I inspect Smith Hob’s rejects. They have been worked hard and not fed enough to keep their condition. Several of the twenty seem familiar or so I think, yet I still have doubts.

“How many died?”

“None which we fed Lord Hob,” replies Seka.

I lean forward, my lips brushing her ears. “I would lay with you my dear in an instant except you are too important to me here and now to become pregnant.”

A deep green colour swallows her face, neck and shoulders. In front of the Smith Hob’s wretches, she sneaks a kiss upon my cheek. “When done, I will hold you to your promise Lord Farmer Hob.” She swivels smartly and retreats into the Head Hob’s villa.

I cast my eyes over the exhausted lot. They have been fed and I notice they each carry a hand-sized pot and a couple of spears while several also carry a water skin. A few goblins smile at me through their exhaustion, and I recognise them. I recognise them! Goblin features are becoming distinct …

“Follow,” I order, and the trudging begins.

The wooden path starts on the other side of the river, until then there is a scatter of pebbles and river stone embedded in the ground around the village cottages. Their shoes are soft leather or plain worn out and several hobble along without protest. I hold position downstream as the troop crosses the ford, a generous naming of a shallow, goblin knee-deep, part of the river with a stone base.

Along the wooden path, they are more comfortable, yet I sense they wish to be elsewhere. Before the wooden path takes us too far from the river, I halt the march and turnabout.

“If you wish to rest do so. If you wish to swim do so. I will call when we march again.”

They stare mouths agape at me. Those from the Farm lead out, some resting under shade, others taking the opportunity to bathe. Shortly after there is chatter and occasional laughter …

---

Upon dusk the Farm spreads out before us, two boars are on spits at least, the firelight illuminating the centre of the Farm, including the Silo. A glorious sight and as the breeze changes direction, a delicious aroma. I didn’t push my recruits, yet Head Village to Farm taking one long day a good result. I suspect my former goblins of encouraging the others with promises of a new life, one with meat, instead of gruel … as well as hard work. Perhaps the relaxation and conversation at the beginning a factor also.

Approaching the Farm's gate, I wave my recruits to kneel. In the firelight, Milga with Zoria to one side face several goblins led by Jotor and behind them a tumultuous mob. My wives are nowhere to be seen and Zeb is surrounded, not held but the intent is clear, don’t interfere.

Milga draws her daggers and Zoria follows suit. Time for me to return and I start to rise when an arrow shaft appears between Jotor’s legs. All eyes turn to the source and after recognition, most take a deep gasp.

Milga and Zoria don’t look, they are intent on facing any who are still showing interest in them, reasoning I believe if the archer wanted them dead, they would be.

“Since you accuse Milga Stone Blood of usurping Lord Hob, as his only wife present, I make the first claim upon her. She will answer to me first.”

“You will only hear her side … this isn’t right, you must hear others. We venerate Lord Farmer Hob and the life he grants us and will not stand by and see his authority usurped,” shouts Jotor.

“All will have a fair hearing, now return to the feasting as is our way. There is no need for this.”

The mob drifts apart in ones and twos and as Jotor realises he is standing more and more in the open he steps back.

“Where are Lord Hob’s wives Jotor, including your daughter?”

I can see him swallow from here and my heart almost leaps out of my chest waiting for his answer.

“Safe. Where they should be when important matters are being discussed. In his cabin. He said after his three wives led to slaughter no other wife would have any authority and yet you claim you have some. How? By what right?”

“I will defer to the Speaker of Law if you allow him to assume his authority.”

“Pfft, he wouldn’t question her, they are in this together …”

Jotor is on the verge of being retired by my hand yet I need him for a while longer …

“Follow me,” I call to those with me.

I stride through the Farm's gate without saying a word. The mob spots me first and gathers closer around the feast.

“Lord Hob welcome back to the Farm!” shouts Jotor, holding his ground. He doesn’t have another option really, does he I conclude. “We were concerned about your sudden absence.”

I look back. “If you carry spears, please place them before my cabin.” I point in the right direction. “All are invited to the feast, don’t eat like this is your last meal. Too much meat and your next morning will be extremely uncomfortable. Now go!”

Like locusts they swarm around me, most breaking off to deliver their spears, all eventually rushing the boar spits, making a special effort to avoid Jotor and breaking our line of sight.

I continue to stride forward, none run to me. “Jotor, there will be a meeting tomorrow, which will discuss many things, you can raise any concerns then. For now, I am tired and wish for only sleep.”

“Yes, Lord Hob, until tomorrow.” He swivels and rushes from my sight.

“Welcome home Husband,” says Koria Keen Eye.

I grab her and smash my lips into hers thoroughly exploiting my rights as a husband until she smacks my shoulder.

“I need to breathe Husband and well perhaps your cabin is a better place for the type of reunion you desire …”

I tuck her under an arm. “You best greet your father.”

“Yes Husband,” she replies, swinging her hips while walking away.

“Great timing Lord Hob.” Milga wears a wry smile.

I face Zoria. “You were prepared to kill?”

Zoria throws Milga a look receiving nothing back. “I decided to follow Milga’s lead, she drew weapons, I drew weapons. If she slew some fools, then I would also.”

“Looks like you had a great backup partner …”

“You have wife duties … we will speak more, later.”

Koria wraps her arms around my waist, her head between my shoulder blades. I bend my knees and hoist her up on my back heading towards my cabin with her giggles ringing in my ears.

“I am surprised the Speaker of Law released his daughter to me so easily?”

“He knows I am yours now, a husband’s claim stronger than a father’s as you will live the longest.”

---

Odd, I muse, for a meeting restricted to the important citizens of the Farm the kitchen cabin is overflowing with goblins. The confrontation of yesterday probably a draw and Zeb and I should have arrived early to welcome those invited. I nod to Zeb who lowers the crossbeam across the door, no more can enter and none can leave. Standing behind the kitchen serving bench I confirm the elder, Jotor and Redagar are present while Milga or none of my wives are as per my instructions. I chuckle to myself upon spotting Zoxa of all goblins!

“I welcome you, one and all and apologise you have had to accept my orders indirectly from Milga these past days. I assure you I am fully recovered.”

Pausing for effect to allow the murmuring to settle I set my eyes upon those not yet content, to silence them.

“As to yesterday I received an urgent summons from the Head Hob, hence my sudden departure. In my absence the Speaker of Law adjudicates and appoints, there is no questioning this and as such his authority is absolute. I will explain to the Ten Spears they are his to command in my absence as well. If he is found to be wanting in his duty, upon my return bring your complaints and evidence to me. Yesterday will never happen again.”

“You can’t complain to anyone if you are dead, Lord. What is stopping him killing any who disagree?”

“Good question! The only one able to kill on this Farm is me. The Speaker of Law will hold any in a cabin so they may speak to me upon my return. If he doesn’t then that is a breach of his duty. Acceptable?”

There is nodding and general agreement.

My armour is loose upon my body for this next moment, so pulling up my shirt and shifting aside my armour I reveal my healed chest. The oohs and ahs mean a great deal. The nervous faces and slumping posture of the attendees disappear, nods and smiles grace most green faces and goblins stand tall facing me.

“I thank the elder for my recovery from near death.” I point her out in the crowd and the old battle-axe of a woman blushes bright green to my great delight and the gathering chuckles confirming the sight unusual.

As the room quietens, I search their faces and once certain I have their attention I speak again.

“The tribes will return after the harvest and I believe they will need to take from our Silo to survive as they are on a path of more killing, so they won’t have time to hunt.” I pause to allow my words to sink in.

“We are in danger and need to flee to the Head Village while we can before the savages slaughter us,” shouts Jotor.

With satisfaction I note the goblins beside him step away slightly and no others voice any support.

“Or we can prepare and defend our Farm,” I reply.

“Lord of Goblins, Lord of Goblins, Lord of Goblins” the shout goes up and the way Redagar is smiling I assume a stacked crowd. Jotor tries to edge away towards the door during the chant and encounters Zeb.

I wave them to silence.

“Our situation is this. The Flint Arrows are across the river to the North and their tribal land extends beyond the extent of our fields where our boar wall begins at a convenient location, a steep riverbank. The wall, which I acknowledge is yet to be finished extends across to a Southern Stream, which unfortunately is neither wide nor fast-flowing, yet still an obstacle. This stream is also the border between the Farm and the Laughing Tusks, which present the greatest immediate threat. They could simply avoid the stream opposite the Farm and travel South and cross the stream closer to the hills.”

There is a call from the crowd. “Are we lost, Lord Hob?”

“No. We have an additional forty spears to push our enemies back into the stream as they climb out or to defend our hill while we need to make certain enough archers are along the boar wall to deter direct attack.”

“Meb only fronts a portion of our border, surely we can contain him,” asks another.

“I suspect the Laughing Tusks tribe to be culled by the three other tribes long before we begin our harvest.”

A dead silence descends upon the room. If Meb’s brothers have spies in the room, I hope they take this theory back to seed some doubt into whatever arrangements or agreements they have made. While Seka is absent she shared her contact method, so at least Meb will receive some frightening news.

“After harvest, we will need to face down three tribes, Grim Weavers, Sharp Fangs and Blood Bones. All of whom suffered losses culling the Blood Suns and who will suffer more losses culling the Laughing Tusks. For our part, we must welcome in any survivors from either of those tribes …”

“Savages Lord.” “How can we trust them?” “Blood Suns are wild drunks and wife beaters.” “Laughing Tusks will be a beaten lot, not ready for another fight.”

I wait for the shouts to finish. “Possibly all of what you say is true, yet I believe as you can, since my wives are Flint Arrows, all tribal goblins aren’t savages and if we throw out a helping hand instead of a spear point who knows what will happen.” Mumbles and grumbles reach my ears. “We need their help as much as they need ours if we are to survive the assault of three tribes, most importantly we must defend our harvest. Our future rests there.”

Redagar steps forward. “Our Hob survives a fatal strike, make no mistake it was anything else … a dagger to the heart, the wielder a huntress so she would know where it is, and such a big heart would be difficult to miss in any case.” Polite laughter breaks out. “What are our alternatives? Starve when they take our grain, run now and let them try to harvest our grain and destroy most when they do.” His arm extends in the direction of Jotor. “Our Head Farmer will ensure every possible grain is harvested and the crops remain standing for next season. I am so certain of this I will need to build not one, but two additional silos.” He takes a deep breath as his eyes fill with sorrow. “My work crews tended the staking and the fire pits, over two hundred Blood Suns dead. They wouldn’t have died without a fight while in their savage drunken berserk haze, their mead-soaked bodies burnt well. But Lord Hob is right we need more help and if we welcome starving and homeless tribal goblins then we can civilise them well enough with hard work I reckon.”

Not a sound. Silence. Then a single clap, a solitary hoarse cheer and soon several of both add to the first and in a final uproar, the whole room adds stamping feet. The words not the surprise, the speaker …

“Work as if your lives depend upon it because it does! Now to your duties!” I bellow.

Redagar slows allowing others to leave before him, Zeb still waits by the door possibly out of earshot, although with goblins ears nothing is certain.

“The felling and shaping of trees with copper tools Lord Hob is our handicap. When your wives sent back the work gang which escorted them, they asked me to talk to Zoria about the bronze knife. I met her on the road to the Head Village and she swore the weapon cut through armour as if nothing and I wonder if we had saws and other tools made of this metal how much faster we could work …”

I nod. “The knife is small, so I believe the metal is rare, very precious and unfortunately only found in the next valley. We still have to send a ransom back though … let me see what I can do.”

A smile spreads across his face.

“This isn’t a promise …” I pat him on the shoulder, and he leaves the kitchen cabin.

“Zeb, where are Zana and Gato?”

“I will fetch them.”

I search the kitchen cabin for food scraps and find some cured meat to chew on. My wives file in and apart from some blown kisses, they ignore me while preparing baskets of food from a pantry, which in my search I failed to find. I didn’t expect them to greet and care for the Blood Suns, yet this made sense, who else could Milga trust to keep silent if I failed to convince those of the Farm that we needed all the help we could get. I needed their hearts to say yes, not just their mouths.

Milga enters after they leave.

“The birthing rooms are accommodating our Blood Suns' guests, your wives leave food and ensure they don’t gorge themselves on starved stomachs and the female Copper Village recruits are with them now. The males are in the original barracks, while females evicted from there have been relocated to keep company with our Blood Suns' guests.”

I grunt in acknowledgement because Redagar’s words are true … he needs tools, otherwise the shuffle which Milga just described will be happening again until all barracks are full.

“Do we send Zoria back to the valley with number four for the ransom?”

Milga shakes her head. “Her name is Zoga and has somewhat settled in …”

“That’s unfortunate …”

“Not that settled in, we just need to make sure she wants to return and Zoria can escort her when she makes another delivery to the Head Hob.”

I nod. “Can you fetch the clay pot?”

Milga shoves a note into my hands. I look up.

“Have you read the note?”

“A Hunter.” She shakes the bow across her back. “Not wise woman,” she replies.

I mumble my way through the scrawl, “They needed to gang up on Fub, to establish boundaries. Seka sleeps by the door, although on the floor in the Head Hob’s room. The two sent with her are following her orders. His health isn’t declining although too early to tell if he is on the mend,” I finish and throw the note onto the embers of the fireplace, watching the dry thin leather burn away. My recent visit confirms the Head Hob’s health has greatly improved since the writing of the note.

A commotion at the door draws my attention. Zana and Gato, clothes wet through, waddle into the kitchen cabin. Their bellies protruding further than their noses. They approach me and I back away thinking they wish to hug, instead they squat in front of the fireplace, laying back, their arms propping their torsos up to allow their bellies comfortable room to rest.

They exchange glances and sigh, rolling to stand up I assume.

“Stay. What do you need?” I ask.

“Food,” they call out together.

I present a portion of dried meat and they accept my offer.

“You have something to tell me?”

They nod and smile. “We sniffed out the rock you wanted Lord Hob. Yes, we did. In fact, we have been gathering the ore. We are wet because the ore lays at the bottom of a marsh, the water reddish with an icky thin layer of some sort which catches the light.”

“Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“Everyone is busy, and this is our Glory husband …”

Their glowing cheeks frame their pouting mouths, and I can almost ignore their long noses … how is this possible?

“Truly your glory and now you must rest and let others gather the ore, your bellies look ready to burst,” I joke.

They hug each other. “We will burst?”

“No. Joke … never mind. I and others will help you give birth.”

Their heads turn slowly towards me, while still embracing each other. “Help us give birth Lord? This is a woman’s business … don’t you believe we can do this? Think us weak?” They burst into tears.

“Crying tells me you are weak. Stop!”

They sniff and hitch their chests.

“I and others will be there to help. If you hide away to give birth and don’t die, I will throttle you. When you feel the signs, you order anyone to fetch me, understand?”

“Yes, mean untrusting husband,” they whimper.

“Where is this marsh? Where is the stack of ore you have recovered?”

I can see their thoughts ticking over, thinking they can somehow black mail me into changing my mind about the birthing. I pre-empt them by standing over them.

“Mean husband. The marsh is East, follow the river, a bank gives way and water slushes onto the land, stinky place. When Zeb found us returning to the Farm, he took our ore and added it to our pile behind the kitchen cabin.”

Right on time, Zeb joins us in the kitchen cabin.

“Gather a work gang, show them the ore my wives have collected and then search for a marsh off the North River, heading downstream, East. They need to sift through the mud and extract the pebbles of ore. This is important Zeb. They must work as fast as they can and depending upon their progress, we may need to add another work gang.”

My pregnant ones, Zana and Gato clap their hands. “We added to your glory husband?”

“You have both done very well, but now you need to prepare for childbirth, no more marsh and mud.”

They nod while I leave them to the kitchen cabin, Milga content to follow me and remain silent. Should I be worried, I wonder.