Paul’s POV

  Standing in the middle of a ruined village, Paul looked around. Most of the inhabitants had been killed and raised. They had enslaved all the younglings, a few pregnant women, and some adult females who surrendered instead of fighting. In total they had captured 44 goblins. This village had over 338 dead, well undead now, and Paul had split them evenly among skeletons and zombies.

  Paul had gathered quite the host to take back to Gravewell and fill his ranks. His newest slaves were ripe for harvest and would steadily grow his numbers. His newest undead would help him easily subdue the surrounding area and fill in the gaps in his line. Currently he only held enough to keep his supply lines open, but soon, the entirety of the Deepwood would be his.

  Some of his skeletons help onto the chickens that were abundant in this village. The squawking of the terrified birds annoyed Durnakh and his troop, who preferred goats, but Paul was not so picky. Gravewell could add eggs and chicken to its diet. The creatures were also useful in controlling parasites and small bugs. While certainly it would be hard to get the smelly little creatures to start bathing, parasite control would help prevent rampant sickness from wiping out his entire population.

  While his undead didn’t get sick, the last thing he needed was thousands of dead babies and elderly filling his ranks. He needed good healthy soldiers. Gravewell was close enough to the Bigwet that Paul was even considering contracting someone to make an aqueduct to the city so they had running water. Or maybe he could find someone with a water tether and enchant a few wells to overflow with abundance.

  Hooting and hollering drew Paul’s attention. Durnakh’s troops were taking their pleasure of the captured women as well as looking the longhouses. Paul was about to turn away when a young woman kicked a smallish goblin between the legs, and while his fellows laughed at his struggle, he pulled a knife to stab the insubordinate female.

  With blinding speed Paul grabbed the goblin’s raised hand. Everyone stopped for a moment and looked up at the vampire lord with fear, even the young female stopped struggling momentarily to just gawk.

  “It’s their right to take their pleasure.” Durnakh interrupted.

  “She is my slave.” Paul said. “The spoils and rights may be yours, for now, but her life is mine and you will not take it… And if you do, you will follow shortly after.” He looked from the goblin to his hobgoblin commander. “Do you understand?”

  Durnakh looked at Paul for a long moment before nodding. He slapped the goblin that Paul held onto on the back of his head, “Be gone, if you can’t take her you haven’t earned her.”

  Paul released the goblin before he could begin to struggle and he fled. The goblin’s larger friends laughed as the vampire walked away and took their pleasure of the female.

  A dead wolf was carved up nearby. The goblins must have killed it earlier to eat it. Most of what was left was its skeleton. Momentarily intrigued, Paul raised the wolf skeleton. It rose and came up to his waist. The necromancer put a hand on its head.

  “Durnakh will not forget that disrespect.” Liora said as she came up behind him.

  “Yes, I will have to dominate him soon.” Paul mindlessly pet the wolf. “Maybe in front of everyone when we return to Gravewell. A nice show of goblin dominance.”

  “It would be best.” Liora looked at the wolf.

  “He is a prideful creature.”

  “Hobgoblins respect strength.” Liora said.

  “And he thinks me weak?” Paul asked.

  “Maybe not physically, but in a command sense, yes.”

  The thought of being weaker than the loudmouth irked Paul slightly. How could Durnakh think he help a position of peerage with Paul? He scratched his beard. The defiant hobgoblin was too useful to kill outright, but humiliation should put him in his place.

  “You’re gathering quite the following.” Rikkard said as he walked up to Liora and Paul.

  “Yes, they will serve.” Paul said looking back at the slaves. “They will build me a nice city at Gravewell. Respectable even.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “If it’s a city you want, it’s going to need to survive winter.” Rikkard said.

  “What do you mean?” Paul asked. “Is there an issue with winter here?”

  “Unlike human lands, we don’t farm.” Rikkard said. “We need to gather food for the winter and hide it.”

  “Just a little bit like a squirrel, are you?” Paul asked.

  “Not too far off.” Rikkard responded. “We will dig wholes in the clay and burry extra meat, and winter will have some hunting, but mostly we mushrooms and moss.”

  “You burry meat? In the ground?” Paul asked incredulously.

  “What else would we do with it?” Durnakh asked as he walked up.

  “Salt it or smoke it. Store it in a cellar.” Paul said.

  “The elves gather nuts and berries and dry them and store them in the earth.” Liora said.

  Paul looked at her with amazement as well. “The ground will eat your food and cause it to spoil. It will never last the winter just sitting in mud.”

  “What do you propose we do?” Rikkard asked.

  “How far is until winter?” Paul asked. “I’ve been underground for too long to tell.”

  “It’s the end of Duskfall now. Winterturn is one season away. Four months until winter rains start.” Rikkard said.

  The summer was ending, and they were about to go into autumn. So that means he came to the Deepwood in spring and used the summer to campaign. Four months to prepare for four more months of winter.

  Rikkard has said they can still hunt and gather some in the winter, but the tribes have a couple dozen to a few hundred. By Paul’s count, if he took all his slaves back to Gravewell, he would have nearly a thousand living subjects. A thousand mouths to feed. Was four months of gathering garbage and putting it in the ground going to work?

  “We are heading back to Gravewell and prepare for winter.” Paul looked back at the village. “We will need parchment for the next season.”

  “What is that?” Durnakh asked moving a little closer.

  “It’s like leather. It can be easier to make in some cases and harder in others. Similar skills, but different at the same time.” Paul said.

  “Do you know how to make it?” Durnakh asked.

  “Not specifically, but I have an idea. Gideon may know more about it.”

  “Then me and my men shall come back to Gravewell with you.” Durnakh announced. “This Gideon can teach my leather workers what to do and we can produce this parchment for you. Come spring you will be overflowing in it.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Paul wondered at this hobgoblin’s game. Paul needed the parchment, so Durnakh may have to make it for him for now, but what he’ll want in return was a mystery. First, he offered to join Paul and then challenged him, now Durnakh wants to be helpful?

  Looking equally interested in the younger hobgoblin, Rikkard stayed on topic, “If this is the end of the campaign season, I will send most of my people home to prepare for the winter.”

  “Do so.” Paul instructed.

  Ideas on how to survive winter were already forming in Paul’s mind. They would need food cellars, root cellars, smoking huts, brine, probably from the bog, and salt. Lots and lots of salt.

  “Gather up all the chickens and goats in the village.” Paul instructed. “We leave nothing edible behind.”

  Then he looked in the direction of Anglia, yes, nothing edible left behind. Maybe it was time for another raid but better done this time. His failures in the last raid wouldn’t be repeated this time. Too much was left behind last time. This time, he would move the village itself to Gravewell if he had to.

  Gravewell was only a few hours from their current position. It wouldn’t take long to get home and start preparing everything they needed.

  “Paul.” Eryndral called as she walked up.

  “Are you ready to head home?” Paul cut her off.

  “Gravewell is not home. Goblin blood tastes of trash.” She said. “We need elves or at least humans to feed from.”

  “Humans are a commodity we can afford at the moment.” Paul said. “We are at war if you hadn’t noticed.”

  “But there are humans at Gravewell just waiting to be drained.”

  “You’ll drain no one, Eryndral.” Paul said. “You may drink from the human I gave you, sparingly, and with restraint. I don’t need more corpses right now; I need to survive the winter.”

  “And we can. Off in human or elven lands.” She whined.

  “I can’t imagine Shiiraviia would like to see you abandon your duty to satiate your bloodlust.”

  “Your goblins barely worship her.”

  Paul smiled at her dodge. “They will come around when they see their old gods doing nothing to save them from me.”

  “Yes, but will they praise the goddess or you?” She asked.

  “Does it matter at this moment as long as their old gods go away?” Paul asked.

  Eryndral looked away. “You are a challenging ward, Paul.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Liora chuckled. “Undeath breeds stubbornness.”

  The two women eyed each other with a tinge of hostility for a moment before a goblin ran up to Paul.

  “Master, the Valgul is ready to march.” The goblin runner said with a sloppy salute.

  Valgul.

  Now they were calling themselves that. Unity.

  “March on.” Paul instructed. “Well, shall we?” He asked the two women as he walked off to find his horse.

  The march went along without much issue. Glad for the quiet to plan his next steps, Paul was ready for winter, at least in his mind. His plans were coming together. Parchment was needed for the exact calculations of how much food he would need and the space to store it in, but he had rough numbers rolling around in his head now.

  “Master! Master! Master!” A goblin scout came running up to Paul, “Gravewell is under attack!”

  A loud explosion happened in the distance. Paul held up a hand and called out loudly, “Valgul, march!”