--- Lord Klar POV

Before Trela can answer, the aroma of a sizzling boar roast slams into our nostrils. Our stomachs growl in unison and we chase after the source, finding ourselves downstairs in the kitchen. To my surprise, the preparation bench is clean, unless you count the roast boar being cut up by Voria. Everyone else, Zergoa, Duzsia, Luda, Zoria and Izga lounge about, on a chair or on their bottoms, or against a bare portion of the kitchen wall. All sport dark green rings around their eyes.

“Where is Thalgora?”

When no one answers, I grab a handful of roast cuts and head for her room. Knocking on her door, nothing, so I try the handle and push. The door doesn’t budge. Crossbeam. Knocking again, I plead with her to open the door through the minute gap between door and doorframe. After more silence, I order her as her husband to lift the crossbeam. Scrapping and a thump. Finally. I ease the door open and once I shimmy in close the door behind me, lifting the crossbeam back in place. This is an eggshell moment. What can I expect from her?

She sits up in her bed, watching me without saying a word. The low light of a lantern reflects off the tear trails running down her cheeks while her hands try to wipe the evidence away. I climb onto the bed beside her and wave a silver of roast boar under her nose and then upon her lips. She refuses initially until the combination of smell, taste, and hunger wins.

“Thank you, husband, I am sorry, I…”

I place a finger across her mouth. “Only Torngul Heartsplitter can control Torngul Heartsplitter, no one else.”

She leans her head on my shoulder while wrapping her arms around my waist, and we rest in silence for a time. When I note her steady heartbeat, I decide the moment is right.

“In the kitchen. Who did you fail once before?”

She hitches her chest and shakes her head.

“I am your husband. Talk to me. I will listen. Sharing your burden with me will help.”

I allow the silence to build and then I lift the hand she has resting on my stomach to my lips and kiss the back of it. She moves her head in surprise to inspect the damage. I take the opportunity and kiss her forehead. Her hand touches where I kissed her, while her eyes search for mine. Once her eyes rest upon mine, I steal a kiss from her lips.

“Tell me, wife,” I plead. I kiss her nose.

She slams her fist on to my chest and I brace for the assault. Her punches lack any genuine conviction or technique, and are harmless in the main but hopefully therapeutic for her.

“They ambushed our wagon. Goblins. From what I can remember, there were more wagons, the actual number I don’t know. An arrow took our waggoneer in the eye. I know this because he fell back into the wagon where I hid at my mother’s urging. His face was perfect, captured in surprise forever, except for the arrow shaft. I don’t remember screaming. Maybe I did, or perhaps my mother screamed at me. We ran from our wagon. I think my mother tried to reach another wagon with their beasts still alive. As an adult, I now realise part of the ambush would have been to slaughter the beasts so no one could escape.”

I feel her embrace me all the tighter and nuzzle my neck. I kiss the top of her head.

“Continue, wife.”

She sniffs. “Desperate, she upended an empty barrel over me, matching the several full barrels nearby. The smell of the barrels I remember to this day, beer. I am glad we drink mead and wine as my stomach would turn if I smelt beer again, I am certain. Anyway, several goblins surrounded my mother and, try as I might, I couldn’t lift the barrel off me, yet through a knothole, I watched as cut upon cut from their spear thrusts drained her of blood for their enjoyment. When trying to push herself up onto her knees, their leader simply walked over to her and stabbed her in an eye, twisting his spear. With the jeering and howling, none of the goblins with their excellent hearing could detect my pleas to let my mother alone or my shout outs for help. I could do nothing, except witness my mother die a slow and torturous death.”

If she did, in fact, call out, the goblins would have found her. Luda amongst hobgoblins proves that the hearing capabilities between the two races are vastly different. No, that didn’t happen and yes, could that be her greatest shame? She couldn’t scream in protest… call for help?

“Are you certain as a child you screamed out to them to stop, called for help?”

Her embrace loosens, yet before she can withdraw, I hold her to me. She shifts her body, squirming. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” she pleads.

“You were a child,” I whisper, gentle. “Only a child.”

“I did scream for them to stop, I did yell for help, I did, I did, I tell you…” Warm tears splash upon my chest.

I pat her deep black hair. “If you had, we wouldn’t be together now.”

“I did,” she whimpers. “But no one came to her rescue…”

“No. You cowered like a child should have. You hid like your mother told you to. You survived like your mother planned. There is no shame in that. Your mother’s sacrifice ensured your future, and she would be proud of what you have become, of that I have no doubt.” I kiss her forehead.

Her chest hitches and she releases, I hope, with each sob her self-torment, her inner denial. For my part, I hold her until sometime later the steady rise and fall of her chest suggests she finds her first serene sleep in many years.

---

Movement on my chest wakes me. I look down upon glistening eyes, the moisture from recent crying.

“I… I didn’t scream.” Her eyes close and she swallows.

I grab a cloth to wipe her nose. “Blow,” I command. And afterwards, her face blushes dark green. Her eyes look deeply into mine while a hand slides across my cheek and down my neck to rest on my shoulder.

“That day I placed my hands over my eyes trying to wish the horror away… then I heard the defiance in my mother’s voice. She told them that someone would avenge her. She would die today, and they would die tomorrow. Fear in my heart, I managed to lift one eye and glimpse through the knothole in the barrel. I seared each of their goblin faces into my memory because I knew I would have to be that someone… I owed my mother at least that.”

“Is payment complete?” I murmur.

“There are a few strays, second generation whelps from the last two families in the care of others as they are children…”

My mind is at ease, given she draws the line at slaughtering children even though she had no qualms about leaving the children parentless. “Job done?”

“I am trying to locate them… they weren’t with their parents when I visited. I only know the parents by face.”

We lay in silence for a time. I am trying to comprehend the depth of her revenge while I do not know why she remains quiet.

“The first few were easy and difficult. Easy to find the male and his immediate family and then, of course, you notice once you have studied their faces as intensely as I have, their extended family. The round up and slaughter of them, the troublesome part, but not impossible. No. Not impossible. Just takes longer and I am almost done. The children can’t breed, so with their deaths, I will have avenged my mother.”

I need to force a breath into my lungs. She has extinguished an entire family tree, no, several family trees of goblins.

She smiles. “Other goblins would help me, you know. They would point out the few who escaped my wrath, to be certain I wouldn’t mistake their family. Yet I knew as often as not I slaughtered goblins for their devious purpose, not always for mine.” She shrugs. “A few less goblins in the world, who would care?”

I thought for an anxious moment their extended family would care. I wonder, if a goblin child, witnessing the slaughter of their parents, would find the same motivation as Thalgora and come looking?

“Why do you tolerate Luda?”

She kisses my lips and then shakes her head while smiling. “I don’t hate goblins, husband.” Her smile widens. “I only sought revenge on those who slew my mother. They could have been hobgoblins. No difference, as I would have destroyed their family trees as well.” Her eyes find mine. “Thank you, husband. My denial of the truth, of my cowardice, has always been a torment, still will be, yet I will seek comfort in your words to set myself free from my burden.”

Is this the true source of her anger? I don’t have more than a moment to consider the proposition as she climbs on top of me…

---

A brief rest and she opens her eyes while I study her face.

“I should have done something for my husband…”

I kiss her forehead. “I wasn’t dying, and you wouldn’t have been able to do anything to change your father’s mind. Maybe he has a greater plan, yet to be revealed, which is why he wanted me to do what I did.”

She slaps my chest. I wince. Ouch.

“Don’t make excuses for him. When I found him to berate him, he was in his room, rocking back and forth on his haunches, arms wrapped around his knees, ignoring everyone. I left him, escaping to my room, and have been trying to work out how we ended up this way ever since.”

I reach around her shoulders and gather her closer to me. “I believe your father didn’t value anyone beyond himself, and perhaps with the loss of Brimsia, his lover, he re-evaluated.”

I feel her head nod against my shoulder. “He favoured her… lover though?”

I push through the discrepancy; I took a guess based upon the current Lord Torngul’s grief for Voria and while I know Zeb wasn’t present then, the Zeb of now seems to have gained a streak of power gone mad from somewhere, so I assume the echoes of Lord Torngul would be the most likely source and possibly include past feelings of attachment.

“He dismissed Duzsia and Zergoa from his bed and I think even you can agree, favours Voria and Trela in that regard. The entire tournament event is him trying to find other companions, expanding the few into the many and perhaps Voria’s near death hit him harder than he could cope with?”

I find myself trying to believe what I am saying, try to be convincing. Truth is, I doubt he, Zeb Stone Grim, believed in his rebirth and simply floated along with the new, but false reality he found himself in while looking over his shoulder in search of her, the ghost of his past, the High Priestess. But Zeb Stone Grim is Zeb Stone Grim, and he loves for keeps. Only he could stand by Suda the Faithful when all others would have strangled her. Real or not, his fear of losing Voria bringing a close and real consequence to his game and the High Priestess nowhere in sight to explain away the situation. I am still guessing yet confining himself to his room and refusing to take on his role once again a certain undeniable proof. What of the consequences, though? Hobgoblin Town? The Manor? For his associates, including me?

“Will he be ready to oversee his tournament today?” she asks.

“No, you and I will have to.”

“But the servants have fled or been dismissed. We don’t know of today’s events, the contestants, or the contests… how are we to manage?”

“First, you and I, in our finest raiment, flanked by Duzsia and Zergoa, will represent Lord Torngul. In the meantime, Izga and Zoria will locate the Lord’s household. I assume Dorgrav will be the key to that. Luda will keep an eye upon Lord Torngul and his household while we are absent.”

“Yes, husband, you are right. We have a duty to uphold in Lord Torngul’s absence.” She releases me and scrambles from her bed, dropping her breast wrap and pantaloons, in fact catching her pantaloons on her toe and flinging them at my spellbound face. I grab them and inhale. She dances away from me, her naked body trying to seek comfort in the furthest corner of her room, away from my predatory advance.

She holds her hands up. “We don’t have the time husband, I… I, just teasing…” Giggling escapes her lips.

I crash into her, my lips swallowing her mirth.

Breaking our passionate kiss to suck in a breath, I growl, “I believe you require more of my seed, to strengthen you, of course. The duty I must perform to deliver this bounty, a genuine sacrifice, an arduous burden, which I am willing to endure.”

---

Arm in arm, we float through the kitchen doorway on a cloud of satisfied love and lust.

“If you had time for her, then you have time for me,” grouses Luda, issuing a curt nod and placing her hands on her hips.

Bloody goblin nose, I inwardly curse. My other wives demand the same and yet as the sun rises, I know for certain an expectant crowd will gather outside of the manor through the morning.

--- Lord Torngul POV

Voria toys with her foe and glances in my direction for confirmation. I nod. This one is from Clan Beastbane and her death instead of defeat will send a message. I look up.

Voria’s sword stands upright in her foe’s chest, yet she staggers back, her eyes seeking mine while her hand grabs at her neck. Blood seeps out between her fingers. I bolt upright from my chair and am by her side.

“I am sorry, Lord,” she whispers. I shake my head and cradle her in my arms and then lift. My eyes are upon her wound. Blood oozes out in pulses. He will fix this…

“The tournament is over for today,” I bellow.

I glance about in search of Trela. She runs to catch us up as I hurry back to the Manor while nursing Voria.

“Did you see what happened?”

“No Lord, my eyes were upon the Beastbane Clan to judge their reaction as you requested…”

“Is she dead?”

“Yes, Lord. My delay is due to checking to make certain, what of Voria?”

Her hand is no longer on her neck and blood flows freely from the wound. “A cloth, quick!”

I hear tearing and Trela appears on my right-hand side next to Voria’s head, holding a cloth against the wound.

“Her primary artery, Lord, a nick now, but soon it will burst…”

I yell, “Don’t you think I don’t know that?”

While Voria murmurs nonsense, we hurry through the north gate and then to the kitchen. I lay Voria on the preparation table, ignoring the feeble protests from the kitchen staff present, my kitchen staff.

“Go find Lord Klar, only he can save her. Don’t return without him.”

Trela’s eyes glance down, and I position my hand over hers and nod. The cloth sticks to her hand and rips away from Voria’s neck. Blood gushes out.

“Bring me another cloth!” I shout. Who does? I don’t know or care as Trela has fled by the time I look up. I place the cloth against her neck and the cloth fills quickly, too quickly, with blood.

“Voria,” I call. “Voria.” Her empty eyes stare back at me.

Another voice answers, “She has lost too much blood Lord… she is dead.”

My eyes scan the kitchen and lock on the source of the voice. “If she dies, you all die!” I scream at the kitchen staff.

They keep their distance and edge their way around me; eyes wide with terror and once at the doorway, they bolt for their lives.

“Voria?”

There is no response as dusk falls, and gloom claims the kitchen.

I touch her cheek, and there is no response. The back of my hand feels no breath while under her nose. Blood continues to drip from between my fingers. Is she truly dead?

Another is by my side. I spare a glance. Lord Hob. “Save her,” I plead.

I hear his reply, yet don’t listen as my eyes are upon this innocent.

I hear Trela’s voice. Sweet Trela. Stepping away from my folly, I stagger towards the kitchen door, bumping into a wall instead, and slide to the ground. This is all pretence… those who are mine are safe, only those against me feel my wrath. That is how the High Priestess plays her game.

I don’t understand. I need to rethink my plans, ensure Voria survives next time. Yes, I will know more the second time. My hands climb the wall, and my body follows. I fall through the kitchen doorway, stumbling towards the stairs and grab for a handrail to prevent myself from falling. Hand over hand on the handrail, and I climb closer and closer.

Pushing open the door to my bedroom, I wriggle around and inside, using the doorjamb for support until my back is against the bedroom side of the wall. Reaching out, I close the door, close myself off from all the others. I need to think. I push off from the wall and crash onto my bed and bounce off to slide to the floor.

I return to the beginning. Rexa orders the death of all the Blood Suns’ bodyguards and no other wife objects. Some even join as the Ten Spears hunt them down in the days after Lord Hob’s death. While the other wives are away on the hunt, she moves into Head Village, claiming the Head Hob’s house and summons several of her favourites from the Farm to join her. The remaining wives protest, yet how can they understand the needs of a pregnant mother to be? When the Ten Spears return in triumph, she declares them the “Keepers of the Peace”, reporting to her as First Wife. She has a village and an army to protect her now.

Months later and Lord Hob’s wives give birth, to female goblins, all healthy. Rexa, though, gives birth to her hobgoblin son, who she names Klugrath. So, he had much to live up to. Somehow Rexa survives her lower body being ripped apart during the birthing. A mystery then, I know how now. Lord Hob’s blood. From Zoria Oath Keeper. Not only did she guard the goblin she swore to, but she also kept Lord Hob’s blood in her care and for reasons only known to herself kept Rexa alive and then made her whole. I shake my head. She shared her story with me, Lord Torngul… can I believe her while we are in this dream? Was she alone and scared because she wasn’t pregnant? Other wives of Lord Hob weren’t pregnant, yet he did not cast them aside, and Lord Hob confirmed a name upon Zoria.

A burst of manic laughter escapes my lips. Rexa! She would have sown doubt in all of Lord Hob’s wives. Tell them they were less and would need to prove their worth to Lord Hob’s first wife. This was a tactic of Jotor, her false father. You never know what someone can offer until you test them to prove their worth. Questioning their worth also puts them on edge - which way will they fall? The Ten Spears would support her will, be that death for any dissent or banishment. Yes, no matter what Zoria said, Rexa would have magnified her fears, asked for proof of her worth and then reaped the benefit of Lord Hob’s blood for herself and her son.

Is that what she did to me? My hands shake and I clasp them together around my knees. No. I was confident. Lord Hob trusted me, even after my wife’s betrayal and my daughter’s poor judgement in following their mother.

I ruled as Lord Hob’s Speaker of Law, bringing in a bumper crop from the Farm, rebuilding Head Village while Rexa recuperated from childbirth. Didn’t I? I have doubts. I remember finding out after the event she ordered from her recovery bed that Duzsia, Koria and Luda’s children were to be sent to Head Village to be cared for. My protest, as Master of Children was dismissed. The custody of their children would keep them in line, of course. How could the new mothers flee with their babes? Then the threat if I continued to protest, Rexa would send the Ten Spears to shut me up. The stick. She instead urged me to direct my valuable energy in another worthwhile direction, to prove my value. The carrot.

I counselled Koria and Luda to run the Farm to bring them out of their depression after losing their babes and for Duzsia; I suggested she train the militia and thought myself clever. Shortly after Rexa plotted to install Bekto, Zuxa and Lazsia to run the Farm, the three dimwits eagerly gave up their newborns for a sense of false power. Duzsia, Koria, Luda and Milga disappear for a time and when they return, we learn they have tried to explore the valley over and mourn the passing of Duzsia, yet I know Rexa rejoices. A named wife of Lord Hob, Duzsia the Relentless, dies. Somehow, I can’t believe this. With Rexa’s surprise blessing, my daughters and I, with a couple of crews, clear the land between the Farm and Head Village. Through this one act, I believe I demonstrate my value to her. I remember without knowing why being of value was important to me.

Years pass, and Rexa declares herself High Priestess. Our daily meetings become weekly meetings and then monthly meetings and, finally, occasional meetings. I hear rumours. She either converts or slays all who come within her reach. So, I take an interest again in her coming and goings, needing to dismiss most of her spies from the work crews first to find some alone time. The first big event I attend in a long time is the celebration of Klugrath and his sister’s fifth birthdays. As they line up on an enormous stage specially built for the occasion, everyone notices the obvious, much to the High Priestess’ distress. I suppress a chuckle even now. When Klugrath lines up with his half-sisters, Karo and Ligia’s daughters, even though six months younger than their other half-sisters, are average in size and height, and therefore not of Lord Hob’s linage. Either no one noticed in the nursery, or more likely they were all too afraid to tell Rexa who, when she visited, doted on her son in his room and ignored the other children of Lord Hob. The occasion is a farce, yet seeing Klugrath, the biggest and broadest of them all, doesn’t augur well for a peaceful future.

The hunt for the traitors came next. Karo, Ligia and their birth daughters, Milga and her daughter, also a significant number of the potters and ironworkers, simply disappeared from the valley the night before. When Karo and Ligia came to me for advice and I sent them to Milga for help, I didn’t realise the depth and preparation of Milga’s departure or the eagerness of some of Rexa’s former faithful had to escape her ranting.

I continued to give advice. I realised Zoria would want to find new friends as Karo and Ligia assisted her in guarding the crippled goblin and were probably the only two wives she ever trusted. So, I suggested she start a company of her own, the Oath Guardians. They wouldn’t need any skills except eyes and ears, so any Priestess rejects would be grateful for a secondary role in the great Klugite religion and left the rest to her. When they formed shortly after, that was confirmation enough that Zoria had some sort of leverage over Rexa, that something, even after years, was Lord Hob’s blood.

As time passed, I had fewer victories and more scrutiny. Spreading seed and farming techniques to the other goblin tribes in the valley was one, as I knew they would need the population to resist Rexa. Then, of course, there is the rumour I spread, based upon a secret truth. The father of Rexa’s newborn son was her first son. As I lay incapacitated on a cobbled road in Head Village at dusk after an impromptu meeting with Klugrath, leaking blood from a gut wound because of a suspicious robbery gone wrong, I regret nothing.

Is this dream of being Lord Torngul simply my imagination running wild during the last moments of my death? Has Rexa, the High Priestess, captured my soul, and she plays with my imagination to torment me forevermore? Am I reborn because of my soul link to Lord Hob? A link I didn’t believe in, never believed in and yet I recognise Luda even though her body and her face are different. Dressed in new flesh, yet beyond doubt, she has the personality of my daughter. I am her father, I should know. I tested Lord Klar. To be a true Lord Hob, he would have to prove he could enter a seeding frenzy and he did so and more. And then there is Voria. Koria and Luda lived past my death, so I didn’t suffer their loss, yet seeing Voria upon her deathbed forced me to face a similar loss. Not of a daughter but of a lover, one you care about more than yourself. My heart hurt. How can a dream simulate that?

I feel arms embrace me and hear gentle cooing, reassuring me everything will be alright. I recognise her sweet voice. Trela. I remember shouting at her and yet her being here with me now must mean she forgives me. I didn’t dream her into my room and her hot breath on my neck feels real enough. If this is a dream, then I decide to surrender to the expert illusion because I can no longer find the boundary to challenge the reality and I am tired of waiting for the High Priestess to take my life again.

After a time, I hear the door to my bedroom creak open and then shut. I refuse to open my eyes…

“Lord, I am alive.”

I sigh. Moisture fills my eyes when I open them. In a blurry realism, Voria stands, legs astride, before me in her complete battle regalia.

Trela assists me in standing. Yet Voria doesn’t approach. I tilt my head and frown.

“I need to confess to you, my Lord, of my infidelity.”

I lean upon Trela, who supports me as if prepared. I glance her way and her eyes avoid mine. She knew yet kept silent. Is that a worse betrayal?

“Continue,” I say. My throat tightens.

“I willingly accepted the blood of Lord Klar. But for his intervention, I am certain I would have died. I took without his permission his seed to strengthen myself and become faster so I can serve you all the better yet acknowledge the manner of the theft is a betrayal of my oath to you and a dishonourable deed done to one you have added to your household. I will not do this again, yet only you can decide if I keep my place in your honour guard.”

“Do you have anything to confess to me, Trela?”

“No Lord. I am wholly yours and will forever be…” Her eyes fall away from mine and stare at Voria. “I understand Voria’s accepting Lord Klar’s blood. Perhaps anyone would crave life on those terms when faced with death.” Her eyes find mine. “I understand her need to improve, and his seed is potent. Many a time have we discussed Zergoa’s improvement and while we didn’t know her before now, we assume Duzsia has improved using the same method. I can see the attraction, yet betrayal is betrayal, although only you can determine the depth.”

I know the benefit. My daughter and Duzsia conspired to ensure I consumed his seed, although I believe he didn’t order or ask them to. It seems those around him take from him, just as Voria did.

“You realise that if you don’t return to him, your improvement will be slight. Only over time with regular consumption will you aspire to the lethal level of strength and speed which Luda, Duzsia, Zergoa, Zoria and Izga have or will reach.”

“Who is Zoria Lord?” asks Trela.

“Briksia’s real name, a long story for another time. Since you only have a fleeting taste, what say you now, Voria?”

“I am ashamed, Lord. I thought this single betrayal confessed would see me stronger and possibly forgiven. Now I am lost.”

I hug Trela. Straightening, I stride forward and embrace Voria. “Be at ease, my guardian. You swore an oath to protect me and preserve my life, even if this meant costing you yours. Nowhere in the oath is sexual fidelity asked for or presumed. Yet I will add you have chosen your bed and you are no longer welcomed back to mine.” I release her.

She nods. “I will miss you both…” She sniffs as a tear rolls down her cheek. “There is no circumstance under which you would reconsider, Lord?”

I laugh, a good lean back belly roar. “None, dear Voria. His seed is like a drug. The more you partake, the stronger and faster you will become, and I know your competitive nature. It rules you and never is the time when you can deny yourself such a boon. So go to him with my blessing. With his seed in you, I am certain this will significantly enhance your ability to protect me.”

Will her departure as my lover leave me yearning for her? Will her presence tempt me to lie with her one more time? I swivel about upon hearing sobbing behind me.

“What saddens you, dear Trela?”

Her head rises, puffy eyes greet mine. “I will be inferior. My loyalty and love could cost you your life…”

“Perhaps I should replace you with another if you hold such doubts. There are plenty of candidates still on the field…”

Her head nods several times, while she slumps her shoulders and drags herself towards the door.

“Where are you going, dear Trela?”

“I am making way, my Lord. I live only to preserve your life. Therefore, I must leave so another can replace me in your honour guard.”

“Look at me Trela.” She shakes her head. “Consider this my last command to you. Look at me, Trela.” I see her arms rise and fall and she turns, shaking her head and taking a deep breath. Her fingers comb through her long, fine black hair.

“Will you marry me Trela?”

Her mouth goldfishes, while Voria jumps at Trela to embrace her, succeeding and lifting her.

“Did you hear Trela?” Voria screams with joy. Trela fights to be free and Voria lowers and releases her.

“You mean what you say, Lord?” Her thin, sweet voice full of hope.

“Yes, my love, it is time my daughters had more siblings to be jealous of.”

I love them both equally, but I can’t accept Voria back. Even as Lord Torngul, I am a one wife goblin, although I enjoyed, or perhaps my inner Lord Torngul enjoyed two lovers servicing him. Trela’s logic was flawed, of course. Any additions to my honour guard would be no better or worse than her, unless they received Lord Klar’s seed. Unless that was her point, she would never partake of his seed.

My kiss presses upon her lips all the more when, in that moment, I realise the depth of her love for me. She assumed to be in my honour guard I would require all to be seeded by Lord Klar, which she wouldn’t accept. I break off our kiss and chuckle.

“You, my dear wife, think beyond me.”

Her face screws up a bit.

I grab her shoulders.

“I wonder if Lord Klar would seed all my honour guard or not?”