb to my feet, yet don’t advance. She edges away, dragging her children with her. Their passive resistance is the last signal to me they are ready to leave their dominating mother.

“How can I permit you to serve me when you don’t respect me?”

“One has nothing to do with the other. I can read, write, do sums, and look after purchasing and selling. Truly, you won’t find better than me.”

“Why did you leave Clan Ironmonger?”

She snaps back, “The Clan Head lusted after my daughters! There, you happy now for a mother to reveal her greatest fear?” Her daughters, in unison, drop their jaws and glance at each other behind their mother’s back. This is news to them, possibly.

I release a loud belly laugh and stumble forward. “Then you have placed your daughters out of the frying pan and into the fire. Isn’t my reputation as bad or worse than Clan Head Bolgrav?” Part of my mirth stems from the fact I guessed correctly. She and her daughters are from Clan Ironmonger. Their dresses were a strong hint, but we had some strays from other Clans.

“Rumours only. I am one who will always decide for myself. Everyone knows that.” She throws her chin into the air, and while in such a pose, I ease myself closer.

“Am I to forget your first words to me, then?”

She blinks. Her eyes remeasuring the distance between us. Instead of talking, her lips tremble, and her flight instinct kicks in. Her daughters become anchors. Deliberately or because of their own surprise, not expecting their mother to turn and run is challenging to discern. The actions or lack of action make no difference.

My grip twisting her neck about, we face each other. “Leave your daughters. Go now with your life.”

She doesn’t need to sort through any subtly. I have directly threatened her life, and now she must decide.

Dragging her daughters to her in an embrace, she tears. I note that the youngest daughter is as tall as her, while the oldest, yet shorter, lines up with her mother’s eyes. The mother mumbles words of comfort and then glares at me, venom in her words. “I will find my place, and when I do, I will return for my daughters, boy Lording.” She spits in my direction, then turns about and hurries off, her sniffles loud and clear.

“Shiliga and Tigliga, I presume.” My eyes meet theirs, and then I lock onto the third female. Her eyes evade mine as she glances about. I suspect looking for a miracle. “Join us. I assure you I won’t bite.” The two daughters giggle.

“You. You would have killed her?”

I shake my head. “Cowards, when given the option, run before death. I don’t know why she left Clan Ironmonger but choosing a Lord with no manor and new lands smacks of desperation to me, and I am the Lord!”

“Do you consider me desperate, then?”

“Possibly, but you didn’t leave in body and mind after my speech. She was looking for an excuse to give herself a push because she was desperate and couldn’t justify another move to her daughters.”

She limps closer, her left foot at a seventy- or eighty-degree outward angle.

“What of your skills?” I ask the daughters.

Like a pair of fine-tuned parrots, they recite their list. “Reading, writing and sums. At Clan Ironmonger, we started doing the running into the mines to estimate stockpiles by grade, weight, and volume for valuation.”

“I… I am the same, except I would not like to balance the books.” Her eyes dart towards her limp leg and then stare straight ahead.

Time to rip the wound. “How did you break your leg?”

Her eyes fix on mine. “How did you know it was broken?” She shakes her head and waves a hand. “It doesn’t matter. My previous employer thought I stole from him, and I decided to run. He decided I should never run again.”

“If you were innocent, why did you run?” I know the question is stupid, but I must keep the conversation going.

Her face darkens, and I glimpse her inner fight, and then she returns to acceptance. “His son, the favourite second child, was the thief. My word would count for nothing compared to his. His eldest, a daughter, knew the truth but bargained my fate down from death to a life of servitude. Then, late one night, after many, I was thrown into a sack and kidnapped. After some words and clinking coins, several faces greeted me after they released me from the sack. I found out from them they were seeking a new life with a new Lord, and here I am.”

“You are from Hobgoblin Town?”

A curt, fearful nod.

“You didn’t journey with the Wild Ones. Who did you journey with?”

Head down, she studies her hands.

“Who?” I ask again, subduing my growing anger.

“Clan Greenfriend, Lord, Clan Greenfriend. I thought them odd to want to leave their Clan, yet they… when they thought me asleep, they talked about getting seeded by you and then returning to their Clan for their reward.” My face must show my anger because she slides back a step. “That is all I know, Lord, I swear.”

“I am not angry with you. You are the messenger. I have met Clan Head Grimg in the presence of Lord Torngul no less, and they seemed the best of friends, allies even.”

“They are Lord. His best friend is simply chasing the same seed that Clan Hungry was gifted and Clan Quickeyed by deceptive means gained.”

I turn away from my three recruits and take a short stroll around the clearing. With Izga’s inside concubine spy and Clan Greenfriend using deception to gain my seed, perhaps my negotiating hand is vastly more potent than I thought. Do I need to wait for an escort to impress? Do I simply turn up with a few wives on beasts and negotiate?

“Are you certain you aren’t angry with me, Lord?”

I wave a hand. “Messenger only.”

What is my seed worth? How far can I push Clan Head Grimg? Will I make my seed produce results immediately? Once and done as it were? Product guarantee perhaps, if not pregnant, return to try again? That should raise the initial price. Bonus for males? Defiantly, although not all males. When I seed the Wild Ones, the same. Too many males from one source of seed would threaten my freedom. Now for Dorgrav’s visit, who I am told is a messenger for Lord Torngul. Depending on what he requires. I tap my chin. Could this be exchanged for some decent armour and weapons for my additional guard? Yes, I nod to myself. The entourage to visit Clan Greenfriend will be me, several wives, and my extra guard, negotiating from a position of strength and security.

I look up to see three sets of eyes on me and return a carefree smile. “Come on then, my scribes, time for me to introduce you to your tasks. You will work from inside a tent, for now, a cottage and then an office in the manor. As such is the growing pains of a new clan.”

“We understand, Lord, and I am… I am thankful you welcome me into your service,” my limping scribe says.

“Your name?”

“Solgia, Lord.”

“Well, Solgia, hop onto my back.”

“Lord?”

“I command you to get on my back.” I crouch down, and after a couple of tries, she settles, and I rise.

“Shiliga and Tigliga, Solgia and I will race you to the top of the hill. If you win, name your prize. If we win, I will allow Solgia to name a prize. Ready? Go!”

Dashing through the long grass, I lead, then fall back, chase the two daughters, and circle them. Giggling reigns supreme as we approach the hill. We need to race around an extended length of dirt ditch, as wide and as deep as I am tall, at the base of the slope of the hill. The goblin work crews stop and gawk, shake their heads and resume their toil in my name. My legs power up the hill slope, leaving the daughters further and further behind. Looking up and near the crest, another ditch. Narrow and along the length, I spy several logs, sharp points on one end, bound, lying flat. I pause as a goblin commands a goblin and hobgoblin crew to pull the portion of a new log wall into the ditch. One-third of the log length disappears, leaving twice my height as a wooden wall. The crew shovels heavy soil into the ditch while some hold the wall erect.

Distant giggling calls me, and I race after the daughters who have taken advantage of my distraction. Near the top, I catch and scoop up one daughter and then the next with my other arm, leaving Solgia to hold on by strangling me, and therefore all four of us arrive at the same time. I kneel and release the daughters while Solgia slides down my back. In the direction of the ford, the goblins have excavated the hillside to present a sharper slope. While construction is yet to begin, another palisade wall will be atop this peak and surround a modest bailey, serving as my manor. While wood isn’t long-lasting, this is a compromise between something soon or nothing for a while. I am aware that the birthing time for the beneficiaries of my lust is approaching. My concern is the unknown valley-wide reaction, regardless of alliances now.

Two female hobgoblins skip and giggle around me, while the third smiles and claps in time. Only now do I stop thinking about the future to enjoy the present.

“Three winners. What prizes would you ask for? I will try to grant them.”

The two daughters pause in thought.

“Lord, you aren’t tired?” asks Solgia.

“Young, healthy and fit,” I say, and her eyes fall on Shiliga and Tigliga, their faces glowing with sweat and chests heaving, drawing in breaths.

“If you say so, Lord.” She leans closer and whispers, “I know I am not…”

I lay down and prop myself up on one elbow. “Name your prize.”

“Would you sleep with me, Lord? I know I am forward, but no male would ever consider me, and I see this as my only chance.”

“Do you wish to have a child?”

Tears stream down her cheeks while her head nods with dangerous vigour. I place a hand on her cheek to slow her down. “We will see what can be done.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Us also, Lord. With child.” Two sets of bright, eager eyes stare at me.

“You are children yourselves. What would you know of parenthood?” I reply.

“We are eighteen and twenty, Lord. Our mother never allowed us to grow up, protecting us from many marriage offers. We aren’t the prettiest we know, but our potential husbands found value, like you, in our scribe skills.”

I glance at Solgia.

“They could be Lord. Once out of those sacks, they call clothes.”

I roll to my feet. “Enough of promises for now. Time for scribes to learn how to erect a tent.”

---Thalgora, First wife of Lord Klar POV

“Your nominations?” I ask.

“What does he want them for? Aren’t we enough?” says Zergoa, and she doesn’t disguise her wounded pride.

“I believe my husband is preparing for a show. He wants them well enough trained to hold a sword without looking useless. He will depend on us to truly defend him if they attack him.”

“Ceremonial then?” offers Voria.

Zergoa faces up to Voria, drawing her lips back to reveal the full height of her tusks. “What? In the rags they wear and the wooden swords they wield?”

My hands slam down on Zergoa’s shoulders. She tries to shrug them off. “They won’t be competition for his loins, sister-wife,” I whisper in her ear and then release my hold before she turns violent.

“That isn’t the reason,” she snarls.

Voria chuckles. “Speak for yourself. I must await his pleasure, so I need no more competition.”

I follow Zergoa’s narrowing eyes and turnabout as she now looks behind us. My eyes narrow as well while I grind my teeth. My husband is playing enjoyable games with three females on top of the hillock, seemingly without a care in the world. Shoving down any doubt, my hand caressing my growing belly, reassuring me of my value to him.

“How long? Thalgora?” A touch on my arm distracts my eyes from the fun on the hill. “Thalgora, how long to go?” asks Voria. “One season and some of another?”

How long? What did the goblin midwife say? Two full seasons at least, even though I have shown so soon. Why I asked? Why? She wouldn’t speak until I throttled her. I was so full of pride, my belly growing large and quickly. So easy to imagine the future warrior hobgoblin I would birth for my husband.

“At least two seasons, maybe more.” My voice is dead.

“That can’t be…” The awe and shock in Zergoa’s voice are a painful reminder of my impossible situation.

“What can’t be?” asks Voria. Her innocent, naïve question almost causes me to laugh with abandon, except I am too sad to.

“If I am carrying one child, it can’t be.”

“You are carrying two?” With a tenderness I didn’t think she felt for me, Zergoa’s hands wrap around my upper arm, her eyes trying to find mine. I look away to hide my growing pool of tears.

A hand grabs my tusks and forces me to look up. Usually, I would resist and resent such an assault. Usually.

“Why can’t it be?” asks Voria, her eyes pleading for an answer.

The words are stuck. If I say them, I must face them and my fate…

“Thalgora, First Wife of Lord Klar, is carrying twins. Without complications, this means long labour. For reasons unknown, there are always complications…” says Zergoa with authority.

My hands cover my face. “Three.” Try as I might, I can’t disguise the flow of tears running down my cheeks, the salt taste on my tongue stinging my pride.