Cooking smells wake me. Immediately after a howl of anguish alerts me and I bolt upright in my bedroll. A glance towards the fire pit and my new worshipper is busy cooking, undisturbed. So, the pain is personal, and we aren’t in any danger. Duzsia, like me, is looking about. Like lightning, she sprints from tending the boars across the stones to the riverside. I jump to my feet and do the same. Luda is slapping the chest of the female hobgoblin, crying, and whimpering for her sister.

I pick my goblin wife up in my arms and carry her back to the campfire.

“Her return may yet happen. There was never a guarantee, wife. The female may not have been a distant relative of mine, plain and simple.” I stroke her hair. “There will be other opportunities if this one fails.”

Her head moves in my arms and our eyes meet. “Koria would have enjoyed that body, for a start an archer’s callouses would have already been earnt,” she sobs.

Or more to her heart’s yearning, your sister would have joined us now instead of an unknown time in the future. I say nothing of my thoughts and kiss her forehead instead, before seating her in front of the firepit. I am served a plate, which given the four fried eggs, I assume is mine, I hand my plate to Luda instead.

I meet Duzsia halfway between the camp and the riverside.

“The female is a corpse still husband. Time to check on the male?”

I nod and we jog over the stones heading upriver. Finding the rope, we scout along its length locating the scattering of stones from the beast’s hooves and crashing body. A trickle of black blood, probably when the male hit his head due to his fall … nothing else.

“This is the spot,” I say, more to confirm with myself than inform Duzsia.

“Husband, here.”

Duzsia is heading away from the riverbank, crouching every so often and then scanning the ground and bushes ahead.

She points out a wet hobgoblin footprint, drying in the morning sunshine. We exchange a smile and hurry on.

We discover the hobgoblin body under the shade of the first tree to be worthy of the name, a good distance from the river, clear of the stones at the start of good enough soil to support the growing of a tree instead of brush. I peer at the body, there is still a shallow rise and fall of the chest. Alive then. Black blood bathes the bandage and splints on the broken leg, perhaps Zeb, if it is Zeb, thought it stronger than it was. Either pain, exhaustion or both halted his escape.

I knee beside him and tap his cheek. No response. I glance up at Duzsia, who is chewing her lower lip. She knows as well as I, he needs help, his scramble from the river on a broken leg has overloaded the nanorobots and away from the river the number activated in this body have no water to assist.

“How do we carry him? He is taller than both of us, so a walking carry would probably drag if it works and make his broken leg worse.”

I think of his spear, broken in two perhaps and then cloth tied to each pole? I look around, a few saplings could serve the same purpose.

“We need some saplings and our pants legs …”

Duzsia throws me a quizzical look and then shrugs.

---

The stretcher worked when I remembered the need to place cross beams between the poles. The poles kept closing when the body was loaded on, so once braced – we needed to use our shirt sleeves to tie the cross beams to the poles, progress. Duzsia and I stretcher his body back to the river next to the female corpse, deliberately leaving half of his near-naked body in the water. With a prop, the stretcher becomes a shade for Luda and his head only, while she waits once again beside a body hoping for the return of someone dear to her. When I called him, did he only half believe? Was his wait in the black torture? I linger trying to think of words or actions to make Luda feel better but in truth the only guarantee she wants to hear I can’t give her. Instead, I observe the potential future body of her father. The accumulating layers of fat now beginning to even out the corded muscle definition on the hobgoblin’s body, the extra weight a drag in combat for sure. Zeb Stone Grim would need to correct that slow slide and we would need to find new linen pants and shirt for him as both were used to bind his wounds and in the making of the stretcher. If we can’t, I wonder if anyone we meet before we can, will notice?

Duzsia and I spend the day with my new worshipper learning all we can about boar mounts. By late afternoon the three of us ride the beasts, that is to say, Duzsia and I nudge with our knees, and they walk roughly in the direction we pull on the reins. Our banter becomes infectious enough for our teacher to finally grace us with a smile. Then the lesson suddenly ends leaving us on our mounts and staring after her as she goes about preparing dinner. We continue to ride for a time, both of us observing Luda talking to the hobgoblin, there are no obvious signs of joy, not a single laugh, so we dismount and return the beasts to grazing.

Duzsia and I approach Luda, overhearing her call the hobgoblin father, and more. The pleading in her voice cuts to my soul as she tries to convince him of who he is and how he is once again alive.

“Zeb Stone Grim,” I call.

From the cradle of his daughter’s lap, his head turns until our eyes meet. “Is this young hobgoblin truly Lord Farmer Hob I now see through a stranger’s eyes? My daughter has been explaining the impossible.” He shakes his head.

“First thing you need to know is that there are helpers called nanorobots within your body trying to heal and repair which work best if fed water, so you need to stay where you are for now with your broken leg in the river. Once your body is healed and its strength is returned, we can explain further.”

Luda dunks a cloth in the river and then lays the damp cloth across his forehead. “I have fed him husband and given him water to drink …”

Her eyelids flicker trying to disguise growing tears. “I will bring you a bedroll so you can spend the night with your father.”

She nods as I grab Duzsia by the arm and we head back to the camp.

A plate is before me, and I push it back. “I must deliver a bedroll first. Feed Duzsia.”

My new companion springs to her feet bedroll to hand. “Master that is a task for me, you must eat while I fetch and carry to meet your needs.”

I hold out my hand and she begrudgingly gives me the bedroll.

As I walk away, I overhear Duzsia snarl, “He doesn’t want a slave or servant, he wants a strong capable partner, hence we are his wives and you confuse him with your fawning, worse you fear him …”

---

Dusk is upon us as I return to the camp and note only Duzsia waits for me, uselessly prodding the dying embers of the fire pit with a stick.

“Where?”

“Your new companion and I had a one-on-one woman chat and I suspect she has gone off to sulk.”

I can relate to her frustration, some, like Zoria for instance, for whatever reason just don’t fit in, one way or another. “While inconvenient, I will release her spirit back to her. There is a risk she will tell every one of her meetings with me, a Priest of Klug. We will lose her skills dealing with the boars as well as her knowledge of her former master and his position, but she is in pain every moment she spends with us, well, with me in truth.” My Hob nature growls at me. Hello old friend, I mentally greet him. I acknowledge death would be best, but only if there is clear doubt … he grumbles to cold silence.

“I agree husband. If she returns, then in the morning will be easiest? Zeb should be on his feet by then so probably best she isn’t one of us when we try to introduce him to our new existence.” She reaches for my arm. “Be warned husband, he won’t be the Zeb of old, Rexa broke him and to rebuild his confidence will take devotion and time.”

I smile. “Another reason we don’t need an unnecessary distraction like a new worshipper?”

“Your words, not mine husband, but I do agree with them.”

We knock shoulders together and chuckle. Two past lives reforging our familiar relationship, although her ferocious relentlessness now seems tempered, suspension in the black good for her in some macabre way.

A deliberate scuffle if ever I heard one and then a silhouette appears out of the dark marching forward until the embers reveal my new worshipper in all her glory. Gone are the linen clothes, before me stands a warrior archer in full armour, bow in hand, quiver on hip and sheathed dagger on the other. Most importantly the confident baring she displayed when upon the high riverbank is present in abundance.

“I am Zergoa, daughter of the Huntress Torgoa the last of her tribe, former Boar Rider honour guard of Torngul Heartsplitter may his deeds live on after his death. I no longer wish to slave or serve but prove my worth in battle, hunting and providing counsel. What say you Priest of Klug?”

“What would you say if I told you I am not a Priest of Klug?”

For an instant, her face screws up, then recovery. I note a modicum of confidence fade from her posture, yet she endures and continues to stand resolute. “I am not afraid.”

“I am Lord Klug.”

A slow smile of relief graces her face, a realisation, her eyes shine as tears run down her cheeks and then a gush of babbling words. “Everything is clear now, a male cannot be a Priest of Klug unless he is Lord Klug. Only Lord Klug could call past lives back into his service and only Lord Klug could capture this pathetic hobgoblin’s spirit so utterly. This absolute beyond what is said a Priestess can do for many have chosen suicide instead of servitude and I couldn’t even choose that.” She catches a breath. “Not that I would now, of course, knowing the truth even if I could, which I know I can’t ...”

She lays down, her forehead touching the ground and then rises to her feet. I stand and wave her over to me and without hesitation she advances into my embrace. I kiss her forehead and admire her glowing face. She touches her fingers to her lips, her eyes asking. I place a kiss upon her lips and when our lips part, she speaks.

“I wish to earn the right to be called your wife and be able to offer my future spirit to be called to your side no matter the test of waiting.”

Duzsia embraces both of us. “Possible wife material husband?”

“Possible, yes,” I agree as I kiss both, lingering upon Duzsia’s hungry lips.

A hand draws my face back. “If I am to be your wife, I will need to practice wifely kissing Lord Klug.”

With that said she plants her lips upon mine and attempts to replicate Duzsia’s passion and duration.

A clearing of a throat breaks up our celebration as arm in arm we all turn our attention to the instigator.

“Armour on a nervous, insecure and fearful fool doesn’t make them any more than they were,” snaps Luda.

“What is amiss with your father?” I say with kindness.

Tears barely held back burst forth. “He believes this all a trick, raving on and on about Rexa and how he won’t let her trick him again …”

“Does she mean the High Priestess Rexa?” asks Zergoa.

Luda stops crying, while Duzsia and I turn to face her.

“Does the High Priestess Rexa still live?”

“Yes, Lord although her appearances are rare, normally only on the High Holy Day if the rumours are true.”

The Agent as a goblin lived for two hundred years or thereabouts, the vat-grown body augmented of course. My blood would have contained numerous nanorobots and the consumption of them would have assisted and protected all my wives, but what if one wife drank the most and for the longest. The nanorobots would have preserved the blood. Would the volume be increased if water was added? If that is the case does the High Priestess consume nanorobots daily as well as those she favours? No wonder everyone fears her and her Priestesses. What did Tomgul Heartsplitter say, even the youngest of the arrogant Priestesses announce themselves. What if these are young in appearance only due to the consumption of my blood from a young age? That would mean Rexa shares, which I find difficult to believe given what my wives have told me. What if true though?

“Husband!” snaps Duzsia. A feel a slap on my arm.

I blink. “Yes?”

“We thought we lost you somehow.”

“No, trying to reason what could have happened, none of this welcome because if true, Rexa, High Priestess of Klug has become a long-lived tyrant. Most civilisations can survive a tyrant because in a lifetime they die, and they rarely do so with a succession plan.”

This world before my arrival was stuck, due to the controlling Hobs. Has Rexa accomplished the same these past two hundred years or has resistance to her spurred-on ingenuity and imagination? Are the examples of arms and armour proof? The craftmanship I have seen to date? Another thought weighs upon me. The bright light, the greeting and therefore awareness of who they encountered. No, not just a bright light, the brightest light of a relative of mine, yet she isn’t a blood relative. Maybe I have this wrong, and the brightness is tied to the concentration and activity of nanorobots within an individual. I can assume the High Priestess of Klug would by far contain more nanorobots than anyone else on this planet, my present body included. Now that is an unpleasant thought and what’s more, all of my making.

“We need Zeb to recover, physically first and while he is doing so, I will talk with him.”

Zergoa strokes my bald head. “Lord, we don’t have much time. I expect an honour guard to be sent to search for Torngul. If they find him dead, they may choose to avenge him, bad for anyone nearby or they may rush back to assume his position, claim his riches, and try to hold onto his influence and then order his murders found.”

“I will need to spend all of tonight with Zeb, we need him to be the Torngul he never was.”

“Would I be permitted to accompany you, Lord? I may, given I am not any of you, be able to help. I won’t join you now, I need to prepare first,” asks Zergoa.

“He is my father! I must help him before her,” snaps Luda.

She tries to back away as I approach but gives in to my hug. “You have done enough, spending all day with him time for you to rest and the night shift to try.”

She balls her fists and strikes my chest. I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me, oblivious Luda continues until the strength to do so leaves her arms. “Be gentle, his mind is frail,” she whispers in defeat.

Duzsia takes her from me and with that I approach my former Speaker of Law and Master of Children.

---

“Can you stand without pain yet?” I ask.

I sense his suspicion, although the venom in his words is also a fair indication. “What, so you can have me running around pretending to be someone else to suit whatever devious plan you have in mind? Or is it her plan and you are just another actor, another plough in her field of deceit?”

“I am who I say I am, although my appearance has changed, due to my spirit claiming another’s body shortly after their death, like you.”

He flaps a hand in my direction and sneers. “Or the High Priestess captured your spirit like mine and planted it in another body causing their death or shortly after.”

I pick up a smooth river stone. “Did she have that power during your time with her?”

“Not exactly but she claimed Lord Klug visited her trying to return and she would need to perfect a ceremony of its like to ensure a suitable vessel was made ready.”

Using my thumb, I clean some adhering sand off the stone. “Is the Luda who spent the entire day with you, your daughter?”

“She tried to convince me, recalling many things …”

“Did you bury your daughter upon her death?”

His body tenses and I think for a moment he tries to stand, instead he grabs at the stones with each hand and settles back onto his stone bed. “No. I died before both of my daughters as a father should.”

“Why are you so certain they have died? How many years do you think have passed since your death?”

“My not-daughter says over hundred years have passed, so they must have died, no goblin can live longer than fifty.”

“Yet you and I are still agents of the High Priestess?”

He drops stones from his hands I didn’t realise he had hold of and casts his face towards the river. “She lives forever, supping on Lord Hob’s blood. She divided the original vat in two. The pure she kept for herself the other half she diluted with water until full. She would award the diluted as a reward to her sycophants while she drank from the other. A secret I took to my grave because who would I tell who could challenge her anyway?”

“Why do you tell me now, wouldn’t I tell her that others know her secret if in league with her?”

He sits up, his face in mine, his finger stabbing at my chest. “Others knew, like Zoria. She did nothing. I tried to tell Milga, but she fretted over her daughter ignoring all else.”

I inspect his resting finger on my chest with my eyes. He withdraws the digit. “Well, your fears are truth from what I can tell. The High Priestess of Klug, Rexa is still alive after two hundred years or thereabouts. Given her reign of terror has been made in my name, I aim to curtail or destroy her. I thought a good place to start would be to recall all those bound to me due to the drowning ceremony.” I cast him a look. He frowns. “I can’t bring back their bodies, of course, I can’t even bring back my own, all worm food or ashes now, so I needed to find other bodies. Fresh kills, unfortunately, so I must shoulder that guilt.” I pause for a moment to collect my thoughts. “Your body previously belonged to Torngul Heartsplitter a boar rider and leader of some notoriety and said to be fearsome in battle. I need a Zeb who can play at being Torngul. I need a Zeb that believes I am Lord Farmer Hob in another body. I need a Zeb that believes his daughter has returned to me and because she has means she has returned to Zeb Stone Grim as well. If you can’t be that Zeb, then it is best for us both if Torngul dies again, tonight, so when his honour guard arrives in the morning checking why he hasn’t returned to his camp for two nights they find his body so they can either swear revenge or return to claim his power and possessions while we run off and devise another plan.”

Zergoa crouches down beside both of us. “Lord Klug, if I may?” She shakes Torngul’s helm at both of us.

Zeb and I must have the same look of disbelief or misunderstanding on our faces as she explains further.

“Whether he decides to believe he is this Zeb person returned to your service or not and can play the role of Torngul or not it will be much easier to dress him in his arms and armour when alive. When I am finished you can kill him then and the blood will spill naturally. I suggest in the back.” She nods towards the female hobgoblin. “A given in my opinion because my honour guard sister has been slain by an arrow which could only have been delivered due to treachery. Since my body won’t be found I will accept being blamed for both assassinations, although I much prefer, if you Zeb, trust Lord Klug to avoid such a fate which includes the ruination of my family line.”

Zeb points his finger at Zergoa. “How do you know he is Lord Klug?”

“Because one moment I was a loyal honour guard of Torngul Heartsplitter and then after being drowned by Lord Klug and returning he held my spirit in his keeping.”

With absolute authority, I say, “Zergoa, use your dagger and stab yourself in the neck.”

My inner Hob rejoices, yet he suspects me.

She blinks and reaches for her dagger. Dagger to hand she searches for the ideal placement using the tip, a bead of black blood spring forth from the scratch. “I serve you in life and death Lord Klug.” She then draws back and plunges the dagger towards her throat.

Two hands prevent her death, both belonging to Zeb Stone Grim. One around her dagger hand, the other as a shield around her throat. Zeb grunts, “Tell her to stop, I am not certain how long I can save her.”

“Zeb Stone Grim the goblin patriarch of the Flint Arrows would have the determination while I suspect Torngul Heartsplitter hobgoblin boar rider would have the strength after all your leg should be fully healed after a day in the water.”

He spits. “You would risk my strength failing? She to kill herself. Why?”

“I need Zeb Stone Grim to cast off the shadow of High Priestess Rexa and believe Lord Farmer Hob has returned to right her wrongs and like before I need his counsel and stewardship skills not forgetting he needs to be someone else while doing so. Nothing less, otherwise death.”

His eyes stare into mine. “I will release my grip, I will!”

“The Zeb Stone Grim I knew would not allow an innocent to die if he could prevent it, so let her go to her death if you deny your true self otherwise hold on until you no longer can as the name Stone Grim proclaims your true nature.”

“You are cruel Lord Farmer Hob to test the faith of an old goblin so. She wanted you to return, expected you to return … absolute was and probably still is her belief and here you say you are. You win, I will give you the benefit of my many doubts while I search for more proof one way or the other. Good enough?”

I nod. “Zergoa relax. You need to dress Torngul Heartsplitter now.”

Zeb jerks back when Zergoa releases the dagger and I catch him before he falls back upon the stone. The back of his other hand sustains a shallow cut, beads of black blood pop to decorate it. I wrap a cloth around his hand and leave them to their task.

I stumble back to our camp by sensing two huddled life-forces in the dark of the night. I take the bedroll opposite, Zergoa’s, to avoid disturbing them. I fall asleep immediately.

---

“Morning husband to be,” whispers Zergoa in my ear.

I only now realise who provided the warmth during my sleep as her body spoons mine, her hand gliding across my lower abdomen. As punishment, I roll towards her. She giggles and kisses my neck. I lightly slap her thigh and sit up. The three boars are saddled and ready. Torngul Heartsplitter to be and Duzsia chatting beside them, novice leading novice I suspect. Luda is busy, preparing a fire in the firepit throwing glances at Zergoa and I.

“Have you had a chance to talk to your father?”

“Yes, husband, although he only answers to the name of Torngul Heartsplitter now, it seems he must get into the role you have asked him to play.” With furious strength, she snaps and throws several sticks upon the growing fire.

“For a few days at least, then we will see,” I offer.

“No husband. Torngul was an important hobgoblin, he will have duties and tasks and they will be endless. I have gained my father only to lose him the next day.” She slaps a pan down amongst flames and what must be the last of our eggs she cracks and throws in with some shell fragments. “You will be able to break your fast shortly, Lord.” The snark in her voice is plain to hear.

Behind me, Zergoa had already rolled away and when I glance behind me, I confirm she is dressed and ready for battle.

“With your leave, I will begin the education of Torngul, so he has some chance of convincing the soon to arrive honour guard.”

“Do we have much time?”

She nods. “They will arrive the same time of day when we first met you, Lord. Maybe slightly earlier. I would suggest we are across the ford and riding back to his camp when we meet the honour guard, this will also allow Torngul to become more familiar with his mount and recover from any river crossing mishap without judgement. We can’t afford for him to fall off in front of those who know him best. Except to relieve himself and sleep, when travelling, he is never off his boar.”

I smile. “Not even when meeting others? Like those who serve him?”

“Never then Lord. He sits above them, always.”

I nod and she runs off to begin lessons. I turn back and find a plate of eggs on my lap. “Thank you, wife.”

“Well, that is the last, I will hunt since I am not anyone official. With your leave Lord?”

I place my plate to one side and grab her forearm. She tugs against me, yet hobgoblin strength beats goblin strength every day of the week, so little by little I draw her to me. Laying her down on the bedroll I spoon around her, one arm under her head my larger fingers lacing themselves between hers. My lips close enough to kiss her neck on occasion while my other arm reaches to the plate and feeds her half an egg and then myself the other half. I ignore the occasional crunch. Once we finish, I prevent her escape and we lay together listening to Zergoa school Zeb to be Torngul while riding his saddled boar in circles of eight. Duzsia begins to pack up camp around us, occasionally smiling at us or Luda in particular.

“Duzsia, can you prepare a modest pyre for our female corpse. It would do no good for anyone to find her body pierced by an arrow that smacks of ambush. Also, ask Zergoa if you were to wear the honour guards armour and wield her weapons, would Torngul recruit a new member of his honour guard while travelling. The loss and recruitment could explain his delay.”

“Yes, husband … although Zeb, I mean Torngul and Zergoa have already discussed such a scenario and have more or less agreed to it.”

“No one thought to inform me?” I ask with some indignation.

“You were busy.” She nods towards Luda. “Preparations can’t wait is what I was told.” She giggles.

As I reach out to slap her leg she dodges and skips away. Luda takes this opportunity to roll around until we are face to face.

“Thank you, husband but we must be about our business to ensure our play is convincing otherwise more will die needlessly.”

---

Preparations complete and I observe Duzsia huffing while pulling and prodding at her newly acquired cuirass and if I can believe my eyes, trying to tuck and prod her breasts into position.

“Duzsia, what are you doing?” My amusement begs me to escape.

Her eyes snap up to meet mine, failing as mine are firmly fixed upon her breasts, particularly the fleshy portions trying to escape captivity. I almost chuckle, but hold back knowing my wife may not appreciate the situation as well as I.

“If you must know. Eyes up please husband.” She stamps a foot, and I surrender my viewing pleasure in the name of wifey peace. “The cuirass is leather on the outside with shaped metal underneath, and I seem to have larger breasts than the previous owner. The side strap throngs are at their extreme while still providing secure binding so try as I might I will be running into battle with two bulges of flesh above the lip of the cuirass to the amusement of friend and foe alike.”

I do like the view, but there is a simple if time-consuming solution.

“Sit.”

She pouts and joins me in a sitting position upon the stones.

“Feel for your nanorobots, they travel in your blood, some are already busy in your heart. They are attending to your body as a cleaner would a house, they have found a routine that benefits you and keeps them busy. Do you sense them?”

Several moments pass by. The river trickles in the background, brush rattles as a steady breeze fans the leaves and her face relaxes, all tension going …

“Yes!” She starts to rock in place. My hand rests upon her shoulder and she stops.

“Good, now imagine a result. For instance, reduce both of my breasts and convert the flesh to muscle and strengthen my upper arms. When you do this always imagine both. Both breasts, both pairs of muscle groups. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“Yes, husband. Except I will strengthen the muscle groups across my shoulders to steady my archery pull and thereby improve my accuracy.”

“Drinking or soaking in water will always assist, bathing the area in sunlight will provide energy to feed the nanorobots and is probably something we should all do if we are going to wear full armour every waking moment. Usually, sunlight on arms, legs and the face is enough otherwise.”

Her eyes turn on me with a sly look. “You certain you aren’t making an excuse, encouraging me in fact to display my breasts for your boyish carnal pleasure, husband?”

I radiate back the most hurtful expression I can muster. “Time is short wife, and my advice is to ensure you are comfortable in your cuirass when we meet our rescue party. Nothing more and nothing less I assure you.”

“Mm … if I am to lay naked in the shallows of the river then having a jealous husband watch over me is probably the ideal, even if his motivation is self-interest.”

I offer my hand and as she rises her lips seek out mine. “Be a good husband and unstrap my cuirass please?”