I ask Milga to find me a log and then mind my new wife while I fetch it. I place it on the edge of the crowd, yet still near enough to the bonfire to bask in warm firelight. My display of strength impressing many who bear witness. Their cheers genuine and boisterous in contrast to those given for my speech making. Lounging upon my new log bench I insist my newest wife sits upon my knee, an arm securing her. My three wives join me soon enough, and I introduce them to Rexa. The meeting … polite. Tribal wives meeting a civilised wife. Those bound to me by the river ceremony meeting another simply claimed.

I can’t afford to be tied down to the log simply watching, I must mingle as I need to ask questions and further pursue my aims.

“Please watch over my new wife, she isn’t permitted to leave the log unaccompanied, you understand what I am saying, wives?”

They smile and nod, one either side sliding along the log to be close, another standing before her as I leave.

Many Farm goblins dance around the bonfire, including Ten Spears hunters. Around and around, they cavort until I synchronise with the rhythm and wave a hand directly in front of one. Confusion clears from his face as if waking up … eyes wide when he realises the Farmer Hob requires his attention. The drying sweat from dancing reappearing due to another reason all of a sudden.

“When do the Ten Spears plan to hunt again?” I ask.

His eyes focus … “There has been no talk as yet Lord Hob.”

“I need to find beans and bees. Do you understand what I am looking for?” I reply.

He smiles so wide his black sharp teeth show. “You are in luck for one of those Lord. The river to the South can be forded at several places, further downstream the best and we left a pile of stones to mark our achievement. Cross there and over a low rise you will discover as we did, a vast field of yellow flowers and as you approach the buzzing of the bees will fill your ears.”

I grab him by his shoulders and hug him to me. “Thank you.”

“Lord … Lord … some air,” he gasps.

I release him and lightly pat him down by way of apology. “Well done, exceptional.”

“I can’t help with beans Lord because I don’t know what they are …”

“Yes, of course, but for future reference, they are green tubes growing on ground running vines.”

He shrugs and with that gesture, we are done. I grab his shoulder before he returns to the dance.

“When you hunt next, I will accompany you,” I say.

He nods and then joins the others circling the bonfire.

The possibility of beehives! I search my memory; do I capture a Queen or a Queen and hive? Do I feed a drone royal jelly and make a Queen? Quicker to feed both yet how to transport them without being stung multiple times? Large Jar? Lid closed, lid open, all in the back of a wagon and some smoke to calm them?

“Lord Hob?”

The hail, hopefully, the first, jolts my mind into the present and away from bees, plus I probably look odd staring into nowhere while on the edge of the bonfire. My eyes focus upon the owner of the voice, her body on the skinny side so most likely one of the Smith Hob’s goblins.

“Yes?”

“Would you dance with me?” Her green face glows.

“Can I ask why?” Having taken a new wife, I don’t need another, and her invitation suggests courtship? There could always be a first, but goblins and especially Hobgoblins don’t seem to be particular in that regard.

She crumples slightly, hands wiping over her face, bent knees briefly touching each other. “Mmm … well …. I don’t wish to be seeded by your Speaker of Law.”

My eyes drown in her large dark brown ones as she gazes up.

“You know I ask this so no more die, mother or child in childbirth.” There is flesh upon her bones and muscle beginning to take shape, yet five days of meat diet doesn’t absolve years of poor subsistence eating. Further, nestling at the back of my mind is the fact she could be the actual genetic daughter of this body by the former "me". If true, does that mean she is my daughter now because I now occupy the Hob body? Ugh! I need to draw a line in the sand, the before me and the after me. Therefore, I arbitrarily decide she isn’t my daughter. An echo of silent laughter bounces around in my head …

“Yet Lord you seeded those big nose princesses and while they may return to you after they discover seams of copper, we, I … am yours until the end of my days. I am strong my Lord winning a spear and fearless, always at the front setting against the charge.” Her large wide eyes entrancing, enhancing every word of her plea.

“Do you wish to claim my seeding of you as your owed favour?”

She chews a lip. “That and a cottage of my own, to raise your baby Lord.”

“Done, although I have a condition. Wait until my wives have given birth or die trying so you can fully appreciate the risk you so willingly wish for … yes?”

Nodding, “Yes, as you say, six months will go by in a blink.”

There isn’t any hesitation, I thought mentioning ‘given birth or die trying’ would’ve given her reason to pause and reconsider … not so. I try to end on a positive.

“And you will be fitter and stronger with each hunt,” I add.

She hugs me and runs off skipping.

Left alone once again, I stretch and edge away from the bonfire. Several pairs of inquisitive eyes make busy looking elsewhere. Their goblin ears I am certain picking up every word of our conversation over the noise of celebration. I will need to check with my Speaker of Law and ask if he has done any ‘farming’ so far, because this traditional duty of the Hob seems entrenched, at least for the Civilised goblins in this valley. The non-dancing crowd around the bonfire clears before me and I arrive back at my log seat … to find my newest wife alone and shivering, yet there is warmth aplenty from the bonfire ...

From behind me, a whispering silky voice says, “Lord Klug your wives’ loins grow cold, and they wish to retire with you for mutual warmth.”

I spin around and I know who I will find, Milga Stone Blood. “They have been kept warm most of the! … Day.” I hush the last word, not that those around me spare my feelings, chuckling at my overreaction.

“You are the one who ordered them not to leave your new wife unattended.” She raises her eyebrows. “I am but the replacement guardian for her and their messenger. In some ways, I am more a herald, an interpreter of their many words of affection which for your benefit I summarise for clarity and succinctness.”

“You continue to display your worth …” I reply dryly. I suspect Milga threatened my newest wife with all sorts of pain since she now is as close to me as possible while still sitting upon the log.

“The bold female goblin, one of your Ten Spears I believe probably the push they needed Lord to reclaim their privilege, you played upon their jealousy well.”

Briefly closing my eyes, I stretch my neck. “Now you are teasing. As punishment find the Head Goblin of the Builders, I need to speak with him in the morning.”

“Early or late morning Lord, you may still be attending to your sweets and I wouldn’t wish to waste his time as I am sure he is otherwise toiling away on your behalf.”

“Dawn and bring me food … no bring us all food to break our fast.”

Milga’s hands go to her hips. “You know messengers won’t want to deliver to you if as a reward only punishment awaits.”

I sweep my hand in the direction of her bottom, yet she either reads my mind or expects such a reaction and dances away laughing.

---

With my newest wife firm and snug under my arm, I throw open the door to my cabin. My three other wives, parade before me returning smug looks, their hands waving me in. Crossing the threshold, I take a single step and stop. Various pieces of furniture, broken or not are gone. On one side, a small table and chair. Along the same wall a trunk, for clothes I presume. Hanging from the wall on pegs a bow and quiver containing five or six arrows. A huge bed dominates the rest of the cabin along with three other trunks. The ‘bed’ I discover is made up of four small beds, leather throngs tying them together with furs and linen sheets for coverings.

Giggling erupts from behind me as words fail me …

“While you gave us no warning, your fourth wife will fit also,” says Koria.

I look upon my latest wife, the shivering lamb embracing one side of the doorway, her face the palest of green. “I didn’t intend to bed you for several years as I originally agreed with your father … circumstances though have forced you to at least keep company with me, but I will demand no more.”

Her pinpoint eyes slowly crane up to mine. “Y … you must, my father brags of the favours he will claim now. The others he tells not privy to his false bravado and mask as I am, who must listen to his victories and defeats at the end of each day. He knows you outmanoeuvred him and now seeks to make the best of the situation. Lord.”

I grunt. Time for a test. “I did consider killing him, an accident of some sort most likely …”

She shrugs as best she can while hugging the door. “He wondered why you didn’t, being a Hob and all as that is how he rose, which is why he feels he is on firm ground now, emboldened even. Don’t you see, I need my belly to swell otherwise he will try himself as I am not his daughter … my father is the Head Hob when he was Farmer Hob. My mother died giving birth to a goblin baby, most unfortunate as they say. Worse, they also say the Head Hob when Farmer Hob angered quickly when I was found howling beside my dead mother.”

As much as I wanted to, craving the need to know, I don’t ask the question I most desire an answer to. How, where from and why did I come into existence! You would be expected to know your past, although perhaps I could lean on my return from death by claiming memory loss? Not with this wife though and while I suspect she has no affection for her stepfather I can’t be sure and after slaying so many to ensure no goblin would betray me again, I don’t want to pay in instalments with more death for these reasons and then another for that transgression. No, I say to myself, definitely a one-time sale only.

“My seeding of you will most likely end in your death …”

Her pleading eyes moist, she sobs in reply, “I have been well fed all my life, not unlike one of the fat sows out there in your pen. The Head Hob groomed my mother with food and my goblin father knows this, so perhaps he hatches a plan of many years, his daughter succeeds breeding an heir to a Hob where the mother didn’t.”

She rushes by me while I try to come to terms with what she tells me. Waking from my deep thought I examine the faces of each of my other wives seeking some sort of guidance and find nothing except blank faces. They are tribal and family always protects their own. They can’t comprehend her situation …

The eyes of my wives open wide while looking past me. I swivel about to discover my fourth wife laying on the bed, naked, legs open wide.

“If I die in childbirth my goblin father will curse his bad luck and regret the food wasted on me, but if I give birth to your heir, he will come calling for many favours. Promise me if he does you will slay him as I risk everything, and I know he has another two daughters he thinks I am unaware of fatting them up as I lay here simply his first chance. If I give birth to a goblin child, I fear I will live a miserable life, neither rewarded nor cursed. So, begin Lord Hob, from what those on the farm say your other wives are one seeding ahead of me and I can allow them no more advantage.”

---

“Redagar, I need you to build me a wagon, two wheels with sides and a tray able to cart six large pots.”

For a builder who orders others, I suspect some muscle under the budding layers of fat. He is the fortunate one, typically away from the farm when death stalks those who must stay. I draw a wheel in the dirt between us.

“Like the Pottery Stone of the Head Hob, but made of wood?”

“Mmm, possibly. Find a roughly round tree and cut through the trunk three times and the two wheels should be remarkably similar. Then find a stout narrow tree trunk and cut it to width …”

I continue to drone on about the requirements and answer his questions until I am reasonably certain he knows what I need. If successful, a water wheel with milling stone is next with possibly a dual purpose of driving a large saw. Baby steps first.

Milga returns to my side as my Head Goblin of Builders ambles away.

“His needs are simple, females to practice with. I have one who, for a night with Lord Hob, is willing to spy upon him. Do I confirm your acceptance?”

I sway my body back to take a meaningful look at my partner before replying, “You seem eager to barter me off.”

“You are the only valuable currency, for now. The females believe they will be the one regardless of the evidence from the majority that most die in childbirth and those who carry an heir to term certain to do so … and yet they dream.”

“I need to visit the Head Hob and will only be taking Rexa.”

“As you wish Lord Klug.”

Quick as, I reply, “No argument?”

She shrugs.

“Are you certain you don’t wish to express yourself?”

She places her hand upon my shoulder. “Do you need the protection of a small harmless female goblin, like me? You are big enough and ugly enough to venture out alone if you want, although I assume you will stay on the path to the village, conclude your business with the Head Hob and return. No detours.”

That’s better and I am sure she feels all the better as well.

“While I am away start testing to see if any goblins could, with training make passable archers. Start with the children, perhaps the Master of Children can assist and be sure to recruit my wives to the task. When we aren’t farming, we will be hunting instead of watching the crops grow and hand watering. When I return, and with some assistance, I will introduce irrigation.”

“Irrigation?”

“Easier to show than explain, trust me.”

“I always trust in our partnership Lord, never doubt.”

Not quite what I meant but I will let that one pass by. My newest wife saunters towards me as if she can command the sun. A wide happy smile upon her lips, arms swinging, and head held high.

“Didn’t you seed her last night? I suspect you went too easy on the virgin ground for her to be so full of energy …”

I ignore my partner for once, instead, gazing upon my fourth wife.

“You have chatted to your father?”

“Husband he is most pleased, your vigorous attention last night leaving satisfactory bruises upon my loins and so I am ready, my sister wives preparing my backpack and water skin while I bid my father goodbye.”

“Did you have to show him?”

Her lips drawback, “I explained my goblin stepfather to you last night. Of course, he demanded proof. Let me fetch my pack and we can be away.”

---

I test her with long strides and a quick pace and not a single complaint. At each rest, she flops down, drinks deeply and chews on dried meat offering no conversation, my first silent companion and a wife no less. The Head Goblin of Builders and his crews aren’t on the trail or nearby, perhaps I should take a greater interest in his activities or keep him so busy I don’t need to.

Over another rise and the Head Hob’s village lays quiet and sleepy before us. We cover the final distance in haste, Rexa smiling and giggling. Strolling between the houses none greet us, although the burnt remains of my pyre have been cleaned away and new grass shoots push up through the black. I find the largest house and knock on the door.

“Will he see us, Lord?”

I knock on the door again, using the handle of my knife.

The familiar scrape of a cross beam being removed reaches my ears. A goblin’s face peers through the narrow opening he allows. I push on the door and let myself in.

“Lord, the Head Hobgoblin will be most upset,” he screams.

“Fetch him and he will decide for himself and not rely upon a snivelling messenger.”

The goblin rushes through a door directly opposite the front door.

My wife grabs at my arm and I feel her questioning eyes upon me. I decide to begin arrogant, a true Hob. I have a knife to back me and an attitude to use it if necessary. My last memory of him, dismissive and overweight. Any contest between us would only end in one result.

A grunting laugh announces his arrival. The front room is central to the house, with doors in every wall, including the front door and he ambles, a walking stick aiding him through the door the goblin took.

“You have gained some wisdom, yes … your eyes project certainty and purpose now. Well done. As you can most certainly tell I am of less vigour, regardless of my prodigious wisdom.” He cough-laughs at his self-praise.

“A second chance of life tends to sharpen your purpose.”

His goblin servant hurries in with a large stool, four legs, no backrest and the Head Hob carefully slides his bottom onto the seat while the goblin holds on, only releasing when his Lord gives him a nod.

“I recognise your wife, the clinging in particular like she wants to climb up your arm and disappear, she is her mother’s daughter that one.” He spits.

“Some on the farm talk about her mother but no details …” I try to leave the question open.

“The previous Head Hob advised me to groom several of the goblins with food, healthy and strong his suggestion, only then would you have the possibility of an heir. So, I did. Simple as that. Like you, well not entirely, as you have done so twice, I woke up as a young adult Hobgoblin. No memory of my past, I simply came to exist from nowhere. The former Head Hob the same.” He waves his hand over his shoulder. “Hunter Hob, Smith Hob, same, same. We are strong though and with few exceptions smart, certainly smarter than these snots.” He flaps his hand in Rexa’s direction. “Well, the underfed ones in any case.”

“Her mother?” I interject.

“She was my last attempt, the Head Hob on his death bed had already summoned me from the farm. I gave excuse after excuse waiting, wondering, and willing for this attempt to be the one.” He spits again, this time the goblin servant cleans up both with a wet cloth.

“And you know my reward, she clings to your arm, a goblin. I slammed her mother against the wall and left, journeying with haste to the village. The Head Hob derided my choice and eventually me with his dying breath. How did I think the last try would succeed when the previous hundred and something, I lost count, didn’t? He tried to pass on as much knowledge about the Head Hob position as he could and yet I still curse my folly as sometimes I have to make things up when I am certain the Laws cover everything.” He shakes his head.

“Did you simply walk into the village then, well made?”

This question a risk, of course, I should remember for myself, shouldn’t I? Unless of course, I say my second life cleared the memories of my previous one if he questions me.

He chuckles long and hard; he coughs and then spits out a wad of saliva or such. “You did lose your memory when you came back the second time, that would have been strange, your goblins knowing you and you without a clue.” He enjoys another laugh, a softer version this time.

“I needed to kill a few to put them back in line.” Not entirely true but serves as an explanation for the recent deaths, including his goblins …

“I have lost four, you didn’t include them, did you? Given your loss of memory, you wouldn’t know who was who. I will be able to have a chuckle on you for some time to come. I can’t imagine …”

“Probably, lost my temper more than a little with the snots.”

“No great loss, I sent them to check to see if you still lived, no one reported you coming back down the steps, yet the Smith Hob sent a delivery swearing you left his mining village. A mystery, which falls to me to investigate. Your appearance before me lets me close that one.”

I lean back against the wall. “I found another way down, to the North a river doesn’t flow over the cliff, the water over the years has worn through the cliff, making a nice, although stony gentle path down.”

“Don’t go that way when the snow melts, we can hear the thundering water from here, but good to know.”

His words slurring at the end, a warning to hurry along. “Can I grab a few pots or jars preferably with lids? I am going to try and capture some bees and collect their honey nearer to the farm.”

“Hehe, honey. You share and you can take what you need. There is a field South East of the farm, yellow flowers, beehive upon beehive to be found there when I was younger. I would spend a day or two getting stung and devouring honey …” His eyes drifting off high to his right suggesting him trying to remember.

I decide to push my luck.

“In your days as Farmer Hob, you didn’t find a plant which grew along the ground and would grow a finger length green tube-like fruit or vegetable?”

“Mmmm.” His fingers tap his mouth several times. “East at the bottom of the valley a great many different things grow, great herd beasts migrate through there and wherever they come from and wherever they go to their thick fur gathers all sorts of seeds and flowers which they drop along the way. If anywhere I would search there first. Send some goblins, that way if they don’t come back no great loss. There are things down that way which can kill a Hob and I am taking a liking to you, so would hate to lose you, well before I taste honey again that is.” A light chuckle ends his reply.

“Thank you, where are the jars?”

“Fub!” he calls out.

I push myself from the wall and approach him, “That is a wild goblin name, isn’t it?”

“Clever, you are clever. Yep, simple birth name, they want to earn their true name.”

Fub enters and pauses, eyes darting between his Head Hob and me, and back again.

The Head Hob continues, “Hey Fub, you still looking to earn your true name?”

“Yes, Lord Hob, but time running out …”

“You and me both you little snot, you and me both.” The Head Hob turns his head my way. “I could grant him a true name of course but not of a mind to. His tribe is no more, their tribal lands once West of the yellow flowers.”

Fub’s head drops.

Head Hob smirks. “Fub explained his tribe came to blows after some internal bickering of some sort and now weak, the tribes nearby kidnapped or slaughtered them, probably both. Running for his life Fub bumped into me while on the trail and sort of fell under my protection. Been with me ever since, counting his lucky stars for sure as he knows those chasing him watched until they were certain I would let him stay with me. Hey Fub?”

“As you say, Lord Hob, Fub lucky that day.”

The Head Hob continues, “I see your mind ticking over and the answer is no, Fub stays with me, he knows my ways and will ease my final years.”

I smile and shrug. He isn’t old, but certainly not young, the chances of him remembering his old tribal lands probably slim, still … well no chance for now.

The Head Hob runs his palm over Fub’s bare head, much like a human would pat a dog is my first thought and then orders him to assist. “Fub show them to the pottery, record what they want and work out payment, at least one jar of honey. Now go and hurry back.”

The Head Hob slides off the stool, Fub assisting and in that instant, I realise I didn’t ask his name and he didn’t ask mine. For Hobgoblins, the position is important the name meaningless and I guess without a childhood, parents, and the usual upbringing you know nothing else. This also explains the Head Hob’s attitude to Fub and his true name, such a thing not important to a Hobgoblin and double true because a goblin is in need, a snot. Interesting though as a Hobgoblin I can grant a tribal goblin a name. Milga did mention Duzsia wanted to earn her name in my service, and I thought afterwards she would need to ask her tribal elders, but not so.