--- Luda POV

Several nights ago, I began roving the streets of the city with the night shift goblins. None of the hobgoblins ever try to force me into service, either Lord Torngul has put the word out or the colour of my skin is different enough to warn them off. There could be another reason, more obvious, I don’t have a ring through my nose whatever that means. They don’t appear to be ornamental, yet there isn’t a rope tied to them for example. While an explanation would satisfy my curiosity, I would need to ask one or more, possibly the hobgoblin overseer but I resist the urge to tempt fate as I believe my presence is tolerated and not welcomed. For all those on night shift duties, I must be a disturbance to the accepted order of things. As my father would say if you are warm and happy under a pile of excrement no point singing about it and letting everyone not warm and happy know. I have chatted to the goblins in the northeast, southeast and tonight I aim to question those in the southwest. I imagine the body of the hobgoblin husband to Briksia to be ripe by now, yet I must continue the search.

I approach one gang who are cleaning near the manor, hoping they cleaned here several nights ago, also. As before they all stop work, their hands holding the handles of brooms and shovels to their chests sneaking fearful looks at me. The hobgoblin supervising this section is nowhere to be seen, yet this work gang is shaking in fear. I am the reason? The northeast goblins were inquisitive, in wonder that I simply strolled about asking questions. The southeast goblins were tight-lipped, responding to my questions with short sentences, answers only, no further explanations or the volunteering of additional information. Here there is fear in their darting black eyes as the flames of the torches they set about their work area flick in the wind.

“Does your gang always clean around manor?”

All I receive in return are rapid shakes of their heads. Denials. Fewer words, yet same result. I am no closer to finding where his body went.

“Do any of you know which gang does?”

I tried this last night with some success although upon questioning those gangs which were suggested; nothing. This gang the same, again with the shaking of their heads. I wave them on and the sweeping of brooms and scrapping of shovels over stone cobbles resumes immediately, as if poised and eager … I need to find another gang. I sigh. While I prowl about at night investigating, I am then too tired to stay awake during the day and I suspect Zoria spreads her lies about the past as she takes great delight in lounging about in his bed. Just as I am about to leave a rough hand scrapes mine. As I turn, I notice him slip back into the shadows, away from the torches. His hand the last of him to disappear, beckoning me to follow him. The shadows don’t hide him from my eyes though, which gives me my first comparison of night sight. Goblins are blind in the absolute dark, yet source light of any significance can be enhanced by our eyes. I suspected the nanorobots took this to the extreme but didn’t have proof until now. My new friend believes I can’t see him well, masked by shadow yet as I examine him from boot to cap, I pick up on the knife handle protruding from his boot top, his warm woollen clothing, instead of the rags worn by the work crews and finally his cap, soft leather with stitching. A crafted cap on a lowly goblin? Even his nose ring is different, no plain copper band for him, although what metal I don’t know.

Once out of earshot of the gang he whispers, “You are looking for a male Hobgoblin Warrior? The one slain on Market Day?” He stops and glances back at me.

I nod up and down rapidly, almost stupidly as I can’t contain my excitement, this futile quest could be over at last.

“Follow,” he whispers.

He leads me towards a narrow alley, probably one of a handful that squeezes between the stone buildings that line the main roads. Once through, a massive number of tents line up in rows and columns to form a tent city behind the stone façade of the stone buildings exactly like the other two quarters. Each tent is again positioned a generous distance from its neighbour with the odd vacant spot available.

The goblin begins to hurry his steps and then breaks out into a jog.

“Hey, wait up,” I hiss, trying to gain his attention and no one else’s. He sprints away after I call to him, which confirms my suspicions. I immediately crouch and listen, dagger drawn. In front and behind, I hear the gentle flapping of tent cloth. To a hobgoblin, their stealth technique is near perfect, to a goblin, “nice try”. I smile and my muscles poised, I wait at the ready.

Two hobgoblins. They both jump through ready-made slits in the one tent the goblin led me way too close to. Tracking their positions, I favour one and as they step through, I dash forward, dagger out and as her spear descends while fighting to be free of the tent cloth, I drop and slide under her clumsy swing, ending up between her legs. Without any hesitation I slice upwards, striking what I can in three rapid thrusts, left inside thigh, middle and right inside thigh. The rattle of her spear dropping upon the cobblestone matches the grinding of her teeth as she tries to bravely suppress the pain. She nevertheless stumbles forward in silence while grabbing her genital area. Clear of her frame, I jump to my feet behind her and swivel about to face the second one, positioning myself behind the bent over stumbling first. The lighting is poor, generally lamplight from other tents through the tent fabric, yet my eyes adjust, and I observe the other ambusher peering left and then right around her companion trying to find me. I shove the first hobgoblin from behind with my boot forcing the second to make an unplanned move. She either needs to stab her, jump out of the way, or try to catch her. Any of those will satisfy me, yet she decides to catch. I race around to her non-spear hand side and deliver three quick dagger thrusts up under her ribcage while her hands are full, juggling a spear and her bloody companion.

I then dart through the tent cloth opening where the two ambushers came from.

Their groans as I blunder through and over, tell me enough. In the dimmest of light, I make out three goblin sized outlines and take a chance since their arms are behind their backs. I wipe the blood from my dagger on a cloth nearby and then feel down their arms to find their bindings and slice a strand. They wriggle their hands-free and remove their gags and don’t move. I sense they are waiting for me, their rescuer, to make the next move. At the tent entrance, I peer out and with the additional slither of light I identify the three goblins, they are like me, or should I say from the former owner of this body’s village. Given there is plenty of time until dawn I lead them through the tent city and out onto the open grass plains. Across a field of grass in the south, the false dawn illuminates the edge of a winding forest in the distance and at this stage, I must make a guess.

“Make for the trees over there.” I sweep a hand towards the tree line. “They should line a stream which you can follow and use for cover until you come across the section of river you know. From there you can follow the path back to our village.”

Two take off immediately, a third hesitates. “You aren’t coming?”

I shake my head. “I serve a great hobgoblin who prefers to be friends with goblins, and I must be with him to see his will done. Tell the village who rescued you. I wish to make my mother proud.”

He nods and then races to catch up to the other two. I slink through the tall grass and head back to the town. I avoid the tent city and instead skirt it, as I intend to return to the manor via the quickest path, the north-south road. Almost there and I hear what sounds like the crisp strike of shovels into the soil. Dropping to a crawl I ease my way forward slowly using my hands to part the long grass before me until I observe what I can’t believe anyone should. Goblins are down in a trench shovelling away soil. They appear to be digging a trench towards town. Further away and down the line are multiple bodies, in the main goblin, yet because of their size, I also spot hobgoblins. Beyond them are goblins backfilling over the dead. And further along at the limit of my vision grow a thick line of saplings following the trench line.

A sudden growling voice snaps my attention away from my disgust.

“Come on hurry now, stop digging the new trench, toss tonight’s bodies in and backfill we need to make it all neat and tidy before first light.”

Carefully placing one knee back and following with the other, then, in turn, my hands, I retreat. I feel my heart beating, almost threatening to jump out of my chest. It would not take much for my body, live or dead to be buried with those unfortunates. I stop and listen. No shovelling, no commanding voices. I turn and begin to crawl further away, towards the town again and then once confident I rise and begin sprinting through the long grass, my eyes fixed upon the top floor of the manor as the early morning light begins to peek above the horizon. I sprint along the north-south road staying to the shadow side. I hear several residents grumble, cursing the dawn and I call on my body to give me more. Sweat trickles down my temples and across my brow. The manor looms large before me, yet I must sprint across a sliver of sunlit east-west road. Dawn has beaten me. I will never make the distance without being seen, already I hear hobgoblins exit their stone buildings to empty their chamber pots onto the street. I huddle down against the corner of the last stone building on the corner of the north-south and east-west streets as panic grips my heart. I tap the side of my head to shake out a solution. My only thought: I will no longer have to wait on the Ground Floor with the boars until Zoria stops moaning if I am dead or captured.

Deep in misery, I didn’t even notice their approach until too late. Two hands grab me around my waist and haul me up and into a large sack before I can even shout or curse. What if I did? Would my fate be any different or would several groups respond and take an interest, argue, and rip me apart as they fought to win a piece of me?

“Be still sister wife. You are fortunate we missed you this morning and went looking.”

The boar snorts, although I already know by the smell where I am. Undignified to be sure, yet I would rather be in a stinking boar feed sack, safe and snug than contemplating my fate and alone on the streets of this town after daybreak.

“Thank you,” I whisper back.

“You are welcome, sister wife.” I recognise Zergoa’s voice, then who is the other? “We like your company as our husband punishes our newest wife with his attentions and decided we would miss you if you somehow became lost and unable to return.”

The other must be Duzsia. Both have taken it upon themselves to train me, Duzsia especially. Being a goblin in a hobgoblin body she has analysed the differences and been devising useful tactics, like the slide for me. She warns me though, once witnessed, others are unlikely to fall to the same trick. I am certain at some point our husband will surrender playing his new game with Zoria, yet I will continue my training. Zoria’s snark about me being the weakest hurt more than I care to admit, and I will work to improve my worth. Double now, as I fear Zoria will find out about my current failure and she will never let me live down being rescued in a boar feed sack. She will name me a burden, a useless wife, can’t fight, can’t complete my mission, needing rescue … useless. I feel the tears well up inside of me. Then a hand touches my back and I shiver.

“You are safe Luda. And know this, each of his wives he values, and none are above the others. So, I hope one day when I am in trouble, a goblin sister wife is the difference and I live longer because of her, so I can serve our husband another day.”

Duzsia. A friend of our family when we were Flint Arrows, yet always on the outer as our mother didn’t value anyone without a family line and hence influence. Yet as our father always did, he took an interest in strays and loners, who would invariably leave once they matured, when he found another project. Duzsia though stuck around, even to the point of helping our family when we decided to launch a rescue mission across the river. What we didn’t know was the nature of the Hob we faced, a unique one.

Bouncing about in the sack gives me more thought time and I deliberate about Zoria. Like I did for Duzsia I try to imagine myself in her boots. Again, another on the outer, yet technically a wife, given the drowning ceremony, who our husband ignored. Is that her concern? Her fear of being ignored again. Koria and I have always received the love of our parents, mother’s love at times a mystery and at other times fateful yet I needed to believe she had our best interests at heart. Has Zoria never truly felt loved and valued? Doesn’t expect to be loved? How is it possible for someone to not find at least one they can trust in their lifetime? Is this the source of her selfishness? What of brothers and sisters, although not having a surviving sibling isn’t unusual. Then I recall my recent fear, alone and awaiting an unknown fate and the instant relief and joy when my sister wives found me. The support of those who value you, a wealth beyond counting. Perhaps that is what Zoria truly craves yet doesn’t know how to ask for or worse how to fit in and believe others will be there for her, without condition or exception.

She did pause when father welcomed her, hugged her, and did his welcome thing … she sunk into his embrace, and a sense of peace came across her face. For the briefest of moments I thought, she thought, she would allow everyone to believe she was Koria. She must have realised when the real Koria arrived she would be found out and suffer all the consequences. No father or no parents? No mentor like my father? A goblin trying to survive alone convinced none would value her. I decide Zoria needs more love and less misunderstanding which can only start with being there with her and listening. I sniff. For now, a bath will be next for me.

--- Lord Klar POV

Each pre-dawn with Zoria an improvement, in both acceptance and participation along with duration. My seed building up her endurance to endure my ravishing of her longer each morning and repairing any bruising from the day before. And despite this variance, Luda was able to perfectly time her return to our room after her nocturnal explorations … usefully to avoid embarrassment and given their near sulky silence towards each other these past several days, potential conflict beyond the occasional one-word sentence. My assurances towards Zoria during our lovemaking failing, it seems, to reduce her suspicion of my other wives, while my spirit bond with her making my trust in her a given. Which is the complete opposite when she was a goblin and potential rival to Milga. Argh, Milga. What became of you and yours? What became of your daughter you were so determined to have with Zeb Stone Grim?

A hand strokes my chest drawing my attention. Sleepy eyes greet mine along with a well-satisfied grin. I reach across and try to tame her wild hair without success, seeing now why she braids the voluminous black mop.

Her eyelids flutter slightly. “Given we have spent many days together, does that mean I am your favourite?” she purrs.

She doesn’t understand, even after I explained the purpose before her monopoly of my time these past few days … sigh. Her insecurity is deep, ingrained even and is the lens through which she evaluates herself and others.

“What have we been doing these past days?” I ask.

Her face flushes bright green. “You have been claiming me as your wife, as totally yours … perhaps your favourite …” She shudders. “My husband.”

I grab a fistful of her hair and tug. She groans in anticipation. “Do you think my other wives are jealous of you now?”

She rolls towards me and pecks my lips with her own. “Of course, my husband, they see your devotion towards me, our lovemaking and they wish to be here instead of me.”

“Have any said or done anything to you to show this jealousy you suspect they have of you?”

Her finger traces the outline of my jaw, while her eyes sink into mine. “No, Luda has been too tired to, but she is jealous I can tell, while Duzsia and Zergoa avoid me, yet I know they do this because you have obviously warned them off causing any trouble.”

“So, tonight when I command you to sleep on the floor bedding where Luda has been sleeping and invite Luda to this bed and make love to her what will you think?”

Her eyes flash wide and then narrow to slits. “I think my husband wishes to make me jealous and I will redouble my efforts to please him, and I can’t wait for Luda to be cast from your bed and you welcome me back once you have played your game …”

I smile. “Do you recall what I said to you before our first night together?”

She slides her body, in particular, her breasts across my chest seeking to, I suspect, regardless of her tiredness to make love once again. Once I stop her advances by grabbing her hips, she pouts a little before answering, “Something about strengthening me with your seed and needing this done as soon as possible or something like that.” She kisses my nose and continues, “While nervous that first time, I realise your words were to calm me and now, after further passionate nights together I know this to be an elaborate ruse to win my heart.” Her face glows a bright green and I know I must extinguish her illusion.

I gently push her body away, she fights of course, yet I simply exert more of my strength. When free of her entanglements I roll out of bed and onto my feet.

“I will be sleeping with Luda tonight and you will be sleeping on the floor bedding.” I shove first one arm and then the other into my linen shirt and start tying the throngs. Her body should have started weeping ooze days ago, after our first night and morning together in fact and yet nothing. This morning though her sweating was less watery and stickier …

“But husband, I am certain I will please you more, you will see …”

I hold up a hand and shake my head. “This isn’t about pleasure. I explained what this was about, and you have chosen to misunderstand.” I reach for my loincloth and begin wrapping.

“What of our nights and mornings together? I thought …”

Grabbing my leather britches, I tread one leg through and then the other. “Exactly, you thought, but you didn’t listen. Have you at least noticed our sessions going longer each time?”

“Yes, my body is getting used to your … vigour.” She blushes green once again. “Your forcefulness … taking me in various ways I never dreamt of …”

“No.” My reply is one word and absolute. She grabs a sheet to her chest while her bottom lip drops. “The nanorobots in my seed have now begun working on your body to improve it. Today or perhaps tonight a black ooze will escape through your skin, so you must remain in the room until that stops. Yes?”

Her face screws up. “Black ooze?” Lifting the sheet away she ogles her naked body, and I must concur, curves, muscles definition and proportions are almost my view of perfection. I pull on a boar hair knitted sock and soft rawhide leather boot on one foot and then the other.

I look up across the bed. “Yes. Ugly, slimy black ooze and you must stay in this room until finished. Understand?”

Moisture fills her eyes. “Yes.” She hitches her chest. “So, you don’t love me, this was all a game?”

I grab her ankles and drag her across the bed towards me to the sound of her half nervous, half delight shriek.

“Of course, I love you. But what you don’t seem to accept is that I love all my wives as equally and as well.”

I stand and walk to the hook holding my leather sword belt and sword.

“But what of our nights and mornings together, surely …”

I turn towards her while buckling my belt, the rolling of my eyes halting her words. I reply, “What I needed to do, I did to make you stronger.” Her eyes dim. “I am not saying there wasn’t any love or pleasure, what I am saying, your safety, making you stronger to survive this reincarnation was my priority, as it was for all my returning wives and Luda will be in my bed tonight.”

She rolls over on her stomach and crawls towards the edge of the bed, looking up. “What did I do wrong? I … to trust anyone, I mean I thought with you, finally, I found the one, my mate …”

My inner Hob rises within me. I had called upon him during the lovemaking to explore a more ardent and rougher, punishment type of passion and apart from him answering, the other surprise was Zoria responding when I thought I was punishing her. Now my inner Hob based upon an invitation for a specific reason has decided to intervene whenever and with an effort of will, I must resist grabbing her by the throat and squeezing.

“While you are confined to this room, think on this, you are my true mate, yet equally are Luda, Duzsia and Zergoa and when Koria reincarnates she will be as well. You will need to reconcile this as they have.”

I cast one last look in her direction as I hold the door.

“But I have waited, as a goblin, in the darkness and now as your love extinguishes the pain of my past you tell me I must share you?” Her face twists and after spitting says, “You are far crueller than the Ranger Hob ever was because I knew my proper place with him, never to rise above vermin pet whereas you gave me hope and now I am simply one more of your possessions to be used and discarded. Then probably ignored like when a goblin until you can fit me in your life and aims again … is that my future?”

I stare at the globule of spittle on the floor and then grab the door handle to make it ready to open and leave. I pause instead and reply, “I tell you now, the answer is no. But you don’t want to believe my words, so we will both have to wait until my deeds prove me truthful.” I open and stride through the doorway not looking back. Instead, I want to tear into some food and break my fast and forget about wives, this insecure one especially.

Halfway to the dining hall, I remember that Luda hadn’t returned yet. The moment is broken by a yelp from the courtyard below and as I rush to the balcony rail, I spy Luda nestling upon Zergoa’s back, an arm around her neck, while Duzsia scrambles from the other end of the courtyard trying to reach them.

Through the strangulation Zergoa gasps, “Split up you said, find her twice as quick …” Her arms reaching back, yet her hands failing to find something to grab and when she does, Luda moves her body aside because all she wears is her loincloth.

Eyes bulging, Zergoa looks about and then staggers towards a wall, swivelling, the intent obvious. Before she can Duzsia is before both and reaches to release Luda’s arm. Luda’s head rises and her teeth bite down on Duzsia’s offer of arm flesh.

“Argh,” screams Duzsia as she jumps about nursing her arm dripping black blood. “You vicious little tramp, you will pay for that! Hold on Zergoa!”

Zergoa drops to her knees, allowing Luda to land and use her feet to apply leverage and pull on Zergoa’s neck.

“Yield sister-wife?” asks Luda.

“Don’t you dare!” shouts Duzsia.

I note Zergoa’s eyes, soon she won’t have a choice. Duzsia now bandaged returns, circling Luda. When behind Luda she rushes her goblin sister wife. Luda releases and jumps over Zergoa’s falling body whereas Duzsia needs to pull up to avoid her. Luda skips away.

“One down,” she taunts while licking her lips and shortly after disappears into the shadows of the boar stalls.

Zergoa climbs to her knees rubbing her throat, flashing Duzsia apologetic eyes.

“We shouldn’t have split up.” Duzsia pats Zergoa’s shoulder as she passes. “I underestimated her, apologies.”

Zergoa shuffles back so she can lean against the servant’s room wall she was intending to bash Luda against I believe and rests. Defeated? She mustn’t be allowed to participate any further I suspect, as I continue to watch the spectacle. I am trying to penetrate the shadow in the boar pens and only when I feel his hand upon my shoulder do I notice Zeb Stone grim joining me.

“They have been beating each other up every morning and every evening, taking as much time as it takes you on those occasions to teach Zoria to be a good wife.” He chuckles.

“It looks serious …” I offer, as Zergoa is yet to stand.

“Yes, but each time they return and do the same thing no worse for the experience. Zergoa thought she would be teaching Luda, yet with Duzsia’s erm, unique, goblin-hobgoblin perspective Luda has surprised her a couple of times. This is their first two on one, although your hobgoblin wives insisted that Luda strike from the shadows where goblins should do better to even up the odds.” He laughs with a smile on his face.

“Even up the odds, eh?” I question.

He casts a side-eye at me. “Don’t look now, but it seems their games have attracted a large audience today including Voria and Trela. I am sure they will explain their attendance by saying they followed me this morning, yet I suspect some of my other servants probably built up my daughter's exploits.”

“Isn’t this dangerous? Seeing goblins able to threaten hobgoblins?” I whisper.

Lord Torngul stands and casts his gaze across the courtyard and this floor. “Dorgrav! It would seem my servants have too much time on their hands! More work or fewer servants!”

The hobgoblins scatter to the four corners of the manor and out of sight. Too late. I think the damage has been done. Any spy in Lord Torngul Heartsplitter’s manor would be telling their true master as soon as possible. Maybe it would be an opportunity to observe who leaves the manor today and upon their return test their loyalty?

“This afternoon I announce the tournament, you will accompany me as I need to get the good folk of the town to know your face.”

I nod. With my pre-occupation with Zoria, I had forgotten Zeb needed to run the manor, the town and keep things moving along.

--- Zoria POV

I shiver, unable to control my body. “Where is Lord Hob?” I ask between chattering teeth. My body is doing things …

Luda perching upon the bed, once my bed for many nights, lifts her head and eyes me. “He is with Lord Torngul announcing the challenge contest …” she shrugs.

I don’t want to admit this, yet if I don’t, she could maybe run and get help or let Lord Hob know, yes and he would attend to me …

“My body is on fire. The pain reaches down into every part of me …”

She rolls on her back towards the edge of the bed and with an acrobatic flip lands on her feet, her breasts bouncing when she makes the landing. How did I not notice her still in her loincloth?

She stands over me … when did she approach me? I must be blanking out or something.

“Your body is being purified by the Lord Hob’s seed.” She crouches before me, her head tilting to one side. “Are you in great pain? Mine was over during the night, must have slept through my pain.”

I snap my jaw closed, trying to throw off the chattering. “I can endure most pain, have endured extreme pain yet this is in every pore of my skin and every muscle … everywhere. Fetch Lord Hob please, I beg you.”

She glances at the door and then shakes her head while looking down upon me in obvious false sympathy, the bitch. She is enjoying this, I grab at the sheets upon the ground bedroll and try to cope by rocking back and forth and she doesn’t want to help! What does sister-wife mean to her? Useless goblin bitch! With my last breath I mean to strangle her, finish the job I started in the dining hall, everyone will find us locked in mutual death grips I am certain.

Her arm reaches around my back and her hand grabs my shoulder before I can shove her away. It must be this change, am I that weak?

“You will survive, we all survived. Perhaps two times a day for several days was too much, but I suspect Lord Hob in his own way was apologising to you.”

“A … apologising?”

“You are one of his wives, he wants to make certain you are as strong as you can be.” She pauses and even though half-dazed, I wonder if is she considering saying something she shouldn’t?

“Please?” I only have one word in me for now and hope she understands my full meaning.

“He didn’t trust you as a goblin and didn’t know why he didn’t. Milga had the same misgivings hence he ignored you. Now though our bond with him is stronger and even if you wished to you can’t betray him.”

The shock on my face must have surprised her into silence. Betray him? But I can’t now? I haven’t even thought of the possibility, yet she says I can’t anyway …

“Go on,” I whimper.

She nods. “None of us spoke for or against you, we didn’t know you would … you would be called by him, so you, being here, is a shock for both Duzsia and I. I apologise for my outburst, I,” She tears. What! Why is she tearing? “I expected my sister and instead, you arrived. I hope you understand.” Her body slides closer to mine and somehow her nearby warmth makes me feel better … I don’t understand.

A shoving wakes me. When did I fall asleep? As I open my eyes in low light, Luda plants a finger across my lips and places her other hand behind her ear pushing it outwards. Does she hear something? I lift an arm and find a stickiness adhering to me. Luda grabs my arms and starts wiping it down while nodding towards another rag. As my eyes find the rag, I also notice I am on the bedroom’s stone floor, a single sheet underneath me, naked, unless you count a sheet of black ichor covering every pore of my skin as clothing. What about my hair? How much of this muck is in there? I know my loving husband treasures my long black tresses by the way his fingers bury themselves in my hair to firmly grab and hold, to then use during our lovemaking. Slippery just won’t do!