By mid-morning, after jogging non-stop I catch up to Zergoa and Duzsia ambling along on their two beasts. Trudging ahead out of earshot is the rest of the camp with Klugak bolt upright in the saddle, leading the way.

“Did you teach our spy any tricks Lord?” asks Luda while suppressing a giggle.

The gentle breeze which has been chasing me all morning dries the thin sheen of sweat on my face, refreshing me, and ensuring the stink of the boars runs away from my nose. A happy circumstance, Luda’s question, not so much and before the silence stretches to an awkward length, I try to pick my words carefully.

“She was young, and I felt awful doing what I did, her spirit shadow squirms within me now. Not as unsettled as yours was Zergoa, but close.”

“She was a trained spy then?” pipes up Duzsia.

“She claimed to be an orphan forced into service initially, the truth different, trained from birth so I assume she is a daughter of one of the families reaching for more power or a minor family who serves them.”

Luda slides from Duzsia’s boar. “So, all that time away you didn’t obtain her full story, like, you know, every little detail no matter how trivial?” She doesn’t hide from me a wink she throws at Duzsia. “I am surprised, Master.”

“She, it seems interrogated me more thoroughly than I, her,” I admit.

Zergoa glances over her shoulder. “What does that mean, Master?” Her voice sounding hard on the last word.

“Confess Master, Zergoa smells a rat as do we,” adds Duzsia who then proceeds to laugh, imagining my discomfort I suspect as she doesn’t look back.

“I healed some of her scratches by offering some drops of my blood to activate her nanorobots.”

“Wait, Master. I thought the Spirit bonding did that, explain,” demands Zergoa.

“They both do so in different ways which lead to the same result, and I wanted something visual for her so she could appreciate the gain, see the source and observe the result. She then asked what else could boost her performance, explaining that those who betrayed the family rarely survived and if I wanted to give her every chance then she needed all I could offer.”

Duzsia and Luda share a look and then burst out into laughter. I feel through our spirit bond Zergoa is like an erupting volcano, missing out but not certain what to be angry about. Duzsia calls to Zergoa to halt. She then guides her beast sideways across the trail. “Luda layout two bedrolls side by side. Zergoa, dismount.” Arms crossed resting on the saddle front, leering, Duzsia adds, “Did she cast any sad eyes upon you Master or was her youthful intellect so mesmerising she addled your brain?”

I send her a curt dismissive smile and mouth closed, I await my fate like a goblin to the slaughter.

Shortly after Luda stands back to admire her efforts and then turns to me. “Tell her Master, tell Zergoa your deep secret.”

Zergoa shuffles forward until our faces are a hand length apart. “Master?”

I sigh, throw a menacing glance at Luda, and explain, “If you receive my seed, the nanorobots within are like you receive extra immediately, boosting your physical and some mental abilities essentially overnight instead of your body growing nanorobots over the next few ...”

She slaps my face. I can’t say I don’t deserve it, yet I can’t just hump everyone I complete the drowning ceremony with, can I?

“I apologise, but such intimate contact should be special, there should be the honest joining of two people making love not two bodies having sex …” I stop my pleading. Zergoa is already working furiously to remove my shirt, while Duzsia who now it seems is dismounted and with an eagerness, a wild animal takes to a fresh kill, unlaces my pants. Luda meanwhile works on Zergoa’s armour and clothes, only the bottom half I note. I guess I misjudged the general desire for hobgoblins to improve in any way they can. Somehow, standing there while my clothes are being unceremoniously tugged off me, I feel I am going to be used again and again and the ratio of male to females in the hobgoblin population isn’t going to help the situation. Although a more conservative use of the drowning ceremony will help curtail future demands, I hope.

---

“Zergoa!” commands Torngul Heartsplitter who then leans across to pat Voria’s thigh. “Make room for your honour guard sister, my pet, I need to question her.”

“Anything for my Lord,” she purrs.

Under duress, Luda relays to me the Lord Torngul’s whispers, while I try to hold a straight face as she does. Klugak still leads the way, while our group, after we caught up follows directly behind Torngul and his two honour guards riding on either side of him. The rest of the camp continues while Lord Torngul halts and we pause behind him.

“You and the other didn’t escort me this morning? Why?” growls Torngul, loud enough for all in the immediate area to hear.

“We stood guard all night Lord, you are usually finished … earlier.” She casts her eyes down.

“Ha! Have you so soon forgotten my prowess after being guided by Lord Klar’s tutorage?”

“No Lord, except I thought …”

Lord Torngul lifts his eyes to the sky. “Yes, I still recall the sweet mewling’s of Brimsia as I brought her to ecstasy while under your protection?” His eyes now centre upon Zergoa, his voice growls. “And what of the worth of your protection on that day?”

Zergoa raises her eyes to look upon her Lord. “I slew four of the assailants …”

“And to do so the attackers drew you away, baited you like a fool to give chase. While the true threat hid and waited. He struck while you were off chasing vermin!” Spittle broke free from his lips. “My magnificent honour guard Brimsia, naked, defending her Lord with but a single dagger, casting me a final loving look I will never forget …” He looks skyward once again before levelling his eyes and continuing, “Before choosing to impale her body upon the attacker’s spear, clawing her body forward along the shaft until within reach to plunge her dagger through the assassin’s eye.” Torngul bows his head to take a moment and silence descends, all afraid to speak.

Zergoa searches the faces of Voria and Trela for something, anything and they snap their faces away in triumph. Finally, she decides she must break the silence. “I can’t replace her Lord, only strive to emulate her magnificence …”

His face twists into displeasure. “Dismount.” While he waits, he twists the reins of his beast. “Are you so insensitive to not realise all this time I have been mourning sweet Brimsia’s death after reaching such loving bliss with her? Are you jealous that I turned to Voria and Trela first to console me while still suffering from my grief?”

“No Lord, there has been a change within you and …” Zergoa releases the reins of her boar and looks up. “I have failed you, Lord.” I notice that she now stands for the most part in front of his boar … a quick spurring to action by her Lord and Zergoa could easily be trampled, what is more, given their knowing smiles, Voria and Trela also appreciate the offer by their fellow honour guard.

Lord Torngul nods his head, brow furrowing. Does he accept her offer? A forehoof of Torngul’s beast stamps and digs in for purchase, readying for what usually happens. I need to restrain my urge to shout, and call off this pantomime, are they still play-acting? Lord Torngul leans forward in his saddle to look deep into Zergoa’s moistening eyes.

“You, up until now have been a faithful servant and for that reason only, I offer the following. You will enter the tournament and after close contests in the early rounds, you will withdraw claiming illness or disease has weakened you. I will advise all that I can’t wait, the top six will form my honour guard without you regardless. You can recover and forge a new path, your honour unblemished. Agreed?” He raises his head, while his eyes look along the length of his nose and adds, “I warn you now, anything to the contrary during the tournament will be dealt with swiftly.”

“Yes, Lord. I thank you, although I regret to say, I will forever be viewed as a failure in your eyes.”

“Now, now. You and the other due to your inferiority have confirmed I need to expand the honour guard and we will try six. Four to guard in shifts overnight while I relieve my grief, however many nights it will take with the other two.” He pauses to smile. “Yes, there is that to be thankful for. Come on now, we best catch up to Klugak who doesn’t yet realise we have taken a rest.”

Lord Torngul reins his beast to one side avoiding Zergoa who shifts out of the way, I suspect, just in case. The beast whines and snorts, the head-shaking towards Zergoa in passing and tusks whipping towards her and missing by a wide margin. If you include Trela and Voria and their sour faces that makes three who desired a different outcome.

---

Torngul’s seat of power is a curious mix of buildings, many of stone, which is a surprise while the vast number are tent quarters beyond. There is no wall for protection, although his home is a huge walled villa like complex, the tallest building for certain, which all the main roads lead to. Without taking a tape measure to confirm I would assume exactly in the middle of the settlement. From his villa, several wide thoroughfares radiate and on these are built most of the stone buildings. The major thoroughfares run North-South and East-West and I can easily imagine ten boar riders abreast charging down any one of them and trampling all before them.

Under a setting sun, we amble along the East-West Way with a modest turn out of his citizens to welcome him home. We turn North upon reaching the Lord’s villa to enter via a North facing gate, metal bracing on stout wooden doors, and given the lack of mature trees in his immediate domain, I assume imported from afar. Klugak and most of the entourage leave us at this point, very few servants in the search party were Torngul’s. This could also explain the allegiance of the snitch or how another interested party could infiltrate. Target Klugak’s household and be close enough instead of risk being caught in Torngul’s and unable to escape his fortress.

Once we enter, this changes completely as female hobgoblin servants hasten to meet us and assist, while female hobgoblin guards mingle ensuring order is maintained. The few male hobgoblins are the ones in charge of either servants or guards as appropriate to their skillset I expect.

One male hobgoblin rushes forward and bows before Torngul.

“Lord Klar is an honoured guest within these walls, see that he is taken care of. Outside these walls, we ignore him as he is yet to prove his worth to others.”

“As you say, Lord.”

An older hobgoblin, thin with busy hands. I suspect his Lord keeps him on a short leash given his bowing and eager agreeable responses, much like a humanoid ferret I imagine.

He presents himself before me, offering a curt nod. The Lord acknowledges me, but I am not that important in the bigger picture is my interpretation.

“I am Lord Klar, and you are?”

His head jerks back while his eyes lower and focus on my extended hand before him. He tentatively reaches out and I form the handshake before he can change his mind. He tries to pull his hand back and fails of course.

“I am Lord Klar, and you are?”

His mouth opens wide with what I hope is a realisation.

“I am Dorgrav, simple Dorgrav …” His words chitter while his hands flail about, perhaps exchanging names isn’t done even here.

I lean forward and whisper, “Lord Torngul does me much honour retaining my Lord title, yet I must confess I am not a Lord of this valley. I am here to earn fame and fortune and claim back my birthright in my home valley.”

He nods and waves an arm at me. My words to him I suspect will soon be spread throughout the Lord’s residence, so all know my position and in particular my lack of importance. I check with Luda, and she has all our meagre possessions, and we follow. I note that Lord Torngul calls upon all his honour guards to accompany him and they head off into a different part of the villa.

Dorgrav shows us to our room on the second floor of the villa. Modest, yet more than enough room for one. He closes the door as he leaves. There is a single bed, chamber pot, thin stone shelves for whatever we want to place on them and an open window without shutters or blinds, a simple linen cloth hangs across the opening instead.

I sit upon the bed and bounce a couple of times to test the strength and then lay down in thought. Luda places all our bundles on one shelf and then climbs onto the bed to join me, snuggling against my chest.

“Will my father be alright?” she whispers.

“He will devote himself to grief counselling for the first few days until he gets a handle on who is who in his household and then I believe he will announce the tournament. Rest easy for now as we wait to be called for dinner.”

Luda fingers one of my tusks and smiles. “Do you miss being Lord farmer Hob, in command of many?”

“This world has changed. The High Priestess has the most power as far as I can tell. There is the problem, the world has grown, and I need information before I can determine my next steps. I am hopeful that many visit Lord Torngul and from them I can learn if any resist the High Priestess, what stories about her are more fact than imagination and if there are any unknowns to me now, that would be useful investigating. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I am not on top of the heap this time.”

“Will my sister join us?”

I flip her over and my hobgoblin body monsters over hers as I steal a kiss from her lips. “Maybe, although with Duzsia and Zergoa on other duties you have all of my attention.”

“I am lucky, but I would feel luckier if my sister could be with us,” she says, the word sounding far away.

I slump down beside Luda, and she shuffles across to accommodate me while I shift her head to lay in the crook of my arm. “I thought she would by now, I am sorry.”

“Perhaps it is for the best, I am certain father wouldn’t want Koria in his honour guard,” she whispers without a drop of humour.

Why wasn’t she? I gained my body from a slain relative who was being pursued by a male and female duo and a handful of goblins. I called for my wives and Duzsia returns to me in the body of the female partner of the duo. Luda follows when the goblin I wounded dies in her village. The next two are Torngul and Brimsia, Zeb took Torngul’s body, yet Koria didn’t take Brimsia’s. I can understand why Zeb didn’t take the male partner of the duo; I hadn’t called for him at that time is the logical conclusion, yet what am I missing?

Luda begins snoring and I probably regret not catching any sleep before dinner as there is a gentle knock on the door and the pitter-patter of feet leaving. I kiss Luda awake. “Dinner.”

---

Closing the door behind us, we disturb an elderly female hobgoblin servant sitting on a chair outside our room. She bows and then leads off. “Follow me, Lord.”

Along the corridor, we once again find the set of wide, white stone stairs, possibly made of marble? This time we climb higher. Like the floor below two corridors lead off. We take the other this time and about halfway along the servant knocks on the double stout wooden doors and they open in silence. The servant leaves us as Duzsia holds one door open and Zergoa holds the other, both in full armour, although shining clean. At the head of a massive stone table squats Lord Torngul Heartsplitter and on either side of him Voria and Trela in what would be considered, evening wear? Light strips of cloth, the colours vary and underneath their modesty is hidden by pantalets and breast wrap. Along one long side of the table are three young female hobgoblins, all in evening wear although the strips are of heavier cloth and therefore more concealing. Opposite them is a single vacant chair and behind that a child-size table and chair. I try not to swallow, and I don’t sneak a glance at Luda. I hope her anger, if any, is directed towards her father.

A spit roast piglet is the main, with whole vegetables as sides, potato, carrot, and beans, although the hobgoblins use different names. We also use forks and knives, basic civilisation after two hundred years?

Lord Torngul receives the first serve. When the three young females are served next, this confirms to me at least they are his daughters; or other immediate members of his family and I wonder where his wife or wives are? Then Voria and Trela, myself after them and again I need to share with Luda.

While we eat Dorgrav stands ready. Partway through his meal Lord Torngul orders his servant to report. A few incidents of unrest in the town, mainly from “guests” due to drink. Three murders, guilty parties found and awaiting his pleasure. The three farming enclaves are reporting healthy growing crops so the expectation is for a bountiful harvest and trading the excess will deliver many goods. Many traders are in the tent camps now bartering for a portion of the future crop. The Heads of the three farming enclaves are seeking an audience with Lord Torngul to settle disputes.

“Between themselves or with others,” asks Lord Torngul who then shares a humorous bellow.

“A mixture my Lord, it seems,” Dorgrav replies, eyes down.

Lord Torngul claps and then rubs his hands together. “What is for sweets?”

“At once Lord.” Dorgrav scurries off.

The Lord’s eyes fall upon Voria. “My trusted one, please visit one of the three farming heads and inform them they must write down their claims, provide evidence, written accounts from witnesses and the like and I will consider their grievances.”

She eventually closes her mouth and replies, “They will expect to see you Lord and plead their case … I am not certain if they can write, many can’t …”

“Well, that will slow them down then won’t it.” He smirks.

Trela, perhaps smarter or more likely more conniving is quick to add, “I will see another farming head my Lord and explain the way of things. In fact, this will be my pleasure.” Her voice purrs while her eyes light up.

Her Lord reaches across and rests a finger under her chin. “I know you have an issue with them, so I warn you not to take too much delight from this task. Nothing will change the past.”

Her hands wrap around his and she draws her head back and then forward, her lips suck on his fingers and with a pop withdraw. “I live to serve you, Lord.”

During this discourse his three daughters have held their eyes down, staring at their empty plates. As the silence extends one lifts her head, eyes darting towards her father. The daughter sitting next to her does likewise, while the third holds her position.

Lord Torngul smiles. “Zinia you will deliver my instructions to the third farming head.”

The third and the youngest lifts her head when her father calls her name and remains quiet until he finishes.

Another slams her open hands upon the table, her standing motion kicking her chair over. I quirk an eyebrow, the chair is made of solid hardwood and scraps back until falling with a cracking sound. Growling she says, “Why do you play these games with them? Simply lop their heads off and see if their replacements are any more subservient father!”

The Lord shakes his head slowly and replies in a quiet slow voice, “My dearest Thalgora you will accompany your sister. If anyone dies, especially your sister I will throttle you to death myself. Do you understand?”

A curt nod. “No one will lay a finger upon her and any who attempt to will lose it.” Before I can blink, her dagger is to hand and stabs the table.

The third, in a ladylike manner, clears her throat. “Father …” her voice silk and vulnerable, asks, “When will I be betrothed? I am eighteen and don’t wish to wait to be too old.” She glances at Thalgora who hisses at her.

“All in good time. When the harvest is in and the Merchants return, one of their sons perhaps so we can trade as the one family.”

She pouts, her lower tusks adding to the effect in some way. “Father … will I be able to choose …?”

The youngest I notice slowly shakes her head, while Thalgora, yes the oldest releases a sneering tirade, “Stupid Shaza, hear how that word and your name sound together, of course not. Father did say favourable trading terms, he cares little about the appearance of your future husband.”

A sob and Shaza stares at her older sister with wet eyes. “I can ask and still hope … better than you who muses and never asks father and ...”

Thalgora’s hand slaps her mouth shut. Shaza’s hands reach for her face to rub the hurt while sobbing, one last glance at her older sister and she runs from the dining room slamming the door behind her.

“May I be excused, father? I have eaten my fill and I know what Shaza wants to ask you and can’t and don’t wish to stay around to witness her foolishness.” Her father nods and Zinia rises from her chair and then pauses as if an afterthought strikes her. “I will go to console Shaza.” Then nods, more to herself I think and leaves the room.

Gripping the dining table Thalgora squeezes out a single word, “Father …”

“Yes, my eldest daughter?”

There is a knock on the double doors and the Lord flicks his hand back and shakes his head. The doors remain closed.

“I wish … um … I wish to compete in the competition …” Her release of breath after speaking, loud.

The Lord pushes a bone about on his plate. “What competition daughter?”

Her eyes turn down at the edges while her body jigs the once as if holding on. “The tournament to select your honour guard my Lord.” She finds her voice and speaks with conviction.

“How many times have you asked to join my honour guard?”

She goes to sit and then remembers, standing upright again. “Many …” she whispers.

“And what has been my answer?”

“No. But this is different, no favouritism, no daughter expecting her father to agree. I will compete against all …”

“And if you win a place, what then?”

Voria and Trela exchange looks of horror and swallow.

“My … um mother, before the goblin revolt took her, explained …” She whispers, “I know the full duties expected.”

The Lord slaps his hand upon the table. “I will think some more and let you know. Now leave and tell the servants to send in the desert.”

“Yes, father.” Bowing and nodding she hurries from the dining room, a skip to her step.

Lord Torngul curls a finger from the right and left hands respectfully at Voria and Trela.

“Tell me, with absolute certainty that one of you can defeat her in combat.” His hands spread out along the table before him. His ears twitch …

Voria and Trela stare at each other, Trela nods at Voria who sighs.

“Truly Lord, your daughter fights as if processed, there is an inner fire in her … most believe, the slaying of her mother when young … affected her.” Voria’s finger touches the side of her head for a moment. “Hiding for her life yet swearing vengeance.” Green drains from Voria’s face.

Trela speaks up, “Rumour has it, that not a single goblin now lives who took part in her mother’s slaying, some falsely slain also, mistakes shall we say. The memory of a five-year-old after many years is not exacting. She has started on their family linage now, Lord.” Trela gulps. “Almost finished.”

“Why am I only learning of this now?” There is an underlying growl to his voice, his hands balling into fists.

“Lord,” calls Zergoa. “Your first wife made those of your honour guard at the time swear to protect her daughter, your firstborn and this dying wish has continued … although we find ourselves paying hush money or warning distant goblin relatives of the murderers to flee the valley more than physically protect your daughter.”

His brow furrows. “Why would my honour guard heed the dying wish of my wife? First or not?”

Voria rushes the words. “She trained them, Lord.”

Relaxing his hands, he glances in turn at Voria, Trela and Zergoa. “Trained them in what?”

Trela squeaks, “How to pleasure you, Lord, with threats of assassination if we failed to please you and upon her dying breath adding protecting her daughter.”

“Seventeen years is a long time ago, any assassin would be dead or nearing infirm now, so what still holds you? What is more, none of you were in my honour guard then so how can you continue this falsehood?”

“A metal,” answers Voria.

“Yes, Lord,” says Trela. “Your first wife paid for the assassins with gold, at the time all thought worthless, an inconvenience when digging for iron yet now traders and merchants trade using things called coins. Gold coins, Lord and we think the source of these coins were from your wife and if so her deal with the assassins will still hold.”

Voria lays a hand upon his and whispers, “We think they may have solved some of the more vocal and violent goblin reprisals against your daughter when your honour guard was away with you.” She swallows. “Also, some who fled your valley if the rumours are to be believed, as the corpses of those thought long escaped somehow returned …”

Dorgrav returns with several servants who efficiently ‘drop’ a dessert plate to each of us. Fruits in cream.

I scoop and swallow a spoon full and pass the bowl and spoon back to Luda. I steal an occasional glance at Lord Torngul, or as I know him, Zeb, Master of Children and Speaker of Law. His conversations in this dining room have me believing the real Torngul squats at the end of the table, not Zeb. As an actor, his performance, was superb, in fact. Now the only question I have is how?

---

Our old servant escorts us back to our room and once the door closes Luda leaps into my embrace.

“Father was amazing wasn’t he!” she gasps.

I release her without warning, and she drops to the floor with a yelp.

“Spill,” I demand.

Her eyes open wide as they home in on mine. “It was Zergoa’s idea at Duzsia’s urging, I just agreed …”

“Yes.” I tap a foot.

She holds her hands behind her back and sways. “When you gifted Zergoa, I mean really well, lots in fact, well, Duzsia cleaned the bedrolls afterwards and then it just happened.”

“What?” I fold my arms. “Last chance to say it all, before I decide to smack your bottom until black.”

“You wouldn’t Lord?”

I nod, my face now scowling.

“Well, they harvested your excess fluid from bedrolls and even Zergoa, mixed this into boar’s milk and instructed father to drink while the other two were on door guard duty. They say he noticed something off, so they fetched him another mug to wash it down. Then they let father be father …”

I sigh. “What does father be father mean? Exactly.”

“He chats to everyone and listens, servants, honour guard, his new daughters. Remember he is still determined to find Rexa’s influence and burst this elaborate illusion she has him in, so his efforts in this regard are single-minded.”

I shake my head. “He didn’t have a great deal of time between arrival and before dinner …”

“It’s not as if he can say, erm, please tell me your life story, you know, because I am not actually Lord Torngul and need to fill in the details.” She stands with hands on her hips. “He is more casual, listening with pinpoint questions and I think by dinner your little helpers would have been in full swing making him more aware with confidence in the reactions he should display when the various events were revealed.”

“So, this effort by him is to prove the illusion true …”

“Or false. He would be happy with false as well.” She sways and her eyes look up. “Koria would have loved the silent treatment. He did that to us as children, the first to break the silence.” Her eyes find mine. “Being first is sometimes the right thing and sometimes not depending upon the lead-up conversation and as you get older you learn patience and thinking through the last conversation to arrive at an answer rather than a guess.”

“Everything is good then?”

She walks away from me and leans against the window frame, her neck, and head clear looking out. She turns and rests her back against the wall underneath. “They asked me to save some of you to give to them to prepare more milk drinks …”

My jaw drops.