---Gorgrin, Blood Oath Follower POV

“What do we have here?”

The crowd of the wild ones separate before the commanding tone of my voice. Two female hobgoblins, neither in armour, argue with Durrilsia, while a third, strapped to a stretcher on the ground, tries to shout over both. The stretcher carries more than a hobgoblin with bandaged feet. Multiple sets of armour and weapons lay across the frame, prizes from battle, perhaps? I double-check, glancing at the one on the stretcher and finding her face again on one of the two standing. On hearing my voice, the third tries to shove her way clear, her frantic eyes darting about, searching for a way out through the circle of wild ones hunters and failing, of course, as they push her back towards me.

“The twins accuse the third of being an assassin. The Lord’s sister-wife Izga slew the other assassins, which is why the stretcher holds more than a body, and she returned with the surviving assassin so the Lord could ask her questions,” reports Durrilsia.

I glance up at the hill, and the huddle of Lord Klar and his wives continues. Interrupting may not be in my best interests, mainly because we must hunt.

“Durrilsia, pick two who use a knife or dagger well and leave them with me.” I point out two in the crowd. “Ty the hands of both to the arms of the stretcher, so they behave while we find a place to hold them until Izga returns.”

The captives protest, of course, until I slap them. I need to wipe the blood off the back of my hand after slapping the accused assassin across the mouth. She is lucky I didn’t aim high to open the bruise on her forehead. The twin cringes and slinks across to take her place at one end of the stretcher. The other still has some fire in her but allows the Lord’s wild ones to tie her hands.

Durrilsia returns and presents two mid-age females. I nod, accepting her judgement.

“Lead them to the hunting grounds of yesterday, and I will catch up once I have found a place to hold these three.”

---

Circling the hill, the hobgoblin tent village comes into view. The warrior and farming hobgoblins have mustered out to do their duty before my wild ones or perhaps resuming where they left off before being called by Lord Klar. The tents are empty. Not a single hobgoblin wanders about as neither Thalgora nor Klaria tolerate absence. While searching at one end, I notice Lord Klar and his entourage arrive at the other. They are dragging the three prisoners into one of the larger tents.

Do I wait?

They make my decision for me as the entourage exits the tent one by one. Duzsia, Izga and Lord Klar each have a prisoner hoisted high on their shoulders. Luda seems to be in some daze as she dusts their tracks leading away from the tent. I swallow. Covering your tracks can mean several things, yet it is best not to gain a sense of curiosity when a Lord does so.

“What do you think that means?” asks one of my wild ones escorts.

“That we should unsee what we just witnessed,” I reply, trying to make my voice dry and flat. “Come.”

I lead them towards the downwind side of the tent village. Once beyond the last tent and amongst the beginnings of the riverside forest, the stink of the latrine trench reaches my nostrils, which means we are close. I stroll away from the stretcher and signal the two wild ones to join me. After they arrive, I point back towards the stretcher, which their eyes instinctively track towards. My dagger catches the first wild one below the rib cage, and as she falls, gasping, she draws the attention of the second. My now withdrawn, bloodied dagger strikes upwards, stabbing from under her chin.

The assassin, her eyes, previously following my every step, no longer looks over her shoulder. As a witness to both of my murders, she now pulls and twists her hands to loosen the bindings. The wounded patient twists and turns her head, attempting to see behind her and try to understand why her twin sister is in silent shock.

As I approach the assassin, she hears the crunch of my boots on the gravel, and her face turns towards mine. Her eyes grow dull. “There is nothing I can offer in exchange for my life?”

I shake my head. “You can’t unsee what you have seen. A secret isn’t a secret if more than one person knows.”

With her hands bound, I strike upwards under her chin. Her death is instant and as her body collapses, so does her end of the stretcher. The eyes of the injured twin catch mine, and as she opens her mouth to scream, I plunge my dagger into the convenient cavity.

“I, I saw nothing,” squeals her twin while tugging at the ropes binding her hands. The strength of the desperate allows her to drag the stretcher half a hand width.

“I don’t know of your importance, but I doubt you being alive will be more important than Lord Klar’s intended plan for the three captures he has secreted away. So, quiet now.” I grab her forehead from behind. She takes rapid shallow breaths, her eyes wide and only then do I notice her baby bump. I hesitate for several heartbeats, swallow, and then do what I must as I slide my dagger upwards from under her chin.

The stretcher holds the weight of the five of them. I assume Izga’s construction. The ruts in the ground are deep as I drag the load away, but the latrine is close. I dump each body head to toe along the length of the latrine trench. The booty and stretcher follow as an additional layer to dissuade anyone interested in digging in the stink. Backfill with dirt is last. I am almost certain the next user of the latrine will complain there isn’t much length left and report another trench will need to be dug.

After inspecting the ruts, I decide not to cover them. Instead, I fetch river stones and place them equal distances apart along the entire length. Assessing my effort, I wonder what the next user of the trench will think. Something more concerning is the sight of Duzsia, Izga and Luda crossing the river by suspended rope, pulling their naked selves along its length under the watchful gaze of Lord Klar. I contemplated cutting this end to cover their tracks, but that would only reveal the presence of another, which they may feel they need to track down and silence.

---

“Where are the two I sent with you?” asks Durrilsia when I find her.

“I needed to leave them with the stretcher. They can find Izga and let her sort the three prisoners out. How goes the hunt?”

“Better than yesterday, although we are straying close to Beastbane Clan land by my reckoning.”

I scratch my head. “We don’t want trouble, so tell them to hunt further along the length of the river.”

She jogs off, and I relax. I had removed all my clothes and inspected them for blood while beside the river. There were a few spots here and there, but nothing river water couldn’t cleanse. With my laundry finished, I then jogged back, allowing the damp clean-ups to dry under a rising sun.

---Lord Klar POV

Izga, Duzsia and I escort the old crone out of the goblin village. She insisted on walking. Several goblins peer out of their cottages, retreating instantly when spotted by the crone, who immediately waves them back.

Instead of wading across the ford, we descend into the forest on the goblin village side of the river. After a short time, we reach the spot where I shared a tryst with a certain hobgoblin assassin who, I hope, remains under watch.

Luda removes the crone’s robe from her body, including all the usual trinkets and the spare staff we found. While Luda dresses in her armour, Izga keeps watch. Duzsia and I dig a hole, sharing a smile. Burying the crone’s clothes, trinkets and staff completes our mission. The goblins will discover a confusing scene in the crone’s cottage. Both crone and grandson sit on the ground, he between her spread-out legs. The grandson sits, resting his back against his grandmother’s chest. Her hand, though, clutches a blooded dagger that rests on his chest below a gaping throat wound. His hand, midst of reverse thrust, holds a dagger sticking out of her eye.

Late morning while climbing the hillock, I pause as do my wives to witness an amazing sight. We share chuckling and playful smiles as Gorgrin jogs by in the distance; we assume to join the wild ones in the forest after some urgent errand.

A not-so-pleasant sight is Dorgrav, Major Domo of Lord Torngul and his two escorts steaming up the hillock, making a beeline for me.

I cross my hands in front of me and wait. My wives assemble behind me. Dorgrav needs to head left first to find the way past the first trench and then veer right to find the gate through the start of the wall directly below us. We wait in front of a pair of gates, attached unfortunately to an incomplete wooden log wall, which is our last defence. Inside are our accommodations, a part-way completed double-storey wooden construct.

“We were to meet today, Lord Klar, and while I know there have been priorities, this day is almost done, and I will be late to report to my Lord and your sponsor, Lord Torngul.”

His two escorts are holding back a third. As I try to peer around him, he stamps his foot. “Her! You can have her back as well. All she does is mewl about you and how you have pleasured her, ruined her for other males and so on.”

On release, the assassin runs towards me and grabs my leg. With a loud exhale of breath, she crashes to the ground in a foetal position struggling to breathe. I raise an eyebrow while glancing over my shoulder at Duzsia.

“What, Lord? I was going to use my sword but didn’t know her value to you.”

I paint on a pleasant smile and face, Dorgrav. “Follow me, and we will make a selection.”

We visit Thalgora first, and several choose the civilised life of Hobgoblin Town, likewise when we visit Klaria.

“What about the wild ones, huntresses, aren’t they?” asks Dorgrav.

Turning to face him, with deliberate doubt across my face, I ask, “What would Lord Torngul want with huntresses?”

“Well,” his hand flicks towards the female volunteers, “They wouldn’t be afraid of beasts and Lord Torngul has several which need constant tending.”

“To save us all some unnecessary walking about, how about one or both of your escorts return to your camp with the females you have now? My wives have other duties they can attend to, leaving you and I to find the huntresses’ camp.” I wave a hand towards the distant forest.

“I will return with my escorts to the lake and trust in your judgement, Lord Klar.” His eyes scan the tree line, and his lips curl up. “There is much to prepare for our return journey in the morning, you know.”

I clap him on his back. “Yes, there are always preparations to be made. Can you also keep an eye on the assassin until I return? I can hardly go searching in the forest with her in tow.”

I turn to face my wives as Lord Dorgrav, his escorts, and new additional help fade into the distance.

“We have some cleanup. The rope across the river?” One end of the rope trails in the water, but the end on the hillock side, of course, remains tied to the tree trunk, and discovery will only be a matter of time.

“I will attend to that, Lord,” says Luda

I raise an eyebrow. “You certain?”

“We buried the dead. They can’t do me any harm now. Plus, with your permission, I will take my time. I need to do some thinking.”

“Go with my blessing.”

As she darts off, Duzsia and Izga draw closer to me. Duzsia is the first to speak. “Is she, well, stable?”

“Are any of us,” quips Izga.

“Her realising she needs time is probably a good sign,” I offer as I grab Izga around her lithe waist. “What of the pregnant daughter of Zinmog?”

“She is a twin, and it seems their father substituted one for the other. He sent assassins after Mazgia, and her twin, Morgia, needed to deliver the killing stroke as a test. He paid the assassins to murder them both if she didn’t.”

“Where are they now?”

“In all the excitement, I sort of left them with the wild ones, so perhaps ask galloping Gorgrin when you visit their camp.”

Duzsia bends over, unable to control her laughter, while I crack a smile. Izga looks on innocently.

“Enough, Duzsia. Given you are in a cheerful mood, find the hobgoblins who assisted the goblins with building our manor fort and put them to work. Try to complete all the walls in case the mercenary goblins make an early appearance.”

“Do we have to worry?” asks Izga.

“If they catch us out alone, then yes. Anyone of us surrounded will eventually fall, so if you find yourself outnumbered, run until you can find a place to guard your back. I hope it will never come to that for any of us.”

Duzsia lays her head on my shoulder. “Do you regret releasing Zoria, Lord Farmer Hob?”

“No, and yes. I am certain there was more she could have told us, but I suspect her grandson would have been more useful. Two hundred years of continuous living in this world.” I shake my head.

“It matters not, Lord, for all we know, he spent his years spying on his mother’s goblin tribe and ventured nowhere else.”

“I have a task, so I will leave you and Duzsia to lament missed opportunities!”

With that, Izga gallops off, trying to imitate Gorgrin’s jogging technique before reverting to her own. From a distance, she appears to glide across the grass field.

“I am jealous, Lord.” I shift my shoulder to look upon Duzsia’s face. “The way she captives you in almost everything she does…”

“That may be true.” She slaps my shoulder. “That is probably true.” Another slap. “Whatever her gifts which attract me, she isn’t you. Duzsia the Relentless will ensure I follow the path I need to take. Complete whatever actions are necessary and embrace the consequences come what may. At the river today, you earnt the biggest endorsement I have. You awoke my inner hob.”

“Inner hob?”

I draw her into my embrace. “He is my original body’s owner, and somehow he travels with me even now, although more distant, yet violence, especially towards goblins, always brings him roaring back to the fore.”

“Does his presence explain some of your more violent moments?”

“Some. He isn’t an excuse for my actions, but he certainly approved of your direct solutioning!”

“What do you need from me, Lord?”

I release my embrace. Using my hands on her shoulders, I hold her out before me. “Am I that obvious?”

“No. If the task was easy, you would have told me by now. Instead, you butter me up with a tale about your inner hob and hug me close. I am not one of your other wives, I know our sole mission is to destroy Rexa and the religion she has raised in your name, and everything else is secondary. While I am being forward, forget about Zeb Stone Grim, Koria Keen Eye and Luda, especially their feelings of guilt. The more you make an allowance for them, the worse they will become. Remember, I know the family.”

“Have you been sitting back watching all this time?”

“By whatever miracle our rebirth is, we don’t have to conquer Rexa in this lifetime, but we must make progress because when we return, our previous efforts should make finishing the task slightly easier. These weapons, for example. They are Stone Blood, which means Milga has had a hand in making them possible. Her most obvious legacy is the founding of a permanent settlement that has lasted over two hundred years to permit the refining of weapon crafting. Wherever that place is, we should make her settlement our base of operations. We visit valleys from there and discover allies or foes.” Her face blushes, and tears well up in her eyes.

I wipe the tears from her eyes. “What can you tell me about valleys, allies and foes, Duzsia the Relentless?”

She sniffs. “Argh, still with the tears.” She again needs to wipe them away with the back of her hand. “I left Rexa’s valley because I knew to defeat her would require numbers, an alliance of many valleys. A single valley would fall to her every time. So, I journeyed north and spread the word about Rexa while teaching the goblin tribes who would listen how to grow crops so they could grow more goblins.” She takes a breath while I sweep back her hair. “Tribal goblins… ugh, I remember them being so primitive. Some welcomed me, some tolerated me ranting about Rexa while I taught them to grow crops and others demanded mortal combat for me to stay.” She turns away from me, and my arms drop from her shoulders.

“I thought I had disposed of all my enemies, relentless, you see, making certain of their deaths after early on allowing a few to live, only to face them once again when healed. The son of one of my enemies ambushed me in a valley I thought friendly. I made the mistake of relaxing. Defeating him cost me a serious leg wound, but I was in a friendly valley, so I made for the settlement I helped found. Instead of a welcome, I hobbled into a trap set by one of the first opponents, who I didn’t slay and didn’t seek revenge after healing. He instead followed my journeys gathering the sons and sometimes the daughters of those I had defeated and slain. He had quite the gang of vengeful cutthroats when he confronted me. Needless to say, a much older Duzsia, the Relentless, wounded and surrounded, didn’t survive. They took delight in striking me from behind, shallow wounds, bleeding me out slowly. Oddly, the nanorobots of yours, I now realise prolonged my torture. None of the villagers warned me because he had murdered them all. The one who ambushed me was supposed to report back, but they correctly assumed he was a hothead and prepared for my arrival, anyway.”

“I am sorry.” I had nothing else. She died alone, like Luda, yet she didn’t wallow in Rexa’s valley and lamented her circumstance.

“No, you don’t need to be sorry. After all, I would like to revisit those valleys and see if anything good has grown from the seeds I planted two hundred years ago. Also, my death taught me an important lesson, one which, until you summoned me back, I didn’t think I could benefit from. The lesson is about the long game. I can’t even remember his name, but he spent at least twenty years plotting my downfall. That is relentless, and I can’t do any less since I have the name. So, tell me of this mission, which I assume has a high probability of me not returning.” She flashes me a confident smile and then playfully slaps me out of my dopey look.

“You must accompany Major Domo Dorgrav back to Hobgoblin Town and hand Lord Torngul this note.” I offer the note, which she accepts. “He will provide you with a couple of homing birds. You then need to travel to the mouth of this valley and stand watch. If I could afford to send two wives, you would have split up, one travelling North and the other South, but I can’t. You need to send a bird when you spot the return of the mercenary goblins to warn us. Then work out a way to assassinate as many of the leaders as possible before they reach us.”

“I assume if I can only assassinate one, it should be the overall leader?” She raises an eyebrow and smirks.

“Your judgement is my judgement. Take what you need with my blessing.”

“As you command, Lord.” She kisses each of my cheeks. “Given I am going forth to almost certain death, I would ask I do so full of your seed. And I mean full and then some, as I have stolen clay bottles to fill, courtesy of the crone.”

I nod slowly. With smooth, well-practised movements, she rapidly undresses before me. My view improves with each passing heartbeat. My mind instantly compares the lithe form of Izga with the full-bodied, muscular form of Duzsia. Given I don’t need to decide between one or the other, I consider myself lucky. More so when she gracefully lays her naked body back while curling her come hither finger at me.

---

“Are there two, Gorgrin?” I ask.

“Yes, Lord, they are returning to camp now. Sisters, apparently.”

“Good.” I lay a hand on his shoulder. “Izga tells me she was remiss in leaving a stretcher and three female hobgoblins behind in the company of wild ones. Do you know where they are now?”

“I know where I left them, Lord.” He places his thumbs into his belt. “They should be under guard in the hobgoblin tent village as neither Thalgora nor Klaria wanted them, even truss-up and harmless.”

“When was this?” I ask. I am flirting with the possibility he or they could have been witnesses to something they shouldn’t have.

“Late morning. I saw you and your wives on the hill but didn’t think I should interrupt. Visiting Thalgora and Klaria was a great waste of time. Then I needed to waste more time trying to convince the two wild ones to stand guard when all they wanted to do was hunt and prove themselves to you.” He raises an eyebrow. “Something about being one of the top five hunters for the day to earn a special reward from you?”

I clear my throat. “Yes. I probably owe rewards from yesterday, and I assume today will produce another five…” I turn on my heel, thinking to leave and then remember why I needed to stay.

“Do you wish to reward them now?” he asks.

“No!” I yelp and then settle. “No, tonight will be soon enough. Send them to the hill.”

“As you wish, Lord.”

Halfway back to the hillock, I remember I should be in the company of two wild ones. Oh well, I am confident they will find their way to the Major Domo and his tent.

---Duzsia the Relentless, Concubine of Lord Klar POV

“Major Domo, I need a word with the assassin.”

He puffs himself up, believing he is important, thinking Lord Torngul’s honour guard protects him. All they do is make him feel safe, yet we know a Clan Head sent ten assassins to murder him. Does he know the assassin in his care was one of them?

“Well, irregular, but you, yes, keeping her out of our way will greatly assist.” He waves his arm, flicking his hand behind him.

I catch their looks of disdain before they can blank their faces. His borrowed honour guards are perhaps over their assignment, and now they need to sleep another night in a small tent. Probably the last straw.

A hand on each upper arm, and she is thrust in my general direction. The honour guard immediately swivels about returning to the interior of the tent.

“Thank-you. I will be certain to mention your cooperation to Lord Klar and Lord Torngul.” I then copy the honour guard and grab the assassin by her upper arm and lead her away through the knee-high wild grass until we are far away from everyone.

“What is this about? I thought you…”

I slap her. She opens her mouth again to speak, and I slap her again. “If you speak without being asked, the next slap will rip open your healing wounds.”

Her hands fly up to protect her cheeks, and her sad eyes watch my hands. Once satisfied, we are far enough away, I pull on her arm, and we stop.

“What if I said I could offer you an opportunity to gain Lord Klar’s favour or die in the attempt?”

Her jaw opens, only continuing when I nod. “Anything. His touch is magical. His seed heals. He promised me my cheeks would heal, and a thin growth of skin now grows over the holes.”

“Good. Then you can join me on a possible suicide mission. How do you truly feel about that?”

Her hands drop to her sides. “I am not keen to die because how will I collect any reward?”

“Drink this.” I shove a clay bottle at her.

“What is it?” She sniffs, and her eyes roll back. The clay bottle reaches her lips, and she downs the entire contents in several loud gulps. Licking her lips, she pauses for only a moment. Her tongue dives into the depths of the clay bottle, slurping until the inside is pristine clean, I would think. Her face flushes green. “Sorry, but I know that was his seed. How could I ever forget.”

“I have more.” I hold my hand up. “But you need to earn your next bottle.”

She rolls the empty clay bottle in her palm. “Earn how?”

“You must be loyal to me in Lord Klar’s absence and accompany me until we are far from Hobgoblin Town, and I can explain the mission.”

“You don’t trust me to keep a secret?” Her head lifts. Did she just grow a spine?

“Can I? I don’t even know you, except you have certain combat skills, and of ten assassins, you were the lucky one to survive. Do you owe any allegiance to your former employer?”

She drops to the grass and folds her legs under her. “He will probably want to know what happened, and then when he learns of our failure, probably torture me for fun.” Her chin rests on her knee-braced arms and hands as she pouts.

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen growing seasons,” she replies with a cheer in her voice.

“How did you become an assassin?”

“I have been training since I was five, and this last mission was my first. The more experienced ones were supposed to ease me into it all. But, you know, they are all dead now because of sneaky goblins. And anyway, Lord Klar is more important to me, although my employer may try to find me.”

I walk away. She is too young, regardless of any skills they may have trained her in. She would lack real-life decision-making. Anything not considered in the plan would throw her, placing all with her in danger.

Her footfalls betray her. No stealth skills, then? As she wraps her arms around my shoulders, I sidestep and duck under her reaching arms, grabbing at one and then twisting the limb until she slams her back into the ground. A rush of air escapes her lungs, and she tries to suck in some air. Her eyes water.

“That, that wasn’t nice,” she gasps after a long while.

“That is why you can’t come on this mission with me,” I retort.

“You can train me. They have ordered me to learn all my life… please?” She licks her lips. Does she miss the taste of him already? The Major Domo mentioned her simpering…

“Have you spilt blood?”

Her eyes close, and she takes a deep breath. “I have wounded others in practice…” She opens her deep brown eyes, hope overflowing from them.

P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.