 
# **Contents**

Copyright Information

Blurb

Books

First Page Header

Map #1

Map #2

Prologue

Act I

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Act II

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Act III

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter IXX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Epilogue

Fantasy and Sci-Fi

Open Gaming Content
Ren of Atikala by David Adams

Copyright David Adams

2013
_I am Ren of Atikala. Kobold. Sorcerer. Warrior. I am many things and I have many stories to tell. This one is about my home._

_Home. The word has a special resonance with us all. Great or humble, rich or poor, everyone cherishes their home and if deprived of it loses a piece of themselves._

_I remember looking back at Atikala, its ceiling collapsed in, the homes of fifty thousand kobolds crushed under unimaginable tonnes of rock and dirt. I remembering the feeling of horror and denial that immediately set in. I wanted to reject that this had happened to me, to scream to the ceiling until the rock receded, until fate changed its mind and restored everything to the way it was. I thought that life could not be so cruel as to take everything I'd known in an instant._

_Oh, how I now understand that life can be capricious indeed._

_This is story of how I came to the surface of Drathari and unwillingly traded a life for a life._

Book one of the Kobolds series.
_Books by David Adams_

**_The Lacuna series (science fiction)_**

_Lacuna_

_The Sands of Karathi_

_The Spectre of Oblivion_

_The Ashes of Humanity_

_The Prelude to Eternity_

_The Requiem of Steel (coming 2015)_

**_The Kobolds series (fantasy)_**

_Ren of Atikala_

_The Scars of Northaven_

_The Empire of Dust (coming 2015)_

**_Stories in the Kobolds universe_**

_The Pariahs_

_The Pariahs: Freelands (coming 2015)_

_Sacrifice_

**_Stories in the Lacuna universe_**

_Magnet_

_Magnet: Special Mission_

_Magnet: Marauder_

_Magnet: Scarecrow_

_Magnet Saves Christmas_

_Magnet: Ironheart (coming 2015)_

_Faith_

_Imperfect_

**_Other Books_**

_Insufficient_

_Insurrection_

_Injustice (coming 2015)_

_Who Will Save Supergirl?_

_Evelyn's Locket_
Ren of Atikala

_The Last Prophecy of the Gods_

_On the final day of the final year of the_ Age of Immortality _, the Gods promised they would do something unprecedented and beyond mortal understanding. This collective act was to usher in a new age for all the races of Drathari._

_Instead, on that day, the Gods died._

_Now prayers go unanswered, prophecies no longer hold, and the ancient magic used to heal wounds, extend life, and return the dead has long passed away. All that remains are the mortal races, struggling to survive and constantly at war._

_This is the_ Age of Betrayal.

PROLOGUE

The Cycle, Interrupted

I WAS BORN DEAD.

A living creature had not come back to life in many years. My rebirth must have been a surprising event indeed to those who witnessed it, especially such an insignificant creature as I.

A kobold. A creature little more than vermin by most of the world, standing three feet tall and weighing fifty pounds, had crawled back from the grave before even cracking her shell.

In the northernmost part of the world of Drathari in a place known as the Skycrown lay the sprawling underworld caverns that held the kobold city of Atikala. Here, hundreds of the fast-breeding kobolds were hatched every day. An egg was named as it was laid, the names taken from a registry and returned upon death.

We were not the product of two souls in love, nor were they born into caring families as were humans, elves, or the hated gnomes. This was not our way. Instead, just as with almost every aspect of our rigid and inflexible lives, we had a system.

Every wyrmling hatched in Atikala breathed its first breath in the nursery—the cavern that was the deepest, strongest, most protected part of the entire city. We meticulously recorded its parentage in our libraries before it was put to work as a craftsman, warrior, or some other assigned task, reproducing at the age of six winters, and toiling until killed by war, misadventure, or overwork.

This was the cycle. Birth, assignment, reproduction, death. It was a system ruthlessly enforced with unwavering devotion, and our society flourished for it.

However sometimes things went wrong. Sometimes order was not upheld.

For every clutch of eggs the system produced, and it produced many, some were not viable. Those that did not contain the spark of life had their names reclaimed, the dead eggs cast into the furnaces, becoming fuel for the fires that heated the great central nursery and drove the forges we used to create tools and weapons.

So it was for me.

My dead egg was cast into the furnace with a dozen or so others; the fire burned around us, and one by one, they were consumed by the flames, soon reduced to nothing.

Yet I was not.

When the great conflagration died down, my protective shell sat unharmed and cradled in a pile of ash, glowing with a faint golden light.

The first thing I remembered was the glow.

This was a strange event indeed, seen from the inside of an egg, living inside a hardened shell. I remember the light, bright but welcoming, and the sincere feeling of comfort that accompanied it. Then movement. My egg was brought before the high sorceress assigned to watch over the clutch. I remember this moment most distinctly of all. Impossibly oversized claws enveloping my home, and I remember hearing her voice. The voice of Tzala.

"You were certain that it was without life?"

Dragons are hatched knowing how to speak. The same is true for my kind. We all know the tongue of our forebearers, and even before I had left my shell, I understood the nuances of our people. It was instinct. A racial memory we all possessed.

Another voice, female, unknown to me. "Yes, Leader. Cold as the stone, it was. I used the wand to verify it; there was no spark. Protocol demanded it be destroyed." There was a faint shuffling, claws scratching on the stone underfoot. "Am I to report for execution?"

"You followed protocol," the voice holding me reminded her, "and your duty was clear. You could not have foreseen the egg's survival, plucked from death's embrace by fate itself."

"Very well, Leader. With your blessing I will return to my labours."

I heard the kobold leave, and my home turned over and over in Tzala's claws, a strange but not uncomfortable sensation. I felt drawn to her, comforted by her voice. She was known to me. I had met her already somehow, although I didn't understand it. My earliest memories, however, did not reach any further back than the fading heat of the flames; my second birth in a roaring pit of fire.

"How is this possible?" Tzala mused. "What are you?"

Beyond this, I remember nothing.

ACT I

The Only Way to Go Is Up

_H_ _OME_ _._

_T_ _HE_ _WORD_ _HAS_ _A_ _special resonance with us all. Great or humble, rich or poor, everyone cherishes their home, and if deprived of it, loses a piece of themselves. We crave the stability of the known, a warm bed that we can crawl into every night, our possessions around us and everything just as it is supposed to be. We fight to defend it. If we are lucky, home is the place where we die._

_I remember looking back at Atikala, its ceiling collapsed, the homes of fifty thousand kobolds crushed under unimaginable tonnes of rock and dirt. I wanted to reject that this had happened, to scream to the ceiling until the rock receded, until fate changed its mind and restored everything to the way it was. I thought life could not be so cruel as to take everything I'd known in an instant_ _—_ _everything we had all known._

_Oh how I now understand that life can be capricious indeed._

_It took me many years, but I eventually realised that my species is not so dissimilar to the humans, the dwarves, or even the gnomes. We hate and fear so much and so many, but we are more alike than most know.  _

_We all have one thing in common, and that is we love our homes. To lose our home is a terrible thing that pains our hearts like the death of a close friend. Physically a home is nothing more than inanimate stone and wood and nails, but it is so much more when surrounded by friends, by family, and by all the things we love._

_I don't remember how long Khavi and I wandered in the long, winding tunnels at the north of the world. We survived entirely by chance. We were two kobolds stumbling around the underworld with nothing but our patrol gear, weapons, armour, and a backpack full of supplies for a week's march. We had no plan, only a vague idea where we were going, and nowhere to return to._

_It was the single great event that changed my life, and I feel, beyond even the strange circumstances of my hatching and training in the great city of Atikala, beyond discovering my sorcerer's talent and awakening the spark of magic within me, that this is a good point to begin the story of my life._

_There are other stories that I wish to tell, and I will tell them one day, but this story must come first._

_The story of how I came to the surface of Drathari and unwillingly traded a life for a life._

_— Ren of Atikala_

CHAPTER I

THE DAY ATIKALA WAS DESTROYED was a special day for me.

I woke up with a start, the memory of a dream still raw and vivid, every detail seared into my mind. It was another night filled with haunting dreams. This one was a memory, that of my second birth.

I disliked being unable to control my mind while I slept, but sorcerers always dreamed. Our dreams reflected the faint sliver of powerful blood in our veins, a body stuffed with too much soul, the excess spilling into the night hours. It was the price we paid for our arts.

The dreams, sometimes original and sometimes mirrors of my own memories and experiences, stayed with me and refused to fade when my waking hours came. Each one was infused with power and omens, the beating of golden wings, and the comforting yet intense heat as I exhaled a wreath of flame that could melt stone.

But prophecy was dead. There were no portents in my dreams. Nobody had been able to see the future for hundreds of years, to the point that some wondered if such things ever existed. Yet sometimes I wondered, somewhat fearfully, if the memories appeared in my sleep not because they had happened before, but because they would happen again.

I uncurled myself from the cool stone floor of the quarters that served as my lodgings, the simple home of a warrior. I was careful not to let my claws scratch any of the nine others sharing the floor with me, all huddled together around a pile of coals for warmth.

Of those who lived with me, I always awoke first, and always because of the Dreaming. I climbed to my feet, stepping over and around my fellows as I gingerly made my way over to the wooden chest, six inches by nine and six deep, the vessel for all my worldly possessions.

It was rare for kobolds to own anything at all, but the sorcerers amongst us tended to have keepsakes. Memories of our younger years, things to ward away nightmares or to grant nights without dreams. My box held only a red velvet bag. I lifted it, tugging open the string and upending the contents into my hand.

Eggshells. Golden fragments of my egg, still glowing with a faint light after all these winters. They were so small in my palm. I turned them over and over, listening to them rattle against each other. I had once lived completely within this thing. It had been my entire universe, all I knew and experienced, but I had eventually broken free of it and seen so much more.

It was like this city. Few kobolds outside the Darkguard had left Atikala, but I knew there was a much wider world out there. A world of fantastic creatures, of monsters and evil. Was Atikala my new egg? My new existence waiting to be shattered?

I had so many questions but had found no answers. Why had the egg not burned? Why did it continue to glow to this day? Why was I golden coloured when all around me were rusty or black?

"What am I?" I spoke to the broken pieces, hoping the fragments of my birth device would have words to speak back at me.

"Talking to yourself again, Ren?"

Ren. It meant _nothing_. With my name struck from the register after my death, Ren was what everyone called me.

I didn't have to turn around to know who was speaking. The low, deep voice belonged to Khavi. Khavi was an oddity; he was the only male in our patrol team. Only one in twenty kobolds were male.

I had reached six winters, and Khavi had been the first assigned to breed with me when the season was right. He had successfully bred with another of our patrolmates already and came from a respectable line of strong warriors. There was nothing to dislike about the pairing, but I wasn't sure about the idea of mating with him. Not that it mattered. I knew I had to do my duty. The numbers of the city had to grow.

"No." I tipped the eggshells back into the pouch, careful to catch them all, then slipped the string around my neck.

"I've heard you talking to that thing before," Khavi said. I heard him stand, claws squeaking faintly on the stone. "You should throw it away. It's not healthy to keep talking to it."

"It's mine," I said, turning around to face him, "and I'll keep it if I wish. Sorcerers are permitted personal effects."

"That doesn't seem fair."

"Life's not fair," I said.

"But it's unnatural to own things." It was clear by the way Khavi spoke he was reciting one of his lessons. "The community's goods belong to everyone. To own is to restrict, and to restrict is to devalue. Why would you devalue the society's property, that which is owned by all?"

I didn't have a valid answer to the wisdom of the city leaders. Instead I dodged the question and stretched out my limbs, joints cracking as I exercised them. "We should get to the armoury. We have our patrol today."

Khavi's muzzle split in a grin, revealing a wide field of razor sharp teeth. Males had duller teeth than females, but Khavi seemed to be an exception. Despite his narrow chest and shorter stature, Khavi was as strong as any female. "We do. Our first patrol as seniors. Our first time in charge."

I walked to the thin curtain that divided our room from the hallway, pulling it aside and stepping through. Kobolds had no doors, no locks, no internal dividers. Doors were to keep intruders away. Fellow kobolds were not intruders; the cloth was simply to reduce noise.

"Are you sure you're up to this?"

Khavi's red eyes glowed with an eager light as he moved to follow, the two of us stepping into the tight passage with a throng of others, all moving either to our duties or returning from them. "I have been waiting for this day for some time," he said, moving with me through the bustling crowd. "You have your dreams, and I have mine. They're somewhat less literal, I admit, but it's the same thing."

I stepped over a glowbug that scurried underfoot, its bright light flaring as my footclaw scraped its back. "It's not, it's different," I tried to explain for the hundredth time. "My dreams are not ambitions, merely... _things_. Things that I see and feel. Not what I want to be or do."

"Fortunate that you do not wish to be a dragon!" He laughed, a rasping noise that drew the attention of other kobolds in the corridor. "I fear you are much too small for that, goldling."

Goldling. My derisive nickname since hatching. I clamped my jaw together, careful not to sever the tip of my tongue with my teeth. "Thank you," I hissed. "I hadn't noticed."

Soon the tunnel widened away from the sleeping quarters and out to the city proper. Atikala was built into a subterranean cavern, and despite its massive size, had few buildings. Sleeping quarters were built into the walls, making the best use of the limited open space our people could find. Khavi and I crossed the plaza, a flat area teeming with kobolds moving between sections, until we arrived at the central part of the city.

The great Dome of Daily Reflection. We knelt obediently, as all were expected to do in the morning, reflecting on the lessons we had learnt throughout our lives, focusing on the one we anticipated would be the most important for the day.

As this was my first day as patrol leader, I drew upon a lesson Yeznen had given me about the enemies of our people. His words flowed through my mind as clear as the day I'd first heard them.

_We are cousins to dragons. If fate were righteous and fair, this entire world would be ours, with the dragons at its head and us by their sides._

_But fate is neither righteous nor fair. We may have the blood of our masters in our veins, but never let your arrogance blind you to reality. We live in a world surrounded by hate, by hungry steel in blood-soaked hands.  _

_Humans. Elves. Gnomes. Jealous of our gifts, these wicked races of darkness are your enemies. They hate you as you hate them, seeking only your destruction and the denial of our destiny. Never hesitate to spill their blood, for they would end you in a heartbeat._

_The righteous can have no mercy for monsters. Say it with me now, children! Shout it to the stones above! Let all who hear our voices tremble in fear!_

_No mercy for monsters!_

_No mercy for monsters!_

_No mercy for monsters!_

"So I hold, Leader," I said to the dome.

"So I hold, Leader," said Khavi. I stood, then offered Khavi my hand. As I pulled my friend to his feet, I wondered which lesson had played through his mind. It was probably the same as mine. "No Mercy for Monsters" was his favourite.

Our observance completed, we headed to the open-air bazaar that served as the city's armoury.

Kobolds did not own things, so we had little use for walls inside the city. No locks or guards protected the weapons and armour supplies; they lay on open benches unattended, and the two of us attracted no attention as we approached our allocated table.

"Do you think we'll kill anything?" asked Khavi, hoisting his well-worn suit of armour, its humanskin leather plates squeaking as he pulled it over his head. I did the same with mine.

"I doubt it," I answered, adjusting my straps, making sure the armour was snug and tight without snagging on my scales. "It will be as every patrol we had as wyrmlings. Uneventful."

"That's dangerous thinking," said Khavi, drawing a belt around his thin midsection, and then strapping the shin guards to his legs. "Our eyes should always be alert. If you expect no danger, you'll find none until it finds you. Yeznen told us that."

Yeznen was too paranoid for my taste. "The gnomes, may the shit of the dead Gods fall on them, don't value the minerals below them, and the humans above us know better than to burrow where they are not welcome."

Khavi reached out and tapped a claw to my leather breastplate. "These one's didn't."

"Perhaps it is good we might encounter some raiders then," I said, reaching up and tucking my pouch of eggshells under the plates. "The community could always use more armour."

We shared a laugh, and then retrieved our weapons. Khavi easily hoisted the large two-handed sword that was his trademark weapon. He eyed me as I lifted the delicate short-blade I favoured, slipping my buckler onto my arm. It was an action I'd done hundreds, if not thousands, of times.

"You _are_ a sorcerer, are you not?" asked Khavi, a variation of the same question he asked every time we donned our equipment.

"Yes," I answered, an edge of exasperation creeping into my voice. "I am."

"You cast spells, then."

"You know that I do. You ask me almost every time we're here."

Khavi smiled. "Perhaps I'm expecting a different answer one day. I just want to know why you remain with the patrol teams instead of becoming a leader. You choose to be a warrior."

"Yes, I choose to be a warrior," I echoed. This was enough of a reason, enough justification.

"Then I fear I will never understand you," said Khavi, strapping the weapon over his back. "Nor will I understand your desire to choose things. I go where the Leaders tell me to go." His voice took on a serious edge. "You know that the only reason they permit you to train as a warrior is those scales of yours."

My annoyance bubbled and grew into insult. I turned to him, hissing faintly. "You know I hate it when we talk about this."

"About being a warrior or about being a Goldling?"

"About my scales. About what I am. It's just a colour."

Khavi affixed a firm stare on me. "And what is that? Perhaps your hue is more than an innocent pigment. Perhaps you draw your power from the blood of the rotten golds."

Gold was the colour of the hated metallic dragons, cousins to the silver, bronze, brass, and copper.

The metallic dragons were our mortal enemies. The gold wyrms were lofty and uncaring, the silvers were collaborators with our various enemies, the bronze were foolhardy and destructive and the brass were deceptive and manipulative. The last of them, copper dragons, were maliciously cruel and wicked, delighting in torments and riddles. Plain out-and-out evil. In Atikala the coppers were hated above all the other metallic dragons, especially as one lived relatively close to a neighbouring gnomish settlement.

Nothing had come of the copper's presence yet, but our leaders were always wary. There were no known gold dragons nearby, something that had certainly helped secure my survival. Nobody could be sure of anything except that I manifested spells, but my colour had always been a source of confusion and shame.

Khavi was being more inquisitive than usual, and I didn't like it. I snarled and thumped my fist into his shoulder. "Don't," I warned. "It's just a pigment. It means nothing."

He held up his hands defensively, taking a step back. "As you wish," he said. "It's just a pigment." He gave me another smile. "Look, forget it, okay? How about we just enjoy this special day of ours?"

I wasn't so ready to forget Khavi's words, but I pushed them to the back of my mind. "Fine."

I wheeled around and stormed away from the armoury to meet our newly assigned patrol, heading directly for the gates that protected Atikala. Khavi and I climbed the great stairways built into the sheer walls of the city, towards the top of the cavern, watching Atikala shrink as we climbed. When we reached the top, we were hundreds of feet above the buildings below, the entire city stretched out before us and bathed in a golden glow.

I wanted to admire the view, as I had many times before, but Khavi's impatient grunt reminded me we had a job to do. We crested the last few steps to the tunnel out to the underworld, sealed by a vast iron door. The guards gave us passage without question. Their eyes were fixed on the outside. Something coming from the inside was no threat to our community.

We had not gone more than a hundred steps, however, when a soft, quiet voice caught our attention.

"Ah, your first patrol. I'm glad I could be here to see it."

It was Tzala's voice, my mentor and a sorceress like me. Tzala was truly ancient, but age did not affect kobolds as it affected the other races; we simply grew more powerful and did not wither away. Workers and warriors would inevitably die in their line of work, but a good sorcerer could live a very long time indeed, and Tzala was the best sorceress I knew.

She too owned things. Her possession was a necklace, silver with a red stone at its heart, and she was never seen without it.

I gave a deferent bow of my head and Khavi followed suit.

"Good morning, Leader," I said, "I hope not to disappoint with my performance."

Tzala's maw split in a wide smile. "Somehow I do not think you will. Long have I awaited this day, and I hope, so have you. I remember my first patrol well and with fondness."

"I shall endeavour to be attentive and walk with purpose." I paused, inhaling slightly. "Actually, I had hoped to see you afterwards, Leader. I was going to talk more to you about Tyermumtican."

Tzala's expression clouded slightly, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see Khavi pulling a face.

"I have explained to you before," said Tzala, "the copper dragon is far too powerful and distant for you to visit on your own, and we do not have cause to mount an expedition solely to ask him of your lineage." Her tone softened. "I know your pain, Ren. I know you want to know where you came from, and why your colour is so unusual, but the matter is settled."

I bowed my head once again. I knew once a Leader said that a matter was settled that should be the end of it, but words found their way out. "I understand, Leader, but it is...not fair. All in Atikala know their lineage, but my records were destroyed when my egg was thrown in the furnace." I tried to keep my tone even. "Regrettably, they did not possess my endurance."

"I know," said Tzala, "and I wish I could help, but I cannot."

"The right to launch an expedition is in your hands—"

A prod in the side from Khavi's elbow silenced me.

"I am sorry," said Tzala, folding her arms in front of her.

"Of course." I was silent for a moment, then raised my head curiously. From the corner of my eye, I could see Khavi readying to elbow me again, but I spoke up anyway. "Forgive me Leader, but why are you here? Rarely do sorcerers step beyond the gates of the city."

"Strange words, coming from you." Tzala chuckled and cast a fond gaze upon me. "Am I not permitted to see my Firstclaw, my most promising student, away on this most special day?"

Firstclaw of her students? It would be quite an honour to be Firstclaw at my age, but I wrinkled my nose. "You flatter me, Leader, but I am not worthy."

Tzala waved her hand dismissively. "An accolade fairly earned. You should wear the title with pride."

"I...perhaps, but I am not fond of titles, Leader."

"So I have learnt." Tzala shook her head in amusement. "This attitude will change in time, as you move beyond your role as a warrior and grow your power as a sorcerer. Soon you shall acquire a taste for them."

Unable to disagree about the future and deferent to her wisdom, I bowed my head again. Tzala reached out and patted my snout.

"Good luck, my student. I'll see you when you return, for we have much to discuss."

"Discuss?" My heart leapt. Perhaps my words had won her over.

Tzala's face held a mysterious smile. "Regarding the next step in your training."

"Of course," I said, trying to disguise my disappointment, but I couldn't help a faint rustle running through my scales. "Thank you, Leader. I shall speak to you on our return."

With that the elder kobold turned and retreated back into the city. She nodded courteously to the guards as the iron doors creaked open and the light of Atikala poured in. A million glowbugs bathed the greatest kobold city in the entire north in light, shining through the open gates. Tightly packed dwellings filled the bowl of a limestone cavern to the brim.

The iron gates closed behind Tzala, and I opened my mouth to speak, to have idle conversation with Khavi while we waited for the rest of our patrolmates.

A planet-shaking roar stole the words from my tongue. The stone beneath me buckled like a wave on water. Drathari roiled and heaved, the stone itself breaking free of the ceiling and falling around us. I was thrown almost into the ceiling. As I plummeted back down, veins opened in the ground, cracking like a spider's web as the unyielding rock rose and fell. The glowbugs fearfully winked out their lights, plunging the underworld into darkness.

The noise abated, and all the world fell into silence as suddenly as it began. My right arm burned; I'd fallen on it, wrenching the tendon. I lay sprawled on the ground, cloaked in the pitch black, surrounded by silence. The pain eased, and I was convinced I was dead, crushed under the tide of stone, and I could think of nothing.

The sound of coughing made me realise I had been holding my breath.

"Ren? REN!"

"Khavi!" I inhaled a lungful of stone dust and began coughing too. " _Khavi_?"

Slowly the glowbug's fear died, and the light returned. I found Khavi, cowering with his hands over his head. I linked my arms with his as we coughed and choked down air, fighting to breathe.

The rumble of moving earth tore my gaze to the great iron gates of Atikala. They were buried under a mountain of stone, and I knew somehow that this was the end of my home, and that things would no longer be as they were.

I scraped my broken claws and bleeding fingers on the pile of unyielding rocks, pulling aside chunks of soil and debris. My breath came in ragged gasps, choking on the thick limestone dust that filled the air and caked my scales in a layer of white. I dug in a frenzy until I hit a flat slab of iron. One of the gates to the city, bent and twisted out of shape, blocked my tunnelling. I hooked my fingers underneath and tried to move it.

My injured arm screamed at me to stop. I ignored it. Despite my efforts the ruined gate wouldn't budge. It weighed tonnes, and the stone above it was heavier still.

I moved over, trying to squirm underneath it. The faint smell of blood, not mine or Khavi's, met my nostrils. I shifted a tiny rock, and a hand, fingers twitching, reached for me. A survivor.

No. This was a fleshy, pink hand, not the scaled limb of a kobold.

Fear silenced the pain in my arm; there were none but kobolds inside Atikala. Where had this creature come from? I needed to find out. Had we been attacked by gnomes? Had saboteurs bought down the gates? The leaders would interrogate it, but only if I could save it.

"I'm coming!" I said, then braced my legs against the stone and pulled.

I fell on my rump. The arm was severed at the elbow. The fingers continued to twitch, as though the hand were reaching for me, trying to grab me and drag me down with it to the lands of the dead.

The owner couldn't answer any of our questions. I threw the limb away.

How deep had the stone collapsed? "It's no good here!" I shouted to Khavi on the other side of the tunnel. "I'll start on the left side!" I had to find someone, anyone. A living soul. But if we couldn't, I needed to get through to Atikala. To save my home.

The gate and the arm meant we were close. I moved to another part of the blocked tunnel. We had no shovels, nothing except our claws. My short sword was far too weak and thin and Khavi's two-handed blade too unwieldy.

"I'm through!" Khavi said between laboured gasps. "I can see the main cavern!"

One opening was all we needed. I looked to the blood-soaked arm I found, now still. There was a body further in there. A monster. But beyond that were kobolds just like me, crushed by the stones. I could do nothing for any of them. They were dead, and if they weren't, they soon would be. Trying to save anyone at the wall was hopeless. If anyone was alive, they'd be on the other side. Further down, in the deep caverns. That's where the wyrmlings were. The hatcheries full of eggs. They needed saving most of all.

Abandoning my fruitless attempts to dig through a hundred times my weight in stone, I dragged myself to my feet and staggered towards Khavi, staring hopefully at the hole he made. It was under a foot wide—hardly enough for even the most diminutive of kobolds to fit through. Several of his rust coloured scales had broken off, and he was bleeding, little trickles of black blood painting dark circles on the ground.

"Can we widen it?" I asked, inspecting the sides. It was a crack between two boulders.

"I was hoping your magic might be able to help," said Khavi.

I clicked my jaw, grinding my fangs together. This conversation was old and stale, one we'd had too many times. "Dragon magic creates fire," I said. "I'm not a dwarf. I can't talk to stone."

There was more to it than that, but a complex discussion on magical theory was not a priority at this stage, and even if it was, Khavi would never understand.

"Well, you're thinner than me," said Khavi. "Maybe you can squeeze through, then get help."

The thought had already occurred to me. Khavi helped me tug off the weapons and armour, and they clanked against the rubble with a dull thud, a sound that should have been a lingering hollow echo. The world was smaller now. It closed in on the two of us, resisting our efforts to help anyone who had survived.

I crouched down to the edges of the crude hole Khavi had dug, then squeezed up against the entrance. I almost fit. I sucked in my middle, tightening the muscles holding my bones together, wriggling and writhing. Getting through meant helping the rest of the city. Getting through was my duty. The crying of my arm was joined by other parts of my body as they scraped, squeezed, and dragged through a hole that was just too small.

My scales snagged on a jagged edge. I was stuck. Then Khavi kicked me in the backside. Twice. The force tore several scales off my injured shoulder, and a third kick sent me through. Gold blood trickled from my wounds.

"Thank you," I said, groaning as I pulled myself up to my feet and looked towards my home.

Atikala was crushed under a mountain of stone. Its high domed ceiling, once smooth and polished to a mirror shine, now lay on the floor, jagged and cracked like a mouth full of broken teeth. The bowl that was the limestone cavern of Atikala was filled with stone and debris, reaching almost up to the collapsed gate to the city. Tens of thousands of lives had been snuffed out in an instant. Generations destroyed. Our culture, our history, entombed beneath the stones.

My eyes darted from rock to rock looking for movement, looking for hope, but there was none. Had I not known the truth, had I not seen it with my own eyes, none could tell that a city once stood here. The glowbugs that once carpeted the roof had fallen with the ceiling. Everywhere the glowing fluid from thousands of crushed bugs made jagged yellow lines, seeping out through the cracks in the fallen roof. Underneath all that stone was every single kobold I'd ever known; my entire life was consumed by the falling earth.

"What are you waiting for?" said Khavi, trying to see through. "Get the diggers to come and widen this hole. Then we can start searching for survivors in the other tunnels."

"There are no diggers," I said, my voice just a whisper. "There's no _anyone_."

"What?" said Khavi, hissing through his nose. "Bah. Hold on, I'm coming through."

It took Khavi longer to get through, but when he finally scrambled out, he joined me in stunned silence, staring out at the ruins of the city that had withstood goblin attacks, gnome invasions, and countless waves of human raiders. Atikala had stood every test of time, survived every trial. Except this.

The silence of it was the worst part. The city only moments before had a sound, a distinct voice like no other. It was more than the chatter of voices, the clang of mining equipment, and the scrape of claws on stone. It was far too many kobolds crammed into a hollowed out stone cavern. This was the living and beating heart of my people. A collective organism, breathing, moving, talking. There should have been noise, a dull murmur like the constant company of a snoring spouse.

The only noise was our quiet breathing as we stared at the piles of rubble that used to be our everything.

"What do we do now?" asked Khavi.

The roof of the cavern stretched up, higher than I could see, a faint point of light at the top. I could not comprehend how high it was, but it was too far. I looked over my shoulder to the hole we'd come through, back down the corridor away from the city and climbing on a gradual slope. The tunnel led to the gnome settlement above and the humans on the surface above that. The tunnels led to our enemies. To doom.

"We leave I suppose. Go to Ssarsdale. Get help."

Khavi stared out at the faintly glowing debris, his tail limp on the stone, eyes wide but pupils as small as buttons. "Ssarsdale? It's a moon's journey away by the tunnels, and they're surely collapsed. We'll have to go over the surface. How will we find our way?"

I followed his gaze, watching the air slowly settle through shafts of light from beneath the rubble, but to my eyes they looked more like ghosts rising from the ground.

"Well, the only way to go is up."

CHAPTER II

KHAVI AND I WANDERED AIMLESSLY through the winding tunnels that twisted and turned around the outskirts of Atikala. Miles and miles of empty passages, climbing and descending, looping back on themselves, forking and joining, impossible to navigate without years of experience.

The two of us had walked this path many times but not like this. Never with the aim of leaving. Always it had been on patrol, a path that took us from place to place and then home again.

Perhaps out of instinct or habit we followed that set path. We walked the route we would have taken had our patrol been with us. We didn't know any other way. They didn't teach us that. The further we got away from the city, the fewer cave-ins we found and the less debris we encountered, heightening the illusion of an ordinary day.

Our last walk through these tunnels as guardians of the community, soldiers in an army of soldiers. Except there were only two of us.

Two kobolds had never accomplished anything. Patrols were fifty strong and could deal with a handful of humans or a dozen gnomes. We won wars through attrition. By sheer mass of numbers. Two kobolds was a rounding error.

We were pretending to be a patrol, but we both knew it was a lie. We were warriors who had failed in our duty. Atikala was a tomb.

I wanted to crawl into a dark corner, curl up into a ball, close my eyes, and wait until the bad dream ended and I woke up safe in my quarters surrounded by my patrolmates.

But I had experienced enough dreams to know the difference between figments and reality. The weight of this knowledge burdened me more than my pack or my armour, heavier than the stones that had crushed Atikala.

The only thing heavier than that was my guilt.

"Maybe the patrols missed them," I said for the tenth time. "Maybe the gnomes slipped through the mists between them."

"The previous patrol would have checked the mists," replied Khavi, "and they would have raised the alarm. If any gnomes had come through, the heat of the mists would have betrayed them."

I shook my head. Not to disagree, but to quiet the guilt bubbling in my conscience. "Perhaps they tunnelled around them or devised some way to fool the mists. Perhaps the fey ones have found a way to defeat the power of the barrier."

Khavi rolled his shoulders, adjusting the blade on his back. "You were not on patrol. You are blameless. It doesn't matter how the gnomes did what they did, only that they did. It's nobody's fault."

The tunnel began to slope and loop back around to the east, and my senses told me that we were now well above the cavern that led to Atikala. "Small comfort to Tzala and Yeznen and all the others."

"Perhaps some escaped from the city," said Khavi, "as we did. Tzala is a powerful sorceress. She could have gotten away."

There was little hope of that. Kobolds either expanded or defended, either grew or consolidated. Atikala was in a consolidation phase despite the cramped conditions. There would have been few of our kind outside the city's iron gates. "Maybe we should try to track down other survivors? There might have been a patrol out, or—"

We froze, a faint rumble and cave-in training took over. The ground trembled, and handfuls of rock and dirt dislodged from the ceiling. I cast my eyes to the roof.

The rumbling subsided though, and the world's body stilled itself once more.

"An aftershock?" I managed to ask when my nerves came back.

Khavi looked at me, the skin around his eyes and nostrils pale. "This far underground?"

"The first tremorquake was enough to bring down the ceiling of Atikala," I said, although I didn't feel convinced. "I wouldn't doubt anything at this stage."

"Perhaps the gnomes are continuing their dark work," said Khavi, giving voice to my suspicions. "They live just above, after all, and the collapse was mainly focused around the city. These tunnels are unaffected. Who else but their druids would have the inclination and power to do this?"

Druids were powerful, but there were other magics that could destroy a city. Something nagged at me. The pieces didn't fit. "I doubt it," I said. "If they had the power to destroy us before, they would have. Gnomes are relentless and wicked, but also impatient."

Khavi nodded. "Agreed, of course, but we cannot discount the possibility. Atikala has—" Khavi's tone turned bitter, " _had_ few enemies. None other but the gnomes could be responsible."

I thought of the pink-skinned arm I'd found outside Atikala's broken gate. "Then it must have been their druids, I suppose."

We marched on and set a frenzied pace, our legs trying to outrun the guilt. The passage continued to ascend until we came to a white curtain of fog that stretched the length of the tunnel. The Veil of Atikala marked the divide between the kobold and gnome territories. It was as smooth and still as a pond of water, the shell keeping the kobold city safe.

Out of sheer habit, I extended a finger upwards and touched the mist. Cold as ice. If any non-kobold had been through in a day, the calm sheet of vapour would have been roiling and warm.

Neither of us had been through the mist before. "Do we just walk through?" asked Khavi, examining the damp barrier with an upturned head.

"I suppose so," I said. I went to step through but hesitated. A ripple wound its way through my belly, a parasite tightening my muscles and working against me, imploring me not to enter. My mind argued against itself. Only the Darkguard were permitted past the mists. Khavi and I didn't have the training. The supplies. The numbers. It was hopeless.

We stood there for some time unable to move beyond the confines of the city we had spent our entire lives within. Eventually Khavi broke the silence.

"If we are to walk all the way to Ssarsdale, we will need courage beyond that required to slip past our front door."

The sense of finality was crushing, but caught  between the anvil of the mist and the hammer of the guilt, the guilt won out. Without a word, I put one foot before the other and strode into the smooth wall of mist. The frigid white embrace surrounded my head, then crept down my body as I climbed upward.

The cold sliced right through the thick padding of my armour, through scales and flesh, and straight to my bones. I had never felt anything quite like it before—a magical supernatural cold that stung my nostrils and seemed thicker than any fog. It was like walking through a bowl of glowbug soup.

"Khavi?" I called, but there was no answer. The mist sank between my scales, numbing the skin beneath and creating a thin mesh of pain around my body. Stumbling, blind and frozen, I pressed on with one hand on the wall to guide me.

I crossed a threshold, some dividing line I did not quite understand. The temperature began to climb. Warm at first, enough to soothe the chills on my exposed flesh, but it soon became uncomfortable. Within seconds, I was walking through a wall of steam, a blanket of heat that forced me to close my eyes and clap my free hand over my muzzle.

It seemed the mist that divided our peoples worked both ways.

Just as abruptly as it began, the sensation left my upper body, the hot steam now only billowing around my waist. I opened my eyes and squinted into the sudden luminescence, struggling to see.

The other side of the veil was completely different from the one I had left. Large crystals, twice as tall as a kobold or more, grew out of the walls at odd and random angles, glowing with some inner light and casting the entire area in a strange blue hue. Blue was an unusual colour; the glowbugs that illuminated Atikala emitted a yellow light, and aside from the occasional spell or glowing magical potion, I had never seen the world cast in such a hue before. The wonder and beauty of it stole my breath for a moment, but a furious shriek behind me brought me back to reality. I twisted my head in time to see the point of a wickedly sharp pickaxe descending straight towards my face.

I raised my buckler in time to catch the swing underneath the weapon's head, the edge of the pick stopping an inch away from my eye. I ducked back down below the mists, feeling the burn of the vapour once again. I crawled away on my hands and knees, getting as far forward as I could.

Overhead, the blade of the pickaxe swished through the mists as the weapon tried to find me, but there was no other sound. No war cries, no yelling, not even the laboured breathing of one exercising their arm so.

I soon felt the surface of the vapour just above my head and sprung up to my feet, bringing my whole body out of the mist save my ankle. The sound of the world returned. I was face to face with a pinkish smooth-skinned creature as tall as I was, its curved and pudgy body a gross mirror of my own; round and blunt teeth; no claws, only stubby protrusions for fingers; and its eyes an unnatural brown colour. The creature's muzzle was short, not protruding at all, and it had a bulbous growth in the middle of its face dotted with two nostrils.

And its arms. Just like the one I had found.

It had a strange moss growing all over the top of its head, a series of messy brown ropes that bloomed out from underneath a blue cap, and the moss had spread all over its face and chin. A horrid fuzzy growth that seemed monstrous and unnatural. I had heard tales of such a thing in my classes. My combat instructor Yeznen had called the fuzz _hair_. Many creatures had it, humans, orcs...

And gnomes.

We stood face to face, shocked and motionless, studying each other. The gnome seemed just as curious about me as I was it, but then something changed. Some subtle shift of the dynamic. It remembered we were enemies. Its right foot came forward, and I knew it was going to strike. It raised its pickaxe up above its head, shrieking something in its foul language.

I slid my shortsword from its scabbard, stepping back into a combat stance, buckler tucked in. The two weapons met with a clang, my blade digging into the wooden handle of the pickaxe. I swung my shield out wide, cracking it on the creature's side.

Its eyes had a fire in them. A wild burning that told me, on no uncertain terms, that it recognised me and knew what I was. It was seeing something grotesque, a hideous and warped beast, a monster fit only for extermination.

I knew because that was what I felt.

Both of us took another step back. I stared at it, trying to find a weakness in its defences. We had trained to fight gnomes and their various allies, but this was the first time I'd ever seen a real monster before.

"Yerp narl grennim-vross, khorvhal mik ni' vren," it cursed in some rolling, sing-songy tongue that made my scales crawl.

"May the shit of the dead Gods fall on you, murderer," I spat back. I brought my shield hand out, pressed my thumbs together and spoke arcane words of power.

_Dragonflame!_

An arc of searing yellow flame leapt from my claws, the wide cone of roaring fire flying out towards the monster, filling the corridor above the roiling mists.

But the gnome was quicker, falling flat on its face and disappearing into the billowing hot mists just as I had. I stabbed down with my blade, striking all around where it vanished, each blow meeting the hard stone floor.

"Come out, you coward!"

Several more stabs later, I backed out of the mists onto solid ground, glad to be free of the heat. I dared not take my eyes from the pool of mist, nostrils flaring as I took in breath and blood pumping through my veins. My heart was a pounding drum threatening to leap out.

The gnome's hat appeared at the surface of the mists. I readied my weapon and braced myself behind my shield as it burst out and charged, its limbs flailing wildly, unarmed and running straight at me, its feet clear off the ground.

For a terrified moment I thought the monster had used some foul power of flight and was rushing at me on the air, but then the tip of a familiar blade exploded from its chest. Khavi emerged, his roaring battlecry heard as his head broke the surface of the mist. I dove out of the way just in time as my enraged friend slammed the gnome into the wall. The monster, still impaled upon the sword, twitched and went limp, bright red blood spraying out in all directions.

Khavi tore his sword free, and the monster slumped to the ground.

"What took you so long?" I asked, climbing up to my feet, staring at the body as crimson poured out onto the ground in a puddle, its strange scaleless flesh turning a pale shade of white. Red was such an odd colour for blood.

"My nerves are not as strong as yours," Khavi admitted, his eyes locked on the dead gnome. "What is it?"

I couldn't stop looking at its arms. I extended my sword, giving the dead creature an experimental poke in the side, digging into flesh. The monster didn't move. "I...I think it's a gnome."

Khavi's lips peeled back in a snarl. "Shit of a glowbug! A gnome!" He kicked the monster with his foot. The gnome slumped over onto its back.

The gnome's blue jerkin had been split by Khavi's blade, but something was poking out of the gap between its vest and undergarments. A strip of something our sorcerers and leaders used—paper. An exotic and rare material that was almost impossible to come by in the deep of the underworld. A scroll of this size would even be grounds for a dangerous raid to the surface.

I snatched it up, cradling the curled strip of paper reverently. It was lined with gold and held closed with a wax seal. I held it up to show Khavi, but his confused stare reminded me that it was pointless. Only sorcerers and leaders were permitted to read.

I broke the seal and uncurled the cream rune-covered strip.

"What is it?" asked Khavi.

"Shh," I hissed, glaring at him. "I'm trying to find out."

I scanned the arcane runes, the symbols leaping back to me from my training. It was a call to the stones and elemental powers, written in the hand of the dwarves and their kin. It was a language the gnomes, inbred cousins of the dwarves, often spoke and used for writing.

"It's a magical scroll," I said, reading further. I didn't speak dwarven, but the power in any magical scroll depended upon certain foundations that were universal. The runes would tell me the incantation and gestures to activate it. I could see the rune for shifting, the rune for shaping, and the rune for rock.

"This is a spell of stonework with the power to shape the stones of Drathari itself."

Khavi hissed, clicking his jaw. "This is the proof!" he snarled, "The gnomes caved in the stones and destroyed Atikala!"

They had killed us all. Tens of thousands of kobolds. Caretakers and warriors alike. Hatchlings. Eggs.

Murderers.

I threw the scroll to the side and leapt upon the monster with my claws, screaming as I stabbed their broken ends through the cloth of its jerkin and into flesh, slashing and tearing, rending its body to bloody hunks of meat. I kept going until my arms were exhausted, the gnome's skin hanging from its body in bloody scraps, my entire body splattered in red blood.

My injured arm stopped, and then my other one did too. I slumped to my knees, gasping and labouring for breath, tears pouring down my face. I wanted to do so much more to it, but I couldn't.

Khavi waited until I was clear, then with a single slice of his blade, took its head.

"Let us hang the body here," he snarled, "hoisted on one of these crystals as a warning to the others."

"Do it."

My arms were too far spent to help. The seething rage bubbled and frothed like a cooking pot about to boil as Khavi hoisted the decapitated corpse, roaring in triumph as he rammed the body onto the top of the crystal, impaling it through the creature's arse-pit. The gnome's shredded arms hung limply by its sides as it slouched over, a grotesque bleeding flesh-statue.

"Better than the beast deserved," I said, wiping splattered blood from my body. "But over far too quickly."

Khavi's eyes were dim red lights in the pale blue as he stared at me, offering me his hand to stand.

"The next one," he said, dark and truthful, "we will capture alive."

CHAPTER III

I TOOK CARE TO STOW the scroll securely in my pack before we moved on. I thought of what it could mean.

My knowledge of druids was scant, but I knew that they tended to shun worked material such as metal armour and the like, and they valued the natural order. Symbols of the rape of Drathari's soil such as picks and digging equipment were an anathema to them. The voice of this knowledge fought to be heard over thoughts of revenge, and I willingly quieted the angry murmurs to hear the truth beyond them.

It was unlikely that the gnome we killed was a druid. It was probably a guard, but what would a guard be doing with such a powerful weapon? And why didn't he use it?

That thought rattled around for some time until another thought shoved it out of the way.

The scroll was a weapon. I could read it, and then we could do to the gnomes what they had done to us.

The day was still young, and already we had killed one of the murderers that had destroyed our home. If I had my way, much more gnomish blood would be spilled before the day was out.

The tunnel forked, north and east. "North?" Khavi pointed to a tunnel.

It seemed logical, given the direction we had come, that our enemies would have approached from the shortest path possible. "North." There was an unspoken change in our plan, some message exchanged that the two of us did not require words to impart.

We would not go to Ssarsdale yet. Revenge would come first.

We set off, our weapons in hand as we marched into the gloom, letting the crystal-light guide us deep into the unfamiliar caverns. For over an hour, we trekked through the darkness until we came across another fork, one path heading northeast, the other west and climbing. The scrape of feet from above our heads echoed down the western tunnel. Like two ghosts, Khavi and I pressed ourselves up against the cold wall, silent as the stones themselves, listening to the sounds filtering down the tunnel.

Chatter, boisterous and lighthearted.

It seemed impossible, but there it was. The banter of an alien tongue, casual and relaxed, and occasionally punctuated by quiet laughter. It was the fey tongue. The sound caused the blood in my veins to boil anew; only hours ago, the gnomish monsters had butchered our entire city without thinking, now another cluster of them were laughing as though nothing at all had happened.

I saw Khavi's angry red slits, and I knew our feelings were identical. These would be our second kills of the day.

The voices drew closer, and a dimly lit lantern was held aloft by a plump gnomish woman dressed in a fashion quite different to the gnome we had encountered by the mist. While that one wore mining clothes, plain and dirty, and carried a pickaxe, this one wore fine robes of silk decorated with jewels. Behind it, a cadre of similarly dressed gnomes came behind, seven in all, laughing and occasionally babbling in their strange sing-song language.

I silently drew my blade, waiting for the moment to strike. As the gnomes drew closer, the leader glanced my way and halted, its eyes meeting mine.

I raised my hand, spitting arcane words of power with all the hate I could muster, conjuring in my mind an image of a great golden dragon breathing her fury out all over them. _Dragonflame!_

A wave of fire leapt from my claw, flying down the tunnel, enveloping the first three gnomes and blasting them to oblivion. The leader gnome shouted things in a panic. Khavi leapt, slicing down two of the hated fey. The last of the gnome followers shrieked and turned to flee.

But the lesson of the day, remembered at the Dome of Daily Reflection, came back into my mind.

No mercy for monsters.

A second blast of flame silenced the creature's squealing, his charred corpse falling to the ground  as he thrashed and kicked, then stilled as the flames consumed his flesh.

The leader fell down to its knees, jabbering and thrusting its hands into the air. Khavi raised his weapon.

"Keep her alive!" I shouted. Dead gnomes answered no questions. "Keep her alive!"

Khavi slammed the hilt of his blade into the leader's temple, dropping her to the stone, silent and unmoving. She was still breathing.

It seemed too easy to me, and my rage wasn't sated yet. Their deaths had come too cheaply. Their inability to put up a struggle had robbed us both of our righteous vengeance. My bloodlust surging, Khavi and I leapt upon the bodies of the dead, hacking and stabbing their smouldering remains until both of our furies played themselves out.

Panting and once more covered in blood, we rested, gasping for air. When we recovered, we rifled through the pockets of the slain gnomes. A few coins, some personal effects, and some jewels, all of which were absently tossed away. We were not interested in plunder.

We searched the leader. More baubles, more personal keepsakes and trail rations, but then Khavi found something tucked into the gnome's chest pocket, the same place I had found the scroll on the other. Similar but different, a scroll tube wrapped in some kind of fireproof cloth. He uncapped it,  carefully spread the parchment over the ground and together we studied it.

Two maps, one horizontal and one vertical, of the entire settlement, with indecipherable runes and glyphs labelling every feature.

"Their language is jibberish!" I complained, stabbing at a point on the map with a claw. "But I think those little round things look like dwellings of some kind."

 "It appears that way," Khavi said. "But that is good. If we could encircle their main settlement by heading north, we can strike more of their expeditions."

"Agreed." I released the map and kicked one of the charred corpses. "These weaklings had no weapons and died too easily, pathetic and useless. I shouldn't have expended spells on them."

Khavi laughed, regarding me with a lighthearted grin and a rough shove to my shoulder. "That's the spirit. I wonder if there are any more around here?"

"Let's not get carried away," I said, thinking of the scroll in my backpack. "We can do a lot more than attack their patrols."

Khavi's expression soured. "You must've hatched early if you think I'm planning on avoiding their city! There must be hundreds of them there. Think of how many we could slaughter if we struck them in force!"

I think he misunderstood what I was getting at. "There are two of us," I said dryly, "and their druids aside, they'll have spellcasters, an army of warriors, traps, and all manner of defences. Our best chance is to attack the outskirts, wear them down slowly. I want revenge, not suicide."

"Speak for yourself," grumbled Khavi, but I was the leader, and the promise of a greater plan seemed to mollify him for the moment. He returned his attention to the map. "Perhaps, then, we could strike at the outskirts, as you said. Avoid the warriors and target the miners. Pick off the weakest in groups."

I glanced down at the map, nodding. "I think that would be best," I said, then paused.

A black circle, its inside coloured a dull ochre, north of what I presumed to be the settlement. Judging by the size of the city, that circle must have been almost a mile across. Beside it was a note, but I could not read it.

I studied it, trying to make sense of it. What did it mean? Was it a weak point? Were these soldiers sent to reinforce the gnomish rear? It seemed unlikely. I glanced at the ruined corpses of the gnomes we had cut down. These were not like the loner we had killed by the mists; these were soft and weak. These were not warriors. More ominously, they were coming down from above.

A diplomatic mission to the surface?

That thought lodged in my brain for a time. Had the gnomes received their dark magic from the humans above? An alliance between the two could give both sides enough power to annihilate us forever. It made sense.

I stepped over to the gnome Khavi had bludgeoned into stillness, kicking it roughly in the ribs. It was time for some answers. She groaned feebly and stirred, and I pressed the sharp tip of my sword to the gnome's throat.

"Speak if you know the dragon's tongue," I said, "or I'll cut out the useless appendage and beat you to death with it."

The gnome, her eyes wide with fear, stammered slightly. "S-some dragon," she said, her accent almost indecipherable. "No kill. No kill."

"Where did you come from?"

The gnome struggled to answer, and I didn't know if it was searching for a believable lie or searching for the truth in a language it barely spoke. "From...from..."

I thrust the map at her. "Here?"

The gnome nodded, then slowly raised a finger upward, jabbing towards the ceiling.

"From the surface?"

It didn't understand. "From...gnome," it said, "Then from surface people. Then from gnome."

I looked to Khavi. "It is as I suspected. They have an alliance with the humans. Is this one an envoy?"

Khavi studied the gnome, his face contorted into disgusted leer. "We should just gut it," he said. "It can't tell us anything. Gnome tongues are petulant and must be beaten to truth."

I turned my attention back to the gnome and retrieved the scroll we had taken from the gnome warrior earlier. "What is this?"

The gnomish woman shrugged helplessly. I waved the scroll in her face. "The paper! It is a magical scroll of stone shaping! Tell me why your soldier had it!"

The gnome began crying, pleading something in her alien language. I jabbed the sword into her skin, leaving a thin red line on the side of her neck. "Silence!"

She returned to quiet sobbing. I saw through the deception, though. Saw the wickedness that dwelt within every gnomish soul. This gnome was just as guilty as all the others. Her life would continue only as long as her living served my purposes.

"Stand."

The gnome looked confused. I withdrew my blade, gesturing up to the ceiling with it. The gnome climbed to her feet.

"No kill. No kill."

"Name," I said, "what's your name?"

"No kill," the gnome said, holding her hands in front of her. "No kill."

Khavi gave a belly laugh. "No-Kill it is," he said. "It's a good enough name for a corpse."

I shook my head. "We're not killing this one just yet," I said, then turned to the gnome and pointed down the corridor with my sword. "March," I said.

The gnome didn't understand. "No kill."

"Walk! Leg after leg!"

She took a step down the corridor, and I nodded. She continued, walking before my blade, her pudgy hands by her sides.

Keeping the creature at sword's length, I glanced over my shoulder. Khavi frowned disapprovingly at me. "A hostage," I explained. "If we meet more of them, this will make it easier. We might even be able to get it to use the scroll for us."

Khavi didn't seem convinced. "They won't use the scroll to destroy their own city. They're not that stupid."

"Then I might be able to use it," I said, "but I'll need some help."

 "Fine," he said, exhaling in frustration through his nose, "but I'm gutting it afterwards."

I had no mind to stop him. As No-Kill passed by the burned and hacked corpses of her comrades, her eyes lingered on their mangled remains.

"This will be your fate if you don't obey us," I said, although I was certain that No-Kill didn't understand my threat.

We marched onward. The gnome moved slower than we did. I would occasionally jab the sobbing creature with my sword, forcing her to move faster as we walked in the direction of the gnome settlement. I mulled over my plan, or lack thereof, in my head. If we couldn't figure out the scroll by the time we arrived, we would use No-Kill as our hostage, then we would storm our way in as far as we could and kill as many as we could with blade and spell. Khavi would make No-Kill suffer, make the other gnomes watch the light die in her eyes, and then we would almost certainly die in turn as the gnome survivors turned their wrath on us.

But we could only be expected to do so much, and the value gained by shaping the stone was high. Killing No-Kill would be an excellent final satisfaction.

The tunnel forked, and No-Kill stopped and turned around. I fished out the map and pointed at it with my sword. No-Kill stared at me, questioning my sanity.

"To gnome?"

"Yes, take us to your settlement."

No-Kill continued to stare, her stubby fingers gingerly pointing at the map. "Many arrow. Many spell. Hate kobold. Gnome kill. Kobold and other kobold die. Why?"

I hissed and bared my teeth at the gnome. "Do not question why! That is not the purpose of gnomes!" I jabbed my blade incessantly at the map. "Take us there, or your use to us has expired!"

No-Kill held up her pudgy, clawless hands. "No kill."

I snarled and levelled my blade between No-Kill's eyes. "Which. Way."

Trembling, the gnome pointed to the eastern corridor. "To gnome."

So we set off again, climbing upwards and onwards, towards the gnomes and our own deaths.

CHAPTER IV

THE CAVERN STRETCHED ON ENDLESSLY and the minutes turned to hours. My arm grew tired holding my blade, but I dared not take it away from the gnome for one instant. I stared at No-Kill's back, trying to stare through its body and into its heart to see if it was as black and shrivelled as the kobold leaders had told me it had to be. Everyone knew that gnomes had black and twisted hearts, writhed and gnarly like knotted rope, belying their twisted and unnatural otherworldly origin.

The gnome slowed its pace, strange water sticking to its whole body. I spent a moment examining the fluid trickling down the back of its neck, beading as it ran over scaleless skin. Was her body crying? Is that why she slowed down, why her feet dragged on the stone? I studied the gnome's walk, a slow, easy pace that was in stark contrast to the efficient march of Khavi and I. Was the creature really so weak that the act of walking made her whole body burst into tears?

"Do you think they feel fear?" I asked, staring at her wild yellow hair that bounced all around as she walked. Our Leaders told us that gnomes were too simple to have such emotions, but No-Kill certainly seemed more complex than a ravening killer.

"They're monsters," said Khavi. "Monsters don't feel fear."

"That is what they say, but I don't know," I said. "It seems frightened enough."

"So do glowbugs if you stomp near them," said Khavi, "that's not _fear_ in the way we feel it, that's just survival instinct. It doesn't want to die, that's all. Any animal feels the same way, even the mindless insects, and we eat those."

I poked No-Kill in the back with my blade to hurry it up, drawing a yelp as it scurried forward. "It's right to be afraid," I said to Khavi. "It should fear death."

Khavi gave a chuckle. "In this case, yes. I'll enjoy seeing this one's insides. Perhaps they are as dark as they say."

We walked for a little more, our claws scraping over the cold stone of the underworld. I switched the blade into my weaker right arm, weighed down by my buckler as well as my sword, but it was a relief for my left arm, which was almost numb.

"How do you think they breed?" asked Khavi. "How many eggs do you think they lay a year?"

"Probably less than us," I said, "they tend to be fewer in number in the same area and consume more resources. That's what my teachers say." I recalled some of their lessons, trying to remember if this fact had come up. "Perhaps one a year?"

Khavi nodded thoughtfully. "So fewer than us, then."

"That's why when we fight, we are content with losses that are two to one. One individual affects their society greater than one of ours. It is a disadvantage of their kind, one of their many."

"Perhaps we could break into their nursery then," Khavi said. "If we could, your flames could burn their eggs to a crisp."

The thought turned my stomach. "I'd rather not kill younglings if I could avoid it."

"Why not?" Khavi snarled. "Do you think the gnomes had such reservations about our young when they collapsed our tunnels? How many kobold eggs were crushed only hours ago by these feyspawn?"

I grimaced, baring my teeth as I imagined the hunks of stone falling through the glass ceiling of the crèche, annihilating them in an instant. "No," I said. "I suppose they didn't care."

"Then the nursery should be our goal, to maximise the damage we do. The gnomes stole our entire community's future—we should at least put a dent in theirs."

I flexed my tired left hand at my side, clicking my claws together, feeling the wellspring of dragon magic within rumble in my veins. I imagined a gnome egg, round and fat like the one walking in front of me, and pictured a wave of my fire rolling over it, heating it until it popped, the tiny, squirming gnome inside boiled alive in its own juices.

The mental image was disturbing, but this was no less than they deserved, I had to remind myself, and no less than they had wished upon my own kind.

"So Khavi, speaking of the future, what do you see in it for us?"

He looked confused.

I switched hands again, pressing the blade into my left hand again, but it was still numb; eventually I just let my weapon dangle by my side. No-Kill would get a swift poke if she tried anything. "I mean," I said, "do you really think we can get to our kin in Ssarsdale? Through the gnomes, through the humans, then to the surface. Then a week's journey across the surface in the open, then down again. We are but two, and we aim to travel through lands bristling with enemies without a map, supplies, or even any idea if our cousins at our destination will let us inside."

Khavi gave a mirthless chuckle, clapping his hands together. "You speak of assaulting the gnome city as though there is some way that does not end with our defeat."

"It never hurts to have a plan," I said, "and we still have the scroll. If we strike them fast and hard, it is unlikely the gnomes will be expecting it. Yeznen taught me that."

"Yeznen has not fought a real battle in nearly thirty years," said Khavi, "and he favours the spear. This shows his weakness. Me, I prefer to get in close." He reached out and tapped the metal of my sword with his claw. "And this...I don't even know what this _is_. It's like a sword made for a hatchling, coupled with the smallest shield in the entire world. You could barely block a dagger with either of them, let alone a sword like mine."

I was too stiff and sore to offer any real argument. "I like the light weapon," I said, "and I like the buckler. It allows me to keep my hand free so I can cast."

"I think you're spreading yourself too thin. Either fight or cast spells. You should focus your strength and get yourself a real weapon, or focus on killing with your magic."

The discussion frustrated me. I disliked the criticism in his words. We were both still kobolds, and we were on the same side. I didn't want to talk about this anymore and gestured to No-Kill with my shield arm. "What kind of weapons do you think they wield?"

Khavi shrugged. "The one we saw before had a pickaxe."

"I think that was a worker. Not a warrior. His bearing was not like ours; he was..." I struggled. "Inexperienced, but angry." I turned that thought over in my mind. "It's the arrogance of their kind. They think we are weak, but they simply fail to understand that our strength lies in our numbers. That gnome may have been able to beat me or you, but not the two of us together. That's why we're here, and his body is rotting on that spike."

Khavi snorted derisively. "Who can fathom the minds of monsters?"

"I can't." I reached over and rubbed my numb left arm. "But as for their weapons, I guess they have what we have," I said. "Spears and the like."

"I guess." Khavi peered at me curiously, as though seeing something in my expression. "Hey," he asked, "are you okay?"

I closed my eyes, stopping, the tip of my blade tinking on the stone. "I don't know," I said, a sudden intense feeling washing over me. "I want to go home."

"Home doesn't exist anymore," said Khavi, the words drifting softly out of his lips, so unlike the strength they had when he normally spoke.

A giant hand gripped my heart, crushing me from the inside. I swallowed down my feelings, forcing my mind to quiet.

No-Kill had kept walking. "Stop," I said, but she didn't. "Hey! Stop! Hey gnome-breath, stop!"

"That's not an insult to her," said Khavi, "she _has_ gnome-breath."

No-Kill stopped, turning back to face us. Her face was crying more than the rest of her, and her body's tears soaked the armpits of her tunic and all down her back.

"Stop crying."

No-Kill stared at us both in bewilderment.

"Stop crying!" I took a step forward, growling, my eyes fixed on No-Kill's. "I said stop crying! Stop it! Stop!"

"No kill! No kill!"

"STOP SAYING THAT!"

I roared and swung my blade up high, then sliced it down towards her head. The gnome shrieked, falling onto her backside. I wasn't expecting her to fall that way, but in hindsight it should have been obvious. She had strangely arranged knees and no tail. How she could stand at all without a tail was a mystery to me.

My blade slammed into the stone. I screamed arcane words and raised a claw to burn the monster, but Khavi grabbed me, yanking my hand back and closing it, squeezing my fist in his grip.

"Hostage, remember? Hostage! Another dead gnome is no good to us, we have a half dozen of those farther back in the tunnel!"

The anger was too much. I struggled against Khavi's iron grip but he was stronger than I was, stronger than most males. I hadn't met a male as strong as he was except for Yeznen. "You want to save the feyling?" I shouted.

Khavi levelled his gaze at me, baring his teeth and pressing his snout directly against mine. "I want to kill as many of those slimy, fey loving, foul smelling, hatchling murdering monsters as I can," he said. "Slowly and painfully and terribly, but I at least have enough wit to keep my blade clean until it's needed." Khavi growled in my face, exhaling his hot breath over my snout. "You will have your chance to drown in gnome blood if I have my way," he said, "but you must be patient."

He had a point. I went to argue, then snapped my jaw closed.

Khavi released my wrists and stepped away. "What are your orders, patrol leader?"

My blade-hand shook slightly as I wheeled around to our prisoner. "On your feet! We're—"

The gnome was gone.

"Great," I said, groaning to myself and looking down the tunnel. A trail of No-Kill's body-tears ran down the tunnel and disappeared into the gloom.

I shook my head to Khavi. "She could have only gone this way. Come on."

I let my nose lead the way, following the faint salty scent of No-Kill's body tears through the winding, twisting caverns of the underworld near the gnomish settlement. Khavi covered our rear.

I wished that I had some spell that would help, but dragon magic was remarkably specific about what it could do. All magic was. Stone magic, favoured by gnomes and dwarves, could reshape the earth and harden flesh to rock. Elven magic was tricky and stealthy, allowing one to move silently and even become completely invisible, but dragon magic had only the power to destroy. Creating arcs of flame or roaring fireballs, conjuring acids powerful enough to melt flesh, cold that could chill its victims straight to the bone, or bolts of electricity that could slay giants.

Fire was my element, but fire would not track down a crying fat gnome who, no doubt, rightly suspected that we were going to kill her when she was no longer useful to us.

"We're getting close," I said, reaching out and touching a drop of moisture on the stone. "Besides, I think this tunnel is a dead end. I don't feel any moving air."

"I was thinking the same thing," said Khavi, "but these tunnels are its home. It knows where it's going. Why would it lead us to a dead end?"

I shrugged, touching the tip of my tongue to the fluid beading on the tip of my claw to make sure it carried No-Kill's scent. No-Kill's body tears were a strange biological feature, but it was no mystery why she drank so much water since most of it just came crying out of her skin anyway. "Panic can lead a creature to take harried actions not well thought through. Tzala taught me that."

Khavi adjusted his grip, staring out into the gloom behind them. "I must have missed that lesson."

"A Leader's lesson," I explained. "Warriors employ tactics, but Leaders employ strategy. Fear and panic, and the use of the same, can be part of winning."

My own words filled my heart with a bitter sting. I had spent the last year of my life, a sixth of my existence, learning and studying for a role I would never play. I would be Leader of exactly one kobold, and as everyone knew, one kobold was meaningless. One kobold had never accomplished anything in recorded history. Every achievement was a team effort, a work completed by thousands of cogs and gears all working together in harmony, the glory shared amongst many.

But there would be no more glory. I was once again struck with a powerful surge of sadness and bitter anger. What were we doing wandering this gnomish territory with no army, no realistically achievable plan? We had no weapons except our blades and a scroll I probably couldn't use. We could only fling ourselves at the unyielding walls of our enemies, to be dashed to pieces by any number of defences.

Did we honestly think we could succeed where the might of Atikala had failed?

"Maybe we should cut off one of its legs then," said Khavi, "just in case it tries to run again. We could seal the stump with some of your fire. It would probably survive."

The idea had some merit. I straightened my back, staring down the passage ahead. "Probably," I said, but I pictured the fat gnome with her legs hacked off, screaming and screaming. The idea of inflicting that much pain to a sentient creature didn't sit right to me. We should just kill it swiftly. "Your sword is big enough to do it, but then we would have to carry her, and she looks heavy. So maybe not."

"Well, it's up to you, but maybe we could hack off a few of its foot-digits then, and let it limp."

That wasn't so bad. "That's a better plan as long as we can stop her from bleeding to death."

We set off again, walking through the tunnel, our passage lit by the dim blue light of the crystal growths. The colour had been consistent, a faint cyan, but as the tunnel began to dip, it changed slightly, becoming darker and harder to see.

"Odd," I said, but shrugged off the faint feeling of unease that crept up my tail and continued onward, squinting as I tried to peer through the gloom. There was a faint tug on my shin, like a thread snagging on my leg.

Click. The floor gave way underneath us, folding away, parting like the mouth of some beast and taking the floor away from underfoot. I released my sword, scrambling for the edges of the pit, digging my claws into the stonework as my blade plummeted below me. Khavi scrambled for a purchase on the other side, and I struggled to keep my grip. My broken claws scratched their way across the stone, unable to grip properly, and I fell into the darkness.

CHAPTER V

THE AIR HOWLED AROUND MY earholes and the world became dark. I slammed into a hard surface, landing square on my chest. I blindly pushed myself up on my elbows, trying to regain my bearings, but Khavi crashed onto my back, knocking the wind from me. His blade speared into the stone, bouncing away, the cutting edge less than an inch from my face.

"Are you okay?" said Khavi, but I couldn't answer. He hopped off me, seeming hardly worse for wear after his fall. I could do nothing but curl up on the stone, fighting to breathe.

"You stay here," he said. "I'll go make sure it's safe." Khavi picked up his blade, moving away from me, inspecting the surrounding area.

A minute of hacking and gasping later, and finally my lungs began to work again. I pushed myself onto my backside, and as I did, a bright light flared at the edge of my vision. Khavi held a vial of glowbug juice, its stopper removed. A drop of the stuff ran down the cutting edge of his weapon. The length of metal glowed like a lantern.

"Where are we?" I asked, climbing to my feet and surveying where we'd fallen. The yellow light of Khavi's blade cast a pallid radiance that revealed the featureless stone floor beneath us and precious little else. The faint motion of air around me hinted that this chamber was high and wide, open thirty or forty feet in all directions, but beyond that I could see little.

At the edge of our light source, my eyes caught the faint glint of a metal surface, a yellow speck in the empty black void.

"What's that?" I asked Khavi. The two of us approached carefully, and as we got close, the source became obvious.

A female kobold corpse, withered and mummified, lay belly up on the flat stone, thin cobwebs stretched between her twisted and gnarled limbs. She was clad in an aged but well-preserved shirt of mail.

"This kobold was from Atikala," I said, crouching over the corpse. "Look at her tunic. If she wore mail, she was more than a patrol leader. This was a skilled soldier...maybe even a Darkguard."

I could not see a dragon's claw cloak clasp that was the signet of the Darkguard, elite assassins who travelled in disguise, magical or otherwise. The fact that she wore metal armour, though, signified an elite status that was undeniable.

"What killed her?" asked Khavi, bringing his blade closer, giving more light to see.

I touched her desiccated scales, feeling and exploring until I found a faint hole in the rotten tunic that covered her armour, then another. Two puncture wounds, almost a foot apart on her upper and lower body.

"Picks?" I asked, but shook my head. The wounds were too fine. "Arrows?"

"Who would recover arrows from a corpse but leave an intact suit of mail?"

I didn't know. I studied the dead kobold's expression, the features of her face in death. Her maw was open wide and her face was dry and shrunken by the underground air. She wore a scream of dread and horror that age, death, and desiccation could not mask.

I had seen dead bodies before, but nothing like this. My damaged claws explored her body, peeling back the tunic to see more of her armour. "Wait," I said. "I think she's still breathing!"

"Impossible," said Khavi, but I could see it, as clear as the light of a placid glowbug. The kobold's chest rose and fell, ever so slightly, pulsing with life.

Gripping the worn thread of the tunic with both hands, I tore it in half, exposing the whole of the dead kobold's torso, and as I did, the corpse's skin burst like a bug hit with a mace. Uncountable numbers of spiders, each no bigger than one of my scales, poured from the corpse's chest, mouth, and empty eye sockets, a living swarm that washed over me, covering my arms and face, their diminutive legs skittering all over my scales as they ran over my body.

I shrieked and slapped at my face and arms, a thick carpet of arachnids growing out, spilling out over the bare stone.

"Get them off, get them off, _get them off!_ "

I flailed around on the ground. The heavy flat of Khavi's blade thunked into my side, squashing dozens of the creatures, but scores more took their place, crawling insects replacing their fallen brethren faster than he could kill them.

Then they began to bite.

The burning venom surged into my body, and I shrieked again, thrashing and kicking, Khavi's sword hitting over and over to little effect. The swarm of vermin stuck to his blade in clumps, crawling up towards the weapon's hilt and swimming through the vicious fluid clinging to the steel. Khavi waved the sword around wildly, sending spiders and glowbug juice everywhere.

I turned my thoughts inward, to the fire that welled in my veins. My lack of restful sleep in the previous night had drained my power, and the biting, burning feel of the spiders swarming all over me jumbled the words in my head. I conjured images of dragon fire, of surging heat and burning metal, but the only result was a thick outpouring of smoke from my broken claws.

I rolled over and over on the stone ground, flailing my arms madly as the spiders bit me again and again, their fangs finding the gaps between my scales and injecting their poison into my skin.

Warm liquid splashed against my leather jerkin and light flooded my vision. I thought for a moment that the spell I'd cast had worked belatedly, but a rich sweet smell filled my nostrils. One I knew intimately, and I knew the truth. Glowbug juice. Energy rich, nutritious, and luminescent, the fluid was a staple of our diets and a critical tool for our survival in the dark underground. However, it had one property that always unnerved those who understood it, who were educated and could see the dangers of such things.

It was flammable.

Khavi's sword lay on the ground, swarming with spiders, its owner with a flint and steel in his hands.

"No, no, no, no, _NO!_ "

But it was too late. Khavi struck the two together, showering my body with golden sparks, igniting the fluid and bathing the whole area in light. The spider swarm collectively understood the burning fire to be the death of them all and flowed off me and away.

It didn't matter that they were gone. The feeling of them on me had been too much. I thrashed around on the ground, my armour on fire, the scent of roasting human skin mixed with the acrid scent of burned glowbug juice. I snapped off the clips of my jerkin, rolling out of it, the flaming remains of my armour basking the area in orange luminescence. I panted and slapped at my scales, fearing the flames were still upon me or that the hundreds of crawling legs would return.

Glowbug juice burned brightly, but I hadn't felt any pain. The flames had consumed a part of the cloth under my armour. There was a sooty mark, but despite the black stain, my scales were unharmed.

Aside from a few I found and crushed with the palm of my hand, my body was free of the vermin. My armour, though, quickly burned through and became a useless pile of charred leather. The light from the burning jerkin lit up the cavern, which was almost fifty feet high and wide, the passage stretching off to the gloom on either side. All around me, hanging in the air like the ropes of a bridge, were dozens of spider webs, the threads as thick as my arm. Many had dried corpses strung out on them, hanging like cloth thrown over a line to dry. Khavi and I had, miraculously, missed all of the strands on our way down.

"What is this place?" I said, my voice tinged with awe.

"I don't know," replied Khavi. He struck the flint over his blade, igniting it in a burst of light.

"Will you stop doing that?" I shouted at him, "You set me on fire!"

"You were covered in bugs!"

"Spiders are arachnids, not bugs, and _you set me on fire!_ "

"Well," huffed Khavi, "the bugs are gone at least."

"They're not—urgh. Forget it."

I grimaced as the venom worked its way through my veins, stinging me from the inside, but I grit my fangs and bore it out. I was a warrior, and I was accustomed to pain. Pain was passing. I would live or I would die.

After a moment the burning faded. I stripped off the last of my armour and the cloth padding underneath, clad only in my scales and the pouch of my eggshells around my neck.

As I did my scales crawled. Khavi's eyes were watching me. I stared back at him, his eyes roaming over my body, and I was reminded that he was assigned to breed with me before the disaster had taken our city. The thought had completely fled my mind until that moment, and I suspected that he had not put much thought into it either, but the look he gave my naked body brought that little problem back to mind.

The strangest thing, though, was that I was more comfortable than I thought. He'd seen me without clothing before, but there was something subtly different here. We weren't hatchlings huddled together for warmth anymore, or trainees struggling under Yeznen's whip. Now we were adults, assigned to be together.

I thought I would feel dirty, feel objectified, or feel threatened by the change in atmosphere; instead, there was simply a vague feeling of unease. Perhaps I was more comfortable with him than I thought. Perhaps my reluctance to do my duty with him was simply my inexperience in these matters.

That, in itself, was unsettling. I didn't like being afraid.

The silence persisted uncomfortably, and then I reached down and grabbed the cloth padding I had discarded. It was mostly intact, singed on the edges, but I put it on anyway. Covering myself seemed to break the tension, and Khavi finally looked away.

I didn't feel like talking about what had just happened, so instead, I staggered over to the burst corpse, kicking at it with my foot to ensure that there were no more spiders within.

"I think it's safe," Khavi said, grinning at me. I didn't like the way he did that.

Unwilling to meet his gaze, I turned to the dead Darkguard, a shudder running down my spine as I stared at the empty-eyed corpse, her chest turned outward. I understood now why her expression was so horrified. I imagined the Darkguard as the tide of insects rushed into her eyes and mouth, feeling them lay their eggs into her flesh while she was still alive.

It was best not to think about it.

"Khavi, retrieve the chainmail. The Darkguard doesn't need it anymore, and I don't fancy being unarmoured in this place."

He stared at me like I had ordered him to cut off all his own limbs and head. "There is absolutely no way, in this life or the next, that I am touching that infested thing."

I sympathised, and being honest with myself, I wouldn't want to touch it either. As much as I disliked Khavi leering at me, I disliked giving an order I found personally revolting more.

But I needed something to take his attention away from me.

"I don't care. You burned my armour; I'll need some more."

"I saved your life!" protested Khavi.

"You set me on fire." I reached into my pouch, removing my flint and steel and a glowing vial of my own. "If more spiders remain, I'll be sure to return the favour."

He crossed his arms. "It's not like you could burn anyway."

I frowned. "Why would you say that?"

"You didn't before when you were in the furnace."

I reached for the pouch around my neck. "No, but that was..." I didn't know how to explain it. "That was just a one-time thing."

"Was it? The glowbug juice—wasn't it painful?"

I looked back up at the myriad of criss-crossing spiderwebs above me and at the dried corpses hanging there. Fire was rare underground as it stole breathable air. The forges of the city ran once a day. Even with my magic I'd never touched open flame before today.

Glowbug juice didn't burn hot, but the mark on my shoulder was undeniable. I couldn't feel any pain there specifically, but I felt pain all over my body from the spider bites. A burning pain. I couldn't tell the difference.

My instincts told me not to question this too much.

"I don't know. The fire was on my armour." I glared at him. "Armour that _you_ destroyed. So go get the chainmail. Now."

Kobolds taught our warriors well. Our warriors followed orders even if they would lead to their doom. Still, it was with palpable reluctance that Khavi removed the shirt from the kobold body, careful to keep himself as far away from the hollow corpse as he could.

"Here," he spat, throwing the mail on the floor at my feet, a shiver running from his feet to his snout.

I picked up the heavy suit of mail and inspected it to verify that there were no more spider-lings present. I had never seen metal armour this close before; each of the finely woven links had held together over however many years she had lain on the floor of the cavern, and I could tell even in the dim light that this was a finely made piece indeed. I slipped it over my head, wriggling into it. It felt comforting and fit me perfectly, a cocoon, the metal rings melding up against my scales snugly.

I had never trained with metal armour, but as the rings of mail nestled in to my body, a memory surged into my mind. A racial memory. Just as we were born with the ability to speak, we sometimes came to know other things as well.

One of my ancestors had used mail like this, had trained with it, fought in it, and died in it. I had no specifics of who this kobold was, a tantalising dangle of the heritage I so eagerly wanted to uncover, but try as I might, there was nothing more than the knowledge.

"Like it was made for me."

The light dimmed. I looked to Khavi poking around the corpse with his weapon. He shoved it under the body, leaving the only available light the smouldering remains of my jerkin.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"There's something underneath," said Khavi, then lifted the blade with a grunt. The body, aged and dry, broke apart as he lifted it. A dozen spiders scurried out, and we jumped back, keeping our distance until they were gone.

Underneath the remains was a long, thin dagger sheathed in a humanskin leather scabbard. The hilt was an ornate black onyx carved into a narrow point. I understood what it was. I had seen these kinds of weapons before.

"She _was_ a Darkguard." I gingerly reached for the weapon, and giving it a shake, checked it all over for spiderlings. "This is a Feyeater."

"A what?"

"A magical dagger, specifically enchanted to harm gnomes. The edges find its organs more easily, and wounds inflicted on their kind bleed more profusely, as though made by a much larger weapon." I slid it from its sheath, revealing a blade as black as night, matte, almost invisible in the dim light of the cavern. The perfect assassin's weapon, tailor-made for its target. "This Darkguard was hunting gnomes."

"That could come in handy when we catch No-Kill," said Khavi. "Especially if we end up taking some of its toes."

I slipped the weapon back into its sheath and strapped it to my belt. "I agree, and anything that hurts gnomes is an asset to us at the moment."

"Especially this." Khavi sniffed the air. "Where to now?"

I looked up to the ceiling, but the hole we had fallen through would be impossible to climb to unless we used the thick strands of web as a ladder. Judging by how stuck the corpses were, that was definitely a bad plan.

"There must be another way out of here," I said, retrieving my shield and short sword. I took out my bottle of glowbug juice and carefully dripped a drop onto my weapon.

I let the glow lead me as I started off towards the passage south, Khavi falling into step behind me.

We walked through the gloom for several minutes, and then we reached a web made of the same oversized web strands we had seen earlier, numerous concentric pentagrams around a single point. The web blocked the entire width of the passage, and I suspected it reached to the ceiling too.

"Can you burn through it?" asked Khavi. "With magic, I mean. We should preserve the glowbug juice if we can. I used most of mine earlier."

"I remember," I said, scowling at him. "Distinctly."

"Hey, it was that or let you get spidered to death."

I took a breath, pushing aside the crawling feeling that ran up my body. "I need to conserve my spells. My magic has been sorely tested this day, and I can feel my power waning."

Khavi regarded the web, hands on his hips. "Maybe we could cut through it."

"I don't think so. I wouldn't risk your sword getting stuck."

"What could make something this big?" he asked. Khavi extended the tip of a claw to one of the webs.

"Don't," I hissed, recalling the bodies hanging in defiance of gravity's inexorable pull.

Heedless of my warning, Khavi touched the thick strand. I couldn't believe what he had just done.

"Huh." Khavi tried to pull away, but his claw was stuck fast. It wouldn't budge. He tugged again, harder this time, and the thread bent and gave, but then snapped taut and pulled his whole arm forward into the web. "Shit of the dead Gods!" he snarled. "I'm stuck!"

"You idiot! I told you not to touch it!"

"Well, I just had to!"

"No you didn't! Hang on, let me cut you free." I reached down for the Feyeater on my hip, but a low, echoing voice from above stopped me.

_"Foodlings bring fire to my home,_

_Juicy smell, not like a gnome,_

_Smell the scent from where they bled,_

_Lay eggs in them when they are dead."_

Khavi twisted around, staring wide-eyed at me. "What in the name of the dead gods?"

From above, moving its many legs and nimbly skittering down the oversized web, came a spider with eight eyes as red as ruby jewels, its mandibles clacking with anticipation. It was the largest specimen I'd ever seen by a significant margin, three kobolds tall and ten wide. It had six legs, four on one side and two on the other, and two blackened, writhing stumps where legs should've been.

"Stay back!" I shouted, gripping my sword tighter in my claw. I raised my shield, fingers twitching eagerly as I summoned words of power in my mind.

The spider did not slow its descent, its surprisingly articulate jaw clicking as it spoke.

_"Foodling yells and has a blade,_

_But in its home it should have stayed,_

_A tasty morsel I shall eat,_

_Kobold juice is oh so sweet."_

I kept my blade pointed right at the creature's many glowing eyes as Khavi thrashed and squirmed in the web. "Let us leave," I said. "We mean you no harm. We didn't hurt the other spiders until they attacked us."

The spider continued descending, its jaws widening, a pair of long fangs dripped venom.

_"Indeed you didn't, little folk,_

_But Six-Legs needs—"_

I shouted words of power, a surge of fear blasting away my fatigue and the lingering traces of the spider venom within my body. A roaring sheet of flame leapt from my fingers, engulfing Six-Legs and pouring over the web behind it. The thick strands beneath its legs caught fire and snapped, sending the flaming ball of spider crashing down onto the stone floor.

I relaxed, lowering my sword, but as the flames died, the spider stood, its body cloaked in smoke as the hairs on its exoskeleton burned down like little wicks.

Down the length of its back were great spines, each tipped with a barbed stinger. No natural creature could survive such a roasting, but I stared into its eyes and saw a malevolent darkness there, cunning and patient, beyond the intelligence of a mere giant animal, or even most sentient creatures. I knew this was something more. It was a creature with a demonic taint in its blood, a filth that could only have come from some other lower plane of existence. A demon from the pits themselves had somehow bred into the monster's line and filled it with its power.

_"How rude it is to interrupt,_

_Food's end shall come, swift and abrupt."_

The spider arched up on two of its rear legs, its forelegs curling as it darted towards me.

I held my sword out in front of my body, expecting it to impale its head on the sharp edge. My blade struck the hard carapace of the spider's head and bent almost in half. The sword was fine kobold manufacture, and it did not break, but the strain tore it from my hand, bouncing and skidding across the stone.

Fortunately it slowed the monster's bite. I jumped out of the way, poison spraying in a wide arc as it tried to skewer me.

Fire would not harm a creature of the lower planes. Flame was my element, but I knew at least one other trick. I held out my throbbing hand, summoning the last of my magic, shaping the raw energy into a dart of force. It leapt from my open palm but evaporated harmlessly as it touched Six-Legs's hide, dissipating into the air.

Fire could not burn it, steel could not pierce it, and magic itself recoiled from it. I frantically racked my mind for alternatives as the spider closed in on me once more.

With a roar, Khavi finally managed to tear his arm free of the sticky spiderweb, his two-handed blade returning into his grasp. His eyes lit up, glowing an eager crimson as spittle flew from his lips, charging the spider with his blade held high.

The spider saw him too, but I was closer. The spider nipped at me once again, its fangs closing around my torso and squeezing. They pressed against my newly acquired mail, and its eating tube slathered against me, the fluid dripping between the metal rings, fangs scraping against my scales. My fists thumped against its head, then I stabbed at one of its eyes with a broken claw.

The spider howled, dropping me right as Khavi's blade nicked into its abdomen, slicing through its thick exoskeleton and finding flesh. It dropped me right on my snout and turned on him, hissing. Khavi raged in return, shrieking his war cries as he hacked at the spider's body over and over again.

I drew the Feyeater from my belt. Its enchantments were only effective on gnomes, but it was better than nothing. As I looked for an opening to close and engage, the spider nipped at Khavi and missed his shoulder by a hair. I could see that the beast's wound on its abdomen, minor though it was, had already closed.

I knew this was a fight we could not win.

"Run!" I shouted, pointing to the hole in the web my flame had left. "This way!"

Khavi could not hear me. He continued to fight, slashing and hacking at the spider while the spider made measured nips, slowly wearing him down.

I jammed the Feyeater back into its sheath and ran for the hole, leaping through the ring of burning spiderwebs and rolling back to my feet on the other side. I whirled and faced the fight, just in time to see Six-Leg's fang slice into Khavi's shoulder, tearing through his scales, and leaving a thin line of black blood and poison where it struck.

"Khavi!" I shouted. "I am your patrol leader, and I order you to retreat at once!"

Perhaps it was the pain of the wound or the orders given to him by his direct superior, but the burning light faded from Khavi's eyes and his posture shifted, becoming more defensive. He blocked a second bite and sliced at the spider's mandible, then ran towards the burning hole, an open mouthed Six-Legs in hot pursuit.

I grit my teeth. Despite his strength, jumping was not Khavi's strong point.

Khavi leapt into the air. He snagged on a burning tendril of web and Khavi fell snout first on the other side, his blade flew out of his hands and nearly sliced off my foot.

My short sword lay on the stone on the other side of the web, my magic was all but exhausted, and I couldn't manoeuver my flame to avoid burning my prone and squirming friend.

_"No weapons have you,_

_Such a shame, what can you do?"_

We needed options. I did the only thing I could think of; I drew the Feyeater and aimed with my hand.

"Catch!" I threw as hard as I could. The weapon sailed out towards a wide-eyed Khavi. He caught it and slashed off the strand of web.

"Nice throw!" He said.

Khavi's footclaws scratched gouges in the stone as he scrambled away from the web. Six-Legs, hissing as it clambered through the hole, snapped at Khavi. I swore that Khavi was doomed, but through sheer luck Six-Legs's fangs failed to pierce his scales.

We ran. Khavi scooped up his blade, both of us running for all we were worth.

But Six-Legs had more legs than the two of us put together, and this was its home. It knew every nook and cranny, every stone and pebble that littered the ground, while Khavi and I were running blind. It gained on us, closing ever closer, all of its multitudes of eyes focused on us, each glowing with an infernal light.

Claws scraped on stone as Khavi and I stumbled through the dark until the tunnel began to narrow and climb. A glimmer of hope shone in my heart as I detected warm air moving down from the tunnel, but as we ran, the truth was less comforting. A web blocked the way out, a thick wall of sticky thread that reached from wall to wall, floor to ceiling.

I looked for a way around it, over it, through it, but there was none. Six-Legs slowed, clearly confident that we were not going anywhere, its eight eyes flicking amongst each of them with a hungry glint.

_"Foodlings run into my web,_

_Feel their life force wane and ebb,_

_Six-Legs hunt you, tasty treats,_

_Six-Legs drink you, eat your meats."_

"To the hells with you!" spat Khavi. "I'll make you Five-Legs if you come near me!" He handed the Feyeater to me, gripping his own blade in both hands as he slipped into a combat stance, standing at the ready and a snarl on his lips.

It was merely bluster. We needed a way to fight the spider and had none. I turned my mind inward, trying in vain to conjure another gout of flame. Another spell of that strength was beyond my drained and exhausted mind, and the weaker cantrips would not be effective at harming Six-Legs at all.

The enchantments on the Feyeater may not work against such a monster, but if there was one desiccated corpse around here with a magical weapon, there might be more. Something that might be able to help them.

I murmured an arcane phrase. _Dragonsight_. The colour drained out of my vision and the world became a monochrome sea, the yellow light of Khavi's blade turning grey. The Feyeater radiated blue, the only colour I could see, and all around me sapphire blue twinkled in the distance of the cave, pinpoints of light in the darkness as my spell made visible the magical aura of enchanted items.

All too far away to help; all but one. A bright blue light shone from behind a rock near the cave wall, its faint glow barely visible except through the cracks in the imperfect seal. There was a tunnel there.

Reaching out and grabbing Khavi's shoulder, I yanked him over with me as Six-Legs began to advance. Grasping the rock, I rolled the boulder aside, finding a crawl space big enough for a kobold.

"Come on!" I hissed as Six-Legs skittered towards us. "This way!"

Khavi didn't need to be told twice. He dove headfirst into the tunnel, pushing through the thin cobwebs that filled the cramped space and disappearing into the gloom.

He had escaped, but Six-Legs loomed over me, mouth open to bite. Without any idea of what else to do, I held my shield up and crouched in front of the opening.

The fangs pierced my shield, stopping an inch away from my scales, the force shoving me backwards into the hole. I scrambled away, dragging my damaged shield behind me as Six-Legs bit and spat down the passage.

_"Six-Legs suffers with a powerful thirst,_

_Which of you shall I feed on first?"_

I turned, watching the spider's fangs miss my feet by inches. I drew the Feyeater and let it give my answer for me, swinging in a wide arc and missing the spider's head. The creature seemed more amused than alarmed, pulling its head back to the entrance of the passage and eyeing my dagger. It opened its jaws to speak again, but I thrust the Feyeater towards it, and it scampered back.

I crawled backwards, moving with my right hand and clutching the dagger with my left, but then I touched something soft.

A lump of web, sticky and unyielding, and my hand was stuck fast.

I tugged frantically to no avail. Six-Legs, seeing me stop, bit at me through the opening. Even with my legs tucked up against my body, glancing hits from its fangs scratched into my scales, threatening to dig into my flesh beneath.

Khavi grabbed my shoulders, and he pulled me free, tearing a chunk of the webbing away with my hand. He dragged me back through the cramped tunnel, bumping and scratching my knees and elbows. Something else was stuck to my claw. Khavi pulled, yanking and tugging until we burst out into a cavern lit with crystals. There were no webs.

"Thank you," I gasped, sliding the Feyeater into its scabbard, its eerie blue light shining out of the humanskin.

"Don't thank me yet, I think this is just an antechamber."

"Are you okay?" I asked. "You were bitten."

"What do you mean?" said Khavi, "I feel completely fine!" He gave a bold smile, then pitched forward, smashing his snout on the hard stone.

I touched his back. He was still breathing, but his limbs were as limp as moss. I had nothing to help him, so I could only wait for the poison to run its course and hope it was nothing more than paralysis. I shook my other hand, still sticky with web, and found the goo impossible to shake away.

A hilt protruded from the sticky mess, bathed in the blue light of my magic. Curious, I tugged the exposed handle, sliding it with surprising ease from the clump.

A long, thin blade, thinner than my short sword but almost twice as long. It was a rapier, forged from some metal I didn't recognise. Its hilt was carved and felt vaguely similar to stone. Its pommel was a heavy lump of pewter shaped into an open dragon's claw.

There was something about the weapon that called to me. Something that told me that finding it was no accident. It felt like another racial memory but more intimate. This wasn't some ancestor who had used this weapon; it was closer to me than that somehow.

I let the magic of my detection spell fade and colour returned to my sight. The glow faded away from the rapier. I ran my broken talons over the brown hilt, tracing down to the pommel, our recent peril forgotten. The incredible workmanship was something special, and it felt as though this weapon were made for me.

The Gods were dead, everyone knew that; the sentient races had risen up eons ago and slain them for their meddling, but there was some hand of the divine in my finding it. Although my body was weary as if I could sleep for days and lingering traces of spider venom coursed through my blood, I was energised. Alive. After all that had happened, the collapse at Atikala and everything since, finding this weapon was a bright spark in a sea of grim tidings.

But we could not stay here. Six-Legs was not far away. Although Khavi was helplessly paralysed, his face contorted like the dead Darkguard's, I pulled his stiff body to his feet. I staggered onwards and upwards, hoping to put as much ground between us and Six-Legs as possible.

CHAPTER VI

KHAVI STARTED TO TWITCH AND groan some minutes later, much to my relief. I shouldered him off, watching as his limbs shook. He clumsily found his footing on the stone, a hand clasped around a light crystal for balance.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, handing him the dried exoskeleton of a glowbug containing some water. Khavi unscrewed the creature's head then tipped a mouthful down his throat.

He drank eagerly. "I feel like there are giants tap-dancing on the back of my eyes." He handed the water back to me.

"Pain is good for you," I said with a smile, screwing the head back on. "It helps remind you that you're still alive."

"I think that saying's stupid—it's not like I could forget."

I opened my maw to continue the banter, but the words didn't come out. The city of Atikala was far from the only kobold settlement in the entire world, but each society was unique. Special. There were so many sayings, spells, and fragments of knowledge that had been snuffed out in an instant. All we had were our memories of those idioms.

"It may be stupid, but it's one of Yeznen's lessons. He's not around to give them anymore so we should remember on our own."

 "I agree," Khavi said and bobbed his head. "Maybe we can come up with our own lessons. New lessons."

"It's not a bad idea," I admitted. "When we get settled in at Ssarsdale, we'll think of some new ones."

"Do you really think they'll take us in?"

"The kobolds of Ssarsdale are our cousins," I said. "They will. They'll want to help Atikala in any way they can. We would do the same for them."

"Not that there's much left to help."

"We'll only know when we get there," I said, "and return with enough diggers to remove the stones. After we get our revenge on the gnomes, of course."

Khavi grunted, but there was little hope in his eyes. He planned to die in that place.

"But first steps first," I said. "Let's track down our wayward gnome."

We set out right away at a fast pace. We found No-Kill nearly half a mile ahead, collapsed in a puddle of body-tears, her chest heaving as she gasped and panted for breath. She looked up as we entered, her hand clasped around a hunk of crystal, holding it out like a weapon.

"Found you," I said.

"Away! Away!" No-Kill cried, panting and gasping as she pointed the hunk of crystal at the two of us. No-Kill's eyes darted to the dagger on my belt; the gnome recognised its design as surely as I had.

"Put it down," I said, my newly acquired weapon held aloft despite my tired arms, "and come with us."

No-Kill shrieked something down the corridor, pleading in gnomish. I stared down the dark passage but no assistance came for her. She threw down the crystal hunk in disgust.

"March," I said, jabbing my dagger at her. No-Kill groaned and slapped her legs.

"N-no march."

"March or die."

"No kill!"

I advanced towards her, but No-Kill held up her hands. I held off. Slowly, No-Kill reached down to her feet, hooking her stubby fingers into the edges of the fold of skin near her foot. She wiggled two of her fingers into the brown skin near her ankle as though there were a slit or gap there.

Then she pulled off her left foot.

I shouted and stumbled back. No-Kill, perplexed and apparently feeling no pain at all, just stared at me.

"Shit of the dead Gods, it ripped off its own foot!" shrieked Khavi."It mutilated itself! And the bone is wiggling!"

The gnome upended her foot, holding it out for us, and the inside was hollow. "I think it's an outerfoot," I said, staring at it with a horrified and yet fascinated. "Look. It's got stitches on it. It's not a part of its body."

Khavi spat onto the ground. "Foul gnomes," he said, "it's a dark magic indeed."

"Why would they wear something on their feet?" I said. "How can they fight with something like that around them? How would they climb or run?"

"No kill," added No-Kill.

I extended my hand for the outerfoot and No-Kill cautiously handed it over. I turned the strange thing over and over in my claws and gave it an experimental sniff and nearly choked. "It reeks of death!"

"Perhaps that is its weapon, then?" said Khavi. "It conceals a powerful stench to discourage predators?"

Placing the boot down on the stone, I examined No-Kill's naked real foot. It had barely any claws at all, just stubby little things that were the size of one of my scales. "They have scales there," I said, "a single scale. No claws."

"What good is a single scale?"

"I have no idea."

"Foot," said No-Kill, pointing at them. It reached over and removed the other, prompting instinctive recoils of horror from both of us. "Foot."

It was the right word in draconic, but I failed to see how my lean clawed appendages were anything like the stubby fat ones of the gnome, each little toe capped in a single scale. The bottom of the gnome's scaleless limbs were covered in strange welts, red and swollen, and her frail skin was coming off in places.

"Perhaps it is saying that its feet cannot walk any farther," Khavi said. "Its feet look damaged. It was walking slowly in the corridor. Perhaps we drove it too hard."

"Its comfort is not our concern," I said. "Its lucky that its permitted to live at all. You! No-Kill! Put your feet back on and march!"

The gnome gestured to its feet helplessly. I wrinkled my nose, picking up the outerfoot again, then examining the gnome's real feet once more. Free of the container, its real limbs had swollen up so much that I doubted the outerfeet would fit back over them.

"If it dies we have no hostage," said Khavi. I begrudgingly let the boot fall down to the stone.

"A period's rest then," I said. "No more."

Khavi took the first watch, although I found little sleep throughout my rest period, tossing and turning, my dreams disjointed and impossible to follow. This time, when my internal clock shook me awake, I was as drained as when I had started. My magic had, again, not replenished itself from my dreams, and my body was weakened. None of that could be changed now. I forced my eyelids open, for beyond comfort, beyond simple things like sleep, kobolds had to fulfill their duty.

"Your turn," said Khavi, curling up and resting his muzzle on his tail.

"Did she stir?" I asked. The sleeping gnome looked, in contrast to Khavi, terribly uncomfortable, her arms folded underneath her head and padded with her thin cloak.

"A little," said Khavi, "but I suspect she will sleep right through both shifts." He clicked his jaw. "Lazy creature."

I rested my hand on Khavi's midsection, rubbing it soothingly. It was an old kobold trick to aid another to sleep.

"Good night, Khavi."

"Good night, Ren." Soon he was quiet, a faint whistling noise coming from his nose. It was a noise I knew well.

In Atikala, kobolds shared lodgings, dozens sharing a single room, and my patrol group had slept together since we were hatched. We had been more than just comrades, we were life-long allies, and we knew each other intimately. The dragons had no word for this kind of concept, at least in the dialect my people spoke, but it was a concept understood by all.

I continued to stroke Khavi's side as I stared at the tired, pained gnome as she slumbered fitfully on the stone, tossing occasionally in significant discomfort. I drew some grim satisfaction from the knowledge that, at the very least, our prisoner would have no better sleep than I did.

When Khavi stirred, uncurling himself from his slumber and giving a pleased chitter, I handed him his blade and the glowbug water canister from my backpack.

The scent of the water awoke our gnome prisoner, her nostrils twitching. I could see that her lips were dried and cracked, and I wondered just how much water she needed.

More than Khavi and I did, certainly. I had not drank anything for nearly a day, despite patrol work, digging, bleeding from broken claws, then marching to the gnome settlement, but the gnome looked ill indeed. She sat up, her body dishevelled, and reached her hand out timidly to the water.

Reluctantly, I handed it over. The creature tipped back the bug and eagerly drank. And drank. And drank.

I snatched it away, staring down at its hollow guts. Over half the water was gone.

"Greedy thing!" I hissed, screwing on the top. The gnome wanted more, but I replaced the bug in my backpack.

"March," I said, and this time it was a word the gnome was beginning to understand. It pulled on its outerfeet, grimacing and yelping as they pulled over her innerfeet, then climbed to stand. A poke with my rapier and she began to walk, though, and Khavi and I fell into step behind it.

We walked again through tunnels that ducked and weaved over each other until the cavern mouth widened into an open area. An underground river emptied into a gouge in the limestone and a bridge arched its way across. This was no bridge made of chisel and brick, but one solid piece of stone growing out of the rock. I thought back to the scroll I had in my backpack that the gnomes had carried, and I understood how they had accomplished such a feat.

No-Kill eyed the water with obvious need, and I was shocked at the volume of it. The entire city of Atikala had been fed by a stream half this size—it had aqueducts and piping to distribute as much of the precious liquid as it could, and places where urine was collected and magically purified to garner more fresh water. The idea of letting so much rush down a hole, unheeded and wasted, was entirely foreign to me.

"I won't kill you," I said. "Now go. Drink."

I let No-Kill stagger towards the river, collapsing by its edge, her face down near the water. I looked to Khavi.

"How far do you think we have to go?" I asked.

"Not far," he answered. "By my reckoning, we're only a few hours out from their settlement."

"There should be a gate then," I said, "or some kind of sign that we're approaching the city."

"Perhaps it led us in the wrong direction?"

I considered. "It was still thirsty this morning. Perhaps she just wants more water."

"No wonder they are so big and soft," said Khavi. "They must be nearly all water."

"This must be why they have so few eggs a year. They drink too much." I smiled to Khavi, but he was looking at No-Kill, a frown on his face.

"It's not drinking," he said. I followed his gaze, and I, too, could see No-Kill's face pressed close to the water. Her lips were moving above the surface of the water.

"No-Kill! What are you doing?"

There was no reply. "Stop!" I raised the tip of my rapier and moved towards the gnome. "It's casting a spell!"

Khavi roared a battlecry and hoisted his blade. We broke into a sprint, charging after the gnome, Khavi's eyes lighting up as his bloodlust surged.

No-Kill's voice rose, babbling in her fey language as we charged in, but before we could reach striking distance, the river rose up to meet us. It formed a towering body of water, two stubby limbs sprouting from the river's body. It boomed something in the tongue of the fey.

We stopped in our tracks. I looked at my thin sword hopelessly. It could not possibly hurt water. I shuffled backwards, sensing Khavi doing the same, and shot No-Kill a foul look. She had not looked like a caster; I had no idea how she had conjured such a powerful ally, but the lessons of my training echoed in my mind.

Gnomes were always tricky. Gnomes would always lie.

No-Kill strode across the bridge but seemed focused on the elemental, chattering away in its own language. The creature rumbled in return, and with one last angry glance towards us, sank back down into the river once more. No-Kill stopped, turned towards us and beckoned us across.

Cautiously, Khavi and I stepped up to the bridge, and No-Kill gave us a merry wave. "No kill," she answered cheerfully, her imprisonment only moments ago seemingly completely forgotten.

Gingerly I extended a claw to the bridge, tapping it on the stone as if it were on fire, expecting the river to attack me. When it remained silent, I slowly and carefully stepped across, my eyes fixed on the tumbling water.

Khavi followed me across, and then the two of us returned our attention to No-Kill.

"No kill," she said, waving her hand at my rapier.

Begrudgingly, I sheathed my weapon, Khavi staring at me as though I were mad.

"Now we're trapped," Khavi said, "and the damn fey can command the water monster at any time!"

"If she wanted us dead," I said, "it would have happened already. A little bit of steel won't change anything."

Khavi shook his head, growling at the gnome. "I think not," he said, "and I've had enough of fey and their tricks for one day!" He roared an angry challenge, but No-Kill shouted something in her own tongue. A rumbling from behind her signalled the return of the elemental.

"Put down your sword," I urged him, but Khavi's eyes shone with a fiery anger that was beyond words. I wouldn't get through to him this time.

He darted towards No-Kill and swung an overhead chop, but No-Kill didn't flinch. The water elemental caught the blade mid swing, its liquid limbs somehow able to grasp solid objects. It absorbed the shocked kobold entirely into its watery hand, then slammed its fist against the ceiling. Khavi fell out, plummeting almost thirty feet to crash to the stone floor, groaning in pain and flopping feebly around on the ground.

"Khavi!"

No-Kill called something and the elemental's fist hovered over Khavi's groaning form. She turned to me, then, holding out her hand. "No sword."

Reluctantly, I passed over the blade, hilt first, and No-Kill took it in her pudgy hand. "No kill," she said, pointing to my backpack.

I understood, slowly unshouldering my pack, retrieving the bug shell and handing it over. The gnome drank eagerly, spilling water down her throat, gargling a little at the end then offering it to the elemental. It took the bug, absorbing it into its body, then spat it back out as dry as a bone.

Khavi lay on the stone and didn't move. I knew that the tables had, in just a moment, completely turned. We were now her prisoner.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance," I spat as No-Kill began to rifle through my backpack.

CHAPTER VII

I LEARNT A LOT BY watching No-Kill. The gnome was smarter with her prisoners than I was. The first thing No-Kill did was take the rope from my backpack, keeping it as one long length and using it to bind my hands behind my back and then to each foot. Now not only were hands, spells, or weapons useless, but I could only walk in a jerking shuffle, almost guaranteeing that if I ran, I would trip and fall. My weapons were strapped to No-Kill's backpack, securely tied on and completely out of reach, with Khavi's blade laid across the top. All of this was done under the hovering fist of the elemental.

Khavi had not moved at all. He was still breathing, but between the spider bites, the elemental's work, and the fall, his body had clearly had enough. I hoped he would survive.

The ropes burned and chafed my scales. "Is this really necessary?" I complained, grinding my teeth together.

No-Kill waggled a finger at me. "No kill, kobold." Then No-Kill pointed down the corridor, back the way they had come, away from the gnomish city. "March."

With little other recourse, I began to walk, one foot in front of the other. I trudged down the corridor, each step taking me farther away from the gnome city. This time, however, No-Kill set the pace. Slow, almost agonisingly slow. The gnome walked behind me, her hands around the length of rope, guiding me like some kind of slave or pet.

The bitter taste of defeat filled my mouth. I was an idiot. Khavi and I had planned on what, exactly? Two kobolds marching to the gates of the gnome city with a single hostage? Of course the gnomes would have guardians. Powerful guardians. If they hadn't, our people would have long ago torn down their walls with our vast army. There was a reason none crossed through the mists except the Darkguard.

I had nothing to say to No-Kill, and the gnome said nothing to me, so the two of us marched in silence, my claws scraping on the stone, the slow pace affecting my gait. At first it was merely uncomfortable, but when No-Kill stopped to rest, finally, the greater relief was with me.

"Too tight," I said, jabbing at the rope. "Too tight!"

"No talk," said No-Kill.

"Listen, stupid gnome breath, the rope is too tight!"

"No talk!"

I hissed at her, baring my sharp teeth. "I'm telling you that the rope is hurting me!"

No-Kill looped the rope around my muzzle and jammed it between my teeth.

"March."

I used my tongue to push the rope out a bit, enough to speak. "What will happen to Khavi?"

"No talk."

I tried again. The words were hard to form, painful, but I was a caster. I had trained extensively to speak with all manner of difficulties. "I am his patrol leader, I am responsible for him."

No-Kill pulled the rope tighter. "No talk. March."

And so we did, each step tugging the rope tauter, the thick fibres rubbing against my scales and chafing my tongue and jaws. No-Kill walked too slow and took too many breaks, her preferred pace an ungainly waddle. Finally, many hours later, we arrived back at the fork in the tunnel where we had fought her. The area was still littered with the bodies of No-Kill's gnome companions, and the smell of death filled the corridor. I clamped my claw over my nose to shield against the putrid stink of rotting bodies. No-Kill swatted it away.

"Smell," she said. "You kill, you smell."

The aroma was sickeningly sweet, of flesh that had started to rot and bloat, mixed in with the thick stench of fecal matter. It was cold in the underworld; the stones have little heat, so the corpses were still mostly fresh. However the gnomes had emptied themselves upon death.

My classes had told me of these facts. Battle sites were best plundered and then abandoned, for the stink and the rot would set in faster than any thought possible. Numerous scavengers crawled in the underworld's perpetual twilight and would soon descend upon the carnage. Before the day's end, the bodies would be gone, dragged off to some lair and consumed.

This had not happened yet. Now I was the scavenger, the worm to deal with the flesh of the dead.

"Dig," instructed No-Kill.

I waggled my bound arms helplessly. No-Kill loosened the rope, and I pushed it out with my tongue again. "With my tail?"

"Many spell, kobold. No claws. No spells."

"No claws," I said, "no dig."

We were at an impasse. My tongue hurt, and I let the rope slip back between my teeth. No-Kill knew the truth as well as I did, assuming she understood what I was telling her. Finally she reached out and carefully undid the rope, sliding it out of my mouth, but was mindful to loop the thick cord around my throat several times, giving a firm tug. The moment I began to cast the gnome would choke the air from my lungs.

"Dig," No-Kill said again.

I held up my broken claws, still flecked with gold blood from digging through buried Atikala. No-Kill inspected them closely. She seemed saddened by the sight, almost compassionate, but then she hardened. "Kobold dig."

And so I dug, scratching my bloody claws into the dirt, crying out in pain whenever my I scraped rock. In the moments when my pain was obvious No-Kill seemed to be sympathetic, but always the same instruction came.

"Dig."

Hours later I had dug a shallow hole wide enough to fit all the bodies. I nursed my broken claws, licking each of them in turn, tasting dirt and blood.

No-Kill pointed her thick, stubby, scaleless claw at the dead body of her companion and back towards the hole.

Groaning, I reached for the first body, my claws digging into the rotting flesh. A dark fluid leaked from the gnome's punctured skin. I dragged its bloated body into the hole and dropped it in.

An angry howl interrupted my work. I looked up in time to see a familiar rust scaled kobold, his face splattered with blood, leap upon No-Kill, biting and clawing.

"Khavi!"

I scrambled to get out of the pit to help. Khavi and No-Kill thrashed around on the ground, punching and clawing, but despite Khavi's wild assault, No-Kill seemed to have the upper hand. She wrapped her fingers around his throat.

The advantage didn't last long. I crested the grave and let my bite lead the way, chomping and snapping at No-Kill's hands and earning a punch on the snout for my trouble. We brawled unarmed, but that was going to change. Khavi scrambled for the blades strapped to No-Kill's back, grabbing hold of the two-handed sword's handle and yanking. No-Kill jerked around violently.

My teeth sank into No-Kill's shoulder, and she jerked. I twisted my neck, tearing into gnomish skin and tasting coppery blood. We rolled around on the hard stone, claws and teeth and fists flying, until finally Khavi's great strength combined with my good grip on her shoulder managed to get us the advantage. Khavi held one of No-Kill's hands down, and I released my bite on her shoulder long enough to grasp her other hand.

With her limbs secured, No-Kill could only shriek in her own tongue, kicking repeatedly. The pain made it difficult to hold on, but I squeezed my claws into No-Kill's skin, gripping her arms tight enough to hurt.

Khavi used his claws to slash the bonds on his blade and pulled it free of No-Kill's backpack. No-Kill continued to struggle, and for a moment, I almost lost her hold on her.

Then she was staring down the business end of Khavi's blade, and the fight went out of her.

"Let's chop its filthy head off," said Khavi, panting and gasping, black blood running freely from his swollen and bruised snout. He'd lost a tooth in his front row; painful, but it would grow back in a week or so. "The monster led us directly into a trap."

"No kill!"

"Shut your mouth!" I snarled, squeezing No-Kill's arms and digging my claws in. I turned to Khavi. "Look, we could just bypass the gnomes entirely and head to Ssarsdale. We don't have to have anything to do with them at all."

Khavi's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You can't seriously be suggesting that we just walk on by, can you? These beasts destroyed Atikala, brought the stone down on our homes, killed tens of thousands of kobolds, and you're suggesting that we just let them be? That we allow slaughter to go unpunished?"

I looked to the bloated and festering gnome bodies scattered around. "No, but I think these ones have paid the first installment of their debt. When we get to Ssarsdale, we'll tell our cousins what happened, and they'll rally their armies. The Ssarsdale kobolds have spellcasters, they have warriors and assassins—they'll repay the loss of Atikalan blood a hundred fold. That's a better way."

Khavi jabbed his sword towards No-Kill, almost skewering her. "We can't," he said. "It doesn't seem right. A handful of gnomes for tens of thousands? That's bad comedy. We should at _least_ pass by them, see if we can pick off another patrol or two, or maybe even more."

No-Kill started kicking again. I bared my teeth, still stained with her blood, and the gnome stopped. "I want them all dead as much as you do," I said, "but I think that Ssarsdale's army is the best way to deal with it." I risked rubbing my bruised side, glaring down at No-Kill. "Urgh. My whole body hurts."

"You're telling me," said Khavi. "That water-thing packs a punch. I think I have bruises on my bruises."

"I'm surprised you're still upright."

"Well," he said, "I'm tough, remember?"

I had seen Khavi shrug off blows that would fell a lesser kobold, especially when his blood was boiling, but the way he held his sword limp was a worry to me. Beneath his thick scales he'd been bruised, quite heavily, although I didn't think anything was broken. Khavi was in a bad way, running purely on fury and hate, but that would only last so long. We could neither throw ourselves at the gnomish settlement, nor make the dangerous trek to Ssarsdale in our current state. Thirst for revenge would only carry us so far.

"Let's find a place to sleep," I said. "Hole up for a day or two. Then we can make a decision about what we're going to do. But first, cut these ropes off me. They burn my scales something fierce."

Khavi obliged, and my relief was immediate. As Khavi tied No-Kill up, I let go, rubbing where the rope had burned me, several scales coming loose as I tried to sooth my injuries.

"No kill," said No-Kill, the tremble in her voice returning.

I glared at her. "No promises."

We half carried, half dragged the bruised, bitten, bleeding No-Kill until the stink of the gnomish dead was far behind us, then neither of us could stand it any longer. Khavi collapsed in a tunnel. As I stared at him the strength flowed out of me. I knew that we had to restrain No-Kill, but the weariness on the gnome's face was clear. There was no fight left in her, and she just sprawled out face down on the stone, covered once again in body tears.

I knew that we should set watches, should keep a tight eye on our prisoner, and should learn from No-Kill's treatment of me, but the exhaustion and battle fatigue was too much for both of us. Wordlessly, Khavi and I lay on the stone, letting our aching bodies recover. Moments later we were both fast asleep.

I did not know how long we lay on the cold stone, stretched out in an uncomfortable position and completely unguarded, but it was much later when my mind brought me back to the world. I had slept a dreamless sleep, one wrought of exhaustion, but I knew that the rest had done its work. The wellspring of my magic had recovered, perhaps not full to the brim, but better than last night. Propping myself up on stiff and sore elbows, I stretched out my hind legs and tail, my body chaffed from sleeping a night in mail. A glance down at my fingers and I saw that the broken nails had begun to fall out. Several of them lay on the stone, and the nubs of fresh claws were already growing.

No-Kill sat cross-legged in front of me, her bloodied shoulder wrapped in the tattered remnants of her sleeve, her eyes puffy and bruised. Our weapons laid before her feet.

"What do you want?" I asked. "Why didn't you just kill us?"

No-Kill pointed to the weapons and back down the corridor they had come from. "Dig," she said, but it didn't carry the same weight, the same tone that it had before. This was a request, not an order. "Please."

I eased myself to her knees, regarding the sitting gnome. "You want to bury the bodies of the gnomes, yes?"

"Dig," No-Kill said again, then pointed to my blade. "Dig, and give."

I understood. "Dig," I walked over to Khavi. "Wake up."

"Why?" Khavi groaned, his eyes flicking open. "It's my shift already?"

I shook my head. "No shifts tonight." I crouched down beside him, reaching out and touching his flank. "Listen, Khavi, I have a request of you."

Khavi slowly sat up, glaring at No-Kill. "You want me to kill it for you, don't you?"

Did he always think this way? Of killing and fighting? "No. I want you to help me bury the gnomes we killed, and do it properly before the scavengers get them."

He scrunched up his face. "You...want to cover our trail? Are we being pursued?"

"No, I just want to give the gnomes a proper burial."

Khavi's disgust at the prospect was palpable. "Why?" he asked, his upper lip curling back in disgust. "What's wrong with you?"

"It's just something I want to do. I can't explain why. Look, No-Kill could have just squashed you flat with that elemental, but she didn't. She walked away from her home, her feet bleeding, because she wanted to go back to bury them. I think if we do this one thing, she'll stop resisting."

"Let it try," snarled Khavi. "I'm getting sick of it anyway. I want to see what its guts look like."

I tried something else. "Everything else aside, you've got to look at the bigger picture. Try to see it this way—that spider nearly killed us. The elemental nearly killed us. We don't know what other surprises lay out beyond the mist since neither of us have been this high before. If we spent an hour putting some fey in the ground, then we might be able to secure No-Kill's cooperation. A calm hostage is much easier to control and will serve our purposes much better."

"I don't like it," Khavi said, glaring at No-Kill again, "but you're the patrol leader, and you're the sorcerer. It's your job to lead and mine to follow. If that's what your orders are, then that's what I'll do."

There was resentment in his voice. I was testing his loyalty, and perhaps I was testing it too far, but I knew that he would follow my orders. "Very well then," he said after a length. "Let's get it done. Then we can get back to killing."

CHAPTER VIII

WHEN WE ARRIVED BACK AT the battle site, a swarm of six-inch bugs were crawling over the bodies, tearing at the exposed flesh with their pincers and slowly consuming them. They were Flesh-Cleaners, blind four-legged insects that feasted on flesh too small or too rotten for other predators. I chased them away with a spray of flame from my hand and all three of us set to work.

With our bodies rested and No-Kill's help, the gnome corpses were buried quickly, their final resting place a mountain of rocks and dirt in the biggest of the tunnels. The sickly-sweet smell began to recede.

Once again No-Kill seemed more exhausted than the two of us. I gave No-Kill a few strips of glowbug meat from my haversack, much to Khavi's chagrin. He stared daggers at our prisoner as she consumed the lion's share of our meagre supplies. She didn't seem to like the taste, though, which helped.

The grim business was finished, and we turned towards the gnomish settlement, No-Kill walking before us. Our weapons remained sheathed, although Khavi kept his claw resting on the hilt at all times. The route we took was different this time, through smaller, poorly maintained passages that were covered in dust.

The idea was strange to me and must have been strange to Khavi too. All kobold tunnels were either maintained to the common standard and well patrolled, irrespective of their use, or collapsed to prevent their use by our enemies. I couldn't understand the thought process that would allow a race to be so lackadaisical with the defence of their community.

Their existence proved useful to us though. Based on my reckoning, the journey to the gnome settlement was shortened significantly.

I was glad for this, and glad No-Kill was cooperating with us, although every time she helpfully bypassed one of the gnomish traps or led us through a hidden side passage, I could feel Khavi's rage building. He hated being shown up, hated not being right, and most of all, he hated taking orders from a gnome.

No-Kill took us to the wide passage to the underground stream. My instincts begged me not to approach the water again, but No-Kill waved for us to proceed.

We did, weapons in hand, and as we drew close, the water once again rose up to meet us. The elemental's body coalesced from the flow of the river, limbs made of bubbling water dripping onto the stone as it regarded Khavi and I impassively.

No-Kill said something in her own tongue and the monster relaxed, slowly sinking back down into the water like a wineskin with a hole in it, becoming one with the stream once again.

"Do you think it can still see us?" I asked, peering at the water.

"Maybe it's a trap," replied Khavi.

"It didn't kill us before; it won't now," I said, a faint hint of exasperation creeping into my tone.

"No kill," said No-Kill, pointing to the river and then to my backpack. I fished out the empty bug-container and handed it to her. Moving to the water, No-Kill leaned down and filled it with a single scoop, screwing on the lid and handing it back, beaming widely.

How could she be so friendly to us all of a sudden? Khavi hated her, but I could feel my resentment weaken. It was difficult to be angry and suspicious of someone who was so cheery.

At least we had water again. I worried, though, if some part of the elemental was inside the bottle, and what might happen to my insides if I drank it. Would the creature burst out from within me? Would my body absorb it and take control of my very blood, using my vital fluids as the new carrier for its spirit?

Sometimes knowledge of magic can be a scary thing indeed. At times like these I envied Khavi with his much more simple thought processes and outlook on life.

Khavi snatched the hollow glowbug from No-Kill's hands, growling angrily. "Well, at least it replaced what it drank," he said, unscrewing the top and sniffing within. He regarded the water with the same caution one might give to a vial of poison.

Perhaps he and I thought more alike than I had guessed. Khavi gave the bottle's contents another suspicious sniff, then he dipped a claw and tasted it, rolling the drop around on his tongue. Unable to find anything immediately wrong he screwed the top back on and thrust it to me. "Bah."

"It's water," I said.

"What if it put the water monster in the bottle?"

I was reluctant to let Khavi know I was thinking the same thing, so I just replaced it back in my backpack. "It's twenty kobolds tall. There's no way it could fit in a tiny bottle."

"Gnomish magic is built on deception. What if it's a fragment of the monster?"

"Are you afraid of a water elemental the size of a glowbug? Look, if No-Kill wanted to smash us with the thing, she's had ample opportunity to do so."

" _She?_ " asked Khavi questioningly, inclining his head. "You've been doing that for a while now. Monsters shouldn't be addressed with such familiarity."

"It is clearly female."

He wrinkled his snout. "How can you tell? They all look alike to me."

"Tzala told me that the females of the surface races have two squishy flesh-growths on their chests. That's how you know they're female."

"What purpose would they serve?"

"Apparently they use them to nourish their young."

"They allow their hatchlings to eat their own flesh?" Khavi shook his head and looked away, sticking his tongue out. "That's vile."

"They have their ways of raising children," I said, although I immediately regretted bringing up the subject around Khavi. "And we have ours. It's just how they are."

"Well, at least we know it hasn't spawned. It still has both." He paused. "Maybe they grow back?"

That was likely. We continued on, leaving the sweet-smelling water behind us, once more walking through tunnels lined with the glowing crystalline growths.

The passage began to open, wider and wider, towards a faint purple glow—a dot at the end of a vast funnel. As we drew closer, the source became clear. An opaque wall of energy ran from floor to ceiling, thick and shimmering purple. A grid of arrow slits were carved into the tunnel walls, each approximately a kobold and a half's height above the other and surrounded on either side by spear holes. Near the ceiling, more slits were spaced farther apart and the steel tips of ballista bolts poked, armed and ready to fire. Below our feet were grates designed to filter away poisonous gasses and flooding waters, others filled with a black liquid that smelled of flammable oil. Some were filled with arrays of darts, angled upwards in a wide cone, their tips wickedly sharp. My power felt faint, an unseen force suppressing my magic, silencing the inner roar of the dragons within my soul, a feeling that was amplified the closer I came to the end.

With every step down the long corridor, I expected to die. We were being toyed with; silent watchers waited to give the signal to kill.

We made it all the way to the end, closer to our enemies than, any others of our kind had ever done before. We stood outside the entrance to the gnome city, staring down the sights of enough arrows to repel an army ten thousand strong. Here we were, two tired and footsore kobolds and a gnome whose intentions were as opaque as the shimmering wall that stood between us and the city. We were nothing before the might of these fortifications.

Yet they did not kill us.

No-Kill gestured for us to put away our weapons. I did so, and as my rapier slid into its sheath, a sinking feeling grew in my belly. The ominously silent defences stared us down, hundreds of dark slits mocking us, mutely daring two reptilians to attack for the amusement of all. How did I ever think we had a hope of succeeding?

No-Kill called something in her own tongue but received no reply. She turned to us and pointed to the floor. "No march," she said, jabbing her finger at my feet, then towards the opaque shimmering wall. "No march. Kobold die. No march."

"No march," I echoed. No-Kill stepped through the purple wall and vanished.

Khavi exhaled a loud hissing sigh beside me. "Perhaps she is going to tell them to cut us down," he said, his eyes darting from arrowslit to arrowslit, expecting to be shot at any moment. "We should have kept her in front of us as a shield."

"I don't see anyone at the ballistas," I said, pointing to crossbows that stood without crew, their loaded bolts pointing beyond us to the entrance.

"Perhaps they are invisible. Our own defences use invisibility to confound our enemies."

"It doesn't make sense to use invisibility to mask the presence of siege engine crews. Our sorcerers could simply lob fireballs into the rooms. Being unable to be seen doesn't mean you can't be burned."

"It's a trick," Khavi insisted, "some kind of wicked deception. Perhaps they intend to test our will?"

"To what purpose?"

"They saw us coming," he reasoned. "The gnomes have much reason to fear us. Perhaps the weapon crews deserted."

Khavi was so fixated on seeing danger that he couldn't see the broader picture. What was odd about the gnomish defenses wasn't that our enemies were waiting for the right time to pull some ingenious trick on us, it was that they didn't seem to be waiting at all. "You think that dozens, possibly hundreds, of gnome defenders pissed themselves and ran because _two kobolds_ approached their gates?"

"I don't know what to think!" Khavi hissed, and snapped his jaws. "I just want them to get it over with! They should kill us already instead of drawing it out!"

The tip of one of the bolts gleamed in the crystal light. It seemed so sharp. "Do not wish for death so easily."

The purple glow became a bright light, and I brought my hand up to shield my eyes. It faded quickly, and when the spots cleared, the wall had dropped away. A tunnel climbed the length of my sight.

No-Kill stood on the other side of the passage, a purple glowing orb in her hand, the light fading as the last of the wall evaporated. She beckoned us forward, then turned up the incline, moving out of sight.

"Ren?" said Khavi.

I turned to him, eyeridge raised. "Yes?"

"I've always obeyed your orders, haven't I?"

"Yes, you have." I hesitated. "Are you all right?"

He looked directly at me, and there was something in his eyes—something dark and sinister, something fierce and determined, something I had never really seen in him before.

"Ren, we need word to reach Ssarsdale, to warn our cousins and prepare the army for war, and you have seen the gnome defences. You're a sorcerer, you've got the dragon's art; you're a leader. You're young, yes, but you've got potential. If this hadn't happened, you would probably be running Atikala in a few generations."

"Khavi, what are you—"

"I want you to use the scroll to seal up the arrow slits," he said, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword. "You should be able to do it before they fire. Then, turn around and run away from here, and make for Ssarsdale. Tell them what happened today, and do what your duty compels you to do. I know what _mine_ tells me—that this gnome has lived too long, that I can't go on living knowing that Atikala is in ruins."

"Khavi—"

But he was already gone, his eyes solid red, his weapon flying into his hands. A shiver danced down my spine as Khavi's voice boomed all around, echoing off the stone walls, a primal vocalisation that shook the very foundations of the city.

The scroll was on my hip. I could use it to seal up the arrow slits as he'd suggested, but if they were going to fire, or pull some trick, or stop Khavi in any way, it wouldn't come from there.

Khavi charged up the incline towards his doom, bellowing his warcry. He reached the top of the lip, disappearing from sight, and his ferocious, fate-defying shout was abruptly silenced.

I turned to the passage behind me. There were other passages, other routes I could take, ones that would bring me to the surface and then to Ssarsdale. I could run or I could stay. There were worse fates than dying here.

My hands trembled right above the scroll. Khavi's words rang true; my duty called, inexorably pulling me towards my cousins so they could rally an army, assault this city, and make each and every gnome within pay for the kobolds they had crushed underneath the stones. Khavi was the better fighter, his blade strong and sure, but his voice had been silenced instantly. To follow him up that ramp, that incline leading to the city proper, was to embrace certain death. Duty, logic, reason—every part of me that was kobold implored me to use the scroll and retreat, to let Khavi's death serve a community that no longer existed. The souls of all those kobolds cried out for revenge, pleading with me to return to this very spot with an army at my heels, ready to repay blood with blood.

But try as I might, my feet would not allow me to turn away from Khavi, to take even a single step away from the spot where I stood. Instead I found them moving in front of each other, one by one, moving up the incline and bringing the scene beyond into view.

No-Kill knelt on the crest of the lip, her hands by her sides, staring out at the cavern beyond. Khavi stood beside her, his arms limp and his weapon lying on the ground. For a brief moment I wondered if he was paralysed again.

Then I saw. A vast emptiness, a hole in the underworld disappearing straight down. The entire city had been scooped out by the spoon of a giant, the creature digging down further and further, creating a city-sized well in the earth that stretched out further than I could see. A red glow burned at the bottom of the pit, bright and angry. I could see no smoke. Above was a circle of the brightest light, a yellow disk in the blackness.

The gnomish city had fallen, dropped so far into the underworld that it was beyond sight, plummeting to its destruction below us, falling far enough that there was no rope long enough to reach it.

It was with a terrible realisation that I once again turned back to the entrance to the city and saw the empty ballistas, the unmanned arrow slits with bows left where their wielders had dropped them.

The gnomes _had_ deserted. Weeks ago after their city had fallen out from underneath them. The weight crushed Atikala's ceiling and, like a collapsing stack of scrolls, buried it beneath the ruins of what had once been an impregnable gnomish fortress.

No-Kill wailed, the first sound any of us had made. She clutched her head, babbling in her fey tongue. She grasped hold of the edge of the abyss, staring at the vast nothingness.

I reached out, touching No-Kill's uninjured shoulder, drawing her back from the edge. The gnome shuddered and shook, her eyes wetting as her eye-tears came, crying in the right place at last.

The sheer scale of devastation we were facing dissolved my hate. I pulled the gnome I called No-Kill towards me, wrapping my claws around her shoulders and hugged tightly, keeping her eyes away from the endless abyss. The gnome cried into my shoulder, her sobs echoing in the vast chasm.

The reality of what had happened to my own city, as surely destroyed as this one, really, truly hit home for the first time. Atikala was as gone as this nameless place, no less cast into the endless abyss, and there would be just as few survivors. No-Kill and I shared the same pain.

Everything we had known about, cared about, and loved was gone.

So I cried too, and Khavi as well, mourning for the destruction of civilisations, for the massacre of two races, and the hopeless inevitability that presented so many more questions than answers.

No-Kill was first to regain some sense of wit. She let go of me, stepped back, and pointed to the Feyeater.

"Kill," she implored as she pointed at her heart, her face streaked with tears. "Kill."

I didn't say anything, but I felt the dagger slide from its sheath. Khavi was at my side, his claw clasped around the hilt, holding the Feyeater in both hands.

"Khavi," I said, my voice shaking, "it should be me."

"No," he said. "I know you don't want to. I'll do it."

A week ago I would have given everything I had to say that a whole city of gnomes were dead, that it was worth any price to bring our enemies to utter ruination. I'd trained my whole life to kill, to use weapons and magic to protect my people, and this was to be my duty. My purpose in life.

Now, though, there was another gnome here, begging for death, one more body I could add to the slaughter. But I didn't want that. I didn't want Khavi to kill her, either.

I wanted No-Kill to live. I wanted to find out what her name was, and maybe even be her friend. I wanted her to come with us to Ssarsdale, and explain that this gnome wasn't evil, and then she could spend her days with us, in our new community.

But I couldn't. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't deny that No-Kill was a gnome, and I was a kobold.

I couldn't say or do anything.

No-Kill slid down onto her knees, her eyes closed, and her head hung. Khavi gently nudged the dagger against her shoulder, letting the impossibly fine tip find a vein. The weapon seemed to hunger for it, sensing the presence of the creature it was enchanted to kill, and I swore the blade stretched, begging to be plunged into gnome flesh.

His strike planned, Khavi raised the blade up above his head, staring down at the gnome whose real name neither of us knew. He hesitated. The dark blade waited patiently as Khavi stared at the gnome that shared our anger and our pain.

Then he plunged the Feyeater into her neck. Blood gushed from the wound, bubbling over and splattering onto Khavi's claws. No-Kill slumped over in a crumpled heap, her face laying in the rapidly expanding pool of scarlet.

He wiped his claws off on the back of No-Kill's cloak, then handed the bloodsoaked dagger back to me.

No-Kill's heart wasn't black. It was red, healthy and living. Not evil at all.

"Thank you," I murmured. I went to the body of No-Kill and crouched beside her, reaching out and touching her lifeless body. I was empty. Hollowed as if a piece of myself died.

"I didn't ask her name," I said, "or the name of this place...whatever it was."

"It doesn't matter," said Khavi. "She's just a gnome. This hive of them is gone, but there are many more out there, below the earth and even on the surface. Their species is numerous." His tone became acidic. "You'll find no end of feylings to dote over if you go looking for them."

Khavi's anger was not my own, and his words couldn't reach me. I felt nothing. I gently rolled No-Kill onto her back and closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," I said to No-Kill's body, although the words seemed entirely empty. I looked at Khavi. "We should bury her. She wanted that for her kin, she'd want it for herself."

"I say we just toss the body into the abyss, so she can lay with the others. That's as good a grave as the rest of the city got, and better than they deserved."

"I'm still the patrol leader," I said, "and I say we're going to bury her."

"You'll do that on your own," spat Khavi, folding his claws and turning to stare at the bottomless abyss.

Such insolence would be normally be punishable by field execution, and as patrol leader I had the authority to do it. If I did, I knew, deep in my heart, that Khavi would accept this ruling. That's what he was. Strong, loyal, and obedient. I could make him. I could punish him if he didn't.

But I knew that I had to do this.

"Fine."

So I did. I wanted to dig a grave for her, much as we had done for her kin, but then I had a better idea. I carried No-Kill's corpse to a spot near the wall and cleared the dirt and dust away from a section, deep and long, scraping away the soil. I prepared a suitable resting flat stone shelf, then I withdrew the scroll. I unfurled it and began to read.

The scroll's light was almost painful. The earth itself bent to heed my words. The ground rose up into steps, five in total, then a raised platform with a rectangular box. I had no idea what I was making; I simply imagined the burial mound we had placed No-Kill's kin into, then tried to make something better and more elaborate, something more deserving of her.

The writing on the scroll faded away to nothing. I stupidly had forgotten a lid for the tomb, so I fetched rocks from the gateway and piled them near the box until I was certain I had enough to cover it.

I gently placed No-Kill's body within, then one by one, I placed the heavy stones into the tomb, sealing her body within. To be certain, I piled on lumps of glittering crystal from the tunnel further back. I found a large flat stone near the entrance, formerly a trapdoor to defensive tunnels, and used the magical dagger's tip to inscribe upon it in the language of dragons.

_Here lies the gnome with no name, last of her kin._

_She faced life with courage and death with the same._

_We never knew what her name truly was,_

_but in another life I would have called her friend._

I placed the plaque at the head of the mound of crystal, taking care that Khavi would not see what I had done. I knew he would hate it. I had taken the only real weapon we had, the only thing stronger than my spells and our steel, and used it to give a proper grave to his enemy. In my mind, though, we had intended to use the scroll to bury gnomes.

In the end it had been used for that purpose.

I joined Khavi staring out at the emptiness that was the abyss, the place where a city of gnomes had once lived and breathed.

Kobolds did not bury their dead. They were incinerated in the city's furnaces, burned to ashes, used as fuel to heat the nurseries, and sustain the growth of new life. But I knew that gnomes and other species treated the dead with veneration, and for the first time, I began to understand why.

"Where do we go from here?" asked Khavi, his quiet voice echoing faintly from the other side of the cavern walls.

For a moment I didn't answer, then I shouldered my backpack and breathed deeply of air too sweet and fresh to be from a place that had seen so much death.

"The only way is up," I said.

We left the dead city, continuing our long climb to the surface.

ACT II

Passage to Salvation

_T_ _HE_ _END_ _OF_ _A_ _TIKALA_ _KILLED_ _our hope, but the destruction of our enemies at Stonehaven took with it something else._

_Our hate._

_There is a saying amongst my people that reflects this. Within every heart lives two dragons, a dragon of Hope and a dragon of Hate, both mighty and powerful in equal measure. They war constantly, always struggling for dominance to be the rightful ruler of your heart._

_You feed them with your actions._

_All that drives us in life is fuelled by either hope or hate. Hate is the dark mirror of hope, empowering our hearts with the same fire and energy but striving for different ends. Hate drives us to bring those above us to ruin, while hope exalts us to raise ourselves up beyond where we are. We want to better ourselves, or drag down someone else so we are on top._

_The destruction of the gnomes had taken with it the dragon of our hate, but hope could not flare up to take its place; hope was already dead within us. We were soulless, cast adrift and ready to settle down to wait for death. I remember these times as being some of the hardest of them all, not because of pain, or suffering, or loss...but because I no longer felt anything at all._

_Both dragons lay dead, and my heart was a barren wasteland cloaked in winter. While this wounded me greatly, it was better than the alternative. I said many things, did many things, that I regret in this time of my life, but I always feel the slightest bit of pride that at that moment, right when I had nothing, I didn't feed Hate and nurse it back to health._

_Most manage to find an equilibrium in their hearts between Hate and Hope, controlling the former while encouraging the latter, and for most, this is a happy and content existence. Some find that Hope's strength overpowers Hate easily, and that they are able to do noble things effortlessly and naturally simply by following their intrinsic sense of righteousness._

_However, some embrace that hateful dragon within them, that boiling black pit of rage that simmers and bubbles out of sight, ushering them into darkness and wickedness too numerous to count. They embrace this powerful ally and use it to great effect._

_Sometimes my surface friends wonder why anyone would do this, would willingly plunge themselves into shadow and wrath. Even humans, that most flexible and different of species, almost universally espouse the idea that good is preferable to evil, and that it is better to be noble than to be malicious, even when they do not believe it. Why would anyone listen to that whisper from Hate, the dark voice urging them to abandon Hope and to take the selfish path, the destructive path, the path of darkness?_

_Kobolds know. Kobolds know because the voice of Hate, the black dragon within, is seductive. It promises that all things are relative, and that by listening, one can reach the summit of their dreams easier and faster. Hate promises much—power, wealth, revenge for slights real and imagined. When the choice is made between humble Hope and eager Hate, it is Hate's words that have the most strength, and its promises are greater._

_But greater too, is Hate's hunger, and you can only feed a dragon for so long before it grows too large for the meals you bring. Where Hope would grow fat and content, sleeping most of its days and dreaming of pleasant things, Hate grows ever more ravenous._

_When the food grows too meagre for its bulk, Hate turns its greedy eyes upon you._

_— Ren of Atikala_

CHAPTER IX

_Two weeks later_

WE WANDERED THE DIMLY LIT tunnels of the underworld without a goal, walking for the sake of walking, the plan to make for Ssarsdale long gone from our minds. We moved from tunnel to tunnel, from cavern to cavern, the regiment of our disciplined upbringing gone. We set no watches, made no schedules, and didn't determine a pace or direction. We rarely spoke, exchanging less than a dozen words a day, mindlessly walking in the endless dim light of the underground.

We slept, ate rations we salvaged from the gnome battlements, sipped water, and walked. We did not recall our daily lesson; we did not practice or clean our equipment or make a proper camp. We did nothing but simply exist in the timeless, seasonless underworld, letting time slip away from us.

Finally, one day, Khavi simply would not wake up.

He was not asleep. His eyes were open, but he remained curled in a ball, unmoving and silent, his breathing slow and even. His gear lay strewn around in a disorganised pile, his sword half out of its scabbard, thin scabs of rust forming over the blade. It hadn't been cleaned or oiled in some time, an almost unthinkable lack of diligence for a routine loving kobold.

Almost as unthinkable as my complete lack of caring about it.

"It's time to get up," I said, unable to keep the weariness from my voice. "We need to get going."

Khavi didn't stir. I reached out and poked him in the side. He still didn't move.

"Khavi, come. We've slept long enough."

"Have we."

"Yes." I couldn't force energy and life into my flat and lackluster tone."It's been a full sleep cycle. It's time we moved on."

"To where?"

To where indeed? I searched my mind for the answer. "Ssarsdale of course." The words seemed foreign to my tongue. "Are you all right?"

"How do you know Ssarsdale still exists, and if it does, how can they help us? Why would they bother?"

I was weary. I had slept more than adequately; too much, in fact, letting the hours pass without care. I was tired of Khavi and his attitude. I was tired of the endless tunnels throughout the underworld. I was tired of wandering without a point, tired of everything, tired of living.

"Ssarsdalians are our cousins. Our kin. They will heed the news of Atikala's destruction, and they will send help, whatever help they can spare. They, unlike us, are not neighbours to any gnomes; the nearest gnome settlement was No-Kill's."

The name of the dead gnome bought some life back into Khavi. He managed a dry smile, just with the corners of his lips. " _Was_ being the important word, isn't it? Those gnomes are long dead now. So there's some victory in all of this."

I rested my hand on his side. "That is something."

"Not enough for me to consider moving." Khavi closed his eyes, trying to sleep once more. "And I don't feel right about that. Don't misunderstand; I'm glad that the gnomes are gone, and I hope that a colossal ball of a dead god's shit falls straight through onto their city, but I can't help but feel that it's all so...pointless. They're dead, we're dead, who wins from that?"

It was true, and it was something I'd been taught well. "Not all battles have victors. Not all battles end with one side standing triumphantly above the rest. Sometimes all sides lose."

Khavi uncurled his body, and then dragged himself up. "Sometimes both sides lose, yes, but there's no shame in such an outcome. Yeznen taught us both that."

"Yeznen taught us many things, some of which I am beginning to doubt the truth of."

Khavi blinked. Perhaps he hadn't heard me properly, or perhaps he didn't care. "Ren, surely you can't be serious."

I shrugged, looking away at the stretch of tunnel identical to so many others. "I wish I weren't."

Khavi seemed about to reply, but didn't. Instead he simply slumped over on his side and stared blankly at the wall. "I'd be angry," he said, "but I just don't care anymore."

I knew exactly what he meant.

We stayed there, in that kink in the tunnel, for the entire day. Neither of us could summon the strength to get up. Khavi's mood was like a festering wound, infectious and spreading to me; whatever was left of my energy was drained straight from my body, my desire to live seeping out my claws and into the stones itself.

We were waiting around to die. It seemed inevitable. Time would meander along until it finally happened, but as I lay there on my back, Khavi beside me, staring up at the ceiling and quietly begging the stones to fall down and crush us, I had an idea.

"Let's go see the copper dragon."

Khavi turned his gaze to me. "What."

His enthusiasm aside, the idea gripped tight around my heart. I bolted upright, scrambling to my feet.

"Listen," I said, "it's something I've always wanted to do but never had the opportunity. Tyermumtican is known for his wide and broad knowledge, plus he doesn't eat kobolds on sight. Sometimes he talks to our kind."

Khavi gave me a vague look of disgust. "He doesn't eat _all_ kobolds on sight," he corrected me, "but he often does."

"We'll be one of the exceptions." I said. "He won't eat us."

"And you know this because?"

"Because we've been through dozens of gnomes, enemy tunnels, a spider's lair, and through the _end of damn world_. Our story doesn't end with _chomp, chomp_ , dragon shit."

Something in what I said stoked the fires in him. Khavi ever so slowly climbed up to his feet and glared directly at me. "You didn't answer my question."

"I know," I said, "but it doesn't matter. It doesn't end here. It _can't_ end here."

"Putting yourself in fate's claws is pointless. Real kobolds make their own luck."

I knew those words. Another lesson, repeated straight from Yeznen's lips. Khavi's parroting grated on my nerves, and I curled back my upper lip, snarling. "Don't you have an original thought of your own?"

Khavi's eyes flared with light. "I know enough to recognise the wisdom in others. To learn from what they have to say. You talk of stories and fate like we can control it, but everyone in Atikala is dead, their corpses swollen and rotting as we speak. Do you think those who were resting when it happened thought their story would end with them being crushed to death in their sleep?"

I gently bit the inside of my cheek. This approach wasn't going to work. I needed something else. "Well, okay. Maybe not. But let's say we go anyway, the copper's in a bad mood, and decides to make us into a couple of snacks, what happens then?"

Khavi narrowed his gaze at me. "We get torn in half, then our digested remains are passed in a smelly pile of shit."

"Not a bad way to go. Quick, painless, easy. Not like a couple of kobolds could do much more than die when faced with a true dragon anyway, but we have a chance. Coppers aren't immune to my fire and you're strong enough to last a while. We'd give him the best fight he'd seen in some time." I glanced down at my claws idly. "How many kobolds are given the opportunity to fight a copper dragon?"

Khavi's frown turned into a scowl, but I held his gaze, my determination matched by his. Then he broke into a laugh.

"You pull my tail, goldling. Come. Let's go give a dragon indigestion."

CHAPTER X

IT TOOK KHAVI AND I some time to work out exactly where we were, pouring over the map we had taken from the corpse of one of No-Kill's party. Our sense of altitude told us that there was only one part of the tunnel network we could be in. Based on what I knew of Tyermumtican's lair and the gnome settlement, we figured out which of the dots on the map was the dragon's home.

We were closer than we thought.

The more we talked about it, the more Khavi became his old self. Navigation was a strong point of his, and perhaps something he was good at doing helped return his energy.

I looked around at the campsite, at the disorder and our mutual carelessness, and on Khavi's face was a look of disdain and shame. It mirrored my own.

We cleaned. It was a good feeling to sharpen our weapons at last, to gather all our water, food, bedrolls and blankets, and to restore everything to their rightful place within our haversacks.

This simple act of discipline gave me more hope than it really had cause to give. It was more than simply reorganising and sorting; it was me asserting that I still had influence over the world, still had some part of existence that I controlled.

Khavi, though, still seemed to have a shadow over his heart despite his outward improvement. Perhaps whatever weighed upon him affected him more than I, or perhaps the goal of visiting Tyermumtican affected me greater, I didn't know. But to his credit, he cleaned too, and soon our packs were set, and we were ready to depart.

The sooner we were gone from that tunnel where it was too easy for us to lay down and wait for death to take us, the better.

We strode into the gloom, following a map we did not understand, written in a language we did not read, but my spirits were higher than they had been in a long while.

Time passed quickly as we moved down and west, away from the catastrophe that had befallen our home. I had imagined this journey many times in my dreams and during my waking hours, so to actually do it was a great personal moment. I imagined myself walking at the head of an army, bashing down the wrought iron gates of a dragon's lair and bursting inside, demanding the answers that were already laid out before me, presented for my inspection. I would read them, digesting every word, and everything in my life would be complete.

And then I would learn who I was.

Instead, I was a cold, sore, hungry, and tired kobold, travelling not with an army, but a grump who had lost the will to fight. The dragon's lair, too, failed to live up to my expectations.

The tunnel led to a subterranean lake, hundreds of feet wide and with a ceiling dotted with stalactites. By my reckoning it was higher than the gnome settlement. Inlets poured in from above, columns of water adding to the pool, filling the hollow dome with a constant rumble. Light crystals lined the edge of a centre ring, bathing the water in their faint blue light. The centre was large enough for the greatest of dragons to fit inside.

A pool within a pool. "So this is what a dragon's lair looks like," I said.

"Looks like a lake to me." Khavi scowled and reached over, claws disappearing into my haversack, rummaging around. "Let me see that map again."

"No," I said, shaking my head.

"No?"

I flicked my tail, pointing inside my haversack with it. "No. Well, look at the map if you want, but this is the place. I can feel it."

"More of your feelings," said Khavi, closing my pack. "They endanger both of us." I heard him unfurl the map, and I knew he was reading it, trying to make sense of the gnomish script.

I shrugged off my haversack and squirmed out of the chainmail I'd taken from the dead Darkguard. I barely heard Khavi's distracted muttering as I removed the padding, then my belt and weapons, stripping down to bare scales, then dipped a claw in the water. Cool and calm, perfect to drink.

Or other things.

I slipped into the water, the stones underneath my feet smooth and slimy. The surface of the water rippled out as far as I could see, washing up against the inner ring, distorting the perfect mirror shine. I'd never felt water like this before, deep enough to walk into, and the ripples felt strange against my scales. I worried about the depth of it, but it felt so calming and relaxing that I kept walking out. When the water level rose to my chest, though, I knew I could go no further.

"Khavi!" I called out over my shoulder. "Come in and help me get across to the other side!"

"What in the hells are you doing?" he called back, his question ending in a hiss. He put down the map and scrambled over the stone, splashing roughly into the water's edge. "You'll die!"

I didn't think I would. I paddled around, feeling my body respond to the movements of my hands. "Come on in," I laughed to Khavi, frozen at the water's edge. "it's not dangerous!"

"You're insane!" Khavi stared at the water just like he did to the bottle No-Kill had drawn from the underground river, clearly uncomfortable with it just up to his ankles.

"You big coward!" I laughed again and dared to push off with my feet, away from where I could stand.

I sank below the water. Instinctively, my feet reached out for the bottom of the lake, but there was none. I searched with my tail but found only water. Now that it was over my head the cool and refreshing feeling vanished; it suddenly felt cold and smothering. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't tell which way was up. I tried to call for help and inhaled a mouthful of chilled water. I flailed uselessly, sloshing through the dark water, and reached for anything to grab hold of.

My claws sank into something soft, and I gripped for all I was worth. The thing wriggled, moved, drew me deeper into the water.

Or towards the surface. Light—faint—from the crystals surrounding the lake's edge.

I burst to the surface, gasping for air, thrashing around feebly. I was being dragged up, scraping my scales on the stones, then I was lying flat on my back.

I twisted around my neck to see who had dragged me out of the water.

A gnome man, older than old, with white hair, sat rubbing his arm. He wore thick robes, soaked completely through. His eyes were milky, vacant and unseeing.

Behind him Khavi had his weapon in hand, slowly advancing towards the stranger.

I flopped over onto my belly and tried to speak, but instead I threw up a lungful of water. I coughed and drooled as the gnome rubbed the armour on my back and spoke comforting sounding words in the fey tongue.

"Wait," I said between gasps, shaking my head at Khavi.

"You speak draconic?" said the gnome, switching languages, his old face wrinkled into a calm, easy smile. "This is good. If you speak the tongue of dragonkind you must be supplicants seeking Tyermumtican's wisdom. I am Laughless, guardian of the great one."

Laughless. What kind of a name was that? I worried that Khavi might do something reckless, but fortunately he stopped his approach. Khavi's posture did not relax. I thanked him with my eyes.

"We are supplicants," I said, but more water found its way up before I could continue.

"There, there," the gnome said, his voice soft and soothing, "let it all out."

I jerked backwards away from his touch. I wanted to shout for the gnome to leave me alone, to never touch me again, but instead I simply hacked up the last of the water, vomiting onto the stone.

"Quite often do the gnomes of Stonehaven come to us bearing gifts," he said, looking at me but not meeting my eyes. "But so rarely do they drown themselves in tribute." He tilted his head, his hands massaging my back, soothing my protesting lungs. "I'm not sure why you thought the great Tyermumtican would favour a gift like this."

Stonehaven. The gnome settlement had a name at last.

"It was an accident," said Khavi, prompting the gnome to turn his head in the direction of the noise.

"Oh? You have a friend, how lovely."

Khavi pulled a face, twisting his snout up in disgust. "We're—"

"Friends," I said, forcing my tongue to work despite an overwhelming urge to vomit. "We're friends."

"Indeed," said the gnome, "and does this friend have a name? Do you?"

"I am Ren, and this is Khavi. We've come—" Our true home almost tumbled out of my lips by reflex, but I caught it on the very tip of my tongue. "From Stonehaven."

"Ah, I see. I was not aware our people had any supplicants I had not yet met."

"We're young," I answered, "but that's not important. We've come seeking answers."

"Answers are dangerous things."

"I know," I said, "but I have to know. What has happened? What caused the ground to shake?"

"I felt such a thing." He hesitated. "But I sense that is not _truly_ why you are here."

I couldn't think of a lie fast enough. "I am a sorcerer. I also want to know where my power comes from. What blood flows through my veins."

The gnome's blind eyes shined in the lake's dim light. "Do you think it's your blood that makes you different? That gives you power?"

"I don't know what to think."

He wheezed out a laugh. "Then you really don't know anything, do you?"

I was vaguely offended, and Khavi's anger was building. Being mocked by a gnome was not an insult he would bear lightly. "That doesn't seem fair," I said.

"If you truly want to meet with Tyermumtican you should prepare for further unfairness, Ren."

I stared at the gnome, my eyes locked on his unseeing eyes, my hands firmly by my sides.

"I will keep that in mind."

He tittered, far too whimsically for my taste, but seemed pleased. "Make sure you do." He arched his back, ancient bones creaking. "Tell me, Khavi, are you a sorcerer too?"

Khavi shook his head at me, his claws uncomfortably close to his weapon for my tastes. I motioned for him to move them away, but he deliberately ignored me.

"I am a warrior," he said to the gnome.

"Then why are you here?"

I was confused by the question. Khavi seemed to be as well, looking to me for support. I shrugged helplessly.

"I am here because Ren is here. She is my patrol leader and my duty compels me to follow her orders."

"It is a strange gnome that speaks of duty with such reverence."

I wrinkled up my snout in confusion. Why would gnomes be so lackadaisical about their duties? Was that a trick of theirs to disguise their wicked nature, or could they not control themselves to obey legitimate authority?

"Uh," said Khavi, "is it?"

"In my experience. The gnomes who come here speak of fondness for their friends and desire to protect them from harm, or academic interest, or perhaps greed. But very rarely duty."

I glared at Khavi. "Khavi is a strange one," I said, "but he means well."

"Does he now." The gnome pursed his wrinkled old lips.

"He does." I took in a shallow breath, trying to keep my nerves under control, willing the gnome to grant us passage. I had never met anyone who could not see before. Kobolds would never tolerate such weakness, nor permit someone to suffer through such an uncomfortable life. They would be killed, mercifully and quickly, and nothing more would be thought of them.

Despite his clear disadvantage, though, this strange gnome seemed to have found quite a niche for himself. In a way I was almost jealous. Would I give my eyes to live in this place?

"So, what do you think?" I asked. "Can we see him?"

"I think that it's rare that kobolds try to reach Tyermumtican's lair."

I hissed, drawing in my breath, feeling my heart leap into my chest. Laughless _knew_. The gnome knew I wasn't one of his kind.

"Surprised?" said Laughless, his blind eyes blinking. "You shouldn't be. I have stood guard for Tyermumtican as long as I've been alive. I've seen many tricks from many races. Humans come to skin him for his hide. Gnomes to pilfer his hoard. Kobolds to tap into his magical energy. Your scent gave you away the moment you entered this cave. I will not take you to him, liar. You are no different from the rest of your kind."

"That's a shame," I said, and ever so slowly inched towards the Feyeater at my belt, gently closing my digits around the finely crafted hilt. "We don't want to harm him. Everything else I told you was true. I've told you why we've come. To seek knowledge."

"As all your kind have come. Knowledge, though, is power, and power can be used for good and for ill. I'll not see my master's power in the grip of those who are unworthy of its greatness."

With as much care as I could muster, I gently began withdrawing the blade, scraping my feet on the stone to disguise the sound. "The decision is final, then?"

Laughless seemed resolute. "It is."

Silently drawing back my weapon, I aligned it to his heart. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time."

The gnome smiled, a genuinely pleasant action. "As am I. Thank you for your understanding."

My will began to falter. What if this one was like No-Kill, different from what we had been told of his kind? Perhaps I could win him over in time?

No. His mind was made up. I could not persuade him.

I thrust the blade forward, the matte steel of my magically enhanced weapon gleaming as it leapt for the heart of the gnome who had denied me what was mine. I noticed that the weapon, though, did not elongate as it had when Khavi had killed No-Kill; it remained short and black, a normal dagger.

Laughless caught it between his fingertips like an insect, stopping the weapon dead.

I stared in shock, hardly able to process what I saw. The weapon's edge was razor sharp, his fingers should have been mincemeat even without the enchantment.

"You think your feybane steel can kill me, wyrmling?" said the gnome, his thin voice suddenly carrying a weight I had not heard before. "You think your guile can match that of a true dragon?"

Dread filled every scale on my body, a fear so intense and deeply entrenched that my rational mind retreated, leaving me weak and helpless. The Feyeater fell from my grasp, clattering on the stone, but the sound didn't register in my head. All I could do was stare, terrified and gibbering, as his body expanded and grew taller than any gnome could be. His jaw elongated, hands became clawed like mine, and green-brown wings sprouted from his back.

I knew I should have thrown myself forward on my face to grovel before the power of our masters, but instead all I could do was wet myself in terror; my only action before one of Tyermumtican's claws slammed into my chest, pushing me down against the stone floor, his agile and strong fingers holding me down. His enormous snout hovered above me.

"Please," I gasped, trying to breathe with his grip wrapped tightly around my chest, "kill me quickly."

"That usually is my preference. Any further requests?" said Tyermumtican, his breath washing over me, reeking of bitter acid.

"Let Khavi go." I laboured to speak; it seemed that every time I inhaled, Tyermumtican's claws would squeeze tighter, consuming my breathing room. "Coming here was my idea. It was I who had questions for you. Please do not eat him."

Tyermumtican peered at me, eyes green and sharp, and for a moment he seemed to consider my request. Thin lines of saliva ran down his fangs, each incisor longer than my sword. I whimpered, praying to any gods who may still live that Khavi would not have to suffer for my foolishness.

"Granted," said Tyermumtican, "I am feeling charitable this day, although my charity began when I controlled my laughter at being told you were a gnome named the _draconic_ word for nothing." He chuckled, a booming noise that echoed in the cave. "Tell me, though, in exchange, what knowledge did you seek? What magical power did you think could be yours?"

"No magic," I managed. "I only wanted to know who I was."

That answer seemed to surprise him, enough for him to not immediately crush me. I wondered how kobolds would taste to a dragon and what kind of death he would give me. Would he toss me in the air and let me fall into his mouth? Would he tear me to pieces with his claws? Perhaps he would tenderise me with his breath, using it to melt my body, making it softer and easier to digest. Visions of my final moments swam in my mind as I lay completely at the mercy of the dragon I had been careless enough to try to murder.

"How do you not know who you are?" said Tyermumtican, his iron grip on my body relaxing ever so slightly. "Your kind are meticulous with their—"

I heard the loud clang of steel on something hard. "Ouch," said Tyermumtican, his tone flat. "Excuse me." He reached around behind him and grabbed Khavi, squirming and snarling in Tyermumtican's hand, my friend's two-handed blade bent almost in half.

Tyermumtican tossed Khavi high in the air, almost to the ceiling, his maw opening as Khavi descended. I shrieked for the dragon to stop, to spare my friend, but Tyermumtican's claw caught Khavi before he hit the stone. His teeth clamped around the bent blade, then closed, breaking the weapon in half.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. I knew then that this was how we would die—tossed in the air by a predator toying with its prey.

"Delicious," said Tyermumtican, chewing thoughtfully on the metal like Khavi or I would chew on glowbug flesh "Deep kobold iron, infused with carbon to make steel. Finely crafted, too. Few impurities. No magical essence to speak of, but very flavourful."

"You...eat swords?" I dared to ask.

"A dragon can eat almost anything," said Tyermumtican, swallowing his meal and licking his jaws, "including gems and metals and flesh, but I have a particular taste for kobold iron. It is mined so deep in the earth it develops a tender quality. The very flesh of Drathari, the juiciest cuts of our planet's meat. When your kind come to me for information, I trade their metals for my knowledge."

"I am glad that it pleases you," I said, trying to keep the terror from my voice.

"It does, in a quaint kind of way. Usually I am not required to pluck gifts from my hide. Usually visitors are not so foolish."

I twisted my head to Khavi. "Why did you attack him?" I hissed.

"You attacked him first, you—"

The dragon squeezed the air from his lungs.

"Quiet, angry one. You are mindless and suited only for battle; you have taxed my patience enough. It will do you well to remain silent unless spoken to."

Tyermumtican relaxed his grip on my body. I didn't get up though, preferring to lay in a puddle of my own piss rather than raise my head before a dragon.

"Speak," Tyermumtican commanded. "You seem to have a brain. Tell me why you do not know who you are."

I struggled to get words past my lips, and it took me a moment to find my tongue. "My egg was laid in the city, like so many others. But it was dead, I was stillborn, dead before hatching. I—my egg and I were thrown into the furnaces, all record of my parentage destroyed. But the flames didn't burn me. Instead, my egg was brought back to life. Now no records exist of who I was. Who I am. Hence, my name is nothing." I stared up at Tyermumtican, at those eyes that caught the dim light of his lair. "I want to be something. I want to know who I am before I die."

"You have gold scales," said Tyermumtican, one of his claws extending to me, touching my cheek. Despite the considerable size difference between he and I, the dragon's grace was such that hovering the impossibly sharp tip of his claw over my scales seemed an easy feat. "I suspect that your lineage springs not from your home city."

"My egg wasn't laid in Atikala?"

Tyermumtican shook his head. "No, you misunderstand. It was. Your kind are not accepting of golden scales; your existence would have only been permitted had you been laid there as one of them. As an outsider you would have been killed. No, your mother was Atikalan at least, and your father..." he trailed off, seeming to stare off into nothing.

I waited.

And I continued to wait.

"Tyermumtican?"

My voice shook him from his trance. "Ren, the answer is clear to me now."

I inhaled, my bruised ribs and the stink of piss forgotten. "Tell me," I implored. "Please. Mighty Tyermumtican, powerful copper wyrm, please. Please tell me who I am."

"I said only that I know, not that I would tell you." He looked at me, and the fear in my heart dissipated, the dragon's aura of terror leaving me. In his complex eyes, I saw an edge of sadness. "Regretfully, I cannot tell you who you are."

"But I need to know!"

Tyermumtican exhaled through his nose, the air forcing me to squint. "I said I knew who your father and mother were, but those factors together do not dictate who you are."

I scrunched up my face, propping myself onto my elbows. "I don't understand."

"You are of Atikala, yes? That place forms part of your identity. But it is not _you_. You are separate from it...able to walk a different path if you choose. This one," Tyermumtican indicated to the suffocating Khavi with his nose, "chooses not to. However, his choice is not your choice. You are different than he is. Khavi embraces his home, using it to form his identity. Too stupid to know any better. But you, you are different. You can forge your own destiny; your path is whatever you wish it to be."

"I understand," I said. "I do. But I've waited so long to know the truth. Whoever my father and mother are, I do not care. I just have to know."

Tyermumtican released Khavi. He gasped for breath, his face a dark, breath-starved brown.

"Sometimes, wyrmling, we ask questions that we do not wish to know the answer to, and sometimes ignorance is preferable to the truth."

CHAPTER XI

I SPENT THE REST OF that day trying everything I could think of to convince Tyermumtican to tell me what he knew of my parentage, but the dragon gave me nothing. Over and over I begged, pleaded, demanded, and even once threatened. That seemed to amuse him; he let me finish, eyes bright with curiousity, then turned his aura of fear on me once again. Once again I lost control of my body. Khavi laughed at my cowardice until Tyermumtican turned it on him too, with similar results. Our craven begging and crying amused the mighty worm greatly, but he released us after a few moments.

I was truly desperate to have threatened such a powerful creature, but I had come too far to fail. To have the knowledge I'd sought for all my life so close but so completely out of my grasp was maddening.

When finally I gave up, slumping on the stones and grumbling to myself about the unfair nature of our dealings and various mutterings about the fecal matter of deceased deities, Tyermumtican took that as an opportunity to change the topic of our conversation, a moment he had seemingly been waiting for. Waiting with the patience of dragons.

"So tell me, Ren, of the disaster that befell your city."

I looked up at the mighty dragon. "You want to know of Atikala's doom?"

"I had many ties to the city. Unusual for a dragon of my colour, but I prefer to see past an individual's shape and colour, to see the soul dwelling within. I had those within Atikala whom I considered friends. I would like to know if they still live."

I swallowed nervously. "I am afraid, mighty Tyermumtican, that to the best of my knowledge, none live save us."

I had not expected the copper dragon to take this news with anything other than glee, but his features fell as I told him. He was hurt but accepting of the facts. Ready to move beyond the past to more practical matters. "That is as I feared. I had hoped you could shed some light on this, but you have only two eyes and the caverns of the underworld are vast. I shall conduct investigations of my own. Thank you, however."

The very thought of such a mighty creature thanking me was so completely alien that I shook my head. "You are a dragon," I said, "you cannot be thankful to one such as I."

The dragon's eyes narrowed. "That is Ren of Atikala talking," he said, "not Ren, sorceress and warrior, shaper of her own destiny."

I held up my claws, so similar in structure to his, but one hundredth the size. "I am not mighty."

"You think Laughless was not mighty?" Slowly Tyermumtican began to shrink, his scales forming back into skin, and soon the gnome called Laughless stood before us, his eyes as milky white as before, but now matching our gaze. "Power comes not just from size, Ren. Every one of us has power of a sort, and power is power. Axiomatic though that may seem, it is true." Tyermumtican shrugged his gnome shoulders, holding out a pudgy hand. "Do you think I could walk into Stonehaven as myself, instead of wearing this guise?"

"No," I answered. "The reaction of the gnomes aside, I have seen the gates. You could not fit."

"So Laughless could go where I could not. Further, Laughless could more accurately gauge the intent of those who approached my lair, to discern their true intent—theft, trade, or peace. Thus, Laughless has a unique advantage over me, having a skill that I do not. In the right circumstances, Laughless, that blind, ancient gnome, is more powerful than I could ever be."

It made sense, but his case seemed to be entirely theoretical. "Unless you need to go somewhere only a kobold can go, then I doubt I have more power than you do."

Tyermumtican's gnome face became an impish smirk. "And what makes you think I couldn't appear to be a kobold?"

I threw up my hands. "Even more reason!"

He laughed, the dragon in gnome form seemingly overcome with mirth, but then the amusement slowly evaporated from him.

"Ren, I know it can be hard to see, but there is some truth in what I've said. Someday you'll discover that there's a power within you that's more than you are now. Your friend is too stupid to do anything like that, but you...I sense something about you. I sense you are destined for great things." A sad edge filtered into his tone. "And great pain."

"Pain?"

"This is the curse of all those who bear great power. Each of us suffer our burdens, and those are stones we carry until we are dead. The greater our strength, the more weight life stacks on our backs."

I stared curiously at Tyermumtican, his frail gnome form matching my gaze. "What pains could a dragon possibly bear?"

I had expected mockery or for Tyermumtican to have some clever way of showing how stupid I was, but I got something else. "Do you know why they call me Laughless?"

I shook my head. "I thought it was just a name for your gnome-face."

"Laughless was what the gnomes called me, what I called myself to them. Names have meanings, Ren." His tone became wistful. "I knew a gnome once. The most beautiful female I'd ever seen...witty, charming, and with a disarming smile. Her name was Embermoss. Despite our obvious differences, I fell in love with her."

"Love?" It was a strange word. Definitely draconic, but not one I'd heard before. The root word meant _close ally_ , but it was conjugated in a way I had not seen before. "What is love?"

Tyermumtican smiled at me and, despite his kindness, I had the distinct impression that he was grossly oversimplifying the matter, as one might do when talking to a hatchling. "Something stronger than any magic. A force that, if nurtured and grown, can overcome any adversity, survive through any hardship. A power as immortal as stone itself."

He was talking down to me, but I still didn't understand. "So dragons are love?"

He laughed, a loud, shaking boom that seemed so strange coming from such a frail creature. It reminded me of the dragon within.

"Ren, you are adorable. No, love is many things. A feeling deep within you. It is knowing that you care for someone, care for them so deeply and utterly that you are, in a way, a part of them. If that love is returned, it is one soul inhabiting two bodies. A friendship set on fire. Two hearts beating as one, possessed with a profound longing for each other."

"Possession. As though, from a ghost? Or a daemonic force?"

"Some might say that the feeling is somewhat similar to being haunted or having a raging demon within, yes. But it is a good feeling."

I did not see how having a pit-spawned monster or a vengeful spirit sharing space within my body could ever be considered good. "If you tell me it is so, Tyermumtican. What happened after you were possessed?"

 "After I was... _possessed_ as you say...Embermoss and I talked for hours on end. We told jokes, riddles, rhymes. We made each other laugh. Few can keep up with a copper dragon when it comes to humour, but she was ever my equal. Better, perhaps. We eventually married."

"What is married?"

"It means permanently mated to one another and only each other."

I frowned. "Permanently? To one partner? What about the genetic diversity of the community or the potential for one partner to die before the other or—"

Tyermumtican held up his stubby gnome hands. "Ren, please."

I fell silent, and he continued.

"We married, and we conceived a child. I was, of course, in the form of a gnome—but younger, with a full head of hair." He seemed pleased at the memory, and I studied him intently. "We raised our child as well as we could, teaching her all that we together knew, which I assure you was quite a lot. We named her Chime, for the sound of her easy laugh, and she grew to be strong, eventually leaving us to wander the world to see what we had spoken of. Embermoss and I shared a life together." The dragon's voice cracked as he spoke. "Her life."

I shuffled my claws on the stone. "Tyermumtican, how many years ago was this?"

"Three hundred years since Chime left for the surface. More or less."

"So Embermoss is long dead of old age, then."

Tyermumtican closed his milky gnome eyes. "Her grave is deeper in my lair. And Chime would now be dead, too. Her children, if she had any, would be as old as this body—or dead too. The day Embermoss died, the day that one soul inhabited one body again, was the day my laughter left me. This is what I mean when I speak of burdens."

I was not comfortable contradicting a dragon, especially so often as I had been. "But you do laugh. I've heard you laugh. You did just before."

"Of course. I am what I am, and I find joy in small things. But nobody can make me laugh as she did. Laughing until it hurts. Laughing until you think you're going to die from lack of air, laughing at something so ludicrous and impossible it comes alive and renders you completely helpless."

"Why would anyone want to be helpless?"

Tyermumtican shook his head, his face falling. I struggled to find meaning behind his words but I knew I had failed to grasp the point of some subtle but important lesson.

"I just don't understand," I said. "I'm sorry."

"Do not be. You have amused me and brought back many memories, which makes me happy." He shifted, then turned back to me. "Thank you for the visit, Ren of Atikala, but I feel that it's time you and your friend departed."

I lowered my head, biting down on my lip. I had not learnt who I was and had gained nothing except a vague sense of confusion. I had heard lessons I didn't understand either the content or purpose of. "As you wish," I said, "but where do we go?"

"With Atikala destroyed, I suggest you head towards Ssarsdale. I'll wager you will find your cousins there accommodating."

"We had the same idea," I said, "but we were unsure as to the way."

He seemed to anticipate this response. "Perhaps I can assist then. Truly, you will find the journey perilous as you will have to cross the surface, but I can provide you with a map that will allow you to avoid many obstacles." He gave me a warm smile. "And if Six-Legs bothers you on your way, just tell him that you travel under my banner. That should send him scurrying back to his dung-filled hole."

The memory of the spider sent a shiver down my spine. "You know of Six-Legs?"

"I _made_ him Six-Legs." Tyermumtican licked his lips. "Dragons can eat almost anything."

CHAPTER XII

I SAID MY GOODBYES TO Tyermumtican, confused by his lessons and replaying what he had said over in my head. Very little of it made sense to me, but at least we had his map. How he had come by enough parchment and ink to create such a thing was a mystery to me, but dragons often had rare and valuable things in their hoards. I cradled his gift in my arms as we walked, reluctant to open it and break the beautiful wax seal that held it closed, an image of Tyermumtican's gnome face crafted with more detail than any mundane artisan could possibly create.

Khavi had not said a word since Tyermumtican commanded him not to speak, but as soon as we were out of earshot of the watery lake, a torrent of speech burst forth.

"That vicious monster broke my sword. Bent it in half, chomped it up, then crushed me until I couldn't breathe. I whacked it as hard as I could, right on the buttocks, but my sword just bounced off. That's the power of darkness, I tell you. Of evil. What a wicked, cruel, monstrous beast. The things that the elders told us about their kind were true; that dragon got some sick glee out of taking my weapon first, making me watch, helplessly, as he tormented us. Didn't you feel disgusted having to talk to him after what he did?"

Khavi's anger was understandable, but I was too caught up in my thoughts to placate him. Instead, I just said what I felt. "No. Honestly, I just feel mostly confused."

"Confusion." Khavi nodded sagely, vindicating some inner thought. "Coppers have the tongues of devils, Yeznen told me. They trick you, confuse your mind, twist around your thoughts until nothing you think is your own anymore. That's how they beat you. We should get rid of that map, by the way, it's probably a trap."

Khavi made a grab for the scroll, but I pulled it away. "You'd destroy it without even reading it?"

"It was made by a copper dragon." Khavi stared at me as though I were missing some obvious fact. "It can't possibly be useful."

"I happen to think it is. I don't think Tyermumtican would lead us astray or to our doom. Why would he?" I cradled the scroll close to me protectively. "He had ample opportunity to kill us if that's what he wanted."

"Don't remind me," groaned Khavi. "But I do think we should get rid of the thing. Leading us in circles could be his idea of a sick joke."

I did not think that likely. "We're keeping it. It'll show us to the surface."

Khavi glared at me, his eyes pulsing with an angry ruby hue. "You think you can make these kind of decisions for the both of us?"

I wrinkled my nose and glared right back at him. "I'm the patrol leader. This isn't something you have any say over. I'm in charge, and that's that."

I could see the struggle of Khavi's training, between blind obedience to orders given by legitimate authority and the venom towards Tyermumtican's kind our teachers had poured into his ears. "We're putting our lives in the hands of an evil dragon. We're trusting everything that we have to a liar. This isn't right. The dragon is playing a cruel trick on us, taking us for fools and leading us to a much more horrible fate than simply being torn to shreds by his claws."

"I didn't get that impression at all."

"Well, perhaps you need to open your eyes and look around you." The hate in his voice startled me, and I stopped walking. Khavi wheeled around to face me. "Ever since we left Atikala you've been... _different_."

Everything had changed. Our world had disappeared in the blink of an eye, and now it was just the two of us. Things weren't different, they were completely foreign. "Of course I have been. Think about what we've been through; you're acting differently, too. More angry. More impulsive."

"I would say that I'm acting with a clarity of vision that you lack."

There was a challenge in his words, a direct attack upon me that I couldn't ignore. I glared at him, straightening my back as best I could. "You're a warrior. You're not trained to see beyond the length of your sword—"

"A sword I don't even have anymore."

"Then find something else to fight with. I don't care."

Khavi stepped to the edge of the tunnel, rapping his knuckles against one of the tunnel walls. "What, shall I bludgeon our enemies to death with rocks now?"

"What am I, your blacksmith?"

"Fine," said Khavi, pointing to the sword on my belt. "Give me the rapier."

"What?" I'd only held the weapon for a short time, but it was now unmistakably mine. I couldn't explain the connection but imagining it in Khavi's hands seemed very wrong.

"I said, give me the rapier. I'm the stronger fighter, and you have your spells. It makes tactical sense."

Some part of me agreed with Khavi, but I shook my head. "It's mine."

" _Yours?_ " Khavi hissed. "Since when do kobolds own things?"

"Sorcerers are permitted keepsakes—"

"Which is a stupid rule, especially out here when that blade is best put into my hands for the benefit of both of us!"

"I'm the patrol leader, and I say that the sword stays with me!"

Khavi snapped his jaw shut and glared, burning me to death with the heat of his eyes. "Some patrol leader you are—going to get us both killed for nothing."

I pointed down the tunnel. "Move," I said. "Take up the lead position while I read this map."

For a moment I thought he wasn't going to obey me, but he spun around and began stomping down the corridor, his feet making enough noise for anyone who cared to listen.

I would have to wait until his rage played out before I tried to discuss this with him rationally. Sighing heavily and trying to put the exchange out of my mind, I broke the seal of the map.

It was as detailed a work as I had ever seen. A myriad of tunnels, winding and interlocking, spun themselves all over the surface of the parchment. The same design, with much less detail, had been on the gnomish map, but this one was written in draconic.

Atikala, nestled snugly underneath a city labelled Stonehaven. To the west and down, Six-Legs's lair was meticulously detailed, every twist and turn exactly as I remembered it. From Tyermumtican's den stretched a thin golden line, weaving through tunnels towards a small cave opening leading to a flat plane I could only presume to be the surface. From there the path meandered across the surface before disappearing into another cave, diving down a series of tunnels until it led to a green dot. Ssarsdale.

Ssarsdale was much closer to the surface than Atikala or even Stonehaven had been. It was less than a day's walk from the surface and almost straight down, a journey easy to make even at a slow pace. We could make it in half a day if we pushed ourselves.

The map made our destination seem so close, although it was probably a week's walk away, in my mind I was nearly there already.

"Well?" asked Khavi, his tone so acidic if he spat it might have melted stone.

"It's a map," I said, "and we can compare it to the gnome one if you wish, but it looks the same. Just more accurate."

"The same but different, huh?"

I rolled up the map and bit back the desire, to berate him for his unhelpful sarcasm and exhaled. "Are you _still_ angry? What's pulling your tail?"

"Everything. This whole mess. And you. We should have killed that gnome the moment we saw her. We should never have gone to meet the dragon."

One part of me wanted to argue with him, but it was pointless. What had been done was done and could not be changed. I unrolled the scroll and studied it once again. "We're done with those things. It's in the past. Can we just move on?"

"Fine," said Khavi, looking away and down the tunnel.

I went to reply, to suggest a path through the tunnels up ahead, but I stopped. I swore I heard voices. Voices in draconic. Faint, but they were there.

I almost dropped the scroll. "Khavi," I hissed, giving him a prod, one suddenly full of energy. "Khavi!"

I must have shaken the grumpiness from him. "What?" he asked.

"Don't you hear that?" I scrambled forward, drawing my rapier.

Khavi stopped, his pupils dilating, jaw sliding open. "Impossible!"

The voices faded. We stopped, listening intently, trying to catch them again. I suddenly feared that they were not real and never were, that we had endured a shared hallucination; some part of our minds were trying to convince us that there were others in these tunnels.

Then the sound once again reached us. I grabbed Khavi's arm and motioned down the way we came. "This way!"

We ran together, claws scratching on the stone as we bolted down the winding tunnel, and as I tore around the corner, I found myself face to face with another kobold.

She had rusty scales like Khavi, a spear in her claw, holding it out before her defensively. Her poor posture and uneven stance said she was no warrior. I ran snout first into her. Had her stance been better practised, I would have impaled myself. Khavi ran into my back, and the three of us fell over, sprawling out on the ground in a mess.

I struggled to untangle myself, squeezing out from between Khavi and the stranger, and a claw grasped mine, pulling me free. Another kobold covered in dark black scales, and she didn't have a weapon.

"Thank the dead Gods," said the stranger. "We didn't think anyone else had survived." Her eyes widened, her nostrils flaring. "You _are_ from Atikala, aren't you?"

I nodded enthusiastically. "I am," I said. "I'm Ren of Atikala, third patrol, first quarter. The other is Khavi from the same."

"Faala of Atikala," she said, "a caretaker from the third quarter." Faala spoke over my shoulder. "That's Jedra, a trapper from the same."

_From the same_. It had been so long since I had heard that or seen a kobold other than Khavi that I couldn't help myself. I grabbed Faala and drew her close in a tight hug. "We didn't think anyone else had survived either. What are you doing here?"

"We were going to Ssarsdale," said Faala. "We didn't know where else to go."

"So are we." I laughed in relief. "It's extremely good to see you."

I clutched Faala close to me and felt for the first time since we had left the gnomish settlement that something had gone our way. Now instead of two kobolds, we were four. Four was a much better number. Less than half the size of a standard patrol, yes, but more was always better.

I finally let go of Faala. I sensed that she was more reluctant to break the embrace than I. Khavi and Jedra were likewise disentangling, both had wide smiles on their faces. Khavi's happiness made me happy.

"What are _you_ doing here, though?" said Faala, her black scaled face wrinkling. "This is a long way from Ssarsdale."

Faala's words inspired a stab of guilt, the first I had experienced since No-Kill's death. We were indeed a long way from Ssarsdale. "We became waylaid," I said, "by a lot of different things."

Faala just laughed happily. "I know what you mean. We got lost right away," she admitted. "We're not warriors. Neither of us have been outside the city before. All we had were Jedra's traps."

"How did you survive?" I asked. They were even more hopelessly ill prepared than we were. Khavi and I at least had our patrol and weapons training.

"Luck, presumably. We took turns sleeping, using the traps to further secure our location and to catch the occasional glowbug."

"Glowbugs?" There were no glowbugs outside of Atikala. "Were you trapped in the ruins?"

"For three days, yes. Leader Yeznen sent my team to harvest from the southern undertunnels. Jedra was there testing the defences. There were a number of us down there, and part of that section was spared the collapse. Most of our group were further down and killed, but we managed to escape. Fifteen of us in total, from various positions. No warriors or diggers though. We waited for rescue, but none came, and we ran out of glowbugs to catch, so we left."

"Fifteen of you?" I frowned. "What happened to the others?"

"The rest made their way to Ssarsdale. We were sent to scout for water and became separated. That was days ago. We'd lost hope of seeing another kobold alive out here."

"It's very brave of you to come out this far," I said, "and to come through the mists."

Jedra laughed, twisting her head to look at me, resting against Khavi. "I was petrified. We both were. Eventually though we clasped hands and walked through together."

Faala leaned in, her tail twitching behind her as she spoke. "There's a dead gnome on a crystal there," she said. "A monstrous beast. So others survived too."

I thought of the decapitated gnome. "Khavi and I killed that one. We put it on the spike ourselves."

" _I_ put it there," said Khavi, his maw split in a wide smile, displaying all his teeth.

"He did," I said, glad to see him take pride in something he'd done. "He even struck the killing blow."

The two newcomers turned to Khavi. "What's it like to kill a gnome?" asked Faala.

"Well," said Khavi, "the thing to remember with gnomes is they struggle and squeal, and they really are terrible monsters, but they bleed, and they die just like anything else."

 "We haven't seen any of them," said Jedra, "except the dead one. We've been keeping a strict watch, but we've been fortunate."

"Very," said Khavi, his eyes flicking to me for a moment and then back to Jedra. "They are monsters and should not be trusted."

It would have been easy for me, I think, to say something, to speak up in defence of No-Kill and her kind. To say that she did not appear monstrous, and that perhaps there was more to the gnomes than met the eye, but I did not. Another part of me wanted to tell them of Tyermumtican and his strange feeling toward a gnome, but I did not. I couldn't forsake six years of kobold upbringing for a few days wandering with one in the underworld and a few words with a dragon. Perhaps that part was stronger than I thought.

"They can't be trusted," I said, "but fortunately they can't hurt us anymore. We saw their settlement, Stonehaven. It's been destroyed as well. The whole city has fallen into the abyss, part of the debris that plunged down atop Atikala."

"Some good luck at last," said Faala.

"Well," said Jedra, her eyes fixated on Khavi, "aside from us finding you, that is. We didn't know what we would do if no other males survived. How would the blood of our city continue?"

"I worried about the same thing," said Khavi, seeming very pleased. "It's a huge relief that we found you. In the long term, though, we'll need more females to safely repopulate. To prevent inbreeding."

"Well, we have three so far. It's enough to make a start."

The topic made me uncomfortable. I thought back to the strange moment in the spider's lair when I had removed my burned armour. Of seeing Khavi's eyes upon me, eagerly looking over me, and how it made me feel.

I thought of Tyermumtican's tale of how he was possessed by the demon he called love, and how it made him want to spend all his time with one individual. I hadn't thought much of it at the time, but that concept gnawed at me, becoming less and less repugnant the more I thought of it, and the way that our newcomers were discussing reproduction with someone they had just met seemed...efficient, but wrong on some level I couldn't quite quantify.

Despite our disagreements, we had been through a lot together, Khavi and I. There was a strong kinship between us. He'd seen what I'd seen, walked beside me in my footsteps, been my comrade and a loyal warrior. I shared my early life with him, grown up with him, and he knew everything about me. I was ambivalent, but not disappointed with the breeding council's decision to pair us together for my first. It was logical, and while I was apprehensive, I had been prepared to do my duty.

But ever since No-Kill's death, things were different between us. Something subtle changed. Khavi had been assigned to breed with me, but the more time I spent with him, the less I desired such a thing.

Or so I kept telling myself.

"I'm certain that Khavi's not the only one to have survived," I said. "Were there any amongst the thirteen others?"

"No," said Jedra. "All females."

That was not unexpected. Males were slightly weaker and smaller than us. It was a biological advantage our species had; only females became pregnant, reproducing once every twenty days once they were old enough, but a male could mate with up to three females a day. We just didn't need as many.

"It's a problem for another day," I said, trying to change the topic.

"Actually I'm coming into season," said Jedra, "I missed my last one. Faala will be having her first any day soon."

"I'm looking forward to it," said Faala. "There are four of us, so we can carry at least one set of eggs, all the way to Ssarsdale if necessary."

Khavi leaned forward, sniffing at Jedra, testing her for a smell. Curious, I sniffed as well.

Her body emitted a kind of musky odor, like linen cloth soaked and left in a drawer.

"Actually," said Khavi, "you're almost ready now." He nodded to Faala. "And you, probably within the day."

They both looked pleased. I felt vaguely ill.

"What about her?" Faala looked at me expectantly.

Khavi leaned in to smell me, but I pushed him away. "Not yet," I warned. "It's not yet time."

Jedra and Faala both looked at me, puzzled looks on their faces.

"Males can tell better," said Jedra. "Their noses are attuned for it."

"I'm a sorcerer," I said. "I know these things."

Both the newcomers eyes went wide. Khavi groaned, softly, looking away.

"You're a sorcerer?" asked Jedra, a new found awe in her tone.

"I am."

Jedra dipped her head in reverence. "Well, Khavi should breed with you first to pass that blood along sooner."

"It's not yet time," I insisted again. "Look. We have a lot of other things to worry about first. Let's pool our supplies. We have a map to Ssarsdale, so we should plan out our route. We can deal with the rest later."

Jedra, Faala, and Khavi seemed content with this, Khavi less so than the others.

I pushed us hard, setting a brutal pace into the gloom making for the surface by the most direct route—up. At half a day's march Faala was complaining that she wanted to stop. At three quarters of a day, Jedra and Khavi joined the chorus, and I could feel my body giving out.

But I knew what would happen if we stopped. In the end, we went for nearly a full day. By the time I called for a halt, my body was beyond sore and tired. I ached all over, my knees felt weak, and it was a struggle to summon the strength to dig my bedroll out of my pack.

Jedra tiredly set up her traps. They were two metal jaw-like contraptions that folded neatly when not in use. She used a crank to part their mouths, the fine, jagged teeth laying almost flush with the stone. Very difficult to see and disguised as debris. She set one up before us and one after. This would be a great aid to whoever was on watch.

Then Jedra and Faala curled up together to sleep. This action prompted moans of complaint and the occasional hiss of anger from Khavi. The two females were annoyed too; they murmured to each other, too quietly for me to hear, and shot me the occasional dirty look. They too wanted to mate, casting forlorn looks Khavi's way.

"Go to sleep," I told Khavi, answering his unspoken question. "I'll take first watch. You're on second and Jedra can take the third."

"And how do you propose I sleep with three unfertilised females sleeping beside me?"

"Discipline is a virtue," I said. "Yeznen said that."

 Khavi snapped his jaw. "You drive us like slaves!"

"Good, perhaps this will solve your inability to rest. We need to get to the surface, to get to Ssarsdale."

"Yes," said Khavi. " _So_ urgent is our trip to Ssarsdale. So urgent we could aimlessly wander around for days or spend a whole day visiting a foul copper dragon. But give me ten minutes to save our city's blood? No, no, that's asking too much."

"Priorities have changed."

Khavi affixed a dark look on me as he closed his eyes. "Haven't they just."

Time passed, and the three others slumbered. I desperately wanted to sleep, wanted to embrace the dreaming and let my body rest, but I couldn't. I hadn't used any of my magic so my reservoir was full to the brim, but even sorcerers still had their physical limits. In many ways we were more vulnerable to exhaustion than regular warriors; fighting and marching sapped the strength from our bodies while spells stole the energy from our minds.

I had the power to permit myself to sleep, but even with our traps in place, failing to set a watch in unexplored territory would be an extremely poor decision indeed. Khavi and I had not been killed during our lax time in the underworld, but that was through pure luck. Had any predator decided to attack us, we would have quietly become another meal for any number of the underworld creatures that would feed on our kind. Images of Six-Legs sinking his fangs into me filtered fear enough to keep my eyes open.

It came time to wake Khavi. I shook his shoulders and, with a low groan, he forced himself awake.

"Time for my shift already, slave driver?"

I resented the name calling. "Yes."

"Good." Khavi stretched out his limbs. "I'm going to wake Jedra."

I blinked. "But Jedra's not on till third watch."

"Agreed," he said, "but she can spare the time to get this over with."

I was out of excuses. I could do nothing as Khavi shook Jedra awake, then she in turn nudged Faala.

Kobolds normally didn't have the same reservations about privacy that humans did. Most didn't wear much clothing, if at all, and our quarters were shared with dozens. Our bodily functions were no secret, performed in full view with no shame. Including breeding.

Faala, barely of age and yet almost the same age as I, watched the entire proceedings with an eager fascination that I found off-putting. I had seen Khavi breed others before, taking them like beasts, the entire grunting, groaning procedure over in a few minutes. The act was raw, rough and, for lack of a better description, efficient. When it was done, Khavi had his turn with Faala, who all too eagerly bent to accept him, Jedra looking on approvingly.

Faala's was rougher, more painful, as this was her first. She cried, but she accepted the pain as stoically as she could, biting on her lip until the act was complete. Jedra helped dab the blood that was normal with a female's first, patting the younger kobold soothingly while Khavi merely sat and admired his handiwork.

"You hurt her," I said, unable to keep the bitter accusation out of my tone.

"It's okay," said Faala, wincing slightly as Jedra tended to her. "It was necessary."

"Was it?" I asked.

"Of course it was," said Jedra, frowning in my direction. "She had to be bred at some point. Might as well get it over as soon as possible."

I couldn't look at the mess—the blood—and instead focused my gaze on a wall.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Faala, "It hurt, yes, but so much of our lives are pain. We are females; the birthing pain is ours to bear. This is how we live. Zaahi told us that."

"I remember the lesson well," I answered, "but I also feel that perhaps there should be another way."

"There isn't," said Faala, "and the pain will be lesser next time, especially after my first egg." Her tone shifted, a distinct edge developing. "You'll be next, you know that. You should get used to it as soon as possible. Perhaps one of us can use a claw to help beforehand?"

I snapped my head around, my nostrils flaring. "None of you will do any such thing."

"Well," said Jedra, "Khavi will need his rest tonight, and your scent is not yet high. Soon, though. A day or so at most, and you should be ready to submit to it."

I bared a little of my teeth. "I submit to no one."

She looked confused. "You mistake my intent," Jedra said. "It is not a struggle for dominance between individuals. It is your acceptance of your role in society. Of your place as a kobold. It is what you were born to do, born to be."

"She's right," said Faala. "It's your duty to help grow the numbers of the community, especially after this tragedy."

I wanted to talk about what Tyermumtican said about the strange concepts of love, and what that would mean for my mating choices. I couldn't put words to my thoughts though, so I tried something else. "I'm a sorcerer," I said. "We have privileges. We can opt out of many of the customs."

"But not of breeding," said Faala, the confusion in her voice clear. "Why would you want to? You have the blood of dragons in your veins, your scales shine with power. Your lineage is to be bred into as many as we can manage. This is why Yeznen mates with so many; he is male, but he has the art. He is our only male sorcerer. His lineage should be spread as far and wide as possible."

"Make no mistake," said Khavi, "I was glad to breed these two, but if Yeznen were here I would give them up in a heartbeat. It would be his duty to take my place."

"Well, Yeznen is not here, is he." Fortunately.

Khavi scrunched up his face. "You know, it's odd. Yeznen has the art. You do as well. He was probably too closely related to you, or he would have been assigned to you instead of me."

No. I inhaled sharply, jerking my head back, shaking my head. I pictured Yeznen in my mind, his scales as dark as an unlit cave, a perpetual scowl on his face. He was a sorcerer of very minor power, only marginally more powerful than I even at his venerable age. That was why he trained the warriors and not sorcerers like Tzala, who was much more skilled.

Yeznen was aged and attractive, yes, but he had a darkness in him that I found disturbing. He treated the recruits cruelly, punishing them with agony for minor infringements or errors, and I had felt the sting of his cane more than once. We all had. Khavi had hurt Faala during their mating, but he had drawn little pleasure from the act. Yeznen, I suspected, would secretly enjoy her tears.

"Yeznen is _not_ related to me."

Jedra snorted dismissively. "You almost certainly are related. Sorcerers frequently skirt the lines of inbreeding, trying to concentrate their power. This is a well-known fact. This is why they are allowed to breed suboptimally. With such great power extra care must be taken. I would not be surprised if he sired you."

My scales crawled. "That is unlikely. Our scales are very different. His are black, and mine are not."

"Scale colouration is just one part of a kobold's appearance," said Faala. "Your gold burnish may come from a recessive trait or perhaps a random mutation. You do have a similar jaw line to him."

Khavi bobbed his head in agreement. "You said yourself it was just a pigment."

The very idea disturbed me, not because of how outlandish and false the claim was, but that nagging feeling that they just might be right.

"Gather the traps," I instructed, trying hard to keep the bitterness from my voice. "We're leaving."

CHAPTER XIII

BEFORE WE LEFT KHAVI MATED with both of them once again. This time Faala seemed to enjoy the whole thing more, although it obviously still pained her. Jedra, once again, soothed the small amount of blood. Less than last time.

I resented that my orders were not being obeyed, but I watched the act again. Not for the pleasure of it, but to know. I had to know what had taken place. I had to see it with my eyes. They were my responsibility. If they did this thing, I had to make sure everything went as smoothly as it could.

"Twice just to make sure," Khavi said as he lay between them. "A moment's rest to recover, then we'll continue."

"We've lost a twentieth of a day with this. Where's your logic and efficiency now?" I asked him, hoisting my haversack onto my back.

"It's my duty," replied Khavi. "And yours as well."

"It's my body," I said. "I'll choose what happens to it."

"But that's the thing," said Faala. "When it comes to matters like this...it's _not_ your body." She glanced to the others and received approving nods, so she continued. "We give everything to the community. We surrender our health, our time, our lives for each other. This means that we surrender our choice regarding who we reproduce with and when. That's part of our sacrifice. We _give_. That's the mark of a good creature. Evil is selfish. Evil gives less and takes more. Sometimes they take more than they give. That's how evil is done."

I stammered, shuffling my claws awkwardly. "I can't refute that," I said, "but some things should not be given. Some things should remain the authority of the individual."

Jedra, Faala, and Khavi's noses all wrinkled in disgust. I reached under my armour, pulling out the pouch of glowing fragments from my egg. I reached inside, retrieved a piece and held it up. The faint yellow mixed with the blue from the ever-present crystals and bathed the room in an eerie green hue.

"This is mine," I said. "I own it. No other can touch it or decide its fate. I could crush it with my foot, but I choose not to. Its fate is tied to my will. Do you understand?"

Jedra looked at me. She didn't understand. "Of course I do. You're a sorcerer. You're permitted to own things."

"It's more than that. It's more than me being a sorcerer. I know you disagree, but I think all kobolds should be able to own things, little things. And I think they should be able to own their fate, too, to some extent."

Jedra looked like I had offered her excrement to eat. "Why would anyone want that?"

"Because sometimes individuals like to have control over their destiny. They like to have some part of their lives that is their own."

"But _why_?" Jedra pressed. "Surely you can see it's inefficient. If there were too many kobolds like you, the race's growth would be slowed. We would be unable to replenish our losses from war and work. From our losses when food is scarce. Your personal choice affects us all, and your negligence weakens our community."

"It's not a weakness if it's exercising personal choice."

Jedra folded her arms. "I think it is. There's no logical reason to not mate with someone who's fertile and not already carrying. None."

My exasperation grew. I slapped my hands together. "What if I don't _want to_? Shouldn't that be enough?"

"If you don't choose to help the community, you oppose the community. Yeznen said that."

"I know what Yeznen said, I'm asking _you_!" I realised I was shouting and had been for some time. I forced calm into my mind, and lowered the volume of my voice. "Sorry."

Jedra looked to Faala and Khavi. "Well, my answer is that I agree with Yeznen."

"Me too."

"And I as well."

I looked at all three of them, then, unable to explain why I felt the way I did, turned and walked into the darkness.

_Two weeks later_

We walked, following the map that Tyermumtican had given us. The others, especially Khavi, distrusted it initially, but after we lost significant time to Khavi insisting he knew a shorter way, and the resultant backtracking, they eventually gave up and followed its instructions.

I continued to refuse Khavi's advances, and he eventually gave up. But I didn't interfere with the others, nor their nightly sessions. What Jedra and Faala did with their own bodies was their choice.

Jedra laid her egg after two weeks through winding tunnels. I watched, as I had watched when it was conceived, but my heart had softened, and the pain eased with the benefit of time. Since I was in charge, I had to name the egg. Without a wand I had no way of knowing if it was a male or female, so I erred on the side of caution and picked a female name. Oreala.

Later that day, it was Faala's turn.

At the first signs of the birthpain, we stopped our march. Khavi and Jedra went ahead to scout, to ensure that the passage ahead was safe. They didn't return before Faala began to feel the urge to lay so I attended to her. I could do little but give her water and dab away the blood. Kobolds rarely required assistance with laying, but Faala's was difficult. She cried and bled. Her wails were loud, and I focused on keeping her alive.

When she was done, I took the ichor-splattered egg and wiped it clean. I named it Vela. I hoped that I had not named either of the eggs the wrong gender. The odds were in my favour, but that was little comfort. I knew the power an ill-chosen name had over the destiny of a child. It wouldn't be a significant issue. Because we had no register to draw from, it was completely unofficial anyway.

I held Faala's egg in my hand, mentally comparing it to the fragments I kept in the pouch around my neck. Both of the eggs were slightly bigger and thicker shelled than my own had been. Khavi had made strong kobolds.

I wrapped the egg's dark shell in cloth and stored it with my haversack, packing it against my bedroll. The new egg nestled up against Jedra's lighter-shelled child. I moved some of the water and rations into Khavi's backpack. Now we were five kobolds, technically speaking, and I knew it would only be a matter of weeks before the eggs hatched. The hatchlings could walk, but they would be not be up to a march right away; we would have to carry them. Our pace would be slowed. We would lose time. That, however, was a problem for the future.

As was Jedra and Faala being ready to breed again. I tried not to think about that.

"How are you feeling?" I asked Faala, moving back to her. She had lost a significant amount of blood. The flesh around her nostrils was pale and grey, not rich and black as it should have been.

"I'm feeling better," she said, giving a weak smile. "The water helped."

"We have enough for you to drink your fill." I reached out and touched her abdomen. "Does it still hurt?"

"A little," she said, "but the pain is passing. The first time is the worst, they say. I'll survive."

I sympathised. "You don't have to do it again, especially if this one was traumatic for you. It's not unheard of to give first time layers a cycle to recover."

Faala shook her head emphatically. "No," she said, "I will. I'm glad that I was able to do my duty. Now our numbers may begin to regrow, especially when we reach Ssarsdale. There may be more survivors there, or at the very least, a broader genetic pool to draw from."

"The Ssarsdalians won't like you mating with their males and keeping the eggs."

"I thought about that," she said, "and if we don't join them outright, I thought we might be able to reach some kind of accord. A deal. Half to us, half to them. That seems reasonable." The idea of trading children like some kind of commodity didn't sit well with me, but Faala continued before I could object. "It would be better if you could help too. If we had a sorcerer we could offer, that deal would be significantly sweeter."

I clenched my fist. "I know," I said, "but I've said all I can say about it."

Faala seemed to accept that. "It doesn't hurt to ask."

I had no idea how to tell her what I really felt. "I suppose not."

For three more days we pressed on, walking through the endless tunnels high above the gnome settlement. We began to notice something odd the further along we got, something that brought us no end of concern.

The air all around us was getting colder.

It was thinner, too, harder to breathe. We found ourselves being able to make less and less headway every day. Our packs were heavier and our bodies weaker. None of us had received any training in how to survive at altitudes higher than the gnome settlement, but I could extrapolate from what I knew. We were getting close to the surface.

A life spent underground attuned us to subtle changes in air pressure and temperature. Somehow we knew how high we were, more or less, and we could discern the direction to our birthplace. Some called it a homing instinct, a sense as natural as one's ability to discern which way was up or sense acceleration. It was one we didn't really have a name for.

We all took turns carrying the eggs. I had them in my haversack on the first day, Khavi on the second, Jedra on the third. Faala, still recovering from the exhausting process of laying her first egg, would be spared carrying them as I had volunteered to take them again on the fourth.

Thoughts danced through my mind as we walked, daydreaming to myself and spinning mental puzzles to keep my mind from weakening. Tzala had always told me that the mind is just like any other muscle; it can grow with work and atrophy when idle. While sorcerers drew their power from their lineages and relied upon the force of their personality to summon their spells, a sharp mind was never an idle asset. It was one of her lessons that I kept close to my heart, especially during these long marches through the cold empty tunnels.

"Halt," said Khavi, extending a hand out wide. I did so, years of training making the action immediate, Jedra and Faala coming to a stop behind me. I shrugged off my haversack and drew my weapon.

"What?"

Khavi leaned forward, his nose wiggling. "I smell something. Fire."

I scrunched up my snout, trying to understand. "Fire? But what would be the fuel? It cannot burn stone."

"It's fire," Khavi repeated, "but it's strange. Burning something I can't identify. Not flesh, not cloth. More like your old armour."

The memory of Khavi nearly burning me alive had not yet faded from my mind. I scowled at him, but tried to smell what he could smell, drawing in breath through my nostrils, testing the air.

It was there, wafting down the tunnel. More than half a mile away, coming from above.

I had more experience with fire than Khavi. I'd smelt incense in Tzala's chambers, scorched stone target dummies in my training, and dreamed of all manner of things aflame. But I'd never smelt anything burning like this.

"I have it too," I said, inhaling again, trying to sample more of the distant aroma. "It's coming closer."

"We should set up a defensive perimeter. Jedra, can you set your traps in this corridor?"

"Of course," she answered, wiggling her backpack around until it faced her. She withdrew her two jaw-traps, and scurried a dozen feet ahead of us. She laid the first metal contraption on the ground and cranked the lever to pry it open.

"Khavi, let's hide. See if they pass us by." He seemed distinctly displeased at that idea, but since losing his sword, he knew that he was less effective than he would otherwise be, having only his claws. Although Faala and Jedra had boosted his mood, the fire that had sustained him until No-Kill died remained gone from his eyes.

"So we are to cower instead of fight," he muttered. "Typical."

I turned to the last in our group. "Faala, Khavi and I will handle the fighting if they come through. If we fall, take the eggs and run."

She bobbed her head. "Of course" Her fighting skills were not the equal of ours. The eggs had to survive.

As Jedra set up the second trap the rest of us retreated down the tunnel, crouching in the corridor. We hid as best we could, using the crystals as cover, pressing ourselves into the gap between the outcropping and the stone wall.

The minutes ticked away, all of us frozen and motionless, pressed in against the stone. The scent grew stronger, mixed in with others. The scent of creatures. Things I didn't recognise.

An orange light grew from the end of the tunnel, flickering and dancing as it drew close, casting shadows on the wall. I squinted, keeping my eyes as closed as I could to shield them from the glare. I couldn't see how the others were doing, but this was good. If I couldn't see them, neither could anyone else.

A large creature as tall as two kobolds lumbered around the corner, holding a flame aloft on a long thin rod. The bright glare of the fire hurt my eyes. Its precise shape was impossible to determine, covered in heavy clothing that was bulky and thick, like the hair on the head of a gnome but much more voluminous. It had the same strange legs as the gnome, which made my scales rustle. The monster seemed almost entirely comprised of clothes, including its legs and arms, even its hands. A sword as long as I was tall rested comfortably by its hip. The only flesh visible was its face, the lower half wrapped in a black scarf, leaving just its eyes uncovered. I could see the glint of armour underneath its strange garb.

Horrifically, a white mist blew from the cloth covering the monster's mouth in time with its breath. It dissipated in the air within moments, replaced by a fresh cloud. It looked like the Veil of Atikala, and I imagined the creature's breath to be a scalding hot mist just like the one I had walked through.

Its legs strode forward, walking over Jedra's traps. I waited for the snap of their release, but there was none.

From behind it more creatures came, dressed like the first. Eight in total. They, too, lumbered forward and Jedra's traps did not trigger. They walked past us, and fear rose in my belly as a dozen outerfeet much bigger than No-Kill's stomped by, but soon they retreated down the tunnel.

After a long moment I dared to crawl out of my hiding spot.

"Khavi?" I called softly to the blue-tinged gloom. "Jedra? Faala?"

They emerged, one by one. Faala's claws shook uncontrollably as she uncurled herself and stood, and I reached forward to steady them.

"Don't worry," I said, keeping my tone soft. "They're gone."

"What were those things?" said Khavi. "Did you see the fog of their breath? What monster breaths poison so casually?"

I didn't know. "It doesn't matter," I said. "They're gone now. Let's keep going and put as much distance between us and them as we can."

Nobody argued. Despite the thinning air, the growing cold, and the lingering smell of smoke, Jedra ran forward to gather her traps.

"Jedra, what happened?" I asked. "Why didn't the traps trigger?"

She beckoned me over, and I looked. "The triggers were crushed," she said, gingerly tapping the trigger mechanism with her claw. Nothing happened. "The monster's weight was too much. They just broke. Both of them."

So great were the monster's footsteps that they had stepped into Jedra's traps without triggering them. Without even knowing they were there.

I reached out and tapped the edge of the wicked device. "Can you fix them?"

Jedra's nose scrunched up as she examined them. "I think I can try something, but it'll take time. I'll need somewhere to sit down to do it."

I nodded. "But not here."

"No," she said. "Not here."

"Let's press on then. Put some stone between us and the monsters, and if we find a safe place, we can fix them."

Jedra looked at me. "What manner of monsters are so powerful?" she asked, her voice wavering, but I did not have any answers.

CHAPTER XIV

THE ENCOUNTER WITH THE TALL monsters had shaken all of us. Whereas before we had walked purposefully ahead with our eyes looking before us, now we walked with our heads turned over our shoulders, scurrying fearfully away from whatever monsters had passed us by. The more distance put between them and us the better.

Finally we reached a cavern half full with water. I knelt, testing to see if it was fresh, and was surprised by how frigid the water was. Although the temperature was an oddity, the area had but a single way in and out. It was safe enough to call for a halt. I beckoned Jedra over.

"Fix and set the traps here," I said. "Conceal them in the water. Khavi will remain with you to protect you. Faala and I will press ahead to set up our camp for the night."

"You don't want the traps with us?" she asked, fidgeting with the pack that contained them. She was anxious to prove herself and probably thought that if I had no use for her trapping abilities, I might discard her.

I would do no such thing, of course. "No," I said, "but they're necessary. They'll be hidden better if you set them in the water, and if the monsters come back, I want them delayed as much as possible. See if you can adjust the triggering mechanism to trigger on their heavier weight. If we can wound one here, its bellowing will alert us further up the tunnels."

"The triggering wire's snapped," Jedra said, "but I might be able to scavenge one from the other and get one working trap. If I tie the two trigger wires together, they should be able to take the weight."

The trappers in Atikala had trained her well. "Better than nothing. Do it."

I let her get to work. Moving back down the tunnel with the cold water lapping at my feet, I stepped up to Faala.

"Ready to move out?"

She nodded resolutely, but there was something else in her eyes. Worry? Concern? Fear?

I tried to gauge what I was seeing. Kobolds felt fear, but not as humans did. Humans with their selfishness and their desire to live at all costs. Kobolds feared death because it subtracted from the community. The collective would lose our skills, our talents, our contributions. Pain is passing and death certain for us all, so while we did not enjoy suffering, we willingly marched to our ends when our duty demanded it.

At least, those who were not like me did. I resisted. I did not mate with Khavi when my duty to do so was clear. Was Faala, like me, different?

"Don't worry," I said. "Khavi and Jedra will take care of our rear. It should be safe up ahead."

Faala seemed grateful. "Thank you," she said, "but I'm not sure I'll feel safe until we reach Ssarsdale. I'm a caretaker. I'm not a warrior or a trapper or a leader. I'm not brave."

I reached out my hand, hooking it around hers, giving a tight squeeze. "To survive Atikala, you're brave. We're all brave."

"Are we?"

I said nothing but squeezed her hand again.

Faala and I moved down the tunnel, the air getting colder and colder as we climbed. My scales rustled as my body tried to keep warm and the lower temperature affected my metabolism. Gnomes and other such creatures could survive without having a way to regulate their temperature, but we had only a limited ability to do so. I was tired.

"Why's it so cold?" asked Faala, rubbing her arms for warmth. "It feels like I'm walking through the mist again."

"I don't know," I answered. "I know nothing of the world this high up. All I have is Tyermumtican's map. I can only trust it leads us to Ssarsdale."

She beamed at me. "I believe it does."

I was glad to hear that. I exhaled out my nostrils. "You trust the word of a copper dragon?"

"No," she said, "but I trust you. That's enough for me."

I was touched, and I gave her a long smile in return. "Thank you."

"It's just the truth."

"It's a welcome truth," I answered as we rounded a bend in the tunnels. The passage opened into a depression, the bottom filled with two inches of water so clear and pure I could hardly see it. A rise to one side like a miniature island in a tiny lake looked big enough to house all four of us.

"Perhaps I should have brought Jedra with us. We could set the traps in the water here."

"Your plan before was good," said Faala. "It's okay. Let's set everything up here, so it's ready when they catch up."

I gingerly stepped into the water, the chill enveloping my feet up to my ankles. I sloshed my way to the island, and Jedra joined me moments later.

"I wonder where all this water is coming from," she said. "It seems to be seeping in from the ceiling."

I looked up. Faint moisture clung to the limestone above. "Seems so. Perhaps it's condensation from the changes in temperature?"

"That's what I was thinking."

I shrugged off my haversack and laid it down gently, then opened the flap at the top. Both eggs were still inside. I unwrapped the top one to make sure it was unharmed, testing it with my fingers.

"I'm not sure how they'll cope with this cold," Faala said. "How do they feel?"

"Strong and warm," I answered. Her concern for the eggs was touching. "They'll be fine."

A shadow moved at the entrance to the tunnel. I straightened up. "That was fast," I said.

A _thwap_ was all I heard in reply, followed by a sting in my abdomen. I looked down. A thin tuft of feathers poked out of my jerkin below my shield. Without thinking, I tugged it out of my chest.

A miniature crossbow quarrel.

"Faala!" I shouted, drawing my weapon with claws that suddenly felt heavier, pulling my shield in close to my chest. "Faala, it's not Khaaaaa—"

I froze in place, rapier held out before me, my muscles like iron. The burning pain of poison flowed through my veins, a river of fire that spread up my left side, over my forehead, then down my right.

"Ren?" said Faala, scrambling to my side, "What happened?"

I tried to answer, but my jaw wouldn't move, stuck open, my tongue an immobile lump of muscle. It was all I could do to breathe through my nose; the entirety of my being focused on forcing my lungs to pump air. The pain became torturous. All I could move were my eyeballs, although they quickly watered. I couldn't blink. The burning flowed down my leg, poison making its way through my circulatory system.

The shadow moved. A gnome, his hair smoothed back and neatly groomed, reloading a hand crossbow.

"My, my, my," he said in perfectly accented draconic, a thick puff of mist coming from his mouth with every word. "Two kobolds this far up. And I thought this was going to be a boring trip into the underworld. What luck. Who says the Gods are dead, mmm?"

Faala inhaled sharply, reaching out for my shoulder. She shook me. "Ren! Ren, wake up!"

The gnome calmly shot her. She stopped, her hand on my shoulder, frozen in place as I was.

"Silly scaled rodent." He hooked his weapon into his belt and clapped his hands together. "Well, now that I have your full attention, how about we have a little chat?"

I couldn't speak, of course. The idea seemed infinitely amusing to him. "No? Oh, more's the pity." He drew a stiletto dagger, wickedly edged and well oiled. Despite its obviously keen point, his other hand slipped into a belt pouch and retrieved a whetstone, dragging the steel across it. "Your kind are always so despairingly inhospitable."

He stepped into the water, his outerfeet made little sound as they moved through the liquid, leaving almost no ripples. He stopped in front of Faala, pointing the dagger's tip at the left side of her face, the side I could not see. Judging by the length of the blade it must have been pressed right to her eye.

"Tell me, blackscale, how many more kobolds are there?"

Faala remained immobile. Her right eye, the one I could see, jerked around frantically. She looked straight at me, and me at her, and I struggled against the poison's insidious burn.

The gnome slowly eased his dagger forward. She didn't move, didn't cry out, but I could smell blood.

It was not fair. Faala was good. Kind. Strong. Faala needed me to protect her. I was a warrior. It was my job. My duty. I was neglectful in so much of my life. I hadn't bred with Khavi. I owned things. I knew this. I wanted to take it all back. I'd throw my eggshells away if the dead Gods would save Faala. I'd let Khavi do what he wanted. I just wanted her to live.

Faala's eye jerked and spasmed, tears springing forth. I wanted to scream. I wanted to summon my magic, but my claws wouldn't answer my call.

"Waste of a good eyeball if you ask me. Why, I don't imagine that if I live a thousand years I'll ever understand kobolds. You could have avoided this so easily by just giving me what I..."

His hand jerked forward. The blade sunk into Faala's skull to the hilt. "Want."

The light in her remaining eye died as the steel lodged itself in Faala's brain.

"Such a shame." The gnome kicked over Faala's corpse. The body toppled over like a statue, her posture unchanging even in death, a black stain pouring out from her eye socket, the side of her face split in two.

The dragonfire burned and frothed in my heart, desperately begging to be unleashed, to burn this monster to ashes.

"Mercy me. I have gotten a little ahead of myself, haven't I." He chuckled, casually stepping over the body of my dead friend, his eyes fixed on me. "Golden scales. Fascinating. I've never seen one like you. I'm Pewdt."

He introduced himself like I was a stranger who had done him a favour. I matched his gaze, boring into him and transmitting all of my hate and rage, picturing his head popping like a glowbug under my foot. The poison coursed back up my leg, then down the other, and I focused on that sensation. The pain. Like thousands of insects crawling through my bloodstream, biting and chewing at my veins. I needed the pain to force my frozen body into action.

Pewdt manoeuvred my limbs like they were soft clay, opening my grip, leaving the inside of my shield arm exposed. The dagger, slick with Faala's blood, hovered near my forearm. "I wonder, dear creature, are you gold to the core? Bones and all? How deep does your colouration go?"

The edge of the dagger pressed to my scales. He began to cut, peeling off several of my scales, flicking each one over his shoulder with a jerk of his wrist. My golden blood trickled out, running down my arm, and onto the stone.

"Oh, ho, ho, she bleeds gold as well. Fascinating. Let's explore together, shall we?"

Pewdt cut deeper into my flesh. The pain from the poison was now a secondary feeling; my arm was on fire. I thought he would dig to the bone, would open my arm up completely, but he stopped.

"But wait, what's this?"

The tip slid out from my flesh and the agony abated. The gnome moved around and behind me, disappearing from my sight, and I heard him pick something up. I knew what it was.

My haversack.

"An egg? No, two. Two little kobold eggs."

No. He couldn't have them. They hadn't done anything and had no part in the racial conflict between gnomes and kobolds.

He moved back into my vision, gaily tossing the eggs into the air, juggling them with one hand, dagger flawlessly balanced in his other. His coordination and grace were perfect; he didn't even look as he caught one, returned it to flight, then caught the other.

"It looks freshly laid. Smells faintly of blood. Perhaps within a day, three at most. Yours?" Pewdt looked at me quizzically, then glanced down at the corpse of Faala, still frozen in the same position she was in when the dagger pierced her brain. "No, such pervasive gold would have coloured your eggs, too. The dark one is hers then, and the other..." His thin smile widened as his gaze wandered back up to meet mine. "Cannot be far away. Perhaps you can tell me more about them, yes?"

The same impossible request. The same horrid joke. He waited, genuinely expecting an answer. I tried as hard as I could to give it to him, in sword or spell, but my limbs wouldn't answer my screaming mind. Blood continued to trickle down my arm to my elbow, dripping and forming a golden pool on the grey stone.

"Of course not. Not even a kobold with scales of pure gold could be so kind as to answer a simple question. That's why I kill kobolds, you know. Because you're all just so rude."

He tossed the eggs a little higher, snatching open a flap on his belt pouch. The eggs disappeared inside, one by one.

At least they were safe. Faala may be dead, but her legacy would live on, assuming I could get them off him.

With casual nonchalance, Pewdt began reloading his crossbow. "See this?" He held it up, so I could see. "Wasp-Men manufacture. Flying bastards from the south. Their real name is impossible to pronounce with almost any tongue except their own—too many clicks—so everyone just calls them Wasp-Men. Savage bastards, they love stuff like this. Poison, that is. They have poisoned crossbows, poisoned spears, arrows, swords, daggers—everything. I heard they even poison their siege weaponry, just in case one strikes flesh instead." He slowly twisted the crossbow around, so I could see every side of it. "They make the ammunition too, and sell all manner of poisons to go with them. Sleep poison, pain poison, fatal poison. Poisons to make you dumb, poisons to make you lose wit and kill anyone around you. Poisons to make you forget who you are. Me, well, I prefer a blend of the paralytic and agoniser. I like causing pain, you see, but I dislike the noise. I feel that sound should be an art."

As much as I tried to shut out his words and focus on getting my limbs back, Pewdt's voice was smooth and eloquent, soothing in a strange kind of way. His draconic was sophisticated and perfectly articulated. Had this gnome been raised in Atikala?

And then he began to sing. A beautiful haunting melody that reverberated in the stone cavern, giving his voice an ethereal, empty quality. I didn't understand the words. I didn't have to. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard, and although I knew he was speaking the hated fey tongue I could sense the raw, pure emotion in his voice, an enchanting, soft tune that stole every ounce of my attention away from other trivial tasks.

He started cutting again.

CHAPTER XV

PEWDT'S DAGGER SLIPPED BACK INTO the hole in my arm and began rocking back and forth, slicing through my hide. He made a thin slit almost an inch long, working delicately, cutting a small section of my scales away, my golden blood mixing with Faala's black ichor and splattering onto Pewdt's delicate hands.

My vision became blurry and grey, the pain overwhelming. Yet he continued to sing that soft haunting tune, the music compelling me to listen.

"That's beautiful," came Khavi's voice, "is that you—"

The crossbow snapped again, firing another dart within the music of Pewdt's song. It struck Khavi in the thigh; he slapped his claw out, brushing the tiny device away before all its poison could be injected.

His face contorted and his claws twitched, but either Khavi's strength and toughness, or his recent exposure to Six-Legs' venom, gave him a resilience I didn't have. He kept moving.

The singing stopped, and Pewdt's dagger left my flesh. "Impressive."

"Gnome!" hissed Jedra, her spear clutched in both hands. She moved to step in front of Khavi, but he held out his hand.

"Give me that," he said, his eyes burning with a bright fire I had not seen in many weeks. "I'll take care of this."

Jedra handed over the spear without question. Khavi gave it a gentle bob, bouncing it in his hand, testing the weight. He shuffled his fingers, dropping into a combat stance, holding the spear out before him in perfect form.

The racial memory of our kind again. Pewdt seemed impressed and dropped his crossbow. He drew a second dagger from his belt, another thin stiletto.

Khavi shuffled forward, spear tip pointed at Pewdt's body. "Come on then," he hissed. "What are you, afraid?"

Pewdt just smiled a cold, mocking smile, then extended his dagger into the drip of my blood. "My blade has the blood of two kobolds on it already—how quickly can I make it three?"

"Save your breath," Khavi snarled, slipping closer and lunging with the spear.

The gnome deflected it easily, turning aside the spear's edge with his dagger. Khavi made a series of jabs, short and controlled, but Pewdt avoided them with equal ease. Pewdt stepped into Khavi's reach, slicing out wide to Khavi's side. A thin line of blood appeared on Khavi's forearm, the strike so quick I hardly saw it. Pewdt skipped away, laughing gaily. "Three!"

Khavi was outmatched. Pewdt was playing with him. Jedra flexed her claws and began to move; I wanted to tell her no, to stay back, but my muscles still wouldn't answer my call.

Pewdt seemed surprised as Jedra moved in to engage him, but not discomforted. He continued to turn aside Khavi's blows, skipping out of the way whenever it was inconvenient to block.

"Coming at me without a weapon? You are as brave as you are foolish." The fight became a three-way battle, Khavi's spear on one side, each of Pewdt's daggers in the middle, and Jedra's claws and snapping jaw on the other. Pewdt happily moved between them, his arms outstretched in either direction, the awkward fighting posture hardly seeming to affect him. His wrists, deceptively thin and weak, confidently positioned his daggers to turn aside Khavi's spear or to jab at Jedra's encroaching claws.

Faala's body twitched and went limp, her dead limbs collapsing onto the stone. The pain in my veins receded. Moving was still impossible, but the pain was much less. I focused all my energy inward, trying to move just one of my fingers. Just the tip of my smallest finger. They needed my magic; Khavi and Jedra were going to die if I couldn't help them.

I looked at my finger with an eye that watered with pain from an unblinking stare, willing it into action. Move. Move!

The faintest twitch. It was all I needed. Like a crack in a stone wall, the poison's hold on me weakened, and in an explosion of movement, my limbs freed. Clumsy and painful, but I could move again.

Dragonfire bubbled within, so hot and eager to kill it couldn't be contained. I roared out the words of my spell, holding my finger out to guide the fire. The wave of flame crashed into the gnome. He pulled his hood down to protect his face. When the fire had passed, he threw off the burning fabric.

I dare not cast again with Jedra and Khavi in so close, but I still had my steel. "You don't have three arms, gnome," I snarled, my weapon in hand as I advanced, looking for an opening.

"Let's even the odds. Playing with a spellcaster is hardly fair." He laughed and, as though he could have done it at any time, jabbed a dagger at Jedra's throat. The blade sank in up to its hilt again. "Four."

"Jedra!" shouted Khavi, attacking with the spear, striking Pewdt's flank and deflecting off some unseen armour beneath his clothing.

Jedra stumbled back, clutching her neck, gurgling as black blood trickled from the side of her mouth. She slumped against the wall, splashing in the water as she struggled to keep her lifeblood inside her body.

I let my blade lead the way, stabbing wildly at Pewdt, my anger and fury guiding me. His dagger glanced my blade, but it was enough to turn the cut away from his body. I blocked his counter attack with my shield.

"So you want to play with spells, do you?" Pewdt said, stabbing at Khavi, the blade missing by an inch. "Want to see a magic trick?"

Pewdt tossed his daggers into the air. He began juggling them, tossing each weapon from hand to hand. I knew better than to attack, though. A warrior so skilled wouldn't do such a thing without reason. I could only hope Khavi had the same feeling.

I shifted so that I faced his flank. Pewdt reached for the belt pouch containing the eggs, snatching the two ovals within and adding them to the circle.

Khavi roared and thrust his spear forward, but Pewdt caught one of his daggers just in time and deflected it.

"Careful," said Pewdt, "next time it might not be a blade."

Dagger, egg, dagger, egg. The circle spun too fast for me to follow it. Khavi and I stalked around him, trying to find a way through.

A standoff. Pewdt juggled, and we waited for an opportunity.

"Attack me," he said, smiling. "I want to see you attack me."

"No." I lowered my rapier. I wasn't going to play his game.

"As you wish." He caught one of the eggs, the lighter-shelled one I knew to be Jedra's, and squeezed it in his hand. I closed my eyes at the sound of breaking eggshell, but I couldn't close my ears. Fluid and eggshells splattered onto the ground.

"Is that five? Does it count if it doesn't touch the dagger?"

I had failed the unborn child, but I had to use my eyes to see. I forced them open, watching the egg fluid drip onto the floor as Pewdt stole the future of our bloodline away.

"You monster!" I snarled and stabbed between the flying daggers, but Pewdt ducked out of the way.

"Oh come now, I'm not the monster, you are. You and your dragon loving kind." Khavi's spear dug into Pewdt's hip, finding flesh; the gnome grimaced in pain and skipped back.

"One," said Khavi, dangling the tip of his weapon before Pewdt, slick with red blood.

"Quaint, but I've had scars before. You think you're the first runty little bastard to wound me?"

 I hissed, baring my teeth at him, dragonfire rumbling within me. "Sounds like you're getting angry."

"I don't get angry, gold one, I'm above such base emotions." He sneered at me, tossing the remaining egg with bloodstained hands. "Above you."

I lunged forward, but not at him. He was too quick, too skilled. Instead I thrust my rapier into the flying dagger, slapping it away to clink off the stone.

"Clever little dog," he said.

"I'm full of tricks," I said, hissing the last syllable, raising my claw again. Instead of flame, I summoned my magical darts; flying needles of force slammed into the gnome's chest. "Suffer, monster!"

I could smell his blood. I knew I'd hurt him.

"Thank you for playing," Pewdt said, "but I tire of this game."

He stopped juggling, catching his remaining dagger and egg in his left hand, gesturing intricately with his right. I knew the signs of a spellcaster when I saw one, but I also knew how to defeat them. We both did. Khavi jabbed his spear forward, and I stabbed with my rapier, both of us striking home; Khavi and I thought identically, both aiming for his unarmoured forearms, both striking wicked hits.

But the gnome's spell completed, and he vanished before our eyes.

I stabbed in the vacant space but ringing, mocking laughter, and retreating footsteps were all I found.

"Oh kobold?" came Pewdt's disembodied voice. "This egg will make a fine gift for my master."

"I'll kill you for this!"

"No," said the retreating voice of the gnome, "you won't."

Then he was gone.

"Shit of the dead Gods." I sheathed my rapier and moved over to Jedra, crouching before her and reaching out for her neck.

She was dead, her eyes glassy and empty. I followed where she had been looking. Right at where the gnome was standing before he had disappeared.

The last thing Jedra had seen was the gnome crush her freshly laid egg.

We were two kobolds again, and the killer of my kin, killer of unhatched eggs, was free. I howled to the ceiling, balling my hand into fists, screaming at the roof of my world. Why had this happened? Khavi, Jedra, and Faala had done their duty, Faala, in particular, had suffered through a difficult birth, and now her egg was lost.

It was in the clutches of the gnome monster. Pewdt. He would pay with his life.

I stood and straightened my back, wiping the tears from my face.

"Khavi?"

He stared at the corpses of the two females. "Yes?"

"I want to kill this one."

We chased Pewdt for hours, knowing that his magic could not last forever, but it didn't have to. He was bleeding and fairly badly; all we had to do was follow the drops of blood, the scent of his body tears, and his own body would betray him. I bandaged my wounds, Khavi bandaged his, and we stalked our prey.

We were hunters playing the long game. I wanted that egg back more than anything, but I knew we couldn't fight him unless we evened the odds. He was a dangerous opponent, and I didn't think that the two of us could take him, so we aimed to wear him down, never getting close enough to fight, never getting so far away that he would think himself safe. We wanted him tired, weak, suffering.

As the hours passed, Pewdt's blood stopped flowing. Clearly he had staunched his wounds. That didn't matter. I could smell his body tears, and I knew they were tainted with the scent of fear. His confidence was weakening, so he was climbing, making for the surface. I sensed the difference in altitude, the air growing thinner and thinner. Soon we were exhausted and had to rest.

This was fine. Pewdt would be tired too, and from what I had seen of No-Kill and her sleeping habits, we would rest less than he. The longer we waited the worse he would fight when we caught him. Time favoured us.

As we followed our quarry through the underworld tunnels, one thing became clear. Pewdt was making for the surface. Sanctuary would be found there, we knew, so we drew closer. His body tears stopped. He was resting, preparing himself.

We would not give him that opportunity. As one, Khavi and I circled out around in front of his path, preparing an ambush. We laid in wait for him to arrive, to spring our trap, to destroy him utterly and save the egg he'd taken.

Instead we ambushed his outerfeet.

His outerfeet walked on their own, mindlessly strolling down the tunnel. I thought he might be invisible again, so stabbed with my weapon at air, even slicing right above where the ankle should be, but the outerfeet marched on.

Khavi cut them to ribbons. Their magic drained out in a flurry of wild sparks, the items reduced to scraps.

We knew, then, that he had gotten away.

We backtracked, but it was hopeless. We had no trail left, no hint where we could go.

"We should keep hunting," I said. "He couldn't have gotten _too_ far." I wanted to. I desperately wanted to, but I knew deep in my heart there was no point.

"It's been hours," said Khavi, shrugging off his pack. "He's probably at the surface by now or down any number of tunnels. We'll never catch him."

"You give up too easily." My body was tired, and I needed rest, but the thought of Faala and Jedra, and their two eggs spurred me on. We needed vengeance.

He shrugged. "I know when I'm beaten."

I couldn't believe he was so willing to let the egg go. So willing to let the child he'd sired fall to some terrible fate. "What if we did another pass, we could find where he split himself from his outerfeet?"

"I'm sure he'd like that. He knows the area, clearly, and he's full of tricks. He'd get endless amusement from watching us chase our own tails."

I knew it was true. "At least we have the map. It might have a list of other exits." I snatched it off my belt. "Passages. Places where, places where...w-where..."

Khavi glared at me. "Are you crying?"

I was. Khavi's frustration at my weakness pained me further, but I didn't care. I mourned for Faala and Jedra, for their eggs, for my inability to save them all.

"No."

Khavi sighed and sat down in the corridor. "We should camp here."

I shrugged off my haversack. We would never catch Pewdt. "Take first watch," I said. "I'll try to think of something."

Khavi put the spear, Jedra's old spear, in his lap, and I prepared to sleep. I threw all my equipment into a pile, curled up in a ball, and tried to rest, but my mind was too active. Unable to stop myself, unable to keep the pain inside any longer, I continued to cry.

"Are you done?" growled Khavi.

I rubbed my snout with my claw, raising my head. "No."

Khavi gave a disgusted groan. "You're six years old. You're an adult, and more importantly, you're a kobold. Stop acting like No-Kill, crying and thinking that'll change anything. They're dead. So are the eggs, both of them, probably. Mewing like a wyrmling won't bring back the dead."

Did he have no empathy at all? To so coldly dismiss the two females he had mated with and the eggs he had produced rankled me. "That doesn't mean I can't mourn."

"Weeping is pointless. Vengeance accomplishes something." He spoke through teeth pressed together. "We should throw away the map, find another gnome, or something else, and force them to tell us how to get to the surface. Cut off their arms, burn the stumps, weaken them through blood loss. Keep them alive as long as possible until they tell us."

"What makes you think whoever we dismember won't just lie to get vengeance against us?"

Khavi didn't seem to have an answer to that. "Who cares," he said. "It won't matter. We'll find another."

"And even if we find Pewdt again, what will we do? He's stronger than you. A better fighter."

His snout snapped around to me, baring his teeth. "Nobody's a better fighter than me, especially not some juggling, half witted, sing-song-y fey."

"He is," I said. "It's just a fact. He's better than me too."

"That's glowbug shit."

I didn't have the energy to argue. "Fine, if we catch him, prove it." I curled back up again.

"I still think we shouldn't trust the map."

"I don't care what you think," I snapped.

"Let me read it then," said Khavi. "Maybe I can find something for us to kill."

I fumbled for the pouch with the map, unbuckled it, and threw it across the chamber to Khavi, then clapped my hands over my earholes. "Here! Study it well, don't tear it, and wake me when it's my shift."

I thought the anger would keep me awake, but I fell asleep almost immediately.

I was awakened by the smell of smoke. For a moment I was stuck in the strange limbo between the dreaming world and the real one, once again reliving my fiery rebirth in the furnaces of Atikala, but then my mind settled firmly back in Drathari, and I opened my eyes.

Smoke filled our camp, stinging my eyes. A bright flame, tall and golden, burned nearby. I leapt to my feet, reaching for the rapier at my belt, but my scabbard was empty. It must have fallen out while I slept. I didn't have time to find it, and instead thrust my hands out in front of me, ready to face whatever threatened us.

Khavi moved out from the shadows, the golden light bathing his scales in a bright, lurid glow. He had my rapier in his claw.

"It's done."

My sleep-addled mind was unable to comprehend what I was seeing. "What is? Is it my shift?"

The fire began to die out. He pointed down at it with my rapier, the edge close to the flames. "The map. I burned it. We're safe now. No more monsters, no more surprises."

As the flames died out completely, I saw the charred remains of the strip of parchment, the very last edge of it consumed by a red line that wormed its way down to the corner, rendering it all to ash.

The map was our guide to the surface and Ssarsdale beyond. Tyermumtican had given it to me, a gift, and now it was a smouldering pile of worthless nothing. I looked back to Khavi. "I wanted you to keep the map safe. You knew that. I ordered you to keep it safe!"

He gave a mocking sneer. "Technically, you only told me not to tear it."

"You knew what I meant!" My tail twitched. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I'm done following your orders." Khavi stepped forward, deliberately stepping on the rectangular pile of ash that was our map, twisting and grinding his foot until it was unrecognisable. "You're addled in the brain. Weak minded. Whatever power the elders used to hold your true nature in check died with them. You're reverting to your true nature, _goldling_."

He spat the word with such hate, such venom and fire that I had never heard from him before. This was more than the playful teasing he'd given me in the past; this was anger—it was the rage that he used in battle turned into words.

I narrowed my eyes. "I'm doing nothing of the sort. I'm following the best course of—"

"It's always _words, words, words_ with you, isn't it?" Khavi's grip on my rapier tightened ever so slightly. He shifted his posture as he balanced himself on his toes, falling into a battle stance. "We find some gnomes—our enemies—and it's _words_. We find a blind gnome alone in some tunnels, and your first instinct is to use _words_. We meet a dragon—a _copper_ dragon—and once again, you try to talk to it. You say that it's strategy, that it's combat without fighting, but every single time we meet evil you just talk to it. You walked away from the dragon, and you did worse than let evil beat you. You _befriended_ it."

"They're not evil," I said the words before I knew what I was doing. I thought of No-Kill, and how kindhearted she seemed. Of Tyermumtican and how he had helped me despite what I was. "It's us. It's us that are evil."

Khavi spat at me, a glob of his saliva splattering onto the jerkin covering my chain shirt. "You slander your own people. You're not one of us, goldling. You're one of them. You're a gnome in kobold's scales, a traitor to everything we are."

My claws trembled, and I fought to control myself. "This is because I wouldn't breed with you, isn't it? Because I want love?"

"Love?" Khavi practically hissed as he said it. "That dribble Laughless blathered on about?"

"Yes," I said. "That. I want to have love before I breed. I want to be mare-reed, to be possessed by a ghost or devil, whatever the ritual requires. I want to set my friends on fire, to split my soul into two bodies and have two hearts beating at the same time. Laughless said that's more powerful than any magic."

Khavi stared at me blankly for a moment. "You are _completely_ insane!"

He was the crazy one, not me. He was the violence prone, unthinking, map-destroying idiot who cut our only lifeline to safety and vengeance because of a petty feud. "I am not. Tyermumtican said—"

"Laughless is a _copper dragon!_ They're monsters!"

"He's wise, and—"

"He's _evil_!" Khavi's nose wrinkled, and he gave me a disgusted leer. "Actually I've changed my mind about you. I don't fuck _gnomes_."

There was no greater insult. I snarled at him, baring my teeth. "You don't mean that. I'm _Ren_. Your patrol leader. I've known you for your entire life."

"I mean it." He snarled right back, his forked tongue flicking at me. "I don't care how enticing your scent becomes, the lashes from a thousand orcs couldn't convince me to lay my seed in your rotten belly. I'd rather watch our entire bloodline become extinct. You're filthy. Mud and shit. You're nothing to me but the next enemy I'll drive my weapon through, the next heart I tear open. Your body is a gut locker for me to open and spill."

"Killing me with my own weapon," I spat. "How thoughtful."

"It's not yours. It was never yours. Neither is it mine. It's _ours_. It belongs to _us_." He ran his tongue over his teeth. "How could you fail to understand this basic tenant of our society? How could you forsake everything you are?"

He'd been holding in these words for days, weeks. Ever since we'd left the city, even before. His discipline was great, as was his ability to suppress his own personality in favour of following orders and obeying his masters, but these thoughts, these doubts, had been eating at him.

I had words eating at me too.

"I'm Ren of Atikala," I said, "and I forge my own destiny."

The quote from Tyermumtican pushed him over the edge. Khavi's eyes widened, red and wild, and he slashed at me with the rapier. Not the best move for a warrior inexperienced with that kind of blade; rapiers were designed to stab. I hopped back, easily dodging the clumsy strike.

"I don't want to hurt you," I said, but Khavi just screamed at me in response, swinging his arm, the blade swinging through the air.

I dodged, I weaved, and I ducked. I skipped back across the stone, waiting for his rage to play itself out, but Khavi's anger seemed limitless. He pressed further and further, swinging the rapier like one of his two-handed blades. It was an ineffective style, and I avoided his strikes easily.

At least initially. Soon Khavi's strokes became more measured, faster. He was becoming used to the weight, the swing of the weapon. It was lighter and faster than his old blade, and the spear, too. It was something I'd known for a long time. Flesh was tender, and the blade was razor sharp. Long, heavy swings were not required. Now his attacks came in shorter, sharper jabs. I gave more ground, but the tunnel behind me narrowed, and the stone underneath my feet grew treacherous. I slipped my shield over my arm.

That action cost me. One of his slashes drew a line on my arm. Another thumped into my chest, deflected by my armour. Khavi was too good to be beaten by chainmail. I couldn't hold out forever.

I had to fight, or I would die.

I drew the Feyeater and prepared to kill my friend.

CHAPTER XVI

STEEL ON STEEL. PARRY. BLOCK. Thrust. Dodge.

Khavi and I had been fighting side by side most of our lives. I could read him and he could read me. We were not master swordsmen, nor were we strong or graceful or empowered by magic, but we knew each other more intimately then anyone could. I'd been to his lessons, sparred against him time and time again; I knew his tricks.

I readied the Feyeater to block a thrust Khavi didn't even know he was going to make. I retaliated, a stab right at his throat, but he was guarding before the dagger began to move. I used my shield to block my side, knowing he would strike there. I didn't even have to hear the clank of steel on steel to know I was successful.

 I stepped into his space, leaning in with my shoulder, aiming my shield at his chest. He stepped out of the way, stabbing at my exposed flank. The Feyeater was there, parrying the blow.

We stood off, panting softly in the thin air. Khavi stared me down, my rapier in his hands, readied against me.

"Are you going to burn me?" he said. "I've always wondered what your fire feels like."

"Don't tempt me," I said.

"Why wouldn't you? Why would you hold back? Don't you know that I'm going to kill you if I win?"

"That's the difference between me and you," I said. "I don't want to kill you."

His lips curled back, revealing the row of his sharp, draconic teeth. "Then you're as foolish AS YOU LOOK!"

Khavi's deep voice boomed as he leapt forward. Rapier met shield with a loud clang, denting the round disk of my buckler. It almost penetrated, the force numbing my arm. I jabbed with the Feyeater, slicing open Khavi's jerkin but failing to penetrate his thick scales.

"I don't want to hurt you!" I shouted, trying to get through to the kobold beneath the rage. "I'm not your enemy!"

His reply was a mindless shriek. I jabbed forward again but overbalanced; my thrust went low, and he stepped out of the way. Instinctively I brought my buckler in close to my chest, a move that paid off as the rapier thunked into it once more. If I hadn't positioned it just so, I would have been skewered.

He dropped the rapier, leaping forwards, claws outstretched for my throat. With my weapon low and my shield tucked into my body, I had no way of keeping him back. I dipped my head down, tucking my chin against my chest to protect my vital airway, closing my eyes to stop myself from being blinded.

Khavi crashed into me, knocking me over onto my back. The Feyeater skipped across the stone, well out of my grasp, and anger took over. We fell at each other in a screaming, biting, clawing frenzy, rolling around on the ground, our tails entangling and our teeth chomping at whatever exposed scales we could find. The bandage on my forearm tore off, the gold-splattered cloth sticking to the ground as we thrashed around on the stone.

Khavi's great strength won out, though. He rolled on top of me, his snout an inch away from mine, baring his teeth. I snarled back at him, kicking and jerking underneath him, but couldn't get free.

"Damn you, Khavi. Damn you!"

"You're in trouble," he hissed in my face, gripping my arms and keeping them pinned. "I could kill you right now."

"Could you?" I snarled right back at him. "Kill me just like No-Kill, kneeling and pleading for death?" It wasn't wise to taunt him, but I was angry. "You barely had the courage to kill a gnome, let alone me."

"Liar!"

"You hesitated right before you did it. I saw it. You didn't want to kill her either."

"I did _not_ hesitate."

"You did."

"Did not."

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

I burst out laughing. The absurdity of the situation was just too much for me. Then Khavi started laughing too. That made me laugh more. Soon we were both helpless on the floor, our fight forgotten and our anger evaporated.

"Fine, fine," I said between bouts of gasping for breath, "you didn't hesitate."

"Maybe I did," replied Khavi, his chest heaving for air, "just a little."

"Just a little."

"But not too much," I said. "Just the right amount."

"Just the right amount."

I used my tail to push back onto my feet. Weak from laughter, I could hardly breathe, but I still helped Khavi stand.

"I'm sorry," he said between gasps for breath. "I didn't mean what I said. You're not a gnome."

I couldn't help but not feel angry anymore. "Don't worry about it. This trip has been quite taxing on both of us."

"And I'm sorry about burning the map." Khavi extended his arms and I hugged him, squeezing him gently.

We stood there for a time, then I let Khavi go and patted him on the snout. "We'll find a way there. It's close anyway."

"What about the gnome?"

Pewdt would be a long way ahead of us by now, although we didn't know. He might have even been close enough to hear the laughter and the fighting.

"What you said before was right—tears can't bring back the dead, but he has a live egg. One of us. We owe it to Faala and Jedra to get that egg back, we owe it to Atikala." I closed my eyes, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. "But we can't do it today. Pewdt is fleeing to familiar terrain, to allies perhaps. We need allies too if we're to track him down. We need to get to Ssarsdale."

Khavi mulled it over. "I agree. If Pewdt was going to kill the egg, he would have done it already. Revenge can come later. It's best left to simmer for a while anyway, like a good stew."

"Like a good stew," I said.

At my insistence we buried Jedra, Faala, and the remains of the egg. Khavi didn't understand why, and I tried to explain it, but I don't think I got through to him. Fortunately, though, he seemed to be in a good mood.

He helped dig the graves, said some words, and then we left. Our path was clear, upwards and ever upwards. We climbed where we could, backtracking occasionally when the limestone passages turned around and began to descend again, but after a time we ran into a significant stumbling block.

The blue crystals that had lit our passage the entire way began to disappear.

Fresh air came from the darkness. Khavi could smell it too. There was no way around, or at least, no way we could determine without a map.

So we stood at the threshold of the gloom, straining to see, but there was nothing but inky blackness ahead.

It was the Veil of Atikala all over again. A visual but incorporeal barrier that halted our progress, but teased us with the victory ahead. All we had to do was walk through it, and we would be closer to the surface than we ever realistically thought possible. We were within half a mile.

Half a mile on level ground was an easy jaunt. Somewhat more difficult travelling upward, but achievable. We had come this far.

Half a mile in the dark? Terrifying.

The scent of clear air wafting in from the darkness mocked our cowardice.

"Can't you magic us up some light?" moaned Khavi.

"I could," I said. That had been my very first spell... _light_ , a common magic. Yellow was my colour, naturally, as was most of my magic when it manifested.

"So do it already."

I flexed my left hand, my spellcasting hand, at my side, keeping my shield close to my body. "Tzala warned me against it. Spellcasting is loud, and the light is hard to extinguish if we need to hide."

"Harder than glowbug juice?"

"About the same. But it won't burn us."

"So it's better then." Khavi ground his teeth. "Just use your magic already, if someone hears you, I'll deal with it."

It was a good suggestion. I inhaled, focusing my concentration, arranging my hands into the arcane symbols required to evoke the spell, then spoke the draconic words of power that would banish the darkness.

_Light_!

A ball of yellow light appeared at the very end of my claw. I held it aloft, the fiery light illuminating the passage ahead, which sloped upwards.

"I didn't realise Khavi, the proud kobold warrior, slayer of gnomes and bringer of dragon indigestion, was afraid of the dark."

He shot me an angry glare. "I am _not_ afraid of the dark."

Our recent quarrel was still fresh in my memory, so I let the subject drop. I stepped forward into the tunnel, Khavi right beside me.

Despite my magic illuminating the way, I was distinctly ill at ease with our passage. Atikala had always been lit by the light of a million glowbugs and the passages above it by the strange blue crystals, but this darkness seemed complete and unyielding. The surface world was shutting us out, preventing those entombed below from travelling to witness its beauties and its horrors.

The dark stoked my fears, stories of the surface pushing their way into my mind, kicking at my instincts incessantly. This was a bad plan. The surface was repugnant, unwelcoming. Much better to live within Drathari's warm embrace. The surface was cold. Unforgiving.

A shadow moved at the edge of my vision. I almost shouted a warning, but it was just a reflection off a pool of water.

More water. Was the surface a world of liquid?

Khavi's apprehension was palpable. He gripped his spear with claws of iron, eyes darting around, seeking invisible enemies.

"It's not far," I said, trying to comfort him.

"Just shut up and walk."

So I did. I put a foot forward, and my spell expired, plunging us into darkness.

"Don't panic," I said, but it was too late.

"RUN!" shouted Khavi, the terror in his voice genuine.

So much for not being heard. I went to shout something else, to try to reason with him, but he slammed into me, knocking me onto my back.

"There's something here!" he shrieked. "A monster! I felt it!"

His spear thrashed above me, slicing through the air, jabbing and stabbing uncomfortably close to my prone body. I rolled onto my chest, trying to squirm away, but the straps of my haversack lurched, pulling me violently into the air.

"I got it! I got it!"

"Shut up!" I shouted, "That's me!"

"Ren?"

He dropped me snout first, right onto the hard stone.

"Are you okay? I smell blood!"

"That's my nose," I said, my voice muffled. "You speared my backpack." I pinched my snout to stop the bleeding.

"Where's the monster?"

"There is no monster, you brainless idiot! It was me all along!"

He grabbed my shoulders, dragging me to my feet. "Let's go," he said. "Let's get out of here!"

"Wait, let me recast the spell!"

"There's no time! There's no time!"

He began dragging me along. I couldn't cast being jerked and jostled around, so we ran together, stumbling blindly in the dark. I ran straight into a wall, but Khavi continued to drag and pull me along.

Light came from the passage up ahead. I ran towards it, Khavi running beside me, and the light grew brighter and brighter.

And brighter.

We stumbled out into the most fierce burning light that I had ever experienced. It was as though I had conjured my magical ball directly inside my eye; I could see nothing but a bright white sheet that turned to red as I snapped my eyes closed.

"I'm blind!" cried Khavi. I could hear him kicking around, stumbling, then he fell over.

"Wait," I said, "just stand still! Your eyes will adjust!"

Slowly, reluctantly, I forced open my eyelids.

There was no ceiling above me, save for a sheet of brightness. From on high, far higher than I had ever looked, I could see a white-hot crescent of light. A sea of other lights, far too many to count, surrounded the glowing curve high above. Everything around me was bathed in such illumination, such brilliance, that the world seemed to sparkle with energy. Everything was shown to me in such amazing detail and with such raw and vivid colour that I could only stare at it in wonder, drinking in everything even though the light pained me.

Columns of a strange material grew out of the ground, brown and covered in some kind of green moss. The ground underneath my feet was a similar moss, thick and swirling around my knees, the brightest and most vivid green I had ever seen. In the far distance, impossibly far, were enormous mounds of earth, each topped with a white point. Teeth? Were we inside the mouth of the world?

I remembered seeing things that looked like teeth on Tyermumtican's map. The entrance to Ssarsdale was that way. We had a direction.

I exhaled. To my shock, I could see my own breath, a thin white fog, just like those of the humans and Pewdt. Was this the curse of the surface? Would we breathe poison air for all our lives? I tried not to breathe in where I had exhaled, waving away the mist.

That's when I caught the scent of the air and forgot all about my poisoned breath. It was the breath of the Gods, as fresh and clear as any I'd ever experienced. There was something about the it, something rich and so full of life that I couldn't help but breathe it in by the lungful as my eyes tried to see everywhere at once.

This was a place of beauty and wonder, not of terror.

"Khavi," I whispered, "open your eyes."

He was clinging to the ground. He seemed to fear he would fall off and be flung upwards into the void. "It hurts! It hurts to live!"

"First you're afraid of the dark; now you're afraid of the light?"

He hissed at me, then cracked open his watery eyes. "It's too bright!"

"You'll get used to it," I said. "Just keep your eyes open; it doesn't matter if they water."

I caught motion in the corner of my eye. A small creature, white and brown, covered in a brown fuzz. It was like hair but not. It had two long ears that twisted around, catching every sound.

"Hail and well met!" I called. "I am Ren, and this is Khavi. We've come from the underworld."

The creature didn't reply, but it looked straight at me.

"Who are you talking to?" asked Khavi, struggling to see.

I pointed. "There. Don't you see it? Wait—there's another one."

Was it reinforcements? Another one of the creatures, then another, joined the first. They all watched me.

"We mean you no harm. We wish to journey to Ssarsdale."

The creatures watched me for a moment longer, then began to eat the strange green mold that grew everywhere.

"I don't think they speak draconic," said Khavi, his eyes finally open, squinting heavily in the glare.

"I don't think they speak anything. I think they're some kind of carapaceless insect."

"Maybe this world is different," said Khavi, "maybe it's bright unless some kind of un-glowbugs create darkness to prevent your eyes from burning."

"I don't think these are anything like glowbugs or un-glowbugs, whatever they are. They only have four legs. Look, see, they eat the mold then hop away."

"Hop?" Khavi hissed faintly. "What kind of creature moves by hopping?"

"It doesn't matter. Come on, on your feet. We need to get going to Ssarsdale. It's this way."

We set off for the distant teeth, our pace slowed by the thick moss and the strange stones that thrust up to the sky. As we travelled I found one that had been tipped over, the inside of it more like bone than anything I had ever seen, the outer ring a thick hide.

Worldbones, I called them. They reminded me of the spines on our heads. Was the surface of Drathari a giant kobold's head, and had we crawled out of its gullet?

I kept a watchful eye on the impossibly high ceiling of this place, expecting it to fall down on top of us at any moment, and Khavi did the same. We walked with our heads high, squinting against the bright light coming from the burning sliver high above us, so we did not notice the presence of buildings and structures until we were quite close.

They were similar to our own but much bigger. Everything seemed oversized, the windows twice as big, the doors huge and imposing, the ceilings extravagantly high.

Sticks with flame on them, versions of the ones we had seen the tall monsters carrying underground, lit the area with even more light than the brilliant light sources above. We could see the faint outlines of figures moving around in the brightness, casting faint shadows across the ground. They would carry their own light, nearly blind creatures stumbling around in a world too bright to comfortably see in. Occasionally I would hear voices, boisterous laughing and chuckling.

The entire village was a beacon of light drawing us in.

"Is it Ssarsdale?" asked Khavi.

"I don't think so. It's so... _bright_. No kobold city would be like this. Besides, Ssarsdale's underground."

"It's strange." He shook his head. "I don't like it. Let's go around."

"No, we should investigate," I said. "They might be able to help us."

"Look how big they are," said Khavi. "Look how tall their buildings are. Nothing that big could ever be good."

"Just come with me and try not to act threatening." I steeled myself, took a deep breath of the impossibly sweet and rich air, and then strode forward towards the brightly lit village, my claws at my sides, and my posture relaxed and comfortable.

I should not have been so careless.

ACT III

A Distant World of Wonder and Terror

_M_ _Y_ _RELUCTANCE_ _TO_ _HAVE_ _ANY_ _aside, I have always loved children._

_Children, wyrmlings, little ones, younglings...in whatever tongue you call them, the meaning is still the same. They represent the future, the next generation, the continuation and growth of the species. Their importance goes beyond an individual merely passing along our genes. In a sense, they are everything a society must treasure and nurture if the society is to continue to exist in the future. The next generation is everything we fight for every single day, everything we work towards, everything we sacrifice and suffer for. They are us._

_Killing an adult is a terrible thing, yes, for this act robs a society of its present. To take the life of a child is to rob it of its future. It is a universal constant in almost all civilisations that to harm a child—physically, mentally, or sexually—is an abhorrent act punishable by the harshest means available. It is the worst of crimes._

_Kobolds are not too dissimilar to any other humanoid in that regard. The community, the society, is all they consider with their actions. To damage the future of that community is to rouse from my people a terrible, unquenchable anger that demands revenge as disproportionate as it is terrible._

_However it has been my observation that when a child of the surface races, such as a human or elf, is killed their societies treat it differently. The anger, the outrage, the pity is shared by all who know of it, but the grief is personal. Grief and mourning is limited to the parents, the family, the friends. The occasional stranger may be sympathetic, but rarely will they truly grieve._

_For a kobold, with our communal and selfless mindsets, if a wyrmling is harmed, the grief is shared amongst all. It is a crime against the species. Against the entire community. It is an act that fires the blood, spurring one to violence, but also to shared anguish. The parentage of the child is irrelevant. The community was robbed of a piece of its future, and the future of all were harmed by this act, so everyone grieves for this loss in equal measure. The pain of that loss is the pain of all._

_What could have happened to the egg Khavi sired? What potential lay within it? Would the hatchling be as I was, a maker of its own destiny, or would it be as its father, simple minded and cruel?_

_It does not matter. The potential was there for either, and that was the true source of my grief. The loss of the potential. It died without even having a chance to prove itself._

_I do not say this often, but perhaps the surface races could learn from the kobolds, and make heinous acts a tragedy of the people, where grief and outrage are shared by all._

_— Ren of Atikala_

CHAPTER XVII

"GOOD EVENING."

I WALKED UP to the first creature I could see, my hands comfortably resting by my sides, my rapier sheathed, and my shield on my back. It was a creature approximately my height, with short hair and clad in thick clothes to ward away the cold. To me the air was pleasantly cool, but they appeared to feel differently.

It stared at me, open mouthed and shocked, then began babbling excitedly in a strange language. It wasn't feytongue; it was too low pitched and hard for that, and I found it strangely appealing.

"I am Ren of Atikala. I was hoping you could direct me to Ssarsdale?"

The creature babbled some more, then cautiously approached. A male, with broad shoulders and a rugged appearance.

"Ssarsdale," I said again.

"Ssarsdale?" His pronunciation was horrible. He pointed at me.

I nodded eagerly. "Yes, I need to go to Ssarsdale. What is this place?"

"Ferokhan!"

I had never heard of such a place. They had a vague similarity to a gnome, but I didn't let that resemblance taint my impression of them. I called over my shoulder.

"It's quite all right, Khavi, come out and meet our new friend!"

I could see Khavi crouched behind one of the Worldbones, but he didn't approach. I turned my attention back to the strange creature.

"Anyway. We would like some food, some supplies, and quarters for the evening."

"Ssarsdale!" The creature pointed at me, crying out in excitement. "Ssarsdale!"

I twisted and looked over my shoulder. I swore he was pointing at me, but was he trying to point behind me? Had we come the wrong way?

The door to one of the houses opened. Another creature, similar to the one near me, stepped out. This one was much bigger and seemed like it fit the house; its skin was much thicker and more leathery, its hands thick and rough. This one too was male, and it had a sword strapped to its belt. The blade was longer than I was.

I realised that the first creature I had met was a child. The newcomer was an adult of their kind.

"Greetings," I said to the adult, bowing low. "I am Ren of Atikala."

The man shouted something. The child, suddenly fearful, backed away, and then ran for him, looking over his shoulders. The adult drew his blade.

"Wait," I said, "I'm not here to hurt you!"

The child cowered behind the man's legs. He held his ground, shouting over and over, loud cries of alarm. More creatures threw open the doors of their houses, some carrying longer weapons. Spears. Crossbows.

They looked at me with hatred and fear.

"I just want directions to Ssarsdale," I said. "Nothing more! I'm not here to hurt you!"

Over a dozen of their kind approached, spears and giant swords held before them, their weapons levelled on me. They shouted words of command in their strange language.

I looked over my shoulder to Khavi and saw him retreating away, his head vanishing behind the Worldbone. Khavi could not help me, nor should he.

I raised my hands above my head.

The creatures took my weapons, shield, and haversack then bound my claws with a strange device, two metal bracelets connected by a short thick chain. It didn't fit and was loose around my wrists even on the tightest application, but was still remarkably uncomfortable; the metal chafed and scratched my scales.

They were not gentle with me, dragging me through the centre of their town. There appeared to be some debate as to what to do with me. Some favoured killing me right away. They had their weapons in hand, ready to do the deed, but there were some who opposed them for reasons I could not understand.

Eventually they led me to a building with open double doors. Bundles of dead moss were inside bound up with string. A food storage location obviously. This was good; it had been some time since I ate, and my belly complained. I had never eaten the strange surface moss before, but it was clear that they were storing it for food.

The creatures shoved me inside, closing the door. The light returned to a palatable level, the bright illumination from the outside seeping in through the cracks. It was pleasant despite the distinct scent of dung.

I picked up some of the golden dried moss, placing a few strands in my jaws. It was tasteless and bland, but otherwise went down evenly. I munched on a few handfuls. It was not as rich and flavourful as glowbug meat, but it was what they had given me; I did not want to offend them.

When I had eaten enough to calm my stomach, I explored the building, turning my thoughts inward.

Were they humans? It seemed likely. Too tall and too thin for dwarves, too large for gnomes, too short for elves. They did smell vaguely like the armour I used to wear. I was excited by the prospect. I had heard many things about humans. While they were evil, they were a very diverse and flexible species. They were also the most likely to live with other races. I knew that if I could simply explain that I was merely passing through, I would be released.

At the rear of the building were two corrals. The first was closed by a solid door, but the second was simply a fence. It contained a number of creatures which were similar to the Hopping Grass Eater I had seen before. Four legs, white or grey, with most of them covered in a thick layer of fluffy white hair. They had black or white heads. Unlike the ears of the Hopping Grass Eater, some of these creatures had curled or straight horns.

"Hello," I said, but they did not react at all. These were merely animals too.

The metal bindings on my arms rattled as I gave one of the animals an experimental sniff. It smelled of the outside, rich and pungent, but otherwise it did not react to my presence at all. I reached through and touched one; it was soft and warm, and seemed to accept my touch without question. That pleased me. I imagined these creatures to be like the monsters outside, accepting of me, placid once they had got to know me.

I walked over to the other corral. It was closed, a heavy beam blocking off the wall. Something moved around inside, however, and I decided to investigate. I stood on the tip of my toes and pushed the heavy beam off the door. It crashed near me, and inside I heard the strangest sound. Startled, angry, high in pitch, and then dropping back down. It sounded like a large beast indeed.

I pulled the door open and saw the strangest creature I'd yet laid eyes upon.

It was black and had four legs, similar to the fluffy creatures, but its skin was covered in a thin layer of hair so fine as to be almost invisible. Each leg was muscled, implying impossible strength, and each ended in a lump of stone. It snorted at me, tossing its head, the hair on its neck flying around.

It turned, giving me a look at its strange backside, and then it kicked.

The lump of stone slammed into my shoulder with enough force to send me flying out of the doorway, crashing to the stone floor and rolling over several times. I groaned, clutching my shoulder. Nothing was broken, but my scales were swollen, and the flesh underneath had been bruised.

That door had been closed for a reason. It held a monster.

I pushed the heavy door closed with my foot and fumbled for the beam; it was bigger than I could reasonably lift, but fear gave me strength. I managed to slide it back in the locking bars.

My muscles hurt, and I gave them a moment to rest as I slumped against the wall. I considered the fluffy, docile creatures nearby. Were they pets and this larger black one a monster? It seemed likely.

"Beast!" I hissed at it.

The front doors of the building creaked open. I stood, moving away from the animals and back towards the food storage area.

Ten of the creatures I presumed to be humans stood at the door's entrance, surrounding a tall one at the centre. It was that one who held my attention.

She was similar to the humans but taller by almost a foot, her yellow hair long and spilling down her shoulders. She was dressed differently too, in graceful flowing green robes that hovered just above the dirt of the floor. Her form was completely alien to me, but she had an unearthly beauty to her.

Her long pointed ears betrayed her elven heritage. She stared at me with eyes that were a sapphire blue.

"I am Melicandra the Binder. You are Ssarsdale, are you not?" she spoke, her draconic accented but clear.

I shuffled nervously. I did not know what to think of this imposing elf. "I am not. Ssarsdale is the name of my destination, a city below the ground. My name is Ren."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I can only assume you speak of the Shallow City. Why did you enter the village? You risk exposing your kind to retribution. The common folk fear and distrust you."

I had no idea what she was talking about. Did Ssarsdale have contact with this village? "I was only seeking shelter for the night before travelling on."

My response surprised the elf. "You are not from the Shallow City, here to bring us tribute?"

"No. I am originally from Atikala, a city of my people further below the ground, but it has been destroyed. I seek my people."

"Atikala? You must mean the Deep City. It was destroyed by the falling star? It fell that far down?"

I hesitated, shrugging helplessly. "I don't know anything about a falling star, but if the Deep City is what you call Atikala, then it is truly gone. The ceiling of the underworld fell in and crushed it."

A voice, deep and alien, spoke. It was nearby, on the other side of the door. "The kobold is lying."

"Who's that?" I asked, craning my neck to see.

Melicandra studied me, her expression flat and emotionless. "I will show you. Do not be alarmed. Come, Quennax."

A creature slithered into view, a snakelike beast with four arms that ended in wicked claws, a tail that ended in a stinger, and a thick horn growing from the centre of its bestial head. It had two long bat wings tucked in close to its body and a glowing arcane mark I recognised instantly.

It was an eidolon, a creature spun from energy stolen from the far realms, stitched together by the power of the summoner and eternally bound to serve them. Its form was fluid, changeable with a ritual to reshape its body to take whatever form its master wished. They were intelligent and could speak, but an eidolon was only a shade of a living creature. Even death could not stop them as they could be re-summoned from the darkness between worlds within a day.

I had seen one of its kind before. The kobold who had summoned it was considered aberrant and had been killed. Its powerful monster, however, had killed half a dozen warriors before its master was slain, the creature disappearing with the death of its master.

Quennax regarded me with unnatural eyes. "Gold scales?"

"Yes," said Melicandra, "I was thinking the same thing." She turned to me. "Did Contremulus send you?"

I searched my memory. Contremulus. The name was draconic in origin. "Who is that?"

"If you do not know who Contremulus is, then the answer is no."

"May I eat it?" asked Quennax. He looked me over with hungry eyes.

"No. The kobold may be of use to us yet."

"As you wish, mistress."

"Thank you," I said to her.

"Do not thank me yet, goldenscale. Your kind are uncommon in this area, but trouble always follow in your wake. We must be cautious."

"I understand. Forgive me, but you are an elf, yes?"

"Yes."

"And your companions are humans?"

"Yes. Excluding Quennax, of course."

"Of course." I cupped my hands in front of me. "I don't know what to tell you, but I am not like the others of my kind. Ever since the city's destruction, I have been forced to see...things. Creatures both good and wicked. I can only tell you truly that your people and mine are very different, but I bear you no ill will. I wish only to travel to Ssarsdale and let my kin know what has happened to their cousins."

Melicandra ever so slowly folded her delicate arms in front of her. "I am afraid that I cannot permit this to happen. Your kind cause endless troubles for us and our relationship is tenuous at best. The gnomes of Stonehaven, our allies beneath the ground, speak poorly of you."

"Stonehaven is gone."

She looked at me, her expression unchanged.

"I saw it myself," I said. "Stonehaven fell upon Atikala. The hole descends through both cities."

"That is unlikely," said Quennax. "Miles of stone exist between the two settlements."

"I saw it with my own eyes," I insisted. "I would not be here if it wasn't gone."

"And why is that?"

The truth bubbled up to my lips. _Because Khavi and I would have thrown ourselves at them, killing as many gnomes as we could._ But I caught myself in time.

"With Atikala gone we dared to approach the gnomes."

"Odd that you would choose to do this. What did you hope to gain?"

I could not think of an answer swiftly enough.

"It is lying again," said Quennax. "May I eat it _now_?"

Melicandra said something in what I presumed to be her own language, a flowing speech that seemed similar to the fey tongue but some of the unpleasant squeaking was replaced with a beautiful cadence. Was every language except the gnomish one so beautiful?

Her eidolon retorted, but after a brief exchange fell silent. Melicandra turned to me once again.

"I apologise for Quennax's rudeness."

"It is no matter," I said. "I understand completely."

Melicandra paused. "Your motives for discussing the destruction of Stonehaven are irrelevant. I have one question regarding your story, however."

"Yes?"

She locked her gaze onto mine. I sensed that of all her questions, this was the most important of them all.

"Who are _we_?"

I knew that to mention Khavi's presence would probably doom him. "I was travelling with two other kobolds. Jedra and Faala. They did not survive the journey to the surface."

"It is lying _again_ ," said Quennax.

Melicandra ignored her eidolon. "Do you have any proof of this?"

"Yes. Not far from where I emerged from the surface, there is a tunnel to the underworld. I can show you if you have a map. You will find two graves not far in, freshly dug. Those are the bodies of my companions."

Melicandra nodded to Quennax. "That should be simple enough to check. Make certain it is done." Her fingertips lit as she evoked a spell, briefly bathing the area in enough light to make me squint.

Quennax hissed in disgust, then slithered away and stretched out his wings. The snake creature leapt into the air and was gone.

"I apologise for his manner," said Melicandra.

I looked at the ground. "I apologise that I know enough about eidolons to know that they follow their master's orders without question and would not act against their wishes unless explicitly instructed to do so."

"My, my," she said, the faintest hint of a smile crossing her lips. "You are smart for a kobold."

"Thank you. You are smart for an elf."

Her smile widened. She said something in the human tongue to the guards, and they all seemed to relax. Most of them turned and left, leaving two.

"So where are you _really_ from?"

"Atikala," I said. "Truly. The city is gone."

Her posture deflated. "I had hoped that the damage was not that deep, but this is alarming news if true. If it fell that deep, then we have worries beyond the comprehension of most. For what it's worth, I am saddened by this news. I have no love for kobolds, but such a large scale loss of sentient life cannot be anything other than tragic."

I didn't really know what to say to that. If Atikala had received word that all our enemies had died at once the celebrations would likely never end. "Thank you." I inclined my head. "What's this about a falling star?"

"A moon ago a piece of the sky fell near here. Hotter than any fire, heavier than any iron, red as blood. It poisoned the land with a red mist, drowning all that it touched. It broke through the ground and left a gaping wound in Drathari's flesh. Many have come to examine it from lands both close and far away, including gnomes and dwarves from Undergate with scrolls of earth shaping."

"I don't recall seeing a piece of the sky in the debris, but I did not stop to examine the rubble at length. There was a lot of it."

She nodded. "Understandable. The fragment would be tiny and not dissimilar to any other stone, save for the glow of its heat and its weight. I expect that it will never be recovered." I wasn't sure, but I swore I saw a flicker of some kind of emotion flash on her face. "Others will disagree."

"Others such as Contremulus?"

Melicandra nodded.

"Who is he?"

She paused, looking at me with a complex, saddened look on her face.

"I hope you never have to find out."

CHAPTER XVIII

SHE WOULD TELL ME NO more of Contremulus. Melicandra made sure my bindings were not too tight, loosening them a little, and answered a few more of my question. She seemed amused by me eating the dried mold. She explained it was hay, and that it came from the mold which she called grass, and that it was for the animals. I apologised profusely, but she said my deeds were excusable; there was no harm done, save that hay was considered below sentient creatures.

She told me I was in a thing called a barn. The Worldbones were trees. Ferokhan was the child's name. The fluffy animal was called a sheep, its hair called fleece, spun into a material called wool. The unhaired one was called a goat, kept for its meat and milk. The larger, stone-footed beast was a horse. It was for riding, a fact that I took in with great scepticism. It smelled foul and had an even worse temper. The sheep and goats, on the other hand, were much more docile and seemed as though they would be comfortable to ride and smelt delicious.

I kept my thoughts on the potential taste of the beasts to myself.

She left, leaving the two guards to keep watch over me. I couldn't speak to them, and they showed no interest in speaking with me so we stood in silence.

I was preparing to sleep on the cool stone when a guard opened the door and offered me a thick woven cloth and a small piece of padding. I took them, bowing thankfully, but had no idea what to do with them at all. I carried them to the rear of the barn, to the animals, looking for a place to store them until I could figure out the riddle.

As I walked past the pen one of the male goats, Melicandra had called them bucks, reached out and bit the cloth. Ever so casually it began chewing, tugging it into its mouth.

I understood then. The humans wanted me to feed their animals to earn my stay. I eagerly fed the whole of the cloth to the animal. Then I fed it the piece of padding which it happily ate too.

I had no idea how to feed the rest of the animals. I started to tear the sleeve of the padding of my armour, but one of the guards said something, motioning for me to stop. They were laughing; I was doing something tragically wrong.

Then one of the guards' laugh was cut off, and he slumped forward onto the stone.

Khavi yanked his spear out of the dead man's back, thrusting it up into the second guard's throat and up into his brain. His arms jerked and spasmed, then he fell off the weapon and collapsed in a limp heap.

"Come on!" hissed Khavi. "We're getting out of here!"

I stared at the dead men, horrified. They were beginning to trust me. They had even shown me kindness of a sort, although I didn't understand what they tried to do. They had relaxed their watch, loosened my bonds, brought me things. For their kindness Khavi had killed them.

"Why did you do that?"

"Keep your damn voice down!" Khavi hissed, stepping over the corpse of the first guard. "Come, the way is clear, but it won't be long before the other bodies are spotted."

"Other bodies?" I felt the blood drain away from my scales. "Khavi, what did you do?"

"What do you mean?" he asked. "I'm getting you out of here. We have to be quick; I was spotted on the way. It was that damn short one."

"Short one? Khavi, that...that was a child!" I stepped forward, grabbing the front of his armour and shaking him. "What did you do to him?"

He stared at me as though I was mad. "What do you think? He was calling for help."

I felt sick. The hay I had eaten was trampling my insides. "You killed a child?"

"They killed ours," Khavi said. "They killed _mine_. Or have you forgotten already?"

Ferokhan had not been our enemy. Just a curious child who hadn't run away when I'd appeared. These humans had nothing to do with Pewdt. I wanted to choke the life out of Khavi, but something large and bulky was pressed into my claw. A bundle of things.

"I got your stuff," said Khavi, "and your shield."

I unwrapped the package. It was all here. I slipped my right arm into my shield, tightening the strap, then tied my rapier's sheath to my belt. My haversack was returned to my back. I noticed the Feyeater on his belt. "And how many people did you kill to get them?" I asked, rhetorically.

His reluctance to answer caused another surge of anger within me.

"The guard was armed!" Khavi protested. "What was I to do? Just ask him politely?"

I ground my teeth together to prevent myself saying something that would turn him against me. "The deed's done," I said. "Nothing can be done about it now."

"How was I to know they weren't to be killed?"

"Is that your default position whenever presented with a problem? Just murder your way through it?"

"No mercy for monsters," said Khavi. "Yeznen said that."

I crouched beside the first of the guards, rolling him onto his back with a groan. His eyes were open, an expression of shock and pain on his face. I gently closed his eyes.

"These ones weren't monsters."

"Fine," said Khavi, "but they're dead. What are we going to do now? How are we going to get out of here?"

I looked to the end of the barn where the horse, goats, and sheep were.

By the time we were ready to go, the barn had been surrounded by the humans. They shouted demands in their tongue, Melicandra not amongst them. Nor was her eidolon.

I risked a peek out of the double doors that led to the barn. Over two dozen guards stood at the ready, half with crossbows and half with sword and spear.

I closed the door before they could see me. I relayed the information to Khavi. "They have so many males," I said, mulling the idea over in my head. "They are _all_ male. Why would they send precious males in the front?"

Khavi's didn't know either. "That's really strange. I wonder how they reproduce?"

"Maybe they don't let their females fight."

Khavi frowned in confusion. "Why not?"

I shrugged helplessly, returning my attention to the door. I risked another quick peek, judging the distance between the door and the humans. We had one shot at this. We succeeded, or we died.

I'd learnt all I could. We backed up, then I yanked on the hair at the back of my goat's neck. It bleated and bucked, then started running forward, straight towards the door. Khavi's grip around my midsection tightened. I held on to the goat with one claw and began to cast.

The buck smashed into the doors with its horns, throwing them wide open. My spell went off. I had timed the magic perfectly. A roaring wall of flame leapt from my clawtips, stopping just short of the guards. They raised their arms to shield their faces, crying out, and I turned the goat's head towards the south.

"Come on!" shouted Khavi. "Can't this thing go any faster? Just hit it! Make it feel pain!"

I didn't hit the goat. Instead, it seemed to instinctively do what I wanted it to, galloping down the brightly lit streets, carrying us easily. The guards behind us began to recover; a crossbow bolt whizzed past my head, and several others clinked off the dirt or thumped into the walls of nearby houses.

I turned the goat between two houses. It balked at the tight passage, and I had to tug on its hair; it hesitated then bolted in.

Thick strands of fibre, like those in Six-Legs's lair, were strung between the buildings here, with shirts and other garments stretched over them. The resemblance between them and the corpses we had seen was uncanny; I hesitated for a moment before I overcame my fear and urged the goat forward.

We ploughed through, snapping several of the lines. I was snagged on one, the force nearly tearing me from the goat's back, but my grip held firm. Khavi held on to my waist, keeping steady.

We came out the other side covered in clothing. The goat stopped and began to consume some of it. I kicked at the goat's sides, trying to get it to move.

A human woman shrieked. She had a bundle of garments in her arms and was in the process of adding them to the string.

"Kill it quickly!" shouted Khavi.

"No!" I yanked the goat's hair around, pulling his head back to the south. "We're not killing any more humans!"

"Bah!"

The woman pulled out a knife as long as my rapier. She slashed at Khavi inexpertly.

I kicked the goat's side, and he began to move before Khavi could counterattack. Shouts came from the gap between houses, and one more crossbow quarrel shot out. I didn't see where it landed.

The goat ran and ran. Soon we passed the outskirts of the village, Khavi holding onto my waist as I guided the goat as best I could. We passed a number of trees, heading south and away from the village, and it was only then that I started to feel safe. Our goat was fast. It had carried us way faster than we could manage ourselves.

I stopped the goat and went to hop off, but I stopped. With the air no longer blowing in my hair I could smell blood.

"Khavi?"

I twisted around to look at him. He was still holding tight to me, but I could see his face was scrunched up in pain. A crossbow quarrel was stuck into his back.

"Shit of the dead Gods!"

I tried to hop off the goat but fell. The mold, the thing Melicandra had called grass, cushioned my fall. I scrambled up to my feet, darting behind the goat to see better.

The quarrel had punctured through the humanskin leather, through his scales and into his flesh. I touched the shaft gingerly. It was firmly lodged in.

"Dammit, Khavi."

"Sorry," he said between his teeth.

"It's nobody's fault. If you weren't sitting there it would have hit me instead." I grimaced. "No idea how we're going to get that thing out."

"Is it—nng—deep enough to push through?"

I shook my head. "Can't say. I'm not familiar with these bolts. It looks like your armour took most of the impact though. It's in maybe an inch?"

"So pull it out then."

"I can try and cut around it, see if that will help. It will hurt though."

"Pain is good," he said with a sarcastic grin. "It reminds you you're still alive."

I helped Khavi off the goat, which began eating the grass underneath it. "I thought you said that saying was stupid."

"Maybe I'm getting used to it."

"Okay," I said, "lay down on your chest. I'll do my best to make this as easy as possible, but it's going to hurt."

"I know." Khavi slowly eased himself down onto his chest. Every movement clearly caused him pain.

I did not know how to best treat this kind of wound. I reached out for the shaft of the arrow. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," he said, gripping the grass. "No. Wait."

"What?"

"Can you gag me? We don't know if they're after us."

I didn't know if that was his real reason, but we didn't have anything. I wandered over to one of the trees, where the goat was nibbling on the tree-skin. A piece of the tree had fallen down on the ground. I snapped a suitable length off, testing its strength. It would do.

"Here," I said, holding it out in front of his snout, "bite down on this."

He did so, gripping the grass tightly with his claws. I took hold of the shaft of the quarrel and gave it a sharp tug.

Khavi yelped in pain, the sound muffled by the tree limb in his maw. I pulled again and again, each time eliciting a cry of agony from him, his body jerking involuntarily.

"I'm sorry," I said, over and over. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

I rocked the shaft back and forth, digging and tearing. Finally it came free in a bloody spray. The bolt was tipped with wicked barbs. I tossed the evil thing away.

Khavi wept, mumbling incomprehensible things between muffled groans. He'd almost bitten completely through the tree limb but we weren't done yet.

I unclipped the straps of his armour, removing the blood-soaked leather jerkin. I removed the padding underneath too, laying it all to the side. Then I drew the Feyeater from Khavi's belt, holding it out. I positioned my right hand before it and formed the arcane symbol I needed to cast.

Khavi cried, and I cried too, because I knew this would be the worst of the pain.

I cast again and again, each time waves of flame leapt from my clawtips and enveloped the blade. I poured more and more fire onto it until it was red hot with an inner light.

"Are you ready?"

He mumbled something in the affirmative. I pressed the weapon down against his exposed wound, steam rising from the blood it boiled.

Khavi's sharp teeth bit through the tree limb, and he shrieked over and over again, but I kept the metal pressed to his wound until the steam didn't come anymore.

Time passed and Khavi writhed in agony. I had no way of stopping his pain. He tore up clumps of the grass, trying his best to keep his maw shut and let only muffled grunts escape.

I'd never been wounded like that. Bumps, scrapes, bruises—some light sword wounds. Even the cuts from Pewdt's dagger had healed, more or less, with fresh scales growing.

No scales would grow over Khavi's wound, though. It was far too deep and wide for that, the edges of his flesh torn and ripped, then seared with a burn. He would carry the scar for the rest of his life.

"How is it now?"

"Agonising."

I rubbed the back of his head. "I'm really, really sorry."

"You did what you had to do. You saved my life. I would have done the same to you."

"You were only shot because I was captured. You saved me first."

"It was my—nng—duty."

The words stung. "Was that all it was?"

"My duty, and...other things."

"Other things." I looked at his wound, as I had constantly since I had sealed it. "It looks better. It's not bleeding as much anymore. Do you want more water?"

"If you feed me any more water, I might burst."

"You do need to keep your fluids up. That's important when you're losing blood."

"I remember the lessons," he said. "Can I look at it now?"

"It's probably best not to see."

He arched his back, and his body tensed. Another wave of pain. I held his head, and it soon settled.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," he said. "Thank you."

"Just try to pass the time."

"Right. I'm trying." His tail thumped against the ground. "It hurts like the hells. Burning, deep, you know? Like having your scales pulled off one by one."

"That's understandable." I had to tell the truth. "The wound is deeper than I thought. I should have pushed it through."

"Will I die?"

I scrunched up my face. "I wish I could say definitely not, and it's unlikely, but..." I tried to lie, but the truth stumbled out. "Maybe."

He seemed to accept that, his tail coming to a rest. "If I do, what will you do with my body?"

"Bury it. Like we did to Faala and Jedra. To Oreala."

"On the surface?"

I smiled, reaching up to wipe away a tear. "Hey, what's wrong with the surface?"

"I don't like it here. I'd rather be buried underground."

"Let's pull that tail when we come to it, shall we? You're not dead yet."

"I know." He grunted in pain, tearing up more of the grass. "I'm not going to let some human get the better of me."

I gave him a pat on the back of his head. "That's the spirit." I tried to think of more things to distract him from the pain and thoughts of death. "What should we call the goat? It seems to like us."

His answer for a time was laboured breathing. "It needs a name?"

"I think it should have one. It saved our hides from the humans."

"It's just an animal."

"I know, but it's pretty smart. Cute, in a really strange way."

"It likes eating."

"Well," I said, "maybe that's a good enough name for it then. Let's call it Hungry."

"I don't see why we don't just call it Goat."

"Would you like just being called Kobold?"

"Your name means _nothing_. I wouldn't point claws at simplistic names."

I found it hard to argue with that point. "Granted, but I didn't get to choose my name."

He didn't answer. "You okay?" I asked.

"I'm probably going to die."

I shook my head. "No, you won't. You're being a hatchling. It's sealed, you'll be fine."

"If it gets infected, I'll die."

"It won't."

"It probably will."

"It won't. I won't let it. I'll take care of you."

Khavi looked up at me. His eyes were full of pain, and he was starting to sink back into the kobold he had been after killing No-Kill. He was starting to give up.

That had been fine while his body was whole, but with such a wicked wound, I couldn't let him get that low again.

"I'll tell you what," I said, doing the only thing I could think of before my rational mind kicked in and stopped me, "if you make it through this, if we get to Ssarsdale and they'll permit it, I'll mate with you next time my season comes around."

He snorted and clearly didn't believe me, although it could have been the pain.

"I promise," I said.

"You promise?"

"I do. If you pull through with this, you can mate with me. Once."

"Just once?"

It hurt me to say even that, but I nodded. "Once. At a time of your choosing. Just once, ever."

He rested his chin back down on the grass. "I guess I should live then." He ground his teeth. "Damn this place. I want to rest, but it's so bright that I can't close my eyes."

"Try anyway," I said, rubbing his side until he was asleep.

CHAPTER IXX

KHAVI'S DREAMS WERE DISTURBED BY fever and pain. I stood guard over him, watching anxiously, waiting for his whimpering and writhing to end and for true rest to come to him.

Hours later though, before that happened, the ceiling of the world began to cry.

The sky grew darker, and little drops of water fell down everywhere, splattering onto the ground, my head, and Khavi's back. In the distance I heard the rumbling of a giant beast; had Tyermumtican come to the surface to save us?

One of the drops hit my lips. It wasn't salt water; it was fresh. Drinkable. I opened my mouth, letting the water splatter in.

I sat like that, my head tilted back, watching the sky cry. The sight evoked a strange feeling. Calm. Peace. Happiness. I wanted to spend more time here on the surface, no matter how much my instincts begged me to return to the underworld. The sight reminded me of No-Kill. Did everything non-kobold cry all the time?

Then it got worse as the falling water intensified. The relaxed, happy feeling slowly evaporated, and I closed my jaw. I knew we should find shelter, but I couldn't leave Khavi and didn't want to move him, so I remained by his side as the sky cried down on us. Our gear became waterlogged. The rumbling noise got closer, but I didn't leave him.

A flash of electricity slammed into one of the trees near our camp. It exploded with a deafening crack, and the tree-skin burst from within. I shrieked, and threw myself on the ground; I knew enough about true dragons to recognise their breath.

The tree toppled, taking with it several of its neighbours. More flashes all around me, more of the deafening roars that followed the flashes, all bright and powerful. The water from the sky came faster and heavier, the wind blowing it sideways, battering my scales. We had angered some terrible dragon. I cried out for mercy, to be eaten and consumed quickly, all to no avail.

The beast moved on, the water from the sky dying down and the bolts of electricity moving away from us. I dared to raise my head from underneath my hands.

Hungry the goat was dead, his coat scorched and burnt. He had been standing underneath one of the trees and the energy had leapt to him.

I did not know what to do. We were a long way away from the passage down into Drathari, and I had no knowledge of where to go, save for a single landmark far in the distance. As the storm retreated, Khavi's fever became worse. He would shout and groan incomprehensible words. He needed help, but I had no idea how to get to Ssarsdale. His burning of the map would likely kill him.

It didn't matter. I had to try. But our supplies were running low, and all I had eaten in the last day was the hay from the barn. I felt malnourished. I knew now why Melicandra had told me that hay was for beasts only, it could not feed a talking creature.

So I ate Hungry. I ate as much of his scorched body as I could, slicing off his meat with the Feyeater, then putting it in my mouth before I could properly think about what I was doing. I ate until my belly could hold no more. I would need the energy.

Hungry saved us twice. Once with his legs, and once with his meat. The first time I had thanked him by giving him a name, but this time I had no material way of thanking him. I did that with my tears.

I couldn't bury Hungry's remains. I couldn't spare the energy or the time. Instead I covered what was left of his body with grass and fallen tree-limbs. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

As prepared as I could be, I gathered our equipment, then with a pained groan I picked Khavi up, carrying him over my shoulders. I staggered off into the brightness, walking towards the teeth of the world that stood in silent mockery of my efforts.

It was hours. I don't remember how long. I rarely looked up, except to make sure that I was following the right path. Instead I kept my eyes low, looking at the ground before my feet. I made a game of it. All I had to do was stagger a few more steps and everything would be okay. A few more steps. A few more after that.

My muscles burned. Khavi was too heavy. I considered dumping his armour, but we needed it. I considered dropping my haversack, but it contained our meagre supplies. There was nothing I could do except continue on, using the pain of the effort to encourage me, fighting my body's instincts the whole time. I would not let the surface kill me.

Khavi trembled as I carried him and occasionally he would throw up, hurling bile onto my back and tail, an overpowering retched smell. The world was damp in the aftermath of the sky's crying, pungent air that seemed to make every scent stronger. Normally the air would be full of richness, and I liked it a lot, but now instead of life and beauty, I could only smell blood, vomit, and rot.

Infection.

Eventually I could go no further. I had come closer to the distant tooth, if only a little, but my body had reached its limit. I dropped Khavi like a sack of glowbug meat and fell to the ground, gasping for breath. The cool grass enveloped me. I wiggled into it, accepting its grasp, trying to get as low as I could.

Back down into the ground. Back to the underworld.

Back home.

I wanted to go home. I wanted to leave this terrible place. I wanted to walk through Atikala's bazaar; I wanted to sleep with my patrolmates and live a simple life.

Some part of me knew that was not true, but pain sometimes drove one to desperation. To say and do things they did not want to do, to wish for things they did not truly want.

"I want to go home!"

I thumped my fists into the ground. I kicked and screamed and thrashed around despite the burning in my muscles. "I want to go home! I want to go home right now!"

"Will you shut the hell up?"

I rolled onto my back, using my tail to push up to standing. I stared at Khavi. His eyes were open.

"Khavi!" I ran over to him, grabbing his head and cradling it in my lap.

"How long was I out?" His voice was weak. Quiet.

"I don't know," I said, "I can't keep track of time properly up here. It's been a long time. Half a day."

"I taste vomit."

"You threw up all over my back. A few times." I didn't care. I was just glad he was awake.

"Where are we?"

I wished I could answer. "Close to the underworld," I said, hoping it was true. "Close to Ssarsdale."

"Good." He squinted, looking up at me. "It's so bright. Do you think it's always this way?"

I shook my head. "No. I remember that from my lessons. The Leader's lessons. The surface has a different environment from the underworld. The ball of light we can see? It moves around; soon it will set, and a lesser light will be seen. The brightness will be softer. Tzala herself told me so."

"How long will that take?"

I had no idea. "All we have to do is last until the lesser light comes. This glare will fade, I promise." I searched my memories, struggling to remember what they had called it. "I think it's called the sun. The greater light. They call the lesser light the moon."

"Moon. What does that even mean?"

"I don't think humans think like us. I don't think there's any meaning behind it. They don't give a second meaning to their names, they just name things and don't think about it."

"They're so strange."

His voice was so quiet and weak. I touched his cheek. "Hey, maybe you shouldn't talk anymore, okay? You're still not well."

"It's okay. I won't die. I'm not giving up the chance to mate with you." He smiled. "We'll make a strong egg. Strong and gold and magic."

My stomach tightened as I remembered the deal, but I didn't feel as bad as I thought as I would. Instead, I could see the egg in my mind—smooth, gold, and powerful. Like the others, but with a yellow hue. It would be mine.

Ours.

"Good," I said, surprised at my own sincerity. "I'm looking forward to it."

"When I'm better," he said.

"When you're better."

I searched for his wound. It was warm to the touch, sickly and green, weeping black blood, and I could smell foul rot. It leaked pus.

"When you're better," I said again.

We rested until I felt like I could carry him again. I wanted to sleep, and my eyelids felt heavy, but I knew we had to get as far away from the humans as possible. Khavi remained awake and alert, if quiet and weak, but that boded well for him.

I checked his wound. It looked better. Perhaps. It was hard to judge.

There was no sign of pursuit yet. This was strange. Khavi had killed more than a few of the humans, including at least one child. If it were my people we would be mobilising. The idea that they had not worried me. What were they planning?

If I allowed myself to be distracted by possibilities, I would never accomplish anything. I merely thanked my good fortune that we were not running from spears at our backs.

I fed Khavi some of Hungry's meat and that seemed to help. I told him where it came from, and he seemed to find the idea somewhat amusing. I ate some as well, fearing it would spoil soon, then I readied to go.

My body ached and protested as I stood, but I knew we could not stay here. Khavi held tightly to my back as I picked him up. He was easier to carry this way, instead of an inert lump, and I felt cautiously optimistic about how far we could travel.

I started to walk again, always towards the big tooth in the ground. Khavi would point out an occasional thing to me. An animal, a new type of tree, or a potentially defensible location that we could retreat to if we saw pursuers. Valuable and important information.

It was hard to see far with the trees blocking my line of sight, but I did the best I could. I weaved my way between the tall columns that provided cover and shade for my sore eyes. I kept my eyes down as I walked.

That was good because I nearly walked off a cliff and fell miles and miles to my doom.

It was a hole in the ground, a void that dropped off into nothing. I jerked my head up, looking around me.

A colossal opening in the earth, almost a mile across, roughly cut and circular. It went straight down into the ground, slicing through the dirt and stone like it were parchment, a void in the surface of Drathari.

Letting Khavi off my back, I lay down on my belly and wiggled forward, daring to peek over the edge. The drop went forever, a dark chasm that stretched on and on, eventually ending with a faint, red dot at the base of the pit. I was looking into the ruins of Stonehaven, and below that, beyond uncountable tonnes of rock, the ruins of Atikala.

I knew what the red glow was now. The fallen star. The piece of the sky that had destroyed so many lives so quickly. It seemed so far down now. Had we really walked so far? Climbed so high?

Vertigo started to take hold the longer I stared into that nigh-bottomless pit, so I squirmed back to safety.

"What does it look like?" asked Khavi.

I had no clear answer for him. Instead I just extended my claw and let him climb back on my back. "Terrible."

Making my way around the wide circumference of the pit took more time, but I was glad when the tree line enveloped me once again, and I could no longer see the large hole.

I had not gotten far when the light around me started to increase. I barely noticed it at first, but it became brighter and brighter as we marched on. Just as I had begun to get used to the light in this place, the surface decided to make it difficult and painful for me again.

We couldn't afford to stop though. My progress was slower, stumbling in the growing light, trying to navigate when I could hardly see.

Khavi saw it first. A glow on the horizon near the top of the tooth. I stopped and looked, expectantly, for the brightness to disappear and for the moon, the lesser light, to illuminate Drathari.

Instead, the edge of a colossal ball of fire broke from the horizon, searing my eyes, the light so intense it heated my scales. It impossibly bright, and I shrieked, clapping my hands over my eyes. I dropped Khavi and thrashed and rolled around on the ground as I tried to shut out the light.

"That's the sun!" I shrieked, the realisation of the truth terrible. "That's the sun! It wasn't the moon! THAT'S THE SUN!"

"Make it stop! Make it stop! It burns!" Khavi  accidentally kicked me. "Go away, sun!"

I forced my eyes open. They watered, stinging and burning. "I can't see!"

We needed to find somewhere to hide. The trees were not providing enough cover. I squinted through the glare. The mountain was near, and with it, the promise of return to the appropriately lit underworld.

"Come on," I said. "We need to go!"

We set off again, half blind and pained as the sun crept higher and higher into the sky. The tooth was closer than I thought. It was hard walking into the bright light, but Khavi used his hand to shield my eyes, and I looked down at my feet as often as I could.

Soon the ground began to tilt upward and became rockier, with fewer trees. I knew we were approaching the edge of the tooth. The going became slower and harder, especially with me carrying Khavi.

"Let me down," he said, "I want to walk."

"You can't," I said between puffs of breath, putting aching claw before aching claw as I climbed up the side of the tooth. "You'll tear your wound."

"I'll be careful."

"You hit a fully grown copper dragon in the rump with a nonmagical sword. I don't think careful is a word you really understand."

"That was just one time!"

"What about the spider's web? You touched it and got stuck. What about charging into the human village without finding out if they were evil or not? You're the most uncareful kobold I've ever met!"

"If you don't let me walk, we won't make it."

"If I let you walk," I said, "you'll die."

"Then you should probably leave me here."

The suggestion sapped the energy from my legs. I stopped, leaning against one of the sparse trees that dotted the side of the tooth, and Khavi hopped off me to give me a break.

"I'm not leaving you here."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because we've been through so much together; we've come this far. I can't. I just can't. We go on together, or we don't go on at all."

He didn't say anything but dabbed at the wound on his back with a scrap of cloth.

I turned around, shielding my eyes, and tried to see out over the group of trees. What was the name for a group of trees? I liked the word cluster. A cluster of trees. It made sense.

"Can you see that?" I asked, pointing with my casting hand out into the distance. I could see something moving near the edge of the giant hole in the ground, although the light made it difficult to pinpoint exactly what it was.

"I can't see anything in this glare."

"There. Over there." I mashed my cheek to his, my hand outstretched. "Look! By the edge of the pit!"

"I think I see it," Khavi said, his eyes watering as he squinted.

"What does it look like to you?"

Khavi hesitated before answering not sure of his thoughts.

"Humans riding things."

Fear overrode the pain, and we set off immediately. I knew we were exposed here on the side of a mountain, but we were lightly coloured, and the rocks were dark. The humans, unlike us, had no problems seeing in the overwhelming bright.

"There!" said Khavi. "To your left! A cave!"

I could see it, a black hole in the white side of the mountain. I made my way towards it as fast as I could, Khavi bouncing on my back as I scurried across the mountainside, half running and half climbing across the hot, bright rocks.

I felt we were too exposed, too visible, the journey taking far too long for my tastes. All that our pursuers had to do was look, and they would see us, unremarkable dots on the white mountainside.

All I had was the hope that our painfully obvious predicament was not so obvious to them.

I nearly fell over as I stumbled through the gap of the cave, my eyes thanking me as they adjusted to the reasonable lighting conditions. I kept my gaze turned outward to the humans who hunted us. They drew closer as I watched. From the distance I could hear a faint noise, the sound of a horn being blown.

CHAPTER XX

IT FELT GOOD TO BE back under the ground. We once again had to pass through the lightless barrier between the underworld and the surface. We followed the light of my spell, working our way down and down, away from the brightness of the surface day.

This time I wasn't afraid. The gap between the surface and the blue crystals held no terrors for me, having endured the searing light of day. To return to the dark was a comfort.

The humans would be after us. I knew enough about hunting to know how it would end, but I felt that this darkness would protect us. If I, who had lived underground for so long, feared the sightless black then they would be terrified of it.

I couldn't help remembering though, that we had seen humans in the underworld before.

The darkness gave way to the familiar glow of the blue crystal rock, and I dismissed my spell. I spent a moment staring off into tunnels that were both completely unknown to me but somehow strangely familiar.

Ssarsdale was nearby. The end of our journey, and the completion of our duty. All we had to do was get there.

"I want to walk," said Khavi. This time I didn't argue. There was no choice. I let him off my back, and he walked alongside me, limping but functional, and together we set off down to the dim blue light.

I saw more of the puddles of water here, and I knew now what their source was. The sky tears seeping in from above. I saw the occasional piece of tree embedded in the soil, and I knew what it was too. The surface had taught me so much about my own world. Despite the hardships and despite Khavi's wound, I did not regret going. I valued knowledge. Leaders and sorcerers were encouraged to know things.

"Halt," said Khavi, his hand held to the side, yanking me from my thoughts.

I stopped midstep, my foot hovering over the stone. Years of training and patrol work had conditioned me to obey commands like this without question. "What?"

He leaned down, sniffing curiously, then extended a claw towards nothing. "A wire."

I couldn't see anything. "Where?"

"There, right in front of my claw. Don't you see it?"

I didn't. I leaned down where he was pointing.

There it was. Thin and devious, glinting in the faint blue light when viewed at the perfect angle. "Kobold manufacture," I said, giving Khavi a wide smile. "We're getting close."

"Close to our deaths," he grumbled. "I wonder what would happen if we triggered it—"

I reached out and grasped his wrist, holding it tightly so he could not move.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"I remember the spider's den."

He laughed, shaking his head. He stepped over the wire, and I did too, then we continued on.

We walked for hours but made good time despite Khavi's injury. The ground sloped down, a vague spiral, which made the traversal easier. Going down was easier than going up.

Hours passed. I had not slept yet, not properly, and I felt that fatigue gnaw at me. I should have seen that wire. I stifled a yawn, trying to keep my energy up. I had to make it to Ssarsdale. Now that I wasn't carrying Khavi, and we were walking downhill, things were easier, but the trap we had narrowly avoided told me in no uncertain terms that I couldn't relax. Not yet.

The Ssarsdalians would give us quarters, food, and water. I could sleep then. What would life be like living in Ssarsdale? Ideas churned over in my head. I would be given new tasks, for certain. They would value another patrolman, but more than another soldier, they would value another sorcerer.

For their magic and for breeding. My chest tightened. I wanted to know more of what Tyermumtican had said of this strange possession called love. Atikala had been kind in indulging my differences, up to a point, but would Ssarsdale?

Perhaps it would be better if I never went there at all?

I shook away the thought as soon as it started to chatter to me. No. I would face these challenges, and as I had with everything else, overcome them.

"Halt," said Khavi, once again dragging my tired, distracted mind back to reality.

"What now?"

"Don't you hear that?"

We both paused to listen. Voices, echoing down the chamber. Kobold voices.

Ssarsdalians? It had to be. We were so close to their city I could smell it. "Let's go!"

Khavi couldn't run, but he did his best to pick up the pace; we powered down the corridor, following the sound of voices as they grew louder and louder until we appeared in an open area with a low, flat ceiling.

Almost a score of kobolds were camped here, spread out on the stone or gathered around dim light sources. Two guards stepped towards us, spears in hand, but lowered them when they saw us.

"I am Ren of Atikala," I said. "This is Khavi, of the same."

"Jorena of Atikala," said the leader, "and Cevota, of the same." She breathed an audible sigh. "We're glad to see you. Do you have any supplies?"

I surveyed the group. "What we have is yours. All these kobolds are from Atikala?"

"Yes, we were making for Ssarsdale."

I took out a fair ration for myself from the haversack, handing the bulk of the remainder to Jorena. "As are we."

Jorena's nose twitched as she examined the food, but her eyes turned to me. "I smell blood, are you wounded?"

"Khavi is. Do you have a healer?"

"Yes," she said, gesturing with a claw to an aged and exhausted kobold tending one of her peers. "She is Praxa. But first, we should introduce you to Tzala."

It took me a second to process what she was telling me. A faint squeal escaped my lips, and my tail spasmed with happiness. "Tzala is here? She survived the collapse?"

Jorena indicated to a robed kobold apart from the others. "She did," said Jorena, her features falling. "But be kind to her. She has not been the same since the incident."

"I will," I said, my concern for my teacher's wellbeing almost overpowering. "Khavi, see the healer. I'll be with Tzala if you need me."

Khavi went to get treated. I scampered over the cramped encampment, hopping from foot to foot to avoid stepping on those slumbering.

"Tzala!" I said. "Tzala, it's me! Ren!"

The figure looked up, her hood falling back. Suddenly I was staring into Tzala's surprised face. She was still wearing her amulet. I'd never been so glad to see anyone in my life.

"Ren! By all of the dead Gods, how?"

I laughed, crouching beside her. "It doesn't matter," I said. "I've come a long, long way, but I'm here now. With you." I smiled so much it hurt. "I thought you had surely been crushed."

"I thought _you_ had surely been crushed! You were right outside the gate!" She reached out and touched my cheek. "I thought you were dead."

I rubbed my cheek against her hand. "And yet I still walk amongst the living. Fate is strange isn't it?"

Tzala was so pleased and so happy. It was the most sincere and joyful smile I'd ever seen from any kobold. "Most certainly."

"I'm so glad to see you're alive."

She held up her left arm, the long flowing robe drooping off the end, and peeled back the sleeve with her right. Her left arm was just a stump, cut off just above the elbow. "More or less."

I stared at the bandaged wound. "What happened?"

"My arm was pinned under debris. They cut it off to free me."

"It doesn't matter," I said. "You can still cast, yes?"

A brief sadness crossed Tzala's features. She rested her hand in her lap. "Yes," she said, "I can still cast."

"Are you okay?" I asked, curling my tail around my ankles. "Did I say something wrong?"

"I can still cast," Tzala said, her tone bitter. "That's all that matters, isn't it? That I have value to the community?"

I didn't think so. Even if Tzala had lost both her claws, it wouldn't change what I thought about her. It was hard articulating myself, especially with so many others all around me. "I'm just glad you're alive."

That seemed to mollify her. "I'm glad you think so."

I didn't know how to say what I meant to say to her. "Do you want anything? Some water, food? I have some meat from a surface goat."

"Goat?" Tzala chuckled. "I have not eaten goat in a dragon's lifetime. I think I would enjoy it. Thank you, Ren."

I fished out the last of the strips of Hungry and handed them over. Between her and Jorena I didn't have much left, but I wanted Tzala to have it.

"So you went to the surface, then?" asked Tzala between mouthfuls of the meat.

"I did, to reach this tunnel." I couldn't suppress my joy. "And I saw a dragon! I spoke to him and everything!"

She stopped eating, mid chew, her eyes fixating on me. "Did you."

"Yes, after the collapse we were—" I stopped myself. "Lost. We didn't know where to go. So Khavi and I made our way to Tyermumtican. He nearly ate us both—and he ate Khavi's sword—and I asked him about who I was."

Tzala did not seem to share my enthusiasm. "What did he tell you?" she asked cautiously.

"Nothing." I grit my teeth in frustration. "I begged him, but he wouldn't tell me. He knew though. He said he knew, and that he wouldn't tell me because that wasn't who I was, or something like that."

Tzala said nothing.

"You sure you're okay?" I asked. "You're being awfully quiet."

"Tell me more about the surface," Tzala said. "What did you see there?"

I didn't want to tell her the truth, about Melicandra and the humans, but I had never withheld anything from Tzala. I told her everything I remembered, although I occasionally had to jump back or forward to relay a detail I had skipped or not remembered.

"...and then the elf asked me about someone called Contremulus. I wasn't sure what—"

"The Sunscale is here?" Tzala nearly spat out her meat.

"I don't know," I answered, frowning at her. "Tzala, what's going on? What do you know of this Contremulus?"

She stared at me, not saying anything for a time. When she spoke her words were carefully chosen. "Nothing but the name."

I wasn't sure I believed her, but I had never doubted Tzala before. "Well, I don't know either, but he is now far behind us."

Tzala looked away, staring down the tunnel where I had come. "Of course he is."

Khavi returned to me then, his chest freshly bandaged. "Praxa says that it is not as bad as we had thought," he said, "but I will need to keep it clean and bathe it in alcohol to fight further infection."

I was glad to hear that. "Tzala, I will speak to you later, if you wish?"

She dismissed me with a bow of her head. I stood and walked away with Khavi.

"We are not far from Ssarsdale," he said, "according to the healer. Half a day's journey."

That would agree with my reckoning. "I remember that Tyermumtican's map showed Ssarsdale being close to the surface. We can't be far away."

Khavi looked over the other kobolds, his nose wrinkling in disgust. "We should leave this pack of starving cripples."

"Khavi!"

"It's true! They are a burden to us."

There was no way we were doing that. "What about our duty to the community?"

"Our duty extends only to those who can participate. Tzala's crippled. Many others are weak. The humans are following our trail. We don't know how far behind they are, but they may catch us before we get to Ssarsdale. If they do they'll butcher us all. We're strong enough to make the journey ourselves. We should take anyone who isn't just a waste of food and supplies and leave the others to slow the humans down."

"No. I didn't abandon you when you needed me, and if I recall correctly, you took quite the risk to save me from the human village."

Khavi just threw his hands up. "Fine, condemn us to death, but technically you're not in charge anymore. Tzala is a leader. She commands me now."

"Tzala will want to take all of us." I was certain of this.

"Bah, is everyone here soft shelled?"

"We're saving everyone. Get used to it."

Khavi gave a long exasperated sigh and turned to the rest of the kobolds preparing to pack up their camp and move on. "Compassions like this will be the end of us." He glared at me. "Just remember what you promised," he said, "when we get to Ssarsdale."

I wasn't likely to forget.

The survivors of Atikala must have made a depressing sight. A trail of kobolds, weary and footsore, trudging through the stone corridors of the underworld. We were beaten, homeless and short on supplies. Vagrants looking for a home amongst our cousins.

With so many wounded, the group crawled at a slug's pace, a chance for Khavi to heal further, and Tzala allowed me time to scout ahead for dead ends and ways we could shorten our route. I was pleased by the order. It would gave me time to think.

Or so I thought. My mind was empty. I had not slept in a day and a half. I felt deathly tired; if I didn't keep my focus, I would collapse in a heap. I couldn't sleep, though. Not yet. When we reached Ssarsdale there would be a nice, cool piece of stone for me. Then I could sleep as much as I needed. Even the wellspring of magic within me seemed to be cold and quiet, hovering at a simmer.

I didn't find any more traps, and I managed to cut a few minutes off our journey. That was good. Given how tired I was and what I had been through, I thought this was acceptable.

I was looking for another way down, trying to avoid an unstable passage deliberately sealed by rock when I stumbled upon the gates of Ssarsdale.

Tall and iron, they looked exactly like those of Atikala, conjuring a million memories as I viewed them, overcome for a moment.

It was just like home. It _was_ home. I had made it. Ssarsdale.

"Halt and identify yourself!" came a magically empowered voice from the doorway. I could see no speaker, but I knew of such magics from my studies. I licked my dry lips, straightened my back, and spoke at a normal speaking voice despite the distance.

"I am Ren of Atikala, third patrol, first quarter."

"Welcome, Ren of Atikala. We recognise our allies, our cousins, and we welcome you. What business do you have in Ssarsdale?"

There was some kind of finality about telling the unseen guard about what had happened. "I bring terrible news," I said. "Atikala has been completely destroyed."

The speaker did not answer immediately. "Destroyed?"

"Completely, with but a handful of survivors. They are further along the passage."

"How many survivors?"

I tried to accurately recall the number from my memory. "Thirty or thereabouts. Please open the doors. We are being pursued and need sanctuary."

"Pursued?" asked the voice. "By whom?"

I had a bad feeling that answering this truthfully would not be wise, but I could not lie to the city that was about to take me in. "Humans from the surface."

A pronounced pause. I waited, standing before the gates of Ssarsdale for a response.

"The council of Ssarsdale will meet to decide on this matter. For now, we can grant you no access, but will permit you sanctuary outside the gates to wait for the arrival of your fellows."

I gave them my thanks, laid my haversack down on the ground, and curled up for a brief rest. I was asleep as soon as my head touched the stone.

CHAPTER XXI

MY DREAMS WERE BROKEN AND disconnected, a blend of images from my past and ones wholly imagined. It was not restful in the traditional sense; I would require much more than a quick nap to purge the exhaustion from my bones, but it helped. I was so tired that anything helped.

The dreams ended with gentle shaking. I cracked my eyes open, seeing the underworld again. I felt only minutes had passed, and I'd only just fallen asleep.

"Go away," I groaned, rolling onto my side.

"It's just me," said Tzala. "We're here. We're all here."

I forced my eyes fully open and sat up. All of the refugees, including Tzala and Khavi, stood around me. They looked haggard and worn, but there were smiles on every face. They knew as well as I did that we had made it.

"What did the Ssarsdalians say?" she asked. "Will they let us inside?"

"They said that the council would meet and decide what to do with us when the rest of you arrived." I looked to the wide metal doors of Ssarsdale. They were still closed.

"Well, we are here," said Tzala. "Perhaps it is time to talk to them."

I bowed my head. "I will be beside you, Leader."

She gave a coy little smile. "I was thinking you should be the one to do it, since you have spoken to them before."

Uncertain of what to say, I simply nodded. "Of course, Leader, if that is your command, but why?"

"You seem to have a rapport with them," she said, "and besides. I have dreams for you, wyrmling. Dreams and ambitions. You were destined to be a leader. I'll not let the loss of Atikala rob you of your destiny."

"But I'm only six," I said.

"When you become as old as I am, you will understand that age is simply a number. It does not define who you are and what you can do. You will grow into the role of Leader, as all who walk this path do. I know this."

I did not feel like a leader. I did not feel I would be a better speaker than Tzala could be, but I knew that I should at least try.

"Is everyone here?" I asked.

"Yes, my Firstclaw."

Standing, I shook the last of the sleepiness out of my head and addressed the closed gates of Ssarsdale.

"Hail Ssarsdale, and well met. These are all the survivors who have travelled with us."

Silence. I waited a moment then tried again.

"Guardians of Ssarsdale, apologies for the interruption, but as you requested, we are now all here. Have you word on the council's decision?"

Nothing.

Time passed. Every so often I would try again, but I decided not to push them. Clearly they needed more time and would address me when they were ready.

"What do you think they're thinking?" Khavi asked me in a moment when I was aside from the others.

My stomach hurt from lack of food. My lips were dry as sand, and my eyes stung. It was becoming more and more difficult to put aside the pain of the moment. "I have no idea."

"Why wouldn't they permit us entry? It should not take this long to decide. It should not even require the council's approval. Unless there were truly thousands, no council would be necessary to allow entry to any amount of Ssarsdale's residents were our situations reversed."

"I know," I said, "and it concerns me too." I yawned, loudly and at length, trying to think of things other than food, water, and sleep. "But there is nothing we can do but wait. Time, the great revealer of all things, will show us what we need to know when we need to know it."

Almost on cue, the great iron doors of the city opened a crack. There were cries of relief, joy from the kobolds around me, and I joined in wholeheartedly. Our patience had paid off. Ssarsdale had finally chosen to talk to us. Tzala moved beside me.

A single figure strode from the darkened slit between the doors, and they closed behind him. Twice as tall as a normal kobold, this giant of a creature lumbered towards us, a huge black blade strapped to his back. He came to us alone.

Apart from his size he seemed normal. Scales, claws, teeth, the appearance of any other kobold, but he towered over all of us, including me. His eyes, little red slits, examined all of us with a critical air. I stepped towards the giant kobold.

"Thank you for coming," I said, trying to keep the fear out of my voice. "It is good to see that Ssarsdale has not forgotten their cousins in this time of great need."

"Indeed we have not. I am Lord Vrax, member of the Circle of Seven, the rulers of Ssarsdale. I have been sent here to relay the council's findings regarding your appeal."

He was enormous, his voice deep and loud, like the sound that accompanied the electricity on the surface. I instinctively knelt before him. I heard shuffling behind me as the rest of our troupe did the same, including Tzala.

"We are humbled by you spending your valuable time with us, Lord Vrax."

"Your deference is duly noted. The council has decided, in its wisdom, to grant you and the other refugees from Atikala conditional asylum in Ssarsdale."

Relief flooded me, and I exhaled. "You are very generous, Lord Vrax, for permitting this. We have come a long way. We are tired, pained, and hungry. We have many wounded. When our injuries are tended, and our bodies rested, we are eager to join your community and call Ssarsdale home. We have many talents to offer you, and—"

"Such things will not be necessary," said Vrax. His voice echoed in the wide chamber as he spoke. "Your place within Ssarsdale has already been decided. You will be all be given positions within the Ssarsdalian guard, effective immediately. You will be known as the Eighth Talon of Ssarsdale."

I glanced over my shoulder at our ragged band. There were a handful of warriors, but the majority of our group were caretakers. Gatherers. Librarians.

"I do not wish to question the council's wisdom in this matter, but—"

"Then do not."

"With permission, Lord Vrax, we are not warriors—"

"Then you are all warriors now. The entry to Ssarsdale is conditional on this acceptance."

An assignment to the guard would not be problematic to Khavi or me, but it would be miserable for the majority of our group. How would Tzala, with her one arm, wield a spear? What about the caretakers who had never raised a weapon in their lives?

Some home was better than none, though. We had no choice to accept. The others would have to adapt.

"Very well," I said. "On behalf of the group, as its appointed representative, I accept these conditions of entry."

"Excellent." Vrax gestured for us to rise. "Welcome to Ssarsdale, noble defenders. Are you prepared to accept your first orders?"

I stood, reaching out with a hand to help Tzala stand as well, pulling her up by the stump of her arm. "Of course," I said. "But we require rest first."

"There will be time enough for rest once the city is secured, and its peril ended."

I glanced to Tzala, but her face revealed nothing. "I am sorry, Lord Vrax, but I do not understand. What peril do you face?"

"Not far from our gates are a group of..." he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Raiders. Humans coming with swords and spells and beasts to attack your city. Your home. It requires defending. The council has decreed that this assault will be met with the full might of Ssarsdale. The Eighth Talon shall march out to meet them. When our foes are vanquished, you will be given a hero's welcome by your people, as all warriors of the city deserve."

They were sending us to die.

"My Lord," I said, "I ask you to reconsider. Our group has been marching for scores of days. We have wounded. There are only thirty of us, largely unarmed, and the humans have horses and swords and twice our number. We cannot—"

"Soldiers of Ssarsdale do not fear death." Vrax's red eyes bored into me. "Sufficient courage will overcome any disadvantage."

"We will be slaughtered to a head."

It was the truth. Tzala's magic was powerful, Khavi's arms strong, and I had my spells, but we were in no condition to fight.

"Then this will be your fate. But you will die happy, for you will have died for your community." The edges of Vrax's lips curled up in a cold smile. "You should feel glad that we are extending this offer to you in your time of desperation."

I felt the weight of guilt upon me. Khavi and I had set the humans on the trail of Tzala and the refugees. They were counting on me to save them. "We are desperate for a comfortable rest, food, and water, not execution!"

"I was not aware our cousins from Atikala were so ungrateful."

I felt my breathing quicken and fought, with limited success, to control myself. _Be smart_ , the leader within me implored, _make the best of this_.

"I understand," I said, "but surely a more complete victory would be more devastating to the humans. Victory is almost impossible for this group, but if you were to give us a mere fifty soldiers, we might discourage further attacks."

"Regrettably, it is the council's opinion that this is not an efficient use of our resources."

My claws pressed into my palms, scratching at the scales there, the pain to keeping me focused. "I understand, but—"

"The decision is final. Good hunting." Vrax turned to make his way back to the gates of Ssarsdale.

"Wait," I said, taking a step forward. "We have sorcerers."

"Do you now?" He stopped, looking over his giant shoulders.

"We do." I pointed to myself. "I am still a student, but already I can cast simple spells. My mentor, Tzala, is here." I gestured to her. "She is much more powerful. We have warriors too. Proper warriors, trained and battle tested. We would be an asset to your city, far more valuable than a distraction to some..." I tried to keep my tone even. "Raiders."

He seemed to consider. "Well, if you are truly as you say, we could never be inhospitable to those who bear the blood of dragons in their veins, and warriors are always worthy additions to our armies if they are well trained."

"I can vouch for Khavi. He has courage and strength beyond measure. He struck a copper dragon as tall as those doors and lived to tell the tale. He is as skilled as he is fierce."

"Very well," said Vrax, "we will require proof of these deeds. But it may be in Ssarsdale's interests if those three be kept as reserves within the city."

I couldn't leave everyone. It was our fault that the humans had come in the first place; for Khavi, Tzala, and I to gain entrance to the city, leaving the rest to be butchered, that could not sit on my conscience. "No," I said. "We came here as a group. It is all of us or none of us."

"No?" Vrax's voice rose and he turned to face me properly now, his oversized hands by his sides. "By what right do you disobey my commands, goldenscale?"

"By the right of common decency! By the right of the community!"

"I have made you an offer. Take it, or march with the Eighth Talon."

I turned to Tzala, the desperation lodged deep in my gut. "What do I do?" I whimpered. "I can't abandon the others."

Her face was solemn. I felt as though she were judging me. "You can only do what you think is right."

I agonised, looking up at the faces of all the kobolds behind me. They were defeated. They knew they were going to die, and that there was nothing I could do to save them with whatever course of action I chose. I saw no anger in their eyes. No resentment. They knew that it was not logical to send thirty to die when one could send twenty-seven. The decision should be easy.

Thirty to die or twenty-seven. I could have a cool place to sleep tonight, food in my belly, and power and prestige. Tzala would continue to mentor me, and even Khavi, that crazy kobold, would have something to give his life purpose. We could spare ourselves a battle we could not win and think nothing more of those who had died to give us this place, and how they were doomed anyway.

We could even grieve for them. Throw ourselves on the stone and wail. Cry for their defeat, for their sacrifice, for their blood spilt in a hopeless battle. We could honour them, hold them in our hearts always, keeping their memories as treasured gifts, and be thankful that they had given us life.

Or we could die beside them.

"I'm sorry," I said to Vrax. "We came here together, and we'll join your community as a group or not at all."

"So be it," he said. "We can always breed more sorcerers." He turned and walked back to the gates of Ssarsdale. I watched every step, staring at the back of the giant kobold. The gates slowly swung open. Beyond their iron sheets were hundreds of soldiers, spears ready.

They were not here to defend against the humans.

Vrax stepped into their ranks, then the doors sealed themselves once again.

"I'm proud of you," said Tzala with a calm, reassuring smile.

Feeling numb, I turned and walked back the way we came.

"Aren't you mad at me?" I narrowed my eyes at Khavi. "And where did you get that?"

Khavi swung a two handed blade over his shoulder, looking as pleased with himself as I'd ever seen him.

"No, not mad. And one of the wounded had this. I figured I could put it to better use." His stance was easy, relaxed as we marched away from Ssarsdale. "I have a sword again, and I'm dying for this fight. Humans! I enjoyed fighting them before. They're easier to kill than they seem." He grinned maniacally. "I need a new suit of armour anyway."

I could not shake the wrenching feeling in my gut, that I had doomed us all. "We won't win. We can't win."

"Pah," said Khavi, "you thought we were going to die when we marched on the gnome city. And what did we do? Marched right back out again!"

"Only because all the gnomes inside were already dead or gone."

"You underestimate me! How many humans did I kill back in that pissant village, mmm?"

"Fat and lazy guards who were not expecting death to come for them in the dark. They were not warriors as we understand it. The men after us will be their strongest, with horses, too. Horses are killers. I've seen them up close, a single kick can break bones. And that's excluding the rider!"

"Hah. If the humans want to place themselves so high up that their beast's guts are exposed, then they will simply have further to fall when I cut it out from under them!"

I laughed. I couldn't help myself. "You are insane."

Khavi grinned, baring all his teeth. "You say that now, but I'm confident we can win. We have two sorcerers and countless fodder, and they have what? Stink-kickers and their useless riders?"

"Horses. They're called horses."

"Call them what they are, I say. They stink, and they kick. Stink-kickers."

I clapped him on the shoulder and stopped walking, waiting for the rear of the troupe where Tzala walked.

"I'm sorry, Leader."

She shook her head. "I told you already, I would have done the same."

I felt tiny and useless. "Would you have?"

"Yes. Although it would have pained me as it pained you."

"It hurts. I feel like I failed everyone. I did the best I could, and now we're all going to die."

Tzala reached out with her remaining claw, resting it on my far shoulder. She drew me to her, leaning her cheek against my shoulder. "May I tell you a secret?"

"You can tell me anything, Leader," I said, confused by her nearness to me and the softness of her voice.

"This pain you feel now is the burden of leadership. It is the feeling that you could have done better or tried harder, or that you have cost those who trusted in you because you made a decision that leads to death. If you become a leader, this is a burden you will carry for all of your days."

Tyermumtican had spoken of burdens too. I was trying to be strong, but Tzala's words made me feel like bursting into tears. "But I'm going to die. You're going to die. Khavi is going to die. Every single one of us is going to die, and I'm never going to be the leader of any more than a ragged group of refugees that Ssarsdale couldn't be bothered to feed. Nobody will remember us."

"Leaders are rarely remembered, especially because their defeats are so often not their fault. If you want to be a leader for the glory, I'm afraid you are going to be disappointed."

"I don't crave glory. I just want everyone to live. I want everything to be okay."

"And I wish I was a dragon. We cannot always have what we want. We can only do what we can with what we have, and let fate play itself out."

I shook slightly, and Tzala's grip on my shoulder tightened. "No, Ren. You cannot cry. You cannot be weak before these warriors, your soldiers. They will need you in the battle; they will need your strength and courage. You must be strong. The situation is hopeless. I know that, and you know that." She glanced over my shoulder, and I knew who she was looking at. "Your friend, though...he thinks he can walk through fire and not be burned. Somewhere in that head of his, not buried very deep I suspect, is the belief that he cannot ever be beaten in combat. Only death will dissuade him from this notion. I have seen many like him in my days, and they all had one thing in common."

"What was that?"

"They all died in the end."

I chewed on the inside of my cheek to keep my mind focused on the physical rather than the emotional. "What do I do now?"

"When we reach the mouth of the cave, you will need to inspire them. Give them something to cling to."

"But there is nothing."

Tzala lifted her head, moving her claw down to my back, patting comfortingly. "There is always something."

I didn't believe her.

CHAPTER XXII

THE CLOP OF HORSES REACHED my earholes before the light from their riders brightened the tunnel.

Khavi and I had established a defensive line according to our training, hiding in the darkness, waiting for the signal to strike. Although Khavi wanted to fight with the others, his wound would mean his place was here with the injured and spellcasters. Jorena and Cevota, the two warriors, commanded our front line. The front line was whatever warriors we had and the caretakers who were strong or confident enough to wield what weapons we could give them. All of them crouched low in the darkness, their positions laid out well in advance.

Praxa stood with Tzala and I farther back down the tunnel. Our ankles were surrounded by the wounded or those too weak to move. Khavi stood in the front, protecting us. We could see nothing, hear nothing, except the thump of horse legs on stone, and we waited.

"Not yet," I whispered. "Not yet. Wait until we see the light from their flames."

The faint squeak of squeezed leather. "We should go now," urged Khavi.

"No. Wait. Wait..."

The first human rounded the bend, puffing the white gas from their mouths. I had told the others about it. It was just their breath fogging and was harmless. I did not want them to be alarmed as I was.

The first row of horses came around the bend, three abreast, bearing their riders uneasily in the dark. I could see them. Humans, tall and strong, wearing thick leather coats. I knew them now. Goatskin over metal chain, the hilts of their weapons carved from the bones of trees. They wore shields made from the same, shaped into a triangle with the wider part at the top and the narrow at the bottom.

Even the horses had armour. A chain blanket that hung down to their knees.

"What are you waiting for?" hissed Khavi over his shoulder.

"Wait."

I kept my focus. Everything depended on the first strike.

The second row of horses and men appeared around the corner. The light grew uncomfortably bright.

"Now!"

Tzala spoke words of magic behind me, a spell I knew but was nowhere near powerful enough to cast. She was drawing on the fire of dragons, much as I did, but to produce a different and more powerful effect. A diminutive yellow ball flew out from behind me, sailing gracefully over my head. It shed a pallid radiance, a speedy flying glowbug rushing to greet our attackers.

Cries of alarm and shouts of warning sprung from the humans who led the assault, but their warnings would not save them. The orb struck the ground by the legs of the beasts in the second rank, bursting in a roaring sheet of flame that enveloped them, charring the flesh from their horses and washing over the riders.

The first ranks were blown down, dismounted by the blast. Cevota and a half-dozen caretakers fell upon them, stabbing and slashing in a screaming frenzy, their yipping war cries echoing down the tunnel towards us. So did the screams of burning humans.

Those screams fell silent, one by one, as Cevota and her group made short work of them.

One horse from the front rank got up. It staggered around in a daze, throwing its head around and emitting a terrible noise, echoed and amplified by the long tunnel like a horn. I reached out, sending magical needles of force to end its misery.

The smell of roasted flesh and blood wafted down the corridor towards me, signalling a job well done, but farther up the corridor came shouts in another tongue. Not the panicked, frightened warbling from the warriors we had killed, but firm commands given by experienced soldiers.

"They are warning their companions that we have a spellcaster."

I sometimes forgot that Tzala spoke many tongues. "Good," I said, "let them be wary."

The lights that the humans had brought in, coupled with the scorched and burned corpses of those Tzala's magic and Cevota's spears had fallen, made the ambient lighting too high for my taste. I cupped my hands around my snout and called down the corridor.

"Extinguish those flames!"

They did so, the caretakers scurrying around with remarkable efficiency, grabbing the burning lights where they fell and dousing them in the water. Steam wafted into the corridor as the glare was reduced down to tolerable levels.

"That was easy," said Khavi, stepping back with me. "Bah. And I thought I'd get a chance to test my new blade."

I went to reply, but another sound, just like the one that had accompanied the bolts of electricity outside, reached my earholes. It grew louder and louder. The roar of a stampede, of horse legs pounding on hard stone.

"Back!" I shouted to Cevota's team, "back into your positions!"

More horses charged around the corridor, their riders armed with long spear-like weapons that were held in one hand, their bodies protected with kite shields.

Cevota's team was scattered and exposed, half way between the ambush point and their cover.

"Tzala! Do it again! Hurry!"

She began casting, but the horses moved with a speed and ferocity that surprised everyone. They ploughed into the ranks of Cevota's team, the strange one-handed spears expertly skewering warrior after warrior. The weapons were torn out, each leaving a horrific wound, and then the horses trampled over the top of them.

Cevota was the last to die, torn in half by two spears.

Tzala's spell completed. Another golden ball flew down the corridor and exploded in the air, forming a solid sheet of flame. This time though, the men and their horses rode through it, shields raised to protect their faces.

But there were no shields for the horses. Their mounts panicked and fell, sending their riders crashing to the stone.

"Shit of the dead Gods!" said Khavi.

"Jorena!" I shouted, "Kill them all!"

Her team leapt to their feet. They had fewer weapons and were weaker, but still they engaged, leaping upon the humans in a biting, clawing frenzy, stabbing and slashing with what weapons they had.

But the humans were ready. Spears, weapons twice as tall as a kobold held easily in one hand, pierced through scales and flesh. I cast again and again, sending my missiles down. I wounded one with such a blast, distracting him long enough for Jorena to thrust her spear into his belly.

Then her head was taken from her shoulders.

Tzala waited until all of Jorena's team were dead, then another ball of fire blasted the human survivors to oblivion. This time the smell of roasting flesh was sickly sweet, of kobold scent, and I felt sick.

An eerie silence persisted for a time. Hope began to swell in my heart. Had the humans retreated, their losses too great?

The faint sound of spellcasting reached my ears. I did not recognise the spell cast, but Tzala's eyes widened with fear.

"A killing cloud!" she said, grabbing hold of my shoulder. "Back! Do not let the mist touch you!"

Mist? I looked down at the kobolds all around me. Those too sick, hungry, or injured to wield weapons.

"What about the wounded?"

Tzala shook her head. "There's no time! Run!"

Khavi turned and sprinted into the gloom. I started to move backwards, away from the passage to the surface and towards the deeper passages, the area of the underworld lit by the blue light. A roiling green cloud began to pour in through the entranceway. It moved over the few remaining torches, extinguishing them one by one, and the entire area was black.

I panicked and ran. The wounded didn't try to stop me or cry out in panic or do anything but await their end. They knew they were doomed.

I could hear the others running alongside me. I ran snout first into a wall, falling over. I couldn't find my footing. The vapour would catch me.

"This way!" shouted Tzala in the darkness. I crawled in that direction, scrambling as fast as I could.

It wouldn't work. I needed light. I focused inwards, pressing my claws into the arcane symbol required. Light sprung from my clawtips.

The mist was almost upon me, silent death a mere foot away from where I crawled.

I scrambled back to my feet and ran. I ran as fast and as hard as I could, letting my light be my guide. Had the others fallen behind me or run ahead? I couldn't think of that. Instead I continued till the tunnel became lit again, blue light shining at the edge of my vision.

Blue crystals dotted the tunnel. I ran until it forked then turned back to where I'd come. The roiling gas seemed to flow to the lowest point, always downhill, so I took the higher road. To my infinite relief it flowed down the lower tunnel. It would dissipate long before it reached Ssarsdale.

I hoped.

Footsteps. Large outerfeet, not the agile feet of kobolds. They were following the gas, giving it a healthy distance. At least three or four of them, based on the noise.

I slipped farther back, walking backwards, my eyes on the fork in the tunnel. My heel hit something faint. I looked down.

The tripwire. Twice now I had not seen it.

Although I had hardly touched it, this slight pressure should have been enough, but it hadn't activated. I knew that Jedra had to adjust her traps to trap larger creatures, so doubtless the Ssarsdalians had to do the same for heavier humans.

I gingerly stepped over the wire. The outerfeet were coming. I backed up again, keeping my shield held in front of me.

The humans rounded the corner, flames on sticks held high. "There's one!" their leader shouted, pointing his spear at me.

They approached, careful and slow, weapons and shields raised. I took one step back for every two of theirs.

"Come on," I hissed, careful not to look at the tripwire and give away its position. "Come on, you overgrown gnomes. Come on..."

Click. The tripwire whizzed as it activated, the sound of gears and cogs whirring in the stone to either side. I hoped it would be enough to wound them, enough that I could escape.

A dozen spikes flew out of camouflaged holes below the humans, impaling their legs and bodies with spears as tall as I was. They shrieked and clutched their wounds.

I poured fire onto them until they were charred hunks of meat and my spells were exhausted.

The last of the green poison disappeared down the tunnel. I crept forward to the junction. I had to make sure there was nothing trailing in its wake. I risked a peek around the corner. Nobody. Nothing but the darkness that held the corpses of the refugees. Had any survived the poison?

Light would give away my position if there were any more humans left. I inched forward in the dark, moving as silently as I could. I crept forward until I bumped into something half way between our ambush point and the fork. Something soft.

It was a body, I knew it was, and this far back it could only be one of ours. Was it Khavi? Tzala?

I risked casting another light spell. I saw that it was Praxa, her face distorted. She had died in agony. There was not a wound on her.

The radius of my light revealed no other corpses.

A noise.

I looked up, straight into the eyes of Quennax the eidolon, his snakelike body curled around a stalactite.

"I wonder if I'll get to eat you now?"

He fell towards me, four arms outstretched, each carrying a long blade. I had no hope of dodging; I simply raised my shield above me, curling up in a ball underneath it.

Four blades slammed on the sides of my shield. His teeth snapped at the edge, trying to find a way around. I tilted it to one side, pushing up with my tail, slamming him in the face.

He howled in pain, and the distraction was all I needed. I rolled to a side, drawing my rapier.

"Tell Melicandra her little trick didn't work."

Quennax advanced on me, his four blades weaving in the air before him. "And yet you are alone, the corpse of your companion at your feet."

He struck, his four weapons each taking a different route to my body. I blocked the with my shield, turning his upper left hand aside with my rapier. The lower left slashed into my side, but I trusted my armour and scales to take the hit; I stepped past Quennax's reach, using my shorter blade to my advantage. I twisted my hand, driving the weapon against his chest.

His scales were as tough as mine, the tip barely penetrating, but I saw green blood.

"Brave kobold."

He had four blades, but I had forgotten one of his weapons. Quennax snapped at me, long incisors latching hold of my shoulder, piercing my chain and into my flesh. I dug my rapier deeper, growling away the pain.

Quennax's right hand weapons hammered at my shield, but I kept it close to my body. I twisted my rapier, tearing his flesh, but he struck me again.

My arm went numb. I had to stop. I pulled my weapon out and retreated, using my shield to protect me.

Quennax made a noise half way between a chuckle and a hiss, straightening himself on his tail, four blades outstretched before him. "Foolish. This is but a flesh wound, and I can smell your blood. Now I know your tricks."

I took a step backwards, then another. "You don't know all my tricks."

"I know you're a spellcaster. You use fire as your element. I saw the burning in the night after your escape, when you killed and butchered the goat you fled on. A goat is valuable to farmers. It produces milk from grass, feeding them for years. They will suffer because of you."

I had not intended to make the owner of the barn suffer. "I didn't burn the goat. Electricity from the sky did. My fire was sealing a wound."

"It matters not in the end." He pointed one of the swords directly at my throat, a triumphant smirk plastered on his face. "You would do well to surrender yourself now, goldling. Your crimes will earn you a swift death, and one for your friends as well. Refuse and fate will be far less kind."

"I don't think you want to kill me." I lowered my rapier. There was no way I could fight a creature with four arms. "I think you want to let me go."

Quennax's voice eyes flashed a bright blue, the same colour as his mistress. Suddenly he was speaking with Melicandra's voice.

"Why did you kill the men we set to guard you?" There was hurt in her voice. Pain. "I trusted you."

"I didn't kill them." I glanced down the corridor. "Khavi did. My companion. He thought you would execute me and wanted to save my life. I was angry that he had done this, especially when I heard about the child, but he could not know differently."

"Your companion?" Melicandra asked through Quennax, "Some of the farmers said there were two kobolds, but I dismissed their claims as hyperbole. An ally? Comrade? Hireling?"

The question was easy to answer. "My friend."

"Kobolds rarely make such a claim."

Not true. We had friends. I understood now why she would think I did not. " _I_ do."

Quennax's face scrunched up. I couldn't tell which one of them was doing this thinking, but Melicandra's voice remained. "So you did not kill them, but you ran? If you were innocent, why did you not turn in the true killer?"

"He is my friend," I said, "and the act would serve no ultimate purpose. The dead cannot be brought back to life, least of all with good intentions."

Quennax sheathed three of his weapons. The edge of his single blade, held in his upper right hand, hovered above the ground. "Correct," said Melicandra, "and nothing we do here today can undo the past. All we can do is trust our sense of justice."

"So is that what you seek, then? Justice?"

"That, or as close as I can get."

Justice. The concept was a strange one to kobolds. Every crime, no matter how minor, was punished with execution. I tossed my rapier to the side, dropping my shield at my feet and easing down onto my knees.

"Then come. Make things as right as you can."

I closed my eyes. I knew then what No-Kill had felt, kneeling beside the gaping rift that had once been her home, and the strange peace that came over her when she accepted she was going to die. There was no anger, no fear, just the realisation of the end.

The prick of a fine weapon tip against the back of my neck, its point trying to find the gaps between my vertebrae. I didn't resist, tilting my head forward to help.

"Goodbye, Ren of Atikala," said Melicandra. "I believe, even now, that you are different from your kin."

Not that it had meant much in the end. "Goodbye," was all I could say.

I waited for the death strike to fall, determined to have my final thoughts be happy ones. I thought of the good work I had done for my community. Of talking with Tyermumtican. Of talking with Melicandra.

Strangely, I thought of Khavi and all we had shared. I had broken my promise to him. We would never make an egg.

Right as I was about to die, I desperately wanted Khavi here with me.

"Ren?"

I opened my eyes. Quennax was nowhere to be seen. "Khavi?"

It was him. Tzala was with him, crouched beside Praxa, checking his body.

I threw my arms around Khavi's shoulders, crushing the air out of his lungs. "I thought the vapour killed you!"

"That's what I thought about you!"

Relief and joy. I hugged him so tight, so closely that his scales rubbed against mine. Without thinking I pressed my lips to his.

I kissed Khavi. I kissed him because I was so glad to be alive. So glad that we were alive.

He pulled his snout away. "Blech!" Khavi wiped his lips down. "Why did you do that?"

"I don't know!" I laughed. "Does it matter?"

Khavi stared at me. I wasn't sure if he enjoyed what had happened or not, but I was too happy to care.

Tzala, politely ignoring the two of us until now, gave a cough. "If you're quite finished?"

The sound of horses from the incline reminded me that our work was not yet done. Khavi wiped his tongue on his sleeve, trying to purge a foul taste. I retrieved my blade, then Khavi and I stood in front of Tzala, ready to fight for our lives.

We waited and we waited, but the sound became more distant. Daring to hope, I moved between the bodies of my fallen kin, letting my light guide the way as I made my way up to the surface.

The surviving humans were riding away, back towards the home they had come from, their dead slung over the backs of their horses.

I didn't understand, watching just over half the humans sent to hunt us down turn around and retreat, but I was filled with a wild exhilaration.

We had won.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE JOY EVAPORATED QUICKLY, AND it was a much more solemn march back down the tunnels towards Ssarsdale, just Khavi, Tzala, and I. Although we had survived, we had set out with thirty kobolds and returned with three. Although we had killed a dozen humans, this was a loss by any way it could be measured.

The only victory was that we were still standing.

Soon we were standing outside the gates of Ssarsdale. I reached into my haversack and withdrew the severed head of one of the humans, tossing it at my feet.

"Hail fair Ssarsdale. Your task is complete, and your city is safe."

They did not answer immediately. I knew that they wouldn't. They had not expected us to come back, so our return with proof that we had fought their enemies would seem impossible.

Soon enough though, the gates opened. This time it was not a lone leader coming to negotiate; it was a tide of the common folk—warriors, caretakers, and gatherers. They swarmed out to us, crowding around in the wide tunnel. Several kicked the severed head I had presented, while others recoiled from it in fear and wonder.

We were taken into Ssarsdale past the iron gates, and I saw the inside of the city for the first time. Much like Atikala, it was embedded in a naturally occurring cave, a sprawling metropolis that was interwoven into the subterranean land as intimately as any natural growth. Lights came from hundreds of windows and glowbugs crawled all over everything here. Even the omnipresent blue crystals were gone, replaced by the familiar yellow light the insects shone everywhere.

I had never been a hero before. The attention was too much for me. I tried to answer as many questions as I could, hardly having enough time to catch my breath before the next question was chattered at me. The same questions were repeated over and over. How many humans had I killed? What did it feel like to kill them? Did they really bleed red?

A team of warriors from Ssarsdale moved through the crowd. Their leader, a scarred and sour looking kobold, introduced herself as Itkhava and offered us escort. I accepted gratefully.

Her team escorted us through the city, keeping the majority of the throng at bay. They led us through the main bazaar of the city, almost a perfect mirror of the one in Atikala, straight to a spire in the centre.

"Vrax and the rest of the council will see you at the top."

I could barely take my eyes off the rest of the city, but I kept presence of mind enough to nod. Khavi, Tzala, and I walked up the long spiral stairs of cut and polished stone, passing door after door. Artwork adorned the walls, canvas paintings and tapestries so numerous that they seemed to be made from them, and white balls of light provided the illumination. The colour of this place reminded me of the surface with all its vibrant colours and beauty.

Khavi looked as I felt, nervous and out of place surrounded by such things, but Tzala did not. She must be used to it. Was this where the leaders of the cities lived? The leaders of Atikala had lived below the city. Is this what their building had looked like?

We reached the top, and the stairs opened into a  semicircular room with a dozen kobolds seated before a stone table. Vrax sat at the centre, towering over all.

We stepped inside, bowing nervously.

"Lord Vrax," I said. "Although almost our entire unit was destroyed, the humans retreated."

"And you have been granted access to Ssarsdale, as was offered to you." He did not smile, his expression cold and calculating. "You have done extremely well, former Atikalans, and your return speaks of your strength and prowess. You are valuable additions to this city, and I am proud to call you Ssarsdalians."

We bowed our heads again.

"Tzala, please step forward."

She did so.

"I, Lord Vrax of Ssarsdale, offer you a place on our circle of sorcerers as an advisor. This should better suit your talents than the city guard."

"Thank you, Lord Vrax. I accept."

I was glad; Tzala would never be a powerful warrior with a missing arm, and she had dedicated her life to sorcery. To work and live amongst her peers would be much more appropriate for her skills and power.

Vrax folded his claws in front of him. "Regarding the other survivors, including your gold-scaled speaker, I have desires for them also." He stood, stretching himself up to his full height, the table barely coming past his knees. "Walk with me," he commanded Khavi and I, "and I will explain."

Vrax led Khavi and I out of the chamber. Tzala stayed behind, speaking to the other council members about matters I did not concern myself with. All I knew was that beyond everything we had experienced on the surface, we had finally made it to a safe place. A new home.

The other refugees occupied my thoughts though, as Vrax led us back through the bazaar. They had died never knowing this joy, falling in a battle they thought was hopeless. I had not forgiven Vrax for this, for the council turning us away when we needed them most, but the battle and day's travel beforehand had drained all of my will to argue with him away. I wanted to rest, but I knew that if Vrax wanted to speak to us, I should obey. I was not dead on my feet yet.

"You and your companions fought well today," said Vrax. Eyes followed us as we walked, the throng of Ssarsdalian kobolds whispering amongst each other, pointing and looking, giving us admiration and congratulations. "You should be proud of yourselves."

Pride was not one of the emotions I felt. "Thank you, Leader," I said, "but many of our number died today. I would prefer to remember their sacrifice over my own glories."

Several kobolds, caretakers by their appearance, stopped to pat Khavi on the shoulder and congratulate him. He seemed to be taking the attention a lot better than I was. "But there was a lot of glory to be had," he said, "and we earned it."

"You did," said Vrax. "Tell me, what weapons did the humans use against you?"

"Spears and horses," I answered. "And a spellcaster. An elf with an eidolon."

"Where did you dispose of their bodies? I would have another company pick them clean for supplies."

Perhaps Vrax was more cunning than his tremendous size would indicate. "Unfortunately the surviving humans took their dead with them."

"Did they now."

I just wanted to sleep, but his response was odd. "Yes, as one might expect."

He said nothing to this. We walked past the bazaar, out towards the gates.

"I want to show you something."

Khavi and I followed obediently. I felt my claws scrape on the ground. "Leader, I've been travelling and fighting for over a full day now. I am weary. Could we not do this after some rest?"

"I had not expected Ren Humanbane to whine so loudly."

I felt my scales ruffle. "Is that what they call me?"

"Titles are earned in Ssarsdale, as they are in Atikala. You have earned this one."

"Thank you." I still had no taste for it, no desire to have anything attached after my name. I wanted only to know who I was—what my real name was—and earn that.

"Congratulations," whispered Khavi. I glared at him.

The gates of Ssarsdale opened at a wave of Vrax's hand, and we passed through. Khavi and I had to jog to keep up with him, something that did not aid my fatigue.

"Tell me, Ren Humanbane, how many humans escaped?"

I tried to think. "At least fifteen, maybe more. Some were wounded. I know not the exact number, Leader. I apologise. It has been a long and tiring day."

"Amongst the ones you killed, was there a gold helmed warrior?"

The question confused me. I tried to think, but I was so tired. "I did not see one, Lord Vrax. It is possible. The site of the battle was dark, and it all happened so suddenly."

" _Think_. Search your memories."

I didn't understand, but I did as I was told. "If one was amongst their group, I did not see them."

We turned down one of the tunnels leading away from Ssarsdale. Khavi looked at me in confusion. I couldn't think, didn't want to think, and only wanted to rest. Did Vrax have no understanding of how far we had walked? All of this could be done within the city.

One last sacrifice, that's all I needed. Then I could sleep.

"Lord Vrax," I said, "where are you taking us?"

"To the southern tunnels, away from the city. It's important that you understand something about Ssarsdale before you take your posts here."

Unable to jog anymore Khavi and I walked. Annoyed, Vrax slowed his pace for us. I tried to make conversation.

"Lord Vrax, you offered Tzala a post other than that of a warrior. Do you intend to do the same for us?"

He glared down at me. "Yes."

Khavi shot me an excited look. I didn't share his happiness. "May I ask what that position is?" I asked.

"You are a sorcerer," Vrax said, "a talent I do not possess. It is rare indeed, almost unheard of, for one to sit on the council of any city without the blood of dragons. Rarer still to be its leader."

"I'm not sure why you're telling me what I already know, Lord Vrax."

"Because it is important you understand. I am not the leader of the kobolds of Ssarsdale through magic, nor through my considerable skill with a weapon. I am the leader of Ssarsdale because while I have extremely rare gifts, and those gifts are powerful, there is power greater than even the mightiest spell."

Was it love? Did Vrax feel love as Tyermumtican did? I wanted to ask but didn't. "I'm sorry, Lord Vrax, I know of no power greater than the dragons."

"Then you are smaller minded than I had anticipated. Think for a moment of the humans you defeated. Were they powerful as individuals?"

"Humans have strength beyond our own, but their skin is soft and frail. Their height makes them easy targets, and they are slower than we are. They are bulking and brutish, Leader, and a force to be reckoned with, but they die just as we do."

"Astute observations, Ren Humanbane. How many kobolds were there in Atikala?"

The question seemed inane to me. Was he testing my wit? My patience? "Fifty thousand, Lord Vrax. Approximately."

"And in Ssarsdale?"

"I do not know."

"Twenty thousand. How many humans are there on the surface?"

Over the whole surface? I knew it to be vast. The world spread south, far beyond our tunnels and our knowledge. Pewdt had mentioned Wasp-Men, a people I had barely heard anything about, and I knew there were stranger lands still undiscovered. "I do not know."

"Millions."

Millions. Millions of lives. The number was staggering to me, but I had seen how vast and flat the surface was. If it were possible to have so many living up there, then I could believe it. It was just another lesson, another set of facts for me to take in.

"I see. That is a large number of humans, Lord Vrax."

"It most certainly is."

A worrying thought wormed into my mind. Why had Quennax and Malicandra saved me? Why had the humans just left?

"Imagine for a moment," Vrax continued, "my predicament. Humans are a proud, blusterous race who believe their strength easily exceeds our own, but their greatest power lies in their adaptability and resilience. The humans who escaped today will not retreat, lick their wounds and wisely decide against pressing us further. They will summon more armies from afar, and they will try again. They will stop at nothing to mete out justice to those they perceive as having wronged them. To the two kobolds who killed their friends, their children. Tell me, Ren Humanbane, how could my city have survived so close to the surface all these years? What power could keep that tide of strength at bay?"

How did Vrax know of the human child? I went to answer, but we stepped around a bend. At the end of the tunnel, five humans in warrior's garb stood, expecting Vrax's arrival. Their leader wore a gold helm.

"Appeasement," Vrax said, and I felt a sharp pain on the back of my head. I slumped forward onto the stone as the world grew black, and then I felt nothing.

CHAPTER XXIV

SOMEONE WAS DRAGGING ME. THAT was the first thing I realised when I woke up and felt my knees and footclaws scraping along the stone floor. My head felt like it was on fire, pounding and throbbing, my vision returning in a blurry mist.

Khavi was beside me, dragged as well. He was limp and unmoving and his face was covered in blood. His left arm hung at a strange angle. He had a second elbow; the bone beneath snapped. I knew he had put up a fight.

The humans dragged us upward, up past the battle site, past the dark curtain between the underworld and the surface, then out into the brilliant light. It stung my eyes, but my head hurt from where Vrax had hit me. That pain was little compared to the thumping in my head. I managed to stand.

The humans we had fought were waiting for us by the hole in the ground. Their retreat, it seemed, had not been far. I was led into the middle of them. I kept my head down, and I could see my armour and my weapons were missing.

"Well now," said a voice I remembered. Pewdt. "Fancy seeing you here again."

I looked up, into his eyes, trying to will him to death with my hatred. "I knew you had something to do with these humans."

"Of course. Who do you think leads them into the underworld? Who guides them on their raids?"

"You murdered unhatched eggs," I spat. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Eggs?" Pewdt reached down and touched a pouch at his belt. It bulged with something oval. "Why would I kill that which is valuable to me?"

Faala's egg was still alive. I could not, however, let go of my anger. "One egg, then. There's a circle of the lower planes reserved just for you. You're going to roast for what you did."

"Perhaps," said Pewdt, his childlike smile unnerving me, "but not today."

He said something to the humans who held me. They let me go. I crouched beside Khavi who lay limp in the grass beside me. I gave him a shake. He groaned feebly.

"Hey," I whispered, "wake up." I coaxed him into a sitting position.

"What the hells happened?"

"Vrax knows the humans," I said. "He gave us to them."

"I know that much." Khavi rubbed his face ruefully. "That bastard can really fight. Took me down on his own without trying. The humans just watched."

"Tzala will save us," I said. "She knows we are missing. She'll come for us."

Pewdt's attention returned to us. "So," he said, "enjoying your time on the surface, murdering human children?"

I just glared at him. He was trying to bait us.

He patted the pouch that contained the egg. "Kobolds don't count as sentient," he said. "You speak, but you're just monsters."

"You're the monster."

Pewdt's face fell. "You'll change that tune when Contremulus is through with you."

The golden helmed human put the horn to her lips and blew. No sound came out. For a moment nothing happened, although Pewdt and the humans clearly expected something to.

I heard it before I saw it. Beating wings. Huge wings, moving such a volume of air that a cloud of dirt and dust grew in its wake. A mighty creature flew over the treeline, twenty kobolds long and ten high, a sinuous snakelike form with four powerfully muscled legs, held aloft on two gargantuan bat wings. Its scales were an iridescent gold, its whole body seeming to shimmer in the morning light.

The largest dragon I had ever heard of, with scales just like mine. Male. I could tell from the horns.

He banked, his wingspan blocking out the sun as he landed, flaring his wings into two giant crescents. The golden light of the dawn broke behind him, highlighting his perfect draconic form with lines of pure gold. Hovering in the air for just a moment, he touched down with astonishing grace, the groan of ground a faint murmur as it took his weight.

The humans around us slowly knelt, placing one knee on the earth and lowering their heads. Even Pewdt knelt. Khavi and I threw ourselves into the dirt, whimpering and cowering in fear as we were taught to do. The dragon watched us with eyes full of intelligence and cunning, evaluating us, studying us. We were a curiosity brought before genius.

Then it began to melt. Its perfect draconic form faded, and its body shrank. The dragon moved to stand on his hind legs, his tail retreated into his body, and his maw shrunk into his head; his face reshaped before my eyes, and the dragon became a man, tall and strong and with blonde hair, keeping his wings as he slowly stepped closer and closer towards us until these too—the last vestigial remnants of its dragon form—slipped into his body.

"Prisoners?" asked the man, in the tongue of the dragons, mild disdain filtering through his voice. "I'm sure you have a good reason for taking them, Jhora."

"Apologies, My Lord, there were too many questions we couldn't find answers to." The golden helmed woman handed over the pouch to the dragon in the form of a man. I recognised them as my pouch of eggshells. "We needed to know why they were on the surface and what they knew of the falling star." She looked directly at me, pointing with an armoured glove. "One has golden scales."

The dragon-man looked at me then, his golden eyes a perfect mirror of my own, then upended the pouch. He stared, curious, at the egg fragments, then slowly tipped them back into the pouch and hooked it into his belt. "She certainly does. Some distant descendant of mine, no doubt. I rarely consort with their kind, but on occasion I have found some worthy of my blood."

Even in the guise of a human his whole body radiated power. There was too much might stored in too small an area. I could see Khavi's face pressed into the ground, his eyes averted, and I struggled to summon the strength to look at the dragon-man, but I forced my cowardly eyes to remain fixed upon him. Somehow despite the overpowering awe he radiated that threatened to crush me with its sheer power, I found my voice.

"Are...are you my father?"

He approached me, and the force of his strength was too much; I stared down at the ground, at the dirt, my muzzle pressed firmly into the dry soil. Fingers, soft and human, lifted my chin and inspected my face. I found myself looking at him once more.

"Golden scales," he said. "No more than one generation diluted. She has my eyes, too. I would say it would be an absolutely extraordinary coincidence if she were not directly related to me."

My father. My progenitor. The answers to all my questions, less than a foot away from me, talking to me. Filling my ears with the answers I'd spent a lifetime craving.

"F-Father. I..."

"How old are you?"

It was such a simple question, but I was a fool for the time it took me to answer. "Six winters, Father."

He seemed to accept that answer. "Then you would be Tzala's hatchling, laid a month after she came to me. The timing fits, and your colouration is undeniable. Fascinating."

Tzala was my mother? The thought hit me like a warhammer to the heart. She had always taken a special interest in me, always treated me better than the rest of her students. She was different than other kobolds. It made perfect sense. A stab of anger cut through my fear; Tzala must have known all along but said nothing. Still, as I looked to this golden dragon in human form, I knew why. The city would never accept me if they had known for sure that I was born of this creature's blood.

But for some strange reason I trusted him. His human face was not enraged, nor hateful. He was only curious.

"Tell me," he said, "it is strange that you managed to survive. In times where I've laid with your kind, the eggs were always inert and lifeless."

"Yes, as was mine when it was laid. But when the keepers cast it into the furnace, it was unburned, and was found glowing with an inner light." I pointed my claw towards the pouch on his belt. "Those are fragments of the shell. The glow of the flame remains to this day."

The dragon gave me a long stare, and I lowered my eyes once again.

"So you mean to tell me you came back from the dead?"

"I-I don't know if I did, all I can tell you is what I know."

Another pause, then the dragon spoke again. "What do you know of the shard of the sky that fell near here?"

I looked to the great hole in the ground, to the walls of the crater that led down into the underworld and the lump of star that had crushed my city flat.

"The villagers said it fell weeks ago," I said, "crushing Atikala and the gnome city of Stonehaven above. The stone destroyed them utterly. There were two tremors shaking the earth. One that destroyed Atikala, one later."

"The second tremor was probably debris settling." He considered. "What was the star's colour?"

"They say it was the brightest red, Father. Red as blood with a red mist following in its wake. All the mist touched drowned where they stood. I did not see it in the underworld, nor did I know to look."

I hoped that my answer would have meaning to him and to my intense relief, it did. "Then it is the red stone," he said, "as we suspected."

He stood, and I buried my face in the dirt once again, but the air above me shifted as his hand lowered itself down. "Stand," he said, "and come with me, my daughter. We have a lot to discuss."

Trembling, unable to keep the wild excitement from surging throughout my entire body, I pushed myself up. He had his soft skinned hand outstretched to me, welcoming me, to offer me assistance back to my feet. Jhora helped Khavi stand.

"I am Contremulus the Sunscale."

I took the hand in mine, standing, my eyes affixed upon him, hope and joy filling every corner of my heart. "I-I am Ren, Father. Ren of Atikala."

My father smiled at me with his human mouth. "Ren? Nothing? That cannot be your true name."

"Ren is what they call me. I do not know my true name."

He considered a moment. "Then that will be a mystery we solve together." He nodded to the gold helmed Jhora. "Change of plan. This one comes with me to Northaven."

"Of course, Master."

Contremulus glanced down to Khavi. "Kill the other one instead."

The faint scrape of human steel on leather scabbard was the only warning I had, Contremulus's words coming too suddenly for me to process. My eyes met Khavi's, and in them I could see a sudden realisation. It was painted all over his face as the truth of Contremulus's final, offhand comment became clear. I stared at my friend, the kobold I had shared almost all my life, that I was to make an egg with.

Khavi's head was neatly sliced from his shoulders, bouncing away a short distance, his decapitated body spraying black ichor as it slumped over, lifeless, pouring his lifeblood onto the strange green grass. Spurts of his black blood landed on my feet.

I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. All I could do was stare down at the lifeless corpse, his eyes dull and empty, his blood pouring out onto the ground.

When my mind came back, when I realised what my father had done, I roared in rage and denial. I leapt towards the one who had killed Khavi, my size giving me the advantage, but humans were faster than most gave them credit for. My father's soldiers moved in, grasping hands wide, but they misunderstood my intent. I was not concerned with escape. I bit, and I scratched, and I thrashed around like my body were on fire. I fought the humans with every ounce of me; I wounded many, and in the end, it took three of the strong, skilled humans to hold me down, pinning my arms and legs to the earth. But even such a final defeat would not stop me. I spat and swore and screamed and screamed and screamed.

At Contremulus's command the humans used the flats of their blades, the hilts of their weapons and their armoured fists to subdue me, first trying simply to batter me into submission, to use pain to make me stop, but through my rage I could scarcely feel such things. One slammed his boot into my snout, another knocked my knee out of alignment with his gauntleted fist, and a third drove his pommel into my temple, but even these injuries were ignored. I was heedless of pain, of minor contrivances. I shrieked for whatever divine spark was left in the world to rain fire from the sky and burn them all to ashes. With every fibre of my being, I pleaded with the silent dead Gods for revenge and fought as hard as I had ever fought for anything I had ever wanted.

But wishing for something does not make it true. The humans continued to beat me, pummelling me with their giant fists, slamming them into me over and over, tearing off my scales and battering my eye closed. Yet I continued to struggle. Finally I bit one and took her finger; in return, she swung her mace and shattered my jaw. Spots exploded in my eyes, bright balls of light that faded to a misty grey and whatever shreds were left of my self-preservation cut the link between my mind and my body. I went completely limp, golden blood running from my lips and a dozen wounds. It was with considerable ease thereafter that the human soldiers bound me and carried me away.

I stared at Khavi's headless body until it was gone from my sight. With my limbs restrained, my jaw broken, and my will to fight completely drained, all I could do was cry.

EPILOGUE

No Mercy for Monsters

_M_ _ANY_ _SPECIES_ _CONSIDER_ _KOBOLDS_ _A_ _pest, weak and cowardly vermin to be exterminated en masse, barely sentient and their fates bearing little consideration. All over the world of Drathari, heroes of the land sleep easy in their beds, troubled not by the deaths of my kind at their hands. We are gleefully cut down by the score, killed without mercy._

_Yet if that hero kills even a single human, this is often a cause for grief and internal turmoil. For restless nights and worry and doubt and atonement, even if the human was wicked to the core and completely deserving of the act._

_This strikes me as odd. I postulate that few have ever paused to consider that perhaps kobolds regard humans with the same indifference. That man, tall and powerful, should be the ones considered vermin to be exterminated. To us humans are the other, the outsider. They are what does not look like us, think like us, speak like us, and its destruction does not weigh on the conscience heavily, if at all._

_I certainly thought this way in my youth. Humans were a distant threat, enemies whose influence was almost never felt, aside from occasional inept raids into our territory. I wore leather made from human beings, never considering that what I was wearing was once a sentient creature with thoughts and feelings and desires._

_When I saw Khavi's head separated from his shoulders, when I lost the one who struggled and fought beside me through so much, I remember the visage of the woman who had killed him. I saw in her eyes not the rage of a victim basking in revenge, nor the triumph of the righteous. Instead I saw nothing. I saw a human who was pressing her heel to a bug and crushing it. I saw boredom and a strong desire to avoid getting kobold blood on her boots._

_I saw myself as I burned No-Kill's companions with my flame, as Khavi and I cut down what I now know to be a peaceful trade party completely unrelated to the destruction of Atikala. I saw a perfect mirror of my own mind in his, our thoughts completely alike as we butchered those we considered the_ other _._

_The lesson I'd recited in my mind before that fateful first patrol flashed through my mind, the words suddenly ringing truer than anything I'd ever heard before._

_No mercy for monsters._

_— Ren of Atikala_

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