Duzsia draws herself up, pulling her shoulders back and raising her chin slightly. Her hand extends towards me.

“Lord Hob.” Duzsia offers me my ransom, the bronze knife.

The moment not lost on me, this handing over is the culmination of her quest.

I close her fingers around the knife. “Tell me the story of how you obtained my ransom first.”

With a solemn nod, the knife returns to a thick leather sheath, and she begins. The telling equally shocks and impresses Milga. I am not far behind. Could this be true I ask myself? The rumour of a great warrior facing down OuzOuz and his bodyguards, a grievous foot wound and yet they succeed in escaping innumerable hunters. Duzsia’s tale explains all that and more, easily as if recalling past events, which is as it should be. Her hidden thigh wound the most impressive of all. The scarring of both wounds light, considering the damage done, almost as clean a repair as my wounds … my first thought, nanorobots but how?

“Relentless,” sighs Milga.

I drink in Milga’s look of appreciation and then I deliberately face Duzsia, my eyes seeking the depths of hers. “Does Duzsia the Relentless sit well with you as your earnt name?”

“Lord, my earnt name is not my choice. It is the honour others recognise within me as they judge my deeds. I am named at birth by others, I had no say then. This naming is no different.”

Milga whispers, not to keep a secret, but in reverence. “She did not return until after retrieving your ransom, she didn’t shy away from rescuing Ligia even when a captor amongst a camp of many, she didn’t panic when those with her faced death and in fact used the threat of death to punish and eventually capture your assassin’s mistress. Nothing escapes her, no one escapes her. These are deeds which should be recalled around campfires, yet to do so would endanger her.” Milga steps forward and hugs Duzsia. “I wish I could say with absolute certainty, if placed in the same situation I would succeed as well.”

Milga steps back slide releasing Duzsia’s hands.

“So be it. As Lord Hob I grant you your earnt name, from now on you will be known as Duzsia the Relentless and I already have a mission for you.”

Her sharp tooth smile is all the encouragement I need. Her body trembles with what I suspect is joy and pride.

“Anything Lord Hob. Without your faith in me, I would still be the one in the tribe who everyone scoffs at.”

I catch the sudden sadness in her eyes and as quickly they brighten.

“Deep within the Flint Arrows tribal lands is a valley, near-identical to the elders. I need you to help me fetch a set of sacred armour. The way in is via some convenient waterways.”

“So, the Warrior Hob armour exists Lord. Who has confirmed this if I can ask?”

My excitement causes my words to tumble out. “Suda the Faithful, which led to the fall of Koria and Suda due to her stubbornness, but because of that, I am certain she spoke the truth. The armour exists.”

“The waterways will be a trap Lord. I have a better way if you permit me to explain?”

I slowly nod, my excitement somewhat cooling. While I hear Milga shift her feet.

“You can’t go Lord.” She pauses for my protest, so I don’t. “My plan would be to tunnel through the vines on the mountainside. The mountains on either side of the valley are relatively the same except the Flint Arrows tribe has never been driven to desperation to explore them beyond collecting berries from the vines after rain. With your ransom and perhaps eight others we could carve a tunnel through the vines along the mountainside without risk of detection until reaching the valley. I and those with me will almost certainly outnumber the guards. After all the location is secret, known only to a few so how many guards could there be? We can then drag the armour back the way we came. To carve a tunnel to allow your bulk Lord would take two or three times longer.”

I swallow the facts of her plan, trying to avoid emotion as I owe a repeat visit to the Flint Arrows tribal lands, for sweet payback. I stretch and twist my neck trying to come to terms with the reality. My inner Hob yearns for battle, which doesn’t help.

“Alright,” I grunt out the single word and fling myself upon my bed like a petulant child.

“While Koria and Luda are low in your eyes now, I would like to take them with me. I also have others in mind if you permit them to leave.” I nod reluctantly. “Milga Stone Blood, Kor.” I raise an eyebrow. She continues, “Zoria and perhaps a Ten Spear as an escort. They would hunt in the forest out of sight of the river border of the Flint Arrows without attracting attention. The boars they capture perfect cover to lug back a set of armour.”

“Isn’t the forest heavy there? Why would you need cover?”

“I expect the Flint Arrows to become upset with their loss.” She cackles with a malicious hint. Does Duzsia hate her former tribe to that degree? “They will order a search of their lands and a watch on others. The Council will not let this sacrilege go without blood being spilt and hunters returning from the West would not appear unusual I would think. I am hopeful the odd bone we leave behind, obviously ripped free during battle by the guards valiantly defending the sacred treasure, will lead those investigating to look towards the Blood Bones first.”

“I only just asked you to go on this mission and you have already devised a plan?” I say with a trace of awe.

She returns me a smug smile, pointed teeth proud. “The mention of the mountains, easy, the tunnelling through the vines the obvious solution. Once the deed is done though you need to cover your tracks, this also means providing evidence to blame another, misdirection. While recovering, the villagers taught me how to cut the gates in the vine to ensure they remain hidden and yet better still would be to provide evidence for the Flint Arrows to look elsewhere, hence Blood Bones.”

“Do you agree to go Milga Stone Blood? I know you are pregnant as are most who will be going it seems, which strikes me as very odd, but so be it.”

“It would be my honour to accompany Duzsia the Relentless.”

They grip the forearm of each other, exchanging roguish smiles.

“You must leave at dawn tomorrow. Each day draws some closer to their day of birthing and I worry enough as it is.”

Milga casually pats my shoulder. “We are goblin, we work until the day of our birthing and after, we return to our work as if nothing has happened.”

“Not on my Farm,” I declare. “Go my second wife and ask your nominations if they accept. Remember Kor is male and while I don’t know how he would, I suspect a female body probably excites him more than a male body.”

She nods clapping her hands and leaves.

As the door closes, I face Milga and sigh. “What am I to do with Zeb, Suda, Koria and Luda?”

Milga secures the door and nonchalantly leans against the door jam. “Releasing their spirit perhaps a mistake?”

I wiggle-waggle a hand. “Possibly.”

“Will you release Duzsia, Ligia or Karo? What about Zoria?”

There is a knock on the door before I can answer. “Come in.”

Milga moves aside and opens the door. Rexa shuffles in, her eyes down.

“Lord, as your first wife I wish to lay with you every night until our child is born … I have a reason.”

Milga and I share a momentary look. “Explain.”

“Zana and Gato, Lord. You lay with them once and they fall pregnant to your fertile seed. I suspect all your wives do the same. When we started to show, you … well, you abstained afraid I suspect to hurt us or place our unborn in jeopardy. I have observed Duzsia, Lord and as your bodyguard, I know unknown to others, you serviced her the most of all your wives, happy, playful, silly Duzsia. While Koria was always first, each night we all received your seed.” She takes a breath, her hands playing, intertwining together.

“Your point my first wife?” I prompt, she is nervous and needs encouragement to continue.

“Your seed is special in some way Lord.” She expels a breath, eyes darting up stealing a look. “Zana and Gato who bore Hob children died and if you observe my belly, the shape is an out-front circle like theirs. Your other wives carry their unborn babies like other goblins, Black Suns, for example, appearing more overweight than pregnant. I am certain I carry a Hob child, Lord. Duzsia suffered injuries.” She holds up a defensive hand. “I don’t know the details but suspect being alone for so long and unable to return only serious injury would prevent her. I am certain you know the truth, so knowing that truth and reassessing her injuries and trying to find a reason why, I say to you, your seed is the key. If you agree then you will service me every night, more often if you can as only your seed will be able to assure my survival.” Her body shivers like a leaf in the wind. I notice the clenching of her loins.

She wouldn’t be standing before me delivering this speech when my fourth wife, that is for certain. “Let me think upon your words. For now, return to your duties.”

She nods and hastens from my sight. I watch her leave until the cabin door closes behind her. The nanorobots are in my system, my blood. Why couldn’t they be in my sperm? Does that make them super sperm? The thought tickles my funny bone, and I can’t contain my amusement, chuckling aloud. Yet, as a reason for Duzsia’s prodigious healing not so easily dismissed.

“You need more reason to sow your seed?” asks Milga, her words said with a hint of wonder.

“No, I am trying to reason out Rexa’s theory.”

“What? An unbelievable reason to be serviced more than your other wives. I suspect a deeper plot, your previous first wife satisfied with always going first, your present first wife eager to also exceed in the number of times, possibly jealous of Duzsia.”

“Did I really favour Duzsia with my seed?”

Milga smirks. “I couldn’t swear to an actual count, yet she was convenient, being your bodyguard.”

I scoff. “She only held the post for a short while, the position a joke really to try and give her purpose.”

Milga and I sit in awkward silence for longer than we should have. I suspect super seed would be of interest to a highly motivated huntress, now pregnant and so immune to birthing a Hob baby. I don’t want to go there, but if she asks, I wouldn’t say no as I would consider the deed reward for her unwavering loyalty and support.

She coughs and mumbles a goodbye. Guilt weighs upon me, why couldn’t I discuss the obvious with her? The cabin door closes behind my faithful companion, and I am alone. Would more of my seed have helped Zana and Gato? Any of my first wives would have received more seed than the two from the Smith Hob, is more going to make a difference? Is Duzsia an accidental beneficiary of oversupply? Super berries notwithstanding, super nanorobots would be more believable to explain her incredible injury recovery and more than subtle improvements to her physique. After all, exercise is the controlled damaging of muscle tissue, so your body rebuilds stronger. Nanorobots would enhance that recovery and Duzsia hurting over many days would explain her significant physical improvement compared to her sister-wives.

Opening my cabin door, Rexa stands before me, her fist about to knock.

“Come in.”

She skips over the threshold and scampers to my bed. As I close the door and look upon her, she throws me a questioning look. I nod and shortly after she is naked and more than willing.

---

A warm body squirms upon my chest, waking me.

Soft lips press upon mine, gentle, appreciative. “Thank you, husband.”

“Do you believe my seed will help?” I ask while running my finger down the short length of her nose.

“I doubt your seed is harmful.” She quirks her head. “Since I am sharing your company, Duzsia’s survival must have convinced you, your seed will be the difference between me and our baby’s survival otherwise you wouldn’t have indulged me.”

“Perhaps I wish to gift my new first wife with happiness?” I tease.

“Only perhaps? Your first wife is distraught with worry now thinking you don’t believe her, suspicious of her motives.” With effort, she shifts position to straddle my belly. Her baby bump, directly ‘out’. I then wonder why only one of my living wives suspects she gives birth to a Hob child. A heartbeat later the truth hits me. They must all know, of course, carrying their pregnancy much like the Blood Suns unlike this one before me. What is the difference between my wives?

“Where are you husband?” she asks while rubbing her baby bump before my eyes, the skin pale green and taunt.

“What makes you different from my other wives?” I ask. Rexa grins and leans back. I raise my knees, so my legs serve as a backrest.

“My father is a Hob, and my mother is a goblin. My stepfather fed me to fatten me as an offering to the next Farmer Hob. Does that help husband?”

Is it as simple as that? So obvious? Zana and Gato fit the theory. Genetics somehow manipulated by nanorobots, not somehow, I muse, deliberate. Otherwise, why would I be the Farmer Hob, the only Hob who spreads his seed? A seed that is manipulated by the technology within me to trigger the latent Hob gene within the Farm goblins. Oh no. What of the Farm females I 'took' while in a frenzy? Will they all die now, Hob babies too big for them to deliver naturally or too many for those who can assist to help?

A cool kiss caresses my forehead. “Slow down your thinking husband, what is done is done.”

My hands clamp upon her buttocks cheeks and I shake her playfully. Round, firm, full – from her forced diet! Yes, the nanorobots must detect the suitability of the potential mother to carry a baby to full term. Smith Hob fed Zana and Gato because they were his prized sniffers. Jotor the conniving slime fattened Rexa. The three therefore suitable mothers to be, the rest of the Farm females barely healthy enough to carry a goblin baby to term. I relax, they are as safe as they can be, their improving diet should improve their survivability and the goblin baby they carry.

Fingers tiptoe across my chest, in the company of giggling. “See husband, relax and all will be revealed. Oh, husband, you aren’t relaxing everywhere …” She wiggles her buttocks, my hands now resting upon them.

I slide my hands down to her thighs and force her to sit still. “One moment. The three you mentioned that Jotor is readying. I need to meet them without Jotor knowing, is that possible?”

She smiles a dangerous smile. “For my wonderful husband, I could report to Jotor and let him know how much I have you twisted around my little finger.” Her right-hand little finger loops around and around, by way of demonstration. “Inform him, he will soon be able to ask you for anything such is the level of your infatuation with me since you are convinced, I carry a Hob child. I will caution Jotor this may not be the case. He will try to convince me otherwise given this is his greatest hope. Arguing can take time.”

I release her thighs. Rexa raises her buttocks to position herself.

---

Rexa exits my cabin. She plans to meet Jotor during the evening feast, the other advantage of choosing this time is most Farm goblins would be attending as well. Why play this game with Jotor? I would rather simply throttle him but to do so without cause would upset the calm and security of the Farm. This includes jeopardising the harvest, now days away instead of weeks.

Why do I need to speak to the three? I need to confirm their diet, how Jotor cares for them and makes them suitable. Jotor’s perverse self-interest will inform me how I can ensure Hob children can be spawned from my loins in the future.

What of the goblin males on the Farm? They shoot blanks or does the Hob gene in the Farm females reject them? I would need to ask a Farm goblin male to mate with a tribal female goblin to be certain. For complete understanding, I would require a tribal goblin male to mate with a Farm female goblin and if my theory is correct no pregnancy should result from the union. With the introduction of the Blood Suns to the Farm, these tests will happen without my intervention so I will wait for the results.

---

I lurk in the dark, the last cabin of the original barracks under my surveillance. This is the one where I needed to eliminate a pair of traitors I recall, and it would seem no others wanted to occupy the vacancy. The lackey on duty sniffs the air and lays a hand upon his belly. He begins to pace and then places the cross beam across the door and heads off to the boar spit. His relief failing to arrive, at least not tonight as Milga has him held in conversation.

Racing to the cabin, I remove the crossbeam and crack open the door. The interior is spotless. Two sets of double bunks line the walls, three female goblins poke their heads out, their faces in shadow as dusk descends upon the Farm.

“Out of your beds and follow me now,” I command in a level voice.

“We aren’t to leave the cabin otherwise he will starve us,” whispers one.

“I have only two hands, so I can take two of you by the throat, the third I will choke to death before I leave unless you all walk to me now.”

They share looks of concern. Two females wait for the third. She tentatively extends her foot to the floor and then the other. The other two goblin females find courage and slide from their beds behind her. Their faltering walk across the cabin floor slow and as they approach closer, they stop, out of my arms reach.

“What and who are you?”

Somewhat taken aback, I take a moment to reply. “I am Lord Farmer Hob, you are on my Farm and Jotor serves me, regardless of what he has told you.”

They huddle together, sniffs and sobs beginning to rise in volume.

“Quiet,” I snarl. “To me now, before I throttle two instead of one.”

They jump in shock and take the final four steps. I don’t touch them as I believe any attempt will scatter them.

“Right, follow me, stay close.” I turn my back upon them and head towards the river.

I reach the shore and turnabout, to my relief the three huddle together, staring at me.

“Tell me everything you know.”

---

I leave the three with my special friend who occupies one of the new cabins, on her own with her newborn. More importantly, she can be trusted to keep secrets to herself and not ask any questions. For reasons known only to Jotor he asked to meet Rexa on the new western field, the stumps now removed as charcoal and the field ploughed ready for planting. With the river bubbling away on one side I creep up upon them, edging close enough to eavesdrop and hopefully quiet enough to avoid alerting them. My first wife has done well to hold him in a conversation for so long.

“You must be pregnant with a Hob baby, look at you!” Jotor hisses.

“Pfft, I won’t argue with you anymore, whatever I have I know a Hob child will kill me so you will be rid of me, while a goblin child will be a constant reminder of my failure.”

Slap. “Show a bit more gratitude, well-fed for years and now on the cusp of birthing a Hob. Until then the Hob is yours to manipulate, what more could you ask for?”

“You didn’t need to hit me.” She sobs, yet I know this is false. She snarls, “When you do, know you strike the first wife of Lord Farmer Hob and one word from me, and he would break your bones!”

There is a long silent pause. The change-over of the pecking order, not common knowledge, surprisingly or maybe not. I suspect Jeb and family kept to themselves, hardly willing to shout out their fall from on high. The return of Duzsia probably enough excitement for most.

“First wife,” utters Jotor, eventually. “I didn’t believe that possible before birthing a Hob. Perhaps their demise of greater benefit than I thought.”

His words are akin to speaking his thoughts out loud, I am not even sure he will remember saying them given his level of distraction – there is a whimsy to his voice, incredibility in fact.

“Jotor,” calls Rexa. “Jotor? I am going, you aren’t making sense and Lord Hob will miss his first wife before all others.”

“You can only leave when I say so, you owe me!” His voice rising to a loud hiss of indignation.

“How so? Obtaining the honour of the first wife is my doing and until I know what my baby is, I could be dead afterwards as easily alive.”

“What if those other two survived? What if even one of them gave birth to a Hob child? Where would you be now? I will tell you, forgotten.”

“Let go of my wrist, I must go, you don’t make sense …”

“Let me spell it out for you then. I placed the crossbar across the door leaving Lord Hob to tend to his gifted wives alone, wives he didn’t even know where his, so no great loss. With them dead, you are to the fore and you won’t forget who put you there!”

“Ow! My wrist,” shouts Rexa.

I boil. Wrath builds within me …

“Behave, you are mine, I fed you, I shoved you in front of our Hob …”

“You locked Zana and Gato in the Kitchen Cabin?” asks Rexa.

“Did those Copper Village dirt grubbers have names? Who would have thought? Well, I made certain they are no more, to your benefit. You must do your part now and squeeze out a Hob child and we will both be …”

My hand is around his neck. His legs daggle free. I flick my head and Rexa leads us back to the Farm proper. She is such a clever girl, her cheeky smile confirming she played Jotor, feigning disinterest, doubting Jotor until he needed to make it plain for the dumb female. As we approach the boar spits, now three boars roasting I notice, silence spreads over the gathering. I rest Jotor in front of me, my hand still around the back of his neck so he faces the gathering as do I.

“You should all know Jotor, my Head Goblin of Farmers. He has been plotting and conniving against me, bragging before Rexa, now my first wife of how he lowered the crossbeam on the Kitchen Cabin when I, Zana and Gato were in desperate need of help.”

The crackling of the fires under each spit the only noise as all goblins stare at me.

“If any wish to defend his actions, speak for him, plead mercy on his behalf, now is your chance.”

I survey the crowd, and none move.

I squeeze. He tries to squeak out a plea. I squeeze some more. When he becomes a dead weight, I open my mouth to declare him so and instead most of the crowd cheer and break into dance.

“Husband, you have no idea how the one who controls the food can exercise their power over others. Watch how this crowd will grow before your eyes.”

Goblins join in ones and twos, not a flood yet significant.

“How did he control the boar spit? The Ten Spears would hunt, dress and prepare the boars.”

“Yes, they did, but if the Head Goblin of Farmers threatens to deny you and your family of grain after the harvest then you agree to not show at the feast.”

The meat on one boar is completely removed before my eyes.

“How did that benefit him?”

“After, when all who attended are sated, his sycophants move in. They strip the carcasses and dry out the left-over meat to be stored. Some say he was trading the cured meat with one or more of the tribes.”

“Why wasn’t I told of this?”

“They are nothing, he was a Head Goblin.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I wasn’t your first wife. I did say I suspected Jotor of curing left-over meat for his own benefit, but Koria thought that was his duty to ensure no waste and provide for backpacks taken on trips. She made sense at the time, sorry husband.”

“His power comes from me, without me checking him I can hardly blame any others for not speaking up.”

Milga’s voice reaches me. “Lord Hob, several goblins are waiting for you to release your culprit.”

A mix of goblins gather around me, age, sex, tribal, Farm, all different, their eyes fixated upon my former Head Goblin. I release his body which crumples to the ground. Multiple feet and fists assault the body and I take several steps back to allow more to exact their revenge. Shortly after his broken body disappears into the dark of night.