Duzsia adopts the hobgoblin name of Drusia, apparently everyone except me knows somehow the first is a traditional goblin tribal name while the second is a respectable hobgoblin name. Luda keeps her name; tribal goblin naming hasn’t changed in two hundred years; I mean why would it? For me, while Klug is certainly a valid hobgoblin name my wives convince me to answer to Klar, if not husband or Lord. Why Lord? I am due an inheritance in another valley but must fight for my claim due to my young age to prove myself with only my loyal goblin Luda by my side to help. I keep company with Torngul to win fame and riches to claim back my birthright. I also took my own advice and utilised my nanorobots. In my case to alter my facial features in consultation with my wives of course, after all someone was hunting the former me and who would say they wouldn’t try again if discovered. I encouraged Duzsia to keep her face. As part of the duo trying to kill the old version of me, I am hoping they, whoever they are, will contact her again.

We cross the ford without mishap, the river lapping at the stirrups of the boar riders. Torngul, Zergoa and Duzsia ride the beasts, while I and my loyal sidekick walk practically naked a respectable distance behind. Luda playfully slaps me several times and for the life of me, I don’t know why. All I am doing is admiring the swirl of the cool river water around her chest and the wash effect upon her breasts and nipples. We reach the other bank and follow a narrow climbing trail through the trees and brush lining the river. Luda and I dress and then join the three beast riders as they wait on the edge of an expanse of grasslands, a magnificent view. Off in the distance, over the grass sea, on time give or take the length of a meal break, five mounted boars with jogging escorts, head our way.

Zergoa shifts back in her saddle, eyes firmly upon those approaching us. “The one leading is your second in command, Klugak, yet to earn his name. Without a name, he can’t rise to lead in his own right, which he desperately yearns to do. The naming limits the assassination of leaders, genius really, otherwise no leader would be safe for long. Most name their favourites and grant them lordship over recently conquered villages or tribes, which usually keeps them busy taming their unruly new subjects.”

We halt on Zergoa’s advice. It is expected and allows her more time to introduce those approaching us.

“The two either side of Klugak are his children, he has many more at his disposal. You will need to find an excuse, if not today, certainly in the near future to at least wound the male as he doesn’t have the patience of his father and will cause unrest if left unchecked. Male births are rare, because of this Klugak grants him significant latitude being his only son. You don’t need to remember their names, for you to remember a name means the hobgoblin is important to you, otherwise they are beneath your notice. His eldest daughter rides with him today, interesting. You may like to ask him why.”

I interject, “Because Torngul knows my name, that instantly ranks me higher than those two? Won’t that cause angst?”

Zergoa giggles. “I hope so. If the son takes obvious offence in front of Torngul he may take the opportunity to wound him. To kill him effectively ends Klugak’s line a most unfortunate outcome, which at this time should be avoided. The wider two riders are my honour guard sisters. It would be useful to win them as you have won me, Lord, as they know Torngul as well as I, so any intimate failing, such as in the bedroll could prove awkward.”

Torngul clears his throat and raises his chin slightly. “Lord you don’t need to be concerned. I may not be able to replicate his lovemaking style, but I will try to put into practice certain acquired skills to encourage a favourable pleasurable outcome for the female beneath me.”

I cough, while I notice Luda tense. My reaction is due more to the sophistication of the words spoken, while I suspect Luda’s is more along father-daughter boundaries.

Ignorant of me or his daughter, Torngul continues, “Overhearing your efforts almost every night while by your side has well educated me as some of your wives were intimately descriptive concerning their needs.”

Luda stamps her foot. I smirk. “Father!” hisses Luda. “Warn me when you are going to speak so in future so I can block my ears.”

Deadpan he replies, “Consider this pure revenge for the number of times Lord Klug took you to a similar height and I needed to ignore my daughter’s screams of pleasure.”

“Enough,” pleads Zergoa and she continues with haste. “Their names are Voria and Trela, while the sister I assassinated was named Brimsia. She was the best of us, so Duzsia since you are taking her place the other two will challenge you and I will be expected to as well or suffer a loss of prestige. To fight and lose is simply establishing the pecking order, to not fight is considered cowardly, so prepare for multiple challenges. If injured, you have the right to postpone but not avoid.”

Torngul adds, “Depending upon my performance in the bedroll, there could be an alternate plan which was suggested by honour guard sister Zergoa, but only time will tell on that one.”

“Father! What did I ask?” says Luda, eyes like daggers in her father’s back.

“He isn’t your father when Torngul and I need to know what will happen if I kill one of them in a challenge?” growls Duzsia while staring at Luda.

Zergoa takes a deep breath. “You can win in two ways, the first, force them from the battle circle. An opponent can step out themselves if they believe they can’t win but only after putting on a good show or if badly injured. You can also push them out of course. The other way is to draw blood three times before your opponent does. Torngul judges on everything including blood hits, drawn blood doesn’t always earn a hit especially if a trick was used for example.” Her voice deepens when speaking those last words, tricky is probably not considered honourable. In a real fight though, winning and survival is the only objective.

I return to listening.

“Any favouritism by Torngul will be weighed against past behaviour because he didn’t ever play favourites, we are risking much suggesting he has taken Lord Klar under his protection. This is a first for him and we need to stick to our tale explaining the loss of Brimsia and the heroics of Lord Klar helping to slay the assassins, hence Lord Torngul’s acknowledgement of him. We will know when the spying starts, by who does the spying and for whom if others view Lord Klar as a moment of weakness, strength, or honourable sympathy. The important thing to remember is that Torngul’s authority is absolute until it isn’t. He must demonstrate cause for his actions, wounding, death, winners, losers, decisions and even exile. So don’t act rashly or in haste like the real Torngul did when he thought two near-naked females in the care of a hobgoblin youth would be easy pickings.”

The passion in her voice reaffirms in all of us the risk we are taking trying to fool Lord Torngul’s followers. The situation we are about to find ourselves in is deadly real and I hope upon hope that Zeb takes this game seriously regardless of him trying to find evidence of Rexa’s illusion.

Torngul sits tall in the saddle with his spear ready, planting the butt end firmly upon the dusty trail.

“Greetings great one, our concern was such we rode out to locate you and if necessary, provide assistance,” states Klugak with a shallow bob of his head.

“Or perhaps to check if I am alive and be the first to pick over my bones?” replies Torngul while lowering his spear point at Klugak.

Klugak raises his hands, glancing over his shoulders clapping several times. “Never Lord, we rejoice at your return.”

Those behind him add their hand-clapping to his, casting smiles and nods as a sign of further support. Lord Torngul waves them to silence, and his eyes inspect them with purpose, finally resting upon first Voria and the Trela.

“Lord, Voria and I would request we ride as your honour guard given half of your present honour guard is unknown and therefore unproven in the eyes of those who cherish you most. Did this one.” She points her spear at Duzsia. “Defeat our sister Brimsia?” says Trela.

“A tale for another time. You two.” He flicks his hand behind him. “Fall in behind Klugak as I will allow him the honour of leading us home since he found us in good health.”

Klugak bows as deep as his body will permit while in his saddle and swings his beast about, his children follow and the foot troops behind him make way for him and his to trot through them. Zergoa and Duzsia follow in the gaps made and both honour guards in Klugak’s company make way for them by nudging their beasts aside. Voria inspects Duzsia from head to toe as her beast plods past, while Trela looks upon Zergoa with lips drawn thin. They suspect something, yet hold their tongues, waiting for their Lord to explain.

In a perfect formation, Klugak leads in triumph, his back straight, sitting tall in his saddle.

Torngul waves at Voria and Trela to ride at his side. Somehow Trela allows her beast to almost trample me before turning to follow her Lord, while Voria almost tramples Luda. Ever watchful we are both agile enough to avoid hurt and wise enough not to protest. In fact, we become the happiest ever given we follow behind three boar rumps, their tails occasionally swishing to break the tedium and the need at random to avoid boar droppings.

Voria and Trela try to ask the same three or four questions in different ways, which Lord Torngul ignores, diverting them with small talk and instead advises them he will need their assistance tonight and explanations can wait.

---

We cross an expanse of grasslands and before dusk encamp beside a trickle of a stream. I assume, if followed, it would lead back to the river and the trail we have been following cuts straight across from point A the ford crossing to point B the stream, both for the ready supply of water.

While those escorting Klugak carried weapons they were in truth the help. Torngul, his honour guard, the father and his two children sit astride their mounts until the campsite is made ready. Torngul orders myself and my faithful goblin follower to stand to one side and not move. A thin smile escapes Klugak’s lips. I also notice everyone except Luda are hobgoblins, she is unique for the moment. Is her current body’s goblin village an exception somehow? Or are the lands now divided between goblin and hobgoblin? Zergoa didn’t speak of any difference, so there must be an accepted given, common knowledge position, so common in fact, she didn’t feel the need to explain!

Servants approach each rider in turn according to reverse rank, lowest first. Klugak’s son being younger, a servant leads his beast away first and then his sister’s. I see the logic, those of lower rank are now below their superiors. Next Duzsia, then Voria, Trela, Zergoa and finally Klugak. None approach Torngul. This is also how they seat themselves around the campfire with Torngul’s boar and Torngul at the head of the circle, Klugak right, Zergoa left and so on down the list with none sitting opposite Torngul. I end up opposite Klugak’s son and beside his daughter, while Luda sits on the grass behind me. The food is brought around, in rank order, Torngul first and so on. It seems I must feed my goblin companion from my share, which I do. I allow her to eat her fill while I study the table. Still unnamed at this time, I, therefore, conclude I am unimportant and can be ignored by everyone else including Klugak’s children who don’t otherwise remain silent, offering comment, or asking questions around the campfire. Luda returns my plate and I finish the remains while eying off an aloof Zeb, playing acting his role as Torngul. He surveys the gathering, observing, and on occasion his eyes linger on Voria and Trela, until they smile, flashing teeth and tusks, and slowly, as if reluctant, he moves on.

As the servants clear the plates away Torngul surveys those around the campfire clearly picking a moment during the idle chatter suitable to him.

“Trela and Voria assist me tonight, it seems I have missed your company these past days.”

They nod and cast looks of superiority about the table, especially towards Zergoa and Duzsia. In response, Zergoa jumps up to her feet and stares with intent at Trela and Voria. “I challenge for the right to spend the night with you Great One.”

“Save your vigour honour guard, I intend to hold a tournament upon return to test my current guards and introduce new blood. While Duzsia’s addition was due to circumstance, I need to ensure she is loyal and can hold her place. And we would all agree, Brimsia was special and if a male would have proven a capable leader and warrior.” He flicks his head towards Trela and Voria and with one foot in a stirrup, he heaves his other leg over the saddle to land upon the ground in a graceful and well-honed move. One foot still in a stirrup, he glances over his shoulder smiling.

“Honour guard, catch your Lord before he falls.”

He crashes back into the waiting arms of Trela and Voria who save and support him into a standing position. Turning to face them he wraps an arm around each of their necks and draws them into him. “Come my trusted lovelies, time to show you what I have learnt.” He looks back at the faces of those around the fire, their expressions are frozen in different states of shock and he announces, “I don’t wish to be disturbed unless we are under attack.”

The looks on Trela and Voria’s faces are equally caught between delight and apprehension, yet they are in his power and accept their fate. With their Lord gone the clean-up of dishes and breakout of bedrolls begins. There is the Great One’s tent and a smaller tent for Klugak, everyone else including his children, have to sleep under the stars. Zergoa and Duzsia stand guard outside of Torngul’s tent. I believe Zeb’s actions mean he is going with Zergoa’s plan, banking on his performance in the bedroll and not waiting for the results. They catch me as I blind fall backwards an old trust exercise and I can only assume Zeb is going to great lengths to win the loyalty of two honour guards who otherwise are strangers to him, regardless of a day of small talk while in the saddle.

While difficult, I manage to sleep within earshot of Torngul’s tent, just in case Zeb needs any assistance, not truly knowing what form that would realistically take. A gentle breeze carrying the myriad of smells emanating from the picketed boars across from our bedrolls quickly reveals why this spot was available. I smile in response to Luda’s grimace, yet inwardly I feel the same. The things we do.

“… undress me first …”

“… no not like that, linger and tease … yesss”

“… now you and Voria …”

“… no rush … display and tempt …”

“… magnificent …” A slap and a moan.

“… Lord are you certain? …” slap and slap, whimpers.

Various grunts, groans, arghs and moaning until one, I am not certain which calls out his name, several times before complete silence. Then a second takes up the chant, lasting longer until silence again.

“I think we will move our bedroll, there is nothing for us here.”

Luda nods with enthusiasm and with haste rolls up both bedrolls. Our new location is far from the Lord’s tent, yet as dawn breaks, we find out not far enough.

I suspect like us, the entire camp hears his honour guard scream again and again in ecstasy post-dawn as a sort of camp morning wake up call.

I join the campfire in time to witness Voria and Trela exit Torngul’s tent. Their armour and weapons immaculate, their faces neutral while exchanging pleasantries with Zergoa and Duzsia to release them from guard duty. They march away to find their bedrolls and drop to grab some sleep, the dark green bags under their eyes betraying their need. I share my plate with Luda again and then finish my portion slowly to observe the camp. Two female hobgoblin servants attend to Torngul in his tent and shortly after, his boar is saddled and standing in front of his tent opening. Because I am paying attention, I spy him deep kissing his two honour guards before mounting his steed. With glowing green faces, they hand him his spear and at a slow walk, his mount exits the camp. Voria and Trela are soon galloping on their beasts to catch up to him. No one seems concerned that Zergoa and Duzsia are left behind as the rest of the camp is busy, rapidly decamping.

The campsite clears leaving four behind, Zergoa, Duzsia, Luda and myself. The only concession provided; whichever servant was responsible for saddling their boars, did so before leaving. I allow Zergoa and Duzsia some further sleep before waking them while Luda mumbles at me and I wave her off catching some shuteye myself.

---

“The camp left us behind?” confirms Zergoa upon sitting up after waking.

“Yes, you knew they would?”

“Of course, they follow their Lord. With two fewer honour guards, Klugak would be hopeful of defending his Lord from attack and thereby prove his worth or that of his children. They also know at a trot we can catch up.”

Taking our bedrolls, we stroll over to the boars. “I assume you and Lord Torngul have a plan?”

“Yes, Lord Klar. Even now he is suggesting to Voria and Trela that appointing Duzsia into the honour guard was a hasty appointment and is the real reason for the tournament. He needed the excuse as he felt uncomfortable with the possibility he may be forced beyond his control to, in essence, bed someone he considers near enough to be his daughter.”

Duzsia’s sigh is audible, and I glance towards her in sympathy.

“Duzsia’s loss will need to be convincing nevertheless?” I offer.

“Yes, there are a number of possibilities, but there are now six places instead of four.” Zergoa takes a breath herself. “Then there is me, Lord, I am yours, not Lord Torngul’s, so I seek your permission to lose also.”

I scratch my chin. To have someone trustworthy by his side, valuable, although forcing her would be a disservice. “I can’t say I am entirely happy but understand why. Will Torngul be able to navigate his way through this cesspit of intrigue by himself?”

“From what you say of his past he will probably be a more able administrator than the real one, if not so an accomplished a warrior with a lance, Lord. The difference he displays going forward may be his undoing.”

He will need lance training then, somewhere in secret, but if exposed questions will be asked, doubts expressed. He will more than hold his own with a bow and dagger. Perhaps switching to those weapons due to his personal vulnerability in the tent will make sense to his subjects and provide the excuse he needs to train with them. His sudden expert use in the meanwhile will be a useful surprise for any future foes or assassins who count on him always using a spear as a lance.

“Who will you lose to?”

“A fever of some sort, which I will ignore until too late. As part of this, he is telling Voria and Trela that he thinks a lapse on my part contributed to placing Brimsia in a vulnerable position, indirectly leading to her death. He is emphasising I made a tactical mistake not a deliberate mistake, but he doesn’t want to be relying on me to not repeat the same error. He is asking them to recruit possible contestants and until they have a suitable number, he won’t call the contest.”

Duzsia leans forward on her saddle. “We can talk and ride, can’t we?”

Zergoa nods and mounts her boar and then holds out a hand to assist me up, to sit behind her saddle. I catch Duzsia looking about, and I add my set of eyes to the search, where is Luda?

Bursting through a nearby brush a thinnish hobgoblin falls flat on their face, with Luda dancing around the unfortunate. I note the hobgoblins legs are tied at the ankles and the hands are tied behind their back.

“A present Lord, it seems I have caught a spy. A might too loud to deceive me.”

A land of hobgoblins, unused to goblin hearing? While there is at least one goblin village there are no goblins keeping company with hobgoblins except me. A nice advantage going forward.

“You must steal her Spirit, Lord,” suggests Zergoa. The captive struggles in silence.

“I promised her if she screams, she dies Lord,” adds Luda helpfully.

A skinny immature she, if truly female I judge.

Zergoa turns in her saddle to plead her case further. “We must find out who sent her, if we slay her, they will send another and investigate her murder and if we let her live, we need to ensure she repeats none of what she overheard.”

I slide off the back of the boar and crouch down. I turn her head to face me. She is young as I guessed, barely of age. I suspect an acceptable loss for those who sent her, or perhaps the only one available, a star student perhaps sent out at short notice. This means one of those who met us on the trail slipped away during the night in haste, so our spy could double-time back to be present to eavesdrop in the morning or maybe not.

I look up at Zergoa. “Are there such things as carrier pigeons or message-carrying crows?”

Her shaking head and look of confusion confirm the need for a runner and therefore proves an informant accompanied Klugak’s search party.

I scoop up our captive and head to the nearby stream, every step I take I feel her tremble in my arms. Tears begin to flow. “Please Lord, you can’t, you aren’t a Priestess. I thought the goblin joked when she threatened my spirit. Or are you taking me to my death? I will be yours. I swear to be loyal and true.”

“What of your current employer?”

She spits on a nearby tree. “They took me from the streets, an orphan, fed me clothed me and started training me. I was only sent because no one else was available and I sprinted here under threat of death. I can say I arrived at dawn, and the Lord left before the camp broke, that is true and will be confirmed by his many servants. I only lingered because the boar mounts fascinate me … I now ask myself, why was I so foolish.”

“Boarshit!” Her tears dried up as her story unfolded and was spoken flawlessly, rehearsed perhaps in case of capture. The added touch of the pause and lament at the end not convincing either.

“Truth, Lord. I promise!”

I feel like putting her over my knees and smacking her buttocks red but capturing her spirit if less physical will yield the absolute truth. I find a suitable tree to hang her by her tied wrists and begin to remove her clothes until her pants are around her ankles and her shirt and light leather vest are unlaced. She is young but I am certain now as I gaze upon her body, trained from birth. Her entire body has honed muscle groups, the very definition of a lithe body type. Being semi-naked though silences her, there is still some training yet to be completed I would wager. I tie her legs below the knees and then untie the ankles and remove her pants and smalls. Dainty linen pantalets instead of loincloth, a surprise piece of apparel for someone recruited from the streets. I then tie her at the torso to the tree I am hanging her from. Untying her hands, they immediately go for my eyes. I step back.

“If you like I can stomach punch you and while bent over in pain, remove the rest of your clothes.”

Given she is a spy, possibly an assassin trained from birth given her body, I am glad I decided to take no chances with her. Upon her escape, I would need to give chase which could lead to anything. This way I am in control and determine her fate.

“Why do you need me naked? Don’t females show you any favour unless you tie them up against their will?” she chastises.

Stepping forward and before she can do anything I whip her clothes over her head trapping her arms. She struggles but her efforts hasten the removal. By folding her clothes neatly and placing them upon a nearby rock my hope is she realises I don’t threaten her life. I grab her arms, and bind them at the wrist and then release her from the tree and throw her over my shoulder. Stepping on rocks and between fallen branches we end up beside the shallow stream, chancing upon a pool of water deep enough to submerge a head at least.

She resists, but then who wouldn’t. When still, I pull her out of the water, lay her upon the ground nearby and breathe life back into her. A dread pall falls over her face as I feel her spirit enter me.

“It’s true … true. A male Priest of Klug, the impossible is true but how?”

“I can answer your question if you answer mine. Service or death?”

“Will I be in pain? I have heard the Priestess always make you suffer, the cost of faithful worship.”

I cradle her in my arms and look into her eyes. “I promise on my life there will be no suffering.”

“Then I agree, Service.”

I will her spirit back to her keeping the shadow replica within me. I release her and point to her clothes. She takes one incredulous look at me and then bolts.

“Stop!”

Her will to run ceases and her lithe body tumbles naked onto the rough ground beside the stream. When I reach her, I inspect her body, several scratches are slowly oozing blood while others will result in bruises. Her eyes are as wide as plates. Her mouth tries to but can't find the words to speak.

“My control over you is absolute. I am not a Priest of Klug, I am Klug.”

She faints.

I carry her back to the stream and splash her face with water until she wakes. She immediately tosses and turns trying I believe, to convince herself this is all a dream.

“You have become part of something bigger through no fault of your own and if proven willing and loyal and if you request to be, I will release your full spirit back to you. Until then though you must serve me loyally and faithfully.”

I know those final words are in essence more than a simple plea from me to her, with her spirit under my command they are binding instructions.

“Yes, Master.”

“Now let us heal your wounds.” I prick my finger with my dagger. “Suck the blood from my finger, this is a test as well as a cure.”

She leans forward and her sucking is less functional and more seductive, her vulnerable eyes deliberately capturing mine. From her early lessons in this area? I inspect her bleeding cuts; the blood seems to have congealed but that is natural and to be expected. I am searching for the unnatural.

“My blood contains small helpers called nanorobots, they should if you are a distant relative of mine activate the nanorobots which already exist in your blood. They would have been passive before now, in the past perhaps you noticed an injury recover quicker than expected, recover from an illness sooner than normal. Each relative has a different sensitivity to and concentration of these helpers, but mine will activate yours, giving them a kick to work harder for you.”

I trace my finger along a cut and scoop some water onto the wound site. She shivers, goosebumps rise upon her skin.

“There, all better.” I look up and my eyes meet hers.

She wraps her arms around my neck, our heads are side by side and she whispers, “The truth, you speak no lies to me, do you?”

“I will always speak the truth to you, and you should always speak the truth to me, because I will always be able to tell you are lying, your spirit will tell me.” I smile, even though she is unable to see me.

“Will I now be at my best, since you have activated my helpers?”

“There is a possible further step. You though I believe are young and insignificant in the scheme of things, therefore I can spare you the ordeal.”

She pulls her head back and faces me. “Truth. Tell me.”

I search the stream for an answer, or a near truth and utterly fail to find one. “My seed like my blood contains helpers, receiving them will go beyond activating yours. My seed adds new helpers to yours. This transfer will require more than simply sucking on my finger, you understand what I am saying?”

“I am naked.” Her hands cup her modest breasts, while her eyes look from under her eyebrows. “Take me completely, claim what is yours fully.”

I am about to object when several of her fingers press upon my lips.

“I insist regardless of consequence.” Without effort, she throws a supple leg on either side of my torso. “You command me to betray my current family, and most don’t survive that particular choice for long.” Her eyes find mine as she wraps her hands around the back of my neck interlocking her fingers. “Therefore, if you wish to help me survive you will do as I ask.” While pouting, her hands pull on the back of my neck and in perfect coordination she contracts her torso muscles. Each iteration edges her crotch forward across my lap until I feel her slam into mine. “Give me your seed Lord Klug and make me the most perfect spy and deadly assassin ever and solely dedicated to your service.”

The feeling of her naked crotch grinding downwards forces my body to rise to meet her challenge. Licking her lips she then presses them against mine and I lose control.