# Chapter 1: Sedra

It was always raining in the port town of Sedra; as if the Gods themselves were trying to wash the pit of lawbreakers and dilapidated buildings out into the ocean. There was nothing in the small town that looked worth the amount of commerce that came through it. Not that many of the residents reported their earnings for taxes. That, perhaps, explained why everything looked like it was cobbled together from the driftwood that washed ashore. Taxmen couldn't claim the thieves and crooks were living the high life of crime if their houses looked like a stiff breeze would topple them like a house of cards.

To make things worse, the rains were warm. Wearing a cloak protected from the moisture in the air while suffocating the person under it. Usually, this led to hoods being cast aside in favor of the rain, but one man was striding through the town, muck from the unpaved streets splashing up onto the hem of his cloak, with his hood up. Even thieves wouldn't wear their hoods up in the middle of the day. As if that wasn't suspicious enough, the man's cloak was a much finer quality than the ones wrapped around the wary citizens of the town.

The clinking of his every step told the citizens, even the crooks and thieves, to stay away. It was the sound of armor under cloth. A heavy type of footfall that demanded space and attention. Subtle, and less than subtle, eyes watched the cloaked man take the main thoroughfare through town down to the docks. Some foolish knight come to try and arrest the slavers, or perhaps a morally corrupt one come to take home some entertainment. It may have even been a dark knight looking for a sacrifice to his lord were it not for the glint of polished steel under the cloak. Whatever his reason, the residents made note of his passage while doing nothing to hinder him. Information was always at a premium, and a knight of renown, if he were of renown, visiting slavers would be good money. Either to guys running the slave business in Sedra to hunt him down if he survived, or blackmailing him.

Generally, the inhabitants of the town kept their distance from strangers, particularly armored ones. Be they foreign knights or part of the local militia, it was best to be cautious in the town of Sedra. Attacking the wrong official could get someone more pain than profit. Even if attacking the right one was usually the business of the day. So the residents waited in their homes and businesses, if they could be called that, and watched. It created an eerie atmosphere of near silence. Not even children playing could be heard in the town. If there were any children in the town.

A lithe halfling was tossing a small statue in his hands when he saw the knight approach. The statue went into the short man's bag as he whistled. Moments later an average sized, scruffy human came out of a small windowless office. He walked along the rows of cages containing their “product,” making sure to stay under the awning erected over them. There was no reason for him to get wet if the ones in cages got to stay dry, although he could use the rinse. His eyes were sharp though and he motioned to his short companion to step into the cabin in his stead. The halfling moved in out of the rain like all the hells were nipping at his feet. Inside the cages, the creatures were getting just as restless at the approach of the knight. The cornucopia of colored lizards were stirring, but careful not to upset the slaver, as they watched the knight approach. One in particular was glaring at the dirty man rather than the armored one, uncaring for any consequences that might befall her.

Under the awning, the knight removed his hood and helmet. He was a young man with a typically short cut hairstyle, nothing to grab if the helmet came off in a fight. He also made sure the man in front of him saw the sword belted on his side. The comfortable way it hung, the ease of his gait. This knight was no stranger to being armed. Naturally, the cages attracted his attention. Inside were lizard-like creatures he knew as kobolds. Bipedal, multicolored, cunning, but usually less than intelligent. Considered one of the subservient races of the kingdom. His gaze traveled to one in particular, the only one that was tied up and gagged as well as caged; a prison within a prison. A kobold with light blue scales along her back and a soft white underbelly covered by typical slave rags. The only thing left that might give the slavers trouble were the few half-inch horns on her head.

“What's the story with that one?” he asked, making idle conversation with the slaver.

"Caught her trying to pick the locks on the other cages," the scraggly dark-haired man replied. "Seems she didn't know doing something like that gets a lizard put in shackles."

The knight nodded, making up his mind, and looked at the man in front of him. “I'm Merdon, a knight in the employ of the Returner's Guild.”

“Ahh, I see. Has someone lost a slave then?”

“Here some week ago. There's a finders fee in it if you happen to have her here in your cages,” he mentioned.

With coin to be made, the man's eyes lit up and he waved the armored fellow to follow him. “We keep records of all our lizards in the building in the back. One door, two of us always on duty, keeps things simple.” Hard to ambush them were more righteous knights to swing by. Not that many cared about the rights of kobolds. Not enough to risk their lives at least. They were monsters with barely any semblance of civilization, whose most prominent members were thieves or servants.

This didn't stop Quickclaw from biting at her gag and trying to split the ropes that bound her arms together once the humes had left. Her fellow kobolds shook their heads disapprovingly at her, the ones in these cages having given up hope of being set free after her failed jailbreak. But what could she have done? The dimwitted ones started crooning when she was picking the locks. They were so pleased with the prospect of being set free just two days ago. And they would be again. As soon as she was free she would sneak into that cabin, take back her daggers, her loot, kill those humes, and then she could pick the locks at her leisure. It was a good plan.

Or it was before a commotion came from the “office” the slavers kept. Her struggling stopped as she looked over and watched. More of these oh so smart men fighting over a few silvers? The knight was stupid for walking in there alone. As soon as the slavers knew which one of them had a bounty he would be dead and they would be on their way to collecting the whole purse. They'd toss his body in the ocean and it would be weeks if not months before his corpse came up. If they kept his armor to sell that was. Leaving it on, he might never surface again.

There were several shouts and the sound of metal clanging for a couple of minutes. At last, it stopped and the air was filled with dead silence. Even the kobolds in the cages were watching. It was the most action they'd heard in weeks, apart from whatever angry tirade the dirty hume decided to make up to slap one of them around. "Training" them to take whatever rage their new master would have.

The silence was broken by the squeak of the door to the building. Merdon, the knight, came walking out with his helmet on, and blood on his blade. He wiped it clean before sheathing it, and then put the statue the red-headed halfling had been toying with into his own pack. The statue the halfling had taken from Quickclaw when she was captured. She was finding herself more and more irritated that humes were so damned interested in that trinket. It wasn't even worth a whole gold piece.

Merdon strolled over to the cages, and then stopped at Quickclaw's. She glared at him in defiance. His expression was hidden by his helmet now, but his actions spoke louder than any look on his face could have. A heavy steel boot came slamming down on the rusty lock of Quickclaw's cage, destroying both the lock and the latch. The kobolds around her stared as the hume tossed the blue thief a ring of keys.

“I'd guess it won't take you more than a few minutes to finish cutting through that rope,” his muffled voice came. “But just in case.” Following that, he thrust a pair of daggers, her daggers, into the ground and started to walk off.

Quickclaw glanced at him, then shimmied over to the blades and started slicing herself free. First her ropes, then her gag, then the other kobolds. If the “guards” took too long, she'd run into the office for the rest of her things. Her extended stay with the slavers was over, as it was for all the other kobolds here. The only sad thing was that she clearly wouldn't be getting her own revenge. But a sour feeling was spreading in her stomach...

Merdon hurried out of the port town, which surely caught more eyes than his steady approach into town. At least as many eyes as the fact he was leaving without anything notable on his person. Who visited the slavers and didn't return with slaves? Suspicious people. Suspicious people to criminals anyway. He didn't stop until he was well out of town, and even then he made sure to be a ways off the roads and nestled in a deep thicket of trees before resting for the night. The unfortunate thing was that such rest required the removal of his armor. No one liked being without defense while in hostile territory, but it was better than losing a fight to fatigue later on. His hope was that the trees would be thick enough to prevent an ambush. Any pursuers would have to come through the sole entrance unless they started cutting down saplings.

He was smart enough to keep his fire in a deep pit, but just as he was dozing off the sound of rustling branches brought him back to alertness. His hand gripped his sword and he spun towards the source of the sound. The blue-scaled kobold from the cage was standing there with her hands on her hips. Merdon's dim firelight robbed her of that color though, leaving her looking an angry yellow and with a frowning expression to match. He also took note of her clothing, lightweight leather with straps along her thin feet to mask tracks and sounds. It was something else to see a kobold with such modesty; if such modesty didn't reveal the kobold's profession.

“A thief,” Merdon commented with a frown.

“Aye,” the kobold said, her voice oddly melodic. “Quickclaw owes you a debt.”

The man shook his head but kept his sword at the ready. "You owe me nothing. I'm no fan of slavers to begin with. I didn't free you for your sake."

“But the hume did free Quickclaw, and she must pay that debt, for she is a noble thief.”

“And what's so noble about stealing?” he accused.

The kobold shrugged. “It depends who is being stolen from,” she philosophized. “A greedy hume or dragonkin, purse laden with gold jealously guarded? Quickclaw sees no harm.”

“Then go find such a mark and leave me be,” Merdon suggested, still on alert. The statue had been stolen by a short thief, either a kobold or a halfling. He imagined she was here to take back her prize.

Quickclaw shook her head in exasperation. “You have already left a trail, one that Quickclaw covered for you. Your armor may be thick, but so is your skull.”

Merdon looked surprised at that. A kobold calling him dumb? He had heard everything. “Thank you,” he offered her, “Perhaps that makes us even.”

The kobold gave him a flat look. “Quickclaw will not leave until she has provided a service equal to the freedom you have granted her.” She stepped up and threw her own bedroll on the ground before having a seat. “Quickclaw shall keep watch tonight.”
With a frown, the knight rolled over in his own covers. He planted the bag with the statue under him and tried to get to sleep. It was hours before he finally relaxed. He could feel the kobold's eyes on him the whole time.

Early the next morning, Merdon sat up and checked his belongings. Nothing was missing. He turned around and saw the fire was out, burned down to ashes sometime in the night. There was also no sight of Quickclaw. Perhaps the kobold had taken his advice and ran off to find a profitable mark. Maybe she decided a night of watch for a human was payment enough. In any event, it was good enough for him. Merdon preferred working alone.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound above him. Merdon jumped back, out of his bedroll and drew his sword. Quickclaw dropped down from the trees and smiled, her own pack already snug on her back. The knight glanced upward. He wasn't sure if kobolds were native to trees or not. Could have been that this one was just strange. She did volunteer to be around a human and talked about being honorable.

“The hume's reaction is good,” she praised him. “You are as fast without your armor as a kobold.”

“Thanks,” Merdon replied sourly. He started packing his things while she watched him. Eventually, the silence and stares became too much, so he decided to ask her, “What were you doing up there?”

Quickclaw raised a brow. “Keeping watch. A band of guards from the hume town crossed this way a few hours ago.”

That got his attention. “And you didn't wake me up?” What kind of watch was she?

"The dumb humes did not scout very well. Besides, the kobolds Quickclaw freed are a much higher value than you. For now," she added with a shrug. Missing slaves meant a fee for finding or a punishment for not finding, the guards could put up a human's description in every town and still find him. Kobolds? Not so much.

Merdon frowned and started putting his armor on. “If they used the main road it would be best to avoid that route back to Bereth.” He didn't fancy trekking through the woods, especially with a rogue kobold at his back, but he didn't seem to have much choice in the matter.

Once his armor was on, however, Quickclaw stepped in front of him and gestured. “Follow. Quickclaw knows another route. It will lead us to the North roads.” Roads that led to Bereth from another city. Without cutting through the woods it would take the men from Sedra two days to reach that road. Of course, that assumed they weren't mounted.

“How fast is this route?” he asked, covering his bases.

“We will reach it by the end of the day,” Quickclaw assured him as she started to push through the brush.

“I hope you're right,” Merdon muttered to himself as he began to follow.

# Through the Woods

The kobold's “route” was to simply cut through the dense wood that separated the North road from the East road they had been on previously. It was a route that Merdon would have preferred to avoid. Along with that, the further they got the more apparent it was they wouldn't reach the road by the end of the day. Merdon's armor slowed him significantly as he had to twist and turn this way and that to avoid tree trunks Quickclaw easily slinked between. It almost annoyed him to watch her move ahead before stopping and waiting on him to catch up. Quickclaw seemed mildly annoyed as well. Armor was what slowed them down, put them both at risk, but the hume continued to wear it. She didn't question him, not at first.

Worse and worse, however, the rains of the Sedran forest left the forest floor a thick muck. With such heavy rains, there was little chance for anything other than the unique trees that made up the forest, leaving the ground a perfect pit of mud and moss. Merdon frowned as he stopped for the third time in as many hours, possibly less, to yank his boots free from the swamp-like sludge they were walking through. He looked ahead to the kobold guiding him, her face featuring a look of abject annoyance at his slowness. Grumbling, he reached down and physically hauled his legs up, being forced to use his hands to free his legs despite how well the armor was attached to his body just to continue moving. The kobold sighed and kept going, her own feet barely making an impression on the ground that the knight was sinking into so easily. Not to mention the stumbling and gripping of trees he had to do to avoid unseen roots that the kobold never had to encounter due to her much lighter weight.

It was enough to make Merdon contemplate turning around. He would rather go back and fight a losing battle against the corrupt guards of Sedra that were no doubt looking for him than continue pulling his feet through the mud with a kobold in front of him. The way her feet moved across the ground, tail hovering just above the muck, it was like she taunted him just by moving. And before long, again, his foot sunk low, his body trying to find balance as one foot dropped lower than the other, and he had to reach down and yank himself out again while she stopped and watched like a mother hen making sure her chick didn't get lost in tall grass. He hated slowing them down, she hated having to check on him. It wasn't a situation that pleased either of them.

After another hour of trekking, Merdon's armor covered up to the knees in mud, he wanted to call the whole thing off and turn around. The problem with that now, he realized, was how far along they were. Turning around meant walking through just as much mud as continuing forward, and it wouldn't get him any safer. Of course, he didn't quite trust the kobold he was traveling with either. Removing his armor would leave him vulnerable and it wouldn't guarantee his passage through the mud. He was heavier by default and was carrying a much larger pack than she was. Yet, that wasn't what came to mind when she asked him about it.

“Can the hume not take his armor off?” Quickclaw called after what felt like the hundredth time Merdon got stuck. She was as sick of it as he was, and she didn't have any hood to shield her from the rain as he did. The kobold was drenched.

“And leave myself open to you?” he asked her skeptically. She was a thief by trade. He had no reason to trust her.

Quickclaw rolled her eyes at the accusation though. “This will become tiresome for both of us if you cannot let go of your preconceptions.”

That was far too complex a word, both in meaning and size, for a kobold to be using. “I'll stop when you drop the 'hume' stuff,” Merdon shot back.

Quickclaw gave him a look and then sighed. “At this pace, we will take well into the night to reach the road.”

“Well, we're not camping in this ooze,” the knight told her flatly. There was no way they could even if they tried. Of course, maybe she could sleep in a tree.

Their banter ended after that, their fight through the woods continuing in silence. If the squishing of mud, squelching of boots pulling out of mud, clanging of armor, and hefty breathing from Merdon every step of the way counted as silence. At least there was no more talking between them for some time. The most was when they finally reached the part of the forest where the rains of the Sedra petered out and gave way to solid ground. Merdon had practically praised the goddess, an act he didn't do often, when the muck thinned and his feet steadily found more purchase as they walked. He no longer had to reach down and pull himself free, it only took a moment of lifting the leg that got stuck to free it, and before long he wasn't getting stuck at all. By nightfall, the human could find solid ground with every step instead of every third. Their speed picked up significantly, which improved his mood at last.

The moon was high in the sky when they reached the forest's edge. Safe from pursuit, but not from other threats, Merdon started camp a distance back into the dense trees. He didn't bother with a fire tonight. Light from the moon reached well enough for him to knock the mud off of his armor, and some dry rations in his pack would get him through the few hours of sleep he was likely to get before sunrise. It wasn't ideal as he clanged his steel against a tree to knock debris free from it, but it was the life of an adventurer.

Quickclaw, in the meantime, seemed to be eating something out of her pack, not that it was any of Merdon's business what she did. Her own stomach sated, she went looking for a good place to set herself up for the night. The trees were thick with foliage, good for hiding, but bad for seeing. With a sigh, she started up one of them at random. No matter which she chose her spot would have to be cleared out. Leaves fell from where she trimmed the branches to give herself a lookout. Merdon didn't know how fortunate he was that kobolds had good night vision.

On the ground, Merdon set up his bedroll and got as comfortable as he could. Clearing away rocks and branches, picking a spot that hid him from casual sight behind some bushes, and settling in on his back. Overall, he had to admit, things could have gone worse. At least the kobold hadn't stabbed him in the back, literally or metaphorically, just yet. It made him wonder.

“Are you really some honorable kobold?” he asked up to her, as best he could.

There was silence for a while before she replied. “Do you wish any enemies to know of Quickclaw's location?”

Merdon sighed. “You're hiding in a tree, in the dark. It's hard to see the tree let alone something in it.”

“Yes, Quickclaw pays her debts,” the kobold responded as the tree rustled. She was moving lookouts. Stupid humes.

It was no more than she'd given him yesterday, yet after their spatting and traveling, he felt it was more sincere. She could have left him lost and stuck in the mud, but she didn't. Not to mention when she could have taken him out the night before. As strange as it seemed to him, the kobold wasn't evil or looking to stab him in the back. He couldn't fathom why it was so hard for him to just accept that. Kobolds weren't exactly common to speak with unless they were slaves, so who knew what they were really like.

Kobolds were treated poorly almost globally, the orcs being the exception to that, but they treated everyone else like rubbish. Despite this, and the slavery that existed, Avant, the nation they were in, was more relaxed about kobolds than others were. It was uncommon, but not unheard of, to see kobolds roaming free in some towns. The capital was even known for its kobold slums, cheap houses where kobolds lived right under the king. It was far better than the elves, who often treated them as monsters on par with goblins, or the queendom of Rastar where a kobold without a chain was killed. Merdon hated slavers, but was he treating the kobold with any more respect than they would?

“Good night,” he said after his thoughts. It was almost apologetic in tone. Accepting of her at the very least. She was there, traveling with him, even if he preferred to work alone. There was no reason he couldn't extend basic courtesies to her. Maybe treat her like a rational being.

# Bereth

Merdon was glad to be out of the rains that plagued the area around Sedra, but he was even more pleased once they arrived in Bereth two days after. Quickclaw shared his relief with being off the road. Even being out of Sedra didn't mean they were out of danger, and there was no guarantee of safety just because they were on the roads. A city, however, meant just that. Especially one that Merdon was so familiar with. No corrupt guards would grab them, most of the guards in Bereth knew him and knew to let the guild handle his business. Also, no bandits would ambush them as they could out on the roads to the city, possible followers from Sedra. They could relax at last.

Bereth was an entirely different sort of place. Positioned near the edge of the kingdom one might expect it to be more lawless, but it was a center of commerce. A mountain range nearby kept the borders secure and its distance from Sedra and the seas left it drier. The only contentious point was a range of forest opposite the direction of Sedra and its muck ridden swamps. It rarely bothered anyone, however, with the king's road passing through it the forest was typically more of a reprieve from the boring plains that otherwise surrounded the border of the kingdom. Those that lived in Bereth were far removed from the capital of the nation, and the people had their own opinions on things like kobolds and dealing with outlaws. One could almost consider it a capital in the making.

“Shouldn't a knight have a horse?” Quickclaw questioned as they walked through the town gate. The kobold couldn't imagine carrying all that armor without one.

"If you've got the gold I'd be happy to buy one," Merdon responded, fatigue evident in his voice. But he quickly told her, "Never mind," when he saw the gleam in her eyes. The last thing he wanted her to do was to steal him a horse, or the gold to get one. Repaying her debt he might accept, but he wouldn't let her do something illegal. It would get him in more trouble than he was already in.

With her idea crushed, Quickclaw sighed and started looking at the town. It was nearly a city in size, and well located for such things. She noticed right away that the city was big enough to have roads leading out of it in every direction, something that was common only in large merchant towns. The sturdy wall around the city limits, complete with gates and guards inspecting everyone solidified that picture in her mind. Everything was also very clean, not quite as much as the capital of the nation, but it was clear they cared about their appearance. Something also that only large, merchant based cities cared for. All in all, it was a nice place and all of the hints about peddlers coming through town made it sound like her kind of place. Except for the looks she was getting from the humes. A frown formed on her face as she walked by group after group of them; always having to turn their noses up at someone. Still, none of them paid much more attention to her than that. No chains were being hauled out, and no one was asking Merdon what she cost. Small improvements that made a world of difference.

Merdon was unconcerned with the crowds around them and didn't register any looks they might have had towards his companion. He had a goal in mind. A contract with his Guild that promised a good amount of coin, and would get things smoothed over with the guards, assuming anyone from Sedra could manage to beat them to Bereth. All he needed to do now was take that statue to the office and collect his pay. Unlike Sedra, the streets of Bereth were flagstone and that made all the difference as they traveled. The flat, even surface was easy to traverse even as they passed through the busy market place.

The sounds of merchants hocking their wares could be heard before they turned the corner, and the blue kobold's eyes widened at the sight. Marketplaces were the perfect areas for pickpockets. They could snatch unattended items from stalls, create distractions to make said items unattended; basically, she could stock up on anything they needed. Quickclaw kept following the knight, but her eyes were taking in everything they passed in the open-air market. The fruit stand kept produce in crates underneath, hidden only by a colorful cloth over the wooden frame, meaning she could grab some without being noticed at her size. Barely coming up to the average hume's waist had its perks sometimes. It also helped that none of the market stalls had safes nearby that she could see. Either the merchants ran their earnings home to hide them or they kept their spoils in purses on their belts, at least during the day.

She did realize something rather quickly though. Humes were the majority. Quickclaw saw a couple of races, dwarves selling metal items, travelers more than residents, lycans had more permanent structures set up but she only counted three in the crowded market, and most importantly not a single kobold. In fact, there wasn't even a dragonkin as far as she had seen. Not that a town of this size warranted someone of that stature to be around. This meant if she got caught pilfering a single time she would have to skip town. As easy as that would be, it would mean leaving her debt to the knight unfulfilled.

Quickclaw's sour feeling returned at that notion. She didn't like passing up such plentiful pickings, but she also didn't like the notion of owing some hume a favor. Gods knew when he would show up and demand she pay that favor back. It was better if she picked the situation, offered him the help she felt like giving, and no more. That gave her all of the control, and the kobold liked to be in control. Control, especially when it came to thieving, kept one alive more often than not. A quirk of the trade, so to speak. Less manipulation of circumstances made things unpredictable and difficult, planning made things easier.

The pair walked up to a rather large building a couple of streets away from the market. Shouting voices could still be heard faintly, but nowhere near as prominently. A sign hanging from the two-story building read, "Returner's Guild." Quickclaw recognized the guild; in fact, they were essentially the opposite of thieves. People who sought out stolen or missing things and returned them to their owners for a fee. She'd always found it easier to sell things, it tended to put more coin in your purse, but if the knight was a member she would stomach the losses. It wasn't her coffers that needed filling after all.

Merdon pushed open the door into the guild and picked his helmet off with a sigh. Sweat was running down his head in the heat of the day, but he didn't risk being identified for sure until he was sure he was safe. Inside the guild, he couldn't be more so. No corrupt Sedran guard was going to stab him in the back in plain view of honest workers and comrades, and if they did they wouldn't get out of the building in one piece. The guards of Bereth would also have preferred to let the guild handle its own business making Merdon entirely secure as long as he didn't piss off the guild itself.

Quickclaw looked a bit impressed with the place, all things considered. It was a decent-sized building for being two stories tall. The offices were on the bottom floor and special rooms were on the second floor for travelers far from home that worked for the guild. Right up front was a desk that came up to Merdon's chest with a receptionist behind it, and to the far left of the room was a nice fireplace for when it got chilly. Next to the door were chairs, a typical waiting area for just about any guild, complete with the same kind of banners that hung outside to let people know what the building was for. A relaxing blue with the image of an outstretched hand, as if to offer aid. There were probably more folks working in the back of the first floor but they weren't readily noticeable from the front desk.

The receptionist, a plain-looking girl with long golden hair, offered the armored man a smile. “Merdon, how went your hunt?” she asked, her voice as high and effeminate as one would expect from a village girl.

“Fair,” he responded, pulling the statue out of his pack. “I found this in the hands of a halfling slaver down in Sedra. Given the description the priest gave, a short thief, I figured I had the right guy. He wasn't keen on letting it go though.”

She frowned at him. “We've heard,” the receptionist said sternly. “Well, I suppose everyone in town has heard. Two bodies, a whole shipment of kobold slaves freed, and a knight walking away from it all.”

Merdon coughed nervously. “Yes, well, I figured it wouldn't be too humane to leave the beasts in their cages after their handlers were slain.”

“And why exactly were they slain?”

“I made up a story about a missing slave,” Merdon began to explain. “Once we were in the office I identified the statue and confronted the halfling. He said something to the effect of 'finders keepers' and threatened me with his knife. I told him that wasn't wise, and his companion pulled a sword. What choice did I have but to defend myself?”

The blonde lady's fingers were tapping rapidly on the counter as he explained. “And then you took their keys, freed the kobolds, took one for yourself, and came back?”

“Quickclaw is no filthy hume slave!” the kobold in question shouted, grabbing the counter and pulling herself up to look the woman in the face.

Merdon defended this as well. “I'd never take a slave, not even a kobold. The scamp has been following me since I set her free. She says she owes me a debt.”

The lady, taken by surprise at their ferocity, leaned back in her seat and held up her hands. “Fine, fine! I'll have our contacts sort things out,” she told them, before reaching under the desk. She pulled out a fistful of coins, counted several out, and sat them on the counter. Five silvers, and fifteen copper pieces. All of which Merdon put into his own purse.

“Thank you,” he said, actually sounding grateful.

Quickclaw huffed and dropped down to the ground again. She looked up at Merdon and told him, “That statue is worth five times as much.”

Merdon quickly turned, waving to the receptionist, and bid her a farewell. “I'll be in tomorrow for a new contract, Cath.” He grabbed Quickclaw by the shoulder and hurried her out the door.

The kobold huffed, her tail swaying defiantly to slap his shin even as he let go of her. “Don't do that,” she insisted.

“Well, don't let the guild know you were the one that stole the thing we just turned in,” he hissed at her.

Quickclaw looked surprised. “How do you know it was Quickclaw?”

"Because why would a slaver go three leagues out of his town to steal a statue from a monastery, when he's making a living selling kobolds?" It was a simple deduction.

She paused for a moment and then nodded. He had deliberately lied to his guild to protect her. "Quickclaw will hide her profession, for now. But, she demands a proper meal and a good ale.” She said demand, but it was really more of a bargain.

Merdon sighed, he wasn't the bargaining type. "Fine, there's a tavern nearby," he surrendered.

He led them up the street, further and further away from the market. The pedestrians thinned out significantly as they came to an old wooden building. “The Howling Wolf” was painted, faded over time, around the image of a snarling wolf. Inside it smelled of dirty bodies, adventurers come back from days on the road looking to unwind, and roasting meat. Quickclaw perked up at the second smell and licked her lips. She took a seat at the bar, the seats high enough even for halflings, and waited impatiently. All the other furniture had clearly seen better days. Tables had nails holding them to the floor, the chairs were made of scraps of lumber, possibly old chairs that had been broken and now repurposed, and the walls were scant with decoration. It was a bare sort of place, clearly intended to get the job done and no more. The only reason it stood up in the modern Bereth was its position as one of the original taverns in the town.

Merdon took a seat next to the kobold and flagged down the bartender, a lycan with dark blue fur, and said, "An ale, two sides of that ham I smell, and a mug of water."

Quickclaw looked at the human confused. “Water?”

“I don't drink,” he told her flatly.

The lycan huffed and stepped into the back. Their wolfish personalities rarely made them fit for customer service, so Quickclaw was surprised to see one operating a bar. That was until their order came. All was fine with the ham, in her opinion, it was a fatty meat to begin with. Her ale having twigs inside of it however was not. Merdon's gaze told another story though. He wasn't happy about either the extra serving of fat on his meat or the stick in the kobold's mug.

"Thirty copper," the lycan told him, meeting that gaze.

Merdon went to complain until his staring contest was interrupted by the slamming of a mug. Quickclaw had finished her drink, regardless of the stick. "Another ale," she told the bartender, meeting his gaze with her own confident smirk.

The wolf man growled and went into the back. Once more he emerged with an ale full of crud from the bottom of a barrel. Sediment and debris from being open in the back for so long. He was likely giving her the ale from a barrel he wouldn't be able to sell to even the drunkest adventurer. Once more, however, the kobold drained it and demanded, “Another.”

When the lycan went back, Merdon whispered to her, “How drunk are you going to get?”

She shrugged. “Until Quickclaw gets a good drink of ale.”

Merdon ended up paying for three more mugs of ale before the lycan finally had to give her some from a fresh barrel. Which cost Merdon a grand total of one silver and ten coppers. It was absolute robbery, but still, he felt impressed with the little kobold. She didn't back down, she didn't threaten the lycan, she simply took everything he had. In the end, she was quite drunk as they made their way down the road to the inn, Merdon having to keep her steady half of the way, but he was still impressed.

The inn was well kept, much more inviting than the tavern had seemed, being the inn was newer and made of stone rather than the rough wood the tavern had been made from. Although the look on the innkeeper's face said otherwise when he caught sight of Quickclaw. Merdon headed that bout of unpleasantness off at the pass. He stepped up and produced his remaining silver pieces, placing them in front of the innkeeper's eyes so he could look at the potential gains from the deal. "Three silver if you can smile while showing us to a room, and again tomorrow when we leave." It was a generous offer, one the innkeeper could not refuse.

“Of course, sir. If you and your … companion will follow me,” the elderly man said, stepping away from his desk and leading them to the second floor of the building, one of the more common sizes for new businesses in Bereth. He unlocked a heavy wooden door and gestured them inside before closing it and leaving.

The room was nice, two beds with comfortable blankets, a chamber pot, and a large basin for washing clothes. Merdon suspected there was some fire going in the building, as the room was warm all the way through. He had no issue stripping his armor off before laying on the bed with a heavy sigh. Across from him, Quickclaw was shedding her own clothes. Curious at the sounds, Merdon looked up in time to see the blue kobold completely naked and unsteady on her feet.

He immediately regretted looking, as his mind couldn't help but notice she had a pair of breasts. Lizards didn't have breasts, humans did. It was odd enough that dragonkin did too, but kobolds? Not to mention the curves of her body...

“Does the hume like what he sees?” Quickclaw flirted drunkenly at him.

Merdon looked away and shook his head. “Not at all, I was just … curious as to why kobolds have breasts.”

The kobold laughed. "We were served ale by a man-wolf, and yet the hume questions bosoms."

She was right. That was a stupid deflection. Thankfully, Quickclaw didn't press the issue. While he laid on his back, looking at the ceiling, the sound of water filled the room. Specifically, the sound of the giant tub being filled with water. Merdon didn't want to look, so he didn't. He rolled over instead and pointedly gazed out the window. It was always peaceful in Bereth at night. The lamps dimly lighting the streets, the stars and moon out in full. Not a care in the world for someone like him. Until he heard more water, followed by the clicking of the claws on Quickclaws feet behind him.

“Wash,” Quickclaw told him simply.

“Why?” Merdon questioned without turning to her. Sure, he was dirty, but so was everyone.

“Quickclaw can smell you, which means others can too. It's hard enough to hide the tracks of your armor when we're out without masking smells,” she told him flatly.

Merdon sighed and sat up. He started pulling his clothes off, doing his best to keep his modesty as he walked over to the basin Quickclaw had filled up while also keeping his eyes away from her. Then, and only then, did he remove his drawers and quickly get into the tub. It was lukewarm at best, and he had to sit to keep himself hidden. It made washing extremely difficult and limited his movement.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. Quickclaw carrying his laundry to a smaller washbasin and cleaning his clothes. She was clearly drunk as her tail had to sway back and forth to keep her steady. It was a rhythmic motion, hypnotic, and the kobold's moistened scales glistening in the candlelight didn't help that any. Merdon couldn't stop himself. He watched her go over and hang both of their clothes up on a line in the room to dry. She stretched with a yawn, her whole body shuddering in the process. Those hips were undeniably feminine, along with her gait; Merdon was no child after all. These were thoughts a human should not have been having about a kobold! Then, she walked back to her bed, seemingly unaware of his gaze watching her walk away.

It wasn't until she was out of sight that Merdon realized he had been staring, and his physical response to it. He couldn't have been more glad to be sitting in a pool of now cold water. After his extra long bath, he retired to his own bed, relieved that Quickclaw had pulled the covers over herself. Merdon pulled his own covers over himself and tucked the blanket under him just to be safe. He closed his eyes and tried everything to not think about the kobold snoring next to him. To not think about her small, pert breasts, her ample rear, her hips...

“Oh gods,” Merdon mumbled to himself. This was not a sustainable partnership.

# Guilds and Glory

Quickclaw seemed peppier the next morning, in Merdon's opinion. The kobold girl had dressed again and at his side as they walked down the street towards the guild. He could have sworn there was a smile on her face. Perhaps it was just the bathing. Maybe even female kobolds enjoyed the clean sensation and lack of smell. Not that Merdon didn't, he was just used to being without it in his daily life. Years of traveling and not access to bathing water, living out of a canteen and on rations, tended to make a person forget about luxuries like baths. Regardless, it put him in a good mood to see an expression on her muzzle other than a contemptuous smirk or a defiant scowl.

Of course, he couldn't forget about the night before, no matter how hard he tried. At best he could manage to focus on their current objective. Getting a new contract, completing the quest, and getting paid. Until she fulfilled that debt to him they were business partners. No more, no less, pure business.

“The hume seems distracted,” Quickclaw commented, looking at Merdon's uncovered face.

“I was just thinking about how you seem to be in a good mood,” he replied, looking ahead to try and hide his face.

The kobold chuckled, a terribly melodic and tempting noise. “Yes, Quickclaw is pleased with the bed last night, and the look on the lycan's face when she bested his feeble insult.”

Merdon couldn't help but smirk at that too. “I didn't think someone of your size could drink so much,” he admitted.

“Kobolds are surprising creatures,” Quickclaw informed him. “Keep an open mind and Quickclaw will show you more.”

The knight's face hardened at that. He'd seen plenty, more than enough actually. “Let's just concentrate on whatever the guild gives me, all right?” he asked, avoiding that line of thought.

Quickclaw waved her hand, brushing the comment aside, “Yes, yes. Quickclaw will help the hume with his work.” And hope that an opportunity to pay him back in full arose.

Merdon sighed and kept walking. It was very early in the morning; the city was still mostly asleep. The sun, barely peaked over the horizon, bathed everything in strange hues. Occasionally a mother would lean out of a window, opening the house to start cleaning, and the odd merchant or adventurer would come shambling out of a door to start business for the day. Otherwise, the streets were silent and empty, the air calm. Quite the turnaround from the loud and bustling midday they'd wandered through before. Peaceful was how Quickclaw felt she would describe it. Something that kobold villages never were with the constant fear they had of human slavers.

With the reduced foot traffic, they arrived at the guild in short order and without incident. Cath was sitting at the front desk, as she usually was, and yawned as they walked in. Papers on her desk rustled about as she looked through the contracts. There was one she felt the two were perfect for, and she sat it atop the counter for Merdon to view.

“A lockbox in a cave?” Merdon asked, looking at Cath. “I can't carry that.”

“You don't need to,” the woman replied smugly. “The merchant just wants what's inside. His caravan got hit by a group of goblins. He and his men survived, but lost the merchandise.”

Merdon nodded. “Someone clear the goblins out already?”

“No, but you can cover your little kobold while she picks the lock,” Cath told him with a smile.

“What makes you think she can pick locks?” the knight asked her with a frail smile. He hoped she would drop it.

“She's a thief, Merdon.” Cath's face was serious. “Don't tell me you didn't realize that.”

Merdon sat the contract down and pushed himself back from the counter, leaning almost the same way a child would to avoid their parent's gaze. However, he was doing it to look down at Quickclaw. The kobold was smirking, a very 'I told you so' kind of feeling to her look. It bothered him, sent a chill down his spine while standing in a warm room in the middle of Spring. Like everyone was a step ahead of him.

“Yes, Quickclaw is a thief,” the kobold said, reaching up and snatching the paper that was just out of her sight. She read the contract and shrugged. “Easy.”

Cath had to stand and lean over the counter to see the kobold. “Great, sign at the bottom and when you and Merdon come back you'll get your pay,” she explained while extending an inkwell and quill towards the thief.

Quickclaw glanced at it, then dipped her front claw into the ink before signing. Merdon had to use the quill instead, naturally. He wondered though if all kobolds were taught how to write with their fingers, or claws as they were. It certainly seemed mildly useful. And how sharp were they? She hadn't cut the contract, but that could be related to how hard she pressed down. At least as tough as the small horns on the top of her head, but how sharp were they? An endless loop to ponder over a simple task.

The kobold smirked and slapped the back of Merdon's armored leg with her tail again. “Quickclaw knows she is attractive, hume, but save such thoughts for later,” she teased him. It was clear she was in a good mood. “This cave is a day's walk from here with your armor slowing us down.”

He coughed and nodded, while Cath laughed at his embarrassment. Thankfully, Merdon had his helmet within reach and could put it on without drawing too much attention to the fact it was to hide his reddening face. Steel was good for protecting more than flesh and bone. Once in a while, it helped protect his dignity too. With the cool Spring morning, he also didn't need to remove it right away as he would need to later in the day. Although, this allowed him to keep glancing at Quickclaw with impunity. She could no longer see his eyes and this came to his attention as they proceeded out of the city's East gate. He would need an iron will to continue this partnership, or perhaps an exorcism for whatever evil was making him think about a kobold in such a way.

Their journey to the cave was of largely no consequence, apart from Quickclaw expressing her distaste for bread and cheese as rations. Merdon never knew kobolds were such carnivores. Otherwise, it was a simple day's walk along a well-cared highway. The king had such roadways installed, and maintained, as anything built with stone needed, to ensure faster travel between large towns and cities of the kingdom. Merchants and wagons traveled much quicker across paved roadways, and any traveler worth their salt could see an ambush due to tampering. Unlike dirt roads like those heading to Sedra, where they were so worn down it was like walking through a ditch and potholes or branches could be easily concealed to disable horses. It was the kind of traveling that Merdon vastly preferred to do.

When asked, along the way, what had happened for this lockbox to go missing, as she had only scanned the summary, Merdon told the kobold the details. The caravan had been ambushed on a stretch of the highway that crossed through a smaller forest, roughly ten leagues wide. Most forests had denser concentrations of trees making it harder to get through. In that part of Avant, the trees were taller and thus grew further apart, at least that was what Merdon thought. As luck would have it, the merchant had marked a map with the rough location of the cave after he arrived at Bereth. A path that split off the main road and led into the forest, likely worn down by monsters such as the goblins that currently inhabited the caves.

It was relatively easy to spot the place even through the dimming light of the day when they arrived, and the thick canopy overhead. All the trees around them were less of an issue than the foliage on the ground; therefore, it would be impossible not to make noise. That was before considering Merdon's armor. Quickclaw would have no problems sneaking in but would face an unknown number of opponents once inside. A risky gamble either way. Something they would have to talk about before acting on.

Near dark, the two had a choice to make. Rest until morning, when their strength would recover from the trip, and attack the cave at dawn while risking being ambushed themselves at night; or they could attack now with minimal light to guide them out of the cave and fatigue looming over them, ready to crash atop them like a wave at any moment. Merdon argued for resting, saying they could keep themselves relatively safe and that it would be better to move when they were both at full strength and there weren't traps waiting in the dark.

Quickclaw disagreed, at first. She proposed the goblins would set up for them in the caves rather than outside, and time of day didn't matter inside the cave. Merdon was impressed with her reasoning but eventually reminded her that they were both tired from the long walk and that fatigue would get them killed faster than any planning a goblin could come up with.

Merdon won the argument and they set up camp opposite the forest where the cave was located. This, in his opinion, would give them the best chance to not be attacked. They could see any goblins coming across the road, as it cut straight through the forest, and with some placements, they could keep themselves hidden from any that might be out on the other side watching. If goblins were smart enough to have a watch. Which Quickclaw assured him they were. A disturbing thought, that all of these “lesser creatures” or monsters that most humans thought of were far more intelligent than they were given credit for. It was almost laudable, to him, that humans kept the rougher ones down if that were the case.

Quickclaw, once again, volunteered for watch and climbed a tree. Merdon's earlier question about her claws was answered as she dug them into the bark to scale it. He also found himself staring at her tail swaying back and forth as she climbed up. He then found himself turning his back to her tree and being thankful that no one could see him blush in the darkness away from their half-buried campfire. The less he thought about Quickclaw's tail the better.

In the darkest part of the night, a rock fell from the sky and made harsh contact with Merdon's head. The man bolted upright and looked around. He didn't see anything, but he did hear something. Rustling in the bushes around him. Three, maybe four, distinct origins. His sword was at his side, as was his shield, but there was no time to put his armor on. They just had to hope whatever was surrounding them wasn't too tough. Or, maybe it was just he that had to worry. A glance around the campsite didn't show a kobold, although it was too dark for him to see up into the trees. Perhaps Quickclaw was there. It would explain the pebble that knocked him into consciousness.

Sword and shield at the ready, Merdon banged the two together and shouted, “I can hear you out there! Step into the light, unless you want to die.”

The rustling stopped abruptly. If they were humans, thieves in their own right, he would be willing to let them go, if they ran away. Goblins? They wouldn't be deterred by such a threat. Merdon was just hoping to keep them from circling around to his backside. Either way, they would know he could hear them moving, their plans had been foiled. Two options remained; attacking from where they were or running.

A high pitched scream from his right answered the question promptly, as it was followed by a green creature, perhaps two feet tall, smaller than a halfling or kobold even, charging out of the brush with a club. It swung viciously, and Merdon easily parried the strike with his shield. The goblin went staggering backward, but not far enough to escape the reach of the human's longsword. Just the first few inches of his blade, that was all that was needed, the rest of the steel was for protection and reach. Once those few inches passed through the goblin's thin leather and into its chest it stiffened up and dropped over with a death rattle. Right in the heart.

Merdon took a step back and reaffirmed his stance. One down, three or more to go. A second goblin came out to meet that quota, however, a third came from behind Merdon. Basic tactics, flank the shield to make it less reliable. They didn't know about the knight's back up though. Quickclaw fell out of the tree, just like she had in the Sedran forests, but this time she landed straight on the goblin behind Merdon. The one in front looked startled, open to attack, and Merdon took that opportunity. His blade lashed out, aiming for the goblin's neck. He missed a clean decapitation, but still slashed the thing's throat. It clutched on for dear life and tried to flee back into the woods. Sadly, it crashed into a tree in its panic and bled to death soon after.

Quickclaw had done much the same as Merdon had to the one she landed on, stabbing it in the heart with her daggers. It lay on the ground dead and she took place behind the human, watching his back. “Quickclaw said this was a bad idea,” she chastised him mid-combat.

Merdon responded with a simple grunt. He was focusing on the task at hand. Ears perked and listening for more rustling. Three goblins could mean four or five or six, there was no telling. Maybe once they were done here it would be better to storm the cave. The goblins would be expecting these scouts to come back, not an enemy. At the very least it would keep them from preparing for an assault when these ones didn't return. It was the best plan he could come up with on the fly.

A sound to his left made Merdon twist and then swing with his sword. It caught in the club of a goblin. Quickclaw stepped back, surprised by the sudden attack. She hadn't seen that one and felt very miserable for missing him. Merdon though was now aware that his blade was caught in the goblin's weapon, as was the goblin. The green foe smirked and twisted, pulling Merdon's arm away while the beast pulled out a bone dagger. Fortunately, the human had a shield, and he wasn't stupid. Before the goblin could do anything with his dagger his face met a ten-pound shield. Dazed, the creature dropped his club, which proved fatal. It took no time at all for Merdon to free his sword from the club with his foot, and then run the goblin through.

Once again, the night was quiet and still. Merdon wiped off his blade and stood in wait, listening, his insides coiled tight, like a snake ready to strike. An exhausting state to stay in for too long, and so he relaxed after several minutes. He sheathed his sword and grabbed his armor. With all possible haste, he began putting it on. Quickclaw looked at him curiously.

“Now we strike?” she asked with disbelief. She'd been up longer than he had after all.

“If we wait, they'll be ready. We've already lost the element of surprise,” he reasoned as he slowly put on his leggings. “If we're lucky, they won't be expecting us. If we're not, at least we attacked before they prepared anymore.”

The kobold sighed. “Quickclaw will stash our packs and make a torch.”

# Cavernous Complications

Merdon finished getting ready just as Quickclaw returned with a large stick wrapped in cloth and some kind of accelerant. She dipped it into their campfire, setting it ablaze, and then kicked dirt onto their fire to put it out. Fighting in small spaces was already an issue before the reduced light came into play. Things were only worse considering they would lose all benefits to stealth. With a fire in their hands, there was no way they wouldn't be seen approaching.

“The goblins will be used to the dark,” Quickclaw explained. “We will bring light, disorient them.”

The human suddenly grinned before slipping his helmet on. “Let's get this over with,” he told his companion.

It was difficult trying to keep his armor from clanging the whole way as they crossed the road and ducked into the other half of the forest. Quickclaw had no suggestions either, and the sound in the silence of the night was worse than a drunk bard at last call. He tried to walk slowly, but still keep up with the agile kobold. She carried the torch in one claw and a dagger in her other since the hume had to carry his sword and shield. At least the goblins would have trouble dealing with the flaming stick were she to swing it, and it gave Merdon a clear point to follow in the darkness.

The entrance to the cave was unguarded, and the two looked at each other over that. Likely, the goblins were inside and ready for them. Another problem sprung up when they went to walk inside though. It was too narrow of a passage. They could only fit in single file, and Merdon was going to have to halfway crouch the entire time. Quickclaw might have been able to squeeze around Merdon in a pinch, but not without dropping the torch. Losing their only source of light in the cave wasn't a big deal to Quickclaw, she could see in the dark, but Merdon couldn't, which would have led to a conflict of interests.

Before a discussion could even be had, Merdon stepped in front, shield up, and started marching forward at a steady pace. Quickclaw frowned. She had the light, she was faster, it would be easier for her to take the lead. That wasn't what was on the knight's mind. His only thought was that in a tight space he had the armor to hold back the goblins. He even put away his sword and got ready to use his fists and shield for damage instead, as his sword would have only smashed into the walls.

Slowly they crept through the cave, which seemed to not be so stable, as evidenced by many side passages caved in. Merdon hoped the chest wasn't behind one of those, otherwise, their short contract would turn into a mining expedition instead. Unless it was done intentionally. Perhaps to trap them, perhaps they weren't as solid of cave-ins as they looked. He gestured to Quickclaw to keep her eyes peeled behind them, to which she nodded quietly back. His armor was making enough noise, they didn't need to add their voices to it, to let the goblins know how many of them were coming, and especially if the cave-ins were genuine.

The single tunnel stretched on and on, or it felt like it did to Merdon. He wasn't a fan of being underground, and he didn't like the close-quarters nature of the fight they were sure to encounter in here. They had a job to do though. Their client wasn't interested in money or jewels, but the contracts in the chest that would get him his next shipment. A man's livelihood was on the line. It was hard work that wouldn't make them champions or heroes, but it came with gratitude most others didn't get. Besides, all the praise in the world didn't make traveling through potentially unstable caves to fight monsters any more bearable. All it did was guarantee another dangerous job after.

Ahead of them came a sudden noise, which made Merdon stop dead in his tracks. He bent low, covering most of his face with his shield and letting the torchlight shine forward from behind him. The tunnel curved to the right. Agonizingly slow, he crept forward, shield at the ready. As they made to round the corner, a club swung and clashed into his shield. Merdon winced and pushed forward quickly. Four goblins stood in surprise, thinking they'd been quiet enough. The knight bashed the first one with his shield, pushing it back into its comrades. They were small enough, however, that the one behind it easily crawled over and lunged at the human. It met a gauntlet covered fist where it probably expected him to try his sword.

Quickclaw rolled the torch under Merdon, causing the remaining two goblins that were still behind the turn to wince and cover their eyes. As they were tearing up from the bright light, she ducked under his arm and went for the kill. True to her name, her claws, clutching daggers, made quick work of the goblins, but a sound behind her made her turn.

At least one of the tunnels hadn't been caved in, not really. Six more goblins came running up behind them accompanied by the sound of tumbling rocks. Merdon barely managed to turn himself around to face them, and rather than back up, he snatched the torch in his hand, waving it to blind them, and then rushed forward. What ones he couldn't knock out quickly he killed with hard bashes, and one neck snap. With good fortune, Quickclaw had picked a very sturdy branch, or perhaps the club of one of the goblins they had killed back at their camp, to make the torch. In either event, it was sturdy, and good for smacking the little beasts. It was a fight that was over in short order and he turned back to the kobold.

“Are you all right?” he asked her, holding up the torch to see her better.

The kobold huffed. “Quickclaw is fine. Such stupid creatures could not hope to hit her.”

Merdon nodded and squeezed past her, pressing on into the tunnel. At the end of it, they found a circular chamber with the strongbox against the wall. He sighed at the sight, glad he didn't have to carry it. It was made of metal with a thick padlock, not something he could kick open as Quickclaw's cage had been. The knight stepped aside and gestured for his companion to look. She took the torch with her, leaving him in relative darkness while she worked. A few minutes later there was a loud click and the torchlight came back.

“Got it,” Quickclaw practically cooed, passing Merdon the papers.

He paused and looked back at her though. “What else did you get?”

She opened her big, golden eyes wide. “Quickclaw would never,” she said incredulously.

Merdon was quiet for a moment, then he took the torch and started walking out of the cave. “Just don't let the guild know,” he said back to her.

Quickclaw frowned, then grumbled, pulling a pouch out of her tunic and tossing it on the ground. It was just a bag of silver, but somehow the hume had guilted her out of it. That sour feeling came up in her stomach again, although it was weaker this time. He was a bad moral influence on her and the sooner they could part ways the better.

They exited the cave without too much trouble, Merdon breathing easier once he was outside and not in danger of getting crushed by a cave-in. A touch out of character to his usual facade, he took a deep breath once they were outside and looked at the sky for a moment. He walked forward and made his way back towards their camp after that, thinking about what came next. A couple more hours of sleep before dawn, then a long trek back to town. Exhaustion would be setting in around then, but the job would be done in just two days. That might have been a record.

“Do you always do these things so close to home?” Quickclaw asked him from the side.

Before he could tell her that he did, a pair of arrows whipped by. One went right over Quickclaw's head, her reaction being to scamper away into the forest. Merdon took it in the thigh, between a gap in his armor. He groaned, tossed his torch, and put up his shield in seconds. A second arrow slammed into it and was followed by some swearing. The knight thanked the goddess he was young and fast enough to do that in time.

“You said the short one was carrying the torch,” a man said, standing just outside the torchlight.

“And where did it go anyway?” a second voice asked.

“Fuck you,” Merdon shouted, crouched and hiding his vital organs behind his shield. Another arrow broke on it in response.

“Just give us those papers and we'll let you live,” a third voice, much more commanding than the other two, demanded.

“If you know who I am, you know I won't do that,” Merdon replied. He couldn't risk sticking his head over the shield to see them, but he needed to know when they were close enough to strike. “You'll have to come over here and kill me.”

A third arrow. “We don't need to go anywhere, we can do this from here.”

“No you can't,” Merdon countered. “My shield is sturdier than your arrows, and you can't see me very well with that fire in front of you. Plus, you don't know where my kobold went or why.” Could she be sneaking up on them? Getting help? Who knew. Not anyone there; not even Merdon in fact. It was a risky bluff.

“You two cover me,” the leader told his archers, followed by the sound of a blade being drawn.

Merdon looked down, under his shield, and saw a shadow step in front of the torch. That would be his mark. When the shadow got too close he'd draw his own sword and lunge. If the gods smiled upon him, he'd reach the leader and use him as a living shield to keep any more arrows from splitting him. Worst case scenario, his armor would have to get a few dents. Hopefully.

When the man was nearing striking range a commotion rose behind him. The thief turned back towards his comrades as they shouted. One shout turned into a muffled gurgle. Merdon dropped his shield and looked. Squinting into the darkness he saw what had to be Quickclaw, dagger dug into one man's throat. She leaped to the other man, clearing the large distance between them, twisting in the air to avoid an arrow, and landed on him using her tail to hold on. Another dagger, another kill. Merdon, wincing with pain, charged forward and, before the leader could turn completely around to face him, ran him right through with his sword. It was a completely unnecessary action, the amount of effort it took to pull a sword that had been shoved completely through someone left a knight open to being attacked during a battle, but the fight was over. Definitely this time.

He hefted the man off his sword, breaking a few bones in the thief's body in the process to free his weapon, and then looked over towards Quickclaw. The kobold was looting the bodies, taking their bows and arrows, along with any other items of value they might have had. Even with their lives in danger moments ago she was thinking about wealth. When she came over to loot the leader, she looked at Merdon.

“What? Can we not take from our would-be assassins?” she asked him hotly.

Merdon shook his head and then fell backward. “Loot them. I have no love for brigands like this.” Normally he might but, with an arrow in his leg, he had more pressing matters than the kobold's desire for money.

That was when Quickclaw saw the arrow. “You... were wounded?” she asked, shocked. Quickclaw hadn't stuck around to see, she hadn't heard it enter his leg.

“It's fine,” Merdon insisted. “I just … need to get my pack. Then I can pull this out, wrap it up. It'll last until we can get back to Bereth and find a healer.”

Quickclaw nodded and darted off, leaving the leader's body mostly untouched, for the moment. She returned quickly with Merdon's stuff and started looking for his supplies. In the meantime, the knight removed his steel boots and greaves. The arrow had gone through a slot, narrowly avoiding his kneecap. That would have been a much worse injury. Shattered bone didn't heal so well and it was much harder to travel on. Not that his current injury was much better, but at least he would be able to walk.

He pulled the arrow out, slowly. Blood squirted and gushed out quite heavily, but the knight bit down and dealt with it. Once it was out, he reached towards Quickclaw, who was holding a roll of clean cloth. Merdon grabbed that and pressed it hard against his wound. The kobold then took some more cloth and wrapped it, tying it tight around the bleeding hole. She looked up at Merdon with wide eyes. He couldn't help but notice how golden they were this close, even in the dark night.

“Will the hu-... will you be okay?” she asked quietly.

Merdon chuckled. “I've taken my share of arrows. Bring the torch,” he told her. A moment later there was decent light and the human looked at the arrow. “The angle was bad,” he told her, pointing to the amount of blood on the arrow. “It was shallow. Too much deeper and I would have had to push it through my leg instead.”

Quickclaw made a face at that. “Quickclaw could not imagine the difficulty.”

“It's quite painful,” he admitted. “But, this is fortunate. Only one wound, the damage is minimal, the entry shallow. I should rest for now.” Check on the wound, make sure the bleeding slowed down. Worst case, he might need to use that torch to cauterize it closed. Not something many on the road liked to do, but it beat the alternative of being stranded or dying.

Quickclaw simply nodded and sprinted back to their camp. She gathered more firewood and got that going while Merdon hobbled over and sat against a tree. Over the next few minutes, he gave her specific instructions. A log to elevate his foot, primarily, and to keep an eye on the color of his face. Paling too much could mean significant blood loss, and that was a very dire sign. The kobold nodded and waited. They had a few hours more until dawn. Hours that Merdon spent with his eyes closed and breathing carefully. Keeping calm would slow the blood flow. Eventually, he dozed off despite the pain and discomfort of the forest floor.

When the sun came up, Quickclaw looked him over. He still seemed the usual pink hume that he always was, he was breathing easy. She checked his wound. The bleeding had slowed. With a grin, she moved over and dug into his pack again. Changing the cloth would be good, it would look less severe that way and give them a good indication if the wound reopened. Merdon stirred when she cinched the wrap closed again, mostly flinching as he opened his eyes.

“Daylight?” he muttered.

“Yes, it is time we left,” Quickclaw said. She handed Merdon her pack and his armor and hefted his pack onto her back.

“What are you doing?” he asked, sitting up properly and looking at her struggling to stand properly with the extra weight.

“Your wound will slow you, your pack will slow me, we will be equal in speed,” she told him frankly.

Merdon laughed at the sight. “No, well maybe, but I mean, you repaid your debt.” He had saved her from a life of slavery, she had saved his life. A life for a life, an even trade.

The kobold shook her head though, after gaining her balance. “Your life is in danger until your wound is healed,” she insisted. “Quickclaw's debt is repaid when you are safely in the hands of a healer.”

The knight shook his head, knowing there was no point in arguing with her at this point. He stood himself up, put her pack over his shoulder, and tested his leg. It was tender, but it was usable. They might be a few hours behind but it wouldn't take more than the whole day to reach Bereth again. Nothing too terrible like their first two nights of travel together. The tension between them and their possible pursuers. That nervousness of being with another species. All of that seemed to have dissipated in the intervening time. Completing this contract together was... okay. Their skills complemented each other, they seemed to get along off the job, there were worse teams.

But that was coming to an end. Merdon had to focus on that. When they got back to town she would leave, probably come back here to finish taking things from that chest, and then slip out into the wilds never to be seen by him again. That was good, was what he kept telling himself as they walked back to Bereth. He would refocus on his work, go back to taking solo contracts, shorter jobs with less wandering again, not that he hated this one. And working with someone else wasn't so bad. A human though, he would find a partner of his own species to work with. Someone that wouldn't evoke weird thoughts when he looked at them. At least, they wouldn't be weird because they wouldn't be a kobold.

Quickclaw had been right about her keeping pace with Merdon's wound by carrying his pack, but she greatly underestimated how exhausted she was when they arrived in town. It was after sundown, and she was breathing hard carrying his stuff. More oddities of her biology came to light as she had a light sheen of sweat from the exertion. The knight didn't let that continue much longer, taking his pack off of her and giving the kobold her own bag back. Although he had more questions than ever after seeing her soaked in sweat. Kobolds, he decided, were very weird creatures, though certainly not the stupid monsters most Avantians made them out to be. Unless the thief among them was an exception.

He gestured towards the church in town, where the healers would be, and they made their way there. The market had just recently closed and they had to wander through crowds of folks heading home or to the taverns and inns. It made Merdon wince every time he had to step to the side, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. They were in the home stretch after all. A little pain, when they were only yards away from him being fixed, was like complaining about bread when you're starving. Besides that, just the sight of the massive church in Bereth filled him with a sense of security. Everything would be all right soon. His wound, Quickclaw's departure, everything would be normal.

The church was open, as it always was, and Merdon was hurried inside to a room while a priest prepared a healing chant. Quickclaw was forced to wait outside, which gave her time to think alone. She had her pack, the human was in the care of a cleric, she had paid back her debt. Saved his life as he had saved hers. There wasn't a sour feeling this time though as she thought about what he'd done. Rather, a strange warmth filled her. Merdon had taken an arrow that was meant for her. Sure, it was the fault of some stupid archer hume with bad information, but he could have used her as a distraction and ran, he could have given up those papers and avoided the fight. Even other kobolds hadn't stood their ground like that for her sake. She felt like she owed him yet again.

# A Night to Remember

Half an hour later, Merdon stepped out of the church no worse for wear thanks to the healer. He had his pack on his back and fully expected Quickclaw to be gone. That expectation weighed on him for a few moments, until the kobold popped up from behind a corner and stepped over. It was impossible for him to not hear the clicking of her claws on the stone road. Merdon thought he might have been able to pick it out of a busy crowd if he tried.

“Something wrong?” he asked her with a frown. Surely she should have left by now.

Quickclaw tapped her front claws together nervously. “The contract was for us both, yes? Quickclaw deserves her cut,” she reasoned.

Merdon slapped his face. “I completely forgot. You're right,” he said while internally berating himself.

“The guild is closed at night,” she recalled. “One more night together and then, after Quickclaw is paid, she will leave.”

One more night. One more stay in an inn together. By themselves.

Merdon nodded, trying to hide his nervousness. “Let's go get some food then,” he suggested, starting off towards a different tavern than last time. He didn't want a repeat of the other night. Quickclaw nodded and followed along.

The new tavern was livelier than the last one with a server walking between tables and a dozen men and women chatting and getting drunk. In that atmosphere, there was no way for the bartender to care about making sure one patron got a bad cup of ale. Besides that, the place looked more reputable, with ornate decorations, candle holders on the walls, and other such decors. Breaking his own rules, Merdon ordered a cup of ale for himself as well. Quickclaw smirked at that and sat across from him with that face for quite a while. Maybe he wasn't so uptight after all. There was some wiggle room in his code of ethics. Their food and drinks arrived and, for the most part, the human stayed quiet and tried not to stare too much. After a couple mugs of alcohol, however, he naturally opened up a little.

“You know, you're really amazing,” he told Quickclaw with a shaking tone, nervousness more than anything.

The kobold chuckled. “Yeah? What about Quickclaw?”

Merdon paused, trying to remember exactly what he was thinking of. There was something. “The way you … grabbed those guys, with your tail?” he reminded her. “They should have called you, uh, Nimbletail or something.”

Quickclaw blushed a deep red that was terribly notable on her pale blue cheeks. “Being a nimble tail means something else,” she said slowly.

The knight blinked and frowned. “What?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“It means that one's tail is frequently out of the way.”

Merdon stared at her. He wasn't getting it.

“That one would have many visitors under her tail,” Quickclaw said with a certain firmness to her words.

Merdon's blush was heavier than the kobold's, and he actively looked away from her. “I think I need another drink,” he mumbled to the air.

“Quickclaw thinks she needs one as well,” she added, also looking away.

Both of them ended up having several more, in fact. Eventually, the pair finished their drinking and started to stumble their way back to the inn. They were bumping into each other now and again, with almost increasing frequency, like they were magnetized to each other. Once they got to the inn, Merdon overpaid the innkeeper yet again, though with more of an attitude this time, slamming the coins down in front of him and giving the older man a flat stare as they were handed a key. He wasn't in the mood to sugar coat things after his time in the woods. As soon as they were in the room, Merdon fell face-first onto his bed and sighed happily. Glad to be alive, at the absolute least.

When it came to drinking, he was a complete lightweight. Hence his preference to not drink. Tonight had been special. He had survived a serious encounter with bandits. Plus, if he was so drunk he could barely get out of bed, he certainly wouldn't be able to look over at Quickclaw undressing again. Watching the way she pulled those odd leather bits off her arched feet, followed by her fingerless, clawless maybe, gloves. Then she started with her waistcloth, which revealed a pair of cotton underwear.

It was at that point he realized he was watching her, his head laid to the side to look at her in his drunken state. Not only was he watching, but he was also smiling faintly at the sight. Smiling at her pulling her leather cuirass off, and then the two layers of cloth shirt she wore under it for style or warmth, either or. The layering and armor hid her small chest well. Any man could be forgiven for not realizing she had breasts until those were off. Maybe that was why she did it. Hiding her attributes from others made her stand out less, kept eyes off of her, even for a kobold. Far too many people took advantage of them in that way than was healthy, people that needed a sound beating.

Merdon had yet to do anything about the fact that he was watching her with dim eyes and smiling like a doofus. He was acting like a schoolboy with a crush, and Quickclaw noticed it. Drunkenly, she grinned and stepped closer to his bed. Her claw stretched out and rubbed his shoulder. The knight was an honorable sort of human, and while Quickclaw wasn't actively looking, she found it difficult not to know he was at least mildly attractive for his kind. They were both rather tipsy, and with her earlier thoughts settled the kobold found no reason to hold herself back.

“Does the human like what he sees?” she asked him, more sincerely than the last time they were in the room together.

This time, with an embarrassed look, Merdon nodded. “You're very beautiful,” he mumbled.

Quickclaw reddened too. She, with a bit of assistance from a Merdon that was getting his wits back, rolled him over and sat on the bed. Her claw started to gently rub up and down his chest. “Perhaps Quickclaw would like to see more of you,” she proposed. With her claw already in that general area, it was impossible not to guess what she meant.

Merdon breathed a bit heavier after hearing that, but it sounded like a fine idea. He wanted to know how those claws felt on his skin. His shirt was hardly an obstacle, and they felt wonderful. Those claws were giant fingernails really. If only he had an itch that needed to be taken care of, other than the growing “itch” in his nether region. So long as Quickclaw didn't press down too hard on his skin anyway.

The kobold had much bolder ideas than a backscratching though. Quickclaw turned and asked him, “Would the huma- … No, would Merdon like Sarel to be his 'nimble tail'?” Her face was bright red at the suggestion, it was putting a lot of pride on the line for a kobold.

Merdon swallowed hard, his own pride at least, and nodded to her. “I would like that,” he barely managed to say. Because the situation demanded words, not simple head bobbing. They were adults, both of them. Not schoolchildren sneaking around the dormitories.

Merdon woke first, his head as hot as a forge and with just as much pounding. Groaning, he looked around. Quickclaw's clothes were on the floor, but her bed was empty, and there was a strange pressure on his chest that felt too heavy to be his own clothes. The night before slowly came back and he looked down. There she was, asleep on his chest, her tail still curled around his leg. He couldn't help but turn red at the memory, the sounds, sensations, emotions. Everything they had done came back to his mind and made him a little more aware of the dirtiness between them.

He cleared his throat as quietly as possible, which stirred the kobold on top of him. She opened her golden eyes and smiled at him. Merdon found himself paralyzed by that gaze. Was this love? At the very least it was lust and a very primal one at that. Still, he found himself more open to admitting she was attractive.

“Good morning,” he said weakly.

“Indeed it is, verakt,” she practically hummed. Except for that last word. It was too harsh to be hummed, to sharp with its consonants.

“Excuse me?” Merdon asked about that final word. It sounded one step below dragon tongue.

Quickclaw, picking up his meaning, sat up and stretched while she explained, “Verakt, it roughly translates to 'mate' or 'my mate'.” She was feeling so comfortable already, it almost bothered her.

The man bit his lip and turned into a tomato for a minute before remembering another strange word from the night before. “You said 'Sarel' last night. What does that mean?”

It was the kobold's turn to be embarrassed again. “Sarel is Quickclaw's true name,” she said quietly.

That took Merdon a moment to comprehend. “So, Quickclaw is a nickname?” he asked next, propping himself up on his elbows.

“There are many Quickclaws, and many Sarels, but there are few Quickclaws that are Sarel.” Noting his continued confusion, Sarel explained that kobolds had given names, ones used mostly in childhood and by close friends or lovers. Their common names, such as Quickclaw, were chosen by them at an older age, usually to reflect a profession or notable achievement. In Sarel's case, she was a good thief. It was like a first name.

“So, what should I call you?” he asked her, sitting up next to her.

She gave him a smile. “I will leave that to you, verakt.”

Merdon looked at her, smiling next to him, both of them naked as the day they were born, and he decided. “All right, Sarel. Let's go get paid.”

Sarel beamed at him and stood up to get cleaned up before dressing. Merdon glanced down at his body and the bed and then realized he should do the same.

# Risky Business

“The bag on the left is filled with silver,” Sarel explained as she and Merdon walked to the guild. “The other is a single piece of gold. However, it has many traps while the bag of silver is out in the open. Which does verakt choose?”

Merdon shrugged, “The silver. What good is money if you're dead?”

Sarel shook her head. “Then why did verakt protect the contracts? He could have died trying to make much less than one gold.”

“It's different for a knight,” he told her. “You have to have some degree of renown or else you don't get jobs. It's risk vs reward.”

“Much the same for thieves,” the kobold countered. “We must risk dangers to get our coin, else we're hardly more than beggars.”

Merdon was about to say something else, but he realized something was wrong. He held out his arm to stop Sarel and looked at the front of the guild. She looked as well, with a frown, but wasn't as familiar with the place as the knight.

“The front light is on,” he said quietly. “Cath should have turned it off by now.” It was after daybreak, why keep using oil?

Sarel nodded and silently pulled out a dagger before the pair moved to the door and opened it. Halfway between the door and Cath's desk was a man in dark leather with a knife of his own. Cath had her hands up and was looking at him until the two came in. The thief also spun around and looked at them angrily.

There was a pregnant pause, where Quickclaw debated attacking, the thief glared at them, and Merdon stood with his mouth open. He was the one to break the silence with, “Oh you had no idea.”

The thief opened his mouth to ask what the other man meant by that, but it was significantly too late. A heavy thunk echoed in the office, the sound of the drawstring on a crossbow going off, followed by a sickening squelch. There was just enough time for the intruder to look down and see the arrowhead coming out of his chest before he fell over and died.

Cath held an empty crossbow and sighed as if the intruder were nothing more than an overbearing salesman. Which surprised the blue kobold; she hadn't figured the receptionist as the killing type. The blonde woman tucked the weapon under her desk and then stood up to move the body. This revealed even more to the kobold, as the woman's left foot made a heavy clunk and moved awkwardly as she pulled the body out of the entryway.

“Cath was a ranger,” Merdon said quietly to the kobold. “Went out on a quest to take down some bears, stepped in a trap some stupid villager left.”

The lady in question came back and sat at her desk with a huff. “Every couple of months some idiot with a blade comes in here,” she complained. “Can't we afford some security?”

“Aren't you the security?” Merdon joked, already over the fact he'd watched a man die before breakfast.

Cath rolled her eyes and fished out their contract. “You've got the papers, I assume?” Merdon produced them without a word. “Perfect,” Cath said, pulling out a few silver pieces in return. “Four silvers each.”

Quickclaw glanced at the blood, then stepped up to claim her share. “There was ten times this in the chest,” she said half accusingly.

“It's too bad the goblins didn't get into it first then, the merchant was fully expecting to lose the whole box,” the blonde huntress said with a smirk. Implying, of course, that a simple lie could have gotten her a whole pouch of silver.

The kobold grumbled. “Quickclaw will wait outside, verakt,” she told Merdon before turning around and heading out the door.

Cath's eyes were wide though and she leaned forward. “Verakt?!” she half-shouted, keeping her voice as low as possible. “You're having sex with a kobold?”

Merdon's face flared red as flames. “W- how do you know?”

“Pfft, I know what verakt means. I used to live in the capital,” she told him. “Anyone that knows draconic will know.” Surely that couldn't be too many people. Dragons, sure, kobolds, maybe, but people? Very few. Definitely.

Merdon shook his head. “Just … keep it quiet, okay?” he asked her. “We both know how folks get about kobolds.”

Cath shook her head and sat a new contract up on the desk. “Fine, but you really should do something about that,” she told him seriously. “If you can't admit to other people what your relationship is... Well, it's just kind of terrible, isn't it?”

The knight couldn't deny that. A romanticized idea of forbidden love was one thing, but in reality, it drove couples insane to hide their feelings. His only saving grace was how often he traveled. As long as he and Quickclaw were alone on the road they could do what they pleased without judgment. Merdon didn't fancy himself a romantic by any stretch of the imagination, but he did realize the limitations that brought on them. No dinners at someplace fancy, no hand-holding, or claw holding as it may have been, no wedding or anything like that, assuming Quickclaw was even interested in such a thing. It was difficult to consider.

He decided to focus on the contract in front of him. Another simple two-man job, so it claimed, although this one promised to be more rewarding in more ways than one. Some other adventurers had pulled an old chest out of a ruin. They were certain it was trapped but some nasty wolves scared them off before they could crack it. With their own knight injured fending off the wolves, they needed a replacement to escort them back to town, and a thief to crack the chest so they didn't have to lug the whole thing with them. It would be a pain traveling with others for a couple of days, but the promise was 5% of the value for the chest, or twenty silver each, whichever was higher.

Merdon signed it and passed it back to Cath. “See you in a couple days,” he said, trying to act like nothing had changed.

Everything had changed. Sarel was leaning on the wall outside looking somewhat sour. “Your guild should invest in thicker doors, verakt.”

The human coughed nervously. “Maybe you shouldn't eavesdrop,” he countered.

“Your city would not … appreciate us,” Quickclaw noted. Merdon could only nod in agreement as he watched the citizens going about their early day.

“Would your kind?” he asked her in return, after considering all the things humans had done to kobolds so far.

Sarel was slow to answer, but when she did it was resigned. “No, Quickclaw does not believe they would.”

They were outcasts, in a manner of speaking. Neither group typically liked the other. Still, they could make the best of it.

“I got a new job,” Merdon said, handing her the details.

The kobold's eyes skimmed it and made her grin. “This, verakt, is a job,” she told him with a bit of glee. “There is danger, skill, and great rewards.”

“Well, let's not keep them waiting then,” Merdon told her as he started to walk towards the inn. They could gather their things quickly and be off.

The trip to the location was mostly uneventful. Except for Merdon asking more about kobolds, such as their limited need for sleep. Sarel was a good watch because she only needed four to six hours of rest, and was personally a light sleeper. Her rest could be gained with periodic naps instead of consecutive hours. Which meant she could stay alert the whole night and not be winded in the morning. The information wasn't gathered for free, however.

“Sarel wishes to know more about you and your kind,” she soon asked him in return.

Merdon chuckled. “What's there to know about humans? We're kind of … everywhere.” They weren't a mystery as far as he knew. But clearly, the kobold felt differently.

“You worship your gods,” she told him, “But also humes on thrones.”

So, kobolds lacked a monarch?

“Not quite,” Merdon said slowly. “We don't worship our kings. Well, not like we do gods. The kings are our leaders, the bravest or smartest among us. We trust their judgment to guide our nations.”

Quickclaw frowned. “There are so many kings though. Do they not fight over who leads best?”

“Of course they do, that's when wars break out,” the knight said with a sad expression of his own. “The kings lead different nations, and different nations have different wants and needs and ideas. Conflict is inevitable sometimes.”

That seemed to throw the kobold for a moment. “The kings lead … different tribes of humes?”

It was then that Merdon understood her confusion. “Yes, that's an accurate way of putting it. The kings don't lead us all together. They lead their own small portion. Aren't kobolds the same way?” Perhaps they were more like elves and led by council.

“We cannot afford to, verakt. Our villages, what few of them there are, must work together. Shared information is the only way to stay a step ahead of the humes,” she told him very seriously.

Merdon nodded solemnly. “Maybe someday things will be different,” he offered with a half-smile.

Quickclaw shook her head but smiled back at him. “You're an optimist, verakt,” she said in an almost accusatory tone.

He shrugged in response. It wasn't something he could help. Still, the kobold didn't seem to hold it against him.

Beyond that, the couple enjoyed some of the smaller comforts that came from being a lone traveling pair. Rather than scamper up a tree, they put their bedrolls close together, and Merdon made liberal use of his kobold's true name. Something she made sure to warn him against in more casual company. Still, it was two day's travel that they shared with no one but each other. The weather stayed nice through the days and nights and they encountered no struggles. Merdon even got to hear the kobold's laugh a few times as he told a few bawdy jokes late in the evenings. He couldn't imagine a better time together.

The countryside they crossed slowly gave way to hills, and mountains that were visible in the distance from Bereth got closer. Ruins could be seen on the horizon, which Merdon pointed out. Some ancient city that used to sit in the shadows of the mountain. It was largely stone, overgrown now with moss. Wooden supports had been used in many of the buildings, and they had rotted over time, leading to the roofs and some walls collapsing. These collapses were most notable with the larger manor that had sat at the far end of town, and the bigger government buildings in the center. Its lack of paved roads spoke of how old the city was, despite the fact the buildings were made of stone themselves. Scholars had investigated it a few times and found nothing to give them any clues. Clearly, this adventuring party had found something more. Whether they found a chest of artifacts or pure wealth, the contents of the box would be worth quite a bit to the right buyers.

At the dawn of their second day, Merdon suited up in his armor to be ready for anything. If wild animals were a problem in the area they couldn't be more careful. His armor slowed them down, but still, they found their way to the three travelers in short order. Entering the ruins sent a shiver up Merdon's spine. He didn't fancy meeting a ghost of some kind without a cleric handy and there was no place better for one to attack them than these sorts of places. Places where it was likely some tragedy struck.

He quietly ushered Quickclaw onward, past the crumbling stone that used to be a front gate, only stopping to check in the doorways of the other decrepit buildings as they went. The buildings, old as they were, provided more cover than anything else in the surrounding area. It only made sense that the wounded would hole up here rather than out in the wild. Which made it trickier to find them as the houses were nearly identical to his eyes. Some were more ruined than others, and it wasn't exactly difficult to keep track of where they'd come from by using the mountain as a landmark and yet he was positive he'd stopped in one doorway more than once during their search.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before Sarel pointed out a door, rather far from the ruined city's crumbling entrance arch. It was on the furthest corner of an overgrown street, whatever wall had once surrounded the city was gone there giving way entirely to a forest. The door on the house was shut, firmly, and if the group were being accosted by wolves the beasts using the forest for cover made sense. Wolves could stalk their prey from the treeline, smelling the blood of the warrior that was supposed to be injured inside, and stay well out of sight. If there was a craftier animal than wolves, Merdon hadn't met it. Unlike bears or foxes, wolves hunted in packs, attacked as a group, employed strategies like warriors. If bears fought in timed packs humanity would be in a lot of trouble.

Merdon stepped up and knocked. “Someone in here call for help?” he shouted.

The door opened to the dark face of a relieved, but drained, cleric. “Thank the gods,” the blond man muttered while pulling the two inside.

Inside was just as terrible as outside in terms of dilapidation. Stones were overgrown with moss or other plants, sections of the wall were rather loose, worn from the changing of seasons. Merdon was sure a good punch or two could topple entire sections of the house. The only benefit was how sealed it was. Crumbling and chipped as they were, the walls had no holes in them that led outside. Wolves, smart as they may have been, weren't strong enough to bash down stone. It seemed they were safe.

On the floor was another man, partially armored, with a bandage over his sword arm. The wounded knight, which judging by the cleric's condition needed more help. Merdon set to work, supplying the man with some medicine for the pain and readying him to travel. A topical ointment for numbing and to help reduce any potential infections, that would take time to set in, and then packing the man's bag for him. Thankfully he was traveling light, as the warrior was likely going to have to carry most of his armor on his back instead of over his body.

While he worked on that, Quickclaw's eyes were drawn to the chest and her claws were running across it, checking every angle. There was a trap inside, rather than some magical protection or enchantment. She peeked into the keyhole, leaning and tilting her body to let light in, as much as she could. No trigger mechanism in there, that she could see anyway. A frown crossed her snout as she continued to investigate the treasure chest. No mere lock would best her.

The wounded knight glanced at her, then Merdon. “A slave?” he asked softly.

Merdon gave him a hard look. “A friend. She's as capable a lock pick as any you'll find.”

The wounded man grunted and said no more. Looking a gift horse in the mouth wasn't his intention.

Before all their preparations could be made, however, there was a loud howling from nearby that made everyone freeze. Even Quickclaw halted and looked at the door. These wolves were unusually persistent in her experience. That they had attacked armed humes in the first place was odd; that they returned enough to scare the humes was another matter. Surely there were easier hunts to be had in the forest they were next to. It puzzled her as much as the chest she was supposed to open. Sarel did not lose games, and it felt like someone was playing with them.

The last member of the group, a mage, came down from upstairs looking frazzled. Clearly, the two days Merdon and Sarel enjoyed had been hell for these three. New to the fight, rested and strong, it was Merdon's job to run the wolves off this time. He stood, walked over and opened the door, then took up a defensive position in the doorway. The wolves would be funneled towards him, shield up, taking the whole width of the doorway, he could easily take stabs at them as they came. Quickclaw took up her own position behind him. If any got through they'd do so at a low angle, something she could easily cover. Between the two of them, every angle was covered, nothing would get past them.

It didn't take long for the wolves to sniff them out, but they didn't come into the doorway. They circled around outside, preventing escape. Merdon frowned and watched. That wasn't normal wolf behavior, even he could see that. Quickclaw noticed that as well. She drew a dagger and glanced around. Perhaps there was a leader, or at least something different about the wolves she could determine. That sneaking suspicion they were being played with returned, along with her frown. Patience wearing thin after five minutes of tension, Merdon stepped out after them, keeping his body in the door rather than the shield, he swung and cut the ear of one wolf. The pack growled in unison and jumped at him.

Merdon's shield was good enough to cover his left side, bashing the face of one wolf and sending it tumbling back, but the majority of them struck at his right side. Unlike the wounded knight inside, however, Merdon was wearing steel plates instead of chainmail. The lupine fangs got around his steel covered wrist, but couldn't puncture the metal. He drew his arm backward, slamming the stuck wolf against the wall with a great deal of force. It released his arm and yelped as it skittered back away from the fight. If only the others had followed suit. They seemed to be angrier at that, charging in again from all sides to keep the man off balance. Even so, Merdon held his ground. These were just wolves after all and he was an intelligent human.

Quickclaw, inside, realized there was something amiss about the wolves. Merdon's sword had cut one, but there was no blood. Their actions were too smart, too coordinated. Something or someone had to be leading them, guiding their actions. Her eyes were peeled for any inconsistency. Any clues as to what was driving these wolves would help.

“Open the chest!” the healer shouted, panicked. “We have to get whatever is in there and run!”

“Are you daft?” the pale-faced mage said, turning towards him. “We can't leave with those wolves out there. They'll eat us alive.”

“That's what the knight is for!”

Quickclaw shook her head but noticed something. The priest's skin was quite tan. His blond hair didn't match the dark complexion. Unless he was frequently outside. That didn't stack with what the kobold knew about clerics though. They spent more time reading, like any magic-user, and with certain requirements of faith, they were often indoors for long periods of time. Not to mention the wounded knight. If they had a cleric here why was he so injured? Even a low-rank farmhouse priest could heal a bite. Unless one had no piety at all.

With her verakt in danger protecting them, Quickclaw had little time to suss out the details. Dagger drawn already, she leaped towards him and drove it straight into his chest. The priest blinked and looked downward, shocked at the blood flowing out of him. A moment later he collapsed while the mage screamed shrilly. Merdon looked over his shoulder and stared, which allowed a few more mouths to bite onto his armor. The knight already in the room stood up, ready to fight the murderous thief, until the wolves outside the door let go of Merdon and vanished like dust.

Merdon glanced outside, then stepped in and walked over to Quickclaw. “What the hell was that!?”

“The cleric was not what he seemed,” she shrugged. A thief had tried to play her and she had won instead of him.

After hearing the full explanation, the two other adventurers looked at each other. “He … was the one that gave us the information,” the wounded knight said.

“It explains why he was so intent on getting the box open instead of fleeing to town,” the mage added, sinking down in disbelief.

Merdon sighed and closed the door to their temporary base. “Well, it's dealt with now. Quickclaw, can you open that chest so we can get out of here?”

The kobold grinned and walked over to the box and started to work. Sarel was a competent thief, and he believed in her ability to deal with a simple lock. In the meantime, Merdon investigated the body of their traitor. His robes were a bit older, but Merdon found blood on the inside. Old blood that didn't belong to the man wearing them. A story started forming in his head. A story about a bandit that heard rumors of treasure in a ruin, waylaid some poor traveler, stole his identity, and went seeking companions under the guise of a pious cleric. It explained why his healing magic had been so poor, but not how he'd summoned the wolves. That was explained by the shining ring on his finger. Its glint was something Merdon was familiar with, an enchantment. Perhaps the bandit had been in these ruins before, or perhaps it was from a stash of his own.

Merdon stood and turned towards Quickclaw to tell her about his findings when the kobold suddenly leaped to the side and shouted, “Watch out!”

For all of her skill with chests and traps, this one had eluded her. Sarel was a modern thief, used to strongboxes and the like. The chest was old, from around the time the ruins were inhabited, or slightly after. Its construction was sturdy, and alien to her. When she failed to find a trigger inside the lock she expected a switch inside, a tripwire perhaps that would trigger a mechanism. When she didn't find one, she opened the lid, and as it opened she saw the whole mechanism. A metal wire attached to the hinge depressed the trigger of a crossbow mounted inside the box as she opened the lid to see inside. Her warning was too late as she barely had time to dive out of the way herself.

Without his shield at the ready, and his body sore from skirmish outside, Merdon's reaction was nowhere near fast enough. The chest was opened and he saw a crossbow. Naturally, it was much too late by the time he could register that. A heavy thunk echoed for a moment in the room and Merdon staggered back into the wall and slid down. His armor grinding against the stone made everyone wince, but the bolt stuck in his belly caused them to gasp.

Quickclaw was the first one to his side. He'd pulled an arrow out before. This was fine. Merdon knew what to do, right? Her claws were testing him, he was awake but dazed. In shock from what happened, he only blinked and stared at the bolt in turns. It was too deep to pull out, too dangerous to push through.

The other knight, as well as his companion, stood and told the kobold they would seek help. With the traitor dead, travel was safe. Four days, at least, to get help. Merdon couldn't survive four days with an arrow in his stomach. They left anyway, without the items in the chest. It seemed they truly wanted to help the injured man. Sarel didn't know what to do. Merdon didn't either if he was being honest. All they could do was wait.

# Call for Help

It only took a night of Merdon being in and out of consciousness with an arrow in his guts for Sarel to snap. He couldn't manage to sleep, and every groan from his mouth was like an arrow to her chest. By dawn, she approached and steeled herself to pull the arrow out. It was a terrible process. Merdon woke immediately and tried to stop her, he knew how much damage pulling the arrow out would cause, but they both knew it had to come out. His screams were harrowing to the kobold's ears.

He pleaded with her as she braced herself, a foot on his chest, and started pulling. The knight's fingers scraped on the ground as he screamed at the top of his lungs, blood pooling out of the wound's entry. Sarel paled but kept pulling, slowly. She was trying to keep the pain to a minimum but it was becoming clear all she was doing was prolonging the pain. Her grip relaxed, letting Merdon stop and catch his breath before she moved her claws further down the shaft and pulled again. This time she pulled hard and fast. Merdon's eyes went wide and he screamed again, but the bolt was free. As quick as she could, Sarel opened his pack and grabbed the medical supplies he kept. Bandaging the wound was much harder this time. First, his armor had to come off, a difficult task for the kobold, then the hole had to be washed clean which only made her more aware of how much blood her verakt was losing. A shiver ran down her spine as the armor came free and a pool of blood rushed out of the armor, spilling down Merdon's side.

Sarel bit her lip and went to work, washing the wound out as best she could with some warmed water. There were less supplies than they'd left Bereth with, having helped the other knight, but there were enough to wrap Merdon's wound. It didn't help much, the blood started to show on the bandages, but it was better than letting him bleed freely. The kobold sat back and sighed while looking at her verakt.

Almost as soon as the wound was packed and tied Merdon passed out. He had been barely coherent before. Sarel's blood ran cold and she made sure to stay there until he seemed to be stable. The human relaxed after a while, but he was clammy and breathing poorly. As much as she wanted to stay by his side, Quickclaw knew she needed to get help. Merdon would not survive the three more days it would take the pair to arrive.

She turned and gathered her things. The chest had been full of trinkets. Some valuable, others less so. Sarel took them all. Overall it wouldn't affect her travel speed. There was also the ring that the fake cleric had been using. It didn't take a genius to see it was enchanted. What was once a threat would now save their lives. After finding some stuff to barricade the door, hoping to keep anyone from discovering Merdon, she walked outside the ruins and slid the ring onto her finger.

Concentration was key, she knew that. It was the same for any magic, though she wasn't personally capable of using it. She could feel the ring reaching into her and she returned that feeling. When it finally happened, she realized why the cleric seemed so worn out. Keeping the wolves around was quite a load on the mind, but for all of Sarel's effort, she only managed one wolf. The four-legged creature sat and looked at her with the same golden eyes she had. With a little experimentation, she realized she could see through its eyes, and controlling it was quite easy.

Sarel stepped forward and ran her claw down its side. It was much larger than her, exactly as she was hoping. With a hop, she landed on its back and she dug her claws into its fur, holding on tight. She directed it with her mind, turning it towards the mountain and commanding it to sprint. There was no hesitation, no concern for her weight on its back because it was no more than a construct. The wolf needed no food, no air, it was a solid illusion essentially, and the speed at which they were traveling made her grin. It was an adrenaline-filled smirk, one born from seeing the countryside zip past, feeling the air whistle over her scales.

The smile lasted only a few minutes before Sarel focused her thoughts again. At the pace she was going it would take her half the time it would take the other humans, assuming they could travel so quickly with their own wounded man, but that still left Merdon in pain for another day. Still, she had to make it to the mountain in the distance, climb a ways up it, and then come back. On foot, it would have taken her well over a day. Mounted, at the speed of a wolf, she could return before morning if she didn't sleep. Which she wouldn't; this was too important.

After a couple of hours, the green grass gave way to rocks and the path ahead became unclear. At least, to someone that wasn't a kobold. Sarel knew this area, knew the markings to look for. She veered right to travel around the mountain's base. In the shadow of the mountain, so close to its base, the air was as cool as the stone around her. It made certain aspects of navigation difficult. Markings were harder to see, even for a kobold, and she had to double back once, but she still found the trail she was searching for before noon.

A passage between rocks, too small for anything but a halfling, or a kobold. The tunnel inside ran to a sheer rock face. At this point, a typical adventurer would turn back. Sarel, Quickclaw, was a kobold, however. Her sharp claws were able to find purchase in the stone and she scampered up the wall with the speed of a gecko escaping a predator. Atop the wall was a slim entrance that belied what was inside. She pressed on through and came face to face with one of the rare kobold villages.

Buildings, small, stood in a half-circle around the inside of the cave. There was a straight path through which led out onto the mountain. On the left and right side, almost built into the cavern walls, were the kobold homes. They were made out of materials scavenged from the surrounding areas. In order to keep the secrecy of the village, of course, large materials had to be turned into pieces and reassembled inside the cave. This led to more nails being used despite the smaller size homes for the smaller sized creatures.

Kobolds of many shades and hues walked around, but several stopped when they saw Sarel. Visitors were rare, to say the least. One such kobold that halted was the elder of the village, denoted by his cane and headdress. He walked closer to Sarel, unafraid of her for the simple fact of being a kobold. They could not afford to fear one another.

“Silvertongue does not believe we've met,” the elder called out, his voice perfectly matching the weathered look of his green scales.

“Quickclaw has no time for introductions, elder,” Sarel said, tapping her claws together nervously. “Her verakt is in danger.”

The elder's eyes widened. “Truly? This is terrible news. What has happened?”

With a soft groan, she tried to explain the situation as quickly as possible. But, certain details made a crowd come around. The echoing in the cave brought her story wide, and it didn't take too much of a mind to figure she wasn't talking about a kobold.

“Your verakt,” the elder said slowly. “He is not a kobold. No kobold wears such heavy armor, and no kobold would be caught by an arrow so easily.”

Sarel's heart fell a little as she said, “No, my verakt is a human.”

The muttering of disapproval from the kobold villagers was only silenced by the pounding of the elder's cane. “Were you of our village, we would have you banished,” the old kobold told her firmly. “To risk the life of another kobold, for a hume?”

“Merdon is no hume,” Sarel hissed. “He is the knight that freed our kind in the village of Sedra. A debt of many lives is owed to him.”

The elder shook his head. “This may be true, but you'll find no help from any kobold that lives in this village,” he told her bluntly. Her time had been wasted. To think she had planned on offering some of the treasure from the chest in exchange for their aid.

Sarel wasn't done though. She shouted, “If we allow every hume, regardless of how they treat us, to perish because of our hatred, we are no better than they are!” With that, she stormed out of the cave and slid back down the rock face, leaving claw marks as she went out of spite. Someone would have to polish the stone again after her exit.

Brooding, she crawled out of the hole that led to the cliffs and looked out at the ruins. From where she stood on the side of the mountain the ruins were perfectly visible. Along with them was a small wood, perhaps there would be more kobolds there. She wasn't sure. Perhaps there was time to circle back to the forest from before, where Merdon had been injured last time. Sarel knew of a kobold encampment near there. If she didn't sleep, rode her wolf through the night, she might still make it there and back before the other humes. It was a risk. Her verakt needed help as soon as possible and she would be running the risk of taking just as long as the others coming from Bereth.

A cloud passed over the sun as Sarel raised her hand to summon her wolf when the sounds of claws on stone got her attention. Her hand flew to her dagger and she turned to the hole that led to the village. Moments later, a white kobold with golden designs around his face crawled through the hole and stood up. His robe and staff were not of kobold make, the hem of the robe clearly hacked off with a blade of some kind, and his staff more the size of a human's.

“Take me to your verakt,” he beamed at her.

Sarel raised a brow. “Who are you?” she asked defensively.

“Apologies,” the male bowed. “I am Skyeyes, a cleric. I disagree with the elder, but thankfully I am not a member of the village. Perhaps that is what he meant.” A traveler, and one that spoke as a hume did.

“Quickclaw,” Sarel said, introducing herself. “We must move quickly, do not be alarmed.” It was the best warning she could manage before conjuring the magic wolf again.

Skyeyes took a hesitant step back from the wolf, but Quickclaw waved him forward. She mounted the beast and held onto its fur tightly, both waiting for the cleric. He hesitated still but was convinced enough to follow. Once mounted behind her, he put his claws around the blue kobold's waist and held on. The wolf took off, seemingly uninstructed, and moved at full pace down the mountain path.

Both kobolds were holding on tight as the wolf sped down the mountain. Skyeyes was still tense but found Quickclaw's ability to summon a wolf to be impressive. It was rare that a kobold had any form of magic at all. Even his healing was rare and sprung forth from his devotion. A borrowed power rather than one he had innately. Still, he hoped it would be enough to help the blue kobold's mate.

Quickclaw herself was still tense as well. Just because she had found a healer didn't mean Merdon was safe. They had to make it back to him in time, and the sun setting before they were even halfway back put a fear in her heart. She couldn't hurry the brown wolf under her any faster though. All she could do was hope they arrived soon. One day wasn't so long. It was much shorter, in fact, than the four days they had expected to wait on the other humans. Merdon had told her to leave the arrow alone though. Her decision to pull it outweighed heavily on her mind. He was suffering, alone, getting worse every minute, but she was coming back. At the very least, he wouldn't be suffering alone.

It was fully night when Sarel and Skyeyes arrived. The blue kobold rushed over to the door and was pleased to find it still shut. With some creative moving of items, she unbarred the door and led Skyeyes inside. Merdon was still unconscious, and the bandage across his wound was a deep crimson. He was bleeding too heavily, too much, thanks to her decision to pull the arrow out. Alarmed, Skyeyes ran over, setting his staff aside, and assessed the wound to the best of his abilities.

“It is infected,” he said grimly. “I am … unsure if I can heal him completely.”

Sarel shut the door and barred it again. “Do your best, healer,” she implored him. “My verakt deserves nothing less.”

The cleric nodded, extended his claws, and began to murmur to himself. A prayer of healing fueled by his faith. Sarel sat in the corner and watched silently. While he took care of Merdon's wounds she would have to take care of them both. Their supplies were few. She would have to hunt. At least that might take her mind off of the situation.

With a heavy sigh, Quickclaw stood up and started preparing a meal with what she and Merdon had left. It wasn't much, bread and cheese, but it would suffice for the night. She wouldn't leave until she heard that Merdon was stable.

# Reprieve

Merdon returned to consciousness slowly. It was warm, pleasantly warm, but he found it hard to focus. He tried to remember what happened before he passed out. The arrow. His eyes flew open and came face to face with a pair of bright blue eyes surrounded by white scales and golden lines that trailed down the kobold's cheeks. Like rays of sunshine. However, he didn't recognize this kobold and so he tried to pull away, promptly smacking his head against the hard stone wall of the ruined home they were holding up in.

“Ouch!”

“Lay still,” Skyeyes told him, extending his hands again and healing the knot Merdon just made on the wall. “Your verakt was very concerned.”

“Sarel,” Merdon muttered, forgetting to keep that name a secret. “Where is she?”

The cleric gave no indication that Merdon made a mistake. “Hunting. She will return soon.”

Merdon grunted approval and sat up. “Who are you?” he asked next, cautiously taking stock of the room. A fire was burning across from him, near the door, and the other two humans were nowhere to be found.

“I am Skyeyes,” the white kobold introduced himself. “A kobold cleric.”

That got a raised brow. “I've never heard of a kobold cleric.”

Skyeyes smirked, “We are uncommon, but not unheard of. You were put through your paces here.” He touched the human's exposed stomach, which was no longer wounded.

“How long was I out?” Merdon asked while rubbing the formerly wounded area himself.

“Three days since we arrived. Quickclaw expects the other humans to return soon.”

That got Merdon out of bed as quick as lightning, in spite of Skyeyes' instance to lay down. Merdon didn't care, not right now. The other humans were coming back and now there were two kobolds around. He had to speak with Sarel as soon as possible. As he reached the door, the timing impeccable, Quickclaw returned, opening it from her side and stopping dead at the sight of Merdon standing. She had a slightly gory sack on her back, filled with meat she had cleaned off a deer, which she dropped onto the ground as she quite literally leaped into Merdon's arms. Luckily he was healed enough to catch her, and only stumble back a little bit in surprise.

After just a moment of joy, Sarel hopped off and crossed her arms. “You should be laying down,” she suddenly accused Merdon.

“With the others due to arrive any day?” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “And another kobold running around. Where did you even find him?”

“A village,” she said vaguely. It was definitely against her rules to tell him where exactly.

Merdon blinked. “There's a kobold village near here?”

Sarel nodded but said no more about its location. “It was a shorter distance than Bereth, so Quickclaw got you aid from there instead.”

“I guess I owe the kobolds a thank you then.”

Skyeyes interjected, “The elder of the village refused Quickclaw's plea. I am unaffiliated with any kobold settlements.”

Again, Merdon looked surprised. “Is that why you sound different? Or, is Quickclaw's third-person thing a quirk of her own?”

Sarel sighed. “Skyeyes is the odd one,” she confirmed. “He speaks like a hume.”

The white kobold smiled. “I take that as a compliment; that I have adjusted well to the mannerisms of the human race.”

Merdon hummed curiously at that, but let it lie. He wasn't familiar with this new kobold and didn't know if he would be staying. There was no need to pry into the life of someone that saved him, seemingly out of the kindness of their heart. Rather an odd, good-natured kobold than an evil one. Instead, he asked Sarel about the time he spent incapacitated.

His little verakt told him about her use of the ring to summon a wolf to aid her in reaching the village swiftly, which she demonstrated for him with ease. She then told him of Skyeyes' uncertainty with his condition and how grim things seemed for the first night. How she took up hunting for them to keep them fed, and she showed off the bow she had carved from a nearby tree and strung herself. It impressed him greatly all of the burdens she carried while he was unconscious. Not just the revelation that she was a good archer, the way she figured out the ring, used it to get him help and hunt, but how she stared tragedy in the face and stood strong.

Merdon knelt down and hugged Sarel tightly, whispering a deep and true, “Thank you” into her ear, or rather the small section of her head where she heard things. The kobold blushed but hugged him back and took that thanks in silence. He was well, alive, recovered even, that was all she could have asked for. Even Skyeyes looked embarrassed and turned around, his tail making an awkward sweeping motion on the floor as he averted his gaze from the couple. It was expected of them, but embarrassing for him to witness.

They continued to catch up, Sarel demonstrating her ability to ride her wolf and fire a bow at the same time while Merdon polished and fixed his armor. The arrow had punched clean through his steel, either through magic or great force it didn't matter. What did matter was that he needed to essentially turn a small fire into a temporary forge. Merdon had tracked down a building that looked like an old smithy to find some of the materials he would need. Though worn out, the heat source was the thing he needed most. Both kobolds watched with great interest as he heated coals and then roughly hammered the hole closed, a much larger area of the armor turning bright red and orange as he did. It was thinner now where his amateur hammering had pushed the metal away, which concerned him, but it would look imposing enough as they walked back to Bereth. With his cut of the money from the quest, he could get it repaired properly. With all the arrows he kept taking, he might think about getting it reinforced against such things as well.

Around noon, the sound of horse hooves caught all of their attention. Merdon put out his armor flame and the group retreated to the little stone house they'd been hiding out in. Sarel winked at Merdon, summoned her wolf, and the creature sprinted out silently around another ruin in front of them. Something she had forgotten to tell him was the connection she shared with the wolf. It had her eyes, quite literally.

The kobold focused and saw the main road through the ruins with the eyes of her familiar. Three horses, each carrying a man. A mage, a warrior, and a priest. Of course, the other humes.

“It's our 'rescuers',” she said with a snicker.

Merdon frowned. “How do you know that?”

“I can see through the wolf's eyes,” she told him in a casual tone, but with a smirk.

The knight shook his head and relaxed. “All right, let's go let them know that I'm fine,” he said, standing up and stepping out of their hiding place. He was just in time for the trio on horseback to come around and stare at him.

Their priest was the first to speak up with a confused, “He seems fine.”

“He wasn't,” their brusque knight replied.

Skyeyes hesitantly stepped out behind Merdon. “That would be because of me, yes.”

The human cleric stared, slack-jawed. “A kobold in a healer's robe?” he half-shouted.

“Yeah, I had a pretty nasty arrow wound,” Merdon confirmed. “Apparently it got infected even, but Skyeyes here fixed me up while you were gone.”

The adventurers muttered, upset they had wasted money on the horses and healer for naught. Their healer wasn't done though.

“You didn't say anything about a healing kobold,” he accused the two.

“We didn't know.” Again, the knight was short on his words.

“There was only the thief when we left,” the mage added.

Quickclaw, at that moment, hauled out the contents of the chest in a sack for the three humans. “By Quickclaw's guess there should be more than enough to cover your time, once it is sold,” she told them. Naturally, she waited for the two adventurers to open the bag and check the contents themselves. The right schools would pay quite a sum for these items.

“Quickclaw thinks, as compensation, we will just take the modest silvers,” the kobold added. “This will mean more share for you, for the inconvenience.”

The knight and mage had already planned on splitting it three ways. Getting even more? They tied up the sack, thanked the kobold in a more earnest way than most humans would, and turned their horses around. Their new priest sat and looked at Skyeyes for a moment longer before huffing and trotting his horse off after them. His look was one that made Merdon curious. Was there something wrong with a kobold cleric? Or perhaps there was something about Skyeyes himself, rather than his profession.

In any event, the trio were clear to relax now. They could set off for Bereth at their own pace when Merdon wasn't so sore from lying unconscious for several days. While he started moving around, getting the knots out of his muscles, he noticed that things around the ruined house seemed a little clearer. It looked like Sarel, since Skyeyes had been healing him, had been working on more than just hunting. Sure, there was moss growing between the stones of the house, that would take weeks to clear away, but the grass wasn't as overgrown around the building. Inside things were much better, from what he could see. It almost looked livable. Looking at it all made him wonder about actually having a house of his own. He didn't really think beyond each contract, nothing permanent. Sarel was in the picture now though, she was certainly permanent, at least he felt she was.

“Gonna feel weird going back to sleeping at the inn every night,” he joked with Quickclaw.

The kobold giggled in response. “Would verakt rather walk two days to Bereth for a job?” she retorted.

Merdon shook his head. “Not at all. I just mean … this place feels almost like a home.”

Skyeyes chimed in. “It most likely was. The upstairs has what seems to be a pair of bedrooms, without the beds, and beyond the rubble in the doorway in the back is a kitchen and possibly more.”

“That's not quite what I meant,” Merdon said slowly. “I mean it feels less like a ruined home and more like-”

“Like a place to live,” Sarel finished with a smirk. “Yes, when one is used to traveling a lot, even a short stop in one place brings feelings of attachment. It's best to move on before those get too strong.”

Merdon paused. “One more night won't hurt,” he insisted. “A night of rest where I'm not wounded, a good meal before and after, then we can set off.”

Sarel sighed. “Fine, Quickclaw brought a lot of meat from her hunt. It would be good to lighten our packs before traveling.”

Merdon gave her a smile, and then leaned down and kissed her cheek. The kobold reddened over her blue scales and muttered something about getting dinner ready before padding off. She wasn't entirely used to the romantic stuff yet. This, however, gave Merdon the perfect time to investigate Skyeyes. He knew things were dangerous as an adventurer. Many groups incorporated some cleric into their mix. It was a sound idea, though he worried if he alone could stand up to the dangers they would need to face with a more complete group. Rather than ponder the white kobold's intentions, he approached the cleric.

Skyeyes was sitting with his back against an interior wall that supported the stairs that went up to the bedrooms he mentioned. He seemed, overall, to be in better health than the impostor cleric Sarel had killed days ago, whose body seemed to have been dragged off in the interim. Merdon sat next to him, making eye contact as he did. The kobold eyed him a little and made some room. Apparently, he wasn't one for unnecessary closeness. Not that Merdon would complain. He wasn't trying to overstep any bounds after all.

“So,” Merdon said, carefully picking his words. “What will you do after this?”

Skyeyes looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

“I'm just curious if you'd planned on going back to whatever you were doing before I got injured, or if maybe you'd come along,” the knight replied, his last few words spoken slower. He realized a bit late that it sounded more like an invitation to come along rather than a question.

The cleric kobold chuckled. “I had thought about asking myself,” he admitted. “You and Quickclaw are something I find to be enviable.” Merdon's raised brow coaxed the boy kobold to continue. “I believe that humans and kobolds can coexist, peacefully, but first we must spend more time with each other. We must prove to the humans that we're not stupid, under civilized monsters. That requires more interaction, more learning from both sides. Too much work for those set in their ways.”

Merdon nodded. “You know, between you and Quickclaw, I've gotten the impression that kobolds are ridiculously smart. You're both very well-spoken, even if she's more crude about some things.”

Skyeyes smiled at him. “Rest assured, we are not the normal ones. Quickclaw is a thief among your kind, she makes her ways through your world intentionally blasphemous of its laws. I, on the other claw, have studied your ways and wish to emulate them. Both of us, in different but similar ways, have experienced more freedom in human culture than most of our kind. We are molded by it.” The kobold spoke with a certain conviction and a familiar cadence to his voice.

Merdon smiled back. “I think you make more than a good cleric,” he said. “You'd make quite the convincing priest too.” In the kobold's tone, Merdon heard the pace of a preacher. A compliment, apparently, that made the kobold's cheeks redden further.

Sarel came back in, throwing two large slabs of meat into a pan and making them sizzle over the fire in the house deliberately. She looked at the two and said, “Stop flirting and help me cook.” Merdon coughed nervously and got up. He really hoped she didn't mean that seriously. It may have taken some convincing, but just because he fell for one kobold didn't mean he was interested in boy kobolds too.

Skyeyes' response was to half retreat into his cloak and look away. He was more nervous about his plans than he'd let on talking to Merdon. Still, he was convinced they were a step in the right direction for both of their races. Someone had to make sure they didn't get into any more trouble. Or at least not die before making more of an impact in the world.

# R&R

Merdon enjoyed the rest of the night, and the breakfast they had the morning after. Their trip back to Bereth was quite unique with Sarel traveling on wolf-back and grinning the whole way. It seemed she had gotten more than used to riding the wolf. The kobold was comfortable on top of it, fully understanding that it was more an extension of herself than some pet. Skyeyes did his best to focus on the road, and ask Merdon questions about meeting Quickclaw. He found it a good way to pass the time, talking about how they met, him freeing her, their walk through the mucky forest of Sedra, the first time he got injured. Their cleric listened with rapt attention, like a choirboy at church.

On their second day of travel from the ruins, Merdon recalled Sarel's antics in the tavern the first time they stopped into town.

“The lycan gives her an absolutely filthy mug of ale,” Merdon starts. “We're only acquaintances at this point but I'm ready to deck this wolf. As we're staring each other down she slams her empty mug on the counter and demands another drink.” The knight grinned and laughed. “Neither of us were expecting it, we're like goblins with loaded crossbows pointed at us, just staring in fear. So the bartender recovers, goes back, gets her another dirty mug, and she drinks it again. And again, and again. I'm worried her stomach is going to explode or she's going to get sick from these twigs in the drink, but finally he brings her a clear cup, and the whole time she's just smirking at him.”

Skyeyes didn't laugh nearly as much. “Yes, our kind is subject to such treatment even if we're free. I can see you admired your verakt before the two of you became such,” he mentioned.

Merdon blushed but nodded. “Yeah, I mean, it may sound kind of odd, but you don't find that kind of strength very often. She didn't complain about the mistreatment, even though she could have, she didn't boil over or threaten him, she found another way to get what she was after.”

Sarel laughed. “Violence against him would have only made him angrier,” she told Merdon. “Though, the lycan has still won. We've not returned to that tavern since.”

“Nor will we,” Merdon said sternly. “There are other taverns in Bereth, ones that aren't bothered by you. They can have our coin, and his can suffer for it instead.”

Skyeyes beamed at that. “Yes, a nonviolent protest.”

The blue kobold sulked, however. “The point is to prove we are not deterred by their insults, not run away like cowards.”

Merdon gave her a smile though. “You don't need to prove yourself to anyone that thinks like that. His mind isn't going to change no matter what you do.”

“We shall agree to disagree, verakt,” Sarel said, turning up her snout in an overly dramatic fashion.

Merdon chuckled and let the subject lay. It was a nice day outside, he was alive, and he cared a surprising amount for the kobold girl. He wanted to keep her away from situations that endangered her needlessly. A job was a job, danger was to be expected. Rude tavern owners were a whole other problem. One easier solved by not putting themselves in that position.

The town of Bereth came into view shortly after, and Skyeyes stared at it for a moment. The various buildings, the mixture of thatched and shingled roofs, businesses and homes almost side by side, crops outside the city walls being worked on in the midday sun. It was nothing like a kobold village, scavengers that they were forced to be. He had seen many cities and hamlets but rarely had he ventured into a prospering town such as Bereth. Quaint, he felt, was the right word. Perhaps that was owed to the lack of slavery he saw as well. Humans here seemed content to work their own jobs. In bigger cities, it was unavoidable to find enslaved kobolds.

They kept a casual pace as they approached town and walked in without so much as a funny look from the guards since Quickclaw dismissed her wolf. Skyeyes seemed to perk up at that. He walked a bit lighter, a bounce in his step. Every human town he'd passed through so far had something to say about him, even if he was in a group, which was rare. Perhaps it had to do with Bereth's position in the kingdom. It was further away from the central powers, bordered by mountains and a forest, even if a road ran through them to the town, they were still on the fringes of the kingdom. It was certainly nothing like the capital city.

Merdon led them to the guild straight away. He wanted to get paid and find out what had transpired since he was unconscious. The knight did notice more eyes glancing his way. Though, he brushed it off as the fact he was traveling with two kobolds now and it was obvious neither of them were his property. It was a nearly unheard of position to be in. Even Cath, knowledgeable as she was, stared at the white kobold when they entered the guild.

“It's true,” she muttered, just loud enough.

Merdon raised a brow. “What is?”

Cath coughed and looked around. “Well, those guys you helped came back through to drop the cleric off, and ever since then he's been saying things.”

“Things?” Quickclaw crossed her arms.

“Yeah. He's been saying Merdon is a 'kobold whisperer,' someone that can control kobolds,” Cath told her.

The two kobolds in the room laughed.

“I'm not controlling them,” Merdon refuted with a face red with embarrassment. “Quickclaw went and found the other one, to heal me.”

Cath shook her head and dropped a pair of coin purses on the counter. “Either way, you survived and succeeded. The coin is yours,” she said with a smile.

Merdon, still red, took his coin pouch and promptly left. Twenty silvers in Bereth would keep him afloat for a couple of weeks to let this whole “kobold whisperer” thing blow over. Sarel grabbed her cut and followed after him. She wasn't going to let it blow over, not even a hint. It was perfect teasing material. Both kobolds followed the human as he walked to the local blacksmith, a dwarf with a shaggy red beard in a thick leather apron. His forge was just off the market, not all that far from the guild in fact. It was boiling hot inside and made the two lizard creatures open their collars for air.

“Merdon,” the dwarf greeted him, quenching a heated sword as he turned. “What brings ya here, lad?”

The human smiled and hefted his armor up on a stone table. “I took an arrow to the gut and had to patch the hole myself with some scrap. Figured it was best to get it done professionally before I left town.

With a grunt, the dwarf set his current project aside and looked at Merdon's armor. “Aye, sloppy workmanship that is. Ya oughtta learn better if you're going to wear plate,” he chastised the man.

Merdon shrugged. “I can't carry a smithing hammer and good quality ore around with my armor and shield too.”

“Well, repairs will cost ya three silver.”

Merdon paid upfront and without complaint. “Think it'll be ready by the end of the week?”

“End of the week?” the dwarf laughed. “Stop in tomorrow. I'd hang up my hammer if this took me more than a day.”

Merdon thanked the smith and led the kobolds outside, the two of them thankful to be out of the hot smithy. Quickclaw had thought the day warm but pleasant before, now it was like standing in a cool brook. Skyeyes was still tugging on his robe to pull air through it and cool off. They were sweating, which Merdon mentally noted. Lizards didn't sweat, but kobolds did? On top of the breast thing and it made him wonder how much closer to mammals they really were. It might be a question worth asking sometime.

At the moment, however, he sat a hand on their shoulders and suggested they relax a while. Curious at what he meant by relax, the kobolds followed. Merdon led them first through Bereth's marketplace. Sarel was aware she could afford things now rather than steal them and stopped at a weapon stand. The males watched her debate and haggle with the dwarf over a bow that was significantly fancier than the one she had crafted. Their dealing went back and forth for nearly five minutes, Merdon impressed with how much the kobold knew about bows. She argued the tightness of the string, the quality of the wood, but gave praise for the craftsmanship overall. It was a shrewd dealing that ended with her trading her personally crafted bow and two silver coins for something that had been marked for four.

“Thieves and businessmen are much the same, verakt,” she told Merdon later with a grin. “When we meet in sales it is fierce combat where the one who gets the better deal is the winner. And Quickclaw never loses.”

After making a quick note that he should let Sarel purchase anything they needed in the future, Merdon guided them to the biggest sites in Bereth. A fountain near the marketplace featuring a statue of Avant's king, which the kobolds were very cold towards for obvious reasons. Then to the second biggest building in the town, the Holy Mother Church, the largest church in the kingdom apart from the grand cathedral in the capital, as well as the reason Bereth had gotten so large in scale. Before the church was built the town was small, struggling, dealing with bandits and well on the way to becoming like Sedra. That was until a priest came to town and established the church to the goddess Ethral, Avant's patron god.

With a priest of such high caliber in town healing people, the town found the strength to drive the bandits off. Priests of many kinds flocked to the town to study under the original priest. Walls were erected to protect them and the citizens. Many stayed, started families, and slowly the town of Bereth expanded. The church even kept a statue of the founding priest, decades deceased, out front. His pose kneeling before the statue of the goddess signaling his eternal devotion, even in death.

Skyeyes stared at the church, and statue, in wonderment as Merdon explained this. Sarel, of course, looked bored to tears with the religious stuff. The white kobold insisted on going in. He wanted to see and learn more, as much as he could. Merdon shrugged and followed him in with Sarel grumbling to herself as she tagged along. Even if Bereth was better about kobolds than other towns it was still better for her to stick with her group.

Inside the church, which Sarel had never actually entered, matched the grand visage of the outside. The ceiling was high, supported by arches, and sported stained glass reliefs of various Avantian history. Crowning their first king, the king receiving the blessing of the goddess, the Avantian army fighting some war. All of these were next to more personal depictions such as the creation of the church and the founding priest healing many humans. Sarel was not religious, few kobolds were, but even she could see the pleasing artistic value in these windows. She also found the reflecting lights to be very pretty. It reminded her of gemstones.

Merdon had been inside the church many times so the grandiose nature of it all was completely lost on him. Even the large main hall, filled with dozens of pews long enough for several people to lay head to foot in, each one ornately carved with religious iconography, was just another view he had taken in one too many times. The church was large, grand, and the town would likely shrivel without it, but it was such a permanent fixture in Merdon's eyes it took Skyeyes' gawking for him to realize how impressive it must have seemed. Especially to kobolds who had to live in small, secret towns. They couldn't build anything half this grand or permanent. He suddenly felt ashamed for taking the place for granted.

Skyeyes didn't care about Merdon's internal regret though. He walked right up to the nun on duty and fished out a pendant of some kind. The nun examined it curiously, and then with an expression like she was being forced at knifepoint, led the trio into a back room that Merdon hadn't seen before. This time he was genuinely impressed. Everyone knew the church was larger than just the nave most people saw. What was unknown to many was just what they kept in the back, and it seemed whatever Skyeyes showed the nun had given them begrudging access.

It was a library with bookshelves that stretched to the high vaulted ceilings in a room that was nearly the length of a tavern. A lot of people could fit in between the shelves and they would all have room to move around. Contrary to the space, the library was empty, save those four, and it dwindled to the three when the nun excused herself in a huff. Sarel looked around, her claw touching the spines of several ancient books while her eyes examined the room. There were more statues in here, and it was well lit. Rumors abound about the studying that clerics did but few ever got to see the rooms in which they studied. Skyeyes was also getting handsy with the books, picking several choice ones out and taking them over to a desk that was pressed against a wall, of which there were several desks to choose from. He opened the book and started flipping through it.

Merdon kept staring at the room. He couldn't believe it, or rather, he didn't know why the nun had let them in. These texts were sacred to the priests. Yet Skyeyes had been given ready, if not entirely willing, access to them. It had to do with that amulet he had shown her, of that Merdon was certain, but what was it and where did Skyeyes get it? Merdon was about to ask that when the door to the library opened and the head priest of the church came in.

The Father looked at Merdon curiously and then to the kobolds with surprise. He walked with a gait that said he was intimately familiar with the room right over to Skyeyes and placed a hand atop the stack of books the kobold had been reading, causing the white kobold to jump.

“Who gave you that?” he asked the kobold cleric simply.

Skyeyes blinked and responded, “My teacher, Father Reing.”

The human went pale. “Impossible,” he muttered and tried to snatch the amulet away from the kobold. In his attempt to do so the amulet shined and singed his hand, the light bright enough to make everyone in the room recoil. He muttered something and then fled the room.

Merdon looked at Skyeyes and asked, “What just happened?”

“These amulets are special,” the kobold explained. “They can only be given freely, and they are given to apprentices.” It was proof that he was a proper cleric, but something bugged Merdon.

“A human gave that to you?” he asked, to which Skyeyes nodded in return. “So you were chosen as the apprentice to a human cleric.”

Again, the white kobold nodded. “Father Reing found me in his travels, took me into his home, cared for me. He impressed upon me his ideas for the future, and the more I learned the more I wished to help.”

Merdon let it lay there. Even if Skyeyes had permission to be in the library though, Merdon decided to stick around. He sat at one of the long tables along the wall and relaxed. Sarel was walking around the room, checking out the books. None of them held her attention beyond the titles. Before long she was sitting next to Merdon and waiting for Skyeyes to finish just as much as her verakt was. Minutes turned to hours and the sun was setting before the cleric stood and put the books back on the shelf. He blushed at the two still sitting in the room, mentioning that they could have left him alone. The human simply shook his head in return and suggested they find a meal and a place to stay for the night.

The next week progressed about the same way. Each day they visited a new place in town and Merdon gave them a bit of background on it. None were as important as the church, and few were even close to as old. Only one thing bothered Sarel about the whole experience; the lack of time alone with her mate. Rooms at the inn were cheaper for their usual two bed set up. She and Merdon would take one bed, Skyeyes the other, which meant nothing could be done in the ways she wanted to. Still, she liked having downtime. It made her remember the days in the ruined town, working on the stone house, hunting, not worrying about stealing or getting killed. Not by humans at least. Merdon had expressed similar feelings about the place before they left it after all. Perhaps she was just thinking about it from his perspective.

Their vacation came to an end after Merdon picked up his armor. Cath was standing outside the forge waiting for them. She told Merdon there was a job to be done and that he had been asked for almost by name.

“Almost?” Merdon asked with a raised brow.

Cath nodded. “Someone came in a few days ago and she just recovered. A red kobold saying she has 'dire news for the kobold whisperer.'”

# Warnings

“And she said that exactly?” Merdon asked as he, Quickclaw, and Skyeyes, followed Cath back to the guild.

The blond girl nodded. “Yes, word for word, dire news for the kobold whisperer. And since you're the only one I've heard about...” It had to be for Merdon.

He contemplated what, exactly, this new kobold could have to say as they made their way up the street. Merdon knew, from asking Sarel and Skyeyes, that the general kobold population didn't like humans. Not that he really needed to have them confirm that for him, but it did mean that unless this was a very good assassination plot by the kobolds, which also made little sense, this new kobold was likely to be unassociated with them. A freelancer, like the two at his side, or perhaps a runaway slave. Which raised another issue if she were. He was part of a guild that returned legal property, even if he didn't like that. Hopefully no one posted a contract for her.

They arrived at the guild, and Cath led them into the back and up a staircase. There were several rooms on the second floor for passing guild members to use, or in this case an injured messenger. Merdon had seen similar rooms in other guilds, but never the ones in Bereth. It was a nice layout, a bit spartan with just a bed, table, and chair, but the window on the far side of the room made it a lot more friendly.

Upon the bed was the red kobold in question. The sack that she wore as clothes reinforced the notion she wasn't a free kobold like Quickclaw or Skyeyes and made Merdon hesitant. There was also a strange shield sitting next to the bed. It was large enough to cover the whole kobold's body if she were to crouch, just bigger than Merdon's own kite shield, but with a scary-looking face on the front.

The kobold looked at the four with a pair of amber eyes before asking Cath, “This is the one?”

Cath nodded and slapped Merdon's shoulder. “This is Merdon, your kobold whisperer. Note the kobolds following him.”

Skyeyes entered first and approached the red kobold. “Are you still wounded?” he asked with concern. She shook her head in response.

“I have a warning for you, whisperer,” she said, looking at Merdon. “My former mistress is coming for you.”

Merdon crossed his arms. “Who? And why?”

“She believes, as many do, that you have some power over us. Seeing you now, that is not true. I can tell.”

After a moment, Merdon said, “You don't speak like most kobolds.”

She shook her head again. “No. Many refer to themselves by name, but our mistress takes our names. She leaves us with nothing but collars.”

“Which you have freed yourself from,” Skyeyes noted.

“Who is your mistress?” Merdon asked, getting back to the point.

The red kobold looked worried for a moment and almost whispered, “A powerful witch. She lives in a tower on the other edge of the kingdom, bordering on three nations.”

Merdon frowned and thought. He was familiar with such a tower. It was prominent enough to appear on maps even. Though, he didn't know it was inhabited. Certainly not by a witch with kobolds.

“What does this witch think she can do to Quickclaw's verakt?” Sarel asked with a scowl.

“She believes he has a magic power, one she can extract and use for herself.”

The man laughed and looked at the red kobold. “I have no such power,” he reiterated bluntly. “She has no worries there.”

However, the lady kobold shook her head. “It does not matter. She believes you do and she will do anything to try and take it. If she finds no such ability then she may just kill you and be done with it.”

“Why!” Sarel shouted, her muscles tensed, ready to pounce on anything. “What monstrous hume did you serve?!”

Shrinking back against the bed, the other kobold replied, “She claims to love kobolds above all. Sees us as property to be collected. That another in the kingdom would 'steal' her prizes makes her very angry.”

That made Merdon set his jaw. “We'll confront this witch then,” he said with a quiet but hard voice. “If she means to threaten me and my companions there's nothing more we can do.”

“You know you won't get paid for that,” Cath interjected. “I mean, I might be able to set you up with some jobs along the way, if you don't mind taking a slower path, but this on its own isn't a contract.”

The new kobold perked up. She reached over, grabbed the strange-looking shield, and held it out to Merdon. “If the whisperer is truly intent, I can offer this.”

Merdon frowned at the shield and had to ask, “What is it? Other than a shield, obviously.”

“It's enchanted,” the kobold told him. She forced it into his hands and instructed him, “Tap the front with your hand or anything.”

Curious, Merdon did just that. The eyes seemed to glow, very faintly, but the most obvious effect was the low droning noise that even the others in the room seemed to hear. Skyeyes covered his ear holes, while Quickclaw shook her head. What was most important was what the red kobold did next. She opened her claws in an offensive way and slashed towards Merdon's exposed side. It was too fast, she was too close, and on the wrong side to be stopped by the shield. Yet, that was exactly what happened. As her claw closed in it was pulled towards the shield, yanking her body in an unnatural way and making her claws glance off the surface of the face. A minute later and the sound stopped as well.

“The shield, when active, guarantees protection,” she said. “I would not have made it here without it.”

The human hefted the shield, getting a feel for it. It was light enough, and being able to force attacks his way seemed like a good idea. Not to mention it forced them to a point where they would do the least amount of harm. He nodded to the red kobold before looking to Cath.

“Set up some of those contracts,” he told her. “In fact, the longer the path, the better it'll be. The witch won't know where to look for me.”

Cath nodded and walked out of the room. Sarel had been left with a question.

“Who told you where to find him?” she demanded from the red one.

Of course, all she could do was shrug. “I heard from the witch before I escaped. She said the kobold whisperer was in Bereth while she was scheming.”

That wasn't good enough for the thief. She turned, opened the door, and glanced at Merdon. “Buy us our own room at the inn tonight, verakt,” she told him. “Quickclaw is going to find out who in this town has such a big mouth.”

“Don't kill them,” Merdon warned her.

She paused and replied, “Quickclaw makes no promises.” Before the human could protest further, Sarel closed the door and made her way out to the streets. Information gathering was something she was good at.

Left alone with the last two kobolds, Merdon sighed and then asked the newest one, “What should we call you?” Since she had no name.

The red kobold frowned and tapped her claws together. “I am … not sure.” She knew she had a name, once, but it felt so long ago that she had heard it.

Merdon nodded. “No rush, I just think you should pick your own name if you can't remember your old one.”

She frowned and replied, “It is not quite that I don't remember as much as it was taken.”

Skyeyes considered that and told Merdon, “There are spells that can do such a thing. Although, if this witch can use those spells she is powerful indeed. We'd best be very careful trying to assault her keep.”

“What a vile woman,” Merdon muttered. “Still, it should be your choice. You don't need to think of one right now, just give it some thought.”

Looking down at herself, however, the lady kobold replied, “Red. Call me that.”

“That's more of a description than a name,” Skyeyes half protested.

Red shook her head at him. “It is something she cannot take from me, even if she were to get a hold of me again. I can't forget the color of my scales.”

If the witch could steal her memories of her name, or actually her name, then Merdon was sure she could take that too, but he kept that to himself. “Rest then, Red. We shall take care of this witch. And thank you for the shield. I'll put it to good use.”

Red smiled at him and leaned back in her bed.

“I will stay here, for now,” the white kobold told Merdon. “To make sure Red heals well. Kobolds are different from humans after all.”

With that, Merdon found himself alone for the first time in a week. He took his time getting to the inn, walking down the streets of Bereth slowly. Things seemed different with the revelation that some witch was hunting him. The usual smells from the bakeries and taverns, sweetbreads and savory meats, were dim. Even the sounds of merchants selling goods just down the street from the guild felt further away. Merdon usually felt at home as he walked around Bereth. A certain sense of security had been taken from him. After just a couple minutes of aimless wandering, he pointed himself to a different inn, one he hadn't stayed in before, and did as Sarel had asked. Skyeyes would have his own room for the night.

Bereth was quiet at night. The moon hung over the city, most of the residents asleep in their beds while the town was bathed in a cool light. A shatter of glass and frustrated howl would pierce the silence of the night surrounding The Howling Wolf, however. Neighbors would think the owner broke a glass or plate and howled in frustration, a problem with some lycans. Inside the closed up Tavern was a different story.

Sarel had launched a plate towards the owner, hesitant to draw her daggers immediately. The blue-furred wolf had proceeded to knock several candles over, dimming the lights in the room, as he chased after the kobold. Quickclaw, true to her name, was bounding from table to table while the lycan followed. More candles were knocked over, extinguished, until the room was left in complete darkness. Like all lycans, the owner felt at home in the darkness. His night vision was incredible. Unfortunately for him, kobolds could see just as well.

Quietly as she could manage, Sarel spun in the middle of a landing, launching herself back at the lycan. Her claws found purchase on his shoulder and in a blink she was digging in with her left and punching his back with her right. Assaulting him through his clothes and fur proved more difficult than she expected, and the lycan retaliated by running his back into a nearby wall. The kobold was dislodged with a cough, the air forced from her body, but she was still behind him. Her foot shot out and tripped the wolfman. His fall caused a great deal of clatter as he tumbled through chairs and tables.

Thinking as fast as she could, Sarel grabbed a chair and swung it as the wolf recovered. His howl of pain was cut short as he collided with the far wall of the tavern. The fall, the chair splintering on his body, and the impact on the wall, left his head in a dizzied state. Everything was swimming in front of his eyes. Sarel came over and pulled out a dagger, holding it to the wolf's throat. She held back a groan from her sore everything and did her best to look at him menacingly. Producing a threatening demeanor was difficult when one was small, but Quickclaw had to manage. Her investigation had led her back to this tavern, the first one to talk about a kobold whisperer was the lycan that was staring at her blade now.

“Why?” she asked him flatly, a bit too tired after their fight for words. A fight she was ashamed to have struggled with. The wolf was no adventurer.

“Look at you,” he muttered. “Cursed monster, attacking me, destroying my business. You're no better than a damned goblin.”

Sarel punched him square on the snout for that. A twisted crunch indicating she'd broken something, followed by his whimper, soothed her nerves.

“Why did you tell others that Merdon has powers?” she asked, more clear this time.

“Does he not?” the wolf practically huffed. “I've never seen a hume keep a kobold in line so well without a collar.”

Quickclaw growled and pressed the knife to his neck a touch harder, a reminder. “Now is not the time to insult Quickclaw. Tell her what she wants to know.”

“Because I thought he did,” the wolf said again, more afraid this time.

Sarel paused and then took her knife from his neck. “Stop with your rumors then,” she said, starting to walk away. To make a point, she grabbed another chair and bashed it against a table, breaking both of them into several large chunks. “They're bad for business.”

Her objective complete, Sarel sprinted out the front door and into the cool night. It was possible the lycan might get the guard, she knew, but a message needed to be sent. Messing with her was one thing, getting her verakt in trouble was another. She pushed her thoughts aside and focused on the sounds around her. Claws scraping on stone as she jogged along the paved roads towards the inn, the squeaks of signs as a light breeze swept through town. Most importantly, no sounds of metal boots on the road. It was safe, for the moment.

Quickclaw did find it odd that the innkeeper hadn't seen Merdon but it wasn't long before she made for the other inn Bereth possessed. Something about that irked her deeply. She knew how Merdon felt. Unsafe even inside this town he had lived in for years. That lycan had taken more from them than he knew and it made Sarel want to blow more steam off. A few more broken chairs wouldn't have been suspicious, she thought. It was too late for that now. Her claw pushed the wooden door of the other inn open and she almost demanded to know where Merdon was. The innkeeper noticed her tone and gave her the room's location without a fuss. Sarel didn't relax even after getting into the room.

It was a nicer room, she noted. Her claws were met with a fur rug, there were curtains blocking the windows, and a full-sized tub sat in the only corner not covered by fur. She scanned the room with her eyes looking for Merdon. He was asleep on the only bed in the room, a large bed at that. Sarel could only imagine how he'd felt with no one around him that day. All at once it hit her that was the first day they'd spent apart, and both conscious, since meeting. A sour feeling bubbled in her stomach.

First, however, she undressed and took a bath. It was likely to be the last time she could for a while. Unless they camped near a river or spring, and those were nothing compared to these magic heated tubs. Warm water soaking into her scales, a good lather working all the knots and stress out of her body just for one last night. She nearly purred, laying back in the water and closing her eyes.

In the midst of that, Merdon awoke and looked over at her. It had been more than a week since he'd seen Sarel undressed and while it stirred something primal in him he had bigger things on his mind. Wearing nothing more than a pair of loose underwear, he stepped over to the tub and leaned on the wall. Sarel had her eyes closed, enjoying her bath. He eyed her body again, thought about squeezing into the tub with her, giving her a bit of a surprise, but once more he shook the naughty ideas from his head. Instead, he cleared his throat. Quickclaw bolted upright and glared at him with water trailing down her chest.

“That is rude, verakt,” she chastised.

Merdon chuckled and pat her head. “Sorry. I wanted to know where you were all day.”

“Hunting,” she told him with a smirk. Noticing his confusion, she followed, “For the loudmouth that gave a witch the impression you had magic.”

“I see,” he replied flatly. “And?”

Sarel huffed. “It was the rude wolf from the tavern. He believed you did possess a special power because kobolds are monsters like goblins.”

There was a twitch in Merdon's eyes, a flash of rage before he ran his hand down Sarel's back, into the water. “He's a bigot,” the human told her. “And I'm certain you didn't just ask him a few questions and leave this time.”

The kobold smiled, leaning back into the hand rubbing her back. “No, verakt. Sarel gave him a roughing up and broke a few of his things. The wolf may live, but he will be repairing his business for a week.”

Merdon chuckled, but warned her, “You'll be lucky if he doesn't go to the guard.”

“Sarel dares him,” she replied with a bite in her tone. “She would love an excuse to get him out of the way.”

“There's no need for that, and you know it.”

“Not yet,” the kobold corrected him.

With a sigh, Merdon stood up and started back towards the bed. “Well, I'm going back to sleep. Tomorrow we're starting a journey.”

Water sloshed around Sarel as she stood up and stepped out of the bath to follow Merdon. “Yes, and we have important business to take care of before then,” she told him.

As Merdon turned to ask what that might be, Quickclaw grinned and stepped towards him totally naked. Her long tail swayed behind her as she got closer, prompting Merdon to get into bed.

Dawn came all too soon in Merdon's opinion, as he stood near Bereth's Northern gate waiting on his companions. Skyeyes arrived first, carrying his small pack and large staff. He smiled at the human and assured him that Red was well and resting. Sarel came up soon after, carrying both her and Merdon's packs. As he'd promised himself, Merdon had let her handle all of the shopping, and the knight's bag was loaded down with various supplies for a long trip, while Sarel carried a list of contracts they'd agreed to complete while on the road.

It was early in the day, mid-Spring, a calm morning where no guards had come to arrest them. They were all set to leave. Until a pair of claws were heard scraping on the stone behind them. Of course, that got their attention. There were very few races that made that noise, and the footfalls were too soft for a barefooted lycan.

It was Red, breathing hard and smiling at them. She was wearing something other than a sack, a pair of shortened breeches and a plain tunic. “I will come too,” she said to the group.

Skyeyes spoke out first. “No, it's far too dangerous. You already escaped this witch once.”

“Which is why I have to go with you,” Red insisted. “The collars she uses on her kobolds are enchanted. You need arcane magic to remove them.” Magic that Skyeyes couldn't provide.

Sarel's eyes widened. “You can do magic?”

Without a word, Red held out her claw and conjured a flame. “It took a very long time to figure it out without being caught, but it's how I escaped.”

The blue kobold looked at Merdon and said, “We cannot leave her here then. Kobolds capable of magic are very rare.”

Skyeyes sighed and agreed, “I'm considered an outsider for my own magics, which anyone with piety can perform. Red? She is something else.”

Merdon rolled his eyes and told them both, “It's not just that.” She wanted to come, she wouldn't drag them down, in fact, she could turn out to be helpful. “All right, Red,” the knight said, stretching. “Keep your eyes peeled, if a fight breaks out keep to the back, got it?”

The red kobold nodded, extinguishing her flame and smiling. “Yes, whisperer.”

“Also,” he sighed, “It's Merdon. I'm not a kobold whisperer. You know that.”

Red's face matched her name a bit more closely for a moment as she nodded in agreement. “A slip of the tongue.”

With a nod, Merdon picked up his pack and started down the road with the three kobolds around him.

# Humble Beginnings

Red flexed her claws open and conjured a pair of fireballs into her palms. The flames sizzled and popped as she hurled them towards a goblin that was breaking for a treeline near the group's first stop. With a squeaky shout of pain, the green creature tumbled, its leather armor catching fire as it rolled. That gave Quickclaw more than enough time to draw her bow back, the steel arrowhead just a flicker as it shot towards the goblin, catching it in its underarm for a fatal strike. She smirked, pleased with such a shot, and looked over to Merdon's own battle. He was doing well, the magic of his shield confusing the goblins. Their clubs were drawn to it every time they swung, the banging reactivating the effect per blow. While they tried to swing at the knight, he was busy running the end of his blade through their armor. His sword was sharper than ever and these ones weren't nearly as prepared as the ones from the cave.

The battle ended rather quickly considering the number of opponents for the trio of fighters. Skyeyes came over after and started taking care of any bruises or cuts, which was all that had been sustained. Most of the slaughter had taken place around Merdon. Small green bodies littered the ground, blood oozing out of a few well-aimed wounds on their chests or sides. Easily a dozen just there at his feet, and another half dozen littered about the field that were felled either by dagger, bow, or fire. Their healer looked a little ill surrounded by all the carnage, but then again he wasn't a fighter as much as the rest of them. He focused on making sure the rest were healed and then excused himself back to the other side of a hill away from the bodies.

Sarel, bow swung over her shoulder, started taking ears off of the goblins. Merdon glanced at their contract, and then to what the blue kobold was doing. Proof of kill was a right ear, but she was taking both. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she was planning. Sighing, the human walked over and tapped her shoulder.

“Right ears only, Quickclaw,” he told her firmly.

“But there may be others that will take the left ears,” she said, feigning ignorance. There was, in fact, an office that took goblin ears for coin. Any monster ear really. They wanted to keep the populations low around settlements. They did, however, frown on doing so if you were getting paid for the other ears.

Merdon shook his head. “It's not right, and you know it.”

Sarel grumbled but dropped the left ears and started focusing on just the right ones. There was no point in arguing with the human's moral compass. The contract paid enough anyway, Sarel just liked to get a leg up on humans. She went back to taking ears while the rest of the group handled their own post battle stresses.

Her verakt, Quickclaw had noted, liked to check his equipment, even though he knew his sword would need sharpening every time, and that the new shield was seemingly immune to damage. Skyeyes would fuss over them when they eventually came back to him at the roadside. He was too scared to come near a battle like that unless he had to. Red would survey the field and look pensive for a time before heading over to Skyeyes by the road. She wasn't used to fights like this, nor to being as effective as she had been against the goblins. The way they burned and screamed, it gave Sarel chills as well. There was no telling how it made the red-scaled mage feel.

With the goblins dealt with, and ears collected, they started towards a nearby town. Theris, as a community, had been the town to request their aid. The guild didn't usually handle exterminations, but it was a unique series of circumstances. Merdon needed traveling money and the town didn't have enough coin to hire the usual slaying guilds. It worked out perfectly as the town was only a few days from Bereth traveling along the national border. They could stop in and get their pay, enjoy a bed for the night, and then start on into the nation proper.

The witch's tower stood on the far side of the nation of Avant, bordering two others; almost the exact opposite end from Bereth. Taking the shortest route to the tower would have involved cutting straight through the nation, but Merdon had requested a more convoluted path. They would stop at over a dozen locations, including the capital itself, and zigzag through to make tracking them harder. Such a trek meant an increased need for funds, and Cath had supplied them with contracts in spades.

Having the contract ready to be cashed out, all their preparations handled, Merdon cleaned his blade and waved for Sarel to follow him. They rejoined Red and Skyeyes at the roadside, both of them a little zoned out. The knight had expected as much. Neither of them was as combat hardened as he and Quickclaw were. Unfortunately, the best he could do for them was to keep them moving. If they didn't linger on the battle it would get easier in time. He sighed and ushered them along, putting his pack on and starting off towards town. They had another day's worth of travel and it was past noon already.

Red noticed, on the far horizon, to the East, was the outline of the capital. The castle town sat on a massive rise in the middle of the nation. Its position made it hard to assault, standing on a plateau as it was. Some claimed the land mass had been summoned from the ground by the goddess herself. Whatever the case, it made the Avant capital easy to see from anywhere in the nation. Spires from the castle rose up with banners flapping in the wind that was common at such heights. A constant reminder of who was in control of the lands they walked. For Quickclaw, a reminder of their oppression that she tried to ignore at every opportunity.

Something she ignored hard enough to indulge in Merdon's questions about kobolds. The human had noticed there was a difference in the three that he traveled with, beyond their genders and colors; their horns. He wondered if there was any cultural significance to Skyeyes having no horns, Red having two rather large ones that pointed backward, and Sarel herself having two rows of three lined up on top of her head. She assured him it was nothing more than genetics. Some kobolds had no horns while others, some believing them to be closer to their dragon cousins, had only a pair of large ones. In either event, all kobolds were equally mistreated by the world at large, and so the kobolds had no need to fight among themselves over it.

Merdon pondered that as they set up camp that night. In spite of the difficulties the kobolds faced they were more unified than any other race he knew of. Or, rather, because of the difficulties they faced. Slavery should have been a shattering blow, an ever-present thing to be fearful of, and yet the kobolds found unity in it. They had no national borders, no wars among themselves because they couldn't afford such things. The more he thought about it, the more impressed he was with them. Someone had to stand up and make a change for the oppressed kobolds, and maybe he was the one to do it. He didn't know how or where to begin, but someone had to start. Taking out the witch that saw kobolds as prizes may have actually been a good place to begin. His goal reaffirmed, Merdon got cozy on his bedroll. Skyeyes had volunteered for the first watch of the night, being he hadn't participated in the fight he had plenty of energy.

The sky was dark, their fire was dim, and Skyeyes was alert. Merdon had dropped to sleep the fastest, judging by his easy breathing. Beside him laid Quickclaw, the blue kobold almost as quick to doze off as her verakt. Red, however, he noticed was not doing nearly as well. Her legs were moving sporadically, kicking her bedding as minor whimpers creaked from her throat. A nightmare, perhaps even a night terror, he wasn't experienced enough to know the difference. Panicked, Skyeyes scooted closer to Red and looked her over. She wasn't in physical pain at least. Still unsure of what he could do to help, but desperately wanting to do something, the white kobold reached out and held his claw on the lady kobold's shoulder.

Red jolted at the touch but remained asleep. Her noises trailed off and eventually her body relaxed. Skyeyes sighed and sat back, but didn't move his hand. He was afraid she might start up again if he did. Glancing around, the cleric blushed as he realized the mildly compromising position he was sitting in. He wanted very much for his turn on watch to be over at that point. It was still several hours before Quickclaw's turn came up though, and he would still have to come up with an excuse as to why he was touching Red's shoulder when the blue kobold woke up.

Sarel didn't say a word about what she saw the night before, to anyone. Not even to Skyeyes when she awoke. She could tell from the red blush on his face, even in the dim firelight, that he hadn't done anything. The cleric was too much of a choirboy, literally, to do anything untoward like that, and Red didn't need to know two out of the three she was traveling with had heard her whimpering in her sleep. That was also none of Sarel's business. Quickclaw was not good with a traumatized anyone, so she was leaving it to Skyeyes, who hadn't moved from the red kobold's side since breakfast. Those two walking beside each other meant she was free to keep up with Merdon who was leading the group by a few feet.

The knight had taken the last watch, essentially waking up early, and had been the one to put together a breakfast. His cooking skills left much to be desired, in Sarel's opinion, which explained his penchant for bread and cheese rather than something he had to put to a skillet. Still, the town of Theris was close by so cooking wouldn't matter much after lunch.

Their arrival in the light of the late afternoon was almost celebrated. Several members of the town came out to greet Merdon with a deal of exuberance. One such person was the mayor of the township, who happily traded the ring of goblin ears for a small pouch of coins. Clearly, the townspeople had been waiting for the group for some time. Sarel felt a touch of jubilation, right up until one of the farmers gave Merdon a particular honorific.

“Thank you, your lordship, for helpin' our little town,” the farmer said, shaking the knight's metal-clad hand with vigor.

Merdon chuckled and corrected the man, “I'm no lord, sir. Just a warrior.”

The mayor laughed a little and replied, “Nonsense. Those servants of yours must be quite pricey.”

Understanding dawned on Merdon's face. “They are not my servants,” he told the pair firmly, letting his hand drop from the shake. “They're companions traveling with me, and members of my guild.”

The two villagers looked at each other with confusion and concern. They apologized halfheartedly and suddenly had things to do elsewhere; like telling the village a creep with kobolds for friends was going to be staying in the village for the night. Their reaction made Merdon pause and look at the group.

“Should we stay?” he asked them, quite serious. “If we push on we can move past this village by at least a mile before nightfall.” It would move them along their journey at least.

Red, clacking her claws, said, “They did make me uneasy.”

Sarel scoffed at her concern. “That is how humes are, Red. Present company excluded,” she added, glancing at Merdon.

“We should stay,” Skyeyes said with determination. “Humans fear us because they don't understand us. If we keep avoiding them they'll never learn.”

“I'm leaving this up to you,” Merdon said to the three kobolds. “You're the ones they're going to act weird about.” Unless someone happened to mention him being a “kobold whisperer,” then they might start in on him too.

“We should stay,” Sarel said, adding her lot in with Skyeyes. “Beds are few and far between, and it's best Red gets used to humans like this now when she can be watched.”

Red looked nervous, still. “Are you sure it will be fine?”

Skyeyes put his claw on her shoulder again and smiled. “You were fine in Bereth, were you not? It will be the same here.”

Merdon nodded and assured her, “I'll make sure everyone acts right.”

“Then what are you worried about?” Sarel asked him, slapping his armored thigh with her tail.

“I just don't want to make things awkward if we can avoid it.”

“Things will always be awkward,” Skyeyes told him, “Until we come to an understanding.”

Red took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, we should stay.” She still didn't seem completely sure, but Skyeyes made a good point. They had to start changing minds somewhere.

# Theris

Theris' inn was nothing like Bereth's. Being such a small town with minimal trade routes passing through it, the inn was only a single floor, resembling a lodge. To make up for that small size, the owner had seen fit to affix a tavern to the end of it opposite the rooms. Townsfolk and adventurers alike could sit together, eat and drink, then retire to their beds. It helped with upkeep during the off-season when few people traveled.

Merdon walked in and surveyed the tavern space, slowly twisting his head from one side to the other. Theris' tavern may have been filled to near capacity but it was nothing compared to The Howling Wolf half full. He spotted a table with a bench along the back wall and motioned for the kobolds to follow him. Naturally, the vigilant knight took the space with his back to the wall, putting the whole room in his view so he could watch everyone. Sarel sat across from him, grinning and already flagging down a barmaid for a tankard. Red sat next to Merdon, while Skyeyes sat, somewhat awkwardly, across from her and next to Quickclaw. The little cleric was not used to being so close to ladies of his own kind it seemed.

Red, seeing the mugs of alcohol as common in the tavern, asked for one of her own. Skyeyes gave her a worried look, and then ordered himself a simple water and some meat. That started a whole chain of kobolds asking for meat. Ham, it seemed, was all that was on the menu, which suited them just fine. Merdon also ordered a meal with water, much to Sarel's disappointment. He'd have no lapse of cognition while out on a quest though. What had happened in Bereth the one time, their first time, was only because they were in Bereth. At a time Merdon knew he didn't need to have his wits about him. Their situation was different now.

The food and drinks arrived and everyone dug in. Skyeyes used the provided utensils to eat with, of which Merdon used the fork at least. Red and Sarel ate like animals, gathering the attention of the tavern. They lifted the slabs of ham with their claws and took massive bites out of them, chomping and slurping every second until the quarter pound of food was gone. Merdon was almost embarrassed. Almost. He knew that Sarel was doing that intentionally to upset the humans, and it was possible Red didn't know any better. After all, who would have taught a slave how to eat properly? At the same time Merdon considered that, Skyeyes started whispering to the red kobold, explaining to her the purpose of the tools provided by the waitress. She seemed to be listening to him, though her attention was split between him and the mug of alcohol she had to the side.

The moment Skyeyes finished talking, Quickclaw let out a loud belch and slammed her tankard down with a pleased grin on her snout. While the cleric glared at her, Red picked up her own mug and took a drink. Her face scrunched with confusion and she tried another drink. This was what made the blue kobold smile? To the former slave's credit, she tried, how very hard she tried, but after half a mug she passed it off to Quickclaw with an ill look on her face. As soon as the maid passed by, her last pass before leaving for the night before the crowd got too rowdy, Red requested water. At the very least, the maid seemed sympathetic to the red kobold. She got her water and drained almost the whole thing before leaning back in her seat, defeated.

Sarel laughed and finished the drink for her friend. She was about three drinks in now and was giving Merdon a certain look that told him they would be sharing a bed, and much more if they had been alone on the journey. In fact, if she got any more inebriated, they might just do that despite the cleric and mage hanging around them. It made Merdon blush and he felt forced to avert his gaze, which naturally made Sarel chuckle. She liked making him flustered like that. Teasing him with her actions and words.

Skyeyes, since the barmaid had left, got up and offered to order and carry anything anyone wanted. The two female kobolds asked for more food, Sarel another drink. Which led to Skyeyes walking back with three more plates and a mug. Merdon watched them all eat, yet again, with a bit of a sinking feeling. That was not cheap. He was full already and twice their size, but the kobolds were positively voracious. It made him wonder if they had multiple stomachs or something to store food. Not to mention Sarel's drinking. He needed to think about their contracts, once the table settled down. At least Red was eating more behaved now. She was being tutored by Skyeyes on how to use a fork and knife and appeared to be picking it up rather quickly. Sarel just rolled her eyes and kept using her claws. For a kobold that liked to bathe so much, she also liked to do things the dirty way.

Red, with just half of a drink, was merely tipsy, but she muttered something about feeling woozy after eating. Sarel, although she would have preferred to stay with Merdon, knew if she stayed at the table any longer she wouldn't make it back to the room on her own two feet. The pair staggered together, arms over shoulders for support, back to the room. Skyeyes, ever the worrywart, tapped his claws together and then got up and leaned out of the big doorway that separated the tavern from the front of the inn. From that spot he could look down the long hallway of rooms the two lady kobolds were plodding down and make sure they got to the room in peace. He had been rather protective, despite it being his idea for them to stay in the town for the night.

Merdon debated talking to him about that but opted not to. Worrying was what Skyeyes did. The knight had other things to focus on, like their next contract.

Apparently, the town down the road was having a bandit problem. They had a lot of stolen goods that needed to be returned. It was an actual problem the Returner's Guild would normally deal with, and with a full team at his back, they actually stood a chance. There was a great deal of risk involved though. No telling where the bandits were holed up, what traps they had laid, or if they would be there when the group arrived. Timing was paramount to their success. Unless they wanted to take a detour halfway around the continent chasing thieves. Merdon sure didn't. Keeping on track to the capital and then to the witch's tower was their main priority, but they did need funds for that.

And concerning funds, Skyeyes was making his way over to the bartender to ask for another serving of food. The priest seemed to have quite a bit more room than even Merdon did when it came to meat. Maybe it was the smell in the tavern, the way the aroma was lingering from the ever roasting hams. Pigs were one of Theris' exports, which lent a certain fragrance to the rest of the town. Those smells didn't matter inside though. It was completely drowned out by the smell of baking hams and bacon in a giant oven behind the bar. Ovens that were far more sophisticated than the seating and placements in the bar. Clearly, the innkeeper had made his choice about where to spend the coin he made.

Many villagers were hanging around inside the tavern that night, but the crowd was nothing compared to what one would see in Bereth. It was that simple fact that gave Merdon the edge others might not have expected. There just wasn't enough space, meaning there were fewer tables and chairs. So when the farmer Merdon had shaken hands with earlier, an older fellow with a rust-colored beard and thinning hairline, said “Kobolds” from three tables over, Merdon heard it. The knight frowned, leaned back to look relaxed, and listened.

“Two of the kobolds are in their room now, and those are the two we want,” he whispered to another pair of men. One was younger with a wilder hairstyle, perhaps simply a rebellious phase. The other was closer to the farmer's age but had completed the balding process. All three of them were hunched over in a very suspicious way. A sign of amateurs.

“You sure the collars will work?” the younger one, judging from his voice, asked the other two. He had doubts.

“Of course they will,” the voice of the last one said sharply. “Don't be stupid, boy. I got these from proper slavers when they were passing through back to Sedra. Just in case something valuable came through town.”

There was a laugh from the farmer Merdon had met. “Never imagined they'd walk right into town and give us coin on top of it.”

To say that Merdon was upset with what he was hearing was an understatement. It took all of his self-control to not beat those three within an inch of their lives right there in the bar. That wouldn't help anyone though, not that way, not right here. The rest of their plan seemed to rely on he and Skyeyes retiring for the evening and then taking a key from the innkeeper, by force if necessary, to get into their rooms. With Sarel as drunk as she was it was possible their plan would have worked. Would have that was if Merdon hadn't heard it first.

The question was what to do with the information. He could go wake up the others, get them out of town. That would look suspicious though and may ultimately push Red further into her human distrusting shell. Not to mention Sarel would spend the next week being surly about how the humans acted. Although he was starting to understand her position more and more each day.

No, Merdon was going to take a quieter approach to this situation. He waited until Skyeyes was stuffed with food and then suggested they turn in for the night. It would be a late morning for them all, he figured, and the white kobold agreed. Once they were safely tucked away in their room, however, Merdon waited only a few minutes before getting back up.

His sword belted at his side, Merdon quietly exited the room, helped by the well-oiled hinges on the door. The innkeeper didn't have a lot to do except keeping the place well maintained, he figured. In fact, the beds were quite nice, even compared to ones in Bereth. But that was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts. With a little bit of work, the door across from their room was coerced to open and Merdon slipped inside, leaving it ajar enough to see. After that, it was just a case of waiting.

Midnight came and went before the trio arrived. The youngest member was their scout, it seemed from the way he looked around, but he missed Merdon's hiding place across the hall in the low light. He waved and the other two men casually walked over with a key in their hands. When all three of them were facing the opposite direction Merdon allowed his door to slowly swing open and he stepped out. Clearing his throat got their attention before the key was in the lock, and it didn't take a brilliant mind to see the longsword hung at his side. They'd been caught, the jig was up.

The young lad wasn't settled with just that though. Either afraid of the knight's sword or just wanting the plan to work out, the man pulled a dagger and rushed the knight with more of a whimper than a battle cry. Merdon wasn't worried about some farm boy holding a knife and no training. He easily caught the lad's wrist and twisted the blade out of his hands before headbutting him hard enough to send him reeling into the older men. Those two didn't take well to his skilled counter though and, after pushing the youngest one aside, stepped towards Merdon with balled fists.

In a normal situation, Merdon would have pulled his sword out, given them a stern threat, chased them off using words. This wasn't a normal situation though. He was angry; he wanted to be violent with these three. Keeping it as silent as one could in a fist fight, Merdon swung first, and hard. His fist breaking the nose of the man he'd shook hands with less than half a day ago. The bald man tried to take advantage of that by striking while the knight was busy, but this wasn't his first scrap. Dodging to the side, he countered with a swift blow to the older man's ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Just in case the farmer got any bright ideas with his broken nose, Merdon grabbed him by the back and forcefully put his knee to the man's face. Such a blow sent him falling back against the wall and left the stolen key on the ground.

At which point, the trio realized their plan had not only been found out but was up against more than they bargained for. The youngest grabbed the red-haired man and tried to take off with him. He didn't get far as the middle-aged man weighed more than he could carry, forcing the grumbling older one to take the other side and help the two hobble home. Merdon had hoped for much more a brawl than what they had given him, but it was about what he expected from untrained farmers. They might have believed themselves tough in a barroom fight, but that would be against other farmers and drunks. Against Merdon they were lucky he let them live.

He pushed the thought out of his mind as quickly as it entered. Two wrongs didn't make a right. They may have been greedy but their outlook was entirely uneducated. They didn't know kobolds, they saw them as monsters as many others did. Merdon knew better and if he wanted others to know better then he had to act better. Their plot had been thwarted and that was well enough for him.

Merdon picked up the key, adding it to the other one he carried out of the room with him, and unlocked the door. He glanced around at the others. Asleep, every one of them as far as he could tell. Sighing, he re-locked the door, sat the only two keys, that he knew of anyway, on the table, and laid down for what he hoped would be about eight solid hours of sleep. Kobolds didn't normally sleep for so long, but Sarel had been drinking and Skyeyes had stayed up late. Red might wake up first, but she wouldn't go anywhere alone.

As Merdon relaxed in bed, snuggling up next to Sarel, Skyeyes was watching. He'd heard the scuffle in the hallway, just like he'd heard the men talking in the tavern. Merdon had dealt with it, alone, in his own way, but the knight hadn't felt the need to tell him? Or any of them for that matter. The cleric frowned and tossed in his bed. That notion didn't sit well in him. They should have been warned. At least he should have. He had been right there in the tavern with the human after all. Did the knight not trust him? Not think he could have helped? Or was he worried that, as a cleric, Skyeyes would have suggested a less violent route? It could have been any of those, or none of them. His mind tumbling with all of those thoughts, it took Skyeyes much longer to fall asleep than it should have considering how late it was.

The next morning Merdon and Sarel woke up around the same time, which seemed to please the blue kobold. Red and Skyeyes had already woke up and were loitering about the room waiting for the other two, so they claimed. To Sarel's dismay, however, there was no bath in the smaller inn. She just had to settle for a rinse with some water that might have been intended for drinking, not being splashed on a rag and rubbed about bodies.

“It's important Quickclaw not stink, verakt,” she told Merdon, who had a curious expression. “We're going to bargain for supplies before leaving, yes? Quickclaw can hardly do this if she smells like the tavern in the middle of the day.”

Merdon chided, “Then perhaps you shouldn't spend most of the night in the tavern.”

“To be fair,” Skyeyes chimed in, “We also spent a good deal of time in there more than they did.”

Sarel smirked, wrung out her rag, replacing it with fresh water, and tossed it at Merdon where it landed on his chest, making an audible splat. “Perhaps you should wipe up too then,” she suggested while putting her clothes back on. Apparently, she slept in the nude while safe.

Merdon grumbled to himself but did wipe down with the rag. She had a point. The scent of alcohol and cooked meats had a very nasty habit of clinging to people. He didn't mind the smell so much, but others might. Perhaps not in this village, but in other places. Especially the capital. Bathing was much more common there, or so he was told.

After a quick scrub, Sarel and Merdon left to do the shopping. The kobold had essentially been put in charge of their necessities and knew exactly what they needed. Merdon was there to carry things she needed carried. All in all the process didn't take long and Sarel proved a shrewd haggler for even the most trivial items. They would be back at the inn before noon and well on their way out of town to boot.

Merdon also noted, during their outing, that the three he'd fought off the other night weren't hanging around town. He doubted they'd run out of town, however pleasant such a thought might be. It was likely they were hiding, for now, waiting for him and the kobolds to leave town. At least they would get their wish. The knight didn't feel like staying in Theris another night either. Once they got back to the inn and found Red and Skyeyes well, Merdon set about distributing pack loads with their new supplies.

There was no fanfare when they left. The innkeeper had been paid, they had been paid, it was all squared away, nothing to hold them back. Merdon couldn't help but notice the few eyes that glanced at them as they passed through the town one last time. Some of these people had to know what their fellow residents had planned. They had expected to see two of these kobolds marched out in chains the night before, not happily walking down the path, blissfully unaware of what almost transpired. It left a sour taste in his mouth and a burning in his guts. He sort of hated these people now.

Sarel noticed there was something off about Merdon, but she didn't ask. She figured it had something to do with the fact they had basically saved the town from goblins ransacking the place and yet no one cared after learning the man that did it wasn't a slave keeping monster like other humes. Now they just watched quietly from the sidelines as their heroes walked away. Not so much as a last thank you for their efforts. The kobold still felt a sense of pleasure in what they did though. Whether the residents of Theris were grateful or not, they had helped them. It made her feel good inside. Maybe that was how Merdon felt all of the time with his little contracts. She could get used to feeling that way.

Still, leaving Theris felt a little hollow for everyone. None of the residents even bothered to make eye contact with the group, for one reason or another. To them, it was a normal day in their town for tending to gardens, crops, and shops. The man marching through town alongside three kobolds was an oddity, one to be viewed from afar, but not approached. Perhaps that was just how they handled people leaving the town. Travelers must have come and gone fairly often since there was an inn and tavern in the town, but Sarel couldn't shake an awkward feeling on top of her sense of accomplishment. Maybe it was just Merdon's mood rubbing off on her. He certainly seemed to improve as they got along the highway.

The group walked down the highway until they came to a certain turn that led onto a well-worn trail. A dirt road carved out with wagon wheels and horse tracks which led to their next destination. Travel got harder on an unpaved road, as Red discovered when she stumbled over some rocks. Good news came near sundown when Merdon pointed to a grove off the road. It looked abandoned, decent cover, Quickclaw could climb a tree and do her normal lookout thing. They didn't even need to discuss it.

Red set about gathering tinder she could set on fire for the camp, while Quickclaw meandered about outside the grove looking for a good vantage point for the night. That left Merdon and Skyeyes to set up tents and dig a fire pit respectively. Which also meant they were alone and gave Skyeyes the opportunity to ask something he'd been wrestling with all day.

“Why did you not tell me about what those men planned?”

Merdon, distracted with the tents, looked at him in confusion. “What men?”

“The ones back in Theris,” Skyeyes clarified as he scooped more dirt out of the ground.

There was a long pause while Merdon considered what to say. “You heard them?” he asked carefully.

The white kobold huffed. “Yes, I heard them in the tavern even. I saw you listening in as well.”

“So why didn't you say anything?”

That gave the kobold cause to pause. “I thought you had a plan,” he replied a little slowly.

“And I did,” Merdon said with confidence. “So what's the issue?”

“The problem, sir knight, is that you didn't seem to trust me enough to tell me.” What reason did he have to hide his frustrations?

Merdon stopped what he was doing and thought about it. “It wasn't about trust between us,” he said, turning around and looking Skyeyes in the face. “I thought if you knew then it might … shake your belief in humans. Or if Quickclaw or Red found out they'd hold a grudge.”

“I'm not so easily broken,” Skyeyes told him, coupled with a hard gaze. “Humans can be quite evil, but so can every race. I will not hold the acts of few against the many. If something had happened to you or us...” He couldn't finish his thought, because he didn't know. It wouldn't have been so easily forgivable though.

“I'm sorry,” Merdon said plainly. “You're right. I should have said something to you at least. You were there when I heard it. Maybe I could have used the backup or a plan B.”

Skyeyes nodded and turned back to his digging. “Please remember that in the future, Merdon. For now, we are a team. We should act like one.”

The knight nodded and turned back to setting up the tents. While he placed poles through holes and into the ground, Merdon couldn't help but think about his own feelings on the subject now. He was worried about Skyeyes or one of the others getting upset, but in the end he was the one that felt disdain for his own kind afterward. What was different about him than them? They already knew how terrible people could be to their kind. It didn't matter if it was some backwater farmers or a high born noble, the idea that kobolds should be in chains was nearly universal. He should have told them.

# Besting Bandits

One of the things Sarel had purchased that Merdon loved was a pair of binoculars. He had never really had reason to use a pair before, with most of his missions involving confronting lone thieves or the occasional two-man team. The rundown fortress he was spying on from the hilltop was another matter altogether. Laying on his belly, Quickclaw at his side, Red and Skyeyes waiting behind them out of sight, the human was scanning the structure the bandits were hiding in.

It looked like an old stone fort. Built out in the middle of the plains making it impossible to approach without being spotted, a solid foundation of stone meaning they couldn't set it ablaze with Red's magic, and what looked like an intact roof meant no frontal distractions while Sarel scaled the wall and attacked from within. They needed a plan. One that got them beyond the reinforced gate which was much newer than the rest of the structure, from what Merdon could guess. These bandits were smart, and rumor had it they numbered in the double digits. At least ten, maybe more. No one was quite sure. Some would come out, others would stay in, and no one was brave enough to get closer to see if it was always the same ones coming out.

Their need for a distraction of some kind was not helped by the location. On top of being in the middle of open flat land, the fort was along a disused stretch of worn road. No highway around here, no waiting for a convenient caravan to pass by, that alone would be suspicious to the men inside. They needed something else. They needed a plan the group could enact on their own.

Merdon shimmied back down the hill, turning and sliding once he was out of sight of the fort. Sarel followed him and looked at him from the side. She figured he had seen something or had come up with an idea already. It was bold of her to assume that so early, but the way Red and Skyeyes were looking at him they thought so too. He had become their de facto leader at some point. All of the eyes on him put great pressure on the knight, but it eventually paid off. A plan slowly came together in Merdon's mind, one which had a minimum of two contingencies.

“It looks like rain,” he commented, looking up at the sky.

That confused Sarel. “So?”

Merdon smirked, “Animals look for shelter in the rain. If, say, a lone wolf was out here, where would it go?”

Now it was making sense. The kobold grinned. “Quickclaw's wolf could search for any cracks we cannot see from the front.”

“And if it doesn't find any, we can use it to get them to come out. Maybe some howling, snarling, and they'll send someone to deal with it.”

“What if one of the men on the roof has a bow?” Skyeyes asked. Lookouts were why they didn't approach now after all.

“Red can take care of him then,” Merdon said. “I doubt any of them is a good enough shot with a bow to take us out from behind the hill. They would have to come out here.”

Red shook her head. “Or wait us out.” The bandits had a fort and supplies.

“Then we'll go in at night,” he said. “You can distract them with some fire to one side, we'll slip towards the fort in the dark. They won't be able to leave and set torches without you tossing fire at them. They'll be in the dark.”

It made as much sense as one could make. Or, in other words, it was the best plan they had. Sarel at least was focused on her first task. Either way, the wolf was step one, and so she summoned it from the ring and closed her eyes. She took direct control and ran it towards the fort. The wolf made it in a short time and started checking the outside wall. After a time, the kobold frowned. There was a small crevice in the wall, big enough for a halfling or kobold, so it would certainly fit a wolf. When she pressed into the crack, however, the wolf was stopped by something solid. Quickclaw told her companions the bad news. That meant it was time for plan B.

As thunder rumbled in the distance, making everyone aware of the oncoming storm, Sarel's wolf howled outside the gate. The first of two guards on top of the fort made a comment and looked over the edge. He didn't have his bow. A second guard told him to let the guys at the gate deal with it. Words that Quickclaw repeated to her friends thanks to sharing all senses with the wolf. The first guard shouted down to the guys at the gate, and as he did the blue kobold pointed to the red one. It was showtime.

Red scurried up the hillside and looked over the edge. She judged the distance and cocked her arm back. Her flame hidden behind the hilltop, she had no issue putting a fireball in her hand and waiting. Merdon was at the base of the hill, around the side, ready to charge, while Sarel continued focusing as the wolf. They were all in place, ready, like clockwork. All they needed was the sign.

The front gate opened into the fort and two men stepped out. One holding a sword and the other with a bow. As the one wielding the bow drew back the string, Red catapulted her fireball. It soared straight and true, catching the man square in the chest, burning his bowstring and setting his clothes on fire. He screamed in surprise and terror and ran out of the fort, tripping and flailing on the ground. That might save his life in the short term, but while his companion stared in shock the wolf moved, lunging and biting the sword wielder's neck. With a heaved breath, he stabbed at the wolf, but to no avail. Realizing what was happening just as the knight came sprinting around the hill towards the fort, the swordsman died. Toppling over and back in the gateway. No one was closing the gate when his corpse was in the way.

Following in Merdon's wake, Red jumped up and ran down the hill, lobbing fireball after fireball at the top of the fort. The men on watch screamed warnings that they were under attack to whoever was inside the fort while they dodged fire to get back inside. Sarel followed behind her mate and Skyeyes behind her. There was no telling what was inside, and as vulnerable as Skyeyes was compared to the rest of them, he was going to be needed in the thick of it this time. Thankfully they had all spent the day before resting up, taking their time to get to the fort, knowing it would be a hard battle.

Merdon stepped inside first and looked around, his shield raised protectively against his chest. There were a lot of doors and a stairway on the other side. A second floor. Perfect. The knight listened while the kobolds formed up behind him. Someone had to be on the first floor, other than the two guys that had been guarding the gate. He heard footsteps; leather shoes and not clanking metal indicated lightly armed foes. They had caught most of the bandits by surprise, but the longer they lingered on the first floor the more time those above had to prepare. With his face set, Merdon turned towards the footsteps. Sarel had drawn her bow back behind him, aiming in the direction he was facing, while fire sprung to life in Red's claws. Whoever came out into the main hall was going to get destroyed without question.

Moments later a door opened up and two men came sprinting out, making a break for the stairs across from the group. Sarel's bow twanged, its arrow soaring and embedding itself into the back of a bald man. He shouted and fell, his torso catching the heels of his companion in front of him and tripping the other fleeing man. Red hesitated with her fireball, recalling the screaming man just feet behind her. She didn't want to see that so close. It was a long enough pause for Sarel to nock another arrow and fire it. The second bandit didn't make it back to his feet, his arm extended towards the stairs and went limp as the arrow punctured something vital. If his gurgling was anything to go by, it was a lung.

Red exhaled and put out her flame, closing her eyes and trying not to think about what they'd done. What they were going to do was so much worse. She had to be stronger. Skyeyes put a claw on her shoulder and looked at Merdon. The two of them were far from prepared for this sort of combat, and his look conveyed that worry well. Even Sarel glanced at them, unsure if this was the best idea her verakt had.

The knight was well aware of Red's concerns, but they needed her, and Skyeyes as well. This was dangerous, bone-chilling work. Most adventurers encountered bandits for the first time on the road, fighting for their lives in an ambush. In that situation, it made things harder to process. What they were doing now was methodical. They were the ambushers, and that made all the difference.

“We need to check this floor,” Merdon said softly.

“Quickclaw's wolf can handle the search,” the kobold said proudly.

Skyeyes muttered, “Goddess forgive me,” before telling her the problem with her idea. “Your wolf does not have hands.”

The blue kobold paused and looked at him quizzically. “So?”

“How will it open these doors?”

Sarel, bent on proving the priest wrong, had her wolf pad up to a door and attempt to open it. The creature started on hind legs, attempting to open it with its front paws. When that failed, she had it drop back down to all fours and slam its side into the door. Which also failed, only managing to rattle the thick wooden door on its hinges.

Merdon sighed. “This will take forever.”

Not wanting it to take forever, the knight pushed past Sarel and walked over to the door her wolf was pawing at. He lifted his leg, steel strapped to his body he was much heavier and stronger than the wolf. The clatter of the door breaking as Merdon's foot connected, splitting the obstruction in two and sending it flying into the room, was deafening. All three kobolds covered their ears while the knight held his shield in front of him in case of a follow-up attack. It was dead quiet after the last splinter of wood settled. Still, Quickclaw had her wolf peek into the empty room just to be safe. Merdon turned back around and looked at the trio.

“Fast, efficient, safe,” he declared.

The kobolds nodded and started following along behind Merdon as he kicked in every single door they came across. Three doors in the main hall, all empty. Then came a fork in the road. Ahead were the stairs upward, where they knew the rest of the bandits were, but there were about two more rooms to check on the left and right side of the fort. They went left which led towards a large single room. Sarel held up a claw and told Merdon she heard someone in the room, thanks to the wolf's hearing. As they all got closer to the door it became less of a forewarning. All four of them could hear someone inside talking to himself, essentially panicking about being found alone in a storeroom. A room where the bandits were keeping their stolen goods.

Merdon kicked the door down with an extra bit of vigor, timing his kick to the sound of the voice. A scream from inside was cut short as the whole door caught him and tossed him backward. The loud thud and heavy crack of his body landing on the stone floor said he was at least unconscious. Still, Quickclaw was not one to take chances. The thief slipped in, wriggling around Merdon's form in the doorway, knife drawn. It took her all of five seconds to bend down under the door and stick her knife somewhere fatal. Cold, calculated, and knowledgeable, it became clear Sarel had killed humans before. Possibly often.

“I don't want to think about how you know that,” Merdon said softly as he looked around the room.

Sarel grinned. “Not all humes are good,” she reminded him.

“Not saying they are. I just don't want to think about it right now,” Merdon reiterated for her. His eyes were busy checking over the things in the storeroom. Boxes marked with merchant names, but not months worth of goods.

“This isn't everything,” Skyeyes commented. “The rest must be upstairs.”

Red glanced out the door where Sarel's wolf sat in watch. “Or on the right side we did not take,” she added.

“To the right then,” Merdon said as he turned around. “Then we'll go upstairs and clean them out.”

“They'll be waiting,” Sarel mentioned. “We should be prepared as well.”

The human considered that as they made their way to the other side of the first floor. He glanced back towards the large doors they'd come in from, looking out on the gloomy late afternoon. Bleak skies and foreboding weather but no sign the bandits had tried to scale down the roof and approach from that angle. They pushed on through the intersection of the fort and stopped at the last door on the first floor. Merdon thought about what rooms could be left. Barracks possibly, a kitchen too, but who knew what the bandits would be using the room for. Still, they had to check every corner before going upstairs to avoid getting caught in a pincer strike. Basic adventuring knowledge which even a group of thieves like this probably knew.

Lifting his very sore leg up, Merdon booted the door down with a couple of kicks this time, he was clearly weakening himself, but much like last time, it paid off. No one stood behind the door, but a bandit did quite suddenly come around the corner holding a huge log. Swinging it like a club the bandit bashed the raised shield, pushing the knight back and causing the bandit to stumble as well. The opening was wide enough for Sarel's wolf to leap in and bite the assailant. He screamed and swung at the wolf to no avail. It didn't feel the pain no matter how hard he swung and, once Merdon recovered, it took only a few seconds to stab the flailing bandit in the chest and remove him from the skirmish.

Which was quite good as there were two more men in the room and they were much better armed. One of them was burly and had his own sword and shield, while the other was thinner, younger, and holding a dagger. Merdon barged in first, shield at the ready, and pushed on the large man. Quickclaw had a gleam in her eyes as she followed, dagger out, ready to fight the spindly one. It would give them both an opportunity to see how well these bandits could fight.

Merdon's opponent took the first swing, his sword being neatly blocked by a shield. The knight followed up by pushing him away and taking a swing of his own, which was also met by a shield. Telling was the sound it made, however. A heavy thunk of metal on wood. These bandits weren't nearly as armed as they seemed. His enemy's shield was painted to look like metal and nothing more. Withdrawing his blade, Merdon tapped his magic shield to activate it and let the confusion of its warbling tone add to the difficulty of concentrating on a fight.

At the same time, Sarel was practically dancing with her foe. They circled, arms moving as they probed for openings, the less predictable their movements the better. As they moved, their eyes flicked to the dueling swordsmen in the corner of the room, but they knew if either of them tried to move to assist it would end poorly. Turning your back on someone as fast and prepared as they were would cost your life. So they moved, carefully, quickly, methodically random, until Sarel saw her chance. The human thief overextended one of his swipes, letting her dodge to her knife holding hand and swing at him. It was a deep cut, but nothing fatal. A broad gash on his arm, just above his bracer. Still, she had gotten the first hit and it made the human nervous.

Things weren't any better for the sword and shield holder. He was becoming increasingly irate at Merdon's lack of trying. Every blow was deflected by the magic shield without effort, and frequently it caused him to overreach his strikes, leaving him open to counter-attacks. His own shield was starting to splinter from the force of the attacks it was absorbing, and he was wearing down much faster than the man in full armor. That slowing was eventually what killed him. A thrust he missed, his shield too far to the wrong side. Merdon's blade scraped the edge of the shield and pierced his simple clothes. His arms went limp, his eyes dark, and when the sword was pulled from his chest, he collapsed without a word.

His companion was distracted by his ally's death, and it ultimately led to his end as well. While he looked, watched, as the bandit slid from Merdon's sword, Sarel moved in. She shouldered his dagger out of his hand and drove hers into his throat. Blood gushed as he hacked and sputtered to breathe. The noise only worsened when Sarel pulled her blade out and skipped back to avoid any hidden weapons the thief may have had on him. There were none. He reached down for his dagger but missed, falling flat onto his stomach and eventually stopping entirely. After an intense pair of fights, the room was silent, save for the fire burning in a corner.

Merdon finally got a look at the room. It was quite hot, and with his adrenaline calmed down he realized there was a smell in the air. Food. They were standing in a kitchen, which explained the lack of armor on either bandit. In fact, the armored man was heating up quickly and he opted to simply fall back outside of the room and take his helmet off. Sweat poured off his face and ran down his armor while Sarel continued to pick around the room. When she came out, she sat a small sack of stuff to the side of the door.

“Provisions,” she said simply. “It's not like they will need them.”

“Fair enough,” Merdon admitted, shaking his head, trying cool off more. “C'mon. We have to deal with the second floor now.”

Skyeyes, however, stopped him. “Allow me to heal your leg first,” he insisted. “The last thing we need is for you to get knocked over in a fight.”

Merdon grunted and sat down, extending his leg and letting Skyeyes do his thing. The storm finally broke overhead as he did that. Rain pounding on the roof, thunder rumbling hard enough to shake the air. Red frowned and put her arms around herself in a tight hug. Apparently, she didn't like the loud noises. Sarel put a claw on her shoulder reassuringly. It wasn't too long and Merdon was up and feeling better. He gave Skyeyes a smile and put his helmet back on before taking the lead again.

“The storm is a good thing,” he told them. “It'll help mask us coming up the stairs.”

Quickclaw nodded and noted, “If there is no door on the stairs here there likely isn't one up there either. We should be ready for an ambush the moment we reach the top.”

He nodded at that and started towards the stairs. The first floor was cleared out and they had taken out five. If there just over ten men inside of the fort, which meant they could expect at least six upstairs, possibly more. Merdon readied himself for more, just in case. Being prepared for the worst was better than hoping for the best.

His clanging armor was nicely covered by the rain and thunder, a welcome advantage when they encountered something unexpected at the top of the stairs. A barricade made from various things in the fort. The bandits had put up a makeshift door, likely expecting the invaders would have to hack or kick their way through it, giving them advanced warning. They weren't thinking about Red, or somehow they didn't know there was a mage with them. Merdon smiled and gestured for her to do something.

The red kobold nodded and held out her hands. She exhaled and mumbled a spell. Fire appeared on her palms but quickly left, flicking to the wooden objects across from them. Merdon expected the wood to burn or start smoldering. Instead, it exploded, a sharp crack followed by a deep boom that showered both sides of the doorway with splinters. Shouting bandits on the other side were cursing, some of them had large splinters, almost miniature arrows with the force they'd been sent at, lodged in their arms or faces. It also effectively disabled one bandit near the doorway who had been trying to listen for their approach.

Not one to gape when an opportunity presented itself, Merdon charged in, Sarel's wolf at his side, quickly veering off to grab one bandit's throat in its maw. An archer stationed opposite the stairs fumbled with his bow, distracted by the explosion, and met an untimely end by the charging knight's blade. His rush was something they seemed to expect, however, as men began pouring out of the side rooms on the second floor. Most notable among them was a man with a heavy ax raised over his head and bearing down on Merdon. Red, hesitant though she was, saw that the knight wouldn't be able to turn in time. She conjured flames and hurled them, shouting as she did. Her first fireball missed, hitting a guy wielding a knife that was coming towards the doorway she was standing in, the second found its target.

The ax-wielding bandit dropped his weapon as his leather armor caught fire. Red's flames were intense, especially when she was afraid or focused. Whichever she was in at that moment, the man caught easily and ran to look for water. Two bandits incapacitated, the two fighting on the floor could focus on the remaining men. Cheap swords broke against Merdon's shield, and larger targets found themselves easy prey for Sarel's quick dagger play. For how many there were at the ready, Red giving her group an explosive entrance had thrown the bandits into complete disarray.

The knight made his way through the fight without a scratch, although his sword and armor would need to be buffed out from the dings they took in the fight. Sarel had avoided any kind of impact or hit, owing to her great speed and agility. Thankfully, none of the bandits had the presence of mind to go for the less armored kobolds in the doorway, probably because of Red holding fire in her claws most of the time. Skyeyes silently admitted to himself it was frightening seeing her like that. She looked demonic, and perhaps that was what intimidated them. Whatever the case, they had gone unscathed as well, something Merdon noted internally. Their luck wouldn't last forever like this. Theris, the fort, they were unusual victories.

“We should get the bodies out of here, then close the place back up,” Merdon said once the fighting was over and everyone had gathered their wits. “We can't carry all of the things back to the merchants.”

Sarel nodded in agreement. “We shall just take the food from the kitchen. It is likely all the bandit's stores after all.”

“Hopefully,” Merdon muttered. The food would be nice to keep after all. It would save them coin if nothing else.

Skyeyes put a claw on Red's shoulder and gently moved past her. Laying the dead to rest was the job of a cleric like him, and while the bandits were not good people, they could not be the ones to judge their lives. Perhaps resorting to stealing was all they could do, perhaps they had been born into it and knew no other life. It wasn't his place to judge. His place was to ask the goddess to judge them fairly in the form of prayer. A duty he would do without being asked because even the vilest souls deserved to be judged. So he had been taught.

# Pareng

Skyeyes was quiet on their walk to the next town. He seemed to still be thinking about the bandits they had buried the day before. Merdon couldn't blame the priest. Bodies littered with grievous wounds, faces twisted in the agonies of their final moments, and the scent of blood and burned flesh. It was like a war zone, as a proper battle would have been. Neither Skyeyes nor Red slept well the night after, and it was apparent in the way the red kobold yawned and staggered now and again along the dirt path. Still, they couldn't slow down, not yet.

Pareng was ahead, they would reach it before evening. They could collect their pay, thankfully by showing ears, get a bed for the night, and set out fresh in the morning. Hopefully, time away from the fort would improve their moods. As long as the people weren't like those in Theris at least. Merdon didn't look forward to a forced march with a pair of sleep-deprived and mentally shaken companions. The only thing that would fix the firs thing was rest, and the second was just a matter of distraction. Which a good night's sleep somewhere comfortable would help with.

Contrary to the melancholy of the other two kobolds, Sarel had a skip in her step. It was as though the battle had livened her up and her eyes and demeanor said it all. Once more, it was a thought Merdon didn't want to confront at the moment. The idea Sarel enjoyed killing humans, like a monster. Like something he was adamant she wasn't. If she did, there would be an unfathomable change in their relationship. He would have to talk to her about it, soon, but not in front of Red and Skyeyes. There was no need to make accusations like that in front of them, even if the white kobold could see the extra vigor in the blue one's steps. It certainly wasn't the scenery which gave her an extra bouncy attitude that was for sure.

The rains from the day before had yet to abate, which had brought the need to make Red a cloak from a sack they'd been storing bread in. Coincidentally, they had all eaten a good sum of bread for breakfast, an act that still failed to put Sarel off her mood. Of course, there wasn't much else they could have made. Heavy rainfall made fire-making nearly impossible. Without fire, there was no cooked food for breakfast, just barely fresh bread. Even the human hadn't been too happy about the meal. Yet, in spite of the bread and rain, Sarel had a smile on her snout.

Merdon wasn't quite as bad as the first two, but not nearly as happy as Quickclaw. On top of forgoing his armor due to the rain, the fight from the day before still sat on his mind as well. Not just Sarel's pleasure and the breadth of her knowledge about killing, but in the sheer volume, the number, of deaths. Goblins were one thing, practically pests. Humans, even bandits, were another story. All he could see when he closed his eyes was his own mortality in that fort. A knife between his ribs, an arrow in the back, a fireball lobbed from afar, his organs rupturing, skin burning, life fading. It had gotten to him a little bit. He'd killed thieves before, simple sword fights, little confrontations, people that had tried to kill him. The bandits may have been breaking the law and deserving of punishment, but they hadn't attacked him specifically. Far and away from self-defense, it had been an attack on them. They had instigated it. He wanted to be wrapped in steel again, if only to try and forget the spot in the back he'd seen Sarel stick a knife into another human, to feel safe from such a failure point on his body. From as many of those points on his body as he could be.

By late afternoon the storm lightened and cleared away, just as Merdon and the kobolds arrived on the edge of the town. It was slightly higher quality than Theris, being mostly a merchant town. Buildings were made from stone, as far as he could tell, and while it wasn't a large place like Bereth, it was a notable step up from other areas. Every exit from Perang led to part of the highway of Avant. The roads leading South, winding as they were, would go back to Bereth, while to the North one would eventually leave the nation. To the East, looming ever closer, was the capital, Ardmach. Merdon couldn't help but gaze at the castles and towers, closer now than ever before, and their next destination. Ardmach felt oppressive the closer they got, and the knight wondered if perhaps that was part of what made it a successful stronghold. Sheer intimidation before one even approached, the way it was always in sight, or felt like it.

While the knight stared, looking for all the world like a country bumpkin who had never been outside of his own shack, several residents of Perang were watching the group. A man in armor worse than Merdon's approached and addressed him. His tone was semi-formal, clearly trained, but not so experienced.

“State your business.”

Merdon snapped out of his daze and produced a copy of the contract from the guild. “Merdon, with the Returner's Guild. You all had a bandit problem, and we solved it.”

The guard took the contract and read it over before handing it back. “There's a large house in the center of town. The mayor will want to hear about this immediately.”

Taking the contract back, he nodded and gestured for the kobolds to follow him. The short walk gave them all a chance to look around. Being the town had no major exports of its own, most of the city was made up of warehouses and markets. Their main thoroughfare was full of stalls and goods from every nearby location, and some not so close by. Merdon noticed furs from the orc lands to the far North, dangerous places meant luxury items, as well as trinkets from Rastar the Queendom to the South-East. It was also impossible to miss some of the familiar faces from Bereth. Much as he wanted to stop and chat, weeks on the road would make any adventurer with a hometown feel a little homesick, he settled on a wave. Perang's mayor wouldn't wait forever.

The manor they had been directed to was opulent, and it made Merdon guess exactly why the bandits had attacked Perang. He felt almost certain there was a ransom involved they hadn't been told about. Nor did they need to know; their job was to get things back, not negotiate. Still, the large house stood out like a gold-encrusted thumb among the normal houses in the rest of the town. Even the kobolds stopped for a moment and gawked at the sight. Merdon made a note to show them the fancy side of Bereth when they returned. His own town had many houses like this one, most of them were merchants as well, but with less outlandish fancy to call attention to them. Bereth was better defended as well, housing several guilds. Perang was still blooming as a center of trade. Which made their contract all the more worth the stress, at least to the mayor.

A servant in a cheap suit, giving the illusion of luxury, bowed to them and directed the group to a sitting room to wait for the mayor. Once again, the lizard-folk peered around, except for Skyeyes who sat patiently. The priest had probably waited on a few important people in his time with the man that gave him the amulet and knew the drill. Red and Sarel, however, were pacing around the room looking at everything. There was a nice little table that Red seemed curious about, lightly rubbing her scaly hand over the surface of it, while Sarel poked around a small bookshelf in the corner; she hated just sitting still.

Skyeyes explained the purpose of a sitting room to them, as a sort of place for important guests to relax while the owner of the house got ready to greet them. It was as foreign to them as it was to Merdon in terms of reasoning. The knight wasn't exactly fond of people with large houses himself. Usually, they were staffed with kobolds and only used humans as door greeters, out of mistrust for the slaves inside. Even if they employed more humans than kobolds, kobolds were likely to be around in some capacity. Without them even, he felt it terribly impersonal to not be the one to answer the door to your own house. Although, he did suppose it was possible to have servants live in the house as well. Aristocracy was lost on the man, it simply wasn't his place.

In the midst of explanations and ponderings, the mayor arrived. He was a slightly rotund man in his late years, wearing a much fancier suit than the servant to distract from his shiny, balding head. The mayor waved them all over to another room, having them follow him to his study where he claimed to want to know more details about what happened. Their path went up a staircase from the main floor, and past many displays in the halls to the study. Opulence was one word to use, Merdon may have gone with something more along the lines bragging.

His study, when they arrived, was filled with books, mostly on finances from what Merdon could see of the spines, and had plenty of seats for all of them. Apparently, that had been his preparation they'd been made to sit for. Sarel didn't mind, making herself comfortable on a plush-backed chair that was bigger than she was, her feet dangling freely. Red and Skyeyes were in much the same boat when it came to legs reaching the floor, and the mayor paused for a moment upon seeing their dangling legs. He frowned and looked at the trio.

“Would you prefer something closer to the ground?” he asked, seeming honestly concerned.

“It's fine, sir,” Skyeyes assured him. “The world was not built for us all equally.”

The mayor laughed a little and replied, “Yes, but the legs of a chair are easily reduced.” He rolled his R's in a way that made it seem as though he had some kind of accent, but it was none Merdon had ever heard.

The knight diverted the conversation by pulling the contract out of his pocket and putting it on the desk in front of the mayor. “Your bandits were holed up in a fort down a dirt road,” he told him, following with more exact details.

He seemed familiar with the place, “Fort Roth, yes. A leftover from the old wars. I assume our goods are still there?”

“Yes,” Merdon assured him. “We didn't have the time to inventory everything, our mission requires us to keep on the move, but they had at least three rooms full of boxes.”

The round man hummed and looked at another paper. “That sounds about right, given what they could have used or sold in the last couple weeks.” He opened a drawer and a second later the clinking of coins could be heard. After, he tossed a sack towards Merdon which jingled when it landed on his lap. “Your pay,” as if it wasn't obvious enough.

Merdon nodded, “Thank you. And if you have any more-”

The mayor cut him off, he was looking at Red and asked, “Is this the best the creature has?”

Red blushed a little and shrunk down while Skyeyes reddened at her being called a creature.

Before either of them could express irritation, the heavy man said, “Your swift resolution of the problem compels me to offer a little more than what was in the papers. Extra for a quick job.”

“Thank you, mayor,” Merdon said again, “But it's really not necessary.”

“Oh, please,” the mayor replied, flippantly waving his hand in a flamboyant manner. “The poor thing is basically wearing rags compared to the rest of you. It would be criminal to let her continue on a journey like that. I have some things here in my own storage she might fit into.”

The group looked at each other nervously. It was extremely generous and very unusual. Trying to turn him down seemed like a good idea, but he wasn't exactly taking no for an answer. Red broke the moment of deadlock by standing up and asking to see what he had in mind. Perang's mayor lit up and beckoned them all to follow him again. They traveled down the hall to another room filled with an assortment of clothes in many styles. To say the group found the mayor's room full of fabric and clothes unexpected undersold how the group felt about seeing it, and with not a single seamstress in sight. It gave Merdon a few ideas about what the mayor enjoyed doing in his spare time, and what had encouraged him to become a merchant in the first place after he stopped gaping at the room.

“Now, what is it you do for the group, hmm?” he asked the red kobold, starting to pick through various items on racks.

Red frowned and repeated him. “Do?”

“Yes, what do you do? I can see the blue one is a thief by her light garb and daggers, and the white one appears to not be an insignificant cleric,” the mayor said casually. “The man is clearly a knight, by his rust-covered shirt and the scent of steel around him,” he added, smirking at Merdon. In only a few minutes he had correctly pinned them all down by look. Except for Red. “The clothes make the man, so they say. So what man, or perhaps lady, are you?”

Not quite sure how to say it, Red lifted a claw and summoned flames to her palm. The mayor eyed the fire for a second, jumping a little and pulling several pieces of fabric back away from the flame before he realized it was perfectly contained. That gave him more than enough of an idea. Fire extinguished as he turned away to dig through the clothes, the mayor walked over with a short robe.

“Fire retardant,” he told her deliberately. “Though, do try not to leave it in direct heat too often, hmm?”

Red hesitated for a second, but quickly put the robe on. It was lightweight but seemed rather durable when she gave it a stretch. Though nothing fancy, being a grayish-white color, it seemed better constructed than her simple shirt and pants, not to mention leagues better than her sack hood. Which she quickly discarded upon discovering a hood upon the newly gifted robe. The kobold was practically glowing as she stepped around in it, getting comfortable, getting to know it.

“Thank you, sir,” she said at last, beaming at the mayor.

He responded with a wave of his hand. “It's nothing, honestly. Fit for a halfling mage, yes, but nothing one such as yourself couldn't wear. I sized you up right away. But, enough of my ramblings, please, feel free to rest here for the night before continuing your travels,” he offered.

Merdon pondered the offer and then nodded. “Very well, thank you again.” Again. The mayor was being very generous and he had to ask, “Why though? If I may.”

The mayor frowned and asked a question of his own. “Were you not told the urgency of this quest?” Merdon shook his head. “Boy,” the mayor said with a shake of his own noggin, “There's a roving band of thieves that comes through our lands a couple of times a year. It's a place where bandits offload their ill-gotten gains for coin, much harder to trace then. The bandit caravan was said to be coming soon. If you and your fellows hadn't secured our stock it would have been completely lost.”

So the mayor had underpaid the guild and definitely downplayed the importance of recovering their merchandise, likely in the name of getting a good deal. He was a risky businessman. Still, it let Merdon relax a little bit. Perang's mayor didn't seem to be up to anything shady, although that could have been a ruse in itself. Taking a room at the inn would have been safer, but more suspicious than Merdon wanted to be, so he accepted the offer to stay at the manor for a night. It made the mayor perk up quite a bit.

A servant was called on to bring the group to a room, prepare a feast, and send the local guards out to recover the stolen goods. It was a large order for one man until Merdon remembered there was sure to be more than one servant in the manor, and some of them might have been kobolds. He had forgotten that. With how the mayor treated Red and Skyeyes though, maybe he wasn't the type. The man could only hope. Scaring the kobolds was not part of his plans.

# Towards the Capital

The mayor did not have kobold slaves, and despite being very paranoid after Theris, Merdon awoke to found nothing wrong with anyone. They were well-rested, put up in a nice guest room that everyone had access to, and yet nothing bad had befallen any of them. He silently thanked the goddess and went to go bathe. This manor, in particular, had some nice inside plumbing and special bathrooms for washing up in. Merdon found it a little extravagant, but Sarel had taken a bath the night before and insisted she was going to bathe before they left as well. It was a little early for Merdon to be up, even he would admit that, but his sleep had been less than restful in the end. Camping outside where he was in complete control felt better than being at the mercy of a stranger.

He was joined midway through his bath by Sarel. The blue kobold slinking in as quiet as her profession dictated, undressed, and slid into the bath with him. It gave the man a shock when she was suddenly on top of him, lips against his, but it was a welcome surprise. Unlike a few others he could think of anyway. They relaxed in the bath together more than cleaned, chatting idly about what came next. Merdon recounted a few contracts he could remember to her.

They had a stop in the capital, Ardmach, to deliver a package from one place to another. It was another small task outside of the guild's usual activities, but Cath had gone out of her way to secure it for Merdon as it was exceptionally easy to lose people following you in the capital. Afterward, they would head down the other side of the mountain that Ardmach sat on and take a lesser-known route to a village known as Sarche where a bear had been threatening the locals' food stores for some time. Usually, the guards would handle it, but rumors abounded the bear was supernatural in some way. Possibly the conjuring of a wizard or the like. Whatever the case, their lives were full of adventure until they reached the witch's tower.

Armed with the knowledge of the trip ahead, Sarel suggested, after their bath and the readying of their companions, that Merdon, at last, spend some coin on a couple of horses. She argued time wasted walking, their exceptional exhaustion every time they rested, and how much easier those two things made them to be ambushed as well as how much harder being on foot made it to escape such situations. As a counterpoint, Merdon handed Sarel a pittance of their funds and insisted, if she was so adamant, to buy the supplies they needed to continue with such a small amount. He drastically underestimated the swindling kobold thief, as she returned a half-hour later with exactly the provisions requested and some change.

Merdon stared at the coins she placed in his palm with dead eyes as Sarel told him, “Never challenge Quickclaw, verakt. She always wins.”

Beaten at his own game, Merdon and the kobolds went down to the stables and he started bargaining for a pair of horses. He spelled out almost immediately how high he was willing to go, being a novice at such mercantile acts. and the owner trotted out a pair of less than prime horses. Unlike Merdon, the owner of the stable sold his horses exceptionally well, speaking of their strengths as being endurance, capable of long travel, their training around water making them good for crossing rivers, and sweetening the deal by mentioning they may have been quite good at jumping as well. The knight wasn't quite sure, despite being assured their reliability. Which was when Sarel stepped in.

The kobold walked over to the horses and made a sharp noise, causing the horses to whinny and back up. As he turned around to shout at the kobold, Quickclaw cut him off and said, “The way the mare steps on her back leg, it's fractured.” He froze and practically bit his tongue off closing his mouth. Sarel continued, “These horses are also not just over their prime, they are old, quite old. Quickclaw saw them when she passed through the market earlier today. She doubts they could travel at anything faster than a light trot.”

Merdon raised a brow and watched the stable owner carefully.

“You might be more of a critter yourself, but you don't know the first thing about horses,” he said after a moment. “You probably hurt the ol' mare when you scared them!”

Quickclaw folded her arms. “And that is why she was limping when you walked her out? Quickclaw scared her so badly she injured herself before arriving?”

The older man burned red in the face and started talking up his other points, none of which Sarel was listening to seriously. She told him their journey was long and important, and they couldn't rely on half-dead horses to carry them to the capital and beyond. He retorted that his horses could make the trip a dozen times before dying, again insisting she had no idea what horses could and couldn't do. That was when she surprised Merdon the most.

“Come along, Merdon,” she gestured, turning her back on the man. “Quickclaw scouted another stable, and the guards say it is where they get their horses. They seem to be much better quality than these.” She had not scouted out anything, but the stable owner became very irate after those implications.

“Fine,” he shouted, leading the two horses back into the stable. “You want something better, I'll give you better.” It sounded threatening, but he came back out with two more horses which were obviously in better condition.

Quickclaw turned around and smiled. “That is much improved. And certainly, the price hasn't changed, you would not want to be called a swindler after all.”

The man glared at the kobold but accepted the conditions. She had taken the rug right out from under his feet and left him with not a foothold in sight. Merdon, much as it pained him, essentially emptied their coffers into the man's own purse before taking the horses, saddles and all, and heading towards the town gate. It wasn't until they were almost there that Sarel started laughing and grinning widely.

“Quickclaw distracted him so much with getting a fair price on the horses, he did not realize we also walked away with their saddles. He could have argued quite hard for those,” she said quietly. “Good saddles are not cheap.”

Merdon was shocked, as he hadn't considered the saddles could be separate, but she was right. Threatening to call the old man a swindler had let them do just that. He felt rather dirty.

“Relax,” she told him, “We overpaid even for these ones. Not by much, but we didn't have the time to spend all day wearing him down like we needed.”

“Why would the bargaining take all day?” Merdon asked, exasperated. “Why don't people just offer fair prices?”

Sarel cocked her head at him. “Fair prices? Verakt, that's nearsighted and you know it. Quickclaw believes we have had this talk before. Haggling is a game, and Quickclaw does not lose.”

Once they were outside of the town gate, Merdon attached their packs to the mounts and then spent a minute teaching Skyeyes and Red how to mount one. It was harder thanks to their smaller frames, but they got it relatively quickly. Sarel seemed to know, considering she was waiting on the other horse for her mate with a smirk. He could guess why and was proven right as soon as he got up behind her. The blue kobold wriggled and adjusted until she was sitting on his lap, which was much more comfortable than having her take up a large portion of the saddle that he needed for his own comfort, but it was much more intimate than Red's hands on Skyeyes' sides. The knight had to shake such an idea from his mind as he grabbed the reins and looked at the other two.

He started off by demonstrating how to control the horse, using their legs and applying pressure by squeezing to make it go, turning by a similar means, and how they had to be wary of anything that might make it rear up as well. Getting thrown from the back of the horse was a good way to get injured. Once Skyeyes had an acceptable grasp on the forces and motions, Merdon continued the lesson by showing how to start the horses at a trot. Giving his mount a good squeeze to start it forward at a trot, the human looked back to watch Skyeyes do the same thing. It was a little harder given the kobold's size and strength, but eventually, the horse got the idea and started along. Merdon pulled back a little, slowing down and letting the less experienced riders catch up. After that, he got them both on an even trot down the road.

It was much faster to travel the kingdom's highways by horseback, and they all noticed it pretty much immediately. They also noticed they had more freedom to pay attention to the surrounding areas now that they weren't trying to distract themselves from sore muscles. Avant was a vast and diverse location with mountains, forests, a shoreline, it was a place some would call idyllic. One side protected by an ocean, another by mountains, and their capital positioned on the highest peak in the land, flattened and worked into a plateau for their kings. The peaks replaced by various keeps and castles. That was their next stop, and as they made their way towards it questions naturally came up.

Most of them Merdon answered satisfactorily. He told Red, the most curious of the three, that Avant was a massive military power, and the many castles atop the mountain, visible from many places in the nation, were held by distinguished generals. Ardmach was built like a fortress and would never fall so long as one of the five castles stood. There were rumors about ways to sneak their king between them, but they were just rumors as far as the general population was concerned.

Their military history also explained the abundance of adventurers in the kingdom. Many people had fathers and mothers who had served in arms and passed their training, and weapons, on to their children as they got old enough for such things. The three kobolds got a very quick idea as to how Merdon's childhood looked all of a sudden and tried to refocus the topic. Sarel was curious, herself, but figured her verakt would divulge his past when he felt ready, as she would to him.

Skyeyes, meanwhile, asked how far they were from the capital in terms of travel time. Merdon frowned and pondered the question himself before figuring they were about two weeks from Ardmach. Two weeks that included a very long trek up a mountain path, even on horseback, which would consume at least half of the trip. The priest tried to comprehend the distance and time as he looked at the mountain. Surely then buying the mounts was a good idea on Sarel's part, as such a walk on foot would have taken twice as long or more. Perhaps she knew where they were going, the two were mates after all. It left Skyeyes with more silent questions though. For a traveling companionship, they all felt very closed off about their pasts to one another in his opinion.

A few days later, after Red and Skyeyes had gotten used to their backsides being sore from riding on horseback and the group was camped out in the shadow of the mountain that Ardmach sat on, Sarel went to speak with Merdon. The knight was taking first watch as it tended to even out the sleeping schedules of him and the kobolds, which meant Red and Skyeyes were heading to sleep. That made it perfect for the blue kobold to sit down next to him in silence for a while before breaching the subject she wanted to speak on. It was a matter close to her and an unavoidable one.

“Quickclaw has been to Ardmach before,” she said quietly.

Merdon looked at her curiously. “I thought you weren't interested in hume politics,” he chided her.

She slapped his lower back with her tail and went silent. She was being serious, and it made the human stop smirking and lean into her. When Sarel finally spoke she whispered, “Sarel was born in Ardmach. Her mother lives in the kobold slums along the Southern wall.”

“You … were born there?” he repeated in surprise. “I'm sorry, that's not what I expected to hear. You asked about our politics. How did you not know about kings if you were born in the capital of Avant?”

“Not everyone cares what you humes do,” she fumed. “Sarel left her home when she was young and lived among kobolds outside of hume society. The raids slavers perform on the slums are nerve-wracking.” Sarel's body was compacting against itself, trying to seem as small as possible.

Merdon put his arm around her and pulled the kobold close. “You'll be fine,” he assured her. “I'll be there, so will Red and Skyeyes. Nothing is going to happen. We have a simple job, one day, then we leave.” Still, even as he tried to calm her down a pit was forming in his stomach. Raids on the kobold slums, the houses kobolds who were supposed to be free being ransacked by profiteering humans. It made him sick, made him wonder how no one had done anything about it yet.

After several minutes of silence, and Sarel unwinding, the kobold got the main point of her revelation. “Sarel wishes for you to meet her mother.”

Popping from the fire made Merdon jump shortly after she said that. “Your mom? She lives in Ardmach still?” Sarel nodded to him and left him to think. She lived there, as long as she hadn't been picked up in one of those raids, and he would meet her in a week. A week of climbing sounded a lot better than that meeting for some reason.

Merdon looked up, tilting his head far enough back that he could see up the nearly sheer cliff behind them. Far above sat Ardmach, capital of Avant, home of kobold slavery, and home to Sarel. His verakt. A home she did not feel comfortable in. He suddenly wished she had told him this much sooner so he could have avoided the place altogether. Putting them through stress was not what he wanted to do. They had a witch to fight, a happy, normal life to secure by keeping them all safe. Yet at every turn, it seemed like they marched straight into danger. The simple delivery in Ardmach paid quite well though, Merdon couldn't deny it.

The contract promised twenty silvers to get a package from one end of the city to the other. What made it stand out was the level of protection the package needed, and since the regular guards couldn't be bothered to play errand boy, and they needed the money, things just worked out like that. Still, he felt much less comfortable after hearing Sarel's story. Taking Skyeyes and Red into a city where slavers went on raids common enough to make Sarel leave sounded like the exact kind of thing he was trying to protect them all from.

“We'll be fine,” he told Sarel again, although it was more for himself. “We make one delivery and then we leave. We won't even stay till morning. In and out, like a thief in the night.” He smirked at her after that one.

The kobold chuckled and nodded. “Exactly the kind of thing Sarel would do.”

Merdon kissed her and ushered her to bed. They started their ascent in the early morning, after a hearty breakfast. It would be hard going, and then they now needed to leave the city through the other gate the same day they arrived. Sore would be an understatement, but it was what had to be done. And the knight was getting used to doing things in very peculiar ways.

# Ardmach: Sarel

Red, Skyeyes, and even Merdon to an extent, were staring at the large gates which led into the capital city of Ardmach. Everyone had heard about the two black gates that barred entrance to the capital city, but it was the first time the three of them had seen one of them in person. The other gate was, naturally, on the other end of the city. There were only two paths into or out of Ardmach, at least as far as the public knew. This controlled the flow of people just as well as the steep mountain paths which led up to them, and the paths had been steep. Their awe at seeing the gate only distracted from their sore rears, and legs from when the pathway had gotten slim enough they needed to walk the horses up, for so long. Still, rumor had it the other side of the mountain was better maintained and easier to get down than up.

After gawking, Merdon nodded to the group and trotted their horses up to the guards at the gate. The black and gold-trimmed armor was a far cry from Merdon's sterling silver, and it matched their station at the gate perfectly. He wondered, momentarily, if the color of the gates had come about because of Avant's flag colors, or if it was the other way around. Something that reminded enemies of their impenetrable defenses was just as likely as their impenetrable defenses being colored the same as the nation for a reminder. Either way, it linked the two, colors with strength or strength with the colors, and made for a very imposing display.

It helped there were guards patrolling the top of the wall as well. The gate was, of course, attached to a giant wall which was just as tall as the gate itself, made from the same materials, and stretched all the way around the city. Ardmach's watch circled the town every hour of every day in every type of weather. All of them clad in the same black and gold armor, some carrying bows, others using shields and swords, every one of them an expertly trained warrior. Avant was known for them after all; its army was feared in almost every nation, even their allies. Without their influence, the last great war would have gone very differently, and it was in that war the elves saw what Avant was capable of, causing them to sign a treaty with Avant that held the current era of peace.

Looking at their fortifications, the castles much closer to fortresses at this range, even the gate guards, Merdon could imagine why. He felt out of place even as the first of the two guards on the ground removed his helmet and approached the travelers. The travelers weren't a threat, not to him, not when he had a half dozen archers behind him on the wall.

“Do you have your papers?” he asked, a firm gaze aimed at the kobolds. Merdon didn't understand, but apparently Skyeyes did.

“Right here, sir,” the priest replied, pulling out an official document and handing it to the guard.

“Papers?” Merdon asked, looking at Skyeyes and the others for an answer.

The guard looked at him with some concern. “Papers of ownership,” he said. “If these kobolds don't own themselves, as this one does, then you must own them.”

The knight's mouth hung for a second before he got rather upset. The thieves of Sedra would never ask his guild for help returning slaves, so Bereth's branch had never dealt with escaped slaves. These papers were news to him.

“It's not enough they be free of chains, they have to pay for themselves?”

After handing the papers back to Skyeyes, the guard shook his head. “I don't make the rules, sir. You may wish to collar the other two while they're in the city until they get their papers. Accidents tend to happen otherwise,” he told the freelance knight.

Merdon gingerly gripped the handle of his sword and shot the man a dead look. “I'd suggest you place the idea of collars firmly out of your mind, good knight,” he warned the man in a cold tone. In front of him, he could practically make out the sound of the bowstrings being drawn on the parapets above. Drawing his sword for real would have been suicide, he knew, even Sarel tensed at his action.

The guard held up his hands in surrender and stepped aside. He had tried to warn them, which was all he had to do. Whatever stupidity the knight wished to engage in afterward was his own fault.

Merdon left his weapon in its sheath and spurred his horse forward into the city, with Skyeyes and Red right behind them. Passing through the gate and into the city was like stepping into another plane of existence. The large metal bars embedded in the stone gate hung over them ominously, but as soon as they were on the other side they were greeted by a massive sprawling city teeming with life and activity. People of all kinds hurried down streets, alleyways, into shops and houses, it made Bereth look like a village of huts. Things only seemed grander as they left their horses at a stable near the gate and proceeded into the city proper on foot.

The buildings were large and made out of stone, which made sense to Merdon as the city itself was part of Ardmach's fortifications. Each building along the walls was built to be even higher than the walls, but shorter than the parapets on the corners. First, one had to climb a mountain, then the walls, and finally over the buildings, lest they deal with Ardmach's army marching up the stairs at them. It also meant firing cannons or catapults was harder. Not only did they have to fire from the ground, but they had to be better aimed if they wanted to get over the buildings that essentially formed a second wall inside the city. This made scaling the city three times over impossible. Topped with there only being two gates and it made it hard to escape from the capital if one committed a crime.

It also left Merdon feeling like he was walking through a prison rather than a city. Sure, people were laughing, bards playing from the local taverns, of which many were around, people had gardens on their houses, the citizens were generally smiling, but surrounded as he was by stone it felt like he was trapped. He understood why Sarel would have wanted to leave Ardmach now. A kobold like her, a thief and one that values her freedom so highly, must have felt suffocated in such a place. Glancing at her over his shoulder confirmed his theory, as the blue kobold had her jaw set while her eyes darted around at just about everything they passed. Like she expected to be attacked and enslaved at every intersection.

“You'll be fine,” Merdon said back to her, quietly, as they walked through the busy streets. He wanted to be supportive, reassuring. There wasn't anything they would encounter he couldn't handle.

Sarel gave him a wan smile and went right back to looking around at the city. “The kobold district is on the Southern wall,” she told them all, or at least she said it just loud enough for them to all hear.

Skyeyes stopped and looked down a path which led to the center of the city. There, visible from almost every intersection, was Avant's Grand Cathedral. The church in Bereth was impressive, but the one in Ardmach simply blew it out of the water. Even Merdon, as far away as he was, felt impressed by the building. Surrounded as it was by soul-stealing stone, the church was beautiful. Statues almost as big as buildings stood on either side of a long marble staircase that led up to the front doors of the cathedral, which itself was a pristine white color. It stood out not only in size but in its hue. As if the church were daring the gray and black stone around to sully it. Or, perhaps it was the heart of the city, pure while encased in a dark outer shell.

Merdon shook the thoughts from his head and looked at the priest. “I assume you'll be going there?”

Skyeyes nodded. “I will find you all later,” he told them as he started walking towards the white beacon in the distance.

Red, in the absence of Skyeyes, stepped a little closer to Merdon. As impressed with everything as she was, she was also quite concerned about the big city. While Sarel seemed wary, Red appeared frightened. Whether by the sounds, the crowds, or perhaps even the talk about needing papers to be free, it wasn't clear. What was clear was the fretting expression she had on, as well as the nervous clacking of her claws.

Quickclaw took a deep breath and then stepped forward, turning down a street. “This way,” she beckoned her companions. “Quickclaw knows this city well. It is best she leads.” Merdon had no complaints about following her and simply went along.

It was a gradual shift, but the longer they followed the blue kobold the worse things got. First buildings began to look shoddier, less cared for, with glass windows often being replaced by boards. The people followed suit. At first, it was just holes in clothes, unpatched, though the people seemed bothered by them. After a few more streets their clothes were entirely patchworked, made completely from scrap cloth, and they didn't care. Not about that, nor the smell on them. Merdon frowned at the sight of it all. Even Bereth didn't have such a discrepancy between the classes. Such a large gap between the people, he wondered how they could stand living so close together. None of which was allayed when they reached the kobold district.

The previous areas had been impoverished, but this cluster of buildings took the prize. Along the wall stood taller buildings to defend the perimeter, but here with kobolds in hovels, the wall was simply built higher. Archers stationed along the top wall looked in just as much as they did outside. It took Merdon no more than a minute to feel the eyes on him, watching the only human in the area. Curious people wanting to know why he dared to enter the domain of the kobolds in Ardmach. He glanced at them from time to time; the archers didn't try to hide their gaze. They stood in place, deliberately facing inward. Ardmach felt like a prison before, now Merdon was sure it was one.

Sarel wasn't bothered, or if she was the kobold hid it well. Perhaps she was just used to it. She led them down a set of streets, the kobold homes being smaller, squat, seemingly made from some cheap lumber and mud, if wood was involved at all in the construction, and it made navigating difficult. Not to mention the streets were at odd angles with random dead ends, on top of not being paved like the rest of the city. The knight wondered why that would be. To keep the humans out of their end of the city was his best guess, and maybe that was why the archers watched it so heavily. Both were best-case scenarios in his mind, both groups were protecting the one in danger. Still, Quickclaw knew her way around and she deftly moved from corner to corner without pause, brushing past every kobold on the street.

Every kobold on the street was also watching her and Merdon. Mostly Merdon. Their looks spoke volumes about his presence in their district. They scowled, some reached for weapons, others ducked into houses, some of which probably weren't theirs. It didn't matter. A human was here, prowling around, with two other kobolds nonetheless, and wearing a heavy suit of armor. He looked ready for a fight, and some of the tougher looking lizards seemed ready to give it to him. There was no way for him to defuse the situation when Sarel was moving so quickly. In fact, it was all Merdon could do to keep up with her. She knew though if they stopped the situation would only get worse. Only one thing would get the eyes off of them, and that's what she was aiming for.

They came to a stop, at last, outside of a hut no different from any other. Now that Merdon could look, he noticed there were no nameplates or addresses on anything. He wondered how the kobold girl knew where to go, but before he could open his mouth to ask she grabbed his hand and yanked him towards the house. Caught off guard, she managed to tug him forward, lurching him down and forward, at which point the knight decided it was best if he just followed along. Half crouching to get inside the door, Merdon emerged in a room which was just as small as it looked outside, with Red right behind him looking nervous.

It was as plain inside as it was outside, mud and wood held everything together, the furniture was built to kobold sizes, including a bed in the corner. A table took up the middle of the room and it didn't even come to the human's waist, let alone the three chairs that surrounded it. Even crouching inside the house he felt too big like he was inside of a dollhouse. The occupant though, a dark blue, almost black, scaled kobold sitting on one of the chairs fit perfectly in it. Nothing about the home was designed for humans, and all at once he understood how kobolds felt outside of this district. He shifted awkwardly at the realization and tried to stay close to Sarel, just in case. Not that he knew what just in case of, but just in case anyway. Nervousness spread through him like a wildfire.

The kobold at the table looked at them, Merdon in particular, and hissed, “Sarel, what have you brought to Ulla's home?” That did not sound like one of those hiding names, like Quickclaw.

Sarel frowned at her and replied, “This is my verakt.”

Ulla looked at the Red kobold instead. “She seems quite frail, but you could do worse.”

“No,” Quickclaw said, pointedly grabbing Merdon's hand. “The human.”

Merdon blushed at her insistence, but the darker colored kobold shot his feelings down. “Ulla was hoping you still had some sense in your head.”

He knew how kobolds felt, but this felt rather harsh. Of course, he hadn't been there when Sarel had tried to help him by seeking out a healer in the mountains. All he knew of their prejudices were imagined, there he learned for sure. It didn't matter what a human did, whether they were good or evil, if they were human the kobolds would hate them.

The light blue kobold huffed. “Merdon rescued Sarel from a group of slavers, along with dozens of others who had been captured.”

That didn't seem to have any effect, however. Ulla rolled her eyes and stood up. “That Sarel was captured at all shows how foolish she is.” The light blue kobold was about to respond, but her mother, Merdon knew that was who they were speaking to, cut her off. “Your red friend can stay, but the hume must go,” she said, the emphasis on hume telling them exactly how she felt.

Sarel didn't let it drop. She tugged Merdon along with her as she took an aggressive stance towards her mother. Her tail slapped the ground as her body moved forward, leaning towards Ulla, almost ready to pounce as she seethed, “Merdon is my verakt. He does not need to go anywhere!”

Ulla turned around, her face curled in a sneer. “Listen to how Sarel speaks like them,” she uttered with disdain.

While Sarel recoiled and looked down at herself, realizing the mistake she had made too, Merdon was hearing footsteps outside. The doorway was covered by ill-fitting sections of wood, hardly any kind of barrier at all, and the shadows moving around outside weren't normal foot traffic. Kobolds were out there, waiting. It was probable they heard the noise and were getting ready to come in and attack the offending human, which gave the man an itch on his back right about where a dagger would end up if he didn't move.

He stepped sideways, still hunched over in the short house, and looked at Sarel. “I think I should go,” he almost whispered.

Ulla had a sneer on her face as she said from across the room, “Yes, the hume should, and he should never come back.” No doubt she felt her daughter shouldn't go with him, or see him again either, but she didn't say as much.

“There is no need, verakt,” Sarel insisted. “Sarel's mother is just being stubborn.” It was then, turning to face him, she noticed the footsteps outside. She glanced at Ulla with a degree of hate in her eyes.

“We protect our own,” the old kobold woman replied accompanied by a thump of her own tail. “The hume should leave.”

Merdon rubbed the top of Sarel's head quickly, something semi innocent so as not to set off Ulla again, and then he made for the door. Outside, at least six kobolds stood in rather close proximity to the door. They eyed Merdon, a few wielding clubs just to make a point. He closed the door behind him and turned to travel down the road. Sarel could hear him as he walked, “If you want me out of here faster... can someone show me the way out?” A lost hume in the kobold slums asking for directions. That was a first in her mind.

Which left Sarel with her mother, and the lighter colored kobold sat with a deal of vigor, to display her irritation. Red did her best to make herself comfortable as well while examining the hovel. The walls were mud layered with boards, as was the floor. It was a dirty environment all around, and one that didn't seem built to last. With all of the wood, she felt they could have built a more stable house, but instead they slathered everything together using mud. Of course, it took her until then to notice the lack of nails. Only the chairs, table, and bed were held together firmly. She couldn't fathom the kind of existence that made nails difficult to get a hold of, especially with kobolds like Quickclaw.

It also gave her time to reflect on the information. Sarel was the blue kobold's true name. The red kobold felt slightly honored to know it, but she also realized that if the witch were to learn of it her companion would be in trouble. She would have to warn Merdon, and perhaps all of the others, about the possibility. They should not use their true names openly. Even now she felt a prick of danger along her spine. Rumors of Merdon had reached her former mistress from all the way across the kingdom. A name could travel just as fast and just as far, depending on who spoke of it, or who heard it.

“Why do you do this to Ulla?” the darker blue kobold said suddenly, looking her daughter in the eyes. “First you become a thief, putting yourself in great danger. Then you forgo getting papers, which you know as well as any of us it's dangerous in Ardmach with them, let alone without. And now you call a hume your mate, your verakt!”

Sarel reiterated her points. She talked about Merdon saving her, taking arrows for her, his kindness. He was not like the humans that hunted them. Ulla was not having it. For being the owner of the house, she never sat, only stood and shouted at Sarel. From her perspective, this was another in a list of decisions her daughter had made out of spite to the system they lived in. It wasn't anything more than a rebellious streak Ulla expected to end, soon. Before long, Sarel was pounding on the table as she shouted, and her mother was gesturing with her claws.

Red sat quietly and just barely paid attention. Not that Sarel could recall half of the argument herself. She slipped into a mind-numbing rage as she yelled at her mother. There hadn't been much of a hope even she would support the interspecies arrangement, but Sarel had held that hope, however faintly that hold was. Having it dashed against the rocks as it were left her with nothing but anger and bile. She had to let it out somehow, and having her mother to yell at was helping. Before she realized it, the sun had gone down, her voice was hoarse, and she felt exhausted.

The fire in the crude fireplace died down low as Ulla threw herself on her bed and put her back to the guests. “You may stay,” she said sullenly, “But you'll sleep on the floor.”

Sarel huffed. “Sarel will leave, she will stay with her verakt,” she retorted stubbornly.

Ulla almost turned to respond when a sharp whistled echoed through the slums, causing her to bolt up. “Slavers,” she whispered.

Red looked confused. “Slavers? Why?”

“Some do not have papers,” Ulla explained quickly. “Some they do not care either way. They will destroy them and take the kobolds anyway.”

“What?” Red said with shock, standing up and looking around. “Why would you live here then?”

Ulla looked upset at the notion. “Where else could we go?” she asked rather sadly. “Live in caves and forests without hope of papers? Without possibilities? As rogues?” Her eyes locked on Sarel at that last part.

Quickclaw grunted and grabbed Red's claw. “Come, if we move quickly we can pass through their web. They will not care about Ulla's door, and there is nowhere to hide in here.”

“Web?” Red asked again, the memory-less kobold completely out of her depth.

Ulla took the explanation. “They start on both ends of the slums and move in. If you can hide, you can get around them.”

Sarel didn't waste any time afterward. She grabbed Red's claw tightly and pulled her out onto the small, winding streets of the slums. The air was thick with the smell of fire, and lights could be seen all over. Some kobolds were fighting the humans, their lot would be to end up in cages if they were allowed to survive. Red felt a whole new level of fear grip her heart as she thought about being captured. These kobolds lived a worse life than she had at the witch's tower. Here, the kobolds were surrounded by their enemies, though they also had their names, their friends, she knew which she preferred though. Having humans so close, ready to upend their lives for profit, Red would rather be nameless. For a moment, she felt like she understood why the witch claimed to love kobolds despite what she did to them.

Red's contemplation was ended when Sarel yanked her down an alley and slammed her against a wall as she covered the red kobold's mouth. A pair of boots stomped by followed by the whizzing of arrows after him and claws on the ground chasing him. A kobold had a bow and was trying to kill as many as he could. Sarel sat quietly for a long, draining time, at least it seemed long. She motioned for Red to keep quiet and pulled her along to the other side of the alley, looking out both directions before stepping out and moving toward the next section of the city. They had only crossed a few feet from Ulla's house, and there was around a quarter-mile to escape the slums. Quickclaw knew her way around though, as she pulled Red along into alleyways, behind boxes, her ears sharp for the sounds of footfall.

Alley after alley became a blur in Red's mind. Once or twice they encountered another kobold that was hiding or fleeing, and they acted much the same way Sarel did. Red felt impressed with this system of keeping them safe, or as safe as they could be. The winding streets made it hard for any lookouts to catch running kobolds, while also giving those who knew the area places to hide or ambush the slavers. She felt glad to have Quickclaw guiding her because Red knew without her friend she would have been caught long ago. Like all good things, however, this came to an end.

As they rounded a corner, panting hard, feet sore from sprinting the whole time, they encountered something Sarel had not expected. Four or five men stood at the entrance to the slums, each one armed, a couple doubling up by carrying torches. While she considered doubling back, trying another street, the humans saw her and one fired an arrow in their direction. She dodged it, naturally, and Red was on the wrong side to get hit, but it posed a problem. Now the five were advancing, and one of them shouted, “Couple of runners!” The slaver's nets were getting tighter over time. This was the first time in years Sarel had been forced to run through one, she wasn't up to date on their plans. Thinking on her feet, the thief dove behind some barrels the kobolds left as cover, with Red right behind her starting to hyperventilate. Even Quickclaw knew that wasn't a good sign. Their hiding place gave her an idea though, especially after she tapped the barrel and found it was empty.

Moving as fast as she could, Sarel pulled the barrel over on its side, leaned back and, using her tail for extra force, pushed the barrel with her feet. It launched forward, rolling towards the five in the narrow street entrance. They shouted and moved to get out of the way. The ones on the edges simply stepped aside, but the boys in the middle had to dive. Having no idea what was in it, they were better safe than sorry. It gave her and Red a good enough lead to sprint through them, Sarel grinning and sticking her tongue out at one of the standing slavers as they passed. Unfortunately, they weren't out of the woods yet. Having been seen, the five slavers chased after them, and the blue kobold was certain there had to be more around. Making things worse, they were out in the open now. Ardmach was Sarel's home, and she knew it well, but the slavers knew it just as well, and there weren't any more special hiding places. Diving into alleyways was now calculated risk; either there would be something to take cover behind, or it would be empty and a waste of time and energy.

Not wanting to waste either, she pulled Red down the first alley they came to and looked for any escape. Nothing, nothing at all in fact. It was empty. She swore with a heavy panting breath and kept moving. Red was slowing down, they could both feel it, but neither of them wanted to give up. Not yet, not like this at least. Sarel was scrambling for an idea, anything. As they came around the corner and saw the giant cathedral in the distance, the thief had at least one idea. They could run there, at least find Skyeyes, or perhaps...

“Merdon,” Sarel shouted. They had to find him. He could help them. She didn't know how, but he had done it twice before for her.

The boots of the men behind Sarel made her pick up the pace, practically dragging Red along with her. She rounded another corner and pushed some things over into the alley behind them as she saw them. Maybe it would slow them down, she hoped. A hope that was crushed as she reached the other end of the alleyway and found two sizable men with clubs looking at her. The slavers were chasing them in both directions now. Entering any more alleys was suicide. It was only luck she managed to roll under the two, distracting them long enough for Red to sidestep them and keep running.

Sarel was behind her now, and their breathing was hard enough it was the only thing either of them could hear. The sound of their pounding hearts and burning lungs sucking air through their dry throats and mouths. Red's chest felt like it would explode, and Sarel was starting to slow down now too. It was a dead sprint, a race, towards the shining white cathedral, a beacon in the distance that was getting close the more they ran. Street after street, block after block, a whole half-mile of middle-class city. For a moment, the blue-scaled kobold realized she had the magic ring, she could have summoned a wolf at any time to carry them. By the time she realized that it was too late.

They were close enough to the cathedral, and in fact, Sarel saw Skyeyes stepping out of it. And a moment later a pair of guards near the church barred their path, and several more guards came in from side streets as the slavers approached from the back. The thief reached for her dagger, pulling it out in fact, only for one of the armored guards to kick her in the chest and knock her over, making the metal dagger skitter along the ground to a slaver's foot. She laid there on the cold, gray stone, feet away from help, and reached out towards the white kobold who had suddenly sprinted up to the guards.

Skyeyes was ordered to show his papers, which he did without hesitation. He asked what was happening and the worst was confirmed, the slavers had been tipped off by a guard about two kobolds that had no owner, they were free for the taking. He couldn't argue with them, Sarel knew that, but they needed something, anything. Some kind of hope. A slaver gave her an opportunity unwittingly. He kicked the blue kobold, hard, but not quite hard enough for the leap she disguised as being from the impact of his kick. Sarel landed under the guards, near Skyeyes, and she looked at him with worry. Quietly, she slipped her magic ring from her finger and rolled it. The sound of the copper band rolling along the flagstone was completely drowned out by the slavers gloating to each other as they hauled Red up to her feet. Sarel only managed to croak, “Merdon” before they grabbed her as well.

Red was screaming, kicking, flailing, to no avail. Eventually, one of the men shouted at her to be quiet and punched her square in the jaw. She yelped and went silent, tears in her eyes from all of the stress and fear. Skyeyes wanted to do something about that, it was all he could think about as he clutched Quickclaw's ring in his claw. They needed Merdon, now more than ever did they need him. The priest slipped the ring onto his finger and stalked off into the night, quickly, avoiding joining his friends that were being shackled as he walked away.

# Ardmach: Skyeyes

After splitting from the group, Skyeyes approached the cathedral with wide eyes and optimism. He knew Sarel was taking Merdon to the kobold district, and he could catch up with them there later, maybe even try preaching to the masses about the grace of the goddess. They might not listen now, but even kobolds knew about the gods and their powers. In the world Skyeyes envisioned, the kobolds and humans could pray together, to the same deities, in the same churches, and one day the orcs and elves, and everyone else as well. To him, the bright white walls of the church, of the grand cathedral, were a beacon of much more than hope inside the city of Ardmach. It represented a bright and wonderful future for all the races of the world as a whole, and it did not disappoint.

This was Skyeyes' first time going to the church in Ardmach, the first time seeing the grand cathedral, and it was fairly evident by the way he looked around at everything. Statues, which dwarfed even humans in size, stood on either side of the massive wooden doors. The cathedral looked big enough for a giant to live inside and the small white kobold felt awed at the sight. He approached and was glad to find the doors open, though rumor told him the doors to the grand cathedral were never closed, there was always a shard of doubt. Standing in the doorway he could see a few things were similar to the one in Bereth. Pews hundreds of feet long were arranged neatly in front of a podium where the priest or priestess would speak to the public during services, the stained glass windows were more elaborate, more fantastic, but it was overall very similar.

Inside there also stood several nuns and priests going about their day. Few stopped to look at him, but the ones that did muttered among themselves. They noticed his robes, as any one of the clergy should, and before long no one was ignoring him as he walked through the main area of the church. He was overcome with a sense of peace, devotion, and at one point fell to his knees before a statue and prayed. All the while, the members of the clergy followed a ways behind and watched. This kobold was curious to them, but they didn't interrupt him, much as some of them wanted to. None approached, except for the head priestess, and even she waited for Skyeyes to stand before getting his attention.

“Who are you?” she asked, once he was stood and turned around. She was a larger than average woman, as tall as Merdon, more fit to be a warrior than a priestess from the way she wore her robes. But, the regalia on her said it all, told Skyeyes exactly who was speaking to him.

Skyeyes bowed his head and said, “My apologies, high priestess. I am Skyeyes, a devout follower of the goddess.”

The priestess frowned and looked at him. “A follower, perhaps, but you wear the robe of a priest of our order, and I can assure you there is no kobold among our rank.”

Where a normal person may have been shaken by such a statement, Skyeyes shook his head and pulled out his amulet and showed it to her. “My mentor he gave this to me after teaching me the ways,” he stated, though his tone was respectful. This was the high priestess of the Ethral after all. While most would be put off by her presence, her size, her stance that demanded respect, to Skyeyes she represented the perfection the goddess wished for. Someone strong that would stand for everyone, a leader of the highest caliber.

The high priestess looked at his amulet for a moment, bending over to examine it closer, even touched it, before standing up and calling over a nun. She whispered something to the girl and then addressed Skyeyes. “The sister will show you to my office. I'll be with you in a moment, little kobold.”

Skyeyes' eyes went wide and he nodded, following the nun devoutly, with a spring in his step. To speak with the high priestess of the goddess Ethral was nothing short of a dream come true for the white kobold. He continued to eye the church as they walked, shoes and claws clacking in time on the polished surface of the floor. The cathedral was built to last, Skyeyes could see that, and though it was stone it was warm inside. Well lit by a chandelier made of magic-infused crystals, warm, it was all of the comforting things it should have been for a church, for a house dedicated to the goddess. While he didn't know what was to come, the white kobold hoped one day to live there, to read the sacred texts which were only kept in the grand cathedral, would be an achievement of his lifetime. One that he could happily pass away after accomplishing, and as far as he knew, it might happen sooner than he expected. Meeting with the high priestess was serendipity at its finest.

The nun led him behind the pulpit and into a series of rooms behind what the worshipers usually saw. A long hallway awaited them with a plush, fancy rug, red with gold trim, dressed the middle of the hallway to suppress the sound of feet in the night. As much as it was a place of worship, the grand cathedral was also home to the many nuns and priests who worked for the church as a whole. Late night studying, emergencies, there was no telling what reasons they had to be up and down the hall at all hours of the day, especially if the cathedral never closed.

Skyeyes was curious and considered poking open a door or two as they walked, but the nun sped up once they were outside of the main floor of the church. Reluctantly, the white kobold followed her pace. It took them several minutes of walking to eventually end up in a large office space behind a thick wooden door. Inside there were a pair of comfortable, large chairs, a desk covered in paperwork, and a roaring fireplace despite it being the middle of Spring. There was a bookshelf, which Skyeyes was keen to investigate, as well as a decanter full of water for him to sip on while he waited. For what, he didn't know, but the nun informed him the high priestess would be along as soon as she was able. Until then, he was not to leave the room, as if he wanted to.

The moment the door was shut and Skyeyes was alone, he walked to the bookshelf, grabbed something choice, something he hadn't read before, and got comfortable in one of the big chairs. He assumed it would be a moderate wait time if the high priestess didn't come with them. His choice of book was good for that, several hundred pages long, detailing the travels of the goddess Ethral when she walked on the earth like a mortal. It was written from a second-hand account and was quite old, but fascinating in the things it covered, the differences between the divine and the mundane. Skyeyes was a good reader, very good in fact. All of the lessons he'd gotten from his mentor had sharpened his mind significantly when it came to learning. Unfortunately, it had dulled him in other ways.

Skyeyes finished the book before looking up and realizing hours had passed. Many, many hours. It was getting dark out and he looked at the door with concern. Had he been forgotten about? Curious, and a little anxious, the priest stood and walked over to the door. He turned the handle, or rather he tried to. The door was locked from the outside; he was trapped. That didn't make sense, not to him. Hopeful it was an error, he knocked on the door but was only greeted by silence after. Desperate, he knocked louder. Still, no response, not even a question as to what he was doing knocking on the door as if he'd been abandoned.

Figuring there had to be a way out, he stepped over to the window and looked out. It was sunset, the perfect time to slip out in the dark, but he didn't want to break a window and he didn't see a way to open it otherwise. Fretting, tapping his claws together, Skyeyes started to pace around the room. Certain bodily functions also started returning as he did. For one, he was quite hungry now. He'd had nothing but water for the past several hours and his body wanted something with more nourishment to it. Beyond his hunger, he hoped this meeting wouldn't take too long, though he didn't know what it was about. A call of nature was sure to be on the horizon and the less trapped in a room without a place to answer the call would be much better than this. All he could do for the time being was pace though, waiting as the sun went down.

Shortly after sundown, the door opened and the high priestess came in, flanked by two men in what Skyeyes knew to be robes of the inquisitors. They were the guards of the church. The priestess sat down and gestured for Skyeyes to do the same, her gaze was level and cold all of a sudden. At least, it seemed sudden to Skyeyes. He complied with her gesture without a word while the two inquisitors closed the door and took positions next to it. There was no reason for them to be there. Skyeyes hadn't done anything wrong, that he knew of. His danger sense which had escaped him was still catching up, and with the two large men behind him, Skyeyes was starting to see the high priestess in a different light.

Something was wrong in the high priestess's mind about Skyeyes from the moment she saw him. Kobolds were animals, not priests, and so she asked him, “Where did you get that amulet?”

The white kobold looked concerned. “It was given to me, by my mentor.” He had told her that, hadn't he? His face scrunched as he recalled their earlier conversation. Perhaps she had forgotten.

“You're lying,” she said coldly. No longer did she sound like the loving high priestess Skyeyes had spoken too among the pews. If she ever even had. “No priest of the order would give their rights to a kobold.” The way she said that word, kobold, like speaking of an unforgivable sin, it made Skyeyes' stomach squirm.

“It's true,” he insisted. “You know, your holiness, the amulets cannot be taken by force.”

She nodded. “You're correct, but they can be stolen from the dead.”

Bile filled the kobold's throat, his eyes dilated, his mouth went dry. That accusation was so heinous he didn't know how to protest. The idea he would, that he could, kill the man who taught him so much. It was like suggesting he murdered his own father. “Never,” he finally managed, his voice shaking and on the verge of a breakdown. He could feel tears forming in his eyes. A baser instinct formed in the back of his mind, one that wanted him to fight, but he held it down. Skyeyes would not prove her accusation right. There was no need for violence among the clergy.

“Yet it must be,” the priestess continued. “No member of my church would ordain a mere kobold.” It was an arrow to his heart, to his core, to his soul.

The time for protesting ended when an inquisitor grabbed the chain around Skyeyes's neck and power coursed through it. His amulet shone and then went dim, the protection around it fading. He was helpless but to watch them pull it from his neck harshly, breaking the chain and yanking him forward in his seat as they did it. There was no care for his comfort in this process.

“We would take your robe,” she added, “But a naked kobold would be too offensive to the goddess. You may keep it.”

But what did a robe matter without his amulet? Without the proof he was a priest of the goddess Ethral? It was pointless, just dyed wool. A sick reminder of what had happened. Even as he opened his mouth to defend himself the inquisitors picked him up by the arms, with ease, and started to carry him from the room. Skyeyes couldn't even squirm. He felt numb all over, his vision was blurry and tunneled. The impressive architecture around him seemed to dim as his desire to throw up increased. If the goddess were favorable, he thought, he would pass out before they could get him outside. Maybe they would be forced to take care of him, but he knew better than that now.

While dragging him through the halls, Skyeyes dimly saw the faces of people in the church, and a thought occurred to him. They were pleased he was being removed from the premises. Why were there so few kobolds that believed in the goddess? Or, more to the point, why were there no kobolds in the church, either working or worshiping? Because they weren't welcome there, at all, in any capacity. The people who saw him enter weren't impressed or curious, they were disgusted, scornful; he realized that now. Summoning the high priestess to see him was the only thing the nuns could think to do, they didn't want to deal with him, but she would. It was, essentially, her church, her cathedral, and she would deal with any unwanted guests. Skyeyes could almost hear their laughter at his embarrassing mistakes, though no one was laughing. How stupid he felt to believe he had warranted the presence of the high priestess for any other reason than this. No one had been curious about him beyond wanting him gone, and now he was almost out.

When they reached the open doors, the inquisitors quite literally threw the kobold outside. Skyeyes landed face first and tumbled over onto his back, landing finally with a thump and staring at the cloudless night sky. Tears welled up in his eyes. He didn't want to move, to think, to exist. That wasn't his choice though. As long as he was alive, he had things to do. Red and the others were counting on him, and for the time being, they were what mattered. All of his efforts went into standing up, wiping the moisture from his eyes, and starting down the stairs of the cathedral. It was difficult just to move due to all the factors weighing on him. Hunger was chief among them, he hadn't eaten in over half a day, but the emotional weight was there too. Parts of him still felt numb.

Not more than a few steps down the stairs, however, and his eyes spotted Sarel, the blue kobold was running hard with Red behind her. He squinted at them and missed the armored man stepping out in front. Skyeyes forced himself into a run as Sarel was kicked to the ground, disarmed, and slavers came up behind her and Red with weapons and collars. They grabbed her and it sent a whole new sensation of fear through his body, it vaguely reminded him of what had just happened in the cathedral. A guard stopped him short though and demanded his identification.

“Here,” the white kobold said, scrambling into his robe for the papers that proved he was his own owner. The guard seemed satisfied, and so he asked, “What's happening?”

“Couple of lizards that don't have the sense you did,” the guard said.

Skyeyes stepped to the side and watched as Sarel was kicked right in the ribs. She pushed off the ground as the foot connected, making it look like the man had kicked much harder than he actually had, and she landed partially under the guards surrounding them. Her hand moved and it was only just barely that Skyeyes saw her magical ring rolling towards him. He quickly grabbed it as she whispered to him, “Merdon.”

The former priest watched in horror as Red was struck for crying out against her enslavement, and the pair of them were shackled and collared. He couldn't stand to watch any more than that, and the guards were the only reason the slavers weren't adding him to the list. Their eyes told him as much. They looked at him like a walking bag of coins. Skyeyes walked away, quickly, slipping the ring on his finger and concentrating to summon the power inside as he stepped around a corner. Merdon, the needed Merdon, and he knew that now more than ever. In the dark of an alleyway, he concentrated on the ring, calling on the enchantment. A wolf to help him find Merdon, to stay a step ahead of the slavers.

Usually, a glow accompanied the wolf when Sarel summoned it, but this time there was a light, bright, shining, blinding. When Skyeyes opened his eyes, he saw a half dozen forms in the alley with him, all of them with the same deep blue eyes. Fear held him for only a moment, long enough for him to realize they were wolves. Not just one, a pack. Elation passed through him for a moment, he felt this was a gift of the divine, of the goddess. He reached up for his amulet and found it missing, reminding him he was alone now, completely. This pack was conjured from his own power, his own magic.

Skyeyes set his jaw and walked over to the biggest one, mounting it and grabbing the fur along its sides. “Merdon,” he said, closing his eyes and focusing through the wolves. He could see and smell what they did. Having traveled with Merdon they ought to smell the same, he figured, so he sought scents like his. It was tough, but he found it and urged his wolves forward. The only thought on his mind was hoping Red did not experience the horrors he knew many kobold slaves faced, that she could be rescued before then.

# Ardmach: Red

Red's throat burned from all the running, breathing, and recently crying, she had done. The slavers had fitted her with a fat iron collar, something that weighed on her shoulders as well as neck, and cuffed her wrists and ankles. She was bound by chains to Sarel in front of her. Sarel seemed defiant still, in her eyes, but she hadn't said anything since they'd been captured. Half a dozen men were leading them through the streets of Ardmach. Buildings that had seemed intimidating in the daylight were now horrifying, twisted monstrosities to Red's eyes. Even the witch, as far as Red could remember, hadn't put this much fear into her. How the kobolds who lived in the slums of this very city put up with this was beyond her understanding. It was hateful, evil, a lurking torment that she hadn't been aware of until now but, now that she was, the only thing she wanted was to be free. Not only from the chains but from the fear that lurked inside of her now. Tears filled her eyes again as she wondered if she could ever feel safe again.

Next would be a cold cell, and there was nothing Merdon or Skyeyes could do for them then, Red was certain. There was no escape from well-armed, fortified, slavers. Even if they did, then they would have to escape the city itself. They would be on the run, Merdon's life as a citizen would be over. No kobold was worth risking freedom over. Red, as a kobold herself, believed that. He would move on, perhaps without a group of kobolds at his back the witch would believe he had no magic power and let him go. After all, the only reason she wanted him was because he was collecting kobolds. Without them, Merdon himself was unimportant to her. This solved his problem, even if it left her and Sarel in a dire predicament.

Assuming he didn't rescue them, they were bound for owners. Sold on the market like meat. Red had been a slave once. She could go back to it, easily, at least she thought so. All it took was a little change in perspective. Her freedom had been enjoyable, fun, and she didn't want it to end, but she wasn't being given a choice as they approached the building the slavers did their business from. No sign hung outside that Red could see, and that was probably how they liked it. It made them harder to track down if they didn't advertise themselves. Harder for the kobolds, who knew very little about the city outside of the slums, to mount a rescue. Meanwhile, the humans could find the place easily enough. Maybe the slavers even delivered. Taken right to their new home, and owner, like pets.

Red sniffled, and a slaver promptly yanked on her chain, which tugged Sarel as well, and told her to shut up. Chastised for a sound she couldn't help but make. This was her new life. She tried not to let it set in as they pulled her and Sarel into the building and removed the chain between them. Her eyes darted curiously, wondering if there was a chance now to escape, but instead, a pair of hands grabbed her and dragged her off in one direction, while another two grabbed Sarel and went elsewhere. Both of them struggled, just a little bit, mostly opposed to being hauled like luggage.

Things moved quickly then, too quickly for Red to get much of an idea about where she was being held. It was all stone, like almost everything in Ardmach, and parts of it smelled rancid like something was rotting, but she couldn't tell from where. As little as she believed in the goddess Skyeyes worshiped, she silently prayed the smell wasn't dead kobold. Of course, they didn't give her much time to dwell on that thought as she was tossed into a small room with a drain in the floor.

Before she could even stand up herself, a slaver grabbed her robe and virtually tore it off of her. Red shouted in protest and reached for it, only to be elbowed into the wall behind her. It was a simple blow, one that would have only nudged another human, but Red's size was her disadvantage there. Her head bumped against the stone and her eyes swam as she reoriented herself on her feet. While it seemed everything was moving, the humans in the doorway seemed bigger than before. On her knees, they looked like giants, on her feet they looked no better.

“I dunno where a monster like you got this, but it's too good for you,” the man said, holding a torch to the robe. After several moments, it failed to so much as scorch. Red gave him a smirk until he put the fire back on the wall and pulled out a knife.

“Cocky bitch,” he spat, suddenly shredding the robe with his blade. “How do you like that?” He made sure it was in irreparable ribbons before tossing it on the floor.

Red started to cry again. How could she not after seeing her only possession destroyed? But her tears, as usual, were unheeded. Instead, a bucket of ice-cold water was tossed on her, making her jump and shudder. The shaking went all the way down her tail even as another bucket was dumped on her. They were cleaning her off, minimally. Until someone stepped into the room with a bar of soap and pinned her to the wall. His motions were rough, uncaring, brutal, and he made sure his soapy hands went everywhere. She held her mouth shut tight as he grabbed her breasts and soaped up other sensitive areas. When he was done, another bucket of water was thrown on her, only rinsing her body off.

Ever since they had parted her from Sarel, the red kobold had tried to conjure her flames, but nothing was happening. She didn't know why, but she was completely useless like this. Perhaps it had to do with the collars or chains, or maybe there was some kind of magic field around the office that prevented her from doing anything. Whatever the case, Red had no magic, no way to fight, and was feeling worse than ever before. No memory of the witch was this bad. It made her wonder if the woman in the tower was truly evil, or if her claim to love kobolds rang true. At the very least, she didn't subject them to this kind of torment. However much that was good for.

Shivering and soaked to the bone, one of the slavers stepped in and grabbed Red's arm. He tugged her out of the room and started leading her down the hall. Escaping one man might have been possible, but the much larger man holding a club behind her made Red change her mind about slipping away. The pair took her into another room where what amounted to a sack was tossed at her as hard as possible, and the man that did the tossing ordered, “Put that on, now.” Red complied, having no real will to fight anymore. No magic, tired, hungry, thirsty, wet, cold, and all within the last hour, had driven her down into the ground. All she wanted now was for them to leave her alone.

Unfortunately, it wasn't so easy. Once she was half-dressed, which was as dressed as one got in a sack, another man came in and examined her. She stood for several long, tedious minutes as he checked various areas of her, and conversed among his fellow slave traders. They told him they'd seen nothing out of place on her naked form, and the man wielding the club said he hadn't felt anything unusual. He must have been the human that groped her with the soap, and it made her scowl thinking about him following her around. All of these things were recorded, a bill of health for whoever bought her, and not a single question posed to her. It was clinical but like a parent telling the doctor everything, as if the child was too stupid to know what was wrong with themselves. Red just stood there and let it happen. Sleep was the only thing on her mind now, even if it was going to be in a cold cell with no bed. Exhaustion had taken her, and the humes noticed it.

“Little pup's tired now,” the big guy with a club said, chuckling. “Throw her in with her friend. I want the spunky one to see what's waiting for her on the other side of our training regimen.”

One guy grabbed Red by the arm and started leading her, but the other questioned the one that seemed to be their leader. “You don't think if we put them together they'll plan something?”

The boss laughed. “Plan what? These stupid lizards couldn't plot their way out of a bathtub, and even if they could, look at this one. She's given up already. Prime material. She'll sell fast, but not fast enough.” His last sentence sent a chill down Red's spine, but she was powerless to do anything about it now. It was a worry for another time, tomorrow perhaps.

The man tugging on her arm led her around the complex, a confusing and repetitive layout of halls with thick steel doors lit by torches, and not at all warm. It was a cold place in more ways than one, but that didn't bother Red anymore. She would get to see Sarel, at least one more time, and they would finally leave her alone. For how long she didn't know. Time alone was what she wanted right now though, and to see a familiar face. As their boss had suspected, Red had no plans for escape, no ideas, no hopes. Her body didn't even support her weight as the man opened a door, then suddenly grabbed her by one of her backward protruding horns and threw her face-first into the cell.

Red landed on her face, rolled, and came to a stop on her side. She didn't cry; her eyes were empty. In fact, her whole body might have been empty. Thirst returned to her once she wasn't being assaulted from all angles. With all that had happened, she just laid on the ground for a while, staring at nothing. It wasn't until Sarel came over and helped her sit up that Red finally reacted.

She put her arms around Sarel and sobbed, a dry sob devoid of tears and full of pure frustration and desperation. For what it was worth, Sarel rubbed her friend's back and tried her best to comfort the red kobold. Sarel shushed her quietly and held her close. They seemed to be the only two in the cell, which was both good and bad to the thief. It was good because they had privacy, for now. The bad was that no two kobolds were placed into isolation together unless the slavers had some sick plan cooked up. Eventually, the blue kobold had to get something more useful out of her friend than dry crying and shaking fear. Information was paramount and Sarel was fresh out.

“What happened?” she asked first, cautiously. Red recounted her tale in response, slowly, and Sarel nodded along. “They're monsters,” the blue kobold assured her, “But they will not get away with this.”

“What can we do?” Red whimpered. “My magic doesn't work, and you don't have a weapon. There's too many of them.”

Sarel shook her head. “Not us, Merdon. He will come for us.”

Red frowned and looked at Sarel seriously before letting out a short, hoarse laugh. “Merdon will not come for us,” she told the blue kobold, who looked rather surprised at the statement. “We're just kobolds, Quickclaw. He wouldn't throw his life away to fight them, and he doesn't have the coin to pay for us. Assuming Skyeyes can find him at all.”

Quickclaw put her hand on the red kobold but found it quickly slapped away. “Merdon will come for us,” she stated again, despite being shot down.

“Not even the witch was this horrible, Sarel,” Red told her flatly, using her friend's real name to great effect. “She was creepy, rude, but she would never … do what they did to me. The loss of our names is nothing compared to that.”

Sarel frowned in response. “No slavery is better than another,” she insisted while crossing her arms. “This is bad, but it is temporary.”

“Because Merdon saved you once before?” Red retorted. “What if he hadn't? Have you ever thought of that.”

“This isn't helping,” Sarel told her, looking away pointedly. She didn't exactly want to consider the notion either, though she was positive she could escape she couldn't say the same thing about Red or anyone else.

Red's eyes widened as she shouted as loudly as possible, “Then what would help!? We're trapped, Sarel. There's nothing we can do. Nothing. Merdon isn't coming, Skyeyes is lucky to be free, there's nowhere we can go. I was better off scrubbing the floors in that tower.” With her explosion over, Red fell back and sighed. She was weak now, tired, drained, her eyelids heavy and her eyes unfocused.

Sarel, finally realizing the girl's state, moved closer and rubbed her shoulder. “Sleep, Red. Things will seem better in the morning.”

Red didn't believe anything could improve; she found it sickening to be lied to. There was nothing else she could do though. Quietly, weakly, she laid on her side and curled up. Sarel sat close by, her tail around her friend, and rubbed the red one's side until sleep took her. It didn't take very long with all that had happened. Her slumber was deep, and her body went limp as she exited consciousness. Even her subconscious couldn't keep her wound as tight as she was when she was awake.

Alone, Sarel looked at the ceiling and sighed. Merdon would come, she was sure of that. Whether he would succeed, Red had cast doubt over the blue one's mind. If he did, she had raised more questions. Breaking them out would require a whole assault, something Merdon could not afford to do, yet it was the most likely thing he would do. Sarel hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. They would be free, Merdon would come, but what would the price be for their freedom? Not coin, that was for sure.

# Ardmach: Merdon

Merdon was sitting in the waiting room of a large manor on the rich end of Ardmach near sunset. Their contract, a simple delivery, sitting on his lap. It was a box that contained jewelry for the dragonkin woman who owned the estate he was on. He had been let inside and led to the sitting room by a kobold dressed plainly, and it made his heart sink to see it. At once, he was glad Sarel and Red were tucked away in the kobold district instead of being subjected to the sight he saw. Further, the entire manor seemed kept by kobolds. Various shades and hues of the little lizard-like creatures scampered about, cleaning windows, dusting, sweeping, mopping. Apparently, there had been a sizable gathering earlier in the day which had ended up delaying Merdon's arrival at the contractor's request. So, he sat, and waited, being served tea and cookies.

Still, as soon as he finished the delivery he could go collect his team and they would leave the city of Ardmach behind them. He had promised Sarel they wouldn't stay, and he would hold true to his word. Even if it was strange to almost everyone he came across that he'd stayed in his armor the whole time. Ardmach was a safe place, for humans, but the necessity of their swift exit from the city had left him little choice. This rich dragonkin had wanted an armored escort for her trinkets after all and it wasn't like Merdon had somewhere he could stash his stuff for a few hours. Renting a room at the inn would have been a waste as well. Most of his things were at his side, in a pack, which he would take with him back to Sarel's mother's place if he could find it again. They could leave straight away afterward.

After sitting for over an hour, the owner of the mansion finally came in to greet Merdon. She was taller than he was, standing at a mountainous seven and a half feet, and even under her gown the human could tell she was strong. Her bright red scales contrasted with the darker color of her dress, yet the whole thing worked in a simple way. He felt the warning of her scales color, that she was dangerous, as many dragonkin were. Tough, intelligent, long-lived, even the softest among them was enough for a troop of guards, and the one that stood before Merdon was no different. He nodded to her, hoping not to offend, and held out the box he'd been sitting with.

The dragonkin smiled and took it from him. She opened it right away and inspected the contents. “It's all here,” she murmured to herself. “Good job.” Her praise felt strange like she was talking to a dog.

“Thank you,” Merdon replied. It was all he could think to say. “I trust you've been informed of the odd payment method?” He was to be paid immediately, rather than having the funds left at the guild, as with his other contracts on this journey.

She nodded and produced a coin pouch from her flowing gown. “It's all there, believe me.” He had no reason to suspect otherwise. “But tell me, what is the reason for this change?”

Merdon took the coins and cleared his throat. “I'm on another quest,” he told her simply. “In traveling, I don't have the time to return to Bereth for my reward.”

Hearing the city's name made the dragonkin raise a brow. “Bereth? So far from home you are. Tell me, what do you think of Ardmach?”

“It's quite large,” he replied shortly, but the way the dragonkin's eyes dimmed as he said something so simple told him that wasn't what she expected. “It feels dull.” He decided to be honest. “The cathedral is wonderfully lit and bright, but the rest of the city seems dull, plain, very militaristic.” Like the rest of Avant.

Her eyes sparked at that response. “I agree completely,” she told him quickly. “The city should be more like the elven capital, they call it the jewel of their nation. It's even named jewel in elvish.”

Merdon hadn't heard, but he nodded in recognition. “The elves I've met have always cared a lot about how things look.”

“Looking good is important, sir knight. It's what separates us from the animals.”

The knight glanced at one of the kobolds behind her and then back to the dragonkin. “Perhaps you should give your servants better clothes,” he suggested. “I met a mayor recently who gave his human servants suits.”

“Oh?” she giggled. “How curious indeed. Kobolds in suits. Like dressing up monkeys!” Her giggle turned into laughter, which Merdon did not return.

“Doesn't it bother you?” he asked her. The dragonkin raised her brow in return, questioning his question. “That they're like you, yet they live in shackles.” How could the state of the kobolds not upset her?

Merdon got his answer in the form of another laugh. “You're serious? These kobolds are nothing like us. We're as close to being enslaved as you are because of trained chimps.”

He only grunted in response and gave a stiff half bow. “Good evening, my lady,” Merdon excused himself, rather curtly, which made the dragonkin glare, and he stepped beyond her to reach the great entrance hall she had.

Outside, and glad to be done with his errand for the guild, Merdon traveled down the dirt path many of the extra rich Ardmach gentry had brought to their manors. They could grow trees on top of rocks and thought themselves superior for doing so. Their ancestors had used magic to level a mountain top, now they cultivated ground that shouldn't be capable. It was that kind of arrogance which had started to wear on him during his trip through the elite class' section of the city. Quite simply, their way of life clashed with his own, and as annoying as they were to him, they weren't doing anything technically wrong. Kobold slavery was something he didn't like, never had, but there was nothing he alone could do about it. Change would come, in time, when it was ready, and no one could force it. He and Sarel would just have to weather that period.

Merdon shifted, settling his armor a little after having sat for so long, and started the long trek back out of the district. It was a lot easier to move around than the kobold slums. Bigger streets between large manors, less foot traffic, even as the sun set it was bright enough thanks to lamps and torchlight to see. Eventually that all slipped away, giving out to nothing but sputtering torches as light-giving crystals that power lamps were much rarer and thus more expensive. Still, he could see the cathedral in the distance and felt at ease. They would leave soon, that was the only thing on his mind. A walk back down to the slums, collecting Sarel and Red, perhaps bumping into Skyeyes on the way there, and they could leave Ardmach behind them and continue their journey. He reveled in the idea, which made him blush for a moment.

He had never had traveling companions like the kobolds before. There had been the odd job here and there where he went into a cave with a couple of others, but no one had stuck around, and certainly no one he attached to as much as the kobolds. Sarel was a whole other set of emotions, yet they lent to the same feeling. The human did not want to stop traveling with them. They were his friends, something he thought would be too difficult to keep being an adventurer like he was. People naturally shifted away from others in dangerous lines of work after all. To find ones he wanted to be around, even if they weren't quite people, was refreshing. His life had never been lonely per se, but the knight couldn't imagine things without them anymore.

Just outside of the high-class district, Merdon spotted something strange. A wolf with piercing eyes sat in an alley off to his side. The knight glanced around, then quickly walked into the alleyway with a smirk. He expected to find Sarel, finished with her mother and searching for him. What he hadn't expected was to see three more wolves and Skyeyes sitting atop one of them with a harrowed expression on his face. One of those things alone would have given Merdon cause for concern, both of them together left him with only a single question on his mind.

“Where's Quickclaw?” he asked, keeping his voice calm.

Skyeyes swallowed. “She was taken. … by slavers.”

Merdon's hand reflexively clenched, as though he were trying to grasp an invisible sword. Without another word, he slung his pack onto the ground and dug through it. He was armored, but not entirely. His helmet and shield were stowed away, as he hadn't expected to come across anyone with that skill set in the city. Going after slavers, however, he would take no chances. Thinking ahead, he passed his gear to a wolf and looked at Skyeyes.

“Have the wolf take this somewhere close to the gate out of the city. When this is over, we'll have to run. Even if we don't kill anyone an attack on the slave trade here in the heart of Ardmach is unheard of,” he explained succinctly.

Skyeyes nodded and sent the wolf off to do as Merdon said. He would know where the wolf was when the time came. “Red was taken too,” the priest added just then. Merdon only nodded in response. The human had figured as much.

With his preparations complete, Merdon laid out a plan for Skyeyes. The white kobold would use his team of wolves to make a distraction, much like the fort full of bandits. When the slavers on duty stepped out to see what was going on, the knight would step in and knock them out. He was still trying to limit casualties even with Sarel on the line. It was something that made Skyeyes respect the human. His unwillingness to kill wantonly shown a side of humanity Skyeyes hoped for, the same kind of things the goddess Ethral encouraged.

Once they were inside, the wolves could guide them to Sarel and Red with ease, and hopefully, they could do it without rousing the entire wrath of the Ardmach guard. If they did, they'd need to get out of the city as quickly as possible, and definitely lay low after their quest was over. In fact, Merdon was thinking they'd need to lay low anyway, for a time. A vacation sounded nice after everything he'd dealt with in Ardmach. He was sure the kobolds would feel the same way. Maybe somewhere the Avant authorities couldn't reach them, just in case.

Their plan was set, so the two set off to enact it. Skyeyes stuck to the alleyways while the human walked through the streets. He was worried about Sarel and his body language said so, but his thoughts and actions were all calm and calculated. Something his father had taught him that he desperately tried to employ at every turn in his life. Nothing kills a man quicker than acting without thinking. It was a lesson Merdon had encountered several times in his life, and many more once he started adventuring. People got riled up, they got scared, or they got cocky. As soon as their wits left them for any reason they started making simple mistakes, costly mistakes.

Merdon wanted to charge headlong into the kobold processing center, the only one in the city of Ardmach, the monopoly which kept the kobolds bent on their knees, but he knew such an action would get one, or all of them, killed. It was better he took this approach, pretending to be detached, letting his mind work before his emotions. While it may have seemed cold, it kept him alive for years, even if he admitted to himself it was part of what made him distant from others. An invaluable skill with a high cost, but a cost that was going to save his verakt. A cost that had gotten him one in the first place. He set his shoulders and fixed his gait; cleared his mind and focused on the task at hand. There would be no going back if he messed this up. No margin for error existed in the assault.

Slavers didn't really use force, not like bandits at least. Not the ones operating in Ardmach anyway. It was unlikely they would encounter anyone with armor, or anyone ready to fight a knight, but they would be armed, and they would be trained. None of which counted the advantage of being attacked in their own base. The slavers would know the field of battle much better than he or Skyeyes. Considering it, the only thing they had on their side was surprise, which wouldn't last long. If even one man got away conscious or faked it, an alarm would go up. Were that to happen, they'd be put on a time crunch as well. Before long, the Ardmach guard would arrive and then there would be no escape. Even if they managed to knock everyone out as they went through the building the sounds of fighting would carry and each successive room would be more prepared.

Still, Merdon was steeled in his mind. It was like this every time he got ready for a fight. The goblins, the bandits, the wolves, he was always trying to think ahead, plan faster and further than his opponents. Sometimes he missed something critical, but it was a tactic that had served him very well, in his opinion. But this? While not quite a suicide mission it was as close as one could get. A jailbreak, the biggest jailbreak in the history of Avant, was not something to scoff at. In fact, the vacation he had been considering before seemed more of a permanent move the closer he got to his destination. Their goal, the witch's tower, sat on the corner of several nations, much like Bereth did. All they would have to do is leave Avant.

While Merdon considered leaving the nation that had been his home for his whole life, he realized where he was. The time was now. Quietly as he could in full armor, the knight slipped around a corner and waited in the darkness of an alleyway. He peeked out and looked at the building they were about to infiltrate. It stood short but wide, probably cheaper to build that way, and it wasn't like kobolds took up much space. Merdon also imagined it made escape a bit harder. There were no other exits he could see, even though the building was like setting several taverns next to each other. With no experience on the inside, it was possible the building was a maze as well, and they would have to rely on Skyeyes' wolves to make swift progress.

Across from him, a wolf crept out from behind a box and padded up to the door. Skyeyes was nearby, they were both in place. It was time to start. Merdon took a deep breath and calmed himself down one last time. Speed, stealth, precision; they would need those three things to pull this off. Being encased in steel, he wasn't sure he had those first two, but he had to try.

The wolf started scratching at the door and making noise, almost like a dog, but much deeper. With a strained ear, Merdon could hear someone making a ruckus behind the door. When it opened, he would have to move several feet very quickly. He stood, feet in position, ready to run the moment he heard a shout. Creaking of wood and metal filled the air, the sound of the door opening, and the man inside shouting as the wolf leaped up on him. Steel blotted those noises out as Merdon ran, sprinting around the corner, shield in hand, and rushing the front door. A portly man looked confused, a wolf biting his shirt and a knight rushing him with a shield out in front. His confusion came to an abrupt end as Merdon smashed his face in, knocking him back and onto the cold stone floor of the interior. Skyeyes arrived a moment later, still mounted and looking around worried.

The inside of the building was carefully constructed to reduce the efficacy of kobold features. Ceilings were low to prevent them from climbing out of sight, on top of the walls being stone to prevent climbing at all. From what Merdon could see, the corridors twisted and turned at odd angles, making it hard to follow them with your eyes, and the place was generally chilly. He wondered, for a moment, if the cold would make the kobolds docile, like lizards without a heat source, until someone shouted from down the halls. Obviously, their intrusion wasn't undetected, and Merdon moved to rectify that as best as possible.

He shut the door behind them and pulled the unconscious man behind the long wooden desk that sat at the front. There might be information there they could use if they had the time. Sadly, there wasn't much as the man who was yelling suddenly came up. With Skyeyes sitting on a wolf in front of him, Merdon holding the body of his coworker on his left, it was pretty easy to guess what would happen next. The man yelled something incredulous at the two and hefted a club at his side. The knight was running on pure adrenaline and simply slammed into the bulky man, bashing him much like the previous one. Unlike the last one, the club holding man didn't go down, and instead shoved Merdon back before yelling, “We got a fighter!”

Surprise was no longer their ally and time was never on their side. Merdon swung again, harder, catching the man off guard as he expected the knight to draw his sword. The second blow made him cross-eyed and he sunk to the floor like a heavy bag of flour. With no time to waste, he looked at Skyeyes.

“Use the wolves, find their scent.”

Merdon didn't need to say anything more. Three more wolves appeared, controlled by Skyeyes, five in total including the one he was riding and the one that had helped them get in. The four he wasn't on top of spread out and went down different halls. Shouts were heard all the way back at the entrance, but Merdon kept focused. He was waiting to hear that Skyeyes had something before they moved. Nothing, as the priest indicated by shaking his head.

“There are too many scents, and most of them strong,” he told the knight.

Merdon paused and thought. “Take us to them then.” Perhaps disguising their assault as a mass break out would take the heat off of them. Strong smells might belong to long-held kobolds, ones desperate to escape. They could go first.

Skyeyes nodded and spurred his wolf along, with Merdon following in the rear. They traveled up one hallway which curved so gently it made the way they entered it vanish and appear as though there was no end seamlessly. A decent trick to be sure. At the end of it, they came to another section of the prison, which it was to Merdon. More men with weapons were trying to fight off the wolf that had led them there, and Merdon jumped in without hesitation. His style with the shield was shockingly effective, and having a wolf to distract one of the men certainly helped. No more than three quick bashes were required, and the knight wasn't at all concerned with the trickles of blood coming out of noses when he was done. It was almost therapeutic in a way.

Merdon checked a nearby hall before turning to the door with a big padlock on it. Nothing he could break with his gear, but there were two conveniently unconscious guards right next to him. One of them had a set of keys, which Merdon liberated from the man's belt and, after some attempts with different ones, eventually opened the lock and pushed the door in. He imagined the look of relief on the kobold's faces as he set them free. Their glee at someone other than a captor opening the door. That was not what awaited him.

A foul stench caused him to recoil and gag into his helmet, though he didn't take it off. As an adventurer, Merdon had smelled many terrible things. The waste dumps of cities, unwashed masses, goblins who lived and reveled in filth, on a few occasions even dead bodies. This was much worse to him. It was a smell any mother with a horny son would find, but the potency was astronomically worse. Looking inside revealed kobolds with empty gazes, for the most part. What ones weren't like that were sobbing. No more complete a hell could Merdon imagine than what sat open before them. Something a thousand baths in steaming hot water could never fully remove, and it was all stuck to them.

Merdon stumbled back and braced himself on a wall while Skyeyes looked in and retched. “I had heard...” The priest was halted by another round of gagging. “Male kobolds even... our anatomy is such that...” He couldn't finish, but Merdon could guess. Kobold males were hard to tell from the females, at least where it mattered to men like these.

The knight stood up and looked at slaver on the ground, and then back into the room, making sure Sarel wasn't among them, or Red. No, these weren't men, he decided. These were the monsters. A ringing built up in his ears as his fist clenched around the air, hungry for a sword. It was belted at his side, but he wasn't committed yet, not yet.

“What do we do?” Skyeyes asked, turning away from the room. “We have to go, but I don't think we can help these ones.” They were too damaged to be moved, they would resist the human. Skyeyes could lead them, but it would leave Merdon alone. He sat and waited, but Merdon didn't say anything. So, he asked again, “Merdon, what do we do?”

Merdon looked at Skyeyes, his expression hidden by his helm. His silence continued as he looked at those on the ground, unconscious as the miasma of their deeds pour out and surrounded them. It made him sick, it upset him. He couldn't help but imagine Sarel in there. With no more thought than anger on his mind, Merdon drew his sword and ran it into the back of the man nearest him. The slaver jerked, gasped, and sputtered his last breath as he went still. That spot was the same one Sarel had used back in the fort; Merdon remembered it well. Skyeyes sat, dumbfounded, and looked at Merdon with worry.

“I'm the only human who walks out of here,” he said to the priest as he flicked his blade, throwing some of the blood off before he moved to the second unconscious man. “Have your wolves find any others. All of the kobolds, all of the slavers.” His voice sounded distant thanks to the cold steel around his head and face, but on some level, Skyeyes knew.

The priest nodded, his head shaking, and he directed the wolves. After another passing glance into the room, he moved to the other side. “There's a group down this hall, heading this way,” he told Merdon quietly. “More kobolds down there too.”

Merdon grunted and moved into position, blocking the hall. His sword and shield in hand, the tip of the blade with a thin layer of blood on it, he looked intimidating to the white kobold. Skyeyes had to remind himself though this was an outcome that could have happened anyway. If Merdon had been pushed there was no way he would leave Red and Quickclaw in this place. He would have fought and killed, but he didn't think the man would stab unaware men in the back. The brutality, that's what was getting to him most. For all of the things they had been through, from what Skyeyes had heard, Merdon rarely turned violent and often voiced respect for Sarel for avoiding it. Watching him stab two helpless men in the back gave the priest chills, but as he watched Merdon roar and rush the next three men coming down the hallway, slinging their blood of their comrade in their faces to put them off, he realized just how broken the man in armor had become.

Shaking his feelings off, Skyeyes had his wolves join the battle. He jumped off the one he was riding and had the one that had gone down the hallway turn back around and ambush them from behind. With a moment of clarity, Skyeyes realized Quickclaw and Red could be in a room similar to the last one, not that one exactly, but there was no telling how many more there were. Merdon's rage not only made sense but swelled within his chest. His friends were in danger, he wasn't a priest anymore, no goddess was watching over him, there was no hume law that applied to him, and these humans were his enemy. The wolf that approached from behind jumped up and bit the nearest slaver in the neck. A blood-curdling scream made the other two turn and look at him in surprise, and gave Merdon more than enough time to impale them one after the other. Without armor, these humans didn't stand a chance against a man in full steel and a pack of wolves. Their mouths hung open in shock as they each fell over, limp and lifeless, like life-sized dolls. Thinking about it like that made things easier for Skyeyes, but not Merdon.

Merdon kept himself well aware they were killing humans, his people, to save kobolds. His kobolds, his friends. He let anger take him as they prowled the halls. It was the first time he'd ever felt like this, and it felt good. Acting in tandem with Skyeyes' wolves, which were now going for kills themselves, there wasn't a single human in the building that could withstand them. Every corner was another death trap, a shield blocking strikes while a wolf bit their legs and dragged them down, a wolf lunging and knocking them over to open a path for Merdon. For a brief time within those halls, Merdon became a fearsome avatar of death. Slavers started to beg, one even threw his weapon away and tried to escape, but Merdon refused to show mercy. Steel, both blade and armor, became tinged with red. Precision strikes were made on all of his targets, whether he went around a wolf to land it or found the opening himself. Just the tip of the blade, no more than six inches no matter where he had to stab from, was all it took to end their lives.

The knight had tossed the keys to Skyeyes after the first hallway and left opening the cells to him. It was vengeance Merdon was interested in now, and if Skyeyes could find the girls before he could then it would be all the better. He didn't. Kobolds were freed, and Skyeyes told them to be careful as he undid their shackles and collars, but he didn't see their friends. They had no way of knowing how many more hallways there were, which ones were dead ends, and at more than one point they had to double back. Each time they did, Merdon got angrier. Even with his helmet on, the priest could tell. Merdon's patience was running thin. Eventually, inevitably, they came to a hallway where two men were speaking, terrified, to one another.

“What the hell is happening?” the first one said, unaware that Merdon was around the bend. “I saw a wolf eating one of our guys! Where did a wolf even come from?”

“Wolves?” the second asked in disbelief. “I saw guys with stab wounds, like someone with a knife was running around. I thought we had a runner.”

The first fellow laughed. “Wolves with teeth like knives? Goddess help us,” he whined.

Merdon came around the corner at last and banged his shield, getting their attention and making that dreadful droning sound. “There's no god to help you here,” he growled at them before charging.

They were woefully under-prepared. The first man had a whip that did literally nothing against the steel surrounding Merdon. His friend had a knife, which the knight easily parried, disarming them both. While they fell back and begged, Skyeyes started working on the door they had been standing near. Merdon roared and stabbed the two, even in his anger he used that perfect depth to reach their hearts. At the same time, Sarel and Red stepped out of their confinement, surprised and relieved to see Skyeyes, and then shocked to see Merdon. Blood was dripping from his sword and clung to his armor like a sign of his sins. No matter what the reason was, Merdon had killed every single slaver in the building, every single human except himself. Hesitantly, Skyeyes confirmed that.

“The wolves have checked everywhere. There's … no one left. The kobolds have run away, but it won't be long before someone notices,” he said quietly.

Merdon grunted and at last, cleaned his sword off before putting it away. “We have to go,” he told the two. Sarel didn't argue, she didn't even ask to look for her things. She could smell the blood, and not just what was on Merdon. The further they went through the building, the more carnage they saw.

Slavers were up against walls, their fingers clawing in agony with bites taken out of their throats, legs, and arms. Skyeyes had directed the wolves in perfect symphony, which left the white scaled priest looking paler than usual and distant. Red retched at one point, during which Skyeyes hopped down and helped her up onto his wolf, leaving Merdon free to usher Sarel closer to his side. The blue kobold was stunned at every new body. She saw the strikes to the back, imitating the one she'd given a bandit in the fort. Her verakt was a studious one when it came to battle. Still, she wondered what had happened to him, what had caused this. Until she saw the room anyway.

It was impossible to miss, and the last few kobolds were being helped out of the room, sobbing and limping along with the help of more able kobolds. Red averted her eyes, but Sarel couldn't. She looked, frowned, and seethed. This was what humans did to her kind, and in a moment of clarity, she realized that was what set Merdon off. Seeing those things done to her kind had pushed him over some edge, and it made her heart ache. Merdon was aware, as she had been, the things humans would do to kobolds, and rather than turn away as many did he decided to confront the aggressors. On the one hand, she hated that he knew, his optimism had been part of his charm, but on the other, she was glad he understood now.

Merdon didn't even look, he didn't slow down, he just kept them moving out the door. There was no time for thoughts such as those, not for him. “We have to get to our horses,” he said quietly.

“The wolf is waiting with your pack near the stables,” Skyeyes replied, a claw resting on Red's shoulder in comfort.

The knight grunted a response and they moved that way. His pack was easy to find, and the stable was easy to get into.

“Our horses are not in here,” Sarel said quietly.

“We're not taking our horses,” Merdon replied. “Skyeyes, you take Red on the wolf. Quickclaw and I will ride a horse. That should buy us a day or two.”

Sarel frowned and looked at Merdon. “We are not stopping for the gate guards are we.”

He shook his head. “And I'm not taking my helmet off either. We're going, full speed, down the mountain.” It was risky, especially at night, but there was a problem with his plan.

Quickclaw shook her head. “Hold for a moment, verakt,” she told him. The blue kobold scampered off into the stable and returned with a wet rag. It was used for cleaning horses, but she used it to scrub his armor off. “They already know you, and they know about us, but they may not know about the slavers yet. We have to use this to our advantage.”

“What do you mean?” Red asked nervously, finally speaking after so long. She was glad to be free of the shackles, which Skyeyes had promptly removed upon finding them.

Sarel glanced at her, then focused on Merdon's armor again. “We leave like normal citizens and they won't chase us. Not immediately.” But they'll know exactly who it was once the city investigated.

Merdon sighed, resolute already. “You're right. We'd never escape them if we just bolted from the city. I was impulsive.”

The blue kobold smiled at him, then looked at Skyeyes. “You two should walk, then remount on the wolf once we are beyond the guard's sight. That will give them more time to figure out it was us.”

Skyeyes didn't question her, he simply stepped off with Red and let the wolf vanish. Sarel was the thief. If anyone knew how to get away relatively clean, it was her. They followed her playbook, stealing a common horse in good condition, and then riding it to the gate with Red and Skyeyes walking alongside them. The guards waved them through rather quickly once Merdon threatened another man who questioned the kobolds he kept.

“There was a huge break out an hour ago,” the man said, backing off. “I'm just doing my job.”

“Then bother someone else,” Merdon growled, his helmet off and face angry. “It's already bad enough traveling the mountain at night. The kobolds are mine, not some runaways.”

Sarel pat his armored back once they were out into the darkness, the path lit only by the full moon above them. “That was good, verakt,” she whispered to him.

“We need somewhere to hide,” he replied, looking over at Skyeyes and Red, remounted on the wolf. “The guard will know soon enough, and we don't want to be anywhere near Ardmach when they start looking.”

Red sighed and asked, “How will they know it was you?”

Merdon leaned back in his saddle and shook his head. “The guards take stock of everyone who comes in, and the slavers know what you two look like. They'll compare everyone who came in, including kobolds, kobolds that were captured, and then ones that left.” Which would point them straight to Merdon.

Skyeyes glanced behind them with a terrified expression. “Perhaps we should pick up the pace then?”

“If it were brighter,” Merdon complained.

Red rose to the occasion, extending her claw with a fireball on it and lighting the area.

Quickclaw looked and grinned, “A good canter, perhaps, in this light.”

The knight nodded in agreement and spurred his horse on silently, with Skyeyes doing the same to his wolf, with his mind instead of his legs. Those two leading gave ample light ahead, and the group reached the bottom of the mountain before sunrise. That wasn't the end of their running, however, as the moment they reached flat lands Merdon urged his mount into a run. They needed space and time. Space to make time, time to plan their next move as nothing was going according to plan anymore. As well, they needed time to recover and regroup.

# Side Story: EoE

The captain walked through the bodies with a look of disgust on his face that was evident to everyone around. His helmet had to come off as soon as he walked in. That distinct scent of death was too heavy for him with his nose encased in black steel. Before him was a massacre the likes of which Ardmach had never seen, and for it to be over kobolds made him sick to his stomach. Their attention had been grabbed hours ago, the city sealed, the guards sweeping the streets, but no suspects had been turned up. Many of the escaped kobolds had been recaptured, but that was secondary to finding who had committed the atrocity the captain was looking at.

In the very first room, there were three bodies, two of which had been stabbed in the back. Whoever had killed them hadn't even had the decency to do it to their faces. Someone more versed in the human body would have to determine what exactly happened, but the early reports he'd been given concerned him. His men had told of each man stabbed with precision, or having their throats torn out by beasts. Rarely did a man have both wounds. It spoke of a well planned and executed attack. The kind of attack that a soldier might perform. After seeing the first few bodies he was worried one of the guards had decided to be moral about the lizards.

Things didn't get better as he traveled deeper into the building. Bodies littered the floor, left where they fell, blood cooled and pooled around them. He couldn't help but think of how these men had families. Some of them, certainly, were more objectionable in the eyes of the law, at least two of the men he saw had gotten into knife fights with the populace of Ardmach, but nothing that deserved the fate that had befallen them. Many of them had perfectly clean records, to his knowledge, and being the captain of the guard he had a keen eye for remembering such things. His tour of the building, and the things he felt for these men, had to be put aside.

The captain turned to the soldier that had been following him and told the man, “I need a headcount on the guard.”

“The guard, sir?” the man questioned, worried, as any guard would be at such an accusation.

“These strikes are methodical, trained. It's possible it's one of our men,” the captain admitted out loud. His heart was heavy.

Before the soldier could run off, the sound of heavy boots caught both of their attention. The captain froze, his blood turning to ice, as he saw the dark gray armor walking towards them. It was a heavy plate that everyone in Ardmach knew, but none spoke of outside of whispers. Spikes rose off the sides, curling upwards like horns, in some places, deterring anyone from approaching or daring to touch them. The Eyes of Ethral, Ardmach's imperial investigators. He should have expected with a crime of this magnitude that one of them would be dispatched. With few options left, the captain saluted the approaching investigator and waited hesitantly for the judgment of the Eyes.

“This is sloppy work,” the man said, his voice echoing from under the helm.

Off guard, the captain asked, “Sloppy, sir?”

The Eyes looked and explained, “The men behind you are stabbed while the ones back here were attacked by some kind of hound. If it were you raiding the place, would you be in front of a pack of dogs?” Of course not, it would leave him exposed to needless danger.

“No, sir,” he said immediately. “But what does that have to do-.”

“A rookie would also hide behind an animal,” the investigator added. “This was done by someone outside of the guard, but with a lot of similar training.”

“But who would that be?” The captain stopped saluting, realizing his arm had been stuck there for a time and continued, “I believe it was a rookie, someone wanting to prove themselves with a moral crusade in mind.” Someone that would act sloppy, if only to prove a point, but more likely because they lost their cool.

The Eyes of Ethral disagreed. “No, the precision of these strikes are of a man in his right mind. There's no needless bloodshed, beyond the obvious. The first two men attacked were only knocked on conscious before being slain. Something set the attacker off after he'd tried to spare them.” He. The Eyes had a culprit in mind.

“What would you have us do then, sir?” the captain asked, simply not wanting to offend the second highest authority in the kingdom.

“Have the men check the arrivals. We're looking for a man with short, dark hair and brown eyes.” A very specific culprit.

He had to ask, “Does this man have a name?”

There was a sudden cold silence between them. “If he turns up, I'll inform you for the wanted posters,” The Eyes said to break that silence.

The captain nodded, saluted, and hurried off with his subordinate. They could do both, check their ranks and run down the log of arrivals from the past week, just to be safe. Still, he looked over his shoulder as the investigator knelt and looked at a body. It was no coincidence in his mind that The Eyes of Ethral had a suspect in mind so quickly. There was just no proof as to who or why, yet.

# Aftermath

The grove they had set up camp in was well hidden, a mile from the road, and not well known to the locals. Mostly because Merdon had widened it a fair bit with an ax Sarel pilfered from a town a few miles down the road. They were close enough for supplies, but far enough to be anonymous to the townsfolk. Using the cut trees, Merdon had fashioned a fake door to their copse which looked like a solid tree line, which kept them disguised from all angles and gave them room for their things. Fires had to be kept low, but Red was a master at controlling her flames. For the most part, the group sat in the dark at night, and only ate hot meals during the day. It was all about recovery and planning.

Red seemed especially shaken by the events in Ardmach. She had gone quiet since leaving and spent most of her time with her arms wrapped around herself. In private, Quickclaw had told Merdon the mage had not expected him to come, and the violent manner in which he rescued them was the furthest thing from her mind. Much as Merdon wanted to believe she was just shaken after seeing all the bodies, he simply didn't. Something had happened that Red wasn't sharing, and he didn't feel like pushing her. They could wait until they were all rested, more put together, before moving on. Ardmach was a week of hard travel behind them, which meant it was at least two weeks for a proper search party, with all the men and sweeping they had to do, to catch up.

Skyeyes wasn't much better than Red, however. The white kobold was antsy, slept poorly, and seemed distant from the group. He spent large swaths of time staring at the sky, which one may have taken as prayer, were it not for the sour expression he held while doing so. It occurred to Merdon the priest may be silently cursing the goddess for letting Red and Sarel be captured, but he couldn't say for sure. Whatever the case was, it meant two of their team were still reeling from the capital, and there wasn't much they could do until they decided to open up, or got over their issues privately. Merdon just took simple solace in the fact that Sarel hadn't been affected by things too much.

Quickclaw had seemingly only gotten more attached to the knight after his rampage. While Merdon spent several days in a silent cocoon of his own, he had Sarel hanging off of him to help wind him down. After their escape from the capital, their first night in the, then smaller, grove, Merdon had hugged the blue kobold tightly, and spent the night with her clutched to his chest. She didn't mind that one bit. Rather, her grin indicated she'd liked it a lot. Idle and excited conversation became their prime way to pass time with the other two being as melancholy as they were. For the most part, it was Quickclaw recounting some old adventure, with her verakt responding to keep the story advancing and sometimes adding in a similar experience. Other times, Sarel would recount some past even in the city. Those stories were more subdued, quieter, and rarely mentioned when the other two were around. Even she understood the other two were in an unstable state.

It also fell to the blue kobold to hunt for their dinners. Another warning sign on Merdon's list was how limited Skyeyes and Red were when it came to eating. The white kobold who had destroyed three slabs of ham a few weeks back in a tavern would hardly finish a plate of similarly roasted deer. Perhaps it was that Skyeyes didn't like deer as much as pork, but his lack of enthusiasm over food at all pointed elsewhere. He was depressed for one reason or another, as were most of them. Sarel seemed to be the least affected, which only made him more proud of her. She was a tough girl on many levels, although the knight wondered if her attitude meant she'd been captured before. Dormant rage started to bubble inside of him at the notion, but he was calm now, focused, he could think again and knew there was no use getting so upset at people he'd never seen before. Although it did raise other issues he needed to consider.

Two days into their camping in the grove, Merdon went into town wearing a heavy cloak and leaving behind his gear. He told the kobolds he needed information they couldn't gather for him. Quickclaw had lived up to her nickname with her nightly pilfering of the town, including the ax he had used, but that didn't help the human know what the guards were up to. Thankfully, the town in question was small enough they barely had a local militia. A couple of young men equipped cheap spears wandered around the edge of the village, making it easy for Merdon to approach from a different direction. The knight in disguise made a good showing about heading towards Ardmach and wanting to know what was ahead of him. As soon as he mentioned the capital, the two men looked at each other with a frown.

“You might avoid going that way right now, stranger,” the older of the two said to him. “A crier came through just the other day. There was a massacre in Ardmach.”

Merdon tensed and faked surprise. “A massacre in the capital? You don't suppose it was orcs?” he suggested, hoping to give some false leads.

The men shook their heads in unison, however. “The guard has a pretty good idea who it was. A man came into town accompanied by a pair of uncollared kobolds. I dunno what kinda man wanders around Ardmach with slaves and no chains, but the slavers stole them from him.”

Merdon faked a laugh. “Now I know you're messing with me. What madman would kill slavers over kobolds?”

“I don't know, but that's what's so scary,” the younger one replied, looking around. “They say he killed over a dozen men without raising an alarm, and then he fled the city alongside these kobolds. They have him and his three kobolds coming and going on the same day.”

The other chimed in again. “Some folks are saying it's a ruse. He lets the kobolds get caught, which is why they don't have collars, and then they help him kill the slavers.”

The younger one gaped for a moment and suggested, “Maybe they're controlling him. Damn beasts might be forcing him to do it, that's why they only found record of two kobolds being caught, but three left.”

“Who knows? The point is, any man willing to kill over kobolds has a screw loose. I'd rather die myself than help those monsters.”

Merdon had heard enough. “Sadly, I'm obligated to turn up in Ardmach. Perhaps I'll take a more roundabout way there. If this killer wants to stay ahead of the guard, he'll want to use the highway.”

The pair suggested he stay on the main road, to which Merdon promised to consider before walking off in the direction he had actually come from. Circling the town to walk back the way he came to reach the grove was a pain, but a necessary detour. He had learned what he needed to know, even if it was gnawing at him now. Ardmach's guards knew about him, and it wouldn't be long before they got a name, a description, and came by the guild to demand to know what he was up to. Their contracts were worthless, they wouldn't be able to stop into any more towns or cities. A straight shot to the witch's tower was their best hope now, scavenging what they could along the way, and then fleeing into one of the neighboring nations once she was dealt with and Red had her memories back. Shaky though the plan was, it was the best they had. Or at least the best he could think up as he walked back to the grove where the kobolds waited for him.

Merdon's face was as cold and hard as his armor when he pushed past their wooden barrier, and the kobolds noticed it right away. Once he got his cloak off, the knight sat down and explained what he'd picked up, and what he thought they should do next. Sarel agreed right away, urging the other two that the sooner they moved out the better. Waiting for the guard to catch them resting on their laurels was a surefire way to end up back in the hands of slavers, and Skyeyes' paper wouldn't save him a second time.

“It wouldn't have helped me back in Theris either,” he muttered with a scowl.

Sarel blinked and tilted her head, a rather cute expression for the mood hanging around them. “Theris?” Even Red looked at Skyeyes.

The priest shot a look at the man, and then said, “A group of farmers were planning on taking us in the night and selling us. Merdon heard it all, but instead of telling us about it, he beat the humans up.”

Red looked at the knight with surprise, but Sarel ginned and practically jumped on her verakt. “So the slavers in Ardmach weren't the only ones you've dealt with,” she praised him.

Skyeyes had a different take. “He lied to cover up for his own kind! His own filthy, disgusting kind.” The priest's rage was finally boiling to the surface. “His only concern was that we didn't view him any lower.”

Quickclaw was about to retort when Merdon spoke up instead.

“No,” he said calmly, his words coming out at a meandering pace, but one which conveyed he was thinking about what he was saying. “I was lying to myself more than you three. I didn't want to believe humans could be like them. Those three were just a sad group, hard on their luck, old, I dunno, but they weren't the usual.”

“But they are,” the white kobold replied with a voice like steel. Uncharacteristically, he added, “That's how humans are.”

“Maybe you're right,” Merdon accepted. “But I do know things have to change.” He paused for a moment, looking up at the midday sky. Clear, beautiful, but here they all sat in despair and anger. “I thought this would be a quick journey, that the witch was the biggest offender in the nation. If we could deal with her we'd go back to Bereth, relax, and keep taking jobs.” Clearly, it wouldn't happen anymore, not as he imagined.

Sarel tried to stay optimistic. “Perhaps they will blame someone else.”

Merdon shook his head. “No, they won't... and I don't want them to,” he said, determined.

“What do you mean?” Skyeyes asked, frowning. His anger was forgotten in the strange turn of events.

“This witch called me the kobold whisperer like I've got some special attachment to kobolds,” Merdon began explaining with that same look on his face. A dead serious look. “Well, fine, maybe I do. Maybe it pisses me off to see them treated like slaves, paraded in chains, forced into servitude by ungrateful people, elves, dragonkin. Maybe if she wants a kobold whisperer I'll give her one.”

Sarel looked at him, a grin across her face. “What exactly are you saying, verakt?”

“I'm saying I'm going to change this place. People are afraid of someone that would fight for kobolds? Then I'll give them something to be afraid of. I'll be the kobold whisperer, and people will mutter the name in worry,” he finished darkly, feeling his own rage returning. People would be afraid of him, of the things he could do, the things he could get kobolds to do, and they would be right in their fear.

The blue kobold at his side only grinned at the other two. “Does 'kobold whisperer' not sound like a name for one of our kind?”

Skyeyes and Red looked at each other, then back to Merdon with wide eyes. The man himself appeared quite confused but said nothing to the contrary. He didn't know anything. Sarel, however, was still grinning.

“A human taking on a kobold name?” she pressed, which seemed to make a spark in Merdon's brain. Like he was becoming one of them. That would make people nervous.

“So like Skyeyes or Quickclaw,” he confirmed, to their nods. “All right... Fine. It might help keep people from figuring me out so quickly.” At least for a while. It wouldn't be long and Ardmach would know about Merdon the kobold whisperer anyway. Embracing it early would help him build up a reputation beyond what the guards found in Bereth.

Skyeyes sat and frowned. “You're going to fight your own people?” he asked.

“I'm going to do what's right,” Merdon corrected him. “If I have to fight, then so be it. I will not see Quickclaw in a prison again.” The image of her trapped again was firmly in his mind.

Red spoke next, at long last, and she asked Skyeyes, “What happened to you?”

The white kobold blushed and shook his head. “Nothing. What do you mean?”

“Your wolves, you were in control of them. They attacked the slavers in the … Why?” She asked him directly, without any pretense.

After fumbling for a moment, Skyeyes sighed and told them, “The church, they took my pendant. The proof that I'm a cleric.” He was quiet, and the others looked at him with sorrow. “I believed the followers of the goddess would be different.”

“But they weren't,” Sarel finished for him. “They were as humane as other humes.”

“Why do they treat us like this?” Red asked, looking at Merdon, but the knight had no answers for her. He just shook his head. Which left Red free to look at Skyeyes and ask, “Without a god to follow you felt free to kill?” It seemed a little insane to her.

Skyeyes shook his head. “No, that … that came after I saw what Merdon saw. I thought the same thing what he did.” But not about Sarel. Red picked up on the implication and looked away, embarrassed. Skyeyes had worried about her so much.

“Without the goddess, I am lost,” he said sadly. “But I know I have to help with this quest. Wherever it leads.”

Merdon took the phrase lost as a segue and pulled out a map. “Speaking of where we're going, I think we need to rethink our route.”

Skyeyes looked at the map, then Merdon, and frowned. “Now?”

“Yes,” Merdon said quite sternly. “We can't follow the contracts. The guard will trace me back to Bereth, and the guild, and they'll get a step ahead of us.”

The former priest bit his lip and nodded. “You're right. This is an imminent threat. What do we do?”

“I was thinking about pushing straight to this tower,” Merdon suggested, pointing to the spot on the map that Red had guessed the tower was long ago. “We can avoid the main highway for most of the trip and cut across country. It's rougher terrain, but the less traveled the better.”

Sarel nodded in agreement. “The horse and wolves can help carry us, and the wolves can also sniff out any followers.”

Merdon sighed and pulled the contracts out of his pack. “I hate leaving these people in danger, but we're in trouble ourselves now.”

“Ensuring our safety comes first,” Skyeyes said, glancing at Red. “I think we all understand that.”

Without a word, Merdon passed the papers to Red, who lit them up and turned them into ashes. “It's all we can do to stay alive,” she added, looking at the human. “And thank you for helping us.”

The knight shook his head. “That's what friends are for.”

“Quickclaw does not believe friends commit murder for each other, verakt,” the blue kobold spoke with a chuckle.

“No, but you and I are much more than friends.”

It reddened her face to hear him say it so openly, and she was contending with more emotions inside of her. Her verakt, a human, not only understood the problems in his world but wished to face them. He was becoming much more than she ever thought he would be. Sure, in time she hoped he would understand their struggles, but she had never imagined he would vow to fix them, to fight his own kind, to take on a kobold name. Merdon was giving up his life for her; he had already, in fact. The moment he killed those slavers his path was set, and she knew that. Sarel bottled her feeling, held onto it, and swore she would help him in return. They were bonded by his acts in Ardmach, whether he knew it or not.

With their path established, ties severed, and plans formed, Merdon went to an early rest after sundown. They had a long way to travel and they would have to do it quickly now. Sarel joined him, naturally, but Skyeyes' rest was once more plagued. The white kobold sat up after everyone had laid down and stared at the sky. True to his name, at least, his eyes cast towards the heavens, he pondered his place any more. Without that amulet, without his priesthood, what was he? Merdon could be a murderer and a knight, but priests didn't kill. More to a point, priests could heal, and Skyeyes had discovered he no longer could. It shook his faith even further when he'd tried to help Red's sore muscles and found himself lacking.

Red hadn't said anything, but as she saw him awake in the middle of the night, she realized someone had to. “You are fine, Skyeyes,” she whispered to him, her voice startling him for a moment. “If your goddess was as good as you believed, she is not upset with the deaths of those in Ardmach. They were vile people.”

“But I'm not,” Skyeyes said, making Red scrunch her face in confusion. “The people at the cathedral, they treated me like a monster. Like I was … exactly what I acted like later.”

“Because they too are vile,” Red told him, her mind looking hard for the words he needed to hear. The former priest wasn't interested in platitudes though.

“Then everything I was told was a lie,” he replied quietly. “Those who worship the goddess Ethral are no better than any other hume.” It was the first time in a long time he'd said that, and he said it with such anger and fervor it scared Red for a moment.

Red shook her head and scooted closer to him. “Not all humans are bad, you know better than most.”

“After what they did to you?” he asked her, still angry. “Enslaving us, kicking me out of the cathedral, invading the slums. They're all...” He didn't want to say it, he had to stop himself.

“You know they aren't,” Red admonished him, the words coming easier now that it was something she was convinced of. “Look at Merdon, at what he's done for us. If there's one human that will fight for us then there must be others. Maybe they won't go so far, but there are more. They are not all bad.”

“It feels like it.”

Red nodded in agreement. “Just because we feel it, doesn't mean it's true,” she pointed out. “The only thing we can do is move forward, and take this one step at a time.”

After thinking about that for a while, Skyeyes looked at Red. “I am sorry for what happened to you.”

“I only hope I forget it one day,” she replied softly.

“We should rest,” Skyeyes said back, not having the words to help her with what happened. Red silently agreed and laid back down, a little closer to the white kobold this time. His dreams were still plagued, his mind full of thoughts about the church and those followers, but he rested until dawn at least. It was a single, but important, step towards recovery.

# Side Story: The Eyes See All

Bereth, though large, was not quite the size of a city that warranted many important people. There were no dragonkin, there were few royal troops, and there certainly weren't any members of the Eyes of Ethral. So, when one came riding into town on the back of a battle-ready stallion, steel armor glinting in the morning sun, the city guards took notice right away. The Eyes' needs were taken care of, a supply list procured, and the most important thing was being given directions to the local Returner's guild office. It wasn't in the guard's job description to question the needs of an Eyes, only to follow their directions to the letter.

Everyone he passed watched with awe and not a small part of fear. The Eyes of Ethral weren't dispatched lightly, and to see one so far from the capital was rare. Even the children of Bereth stopped and watched, their games coming to a halt at the sight of the spiked steel. It was like a thundercloud rolled by overhead, causing everyone to stop and stare at it, wondering if it was about to rain on top of them, and even once it passed there was always the threat it could return. As the weather was unpredictable, so too were the Eyes. They went wherever they were needed and they never left without what they came to town for. Not a single person in Avant was so clean as to not flinch when faced with them, and every person they ignored sighed with deep relief.

The Eyes opened the door and stepped into the office of the guild, the heavy door swinging closed behind him. That alone would be the talk of the town for the next week. He slowly looked about before locking on Cath and stepping forward. Cath felt a chill down her spine, the same chill that any other person in Avant felt when being faced with an Eyes of Ethral, but she tried to remain calm. Rather than crack, she fell into her job as the receptionist of the Guild.

“May I help you?” she asked with her usual upbeat tone. The one reserved for employers rather than employees.

The Eyes stopped and spoke at last. “Yes. I'm looking for a man called Merdon.” He was on a mission.

Cath frowned. “He certainly works with us,” she said carefully. “H's not in Bereth at the moment, however. He left a while back to do some jobs.”

“Where?” the Eyes asked simply. His voice sounded cold and metallic under that heavy helm.

“Let me find the requests,” she said honestly, turning to a stack of papers and digging through them. She found the ones Merdon had taken and a few others. They were special cases, ones she had signed, not Merdon. Cath set them on the counter and explained, “He wanted jobs that didn't require stopping back in here. So for those situations, we sign the paperwork and he takes the other copies with him as proof.”

The Eyes carefully leafed through the pages provided and hummed. It was a droning noise that set Cath on edge. “These don't make sense,” he said after a time, pulling a couple of pages out. “The others form a line on the map from one end to the other, but these are away from those.”

He demonstrated his side by pointing to a map on the wall behind Cath. His finger trailed up, but then suddenly went to the sides to follow the other two contracts he'd pulled out. Cath had added four.

“He left from the South gate,” she lied smoothly, tracing another line on the map with her finger, one that trailed upwards to one of those two. It implied Merdon crossed the nation horizontally first, then came back vertically. The Eyes frowned under his helmet and looked again at the pages in his hands.

“That is possible,” he said quietly. “But to what end? Why?”

Cath decided to speak up. “He was traveling with some kobolds. I think they were heading to the border.” Escorting slaves is what it sounded like.

The Eyes looked at her and pulled a poster from a bag on his side. It was Merdon, with a hefty sum, dead or alive. Cath paled at the image while the Eyes explained, “Merdon killed two dozen men holding legal kobold slaves. He's wanted on those counts of murder as well as theft.”

“I'm shocked,” she said, again very honestly. “Then yes, perhaps he is going to the orcish border.” They would certainly welcome a killer of humans, even if they were a human themselves.

“And how long until he reaches that?”

Cath nodded at the paperwork. “You can see the dates on there where he's expected to arrive.” By those numbers, the Eyes could get ahead of him, if he pushed his horse and went in a straight line towards the border. Merdon was taking a roundabout path through smaller villages.

“You will be remembered,” the Eyes said, stuffing the papers into his bag. “And know, the Eyes of Ethral see all things, miss Catherine Cradish.”

Cath bit her lip and flinched, just a flicker of annoyance. “If you're in Ardmach, lord Eyes, do bid my father hello,” she managed to reply.

“Of course. The king appreciates the support of his wealthy subjects,” the Eyes said back, a smile under his helmet. He turned and left the guild, leaving Cath alone.

“What the hell are you doing?” she muttered to herself, sitting down and exhaling deeply, trying to push all the stress out of her body. She had lied to an Eyes of Ethral. There was always a punishment for that.

# Bandit Caravan

“We have to risk it,” Sarel insisted. “You still have a sword, but Quickclaw is defenseless, and both she and Red are in sacks.”

Merdon groaned and looked at the village. “We can't,” he insisted. “It's been two weeks. They definitely have your description out there, and mine. I can't go near anywhere with people. This is even too close.”

The blue kobold rolled her eyes. “What do you suggest, verakt? That Quickclaw fights the witch with her hands?”

“I think you could.”

“That is beside the point,” she replied, blushing and punching his back playfully. “Quickclaw left all of her things in Ardmach. She needs to replace them.”

Their target in question appeared to be a recently built habitat, given the more temporary looking shelters, tents mostly, and the lack of any fences yet. It would be easy for the thief to slip in at night and take what she needed. Although, Merdon questioned this place quite heavily. Many fit men were walking around, most of them armed, which made sense if one was starting a village, but none of them seemed to be doing any work. Not to mention, there were too many of them. He wanted to err on the side of caution with this. However, such a course of action meant convincing Sarel to not rush in and ransack the place.

“How about we watch them?” he asked her. “Scout it out first. If it seems safe around midnight, you can go.”

“Deal,” the blue kobold said with a grin, jumping off their horse and going to tell the other two kobolds the plan.

Merdon dismounted as well, sighing, and got all of their things outside of eyesight. Staying away from other people was good, he just hoped the folks on the other side of the hill would be more preoccupied with setting up their large camp than investigating the hillside. They were a long way off the beaten paths, not to mention the highways. If they were discovered, maybe luck would favor them and the people wouldn't have heard about the problems in the capital or at least not have his description on them. Of course, they could always just decide to kill him anyway; mistaking someone for a bandit wasn't uncommon.

By nightfall, Merdon was starting to think being confused for a bandit wouldn't be an issue. He and Sarel were flat upon the hill, watching the people entering the camp below, and they were coming in droves. Wagons pulled in with more people. Goods were tossed around carelessly, and a large bonfire was lit in the middle of the camp. These weren't settlers, they were campers. More than those red flags, Merdon had an idea of just what they'd stumbled into. It took a few key figures for him to guess, shifty people, but what eventually settled it was the secondary ring which formed outside of the camp.

Around sundown, a group of men and a few women stepped out and started a second fire. They circled it and two people would step into the ring. A test of strength wasn't uncommon among things like warbands or large parties, but the first death of the evening being met with a roar of approval cemented this wasn't an ordinary group. This was the infamous gathering of outlaws that happened every so often, the circus of thieves some called it. One night, in any given location, many bandits, mercenaries, and thieves, any kind of outlaw really, gathered. Stolen goods were sold, mercenaries fought and tested their mettle. Ardmach's military only ever knew because of the bodies that would turn up later. Like the ones being tossed out of the makeshift arena Merdon was looking at.

“Sarel does not think we need to worry about them calling the guard,” the kobold said with a frown. “Although, she also wonders if we should go down at all.”

Merdon shook his head. “I'm not sure myself.” He knew they were running low on some supplies, dinners consisted mostly of game, and certain things being lost in their travels didn't help any either. “It might be our only chance to get supplies until we cross a border though,” he added.

Sarel nodded. “Not that we have much coin for such things either.” She was worried about stealing from the place too. Even kobolds knew to stay away from the big bandit camp. If the average citizen of Avant didn't care about kobold rights, what would their criminals think?

The knight was thinking along other lines. “We'll go,” he said after a period of silence. He stood up and turned to get their things. “But I'm going in my armor.” He had an idea to get them the coin they needed.

Sarel nodded and followed him back to their stuff. She told Skyeyes and Red what the plan was, what they'd seen, and while they were both hesitant about the whole thing, they got ready to come along as well. With Merdon suited up they all felt a little better, but their approach got them a great deal of unwelcome attention. All eyes were on the man in steel armor with the kobolds around him, and that attention only got bigger when he ignored the main camp and went over to the fighting pit. His blue mate hissed a warning at him, but Merdon didn't listen. He rode right over and dismounted, taking his helmet off to look the gathered mercenaries in the eye.

In the middle of the ring was a nice little fight. A man taller than Merdon, and taller than his opponent, had been winning duels all night long, and each fight he won got him more coin. Even Ardmach wasn't so barbarian a place as to have an arena, but that didn't stop people like this. Much how Merdon's approach didn't stop the men in the circle from fighting. Merdon watched as the night's champion disarmed his opponent, and then ran the man through with his longsword, loosing a warcry as he lifted the soon to be dead opponent up and then kicking him off the blade. There were no rules here, no terms of engagement, anything you had was at your disposal, and who lived was up to the winner.

Merdon walked up to the circle, many of the men making up the perimeter glared at him until he put his hands on their shoulders and shoved them aside. He walked into the center and held up his purse. It was light, everyone could see that, but the point was made. The newcomer wanted in. Everyone laughed since no one had seen him before. As much of a joke as they found it, Merdon took it seriously. His purse was tossed into a pile near the fire, and he looked at the tall champion.

“Your swordplay is sloppy,” he said calmly, putting his helmet back on. “I've seen children who know how to kill better.”

The man laughed and took a stance. “You'll have to try better than that to rattle me, stranger.”

Merdon had just the reply. “Any good fighter knows ramming your sword through someone's body is just showing off. In a real fight, it gets you killed.” Targeting a gladiator's showmanship was a good way to make enemies, and it worked.

The large man frowned, scoffed, and swung first. Merdon parried him, easily, and countered. He wasn't like a bandit though, the man was a mercenary and his skills reflected that. A parry of his own met Merdon's counter and the man withdrew, making space and approaching in another way. Sadly, Merdon wasn't familiar with the man's fighting style, but he didn't need to be to succeed. Sarel and the others watched as their human companion deflected the follow-up strike with his shield, not activating it but using it properly, and then going for a succession of quick stabs of his own.

Merdon's stabs were fast, but not far-reaching, which the large man taunted him over. “You'll never reach me with those!” To demonstrate, the man-made several longer reaching pokes of his own. Their weapons were equal in length, but his arm went out further, his reach was greater, but he overextended.

Merdon saw his arm lock on one stab, to which the knight reacted perfectly. His shield went up while his body moved to the side. The top of the shield caught the man's elbow with a hard and sickening crack, his arm bending the wrong way from the break. He yelled and dropped his sword, but it was over. With a shorter jab, Merdon's blade found it's way into the man's chest, a mere four inches to the heart, and his opponent stopped dead. All of the ring's eyes were on his technique, the depth, the way Merdon retracted and cleaned his weapon off. Red cupped her mouth in shock, and even Sarel seemed taken aback.

Whispers went up around the crowd, stories had already reached many ears about the killing in Ardmach. The wounds were all precise and fatal. In the chest or the back, never all the way through, always a few inches, no more than necessary. It was a simple technique, a thrust which kept the arm loose, prevented the elbow and shoulder from locking to prevent opponents from getting a hold of you, unlike the man that was now dying on the field. What made it special in this case was the stories of the killings, and the three kobolds the man had approached with.

“Are you...?” one of the members of the crowd started, but stopped himself, not wanting to get a few inches of steel in his chest either.

Merdon obliged the question, however. “Call me the kobold whisperer,” he said from under his helm. “If you've got a problem with me, or my kobolds, step out now.” No one moved. Not even when Merdon walked over to collect his jackpot.

One man did speak up though. An older fellow in a coat of patchwork animal hide shouted, “Don't let this little interloper fool you. Every merc worth his salt knows not to let your blade get stuck in the body.” Merdon's short stabs were just the refined way of making sure his blade didn't get caught on any bones or sinew. It was hardly unique, but his technique wasn't the only thing about him that raised red flags.

The knight turned and saw Sarel on the other side of the ring of fighters. He made a small motion directed at her but disguised as dismissal for the crowd. “Don't believe me?” he shouted at them, his voice echoing in the mostly silent night. All of his plan hinged on this, and he hoped Sarel would follow through. “Come here,” he said, directed at her this time, with his arm sticking out to the side.

Quickclaw looked at him questioningly for a moment and then smirked. She leaped up and grabbed the shoulder of the nearest merc. That man shouted while she catapulted herself towards Merdon's outstretched arm, which she caught with her tail. A quick spin and Sarel landed on his forearm, crouched down and eyeing the crowd, who were now talking to themselves much louder than before. Of anything he could have done, calling an uncollared kobold to his side with two words as good as cemented his story. This was the man who had killed an entire building of slavers and freed hundreds of kobolds. The self-proclaimed kobold whisperer.

The ring of mercenaries parted as Merdon and Sarel walked out towards their mount with a fat sack of coin at their side. Sarel was perilously sat on Merdon's shoulder, but at such a range she could easily whisper to him without anyone else overhearing. Mostly she complimented his spur of the moment ingenuity to convince the crowd. They easily remounted and set out into the main area of the camp where all the criminals were selling their stolen goods. It was markedly different from outside, lit with torches, scraggly men and women advertising their goods; it felt like a bootleg version of Bereth's marketplace. So, in some odd way, it felt comfortable.

Their first stop was obvious, fresh clothes for Red and Sarel, which the blue kobold haggled for with all of her might. Dressed in a white shirt with some shortened pants and new black leather armor over it, Sarel followed at Merdon's side with a frown. Red was wearing plain clothes herself since there hadn't been anything particularly fireproof at the cart they visited. Merdon was more concerned with Quickclaw's expression though and his curiosity led him to ask her what was wrong.

“Quickclaw does not know if she won that exchange,” the kobold said. “She is certain of the deal we were given, but if the thief stole these then do they not win unless we steal them from the thief?” In other words, if haggling were a game to get the most coin, selling anything stolen was an automatic win.

Merdon shrugged. “Maybe instead of judging based on how much money you gave up, judge by how much you saved.”

Sarel mumbled about her possible loss as they walked around, keeping their valuables close. The kobold girl had a strange way of thinking, but maybe that was how a lot of thieves thought. Merdon didn't know too many since most of them didn't like to work on returning stolen objects the way he did. Or, at least, the way he had. It hadn't quite hit Merdon yet that his profession was out the window. Skyeyes was in a similar position, and it was a struggle Sarel and Red couldn't fathom since they didn't have technical professions. Looking around just made it sink in even more. He was out of his league, beyond his depths, standing with a group of kobolds in the middle of a camp of lawbreakers, people he used to hunt down, selling the things he used to retrieve for honest folk. Adjusting his way of thinking to something like Sarel's might be the only way he could stay sane, and it made him glad to have her there next to him. Together they could work something out.

Strangely, as he'd been quiet since their fleeing Ardmach, it was Skyeyes who spoke next as they walked along. Not about the caravan of bandits they were wandering through, not a complaint about all the debauchery that was surely happening behind the scenes or the lack of morality they were displaying by taking part in the purchasing of stolen goods, but about Merdon himself.

“Where did you learn to fight?” he asked the human seriously. “The way you have tackled our enemies and your methodical planning does not seem to be the work of a mundane adventurer.”

The knight curled his lip and thought on it. He decided, given everything they'd been through, perhaps it was time to open up, just a little. “My father taught me,” Merdon replied in a hushed tone. “He was a knight under the king himself.” The revelation got a mixed reaction of surprise and disgust.

“A knight of the king?” Skyeyes asked in wonder. “That certainly explains your skill over seasoned mercenaries.”

Merdon nodded. “He worked as a knight for most of his life, and he met my mother when they were both pursuing the same brigand.”

Sarel caught gist and smirked. “Your mother was an adventurer then, like you.” Of course, Merdon nodded again, because she had been.

“She was a good one too, leader of her own band of sell-swords. Their target killed a few of her companions, which forced her to team up with my dad. I'm told it didn't turn romantic until after they fought side by side.” Merdon paused as a group of bandits walked by, muttering and looking at him. He was getting antsy about staying the caravan.

Skyeyes noticed them as well and whispered, “We can always leave. Quickclaw is a good hunter.” The human shook his head and moved them along. While food was their goal now, he knew a diet of mostly meat would hamper him sooner or later.

“Something I learned from both of my parents,” he replied with a grin. “A balanced diet.”

Quickclaw shook her head and implored him, “Ignore the humes, verakt. What else were your parents like?”

It was then he realized Sarel out of all his companions would be interested in them. He cleared his throat and went looking for the words. Only the right ones would do for this. “My father was strict,” he decided. “A military background will do that. He hammered drills and training into us like no tomorrow.”

“Us?” Red caught the implication expertly. “You have a brother?” she guessed.

Merdon reddened and nodded. “Yeah, we haven't talked in a long while,” he informed them. Sad news, but he delivered it neutrally. “He decided to join the military, following in my father's wake. I became an adventurer.” Like their mother, obviously. Both children following one of the parents.

“That is very sweet,” Sarel half teased. “So, we can assume you both learned how to fight from your parents?”

“Yeah, but he was always a little better at it,” Merdon admitted. “I picked up the basics and then wanted to learn more about... well, everything. He joined the military, polished his skills. I'm decent in a short fight, I learned how to end them quickly.” He mastered the right way of stabbing, where, how hard, how fast, and had figured the rest out later.

Skyeyes rubbed his chin. “That explains your progress through the … prison,” he stumbled just for a moment. “You were quite methodical for an adventurer.”

Merdon sighed and commented, “Another thing my father imparted. A piece of wisdom I lost in the heat of the moment. Specifically to never get lost in the heat of the moment, to always have a plan, remain calm and think through my actions.”

“Didn't you?” Sarel asked him seriously. “You weighed the choices before you and you picked one.” He chose to kill, to turn his back on humans.

“In a sense, yes,” Merdon admitted. “But, it wasn't a decision fueled by calm thinking. It was made in anger, hate, emotion.”

Quickclaw sat a claw on his arm and told him bluntly, “Quickclaw would much prefer a human who thinks with his heart and head than only one or the other.” It was clear to her that was how he came to the conclusion he had.

Merdon gave her a smile, then looked at Red and Skyeyes. “We should hurry this along. I don't want any of these guys following us out of the caravan and trying to ambush us over some silver.”

The two nodded in agreement, but Red was pensive about the whole thing. Merdon, Sarel, Skyeyes, they knew their parents, their history, their heritage. She didn't. Out of all of them, Red was missing the most. Ever since her capture, however, she had been wondering if that wasn't for the best. As the group made their way out of the caravan with their packs once more loaded with supplies and their mounts turned directly towards the witch's tower, the red kobold wondered if what they were doing was going to be any help at all. Perhaps to Merdon, but would the kobolds they freed enjoy that freedom, or would they simply join the masses in Ardmach who waited with bated breath for their capture? Would they simply change one fear for another? Above all, she wondered if her own memories would simply give her more fear, more torture. It was too late to back out now. That she knew most of all, but the knowledge did not keep her from fearing the end of their journey.

# Arrival

Their lives on the road had quickly slid into distinct roles to make everything a little smoother. Hunting was now a part of their daily lives, with Sarel and Skyeyes going out to catch whatever they could find. Sometimes it was a deer or other large herbivore that would keep them eating for days. Other times it was nothing more than a rabbit they had to portion out for a single meal. It was about conserving their supplies as they neared the end of their quest. Vegetables and fruit were much harder to come by now that they were avoiding settlements, and there were only so many things which were ripe at that time of year, making stealing some from farmers less likely.

Merdon and Red had become more focused on shelter and planning. Not just meals and places to hide, but on the trip. The red kobold knew where the witch's tower was, in a general sense. She could point to the rough area it sat in on a map, and with Merdon's knowledge of the countryside, they were able to plan a route. Beyond the destination, Red knew of the traps which would await them in the tower, and so many days of travel were filled by her telling them the strange things they would find therein.

One floor, for example, contained an entire plane of existence within it. The only way to escape was to find the door that led out, either the way you came in or forward. Many kobolds would get lost there and return starving and dehydrated, unable to find the other door and forced to summon the witch to rescue them. It was that door, that room, that separated them from their final task. Only by finding the exit to the summoned plane of reality could they reach the witch's room at the top of the tower. There were other traps but none as daunting, to Merdon at least. He could only imagine the control over that place the witch might have. They could enter and find themselves caught in a magic blizzard, freezing to death soon after, or in scorching desert heat.

It gave Merdon a lot to think over while they traveled. They weren't exactly prepared to fight a witch, as much bravado as he'd displayed when leaving Bereth many weeks ago. Nothing they had was resistant to magic. At best, his shield could block some things, but not much in the grand scheme. All it would take is a few spells to destroy it, or perhaps a spell that would be best avoided than blocked being called straight to him. His only hope in that regard was that the witch wanted to examine him rather than kill him. Even he admitted it was a dim hope. There was no backing down now though, not when they were so close to the end.

The others contemplated their situations as well. Sarel wondered what was left for them in Avant. Now that Merdon was a wanted man they would never have peace in the nation, even assuming this fight went well. They could run, but the nations who would take a wanted killer, even if he was a killer of slavers, were few. Their best bet was the orcs. How Merdon felt about them had yet to be seen but it was a safe bet he didn't feel very good about them. Avant had fought against the orcs for a long time and just because the knight accepted kobolds didn't mean he would so willingly live among his nation's most hated enemies. Then again, the enemy of their enemy was a good place to be.

Skyeyes had yet to reveal the extent of his crisis to the others. Red knew of it but not of how much it had affected him. He felt disconnected from the holy powers he once had, though he'd only tried to use them once since Ardmach. A priest gathered their powers from their faith, and his was shaken to the core. Another worry sat into his bones like the chill from an autumn rain as he considered his uselessness. What use would he be to them without his powers? Sure, he could summon a pack of wolves, but that was just because of the ring Sarel had given him. It wasn't his own power, and it was not nearly as useful to the group as his healing had been. The brave facade he put up as they traveled was sure to crack sooner or later, but all he could hope for was no one to get seriously injured before they arrived, or during the battle. If he were placed on the spot to heal there was no guarantee he could help, and if it were a life or death situation...

Red began to notice things the closer they got to the tower. Landmarks, villages in the distance, paths to take that avoided them. It gave Merdon a shock, but it was evidence of how soon they would arrive at their destination. The whole group had their worries, and it made their last few days of travel very terse. Days went by with few words spoken, except for Red guiding their way. Nights were short and watch was easy to keep with three kobolds. Nothing important happened as they moved through the uninhabited countryside and into the forest that hid their destination. A bare peek could be seen when one entered the woods, just a hint of what laid within, nothing more. To any regular travelers, the woods would be a place to avoid and Red informed them of many tricks within they would have to navigate which were designed to keep folks out.

Their first trap came when the group found themselves wandering back outside into the fields near the forest. They all came to a stop and frowned. Red recognized where they had come back out. It was the same as the entrance they had used. As if the forest simply spat them back out the way they came. Skyeyes' wolves hadn't noticed anything strange, and Sarel was the most confused of them all. She had marked their path, scraped trees, and she hadn't seen any of those marks when they came back out of the trees.

“Quickclaw marked the trees,” she insisted, looking at the first one she marked. “There is no way we turned around.”

Red folded her arms and turned back to the forest. “Once again. I will lead this time,” she volunteered. The mage felt somewhat embarrassed. This particular trap had slipped her mind, and it was only the first one.

They walked back in, following their own footsteps through the brush and vegetation of the forest floor. At a certain point though, Red stopped and then turned. Skyeyes looked around, making a quick calculation, and hurried to catch up to her. This was the wrong way, and he had to let her know. Silly as it seemed, they had gone the right way before. At least, he thought so, until she stopped again and looked around.

“We should have turned the other way,” he said, finally. “The tower is further away here than-.”

“No,” Red cut him off, slowly turning her head. “The forest is trapped. Spacial magic that twists travelers around. How many times would you attempt to pass through a forest only to be kicked out before you decided to quit?” The white kobold frowned at the notion.

Merdon didn't look pleased either as he asked, “So, what do we do?”

“Follow me,” Red insisted. “I didn't have to worry about this trap when I was escaping. It helped me, actually.” Now it was a problem, however. Red was reading subtle clues in the environment, as well as places where she felt magic gathering. Anywhere they could slip past the witch's net was the way forward.

It made for very slow travel through the forest, and a few times it made them double back, like moving through an invisible labyrinth. By noon, Merdon didn't feel any closer to their goal, but Red assured them they were closer than it appeared. Just before evening, when Merdon was about to suggest they camp for the night, as unappealing as it was to sleep in the witch's forest, they pushed into a glade with their objective sitting right in the middle.

The white tower stood as tall as any of the nearby trees, and a little more. It had obviously been built with the forest in mind as the trees kept it mostly obscured in the middle of the forest as it was, just barely did it push above the canopy, perhaps even just a single floor. Windows dotted certain places, although it was impossible to see inside them. Through manufacturing or magic, it didn't make a difference as the end result still kept them from gleaning any information about the interior without entering. Merdon suspected their intrusion wouldn't go unnoticed either, assuming they hadn't been seen already. This tower was their objective. Against all odds, they had reached it. Weeks of travel, of being wanted, scraping by on what they could forage and hunt, sleeping tensely at night expecting an imperial ambush at any time. All of that stress was paying off. Now came the hard part.

Merdon stepped forward first, and as he did an image appeared before them. A woman with long red hair was there. She was dressed in a black dress that hid her form well with a hat that was almost cliche for a witch. Her eyes slowly panned over them and, at last, stopped on Red. This was the witch, projecting herself from the top of the tower, and her expression didn't look pleased at all. For the first time in years, she had intruders to deal with, all because of an escaped kobold.

“Oh dear,” she said with a sigh, tsking as she shook her head. “And what foolish knight have you found, lost one?”

Merdon set his shoulders and looked her illusion in the face. “I'm the kobold whisperer,” he said in a remarkably defiant tone.

Those words changed her expression though. The witch lit up and grinned. “Well now,” she purred. “I wasn't expecting you to walk right up to my doorstep. And such a long journey from Bereth.”

“I came as quick as I could,” he replied. “After I heard about all the kobolds you've got enslaved here, how could I stop myself from coming to set them free?”

“They're as free as they need to be,” she snapped. “Much better than out there with humans like you.”

Sarel chimed in at the witch's comment. “You look pretty human to Quickclaw.”

“But I'm not like them,” she retorted. “They clean and cook, but don't you do things like that at your own house? They live here, safe from the cruelty out there.”

Skyeyes huffed. “Then why not let them choose to live here? If it's so good, why would they choose otherwise?”

The witch shook her head. “Because they don't know how cruel it can be. Most of them anyways. If they did remember, they would absolutely choose to be here. I simply make it easier for them.”

“That's no different,” Merdon told her plainly. “You enslave them. You may treat them nicely, but they're still enslaved. They have no freedom, no wills, not even memories, and if you think we're going to let you get away with it...” He paused and took a breath. “Then you might just check in on Ardmach and find out how well that went over with the slavers there.”

Whatever retort the witch had failed to come out. She scrutinized the knight for a moment and then vanished, her illusion wavering like ripples on a sheet in the breeze. Merdon looked back at Red, who simply nodded at him. They'd bought themselves a moment, but once they were inside they could probably expect a lot more of her.

Merdon put his helmet on and stepped forward again, this time the kobolds followed suit. They approached the tower together and entered one after another. It was well lit and kobolds were walking about listlessly. Each was dressed similarly to Red when they first met, very poorly, but at least they were dressed. The collars on their necks stood out most of all, but for the moment Merdon ignored them, and they ignored the party. He looked to Red for directions, and the kobold mage pointed them to the end of the hallway.

“This won't be easy,” she warned them one last time.

“Was it ever?” Merdon asked rhetorically as he walked forward.

“Once,” Sarel commented. “Although it got much worse after.” She was following him as well, eyeing the walls which were quite obviously as white as the outside of the tower.

Skyeyes, trailing behind, asked, “When was it easy?”

“Before the first arrow,” Sarel replied. “You helped us with the second.”

“Arrow?” Red asked, following the slowest and suddenly hoping the conversation could help her forget where they were.

Sarel looked at Merdon, who seemed more intent on their surroundings than on telling a story, before retelling their first couple of adventures together. Merdon tuned it out, for the most part, as he examined the area while moving in the direction Red pointed them. There were a lot of rooms with beds in them, some occupied, others empty, and it reminded him of what they were going to do before coming in here. It was too late now though. His stifled yawn caught the Red kobold's attention, however, and she chimed, “We could probably find a place to rest for a few hours down here.”

Merdon looked at her with concern, though his helmet hid his emotions. “Wouldn't the witch just use that as an opportunity to attack?”

Red shook her head, although she was uncertain. “I doubt it. She wants to take your power for her own.” The power he didn't have. “I don't think she'll actually try to kill any of us, just capture us. In that regard, a simple watch should be effective.”

“Unless she tries more magic trickery,” Sarel pointed out. She looked at Merdon and voiced, “Quickclaw does not like this, but we have been traveling all day.”

Skyeyes nodded. “Hindsight being what it is, we should have camped outside the forest. But even then, given the tower's size, we could be climbing for more than one day.”

Merdon frowned and looked around one more time. Just ambivalent kobolds wandering around, cooking, cleaning, sleeping. “Find us a spot, Red,” he asked at last. “We'll need our strength.”

The red kobold nodded and wandered into a couple of rooms before waving them over. It was largely empty, almost like they were getting ready to make more beds. Like the witch was expecting to get more slaves. Merdon made a noise of disapproval, but he found a corner with some sheets and took some of his armor off. His breastplate he kept on. At the very least it helped him feel a little better about sleeping inside enemy lines.

Sarel volunteered first watch and made herself comfortable in a corner while Red and Skyeyes took out their bedrolls and made do in the middle of the room. It was okay, all things considered, but Merdon couldn't help but feel they were being watched.

They were, of course, being watched. The red-haired witch was eyeing them through magic and pondering her next move. She needed to know several things before attacking the party next. What the knight had said about Ardmach intrigued her, but she also wanted to know how the red kobold escaped her before, as well as what the extent of the human's powers were. To that end, she decided to leave them be for the moment. Her voyeuristic magic ended and she turned to another method of collecting information from far away to learn what had happened in the capital of Avant. Something more direct as she teleported a letter to an informant. One of her questions would be answered by morning, and the rest she could deal with afterward.

# Tower of Tricks

Merdon woke up early the next morning and put his armor on as quickly as humanly possible. While his surroundings left him wanting a bath, he doubted the witch was friendly enough to let him do so. They had been left alone, that much was obvious as the room was undisturbed save for where they had laid. As to why they hadn't been disturbed, only the crazy lady of the tower knew. What was important to Merdon now was for them to get moving. Of course, it was only now that they had slept, with his brain working without the clog of sleep, he realized they could easily be trapped in the room, or perhaps find they'd been put into an ages-long sleep, or any kind of curse really. Their opponent was magically gifted in ways the knight couldn't fathom thanks to his limited knowledge. It was the best he could do to guess at what she was capable of, expect the worst, and hope she wasn't as clever as he was when it came to how wrong things could go for the group.

The kobolds around him stirred at the sound of his clanking metal and before long they were all ready to go. Packs were slung on backs, weapons at the ready, eyes peeled. They seemed more well-rested than Merdon, thanks to the low sleep requirements of their smaller bodies. But, none of them were prepared for the witch's illusion to reappear, and they were even less prepared for her to look so emotional. Red took a hesitant step back at her appearance. Something inside the kobold made her feel that expression was one to be avoided. Skyeyes, unsure of what Red's reaction meant, did the only thing he could think to at the moment. He put an arm around Red and carefully eyed the witch. It was far from menacing, but her gaze wasn't on the kobolds for once. She was looking at Merdon, and her face seemed to be conflicted about what exactly she wanted to convey. Anger, confusion, and some kind of distress were all evident simultaneously, like a child whose toy turned out to be something unexpected.

“You killed how many?” she practically shrieked at Merdon. Clearly, she had found out about what he did in Ardmach.

“I lost count,” the knight replied confidently. His helmet was on again. He wanted to keep her on her toes, unsuspecting of what he was like beyond rumors and speculation. The less she knew, the less likely she was to act against him in fear it would be the wrong move. It was a two-man cold war.

“They're looking for you, you know,” the witch said flat out. “Even if you deal with me you'll never be able to live in this nation.”

Merdon shrugged. “So I move,” he responded, acting casual. The kobolds behind him looked a little more stunned at that response though.

Their reactions weren't unnoticed either. “Your kobolds think otherwise. You can't fool me, you can't hide from me, not in this tower,” she warned him. “I'm everywhere. I'll figure out your powers, and I'll take them for myself.”

The knight shook his head. “You'd have to come face me without your illusions to do that.” To make a point, he drew his sword and held it in front of him. “And if you did, you wouldn't survive.”

She only laughed. “You think that's what I would have to do? You're sorely mistaken, foolish knight. All I need is the right moment. So come on,” the witch taunted as her illusion slowly faded out.

Sarel shivered and looked at Merdon. “We don't have much of a choice now do we, verakt?” Merdon shook his head without looking at her. “Then,” the blue kobold said, steeling her nerves. “Red, lead the way.”

The former slave nodded and pulled away from Skyeyes' grip. She led them back out the door and looked to the end of the hall where a set of stairs sat out in the open. However, she turned and said, “We could probably get something to eat from the kitchen. The kobolds won't stop us. They're too … distracted.”

“Their minds are barely their own,” Skyeyes said without any sugar. “The loss of their names has rendered them as animate as golems.”

The red kobold frowned and nodded. “It's a haze over the mind, and the witch's voice is the only thing you can hear clearly.”

Merdon made a face and shook his head. “No, I don't feel like taking advantage of them like that,” he said quietly before turning towards the stairs. “We have plenty of rations and this tower isn't so tall we'll be in here for more than a day or two.” At most, he figured. The worst floor would clearly be the final one before the witch. If they got that far without her coming down to meet them in person.

Sarel smiled at his decision but didn't say anything out loud. She knew Red was just trying to help, and it was doubtful there would be anything on the floors above them that would let them restock. Still, knowing that, Merdon had made the choice not to capitalize on their suffering. He was a changed man after Ardmach. While he had displayed sympathy for their position and struggles before he hadn't been this dedicated to helping them, this self-aware of what his actions encouraged, until now. The kobolds wouldn't have even realized he wasn't supposed to be there, or take the food. They would have blindly made replacements for what was taken, but even that was too much for him. That was how Sarel saw it, and it made her happy.

“Then let's go, verakt,” she said, stepping forward, taking the lead with Red. “Quickclaw will keep an eye out for traps of the conventional kind.”

Merdon nodded and followed third, with Skyeyes at the rear. As they walked, Skyeyes asked Red what she remembered, anything that would help. Unfortunately, the girl barely remembered anything. She told him, and the rest of them due to proximity, she remembered the witch being rather dismissive of them like they were children. The things they did for her were like chores, and they were kept in a near-constant stupor any time they were following those orders. Any time they were outside of her control rarely lasted. It was like free time in a prison of their own minds. Even so, she quietly wondered if it was any worse than being in a literal prison. Her recent experiences said otherwise.

Still, it gave Skyeyes some idea of what they were up against, the extent of their enemy's power. Illusions, manipulation, the witch was a classic sorceress. It made her dangerous, but it also gave her very weak points they could abuse. Her intelligence was likely great to keep such machinations going, but they were many, she could be outsmarted by them if they worked together. Plus, Red's knowledge of some of the more dangerous traps was already giving them a benefit. Knowing the last thing between them and the witch was a magical dimension by itself was advantageous. All they had to do was stay a step ahead, adapt quicker than she would against them.

Unfortunately for them, it seemed the witch was never quite off her game. In the middle of the second-floor hallway were several dozen kobolds, each with a dim look in their eyes. They were packed in tight, too tight to push through or past, and it was too far to try something like jumping. Merdon frowned at the sight and looked at his companions. He didn't have any ideas. Sadly, neither did the rest of them.

“She's trying to test your powers,” Red figured. “If you could command kobolds, you'd make these ones get out of your way no problem.”

The human sighed and crossed his arms. Since he didn't have a special power, he couldn't do that. He certainly wasn't going to kill them, and Sarel was already attempting to move them to no avail. She had tried to push one out of the way and it didn't move, pulling one out of place resulted in it walking back into position. They could maybe charged through them, but there was a larger issue at play.

“She's going to know we can't do that,” Merdon whispered to Red. “And if we don't hurt them to get through she'll know we won't kill them either.” The witch had a practical army that Merdon and his own kobolds wouldn't fight and couldn't stop. It was win-win for her, and she knew it.

The whole thing confirmed when she appeared in her ethereal form, hovering just over the kobolds with her arms crossed triumphantly. Merdon frowned and met her gaze. He knew what she wanted, but he couldn't give it to her, nor could he let her know he couldn't do it. Finding out he had no powers over kobolds could lead to their deaths, but doing nothing could have the exact same consequence. Pondering this in his mind, the witch broke the silence between them.

“Well? Move them, Whisperer. It shouldn't be any more of a feat for you than huntsman commanding his hound, yes?” she chided him with a smirk. She would see his powers for herself.

The kobolds at Merdon's side were tense, each quietly eyeing their human companion. They needed a smart way out of this, and they needed it fast.

Merdon took a deep breath and sighed. “Is this the best you can do?” he asked, causing the smirk to fall off the witch's lips.

“What does that mean?” she demanded.

“I was told,” he started slowly, carefully. "You loved these creatures. That you enslaved them to protect them. Yet, here you are, putting them in my path as an obstacle, like a barricade.” As if they were nothing to her.

The red-haired witch tensed for a moment but regained her composure. “There's nothing better to test you with,” she declared. “Certainly you could move these ones without harming them.”

“Indeed,” Merdon lied, his tone confident and his reaction quick. “But, that's not what I question.” He gestured to the way he stood in front of his kobolds. “Do you not care for them as you claim you do?”

Again, the witch was caught off guard, but she didn't recover so quickly this time. In fact, she noticed the way he was standing compared to her. She wasn't even there, not physically, while the knight was blocking his kobolds with his entire body. Save the blue one that nearly stood at his side. Her face matched her hair for a moment as she realized her folly. But, wasn't she committed? Knowing this man possessed the power she sought was more important. The knight wouldn't idle with this lead, however.

“To use them as a physical barrier is truly weak and cruel,” Merdon told her. “I've seen nobles in Ardmach who treated kobolds with more care.” It made him sick to say, but it made her feel even worse.

After a tense minute staring at each other, the witch waved her arm and the kobolds dismissed, returning to their duties around the tower.

“Know this, knight,” she warned him. “You have bested me but for a moment. I know the depths of your character now, and soon I shall know more than you know of yourself. I shall be your absolute undoing and you shall curse the day you came to my home with what little time you have left.”

She vanished once more, leaving the party unscathed, and relatively unchallenged. While Merdon hurried them towards the next floor, and certainly their next challenge, the witch watched from her scrying orb. She had to invent more challenges for the knight, to find a way to make him display his ability. An idea came to her as the group reached the stairs. Something simple but duplicitous in that simplicity. The floor they approached shifted at her will, by her magic. Walls moved, opened; paths closed up, others were created, and her kobolds were left only partly stranded in the maze she had just created. Guiding them out would be easy, they were in little danger, but the knight would suspect the maze was something her kobolds knew. He would try to coax the secrets out of them, and that would be enough for her to know.

Merdon frowned as they entered the next floor and beheld three entrances. Red shared his sentiments, as she didn't recall a maze as part of the tower. Sarel, contrary to them both, looked giddy. Mazes usually meant treasure, and as a thief, she was all about loot and challenges. The blue kobold also knew the secret to every maze. Which she was too eager to demonstrate as she sprinted to the closest path to her, on the right.

As she entered and raised her claw to explain, the floor suddenly shot up behind her, while Merdon was reaching out to stop her. His arm fell as he ran over to the wall and pounded on it with a gauntleted fist. Red gasped and looked at the other entrances. Surely the maze reached the next floor from all of entrances, at least she hoped it did. The question to be asked, however, was if the paths met up at any point. If they could find Sarel without finding the end.

“We shouldn't split up,” Skyeyes said, looking at the two paths in front of them. “It would be foolish.”

Merdon nodded just in time for the section of floor between him and the two kobolds to suddenly shoot up to the ceiling like how it had closed off Sarel. They were definitely being watched, and now they didn't have much of a choice about splitting up. With a sigh of defeat, the knight started walking down the path before him, the only path he could take now. His armor felt more like a burden than ever before, with a long slog surely in front of him, but still, he didn't dare take it off. Not yet.

On the other side of the wall, Red and Skyeyes were debating what to do. Forward, Red decided, telling the priest that the witch must have been watching. Staying put got them nowhere, and made them easy targets. At least, she hoped, on the move, the witch could only deal with one of them at a time. If she were focused on Merdon for his alleged power, they might slip through unaffected by her traps and plans. Were she to focus on them, of course, it would mean the other two were having an easier time with the maze, which was still a plus to her. Skyeyes didn't relax, but he agreed to start moving at least. They had a long way to go, and if the witch was manipulating the maze as they went it would only get worse if they stayed still. It was a hefty reminder to him of how little power he had without his faith, and how much they were all at the mercy of this mysterious witch while they stayed in her tower.

# A Maze

Merdon sighed as he walked along the maze path of polished white stones. He could hear parts of the path shifting behind him, to his sides, and sometimes, he thought, in front of him. The witch was manipulating the walls as they proceeded through the labyrinth, making sure they didn't meet up by chance, and possibly just keeping them trapped within the shifting walls forever. Solitude was their enemy here and it had been forced upon them, leaving them stranded from each other and without a plan to boot. Every turn held the chance for an ambush, a trap, something to wound, capture, or even kill them. There was a desperation in his chest to return to his companions, to make sure they were safe, but most of all to find Sarel.

He didn't understand the purpose of this floor and wondered silently if the witch had changed it before they arrived. Perhaps they had triggered some kind of spell in the forest that alerted her or maybe she had done it while they slept the night before. Whatever the case was, the knight knew it was highly impractical and he doubted it was a permanent fixture in the tower. After all, the kobolds would have to navigate the maze every time they wanted to ascend the tower unless the witch teleported them herself, and with as dazed as they looked it was doubtful they could keep their attention enough to remember which turns to take. Especially without any markings along the way. Merdon was certain by that point he'd doubled back on himself at least once, and any attempt to mark the wall saw the marking erased within seconds. It was a hopeless situation he simply had to bull his way through. No matter how difficult the maze was, Merdon was more stubborn than that. His armor clanked obnoxiously as he continued down the hallways, picking paths as they arose, turning around when he reached dead ends, but never losing his determination.

On the pathway to the left, now far from Merdon, Red and Skyeyes were moving quietly through the maze. As quietly as they could with their claws clacking on the stones anyway. Naturally, they wanted to avoid any traps, and so slow going was the best pace for them, however, the clicking of their claws made total silence impossible, and the noise was beginning to drive Red mad. Every step was met with a wave of sharp kobold claws falling, to a point she was beginning to believe she could pick out the individual digits as they landed. Red was far too focused on her surroundings to be absorbing something so specific, but the sound was creating a small delirium, and it didn't help that her companion wasn't talking. Skyeyes appeared, from the couple times she glanced back at him, to be terrified. For what reason Red didn't know. Eventually, she had to stop and ask, if only to make the sounds stop for a minute.

“What's got you worried?” she asked him quietly, the sound of her voice feeling alien after the long silence.

Skyeyes reddened and shook his head. “Nothing,” he told her, but his eyes said otherwise.

The red kobold reached out and put a claw on his shoulder. An awkward move considering she was trying her best not to move her feet to do it. “You can tell me,” she assured him. “We have been through many things.”

“I … don't want you getting hurt,” he said after a pause. Which made Red laugh, a noise that echoed quite a lot through the empty maze. It was a welcome noise to her, but not so much to Skyeyes, who still looked uncomfortable.

The mage noted his discomfort and stopped, giving him a concerned look. “What's wrong?” Red asked directly. “You've been awkward like this for a while. You aren't still dwelling on Ardmach, are you?” Skyeyes shook his head at that. “So what's wrong? You have accused Merdon of keeping secrets, but you are doing it now?”
Her words set off a pang of guilt in Skyeyes' chest, and it compelled him to come clean. “I am worried about any of us getting hurt,” he said slowly. “Because … I can no longer heal.”

Red blinked and looked at him seriously. “It isn't the tower,” she deduced after a moment. A flame came to life in her palm to prove her point. “Unless she can specify clerical spell.” Traps like those she hadn't accounted for. Her flame went out and she glanced around, hoping her magic wasn't next, but Skyeyes shook his head again.

“I have lost faith in the goddess,” he told Red. “The magic of a cleric comes from our deity. Without them, we have nothing.” Skyeyes hadn't healed anyone since Ardmach, since he'd confessed to Red in the thicket that he doubted everything he'd been told by his mentor. It all clicked.

Red stepped forward and hugged the white kobold. “You will find your way,” she assured him. “We will see more about it after this. Until then... I suppose you will have to be the one who stays safe.” He was the weakest among them now, and it gave Red a sense of duty, to protect him until he could get a chance to recover from his loss of faith. Perhaps picking a new god would help, but there was no time for that. Not in the tower. They had no time for doubts and uncertainty. She would just have to operate under the assumption any wounds would be more dangerous than before.

Skyeyes didn't like feeling so helpless, but Red's reassurance felt genuine. His mind refocused on the task at hand as they began to walk again. He recalled something he'd read before and told Red about it. “I have heard that if one wishes to find the way out of a maze, they should stick to the left wall.”

The mage paused and looked at the left wall. “It could work,” she admitted, “If the witch does not alter the maze as she did to separate us.”

“If not, we could be stuck wandering here forever.” Skyeyes paled at his own words. “We have no alternative plans,” he pointed out. “Doing something is better than nothing.”

Hesitantly, Red agreed and moved to the left side of the hallway. They would be stuck either way, but at least Skyeyes' idea of hugging the left wall was being proactive. She started to think about ways she could be more proactive as well. There might be a spell which would let her move the stones herself, or maybe there was an artifact nearby that powered the maze rather than the witch herself. Even with Skyeyes powerless, he was doing more than she was. That was how she felt at least. It spurred her to keep thinking about their situation and find any way out she was capable of, which gave her a good distraction from the return of their clicking claws.

Skyeyes' trick was new to Red, but it wasn't news to Sarel, who had implemented it from the moment she was sealed in the maze. Her claws made no noise as she walked, calmly but swiftly, like the thief she was, her arm outstretched to touch the wall physically as she moved. She had figured out, much like Merdon, that the maze could repair itself, but she had keener senses than her fellow travelers. Even compared to the kobolds her eyes were sharper. So when she left little threads of her pack, innocently disguised as adjusting the weight, they stayed on the floor, and she knew. She had passed one thread at least twice, and they never landed in the exact same way. The thief was crafty, and her craftiness kept her spirits high.

The witch watched the blue kobold from her orb with a scowl. Her gaze was abandoned from the other three, for the moment, as her plan failed to faze the blue one. Merdon, the Kobold Whisperer, was vengefully stalking the hallways. He would surely apprehend the first kobold he came across and demand the secrets of the maze. Their priest was useless, she had overheard, and the fledgling mage was no more a bother to the witch's might than a pup was to a knight. This thief, however, being completely and utterly unaffected by her trap was setting her teeth on edge. It felt like she knew something the witch didn't, and she hated that feeling more than anything else. She turned away from her scrying orb to check her things; easy to find in the well-kept bedroom at the top of the tower. Ingredients for a spell or two, a quick reference in a tome, and she turned back to the orb. Sarel continued on her merry way in the maze, and the witch made it a point to stop that by any means necessary. Including a personal visit.

Rounding a corner, Sarel stopped and frowned as she came face to face with the red-headed caster. Her claw dropped to her dagger, but the witch was faster with a spell than the thief was with a blade. The dagger flew backward, clinking off the wall and skittering down the hallway Sarel had just come through. Her eyes darted back to it, judging the distance, her legs tightening, prepared to leap for it. It was a risky jump with the witch still watching with her hand held out. In fact, Sarel wasn't even sure the hand was necessary. She had seen some magic cast without any kind of guide before, without any kind of sight. Mages were dangerous foes not to be taken lightly, and she'd been ambushed readily. Whatever move she made, it had to be made quickly, with certainty, and when the witch wasn't as focused as she was now. Simply put, Sarel needed to stage a distraction.

She raised her arms in a sign of surrender and stopped looking at her dagger. Its position was memorized in her mind's eye. The corner would give her some cover from any spells, or at least most spells she could think of, all she needed was to distract her opponent. Which left her with the one thing she was faster with than anyone else. Her mouth.

“So, this is how you do it?” she asked quickly. “You ambush kobolds one by one? Can you not take on more than that at a time? Or are you as scared as the Whisperer says?” A little rage, stoke the fire, impair her focus.

The witch sneered at her. “Far, far from it, kobold,” she replied. “I could take on villages of your kind, were I to not care about casualties. Your human 'friend' seems to be the same way, judging by what he did in Ardmach.”

Sarel held back a flinch. Show no emotions, betray nothing. “He did that for us, for kobolds. What you do is for yourself. Anyone could see the difference.”

“Is that what you think?” the witch asked. She chuckled after a moment. Not what Sarel was hoping for. “I do this so your kind can forget the terrible things humans have done to them.”

“And what you do is better?”

“Better than what they've done to you and many others,” she shouted. “You were in Ardmach, tell me. How many did you see trapped in those despicable pits? Being forced to take care of primal urges, stripped of all their dignity.”

Sarel scoffed. It was true what she knew to be happening to kobolds in the hands of slavers was bad, however... “That excuses you removing their dignity as well? Their names, their minds?”

“What do their minds matter if they're a burden?” the witch countered. “If they are so downtrodden they cannot function?”

“How many are like that?” Sarel asked, continuing her verbal assault of the witch's moral high ground. “A dozen? Perhaps a few more. I doubt it,” she huffed. “Red has broken free of your control on her own, and she is not broken.”

The witch drew herself up taller, trying to appear mighty. “She remembers nothing of her life before this tower, and even then she remembers little of this place. Were she to remember it would break her!”

“Would it?” Sarel asked with just enough sincerity. She didn't care, the witch was a threat to her kind, and to Merdon, but her question packed just enough weight to make the witch falter. She shrunk back down and eyed the blue kobold. “Tell me,” Sarel insisted. “Would it really? Or is that just what you tell yourself to keep sleeping at night?”

The split second of doubt and hesitation was what Sarel was waiting for. It was clear the witch did not interact with humans who disagreed with her, she was never forced to confront her own opinions, especially not from those she proclaimed to be helping. There was enough of an opening for Sarel to dive to the side and roll into her dagger. She expected the witch to follow and, as she rolled, she flung the dagger backward. Her guess was dead on as the red-haired mage came around the corner, but her focus was back. With a flick of her wrist, the dagger dropped dead onto the ground and Sarel was snagged, suspended off the ground. Nothing for her claws to latch onto, neither feet nor hands, and a mystic pressure on her throat kept her from shouting a warning to the others if they could even hear her. They were all trapped, ready to be picked off one by one, but she'd given herself the best odds of winning.

She floated closer to the witch, whose cold face said more than any more words could have. There weren't going to be any more questions, no more talking her way out, and no more weapons either. For someone who proclaimed mercy to kobolds, Sarel would have sworn her death was imminent. Instead, they descended into a portal on the ground, something the witch cooked up no doubt. The moment the portal closed the maze fell apart. Every wall came crashing down with a loud cacophony of grinding and slams. Stone against stone echoed across the floor as it was left without any walls or rooms what so ever. Several kobolds were visible now, previously trapped, and looked around just as confused as the intruders.

Merdon saw Skyeyes and Red quickly, they were quite a distance apart, but he didn't see Sarel. His heart skipped a beat as he called out her name loudly. The kobolds at the other end of the room looked at him, but they didn't budge. They weren't Sarel. He started covering as much of the floor as possible, while Red and Skyeyes quickly caught on and started searching as well. In the end, Skyeyes approached Merdon with Sarel's dagger in his claws.

“She's … gone,” he said. “I found this over there.” He pointed towards the far right wall. She'd been so far away from where Merdon was standing.

“The witch took her,” Merdon growled, reaching out and taking the dagger. Red nodded, agreeing with his guess. “She's going to pay.” Again, Red nodded.

She looked around and spotted the stairs. “We should proceed as fast as we can,” she told him. “Lest we give her time to spring another trap on us.”

Merdon tucked the dagger away in his bag and set his shoulders. He started moving towards the stairs to the next floor at a hastened pace. This wasn't just about freeing the other kobolds or making sure he wasn't hunted for the rest of his life. There was a piece of revenge on his mind now and Merdon had learned not long ago how dangerous he was when he let his emotions carry him. It didn't seem like a bad idea at all anymore.

# One Step Forward

The next floor up was not terribly different from the first floor. More rooms for kobolds scattered around, more kobolds wandering listlessly through the rooms doing idle chores. What purpose they had other than sweeping, the group didn't know. Red wondered if the witch increased the height of her tower the more kobolds she had, just to give them things to do. It was an existence of exuberance in her opinion if that were the case. Like a monarch who expanded their own palace to put their citizens to work when their lives could be better spent elsewhere. But they knew the witch didn't care for the lives of the kobolds she kept, not really. All the evidence they needed was in how Merdon reacted to the disappearance of Sarel. Where the witch had thrown several dozen brainwashed kobolds at them in a hallway, the knight was charging recklessly forward to find a single kidnapped kobold. Sure, it was his mate, Red understood, but she could clearly remember what he'd done for her and Sarel in Ardmach. There was no question in her mind Merdon would become enraged about nearly anything that happened to a kobold now.

The knight insisted on searching every room on that floor, which his companions didn't try to protest. They spread out and investigated rooms with beds, more kitchens, supply rooms, and ultimately found nothing. Not Sarel anyway, and what did anything else matter? At that moment in time, to Merdon, nothing did. He turned towards the stairs to the next floor and started out without even trying to ask the kobolds. It would have been fruitless and he knew it after the first few floors of seeing them. Their vacant gazes said everything he needed to know. Nothing could be gotten out of them. Not without the magical ability to compel them to speak, which he didn't have. Keeping the illusion that he possessed such power was getting harder and harder as the witch placed more pressure on him. If she were watching, she would know by then that Merdon had no such skill.

It was fortunate for him, and unfortunate for Quickclaw, that the witch was preoccupied with something else. The blue kobold was unconscious under the influence of a sleeping spell, and the witch was working her magic away from her scrying orb. A plan had formed to break the Whisperer, and she was certain it would work. He espoused to care so much about kobolds, and in particular his companions. So she would show him how superior her ideals were. Chanting filled the room as she cast the spell, stealing the name of the sleeping kobold, watching her memories as they became trapped in an artifact. All the pain and suffering she saw! Enough to break her heart, that was for sure. Being caged, many times, learning how to escape from such places, the little thing fighting for her life on the streets. Tragedy.

Until she skimmed over the moments the kobold spent with the Whisperer. The witch blushed and, for a moment, wished she could look away during the process. To think she had been compelled to do those things for him. That was what happened, it had to be, but the kobold's thoughts said otherwise. She watched a little more intently in those memories. How Merdon freed her from a cage, how he didn't complain about taking an arrow, the way he got offended at common society for her treatment, and she began to understand. What she learned was the man had no abilities and was thus worthless to her plans. A smirk formed on her face as Sarel's expression blanked like the other kobolds. All the information she could have wanted came from just one of the knight's party, and with that she turned back to her various magical defenses, summoning up her power, and switched the normal ones back on. There was no need to worry about killing the human now; there had never been a need to worry at all. Like every human she had known, he was just another manipulative, greedy, self-righteous monster that used kobolds for his own ends, and she would stop him and his lies in her tower.

The structure shook as if hit by an earthquake, bringing even Merdon down to his knees. He looked around with a frown but nothing changed on the stairwell they were climbing. Something at the top, perhaps, something major. A glance at Red confirmed some of those worries. Her face was one of concern and her claws were primed in a very instinctive way, a flight or fight way. When the shaking stopped, Merdon stood and made sure the last two kobolds he had with him were okay before proceeding. They couldn't afford to be slowed down now, even if it meant he would go alone in the case one of them was injured. Skyeyes had slipped a few steps down, but he recovered quickly and continued climbing. So many floors stood between them and the witch. Between Merdon and Sarel, but he wasn't going to get discouraged so easily. If anything, even if he died in the process, the witch was going to know how much of a mistake she made in the maze.

At the top of the stairs, in the middle of the next floor, which was otherwise empty and barren of both rooms and life, stood a large stone creature. A shiver went down Red's spine as she quietly informed the other two that the jig was up, the witch knew Merdon didn't have powers, because the thing in the middle of the room was a magic-powered golem. It had one task and that was killing intruders, not capturing them. One of many traps the mage had hoped they could avoid by pretending Merdon was important. There was no safety net now, no reason for the witch to hold back, no reason for her to keep any of them alive if they posed a threat. No one posed more of a threat to her than he did now. Golem or not, the knight was mad and ready to do whatever it took to reach the top of the tower, and the way he drew his blade and took a fighting posture declared it. Skyeyes, nervously, pulled his own staff free and took a few steps back, although Red knew the truth she also knew that Merdon didn't. Her claws extended and she conjured fire, ready to back the knight up however she could.

The golem rose, slowly due to its size, and Merdon took the opportunity in stride. He charged forward, lunging as the rocky creature struck with a palm. Red, seeing Merdon sheltered by the monster's form, hurled all the flames she could towards it. Her fire did little but annoy the thing, much as Merdon's sword did. After only a few swings he backed away, retreating to the far side of the room to work out a better plan. His sword was going to need to be sharpened, that was for sure, but the thing had to have a weakness. While it turned around to face him, determining the human to be the intruder despite Red's interference, he scanned it as quickly as possible. A fault in the stone might let him get his sword in there, but then what? Could the magic which held the golem together be disrupted somehow? Questions he didn't have the answers for, nor did he have the time to ask them.

Across the room, Red was working on her own ideas. Fire meant little to it unless she could superheat the rock and melt it. Capable as she was, she doubted her ability to start melting stone already. She started racking her brain for any small hope she could find, any weaknesses, any spells she might know. Merdon's life was on the line, Skyeyes couldn't heal him, they needed to end this fight quickly and definitively, but there was nothing. No spell came to mind, no plan, she felt frustrated by her lack of ideas more than anything. Angry, Red began throwing more fire and yelling to vent her frustration. Again, her fireballs had little effect on the golem and only served to tire her out. The red kobold dropped to her knees and panted.

Skyeyes stepped over to her, intending to shield her if the golem turned, and asked, “What's wrong?” It was his turn to console her.

“I don't … I don't have any idea how to beat this thing,” she told him. Her eyes were still locked on the golem's backside while Merdon did his best to avoid getting slammed into the floor or walls.

“It's magical,” Skyeyes said, trying to come up with something too. “Perhaps we can isolate it from the witch's power? Could you, maybe, override it?” A spell to steal it away. Red shook her head in response though, leaving Skyeyes to ponder more. Every second counted.

“I can't produce enough heat to melt it,” she said, walking Skyeyes through her own thoughts. “And I can't beat the witch's power, I just don't have enough of my own.”

The priest hummed in thought, almost absently. “Could her power be disrupted then?” he asked. “A fault in the golem could lead to its core, allowing you to-”

Red cut him off. “That won't work. Feeding it more magic would just make it stronger. We need to destroy the core, but we can't get to it because, surprise, it's made out of rocks.” Hence trying to melt it, Skyeyes was following.

“A fault in the rock could still be the key if we can rip it open,” he wagered. “Separate the rocks from the core, cause them to fail.” Expose a weakness.

Red shook her head again though. “Pulling the rocks from the core would be just as difficult as melting it. I would have to generate enough magic to disconnect it, like pulling two giant magnets apart.” Skyeyes was only passingly familiar with magnets, and he wondered how Red knew the difficulty in pulling large ones apart, but he trusted her.

“So what do we do?”

Red sighed, feeling defeated. “I don't … I don't know,” she admitted out loud. Magic was her specialty, not faith-based but actual magic, and she had nothing to help them. She was outclassed in every way here. Merdon wasn't giving up though, she saw that even while she was paying attention to the golem. He was moving as quickly as he could, swinging defensively, keeping it off their backs and sacrificing himself in the process. Scratches on his armor betrayed the number of close calls he'd had while waiting, hoping, for them to solve the situation with their combined knowledge. And Red had failed him.

In one single moment, everything went wrong. Merdon moved back to avoid one swing, and another came flying at him from the side. Red's eyes widened as she saw it coming, saw Merdon lift his sword to block, his shield on the other arm, but it wouldn't be enough. The red kobold lifted her claws and reached for all the magic she had left in her, something, anything, any edge they could be given. Words spilled from her mouth, unbidden by her conscious self, and at that moment she didn't know what she was trying to say. Warp, she would decide later, she was trying to pull Merdon from the golem's grasp, confer with him on their situation. What came out instead was something she found to be complete nonsense.

“Vorp!” echoed through the room alongside the sound of clanking metal and grinding stone. A second later stone impacted against metal, and then stone toppled onto stone. The golem reeled and roared as it looked at its now stumped arm. Merdon's blade had a sheen on it and had cleaved straight through the stone. As the golem looked at its arm, Merdon looked at his sword. It was enchanted, he could tell from the shine, but being as it hadn't been forged to be enchanted he knew it would wear off sooner or later. Taking his advantage in stride, the knight tossed his shield to the side and roared.

With both hands on his sword, Merdon swung like a barbarian, chopping and hacking without care for finesse or style. He was letting out a lot of his anger on the creature before him and it was helpless to stop the onslaught. Enchanted, his sword slid through the stone like paper, starting with the golem's other hand, and then the rest of its arms. As it stood to stomp, Merdon sliced through the one leg it was standing on, bringing it down to the ground with a shout of fury. The knight rammed his sword into the golem's side, then raised his weapon high over his head and brought it down. Then he shoved it into the crease and pried, opening the thing more so he could cut to its very core. There was no gore, no blood or guts, but seeing Merdon act so violently again made the kobolds watching feel nauseous. In the back of their minds, they were thinking of the slaver's cells, of how Merdon had neatly disposed of everyone in his path, and how much he could have done it like this instead.

The golem made a noise and stopped moving shortly before the spell on Merdon's sword wore off, leaving part of his blade buried in the rocky corpse. He was able to free it with a mighty yank, although it cost him the tip of his blade in the process. Frowning at the damage, Merdon put his sword away and went to retrieve his shield before going over to Red and Skyeyes. His helmet came off, the suit of armor getting too hot for him as the adrenaline came down, his sweat dripping off his face and hair onto the shoulders and floor. It was hard to tell if the fight had been that hard, or if Merdon had just overdone it at the end. Still, he looked at them with concern, making sure they were all right before asking Red, “What was that?”

She shook her head. “I don't know,” the mage admitted. “I just... I saw you about to get killed and I needed to do something.” Something proactive, not reactive.

“Well,” Merdon said, reaching out and putting a mailed hand on her shoulder. “Whatever you did, it saved us.” She smiled at his praise. Even if she didn't know how she did it, it felt good to be helpful.

“We should go,” Skyeyes said, pointing to the exit on the other end of the room. “Who knows what the witch will throw at us next.”

Merdon stood and nodded. “That's a good point. For all we know she could put this monster back together.” Then they'd be in trouble unless Red could figure out what she did.

The group collected themselves and started up the next set of stairs. Merdon's frustrations had been partly worked out, but he held a special flame of hate in his chest for the witch. Even if he cut his way through a hundred more of those golems he would find the strength to put his blade into her heart for what she'd done. They had all come too far to not finish the job. It was just a question of how many of them made it out of the tower alive. If Merdon had a say, if worst came to worst, the only ones leaving would be kobolds.

# Faith and Knowledge

Merdon pushed open the door to the next floor and looked around cautiously. From a golem on the last floor to a maze before that, he was starting to understand just how dangerous the tower, and this witch, were. The floor he walked into, however, appeared to be normal. There were more rooms with kobolds wandering around, like the first floor, and the one before the previous floor, which got him to consider there was a pattern at work. It was possible every other floor was trapped in some way, and the kobolds were made to live between those floors. That would explain the difficulties in escaping the place, even if one were to free themselves from the witch's power. It didn't help them too much in the grand scheme of things. They were still stuck climbing each individual floor with the looming threat of the dimensional plane on the one before the witch. On the bright side, they could at least predict when that trap would spring on them if the tower held to the alternating pattern of traps and rooms; as long as the witch didn't change floors around.

Merdon's thought process was interrupted suddenly by a very specific shade of blue scales walking out of a room. Fueled by instinct, he rushed forward and dropped to his knees to look her in the eyes. It was Sarel, by some miracle, and he pulled her in tight, hugging her hard and close. How she had escaped didn't cross his mind, nor did the dead look in her eyes, or the fact she didn't hug him back. If Merdon had been in his right might he would have noticed any of those things, one of them, any of them. He would have remembered his training, he would have been cautious, he would have approached more carefully. Red and Skyeyes were too far behind him to help. Even their shouting at him failed to get his attention until it was far too late. Until he pulled back to look her in the empty golden eyes as he felt a sudden pain in his side. Coughing and confused, Merdon looked at his left side at the seem where his armor came together and saw Sarel's claw wrapped around a dagger handle, the blade buried in his side to the hilt.

Merdon's breathing hitched and he looked back to Sarel and realized, much too late, that her mind had been stolen by the witch. Of course, what else would she have done? What method was more perfect to get rid of him than the one thing she knew he wouldn't be able to resist or fight. Even the knight had to admit it was a brilliant plan as he fell backward onto the cold, white, stone floor. His blood oozed out and pooled under him as Sarel turned away and walked to the far end of the room to return to her new owner. The man coughed, a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, sitting up to watch her leave. There had been something in her eyes, a flash where she registered him, he knew. Red had escaped from this control somehow and Merdon was beginning to suspect he knew how. Despite his injury, he looked more worried about her than himself. Red and Skyeyes were far more concerned with him. Rushing to his side, they looked him over and came to a grim conclusion.

Skyeyes tried to get Merdon's attention. The cleric told him upfront the dagger was in his lungs, he was bleeding out rapidly and it wouldn't be long until he died. Not that Merdon didn't know already from his new cough and the amount of blood he could taste in his mouth. Still, the priest fumbled with how to tell him now of all times that he no longer had the power to heal. Merdon was dying and there was nothing they could do about it. Not at the tower, not without a proper healer. He couldn't say the words, he couldn't tell Merdon there was no saving him this time. They had comparatively little time to find him aid for how long it would take him to die. Red looked at Skyeyes with a frown as she realized what the white kobold was struggling with internally. Merdon was more focused on the pain his chest as his mind caught up with events and he realized his lung had collapsed. It also wasn't taking him much time to realize why Skyeyes wasn't patching him up right there, but no one wanted to say it out loud.

The cleric closed his eyes and clenched his fists to fight back the torrent of emotions that flared up inside of him. He felt useless, angry, sad, so overwhelmed with no outlet. There had been no signs of a village nearby, and there was no guarantee anyway they could carry Merdon out of the tower unmolested, get through the forest, and bring him back to a village, kobold or otherwise. Even if they did manage that, Merdon would be arrested in a human village only to meet the same fate on an executioner's block. He and Red might share the same fate given their connection to him. Skyeyes let out a shout of frustration and slammed his balled-up fists on his legs, which caused Red to jump in surprise.

Red took a deep breath and reached across Merdon's body to touch the white kobold's arm. “I believe in you,” she told him calmly. “It doesn't matter what the humans at the cathedral said to you. You have done this before, you can do it again.”

Skyeyes shook his head firmly. “I cannot,” he protested. “How can I have faith in them? In what they stand for?”

“Is it they you must believe in?” Red asked. “Were they who you asked for miracles from before?”

The priest frowned and looked up at her. He remembered his teacher, the old man in his white robes and long beard. Red's face seemed to fade as Skyeyes remembered waking up in the old man's cottage, being bandaged and fed. He remembered listening to the old priest speak about what the goddess wanted from his people, or at least what he believed the goddess wanted. That the peace he foresaw and worked for was not something found in a cathedral in the capital, but it was to be earned out among the citizens of the world. As a kobold of little learning at that point, Skyeyes had listened to the man only passively. It wasn't until he saw his teacher's work in front of him that he believed. Seeing him heal people without asking for coin, rushing to those in danger and rendering whatever assistance he could. There had been no consideration for their species or race. An orc was as valuable a life to him as a human and both as much as a kobold like himself.

Skyeyes exhaled slowly and put his claws on top of Merdon's chest. The human had started to pale notably and was staring at the ceiling. He didn't even react when Skyeyes moved. With a deep breath, the priest focused on his belief. Cast aside were the thoughts of the Ardmach and their corrupt practices. Those were not his faith, they did not represent the goddess he knew. Father Reing was his teacher, was the man who guided him. Another soft exhale and a deep breath in and Skyeyes began. His lips moved quickly in a healing chant that called upon the goddess for a tangible miracle. All of his focus was on the belief in that moment that Father Reing had given to him, the belief that a reconciliation of the world would come from outside of the clergy, and Skyeyes' own belief that Merdon was the key.

Merdon was not meant to die there on the floor of the witch's tower. That was what Skyeyes believed, and from the moment he heard Sarel calling for help for a human he had believed it with all of his heart. This human had no special powers, no magic, no skills that one couldn't learn, but Skyeyes believed in things much bigger than them. The goddess had put Merdon on this path and Skyeyes had been put in front of him for a reason, and at that moment Skyeyes tried to believe with every fiber of his being that it was for this. Without him, Merdon might have survived the arrow in his stomach, but he would not have survived this. Skyeyes cast aside his identity for a moment. While his mouth spoke the chant to heal the human his mind begged for one moment to fulfill his destiny, to act as a divine instrument, that the goddess would heed his call just this last time, if never again. Merdon must be saved, his journey must not end.

And the kobold's hands started to glow faintly as the magic worked its way out and into Merdon under him. Red, surprised for a moment, quickly but carefully removed the dagger from Merdon's side. It was Sarel's, which made the wound more than physical in a number of ways. Blood gushed from the newly widened hole and the human shouted in pain, clutching his side and groaning. Slowly, however, the blood thinned and the wound closed. Merdon appeared to relax but he coughed up more blood, which led Red to look at Skyeyes. The priest had not stopped chanting just because the surface wound closed. He had to make sure the internal damage was dealt with, that the blood would not pool inside of him, that the lungs would have the strength to expel the fluid from them.

Merdon coughed again, harder, and spat up a great deal of blood, eventually leading Skyeyes to stop and look at Red. “He needs water, to clean his mouth. We must know if this is fresh or if he's coughing up a mix of spit,” he told the red-scaled female.

Red nodded and left, sprinting off into the various rooms to find water. If the kobolds lived there then there had to be some around. In the meantime, Skyeyes continued his chanting, making sure Merdon was recovered. Internal injuries were tricky for clerics. There were complications to worry about many novices would overlook. Though he would not consider himself an expert, Skyeyes was not new to the trade and knew better than to rest on his laurels because Merdon had stopped bleeding out. There was no way for him to tell if the wound inside was closed and so it was better to keep praying, keep channeling his faith into power to heal, than it was to wait and see. He didn't stop until Red returned with the water, and then only because they had to sit Merdon up a little to let him spit it back out.

After several rinses and a few more heavy coughs, the blood stopped coming through and Merdon regained a little color. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry, and so Red and Skyeyes dragged the armored human into a side room. Once his armor was stripped from his body and they confirmed the wound was closed, they set up a temporary camp inside the room, with Red barricading the door just in case. Merdon was in little state to argue and passed out shortly after being laid down. Skyeyes watched him carefully for any complications, keeping his mind firmly on his old beliefs. It was harder than he would admit openly. Nothing would ever erase what happened to him in Ardmach but his goal at that time was to be far removed from those events. His friend needed him now, their mission rested on his ability to keep Merdon alive and he would not let that slip so easily. Not without a fight.

Red sat down near him and smiled. “I knew you could do it,” she said softly so as not to wake Merdon.

“I cannot say I'm out of the woods yet,” Skyeyes replied, still keeping his eyes on the human while speaking. His face was determined and that hid the pain he felt inside. “I cannot believe in the church of my goddess.”

“But you don't need to,” she said again. “You have proven that.”

Skyeyes sighed and chanced a look at her. “No, I must believe in the man who taught me, and the goddess he believed in. But, they are supposed to be one and the same.” It was a conundrum he would have to solve on his own.

The mage nodded and sat back, closing her eyes. “Perhaps we should rest for a time as well,” she considered. “The golem tired us all.”

“Not yet,” Skyeyes told her, looking back to Merdon. “Soon, perhaps. For now, it is my duty to make sure he pulls through this. For all of us.”

Red could only nod quietly at his remark. Skyeyes, on the other hand, was then left alone with his thoughts. He kept his teacher at the forefront of his thoughts, recalling the sermons the old man had given. The kobold tried to remember how excited he was about them, how he listened with rapt attention to every word he spoke. That was his gospel, those were his beliefs, that was his faith. Those words repeated in his mind as he watched Merdon for several hours, eventually becoming a mantra of their own to reassure himself.

Hours passed before Skyeyes finally pulled himself over to Merdon and became proactive. They had wasted enough time waiting for him to recover on his own. By the kobold's assumption, the worst issue left was blood loss, which would leave Merdon weak and tired, neither state they could afford at the moment. He reached out and began chanting again, quietly, methodically, reaching into his mind and focusing on his faith. It was a spell of renewal, much easier than what he'd done earlier. It more or less sped the recovery process up from minor injuries, causing the body to heal faster on its own rather than closing wounds magically. Merdon began to recover much faster, and what may have stranded them for the rest of the night was taken care of in minutes. The downside was it left Skyeyes tired and drained, but he wasn't the one that would have to do the fighting. Assuming they could avoid any more serious traps, they could proceed without him at his fullest.

Merdon's immediate reaction upon waking was to sit up and look around with just one thought on his mind. “Sarel!” he shouted, waking Red from her short slumber. “She was here...”

“Yes,” Skyeyes admitted, sitting back and sighing. “Red tried to warn you, but you weren't in your right mind.” Red nodded in agreement with that from her corner.

“What happened to her?” Merdon asked, looking around. He was in shock.

“She stabbed you,” Red told him. “Quickclaw is under the influence of the witch. The only way to free her is to finish what we came here for.” Slay the witch.

Merdon shook his head and slowly stood up, moving to his armor and putting it on, ignoring the blood. “You don't understand, I saw her eyes,” he told them. “She knew, she's in there, somewhere.”

Skyeyes blinked and looked at Red, who shook her head. “How is that possible?” he asked simply. “The witch steals their names, their very essence of who they are, their memories like Red's.”

“I don't know,” Merdon replied with a growl. “But you weren't looking her in the eyes when she stabbed you. She knew, Skyeyes, she knew but she couldn't stop herself. That's why Red was able to break free. The witch might steal your memories, but she can't just erase your brain. Just like some part of Red was in there fighting to break free so is she.”

Red frowned but didn't argue. “She would have gone back to the top floor, or perhaps to another floor between here and there. The witch will want to keep her close.” The kobold's eyes darted to Skyeyes, who caught on.

“So we must move forward regardless of what you want to do, Merdon,” he noted. “Both goals lie in the floors above.”

The human sighed and finished putting his gear on. “Then let's get to it.” He was short with his words, his temper flaring up again.

“Not so fast,” Skyeyes said, rising from the ground himself. “We need to talk about something.”

“It can wait,” Merdon insisted. But the priest was more insistent.

He walked over and stood between Merdon and the barred door with his arms crossed. “No, it will not, Merdon,” he said firmly. “You have been acting wild ever since... since the witch took Quickclaw, and I understand, believe me.”

The human's fist clenched in response, but he held his tongue. “Let's go,” was all he managed.

“No,” the white kobold said again, harsher this time. “We are not fighting a group of slavers. Your prowess in combat will only get us so far, and your injury here proves it. You are not acting like yourself, Merdon. You're lashing out and you aren't thinking.”

“Yes, I am,” he retorted. “I'm thinking about how I'm going to throw the bitch at the top of this tower off of it.”

The priest sighed. “Yes, exactly, you're thinking about fighting, but you aren't strategizing like you normally do. You're letting your emotions get the better of you in a situation that it's not helping.” As Merdon opened his mouth to reply, Skyeyes cut him off. “You were injured because you weren't thinking, you rushed in without a second thought and cost us most of the day. Not to mention what has happened to Quickclaw in the last few hours.” The thought stung Merdon more than he wanted to admit, but his face shown the pain.

“He is right,” Red said, joining in. “You need to learn to control yourself again. These outbursts are not always helpful. When to use your head and when to use your heart is a valuable lesson,” she told him. “One I thought you knew.”

Merdon sighed and, for the first time in hours, tried to calm down. It was easier after getting almost killed. He had spent a lot of time unconscious, Sarel being taken away was a good distance from his mind, even if it was at the forefront. Most of all, he knew what they were saying was right. All of his training was sitting at the back of his mind ever since Ardmach. Swinging a sword was one thing, but the threats against Sarel were a constant nagging fear that had driven him wild the moment they were realized again. As much as he wanted to keep pushing himself until he or the witch was just a smear on the surface of the planet, it would likely end with him failing. The lessons his father had given him rang within Skyeyes' words. Patience, forethought, planning, those were what decided a battle in the end.

“You're right,” he vocalized after a time. “I need to get my head together.”

“We should rest here for the night,” Red suggested, still sitting. “You need to calm down, and Skyeyes is clearly not fit for travel.”

She was right, and Merdon could see it as well now that he was trying to think straight. Skyeyes looked like he'd been up for several days and his condition, much as the priest thought it unimportant, could slow them down. The knight breathed in and exhaled slowly as he set aside his fear for Sarel. Their foe had yet to display a willingness to harm a kobold. As pained as he was seeing her mind-controlled, the fact was it made her safer than they were. A whole night's rest was unlikely, but they could stop long enough for Skyeyes to rest.

“Get some sleep,” he told the white kobold. “I'm going to clean my armor, get this blood off of it at least. We'll set out again in a few hours.”

Skyeyes looked to protest, but a yawn cut him short. He couldn't deny his weariness. If Merdon wasn't looking to move, then he couldn't do anything but nod and get comfortable.

# Into the Fire

Refreshed, the team pressed on in the middle of the night. The moon hung high in the sky outside the windows of the tower, telling Merdon it was around midnight. His armor was polished, wiped down, and ready to go yet again. In fact, Red felt he looked more ready than when they entered the tower. It felt like the old Merdon was leading them, the one that methodically dealt with a fort full of thieves rather than the bestial one who had annihilated a building full of slavers. He was cautious, checking corners, his sword and shield at the ready, each step taken with diligence and thought. Their pace slowed, but Red was more assured of their approach that way. She kept herself ready as well, minding her power, ready to ignite at the first sign of trouble. Unfortunately, the first sign of trouble wasn't something she could burn her way through. Her stomach curdled as they reached the top of the stairs and entered the next floor.

What was supposed to be any trap ended up being the greatest trap of them all. As they passed through the door it closed behind them, and the scenery changed suddenly and drastically. White stone walls were replaced by a field of yellowed grass as if they were in a place where rain hadn't fallen in weeks. Sweltering heat beat down on them from above like a smith's hammer, nearly flooring Skyeyes with its unexpected arrival. Red gasped and turned about only to find it too late as the closed door melted away into thin air. Even as she reached for where it had been before her claw met nothing. She cursed and turned back around. This wasn't the right floor, she had been counting. It shouldn't have been here, yet they stood in the most infamous trap of the witch's tower.

Merdon turned towards her and pulled his helmet off, his head already dripping with sweat. “What happened?” he asked her, knowing as well as she did they weren't on the right floor.

“The witch must have moved us,” she commented with a frown. “We saw her manipulate the maze, perhaps she slid us around the tower slower, more quietly.” If they weren't ready for this trap, perhaps it would get them. That's what Red guessed her thought process was.

Merdon grumbled and looked around. “Is the door going to be visible, or will it just vanish like the other one did?” he asked.

Red shook her head. “I don't know. For all I know... we're stuck here.” They hadn't gotten the time to plan the way she wanted. Worst of all, they'd only taken a nap before stumbling into the alternate dimension. Things could have been worse but they certainly weren't good.

“I hope you enjoyed your rest,” the voice of the witch suddenly echoed through the wide-open space, causing Merdon to look around sharply while putting his helmet back on. “Don't worry, I'm not going to attack you. There's no need since you won't be leaving this plane. You see, your kobold friend has the key to open the door, and she's around there somewhere. Of course, she won't give it to you.” Not without harming her at least, and she knew Merdon wouldn't stoop that low.

However, the human realized something else and started sprinting through the field of dead grass. The kobolds behind him looked at each other with confusion before running after him. They hadn't realized what Merdon had picked up in her taunt. If Sarel was on the same floor then she was baking in the same heat they were, and the way it had been phrased made it sound like she had been there ever since she stabbed Merdon. Hours already of dehydration and sitting alone. Merdon was thinking about where she could be. How he would deal with her when he got there was another question to deal with, a bridge to burn when they came to it. For now, his only concern was finding the blue kobold and making sure she was all right.

When Red and Skyeyes caught up and asked him what the problem was, Merdon was able to sum it up very quickly. Their own realization sent them into a panic as well. Both kobolds looked around frantically, but they saw just as much as Merdon had before. They were surrounded by dead grass, leafless trees with sparse branches, and what looked like a mountain range in the distance. It looked similar to some Avant topography but nowhere specific Merdon could think of. He was at a loss as to where to look and considering how far he had run they definitely weren't trapped in a disguised room. No wall had impeded his progress. As far as they knew, Sarel could be on the other side of an ocean that they were unable to see. She had many hours of a head start and hadn't left any clear trail through the grasslands. The only thing they could do was pick a direction and travel in it.

Skyeyes suggested splitting up, but Red and Merdon shut him down. Red on the grounds of the witch's power. If they separated, any one of them could get abducted and brainwashed next. Merdon because of the size of the area they were in. Splitting up might increase the chances of finding Sarel, as well as the key and the door out, but it could have also meant dooming the others to wandering the alternate dimension forever. Sticking together would limit their search, maybe none of them would get out where one could, but it was the best choice they had. Ultimately, they had to pick a direction or landmark and just start walking. So Merdon looked around and pointed towards a group of trees in the distance. It wasn't too far, wasn't too close, but the heat would make it feel like a much longer trip.

The more they traveled the worse it seemed the heat got. Eventually, Merdon's armor was hot to the touch on the outside, and his helmet was completely abandoned in his sack lest he suffocate. By the time they reached the thicket of trees, he saw from a distance the two kobolds with him had to help remove his armor and pack it away. His body was drenched in sweat, his clothes sticking to every nook and cranny of his back and arms. It was bad enough he was able to remove and wring sweat from his shirt. Whatever the heat was, magical or just part of this dimension's natural weather cycle, it was unbearable. Merdon could hardly imagine trying to live in a place that got that hot and it wasn't even noon judging by the position of the sun. With some effort, the group managed to string parts of a tent up among the branches to create shade they could sit under and regroup. Wandering wasn't going to save Sarel or themselves. They needed to try and work something out, or at least pick another landmark. Something with more natural shade, Merdon insisted before leaning against a tree and sighing.

Red scanned their environment while the boys rested. “What about those rocks?” she asked, pointing just to the side of where they were at the time. Merdon looked over at them, having to squint to see them.

They were white, strangely angled, some flat and others sharp. It gave Merdon a shiver down his spine. That was the last place he wanted to go for some reason, and the way Skyeyes shuddered across from him made him feel like the priest thought the same. On any other day, Merdon would have brushed the notion off and agreed, but today he felt like arguing about it, which a few hours ago he wouldn't have thought of. Right now, with his mind clear, he stopped himself and looked at Red.

“Do you feel anything looking at those stones?”

Red shook her head. “Why?” she asked them, looking at both of them.

Skyeyes looked at Merdon with surprise. “We aren't actually going there,” he said flatly. “That's crazy.”

“Why?” It was all Merdon needed to ask to get the ball rolling in the priest's mind, and Red as well.

“You both feel … afraid of those rocks?” Red asked, glancing back at them. Merdon and Skyeyes nodded in response. “They're charmed,” the mage kobold remarked with a frown.

Merdon stood up and started grabbing the tent down from the branches. “And if the witch doesn't want us to go there, we're going there.”

“What if it's a trap?” Skyeyes asked. “Maybe she made us think that so we'd go towards them instead.”

Red, however, shook her head. “We all saw them earlier but ignored them when we were walking up here. Not one of us said a thing until I gave it some thought.”

“She wants us to ignore them,” Merdon finished the thought. “Making it scary to think about going there means you'd rather explore everything else first, waste your time, your resources, probably even kill you before you finish.” They had to face their fear head-on.

Skyeyes looked at it again and nodded. “Right, that makes sense, but...” He couldn't shake the dread.

Merdon put a hand on the kobold's shoulder and looked down at him. “Relax, I know. I feel the same way. That place is bothering me too, but you have to fight it. Use your rational side.”

The priest sighed and nodded again, trying to keep his determination as they started marching towards the strange rocks. Their desire to turn away, that what they were heading towards was certain doom and not salvation increased with every foot they crossed. It was like the rocks were radiating the ominous feeling, something Merdon pegged as distinctly magical. Halfway there, Red looked back at them and told them she was feeling something significant. Even with her innate magical abilities, they had only just gotten close enough for her to sense something was wrong. If the witch's plan had worked they very well could have wandered through the dried grasslands for days before getting anywhere near the rocks. Good luck was the only thing that had helped them.

By the time they reached the rocks it was easily noon, the sun was high overhead and beating down on them even worse, and Merdon had taken to wrapping his shirt around his head to keep the sun off him even just a little. The kobolds were in an even worse state, Skyeyes in a robe that couldn't be easily converted into a more useful item, and Red fearing for her modesty among the two males. Merdon left them in the shade of a tall rock while he looked around the area. Nothing was radically different up close, they were still white rocks with various and seemingly random shapes. Although, he noted his dread vanished the moment they stepped into the area.

Many of the rocks were chipped but there were no fragments of them anywhere to be found, and it was only because of his kneeling to search the ground that he missed her. A second later he was rolling, his shirt off his head and on the ground, and an empty-eyed Sarel on top of him. Fortunately for him, Merdon was much bigger, harder to take down, and her moment of surprise didn't help for very long. With a grunt, Merdon tossed the blue kobold off of him, sending her tumbling backward out of the rocks and down a gentle slope. He was up without delay and rushing over to make sure she wasn't injured and found her sprinting away from him and the rocks. Confident she was fine, the human gave chase. Without his armor and with his longer legs, Merdon was able to close the gap much faster than expected. The rocks were hardly behind them when he lunged and tackled the kobold to the ground, sending them both spinning again before landing atop her and pinning her down.

“Stop, Sarel!” he shouted down at her. The kobold continued to struggle, but for a brief moment, Merdon saw her face twitch. “You're in there, I know it,” the knight continued. “The witch couldn't just take everything, there has to be some part of you left in there, otherwise Red couldn't have broken free. You have to fight.” What followed was not what Merdon expected.

Sarel continued fighting against him, turning her body in such a way that her feet came up and connected with his most sensitive bits. While he sucked in a lungful of air and grit his teeth, her feet continued to move as she turned. The claws on her feet raked down his chest, drawing blood, as well as against his face, as the kobold thief managed to contort herself out of his grip. Merdon rolled and gripped his new wounds. They were nothing more than scratches, not too deep and certainly not life-threatening, but when Sarel turned to look at him the knight gestured. One of his eyes was forced closed from the blood running down his forehead, making the injury seem much more substantial than it was.

“Look at this,” he compelled her. “How could you have done that if you weren't in there? That's the kind of move I would expect from...” He paused for a moment. It took a lot from him mentally to say it. “From my verakt.”

The thief's face twitched again and her claws flexed as if she were trying to tighten them. To squeeze or grab something that wasn't quite there. Merdon continued to speak to her as if he were leading her out of a dark room, encouraging and calm. Her breathing picked up and her claws found something to grab. A sharp white stone from her pocket which came dangerously close to her throat before a yell from Merdon caused her to stop, just barely.

“Don't do it!” Merdon called, his pupils were needle fine as he focused on the rock. The fact she stopped at all gave him a spark of hope. “I don't know what she's told you, but you can't listen. You have to fight her,” he told Sarel, trying to break through. “All she's done is dulled your senses. She hasn't taken anything from you, not yet. If you do that though... she'll have taken everything. From both of us.”

The blue kobold's claws started to tremble; Merdon could see her coming back to the surface. He kept coaxing her, reassuring her, reminding her. Sarel's claws opened and dropped the rock as she took in a deep breath and stumbled backward to make room between herself and the sharp instrument she'd almost ended herself with. She stared at it in awe, a degree of fear coming over herself before she looked up at Merdon and put a claw to her mouth. Only a few feet away sat her human, her verakt, bloodied by her own claws, dripping onto the grass and the thirsty earth. With no small amount of effort, Sarel stood herself up and rushed over to Merdon. Her eyes scanned his wounds before she hugged him tightly and sobbed while her mind flooded with all the things she had done. That memory of her knife going into his side would haunt her for a long time.

Merdon didn't speak, he just clutched her close, not letting go until she did. Offering a weak smile, he stood up and turned to go back to the others. He was only somewhat surprised they hadn't come rushing over when he yelled. Perhaps they were looking for him back near the rocks. Sarel didn't go with him though. She turned around quickly and snatched the sharp rock off the ground, turning back to meet Merdon's puzzled gaze.

“This is the secret,” she told him. “Quickclaw was told how this was to be used in the event she...” She killed them or they died otherwise. So she could return to the witch. Merdon's only response was to smile. Quickclaw, Sarel, had opened the path forward.

Atop the hill where the rocks sat, Red and Skyeyes were poking around everywhere having noticed that Merdon disappeared. To say they were surprised to see Quickclaw back to her old self would be an understatement. Red practically threw herself at the blue kobold, squeezing her tightly and crying with joy. Skyeyes was more in awe, asking Merdon how he'd accomplished it. The knight was stumped on that point as well while he described what he'd done to the other two kobolds. It seemed simple and obvious to him that Sarel wasn't gone, just buried. All he had done was dug her up from whatever mental grave the witch had buried her in. Which in turn made Red's eyes light up as she came to a realization of her own. One that would hopefully help the party.

“She only seals their memories,” she told them quickly. “You used her name, her real name,” Red continued, excited. “That broke the spell.”

Skyeyes frowned. “How did you escape then?” he asked, crossing his arms.

Red shrugged. “Perhaps she said my name?” It was only a guess. “Or maybe I read it. She could keep documentation of all the kobolds in the tower. It would be impossible to keep up with them all.”

Sarel redirected them shortly. “We can focus on these details later. Skyeyes, Merdon is bleeding.”

The priest nodded and looked at his wounds. “These won't slow us for long, but how do we leave?” he questioned next while walking over to the knight and starting to heal him. His faith had become much less of a bother now.

“The exit is around here somewhere,” the thief told them, holding up the sharp rock. “This fits into a part of the stone.”

The two ladies set out to find that spot while Skyeyes fixed up Merdon. After a time of healing, he paused and frowned heavily. “I don't think these marks are coming off your chest,” he said softly. “The one on your eye was much shallower. These...”

Merdon shrugged and pulled his shirt on over them. “That's fine. Every adventurer gets scars at some point. Comes with the job.”

While they spoke, Sarel called out with joy and, impulsive as ever, slammed the shard into a socket on the rock Merdon had been poking around before she jumped him. The stone lit up and that same glow slowly traveled along every rock in the group. Merdon, Skyeyes, and Red all stood and stared as they started to shine with a faint blue light. Before any of them could ask what was happening, or what would happen, there was a flash. Reality warped and wobbled around them like someone had thrown a rock into a pond, and it made Merdon nauseous. When the shaking faded, they were standing in the middle of a room in the tower, as if they'd never left it. Red clacked her feet against the floor a few times and looked between her companions. They were back.

With all possible haste, Merdon opened his pack and started putting his armor on. It was cool to the touch again and the lot of them were drying off fast now that they were back in the moderate temperature of the tower. Skyeyes and Red fixed themselves as well, as best they could anyway, and the group looked at the door up. The final door to their goal. One last flight of stairs and they would be face to face with the witch of the tower herself. Before they left though, Merdon stepped over to Sarel and pulled her dagger out of his things, passing it back to her with a grin. Sarel hesitated, but only for a moment. Despite everything, he trusted her completely, and she wasn't going to betray him. No magic would make her do that ever again.

# Top of the Tower

Merdon made sure the group was in top shape before they ascended the last flight of stairs. Sarel's dagger was sharpened, strapped onto her, and ready to go. As well, the thief had stretched and primed herself. Skyeyes and Red caught a short nap while Merdon took care of his armor and sword. The knight's equipment needed the most work thanks to the sweat and golem. Nothing would repair the tip of his sword while they were in the tower, but he was able to buff many of the dents out of the blade. Dealing with the rust that had built up inside of his armor, however, was another matter. He was diligently wiping down the insides that had been forced to get drenched by his sweat in the sweltering heat they'd all just left when Sarel came over to talk.

The thief aired her concerns about confronting the witch, leading with, “Why does she not come down to us now?” She had to know they were there.

Merdon shrugged. “Maybe she's overconfident.”

“Maybe it's a trap.”

“It could always be a trap,” Merdon agreed as he stopped polishing the shin plates and went for the arms. “Most of this tower was a trap.”

Sarel nodded. “If it's a trap though, what do we do?” What could they do?

Merdon sighed and looked at her. “We can't leave,” he told her plainly. “Whatever she has waiting for us upstairs, we have to face it head-on. Until she's out of the way we'll never live in peace.”

The blue kobold nodded again and looked away. There was no plan they could formulate for attacking the witch in her own room. All they could do was try their best. Neither Sarel or Red could remember anything specific about the witch's private chambers, a side effect of the spell that stole their memories. Still, she felt restless just planning to walk into the spider's web like that. As confident as they had been to simply walk into the tower to begin with, Sarel had seen them get outmaneuvered at every turn. It was natural she worry about situations she had no control over. Her instincts as a thief were to control every possible variable to achieve an outcome. A guard dog distracted by meat, the candles inside a house blown out, striking at the changing of a guard shift, every detail one could control she had to control, but here nothing was in her control anymore. She had even lost control of her own body.

Merdon felt her hesitation and leaned into the kobold. “It'll be fine,” he reassured her. “For every trap we've walked into, we've overcome it.” Sarel smiled and leaned into him as well. She couldn't argue that, despite her worries about what was waiting for them on the final floor. He attempted to help her worries further by giving her a quick kiss and another smile. It worked well enough for the kobold.

An hour later the time had come. Merdon was suited back up, Red and Skyeyes were awake, alert, and they'd just had a small snack from their packs to make sure hunger didn't bother them during their final battle. The knight took the lead, opening the door to the stairs and starting up, shortly followed by Sarel, and then Skyeyes with Red in the rear. Despite being the last flight of stairs they felt the shortest of the bunch. Their anxiety and anticipation made the climb fly by as they focused on what lay ahead rather than what was immediately around them. No traps stopped them, no magic held them back, Merdon was confident that by then the witch was as fed up with them as they were with her. She wanted a final confrontation as much as they did. To end this back and forth once and for all. Merdon pressed his shoulder into the door and entered the top room of the tower.

The room had several large shelves, some with books, other with assorted trinkets and objects. Merdon figured some of them were magical and quickly wondered if they might be served destroying them before they could be used. Apart from those shelves, there was a large bed in the center of the room, between those shelves of books and knickknacks, canopied and elegant, something the knight wouldn't have expected from a witch. He also spotted a crystal ball, likely used to spy on them as they traveled through the tower. A window sat at the other end of the room letting in the early summer light, only partially obscured by the form of a woman standing in front of it. Beside her sat a desk with many vials and bottles, as well as a small cauldron for brewing. It was apparent their target didn't just dabble in one kind of magic. Which made her far more dangerous than Merdon had expected. Fighting her there, in her element, was going to be arduous, to say the least, and deadly at the very worst.

They stood together as a group, Merdon just barely ahead, his shield out and raised, his sword in hand. Red pushed her way to the front of the group and glared across the room at the witch. She was only just held back by Merdon's glance in her direction. Out of them all, Red had the most reason to hate the woman standing on the opposite side of the room. Years of being under her control, lacking free will, until the day she felt a spark of magic and silently honed her power to escape. Sarel had a glare of her own, but she wasn't as ready to go as Red was. The blue kobold was still worried about what might happen, feared the power of the witch. Skyeyes now stood behind them and waited, keeping his faith as much as he could. His crisis could wait until they were done here. His companions needed him for this more than any conflict before, and he was determined not to let them down.

The witch turned to face them, the light at her back certainly helping with the mystique of her character if it wasn't for the fact they had all seen her before. It was a dramatic flair Merdon was getting the feeling she had a sense for. She stepped towards them and crossed her arms, her eyes scanning over each one of them as if she were deciding the order they would fall in. Her arm snapped up and pointed at Sarel. Ready for something, Merdon banged the shield Red had given him, causing it to hum. Nearly the same moment, a bolt of energy fired from the witch's finger and neatly curved into the waiting shield, dispelling the minor blast like nothing. Everyone's eyes followed the arc, including the witch, who scoffed and unfolded her arms. They were at the ready now, palms up, fingers raised.

“I see,” she said calmly. “That's how she got away, is it? I really should keep better inventory around here.”

Merdon chuckled. “Didn't know one of your enchanted items was missing?” he goaded her.

“Not mine. Something I picked off another unfortunate adventurer who came to slay the evil witch,” she mocked.

Red growled and suddenly hurled a pair of fireballs from her claws, their timing staggered as she threw them with such intensity that her whole body turned with her throws. The witch looked shocked for a moment as she swung her arm to conjure a shield in front of her. While the attack failed to damage her, it did burn the canopy of her bed. That was enough distraction for Merdon to rush in as quickly as he could, hoping to get an advantage. There was a window right behind her. A good solid blow and a long fall would end things fast enough for him. Unfortunately, magical shields were more sturdy than he anticipated. His charge was pushed back by the same force which blocked Red's flames, sending him flying backward and scraping along the floor with sparks shooting off.

Skillfully, the knight recovered before the witch could counter, getting himself upright and raising his shield again. Their opponent was focused on something else now, however. Her eyes were locked on the red kobold with a mixture of anger and intrigue. Magically capable kobolds were either rare or very well hidden, the fact one had escaped her grasp, lived in her tower without her knowledge, both astounded and infuriated her. She wanted to know more but the creature stood against her now. There was only one option open to her, obviously. Kill the kobold whisperer and take his special little group for herself, but he wasn't making that any easier with his shield. The way he stood in front of them, even charged at her without assistance, spoke volumes about his commitment. Either to his facade or how much he actually cared. Still, she had questions.

“You, red one,” she called. “Where did you learn that?”

Red glared at her and flared her fire again in both claws. “I learned it while I was here when you weren't looking,” she spat.

The witch hummed in thought. “I'll have to make sure you don't get loose again then,” she replied. “It would be terrible for something to happen to a rare specimen like you.”

Merdon stepped up at the comment, trying to hold her attention while they came up with a way through her barrier. “Talking about kobolds like property again. Remind me why you think you care about them again?” he taunted. It was more successful than expected, as the witch waved her hand and threw more electricity at the knight.

“Because I don't take them to dangerous places like Ardmach without collars so they can get grabbed by slavers,” she remarked with scorn.

Merdon banged his shield again, reactivating the enchantment while causing sparks to arc to his gauntlet. “And instead you keep them holed away in your tower, doing your bidding, without a will of their own,” he once again pointed out. “How is that any better than being a slave? You've never really answered that. You aren't as bad as other masters? Then why is Red standing against you now that she's free?”

The red kobold nodded with certainty and kept her eyes on the witch. Her flames died down and she started to plan a way through the barrier. In the meantime, the witch looked stricken. It hadn't occurred to her yet that if Merdon didn't have any powers then the red kobold had betrayed her entirely of its own free will. Red had traveled to Bereth, sought out someone to slay her.

“Come now,” she said to the kobold, her voice becoming much more soothing. “Was it really so bad not remembering all the suffering you went through?”

Red took a steadying breath and nodded. “I would rather know and be myself than become a husk. Even without my memories now I'm happier than I ever was under your control,” the kobold told the witch with certainty. It was intentionally scathing.

The witch's face turned as red as her hair as she angrily threw another spell that was harmlessly deflected upon Merdon's shield. Red took her opening, sharply thrusting her claw out and casting a spell. With a gasp of pain, the witch stumbled back as her barrier visibly shattered and left her momentarily stunned as she dealt with the magical backlash. Her mind swam with pain and her eyes rolled while she collected herself. There was enough time for Merdon to charge forward again, more certain of his attack, but not enough time for him to land a blow. Between them stood too much room for him to cross quickly enough, even with Sarel joining and sprinting ahead, ready to end the fight if Merdon couldn't reach her in time.

Their charge was thwarted as feet from the goal of their quest the witch roared and a burst of sheer magical power flung not only the two attackers rushing her, but the two kobolds on the far end of the room as well. Red and Skyeyes slammed against the wall and shouted in pain, both of them being deposited on the floor in sore heaps. Sarel and Merdon were only tossed back, Sarel spinning head over heels and landing on her stomach, while Merdon remained upright, bracing himself and taking a solid stance to avoid being knocked over. It only did so much to help him, however, as the witch curled her hands into a cylindrical shape. Between her fingers, magical energy rapidly formed and expanded until she held a whip of pure magic. The mystically created weapon cracked and sparked across his raised shield. She had the advantage of range, but Merdon was the more skilled fighter.

Merdon took the blows and made his way forward, making sure to keep the shield's enchantment going whenever possible. His advance kept the witch backing up while making her swings more ferocious over time. The increased ferocity might have overwhelmed an amateur, but Merdon was far from new to fighting. He took his opening the moment he saw her swing too hard, her recovery was too long. As quickly as he was able, Merdon whipped his sword forward, slashing, trying to land an attack that would put her on the back foot, make her mess up, give him the advantage. What he knew in martial combat was vastly overwhelmed by what he didn't know about magic. Openings in physical combat were traps in magical fights, and the witch was ahead of him there.

Without warning, another burst of force erupted from the witch's body, throwing Merdon back and this time successfully knocking him over. Sarel, angry and back in motion, leaped at the witch, only to be grabbed magically out of the air. Once more, her mastery of magic was superior to their physical prowess, and no matter how hard the blue kobold struggled, there was nothing for her to kick or knock away. She was stuck floating in the air as if someone were holding her entire body. Her arms were stuck to her side even though her tail and feet could make contact with her body. The witch pulled her closer, stopping Merdon in his movement to recovering. Now they were playing defense because of a hostage.

“I'm glad you came back to me,” the witch cooed with a devilish smile. “I have your collar here, you know.” With a wiggle of her finger, a heavy metal collar floated through the air, shining and carved with runes.

Sarel gritted her teeth at the sight and cursed at the witch. “Quickclaw would rather die than be a slave to anyone.”

“Aren't you though?” she proposed. “Would you not do anything for your human friend?” Her emphasis on friend belied another meaning which got Quickclaw's cheeks to heat up.

“That is different. Quickclaw would gladly, there is no coercion.”

The witch hummed and pressed further. “Isn't there? What if he decided to leave you because of something you won't do?”

“He would not,” Quickclaw asserted with a furious look. If she were free, she would have punched the witch, forgetting their objective to simply kill the woman.

Merdon joined in disagreeing. “No, I wouldn't,” he said to her firmly. “Maybe you should get out of your tower more if that's how you think a relationship works.” Always the bold one, much less afraid of calling what they had a relationship, causing even the witch to tint red in second-hand embarrassment.

Red took the opportunity. She shouted a counterspell which freed Quickclaw, dropping the blue kobold who proceeded to dive out of the way as a surge of flames shot towards their quarry. The witch was not so easily fooled and batted the flames away, though she began to look more annoyed with Red's abilities than impressed. A flick of the wrist and a veritable storm of lightning flew towards the red-scaled kobold, which she proceeded to catch with her claws, her lips tight in concentration as she shouted and flung the spell back. With a flat look, the witch dispelled her returned magic and fired a volley of conjured ice, to which Red simply melted with her fire magic before hurling those exploding orbs. Again, the witch was not intimidated and Red's spell was banished before it could find a mark.

The air seethed with magic, the scent of elements that shouldn't be together filled the room as they hurled spell after spell at each other. Their fight could have raged for hours, as mages were known to do, but Red was not the witch. Her abilities were limited and, after only a couple of minutes, the kobold was practically on her knees and out of breath. Merdon could charge the witch, but she wasn't nearly as drained as Red was, only having a stretch while the kobold caught her breath. It was a difference in their abilities Red couldn't ignore, but it was a difference she had to triumph over if they were to have any hope of winning. Growling, the kobold mage looked into her mind for anything, something, the same way she had with Merdon against the golem. Her mind had summoned up something spectacular once, why not again? Words came to her mind, something she hadn't thought before, something she hadn't tried before. It was a long and involved chant, but the witch was cocky, she wouldn't expect it. Even if she did, Red guessed the witch would watch it unfold just to see it happen, just to see if Red really could pull it off. That was their only shot.

Red stood with a deep breath and started her spell. “Crimson flames of vicious hellfire...” As expected, the witch stopped and raised a brow, giving Red all the time she needed. The kobold was certain her cockiness would be her undoing. “Flames that ravage the world and melt even the soul. Oh, blasphemous fires of demonic beasts, rage and consume!” Her arms thrust forward, aiming for the witch, but little did she know the spell did not work that way.

The instant she released the magic the entire room burst into flames with a deep red color. Merdon moved with a start, diving away from a wall that suddenly lit up despite being made of stone. Skyeyes equally flung himself away from the door which also caught alight. There was nothing in the room that wouldn't burn with these flames, and Red panicked greatly upon seeing everything except the witch catch on fire. She couldn't figure out if the witch had blocked herself or if there was something wrong with the way she cast the spell. Someone did know, however, and she was shaking her head across from the red kobold with disappointment.

“So, you simply sling whatever spell comes to mind?” she asked with a tone that was too calm for someone whose room was melting around them. “You've no skill, no training, barely just raw ability.” The witch raised a hand and offered a counterspell to deal with the raging inferno around them. “Celestial waters, the gift of life, quench that which has unending thirst.”

And as intended, the crimson flames were doused, filling the room with steam and putting an end to Red's plan. The kobold dropped to her knees again and looked at the ground in shock. She had given her absolute best, pulled out everything she knew and had inside of her, and nothing had worked. A sense of hopelessness filled her heart, but something grew alongside the feeling. As the steam faded away, the red kobold was glaring at the witch. If anything else, Red would fight to the death than go back to being a slave. Nothing was as grim and hopeless a fate as walking around the witch's tower without thought or emotion. It was a look the witch was tired of seeing.

“So, after all of this you still think I'm the bad guy,” she said with a sneer. “Fine, have your memories back.” Red's expression turned to one of shock as the woman in front of her made a claw shape with her hand and pulled, yanking some ethereal cloud from her crystal ball before thrusting that into Red.

The cloud rushed into her face, momentarily filling orifices and causing her to inhale deeply once it was gone. A second later and everything about herself came back, all of her memories rushing forward like a tsunami engulfing a coastal town. Anything that wasn't outright drowned was pulled under and for a time the mage lost sight of where she was, what she was doing. She was standing in the middle of a village, surrounded by kobolds. Younger, naive, curious, she found a book left behind at a human campsite and had been trying to decipher their written language. Written words were different than spoken and it took her many weeks to figure it out, but even when she read them the words didn't make any sense.

Red was standing in the middle of town with her book, the kobolds around her curious about why she had been reading it. She tried to explain it, but they didn't understand what she meant. If she could read it, the book would make sense, she must have been doing it wrong. That was how they understood language. Why would someone write something that couldn't be understood? So she demonstrated. Clearing her throat, the young kobold began to read the passage which had baffled her the most, even scared her to look at. The words felt ominous, threatening in places, but here she was safe. Among the others, she could reveal the mystery and banish the fear. “Crimson flames of vicious hellfire...”

Red came back to reality and sobbed just once. A single choked noise as she realized what had happened. The witch nodded at her, seeing that reaction, understanding what the red kobold saw. It had been a mystery to her how a kobold could cast such a spell, and at the time her only concern was with keeping the little mage from destroying herself with such magic. It had never occurred to her the same magic could help her get free of her control. Their collars were supposed to suppress any special abilities like that. She stepped forward and looked at the kobold with a sympathetic expression, almost reaching for the kobold before remembering they were enemies.

“Well? Do you not wish to forget that tragedy?” she asked quietly.

Red's response was sudden and feral. The kobold yelled and jumped on the witch, the first of them to manage such a feat. Her claws tore at the witch's robes, ripping them in many places and catching her completely off guard.

“You stole my family!” Red shrieked as her claws eventually found flesh to scrape and puncture. It was nothing fatal, but it made the human wince. “You made me forget them, all of them!”

Sadly, Red was not an accomplished fighter. She had no idea how to go for a killing strike with her claws, and she lacked the raw power to fend off even a less than active adult. Her natural agility didn't mean anything if she was single-mindedly focused, and it made her too easy for the witch to grab and throw. Red twirled and landed on the ground, bouncing a little but coming upright with her claws bared. When she lunged again, however, there was another barrier in the way, which she clawed at for several seconds before wearing herself down. This outburst left the witch shocked, her eyes on Red with surprise and pain.

Merdon was quickly realizing how futile this was, especially with Red out of power. They had no hope of breaking through the witch's defenses without her, and even when they had the witch was head and shoulders above them in her magic. Skyeyes could heal wounds, but he couldn't restore her magic, and the ring on his finger to summon wolves wouldn't help them either. They couldn't move any faster than the rest of them, and, with a barrier between them and the witch, they were just as useless as Merdon was. Sarel was focused on the witch as well, a similar look to Red, and it gave the knight one last plan. One chance was all they would have. He sat his sword down, getting the witch, and everyone else's, attention. With that hand, he reached up and pulled his helmet off to look her in the eyes. Nothing was obscuring them now, and Merdon spoke from his heart.

“Look at them,” he implored her. “Look at how they hate you once freed. These are not creatures that desire to be shackled and made to forget. They aren't pets or slaves. They resent you and everything you stand for after what you did to them.”

The witch looked at Sarel and Red again, both of them glaring at her. Even Skyeyes, through his fear, looked angrily at her.

“I took away their pain,” she replied, her voice faltering a little. A hitch in her tone. “All of the suffering they went through. Does that not count for anything?” She looked at Sarel and Red pleadingly, but all they had to give her were hate-filled looks.

Sarel was the first to speak. “You took our pains, yes, but you took our joys as well. Even then... our pains define us,” she said slowly.

“You took everything,” Red said, a mix of sadness and anger in her voice. “The ones that hear of you, they say you steal names, not memories.” The witch paled a little at the idea. Stealing a name was much more severe than what she did, though what she did was bad enough.

Merdon pressed his argumentative advantage. “Every step of the way you've seen our strength together,” he told her. “Not as a master with slaves, but as companions with a shared objective. No slave would have pushed themselves this far, not even yours.” Sarel and Red nodded in unison. “You have the choice,” the knight continued. “You can keep clinging to your delusions, you can enslave every kobold in the world until, eventually, someone comes to stop you for their own purposes, like gathering sheep to slaughter is all you'd be doing.”

“Or?” the witch asked, knowing exactly where he was going.

“Or you can try and prove yourself,” Merdon said. “If you love something, you set it free.”

She paused and thought about that. “But if they come back...” The witch was thinking about the rest of the saying.

“Then there's no stopping them,” Merdon admitted. “If any of them do.”

The witch looked at the three kobolds before her. She had watched them travel up her tower at great personal risk, placing themselves in peril time and again, pushing themselves not just for their own sake but for Merdon's as well. There was something there... something that made her giddy. A strange excitement she couldn't contain as she thought about a kobold, or many kobolds, doing the same for her. Without collars or magic to force them. Kobolds forming to her cause, admitting of their own that free will she was the one that cared the most, and a smile formed on her face as she thought about it. Her smile made Merdon and the kobolds glance at each other in worry, but the next moment proved their fears unfounded.

The witch walked over to her desk, upon which sat her scrying orb, and she placed her hands on it. “Very well, Whisperer,” she said as he lifted that orb, filling it with magic. “Let's see just who comes out on top!” The ball flashed and shined as many more of the opaque ghosts left it. They swirled and slowly expanded out before rushing through the door, the walls, the floor. Flashes could be seen outside, far away from the tower, as the memories flowed out of the orb and into the kobolds on the floors below. One by one they remembered who they were, what they were doing there, and how much they wanted to leave. A look of anticipation crossed the witch's face as she observed them from her crystal ball.

Then, one by one, the kobolds pulled their inert collars off and started to leave. Some of them slowly, confused, curious, unsure of where they even were in the world. Others ran, sprinting out of the tower, down the stairs, some even tripping and falling to escape as quickly as possible. They thought it might have been a trick, a trap, but it was their only chance to escape. The witch's face fell as she saw them all leave the tower, scattering through the enchanted woods, rushing out over the plains in search of a place to hide. Not from slavers, but from her. She dropped her crystal ball, as well as her barrier, and collapsed to the floor in a crying mess. Her tattered robe Red had given her completing the look of defeat that she felt.

Merdon frowned and stood up, slowly. He looked at his companions, the two who had experienced her control had no sympathy for the woman. Skyeyes simply averted his gaze, uninterested in how she felt, neither feeling she was deserving or pitiable. All that mattered was what Merdon did next. What were the odds she would let them leave after they convinced her to do that? Even the knight wasn't sure as he quietly picked up his sword and sheathed it. At the very least with her in an emotional state, it was highly unlikely she could concentrate on a spell, like Red only moments before in her blind rage. It was possible the fight was only drawing to a close and not completely over. Until the door to the room opened.

Everyone, except the sobbing witch, turned and looked at the door. A green-scaled kobold with strikingly red eyes walked into the room nervously. He was wringing his hands and looking around at the group as he walked over to the red-haired witch. Nervously, his voice soft and uncertain, the kobold cleared his throat and spoke up, “Are you … all right?”

Merdon's brow raised in surprise as the witch looked up and stared at the green kobold. “Who... are you?” she asked, sniffing and choking back another sob.

The kobold clicked his claws together nervously and replied, “Thickhide.”

The witch frowned and asked further, “Why?” Without the memories at her disposal, and with so many she had seen, she had no idea. She had to learn the normal way.

While the kobold nervously clacked his claws and tried to explain why a kobold who lived its life in slavery and was subject to constant beatings would get a name like Thickhide, Merdon looked back at the door and saw two more heads poke in. Although they were curious, they dared not enter. Only the green one, tough as he was, and maybe thick in more than his hide, dared to walk in uninvited. Red, Sarel, and Skyeyes looked at Merdon with confusion. The knight could only offer them a shrug. He was as lost about this turn of events as they were. If anyone knew kobolds had stayed, it should have been the witch.

“Why are you here?” the witch in question asked suddenly. “You're free. It's no trick.”

Thickhide nodded and looked back at the door, at the other kobolds outside, and then back to the witch. “Some of us... don't have anywhere else to go,” he told her. “And we...” He paused again and looked at the three invaders. “We know, kinda, that you wanted to help. Even if you were wrong,” he added quickly at the end. Red blinked and looked at the green kobold, then in the same fashion looked at those in the doorway, who nodded silently.

“You understood?” the witch repeated, slowly, letting it sink in. “What are you saying?”

With a small gulp at the witch's insistence, the green kobold replied, “If it's okay with you, we would like to… stay?” He was incredibly nervous, which only made the red-haired woman grin. It was exactly what she wanted!

The witch impulsively hugged the green kobold and laughed. “Of course you can!” she exclaimed, though the green kobold looked very uncomfortable being pulled into the woman's chest.

Merdon looked at his companions and made a short gesture that they leave, which the trio agreed to. Their mission was complete, hopefully. At least if they had to come back they would do so with better preparations. Before they could leave, however, Merdon having just barely picked up his helmet, the witch let go of the kobold and stood up. There was a flash that got their attention, and she was standing in completely repaired robes. A magic that made Red jealous after what happened to her gift back in Ardmach.

“What's the plan?” she asked, looking at Merdon intently.

“What plan?” he shot back, taking a stance and getting ready to grab his sword.

The witch rolled her eyes and floated a chair over for her to sit in. Despite most of the room being charred or burnt was in perfect condition.

“The plan for dealing with Ardmach, of course,” she said once seated. “You could run to the orcs, they might protect you after what you did. Then again, they might trade you in for some favor from the government here.” Her assumption was correct. Fleeing the country wasn't a guaranteed safety net, Merdon knew that. Their choices were limited after their adventure in the capital though.

“That's a risk I'm willing to take,” Merdon asserted.

“But it's a dumb one.”

The knight looked shocked at that. “What would you propose then?” he asked frankly.

“Fight back,” the witch said with a frown like he was stupid.

Merdon scoffed. “With what? There's four of us, and we couldn't even contend with you. The capital would crush us.” He said it so plainly that Sarel deflated a little. “Going to the orcs we could… we could raise an army.”

“An invasion,” the witch nodded. “And what is the orc's score on that? The last time I checked they hadn't won a war against Avant since the bronze age, and zero of those were invasions. Ardmach is unassailable from the outside. Avant is not going to topple from an outside force.”

Red frowned and looked at Merdon. “You said it yourself, things have to change here, even if they have to be changed by force. We can't run away.”

The witch nodded and smiled. “Besides, you miscount, dear knight. There are five of us.” Merdon and his companions gaped at the witch as she counted herself among their number, but it seemed less of an issue to her. She looked at them with concern. “I am the woman that loves kobolds most of all. You think I could stand by and let someone else run a rebellion without me?”

Merdon was at something of a loss, so he asked, “What do you suggest we do then?”

With a little laugh, the witch stood up and told him, “You've got a nearly impenetrable fortress all around you. I would suggest relaxing for a bit, Whisperer. We can work out the plans later.” She paused and looked around. “When my room isn't so burnt.”

# End of Book One: Epilogue

Months went by in Bereth without word from Merdon. Cath hoped the Eye of Ethral that had stopped into the guild hadn't caught up with him, but there had been no more information there either. No news of the captured slaver slayer, the nation still waited with bated breath to hear he had been caught. The citizens of Bereth were torn about it. Their position far from the capital, despite their proximity to other nations, left their opinions of kobolds in a gray area. The guild's receptionist had her own feelings on the matter and only prayed Merdon was able to get away safely. If the Eyes caught him, there would be nowhere safe for him to run.

The receptionist stood with a sigh, tucking her paperwork away and hobbling on her wooden foot to the door. She locked the front door and made her way upstairs to put out all the candles and lanterns in the guild before leaving. That was her last duty for the night and she hated it thanks to how difficult climbing stairs were with her leg. Once she was upstairs it was just a very mundane task which left her with the sheer excitement of climbing back down the stairs and hoping she didn't fall down them. Each room had a candle, most of them out, save the ones facing the street, just to make the place seem lively. As she opened the last door in the hallway, she froze. The room was dark.

A candle could have burned out on its own, yes, but Cath wasn't an idiot. Recovering, she grumbled and reached down to her wooden leg, muttering about it being loose and not sitting properly. The dagger she kept concealed there was her only weapon, and it sadly wasn't enough. Not against this opponent.

The door behind her opened and Cath instinctively dropped to the ground and rolled. She managed to avoid a pair of throwing knives in the back, but the blood drained from her face when she looked up and saw him. A man in black, your usual assassin, but on his belt was a medallion bearing the mark of the Eyes of Ethral. He was no ordinary assassin; he was a government hired one. An assassin that could chase her down in the streets and get away with it. Cath swallowed and pulled out her dagger, ready to do as much as she could. Under his mask, the assassin grinned and lunged forward.

Cath blocked his dagger, which was much longer than hers, and managed to gain leverage enough to throw him over her. She rolled onto her back, grabbing him and tossing as she rolled. Her opponent landed on his feet and threw another throwing knife, nicking her shoulder. Undeterred, Cath shouted and tried to press her advantage, grabbing whatever she could and trying to stab him. The assassin was stronger, and slammed her into the wall, knocking the wind out of her and causing the dagger to fall from her hand. With a scoff, the killer turned, smashed his forehead against her face, and then pushed hard. There was a tearing noise as a piece of his tunic tore while Cath fell backward down the stairs.

The last thing she saw was a pair of cold eyes looking down on her as she bounced off the middle of the stairs, and then landed on the top of her head. Her killer was no novice. He retrieved his thrown weapons, doing his best to leave no trace, and then walked down to Cath. A concussion was most likely, but he wasn't there to injure her. It took no more than a swift jerk to break the woman's neck, and with the stairs and how she fell already in place, it was the perfect accident. Everyone knew about her foot, even the assassin. She slipped on stairs all the time due to it, and it just so happened she landed poorly this time.

“The Eyes see all,” the assassin whispered to her corpse before standing up to leave. His dark work was complete for this night.

Across the land, near the top of a white tower, Merdon sat in some comfortable clothes flipping through a proposal by Verist, the witch of the tower. She had drafted several very complicated and difficult plans to outright conquer Avant. They ranged from direct assaults on the capital itself to brainwashing the populace into doing it for them, all the way to gathering more magical kobolds to summon a rock from beyond the stars to fall onto the capital. Every one of them was patently absurd but equally dramatic. Merdon sighed and shook his head, pushing the paper away from himself and staring at the ceiling. She was just one floor above him, possibly even watching through her crystal ball right now. Some habits died hard, even after months of being told not to spy on those that lived in the tower. Not that Merdon was entirely keen on being counted among those who lived there. It was just a good hiding place, a solid base of operations while they all planned.

Sarel was out of the tower at the moment scouting around Avant. Merdon often thought about her going out all alone, but she had assured him she was safer without him for the moment. The nationwide manhunt for the slaver slayer was still in full force and only stymied for the time by the approaching winter. Several knights had come to investigate the tower and been turned away by the witch's forest only to return with mages to try and break the spell. Failing that, they had to turn back once more, and now it seemed they wouldn't be traveling until the next spring. At least, that's what Sarel had reported after following them. Her natural abilities were amplified by a cloak given to her by Verist which disguised her as a halfling as long as the hood was up. Few would bother investigating a lone halfling thief, as long as they weren't wanted.

The kobold thief had insisted on checking out Bereth before returning, and her last communication with Verist was weeks ago. Merdon expected her back at any time, but he was always anxious when she left. There had been a promise this time, however, that she needn't leave alone again. When they left the tower next, it would be together, as a group, to enact some kind of plan. Still, Merdon didn't do well resting on his laurels in times of crisis. While there was no immediate danger, the looming threat of Avant's government and Sarel being abroad was enough to set Merdon's teeth on edge. He could, at least somewhat, relax when she was safe.

Red and Skyeyes, along with the other few kobolds who had stayed at the tower, had given Merdon a wide berth with his emotions. Skyeyes was trying to convert the remaining four kobolds to his version of the goddess Ethral. Aside from Thickhide, three others stayed. Two of them had taken a liking to cooking and made all of the meals, while the last one simply had nowhere else to go and was content cleaning the tower for a free room and board. The white kobold's preaching bothered them, but they didn't let it show too much. A few things they didn't mind hearing, but Skyeyes was a priest without a following. His days would be otherwise spent meditating and keeping his faith, which was no longer an issue after so many months.

Red, on the other hand, was working with Verist. As much as it bothered her to be learning magic from the witch that stole her memories, she had no other choice. No one else was as magically capable as her, as knowledgeable, or as eager to teach. If they could have found her another teacher, the chances were good they wouldn't be interested in teaching a kobold of all things. Verist was her only option. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, Red was progressing quickly. Every day she learned new spells, her power grew and became more impressive. She had even come in one day and presented Merdon with his sword, fully restored thanks to her magic, as good as the day it was forged. Although he had nothing to use it for at the time, he appreciated the gesture.

Something had come up that gave him a reason to use it after a while though. Thickhide started to imitate the knight. Subtly at first, but over time more overtly until Merdon simply had to ask what the deal was. In his own shy way, the green kobold asked if Merdon could teach him to be a knight. It took the human by surprise to be sure, but with Sarel away from the tower and Merdon doing nothing else but reading he was getting out of shape. If nothing else, it gave him something to do and a reason to keep primed. The pair could be found working out and practicing sword techniques on any open floor almost every day of the week. Through it all, the green kobold had started to refer to the knight as Sir Merdon, which made the man feel awkward, but there was no stopping it. Even after he told the kobold how titles worked he persisted in the name. Over time, Merdon simply got used to it, surrendering to his fate.

On that day, sitting at the table with Verist's proposal pushed to the side, months of sitting, training, planning, waiting, there was a knock on Merdon's door. He glanced over and called out, “Come on in.” Thickhide was the one at the door, and he bowed slightly at the human.

“Sir Merdon,” he said softly. “I've come to tell you, lady Quickclaw has returned.”

Merdon straightened up, his eyes wide. “Finally,” he said, getting up and leaving the room, pushing past the green kobold. He figured the thief would be coming up the stairs and they would meet somewhere in the middle, but his guess was slightly off as the moment he walked out of the room a blue and white blur jumped onto him and giggled. The knight wasted no time hugging Sarel tightly. Thickhide bit his lip and quietly walked away, his job complete.

“It's about time,” Merdon said playfully. “Feels like you've been gone for a year.”

Sarel let go and rolled her eyes, dropping to the floor. “Only a couple of months, verakt. Sarel has learned many things.”

The large man nodded to acknowledge that. “We haven't made a lot of progress here. Red's getting better at magic, Thickhide is working out...” He slowed to a pause after seeing Sarel's serious face. “What's wrong?”

She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. “Sarel was wondering how to tell you,” she started slowly. “Cath is dead.” Merdon went cold all over. “This was all Sarel could find,” the kobold added, handing Merdon a piece of black cloth.

“How did you find this?” he asked, examining it.

“Quickclaw saw a shadow leave the guild, but it did not turn off the lamp, so it was not Cath. I entered and saw her on the floor. It looked very much like an accident, verakt. This was a knowledgeable assassin.” Her voice was steady despite the news, and her reasoning left no doubt for Merdon.

“She must have gotten killed because of us,” he guessed. Merdon took a deep breath and settled his rage; it would be useful later. “We need to make a plan, now. Avant can't continue like this.”

Sarel nodded. “Our new companion may have ideas,” she suggested, the tense way she said companion telling Merdon exactly who she meant.

The knight sighed and nodded. “Let's go speak with her. Hopefully, she'll have a clue as to what this is, and a real plan of action this time.” Merdon would help her with that second one. He was starting to get ideas of his own about what he'd like to do.

# Book Two: Chapter One, Seeds of Rebellion

In a white tower on the edge of Avant, the knight known as Merdon was frowning while the witch of the tower examined a piece of black cloth the blue-scaled kobold, Sarel, had brought back from her expedition. The man was impatiently strumming his fingers on a table while watching the witch turn the cloth over in her hand, hold it up to the sunlight outside her large tower window, and then examine it more closely in the light inside the tower. She hummed and sat the scrap down before looking at the pair in waiting, crossing her arms and looking at them firmly.

“I'm no seamstress,” she said finally. “If you need something fixed, it would be better to ask one of the maids.”

Sarel's mouth hung open and she spluttered, searching for a word beyond incompetent to call the witch. Merdon spoke first and was more diplomatic about it.

“The cloth was recovered from a murder,” he reiterated for the witch, Verist. “The murder of a friend of mine. We were wondering if you knew anything about it, or if you could use magic to, I dunno, track this piece of cloth back to the clothes it came from?”

Verist hummed and shook her head. “No, nothing like that. It seems to be an ordinary scrap of black cloth to me.”

Sarel, recovering, pointed out, “One does not simply kill a member of the Returner's Guild without reason. We need to figure out who did this, and why.”

“Well, that's easier than looking at the cloth,” the witch said with a wave of her hand. “Obviously it's because she was connected to the kobold whisperer. After what he did in Avant, I'm not surprised to see the Eyes of Ethral chasing after him.”

Merdon paled at the name, while Sarel only frowned. Both were suitable reactions to hearing an elite squad of highly trained, well equipped, and relentless government-sanctioned police were tracking you down. In truth, their reactions might have underplayed the severity of what was chasing them. The knight, however, had a sudden question.

“Why would the Eyes assassinate someone? They could have just arrested Cath, questioned her,” he reasoned.

The witch laughed. “Because this case involves kobolds,” she said as if the answer were as obvious as the grass being green.

“Why does that matter?” Both Merdon and Sarel asked at nearly the same time, Merdon in confusion and Sarel with anger.

Verist looked between them and clicked her tongue a few times. “Oh dear, I suppose that's not so well known, is it?” she muttered to herself. The witch walked over to her door and opened it, revealing the green-scaled Thickhide waiting outside the door. She sent him to fetch the other two kobolds from Merdon's party, the green one agreeing with a salute, and then stepped back into her room and sat down.

The knight was feeling tense, alert. Verist calling for their companions set off every single alarm he had in his body. This was serious, more serious than just the Eyes themselves apparently. How she knew things about them the general public didn't know Merdon wasn't sure. After everything they'd been through fighting her, however, he was certain if anyone could get secret information about high-level government organizations it would have been her. So they waited, impatiently, for Skyeyes and Red to arrive.

When they did, Verist also waved for Thickhide to come in and join them, which he did with a red-tinged face. Of all the kobolds who had stayed in Verist's tower, Thickhide was the only one who was actively trying to learn more about their former captor. Perhaps some kind of hostage syndrome Merdon was unfamiliar with, but it made the green kobold act funny from time to time.

Skyeyes had a seat of his own, with Red sitting nearby, while Thickhide and Sarel opted to stand. Verist looked at them all in turn, making note of their changes in the months they'd been living in her tower. Merdon wasn't changed at all, his dark hair kept short, large body toned and ready for a brawl, she almost felt envious at how easily he stayed in shape. Sarel's cloak was different, it was one Verist herself had given the thief, but otherwise, she was unchanged as well. Skyeyes and Red were the ones that had undergone the most adjustment. Both of them being attuned to a form of magic it made sense. The white kobold priest had relaxed a lot, meditated, come to terms with himself, and whether he knew it or not his powers had grown from his introspection. Verist's tower was an isolated sort of place, like the silent halls of a cathedral, making it optimal for someone to focus.

Which left Red, the magic-user of the group, a rarity among kobolds, and easily the most changed. The red kobold wore robes now instead of the common clothes she had before, ones Verist had conjured specifically for her. Her memories had also returned, giving the kobold some small adjustments to her thinking. She was more collected now, and her easy gaze on the witch that had formerly enslaved her was proof enough. There was little grudge in her eyes as some form of acceptance had been reached during her stay. Along with that had come training with the witch, which itself led to the mage carrying herself differently. A small change in how she sat, walked, relaxed, an alertness of a practiced magician. It was a special air around her that made her more confident, thus more collected and thoughtful.

When they were comfortable, Verist straightened herself in her seat and grinned. She adjusted herself in her own chair and began. “I'm sure you're curious why I called you here,” she commented towards the new arrivals. “These two have been asking about something that concerns us all.”

Red frowned and asked, “What exactly?”

“The Eyes of Ethral,” Verist said seriously. Once again, just the name sent a chill through the room. Except for Skyeyes.

“The artifact said to grant one the omniscient vision of the goddess?” the priest said with a touch of awe.

Merdon made a face and looked at the white kobold. “No, the military force of Avant. What artifact?”

Verist held up a hand. “They are considered one and the same, in some respects,” she told them. “It's suspected the Eyes have the artifact they are named for, hence their dogged determination and ability to track down any who stand against them. I've found it to be completely false. Otherwise, they would have stormed my tower years ago.”

The knight sat back and tapped the table again. “So, the Eyes of Ethral are named after an artifact of the same name, but they don't have it? Who does then?” Verist only shrugged in response.

“It's been lost for a long time,” Skyeyes told Merdon. “No one knows where it went, but clearly Avant would like people to believe they have it.”

“The Eyes, the group,” Verist clarified, “Are known to the people of Avant as the most highly trained and deadly group in their military. A faction one does not lightly cross, and their alleged ownership of the artifact makes it doubly dangerous to do so.”
Merdon nodded in agreement, but mentioned, “You said they don't have it, but how do you know?”

The witch smiled and told him simply, “If they did, how could they be foiled by the traps of my tower? They would know everything I've done to stop them the moment I do it. The fact they haven't come to get me is proof enough.”

Sarel gawked. “You have crossed the Eyes?” she asked, a little surprised. Being born in Ardmach, of course she knew about them, more so than the average kobold.

Verist nodded. “I've crossed them because the Eyes of Ethral are paramount to the king's subjugation of the kobolds. The Eyes handle slavers and renegades that step out of line, sending assassins to those who prove troublesome in a particular way. When it comes to kobolds,” she told them seriously.

Merdon held up his hands and shook his head. “You're telling me the Eyes of Ethral are basically a secret force for dealing with people who help kobolds?” he asked with serious doubt. “Why? Kobolds are already slaves.” It didn't make sense to have an entire force to handle something the guard already did regularly.

“Because the Eyes don't just handle people who step over the law,” Verist told him. “They also shut down rebellions and any threat to 'the stability of Avant.' Which, in my personal experience, means someone who waylays traveling slavers and takes their kobolds.”

Red looked at her curiously. “You encountered them while stealing slaves?” she asked without mincing words.

The witch nodded. “They thought I was freeing them, at least that's what I got from their would-be assassin before I gave him a new life working the fields,” she replied with a slightly demented grin. Or perhaps it only looked twisted because of the context.

“Which would explain why no one has bothered to ask questions about kobolds in Avant,” Skyeyes said to Merdon. “Every time someone questions the state of things, the government silences them.”

Merdon huffed and considered the idea while the others discussed the implications among themselves. All it said was exactly what they had figured before, it was only confirmed now. Avant had to be changed by force because they were suppressing any natural shifts in opinion through force of their own. Only now it was a much steeper mountain to climb. The Eyes had assassins, the whole weight of the Avantian government, all the resources they could possibly need, and Merdon's group had nothing. Not yet at least.

“We need a plan, a real one,” he said out loud. “Starting a rebellion over kobolds with just us is suicide.”

“What do you propose then, whisperer?” Verist said, almost teasing. “I've been trying to get you to say something about all of this for months now.”
Merdon sighed and said, “What we need are allies. Not just a small group, but a force, a faction, a nation even.”

Red nodded and added, “We will also need the cooperation of the kobolds, as many as we can get at least. The ones here in Avant would be a start.”

“Yes,” Verist said with a smile. “We can have them meet here,” she suggested.

Skyeyes frowned. “Would they?” he asked seriously. “After what you've done?”

“It's the safest place,” she argued. “As I said, the Eyes have never gotten in before, and it won't start happening now.”

Merdon agreed although it was begrudgingly. They had only gotten in because of Red's information. Without her, they might not have made it through the forest before Verist did something like change the route or uproot the forest altogether. The Eyes would have their hands full just getting into her tower and then they would be forced to compete with her once they were inside. What had once been their end goal was now their home, and their former threat was now their greatest ally. In just a few months, Merdon's life had turned upside down.

They agreed to meet again the next day, at the top of the tower, to plan more about where they would go and how they would convince those that needed convinced. While Red and Skyeyes went their own way, Sarel was walking beside Merdon back to his room. The white halls of the tower were more relaxing now, but Sarel still felt off moving around it freely. She pulled her cloak around her tighter as they walked despite it being perfectly warm inside. Anxiousness bubbled in her chest every time she came back to Verist's tower, and she would never openly admit that was why she volunteered to leave it in the first place. As much as she loved Merdon, her mate, her verakt, the tower set her teeth on edge after everything that happened in it. Both of them would be leaving next though, and soon, so she would put those feelings aside.

When they reached Merdon's room and were perfectly alone, the thief commented, “This is quite a serious plot, verakt. You mentioned changing minds by force, but this is a war.” It was easier for her to speak her mind here, even though Verist could easily see them. Merdon hadn't settled into the tower, his room was still largely unadorned, and it made her feel more comfortable with her own feelings about the tower.

Merdon nodded, sighed, and sat on the edge of his bed. “I know, but I've already taken things too far,” he told her. “The night in Ardmach where I … when I saved you, was the night my fate was sealed. This was inevitable, on some level.”

The thief nodded and walked over, sitting next to him on the bed. “Perhaps it didn't need to be, and still doesn't,” she told him. “We could run, verakt. The border is right there.”

“No,” Merdon insisted. “You know that wouldn't help anyone. Besides, Ardmach has assassins killing its own citizens on top of everything else. A rebellion like this needs to happen, and if it's not headed by us who knows what the next guys think.” It was better they fought for themselves and made the changes they wanted, rather than hope someone else picks up the mantle.

Sarel agreed but said nothing. “Sarel just does not want to see you change,” she told him quietly. “War changes people.”

“I know,” Merdon assured her. “I don't know if it can be avoided, either the war or the changes it brings, but it's necessary now.”

“What of the Eyes?” she asked. “How do we deal with them?”

The knight shook his head. He didn't know. Perhaps they just needed to deal with them in time. They were an obstacle to consider though. More information was needed. Who were they, what were their goals, simple questions like such as those were unanswered, but of great importance.

For the time being, Merdon laid back on the bed, his legs half dangling off, and sighed again. Sarel laid her head on top of his chest, her whole body fitting in the same space that only part of his took up, and tried to think about it herself. What they needed, what her thief instincts told her they needed, was more information about the Eyes. If they knew their goals, their reach, anything other than hearsay, they would have something to use against them. At that moment, they were shadows, ghosts, whispers on the wind of people rather than actual beings they could handle. To succeed there, they needed to go to Ardmach again, a trip none of them were keen on making.

“We'll figure something out,” he assured her quietly. They always did.

Across the tower, Red and Skyeyes were speaking together quietly. Their voices carried a good ways in the silent corridors, but it wasn't like the witch couldn't use other means to listen in on them if she wanted. Red had her doubts about the venture they were going to undertake, which Skyeyes couldn't understand.

“Uniting the humans and kobolds against a corrupt government is exactly the kind of thing that would lead to peace between us,” he told her emphatically. “Some of us may suffer,” the priest admitted, averting his gaze from the stern look of the red-scaled mage, “But the end goal is worth it.”

Red shook her head and folded her arms. “You assume everything goes well. What if our war never leaves the planning stage?” she asked him critically. “We would sacrifice the lives of many kobolds, possibly start a war between Avant and another nation, all for nothing?”
Skyeyes took a deep breath and told her, “We fight for the freedom of our kin. Is that not reason enough?” Just as it was reason enough to risk their lives to fight Verist in the first place.

“Not if it makes things worse,” she told him. “We should think about this more carefully.”

Which, at least, the priest agreed. “It would be prudent to know more about the Eyes of Ethral and how much control they have in Avant.” He wondered if they could cripple support for the slavery of kobolds simply by taking out the shadowy organization. If the assassinations stopped then humans who opposed the government would be free to step forward.

Red shuffled awkwardly for a moment, then reached out and grabbed Skyeyes' hand. She held it tightly, blushed, and looked him in the eyes. “I just don't want anything happening to us,” the mage whispered, and her proclamation caused Skyeyes to redden as well.

“Yes, I know,” he replied, just as softly.

The next day dawned cold and frosty, a sign of the encroaching winter, and leaving the forest outside coated with a sheen that made it shine with the morning sunlight. Even though it was warm inside the tower the sight was enough to make the inhabitants shiver from instinct. Merdon woke up early and, after a look outside his window, went about what his normal days had become living in Verist's tower. Only now, Sarel was there, and she followed him curiously. They hadn't seen each other in months and the thief was interested in seeing what her verakt got up to. His first stop surprised her, as he met up with the green kobold and practiced the basics of swordsmanship with him. Sarel had never studied proper sword technique, given the largest thing a kobold could possibly hold was a shortsword and even those were too unwieldy for her job. What she gleaned from Merdon's training, however, was that he'd never taught anyone himself before. The advice he gave seemed very straightforward and almost recited, like Merdon was reading from a book rather than imparting a personal lesson. Corrections to form and technique he gave felt more genuine, but the basics were strangely forced. Thickhide was a quick study, thankfully, adjusting himself as the knight suggested but not being afraid to make changes he felt necessary for his size.

No kobold would ever beat a human in brute force, but what they lacked in strength they made up for with impossible agility and precision. Thickhide could block a blow and then twist Merdon's blade in an uncomfortable way. Which worked well considering Merdon had to strike low to aim for the kobold in the first place. He used his natural advantages to make battle with him difficult, but it wasn't enough to topple the seasoned knight. What Thickhide had yet to pick up was that combat didn't end with a sword, it was much more of a full-contact thing. When Merdon stumbled and winced from Thickhide's twisting, his foot lashed out and knocked the green-scaled kobold over, getting him to drop his sword and easily pinning him to the ground with a foot. That was the kobold's next lesson, to think beyond his equipment.

“A sword is only as useful as the brain of the man holding it,” Merdon told him. “Folks who go for brawn use clubs or axes, like an orc.” Swords, he had seen, were an almost exclusively human weapon. Kobolds and halflings favored knives, while there was no one better with a bow than an elf, the lycans preferred their own claws, and the orcs largely used clubs.
Thickhide nodded, simply taking in the advice the knight was giving him. Their day then wrapped up with some exercise around the large empty floor of the tower that the golem had once occupied. The green kobold was able to keep up with Merdon surprisingly well during those, despite him breathing much harder than the human. Merdon was clearly doing things to keep himself in shape above all, but it worked well for pushing Thickhide and was giving him more muscle and definition than most kobolds ever managed. How muscles would help him when the average kobold survived by being lithe and quick-witted, Sarel didn't know, but it certainly made him unique, even among their group.

Following the morning workout, Merdon went to a bath, one of the few amenities in the tower he felt was going to make him soft once they started traveling on the road again. He felt refreshed after a soak, and the use of Verist's soaps didn't hurt him any. Sarel, however, found this change to be agreeable and the only good thing about the white tower. Many kobolds lived in dirty squalor, so the use of a bath was always welcome to the thief. She had always considered the possibility that different kobolds had unique properties, such as the possibility her ancestors had been some kind of river or lake based kobolds, while Red's might have lived somewhere hot, explaining her affinity for setting things on fire. There was no proof of this, of course, but it was fun to imagine her ancestors tipping over boats and stealing whatever they could.

Merdon didn't need to ask questions like those when he soaked in the bath. Rather, he focused on the future. He knew the elves wouldn't listen to the plight of kobolds. They were convinced the kobolds were a threat, nothing more than domesticated monsters that needed to be slain before things got out of hand. The orcs to the north would listen, but it would be a challenge to even speak to their Chief of Chiefs. Avant had sent an envoy to them decades ago and the ambassador had been returned in a sack no bigger than a head and wet from the man's own blood. And the only other human kingdom, Rastar, was more harsh on kobolds than Avant itself, forcing them into slavery with no hope of freedom. Their options were slim, and Merdon was getting the idea they would have to try and open talks with the orcs. He didn't find their prospects to be any warmer there than it was in Avant.

“Sarel should apologize for last night,” the blue kobold said as she slipped out of the large bath to dry off. “We spoke of fighting to change hume minds long ago, after Ardmach. She should not be surprised at her verakt's dedication.”

Merdon shook his head and told her, “No, you were right. Talking about it is one thing, saying I'll change minds by force is one thing, planning to start a war, possibly even dethrone the king? That's another issue altogether. You were right to question me. This isn't something we should tread lightly on.” They should go all in, mentally prepared to do anything, or step back.

Sarel nodded and then turned to another question. “Do you think Verist has any ideas today?”

“Not more than I do,” he confessed. “We'll have to go deal with the orcs and try to convince the kobolds. Meanwhile, Avant sits on a treaty with the elves, a human queendom, and their own overwhelming military.” No matter what, they were outnumbered and overpowered.

The blue kobold stayed quiet after hearing that. She didn't know much about military planning, not at all like Merdon would have with his background, but if he was gloomy about their prospects then she figured it was an accurate assumption. “The orcs will at least listen to kobolds,” she assured him. “More than they will humes.”

That was their one beacon of light with the warrior tribes to the North. The orcs hated the humans of Avant, and thus tried to be friends with anyone who hated them equally. This almost naturally extended to the kobolds, given both races were treated like dirt by the Southern nation, both races were almost universally considered more monster than civilized, and those things were backed up by the elves and other humans. Lycans were ambivalent to the orcs, some agreed, others didn't. With Sarel, Red, and Skyeyes with him, Merdon might have a chance at convincing the orcs to help them. In the worst-case scenario, they might persuade them to let him live, which is more than most humans got from them. Either way, it was a risk they had to take, and Merdon was sure of his as he got out of the bath behind Sarel and dried off. Despite all the time they had to wait, with the winter months upon them, Merdon was still going to go speak with Verist about their plans. They all needed to.

Thickhide was already in the witch's room when Merdon arrived with Sarel, as well as Skyeyes and Red. Plans had to be made, and as the knight sat down at the table in the middle of the room he knew there was only one course he could suggest. Sarel sat beside him while the others had their own seats. Verist was already waiting for them with the green kobold, and she looked rather excited. Probably because it was the first time all of them had gathered completely willingly in her presence. Her almost fetish for kobolds set the human knight on edge, but they needed her skills and knowledge. Starting with his first idea.

“What more do you know about the Eyes of Ethral?” he asked the witch outright. “You said you've dealt with them before.” Perhaps she knew of their main location, a specific place in Ardmach, or their leader.

Verist merely shook her head. “I know that when kobold rebellions have risen in the past they have been the ones to put them down, and their presence when it comes to kobold slavery is abundant, but who leads them, or where they may plan other than the castle, I have no ideas.” It was an open admission, and Merdon had suspected it.

“I want you to try and find out,” he asked of her. “It may be important one day.” The Eyes were an elite group. Crippling or removing them from the equation would help immensely.
Skyeyes wondered aloud, “Why do they seem so intent on keeping kobolds in chains? What do they really gain?”

“Suppression of information about kobolds and their past, most likely,” Verist replied with a casual shrug.

Merdon frowned. “What information, and why would that matter?” he asked her. She was hiding something then.

The witch looked at him quizzically and then giggled. “Oh, of course. You didn't have any real powers in the end,” she said, almost a taunt. “So you wouldn't know what I do. That kobolds were created by humans.”

A visible shock passed through every single one of them. Their eyes widened and mouths hung open as they stared at the smirking witch. Sarel broke this staring contest by slamming her claws on the table and demanding, “Kobolds were what?!”

“A long time ago,” Verist started, “A human wizard was faced with a predicament involving the local wildlife. Kobolds at the time were savage beasts, no better than goblins, and possibly even related.” The group shivered at that notion, but the witch pressed on. “Given the great deal of kobolds around, he wondered if there wasn't something better to do with them than kill them. So he experimented. Spell after spell, month after month and, eventually, he succeeded.”

“He made them smart,” Merdon guessed. Some spells raised intelligence, temporarily. The long term side effects were devastating. To have succeeded in permanent intellect enhancement...

“Not quite,” Verist said carefully. “Ultimately his attempts at making them smart failed. They could be enhanced for a time, as most creature can be, but it was never maintained and the once again feral kobolds shown a distinct disdain for whatever they had done under the influence.”

Red huffed and glared at the witch. “Enough with the storytime, get to the specifics,” she demanded. “What did he actually do?”

The witch smiled at her and said simply, “He managed to infuse the kobolds with humanity.”

Merdon's mouth hung again and he attempted to form many sentences, get across any sort of idea or question before finally spilling out a struggling, “What?”

Red agreed, but more articulately. “What does that mean?”

“It means that kobolds aren't just lizards or part dragon as many of them have come to realize. They are, in effect, an offshoot of dragonkin,” she told them. “There's less human in them, yes, but functionally it's the same idea. Though the original kobolds came about through magic and not biology.”

“And the Eyes know this?” Merdon asked, deflecting from all the other things that clicked in his brain about kobold biology, such as their shapes and sweating. “They're intentionally keeping this from the public.” Verist nodded.

“It makes sense,” Skyeyes interjected. “If it were common knowledge we and the dragonkin were roughly the same, the aristocracy would have a lot of troubles.” Kobolds would be considered some kind of special, dragons were mythical, immortal, all-powerful in the minds of some sects, creatures on the verge of godliness. Imprisoning their offspring was a fast way to get a lot of backlash.

“If it can be proven,” Sarel noted. “We have only the witch's word for this truth. And she is one to hide behind illusions and lies.” Verist gave an indignant pout but didn't verbally dispute the insult.

“Maybe the Eyes have proof,” Skyeyes proposed. “If they are actively hiding the information, there must be something they are hiding.”

Merdon considered it and nodded. “It's worth looking in to when the time comes,” he admitted. “For now, we have to focus on getting to that point.”

Verist nodded in agreement and said what Merdon was thinking, “There are really only two places we can look for help. The orcs to the North, and the kobolds themselves.”

“The kobolds won't be easy,” Red warned them. “They fear slavery, and as much as they want freedom, they have enough of it in their villages. It's not worth the risk to them.”

“We have to make it worth the risk,” Skyeyes told her. “Remember Ardmach, there are kobolds living there in complete squalor.”

Red's face flashed anger for a moment and her claws dug into the table, but she recovered and reminded Skyeyes, “I would never forget.”

The priest flushed and looked away, but Sarel came in to mention, “The ones that live in villages need to be reminded they are not safe, even there.” Slavers could find them, eventually, given enough time. “We need to be proactive.” The group silently agreed, but the question still hung in the air: who would they go after first?

Verist straightened in her seat and said, “Then it's settled. I believe Merdon and Quickclaw should head to the North. The orcs like kobolds and they respect strong folks, and given what he did in Ardmach there's a chance they'll listen to him.”

The red-scaled kobold looked at her curiously. “Just them? What are we doing then? And when did we say you made these decisions?”

“Details,” the witch waved her hand, brushing the comment aside. “You, Skyeyes, and Thickhide can go to the kobold villages. Having Merdon around they would be less likely to help you, so it makes sense to send him off at the same time. That way, he doesn't need to be sitting around here anymore.”

Merdon frowned at Verist taking the reins, but she made sense. It really upset him when she made sense. “The faster we do this, the better off we'll be,” he admitted.
Skyeyes, however, expressed more worries. “You will be without a healer, Merdon. If the orcs injure you, or if you get ambushed on the way there...”

Verist was a step ahead. She grinned and produced several small tokens, sliding them along to the party in packs of four each. “These will take you back to the tower,” she told them. “And another will return you to where you were.”

“So two trips,” Red noted, looking the tokens over.

“They're not so easy to make,” Verist admitted. “That's potent magic which will bring you in through all my defenses without breaking them.”

Merdon then guessed, “And you'll stay here to keep us all in touch if we need it.”

Sarel, however, took the coins and beamed at her mate. “This trip will be much easier than our last one if we can return here to stock up.”

“But only twice,” he reminded her. They were for emergencies only, and he figured the witch wouldn't want to put too many of them out there in the world. In case they lost them or had them stolen. If that happened, they would be stranded wherever they were to boot.

“We should start planning routes,” Verist said excitedly, conjuring a map on the table in front of them. “It won't do to just go wandering after all.”

Merdon sighed and sat back in his chair, idly toying with one of the tokens he'd been handed. Once more the witch had a point. They should try to match up their trips to be as close to the same length of time as possible. It was clear they had a lot of planning to do before spring came. Routes, packs, supplies, equipment, everything had to be ready to go as soon as the snow stopped. If they waited too long, they'd have to deal with more Ardmachian soldiers at the forest, too early and they could get caught in a late-season snowstorm. The knight grumbled internally as he sat forward and started pointing on the map to the location Ardmach had figured was the capital of the orc lands. Their plans had to start somewhere after all, and it was easier to trace from the ending to the beginning than the other way around.

# Book Two: Chapter Two, A Group Divided

Spring couldn't come soon enough for the blue-scaled thief, even if she got to spend time with her verakt in the interim. The fact it was spent inside of Verist's tower soured the feeling for her greatly. No matter how many times she woke up in a comfortable bed, bathed in an extravagant bath, ate food cooked by kobolds to kobold standards, the simple truth was that being inside the white tower upset her. It didn't help their days were so monotonous. Even if Sarel distracted herself with training, setting and picking locks, playing with her daggers, practicing her sneaking by slipping into the kitchen for snacks, every day was much the same as the last. It bored her and made her reconsider the notion of settling down, made her wonder if she was the type to live a home life. Staying in the tower was different than living in the crude little stone house near Bereth.

So when Merdon arrived one afternoon and told her the weather was looking clear, the last of the snowstorms had most likely passed, and their departure would be within days, she became excited. She packed quickly, having already known what things she wanted to take with her, what would be necessary for their quest. Some things she couldn't pack right away, she knew that. Food, of course, would have to be packed last, but it also wasn't her job, according to the witch. The kobolds in the kitchen would be handling their provisions. Sarel focused on her own things, making sure the room she and Merdon shared was as empty as it could be before they left. It made her realize just how few things she really owned and cared about. Not even her dagger was the same anymore, having lost her pair after being captured in Ardmach.

Merdon noticed that too as he packed his own things. He didn't take any mementos with him, having few of his own, but all of his gear was the same as before. It wasn't the human who had been captured and stripped of all his belongings. While some may have seen it as a small difference, adventurers rarely kept trinkets as they traveled after all, the knight saw it as quite the large gap. Where he could afford to carry something, save only the chance of being robbed, kobolds risked losing the clothes off their backs every time they came close to a human. Who would help them recover their goods after all if they were barely considered citizens? His thoughts angered him, tempered his determination for the coming journey. Sarel deserved better than what the nation of Avant had given her and her kind. As pompous as it felt to Merdon, he swore he would be the one to give her that better life. They had no other choices after all; it was rebellion or fleeing for the rest of their lives.

Red and Skyeyes were similarly prepared when the day for their group departure arrived. The lot of them were calm, collected, but one stood out. Thickhide was excited, practically bouncing, which was obnoxious beyond reason due to Verist having supplied him with a suit of armor sized for a kobold. Naturally, the excitable green-scaled kobold hadn't taken it off since he'd been given it, and his armored tail slapping against the ground made a loud clang every time. Merdon silently pondered if he should have stressed the seriousness of wearing armor, more than he had, before letting the lizard free, but it was too late to question his methods now. He'd taught Thickhide how to kill, how to defend himself, and all that was left was to let him experience being an armor-clad warrior first hand. All five of them double-checked their packs before setting out, gave one last goodbye to each other, a farewell filled with smiles and a hint of exhilaration between them as they left the tower. Months of downtime had made all of them a little antsy, and it was time to act.

Sarel almost sprinted away from the tower when the door was pushed open by Merdon. The thief could hardly hold back, and it was only made worse once she smelled the early spring air. Grass was starting to come back, the forest around the tower was ebbing to life, hibernation was over, winter had ended, and the kobold felt the same way. Even though she was going separate ways from her friends, she was traveling with her mate, her verakt, and it would be just them for a long while. Just like the old days. Skyeyes and Red turned to the South-West, almost perpendicular from where she and Merdon were going. Their goal was a kobold village in a forest a fair distance from Ardmach. It was harder to hide themselves with Thickhide in his armor tagging along, but they would manage nonetheless. No one's objective was easy, but with all of the planning they had done, it was great to finally act on them. After miles of walking, once they'd split up, Sarel didn't lose her enthusiasm one bit. Merdon was more stoic, however.

“Relax, verakt,” Sarel cooed at the human. “Nothing will happen so soon.”

Merdon looked at her with a raised brow. “Really? I thought I was the optimist,” he teased.

The kobold girl grinned at his response. “Perhaps you are simply a bad influence on Quickclaw.”

“True,” he said slowly. “Or maybe you're an optimist too, deep down inside.”

Sarel slapped his shin with her tail and shook her head. “The soldiers from Ardmach were nowhere to be seen, it is a nice day outside, and we are traveling on flat ground. There is no sight of adversaries as far as our eyes can see, and Quickclaw's eyes are much sharper than yours.”

The knight walked in silence for a while before responding, “So you're saying you know we're safe?”

“For the time being,” she shrugged. “The authorities will focus on the tower they believe us to be inside of, dead or alive, and by the time we make an appearance in another village it will be too close to the border for them to stop us.”

Merdon nodded, but noted, “Unless they're patrolling the roads.” Which was why they were on a backwater dirt road which cut through Avant. However, even unmaintained roads were known to the people who lived in those areas. It wasn't a secret or unmade path, simply a less used one. There was just as much of a chance someone would travel it to search for them as they would check the main roads. Assuming the guards were thorough.

“We will be fine,” Sarel assured him again. “Let us just enjoy being free from the tower at last.” It was a nice day out. The sun was hanging overhead and letting out a pleasant heat. Far from the temperatures of summer, and more warming than the season prior, as the fields and plains around them were slowly coming back to life. Even Merdon had to admit, internally, that it was a nice day outside, the kind which made one forget they were a wanted murderer.

Their first destination was a small forest nearer to the border of Avant than even Verist's tower. They were already skirting that national boundary to reach it, but it was important they crossed over as close to the orc's main stronghold as possible. The border was a razor's edge, both sides potentially lethal, and thus it was best not to dwell too long on one side or another. In the forest, they could be sure they weren't followed before crossing into the orc's territory and moving with all possible haste to their capital. For the moment, they were just acting like a pair of normal travelers. As normal as a human and a kobold could be anyway. Their pace was steady, not rapid but not a snail's speed either. It would take them just under a week to reach the forest, and then much longer to reach the orc's capital. Inevitably, Merdon felt, they would encounter an orc patrol before getting there. His only question, and concern, was if they would meet a human one too.

To the South-West, Red, Skyeyes, and Thickhide, were planning on making much faster progress. They needed less sleep than Merdon, which would slow down Sarel as well, but they had many more stops to make, each was also likely to take longer than his. It was also paramount they avoid any humans, and so they were forgoing roads entirely for traversing the grassy lands between towns and villages. That might have slowed them down if they were intending on going to a destination which laid along a road, but the kobold villages were hidden in forests, caves, mountains, places humans had hard times settling in properly. As long as they kept their eyes peeled for signs of kobolds, they would be safe. It was something Skyeyes was teaching both of the former slaves while they traveled. Certain scratch marks on rocks or trees, remade often due to the weather or passage of time, signaled different things. A trio of horizontal marks with a single mark through them was a sign of an abandoned area, something had happened and it warned other kobolds away. Three simple horizontal lines was a sign they were on the right track, provided they were of the right length and depth. Their marks were specific to confuse humans and other creatures that might see them. In a sense, they looked like bear marks, but kobolds could spot the subtly in them. The priest demonstrated in the dirt a few times, so he could easily cover them back up as they kept moving and so the other two could get an idea of what they were looking for.

Their first night at camp was the riskiest. There were no convenient forests, thickets, or even caves around, and the grass was far from tall enough to hide in. Red had to slow cook their meal with her magic flames while Skyeyes and Thickhide stood on lookout just in case someone spotted them from afar. When she was done and they were sated, not necessarily full, Thickhide volunteered to take first watch. Both of the other two were hesitant to agree to that, but Skyeyes quietly told Red they had to trust him with serious tasks sooner or later. She relented and the pair tucked into their bedrolls for a few hours of rest. Red took the next shift, and Skyeyes was last, being the one to stay up all day.

He noted, before relieving Red, that the green-scaled kobold had opted to sleep in his armor. A noisy and silly decision they would have to discuss later. His mind was more focused on getting Red to sleep, but it was something he noted anyway. The mage was standing nearby and noticed the priest's look, likely she felt the same way. Skyeyes approached her in the dark with a smile. It was more than light enough out for them to see with the half-moon making its way to the West, and their night vision was excellent to start with.

“You may rest now,” Skyeyes whispered to her. Red nodded and surveyed the surroundings one last time. Taking long enough for the white kobold to frown and ask, “Is something troubling you?”

Red shook her head and crossed her arms. “I'm just getting used to being on the road again,” she told him. But, Skyeyes didn't believe that.

“You've been … distant,” he said quietly. “Ever since we agreed to seek aid from the kobolds.”

There was a long silence before Red replied, “Did we really agree?” Skyeyes cocked his head at the notion. “Verist is so pushy,” she almost spat. “It is the plan that makes the most sense, but still, it feels as though we were given no choice in the matter.”

“Perhaps we weren't,” Skyeyes agreed. “But, rather than Verist, it was circumstance. Our kind would not listen to Merdon, you know this.”

“Yes, I do,” Red sighed, exasperated. She had admitted that long ago, she didn't need to be reminded. “That is my point. Verist and Merdon are making plans around us and we're no better than pawns.”

The white kobold frowned at her. “To Verist, perhaps, but not to Merdon. You know better than that,” he chastised.

She frowned back for a moment. “I know,” the mage relented. “I'm just saying, that's how it feels.” Like they were using them both.

“I can understand the frustration,” Skyeyes told her. “When Reing explained to me the concept of the goddess, that each of our lives was roughly planned out, I felt the same way.”

Red made a face, recalling the times Skyeyes himself had explained it. “Yes, that's largely why I haven't agreed to your religion,” she reminded him. “Destiny. It's a disgusting idea to me.” To insinuate all creatures were the slaves of the divine brought out a wave of primal anger in the red-scaled kobold.

Skyeyes nodded, but told her, “It helps in times like these, however. You were supposed to go, possibly because you are the only one that will convince the kobolds.”

The mage sighed and shook her head, turning to go to bed. “It helps you, Shistra. Not me.” The priest froze at her use of his name, she rarely used it even in private, and she was gone before he could respond.

Skyeyes thought on her statement the rest of the night. Religion wasn't for everyone, and certainly there was no one god or goddess who fit the masses. Even if Skyeyes believed in the teachings of Ethral he knew many would disagree with them. Red was one of them, he needed to accept it. It didn't diminish what they had. He pondered on their conversation until the sun started to rise. With daybreak staring him in the face, he turned and woke his companions up. They needed breakfast before they got started, and the light of the sun would help hide a slightly bigger flame so they could have a bit more food for the start of the day.

While Red took care of breakfast, Skyeyes had a talk with Thickhide about his armor. The green kobold was let down, a little embarrassed, but agreed that his nightly clanking while laying on the ground was probably not his best idea. The priest couldn't fault his enthusiasm at least. He couldn't imagine having been told to take off his robe at all during the first couple of weeks he had it, but it had needed to be washed in time and he steadily learned to let it go. Thickhide had to do the same, just much quicker.

After their breakfast of meat seared on an open flame, the trio resumed their walk towards the nearest kobold village that Skyeyes remembered. They were working almost entirely off of his knowledge of the area and some of it was out of date. It had been many months since he'd passed by this end of Ardmach, but he hadn't heard of any raids nearby either. Kobold villages were normally up to date on such things and he had been traveling from one village to the next until he joined up with Merdon and Quickclaw. Still, he admitted during their planning they had been together for nearly a year and a lot of things could happen in that span of time. Red felt hesitant about the possibility of an ambush, to say the least of her concerns, but it was unlikely they lost anything by checking. At the very least they could gather information about the other villages they had planned on visiting if the one they were heading towards was still around.

It took them two more days to reach the forest in question, but when they arrived Skyeyes pointed out the signs to them. A tree near the entrance to the forest had the marks, and there were no additional lines through them. They were on the right track, and the priest urged them on. In the middle of the forest, he halted their advance and gestured to something on the ground. Red knelt down and looked. There was something like a tripwire, strung together from grass instead of rope to make it blend into the forest floor. An early warning for the kobolds ahead that someone was approaching. More than likely, the trap extended all the way around the village.

Stepping over the line carefully, the trio continued until they finally entered the kobold settlement. Their homes were built into the trees, either up above or inside the trunks. Red guessed that it made for very tight squeezes, but it was better than being out in the open. Several dozen kobolds stopped when they walked in, and at least half of them fled after seeing Thickhide dressed in his armor. The others took up a more combative stance until Skyeyes stepped between them and held his hands up. Quickly as he could without arousing more suspicion, the priest lifted Thickhide's visor, revealing the lizard within. Confusion replaced the hostility from a moment ago among those still standing there, but Skyeyes was ever the diplomat.

“We've come to speak to your elder,” he told them carefully. They looked at each other with worry, but the ones who had run had already done as the priest wanted. An older kobold, one of the oldest Skyeyes had seen, approached them. He leaned on a cane cut for his height, and unlike many elders he had seen, this one appeared to truly need the support. It spoke volumes about his age.

“What is it you want?” he asked them with a shaky voice.

Skyeyes nodded respectfully and said, “We've come to ask your village to join us. In freeing our kind.”

Muttering among those who stayed grew loud, but the elder ignored their words. “And who is us?” he asked cautiously. “What other villages have agreed?”

“None,” Skyeyes told him bluntly. “This was the closest village to us.”

The voices in the back went silent after hearing that. “So you would ask us to step forward first?” the old, grey-scaled elder asked, almost indignantly. “To volunteer for such a suicide mission, with no others?”

Red huffed. “We are not asking you to join alone,” she told him. “We are journeying to every kobold village we can to recruit as many as possible. And, if all goes according to plan, it won't just be kobolds that fight.”

“Who else would fight for us?” the elder asked, dismissive.

“The orcs,” Red fired back with an angry stare. Her response roused the voices from before, louder this time.

The elder paused and considered those allies. “If you can bring us one of these orcs,” he said slowly, “One that will guarantee we do not fight alone, you shall have our aid.”

Thickhide grinned at the agreement and looked at Skyeyes. “Then we just have to hope sir Merdon comes through,” he said excitedly.

His words, however, caused the elder to pause. “Merdon? That... is not a kobold name,” he said, considering it as the name slid from his tongue. “Who is Merdon?”

The priest froze, his feet and hands going clammy. He had hoped they wouldn't have to reveal their other helper before this. If they didn't tell him who Merdon was, the deal would surely be over. Telling them, on the other hand, would end the deal just as quickly. Merdon was a human, the kobolds would not trust a human, even if an orc, or the whole nation of orcs, were involved. Not without very good reason. Reasons that Merdon had yet to give the kobolds. Despite freeing the ones in Sedra, despite the ones in the tower, it didn't erase all those years of hardship they had been given from humanity. Fortunately, Thickhide spoke for the priest, and he did so without abandon.

“Merdon is a knight!” he exclaimed. “He defeated the witch Verist in the white tower, and now they are helping us plot a rebellion.”

Two humans. One unheard of, but the other, her name and location, caused the kobold's mutterings to turn disgusted. Red frowned and shot Thickhide an upset look. He didn't know what was wrong about what he said. The green-scaled kobold had been born and raised in slavery, and he acted like it too. There was nothing wrong with humans helping him with things like this. They were his enemy, but it was hard to see them as such. Especially with how he held Verist.

“Leave,” the elder said to them coldly. “Traitors like yourselves are not welcome among us. Any of us. You will find no help in any village.”

Red growled and turned right away. “This is a waste of time,” she said to Skyeyes. “No kobold village will help us when they hear of this.”

Skyeyes tried to speak with the elder further, at least learn of what news other settlements had, but the kobolds who had been ready to fight them pushed him back as the elder walked away. They were quite literally unwelcome in that village, banished even as outsiders. Red grabbed Skyeyes by the robe and pulled him away from the others, flashing flames in her palms as she did. The demonstration caused the other kobolds to step back in shock and even managed to get the elder to turn around. She stared at them with fire in her hands for a good while before putting it out.

“Let's go, Skyeyes,” she commanded him. “These ones want nothing to do with us.” The way she said it, it sounded like the villagers were the ones missing out, and indeed some of them felt that way after seeing the flames. Magic. A kobold with magic specifically. Still, their elder was resolute. He turned from them again and started back to his own home.

The priest frowned but turned to follow her. “There's another village, near the mountains,” he said softly. That was their next goal.

Red grunted, sour-faced, and said nothing. It was clear she didn't like how things had gone, and even Thickhide seemed upset. He didn't know why they were turned away. Yet another thing they would have to explain to the sheltered kobold. The mage felt like Verist had shoved him off on them as babysitting rather than as help. Like she expected them to teach him, wipe up his dribble, and return him in mint condition. Her anger boiled over and, as they walked out of the forest after noon, she scraped her claws through the village's mark on the tree. Skyeyes looked disturbed by her act but said nothing. The villagers would fix that, no harm would be done, it was just a very spiteful thing to do. Something he didn't think Red was exactly capable of.

# Book Two: Chapter Three, Dance of Death

“I don't think we've been followed,” Merdon said softly from within the forest. Sarel was next to him and she nodded in agreement. “It's been hours and we haven't seen anyone coming.”

“Quickclaw agrees,” the kobold vocalized. “We should move further into the forest and set up camp for the night. As close to the border as we can.”

Merdon grunted and started to move, Quickclaw having his back as they pushed deeper into the forest. It wasn't night yet, but Sarel made a good point. If they crossed into orcish lands in the dark, the chances of being caught by a roaming patrol were higher than moving in the daylight. Setting up camp that early felt odd, but it was their best course of action. Doing it in the light also allowed them to set things up more cleanly. Sarel was able to pace around the campsite and make adjustments, hiding things from outside view. Their place of rest was slightly conspicuous due to all of the concealment but it was a necessary fault. At least, Merdon felt it was once he got settled in. Things had been easy so far, traveling for days on end without seeing a patrol or guard was welcome, and yet things were sure to change from that point on. Even Quickclaw felt the shift coming, her peppy mood slowly decaying the closer they got to the border forest. Now, she was just as serious as her mate was.

They killed time, having a snack of some bread and cheese, things that would go bad first with the temperatures climbing during the days, and chatted. Merdon, having noticed Sarel's mood during their stay in Verist's tower, had something rather important to ask her. Though it felt out of place to come up so suddenly.

“Sarel,” he started quietly, as they sat in the forest, the blue kobold looking up from her pack while double-checking her supplies. “What do you want after all this?” Merdon asked slowly, searching for the right way to phrase his question.

The kobold stopped and frowned. “What do you mean, verakt?”

“I mean, I noticed how antsy you were in the tower,” he replied. “Like you couldn't wait to get on the road again. Eventually, I'll have to stop traveling, you know.” He would get old, have difficulties moving so much.

Sarel laughed, covering her mouth to stifle the sounds. It was too hard to resist. “Verakt,” she assured him, “Sarel was bothered by the witch's tower because of what it was, who it belonged to. When the day comes you must settle down, Sarel will be right there beside you.”

That put Merdon at ease in his mind. “I knew the tower bothered you, it just...” The human paused and frowned. He couldn't think of the right words.

“Sarel's attitude concerned you,” she supplied. “You felt she would eventually become bored of any place, her nature being what it is.” Curious and rebellious. Merdon had to nod. Those thoughts had crossed his mind, whether he entertained them seriously was another matter.

“I shouldn't be asking things like that now,” Merdon told her. “I'm sorry.”

The blue-scaled kobold shook her head and stepped over to him. “You should ask questions, verakt,” she consoled him. “Relationships change with time. If we never stop to question where we are, we will simply drift apart without effort to remain together.”

Merdon nodded and gave Sarel a quick hug. She had a very special way of making him feel better about these missteps and questions he felt were obvious to others. It amazed him sometimes that she put up with his nonsense in the beginning and continued to do so. At some point, she had to hit a limit, surely, but that point never seemed to come. To him, Sarel was supernaturally gifted for putting up with his ignorance.

Soon, a map came out of Merdon's pack and the pair discussed their travel path. The orc's territory was largely unmapped by Avant, so the map was spotty at best, but that didn't mean there was nothing to glean from it. Sarel nodded as she listened to her verakt explain the path they would most likely have to take if they wanted to be as undetected as possible. While there was some thought to being seen, to getting escorted, approaching openly, there were also worries about being turned away or outright attacked before a plea could be made. If they managed to make it to the orc capital before then, their chances increased of impressing the orc leader. It was a gamble, and Sarel knew that. However, such things second nature to thieves, as every job came with an inherent risk.

After a small dinner, the couple curled up in their bedrolls and made to get some sleep. Sarel could keep just as sharp an ear out laying next to Merdon as she could anywhere else, and with the forest around them, her hearing was a better detection system than her eyes. The small fire they had built was swiftly extinguished after their meal, and that left the night silent and calm. Around them, the forest teemed with small life. Bird songs gave way to insect chirps, small creatures made their homes in trees for the night, nests and knotholes. It was perfect for Sarel to lay still and listen for anything unnatural. The sound of footsteps, armor, perhaps a horse if they weren't intending on being quiet, anything that didn't belong in the forest.

Hours passed with the moon rising up overhead, the stars out in full brightness, the forest silent and natural, as it should be. No more rustling than the creatures of the night. Until, near the time for Merdon to take a shift, Sarel heard a bowstring. Not something loud, not all that close either, and it was followed by a loud shout which roused her companion immediately. He looked at her, but the kobold had no words, only to point with her claw. Dangerous as it may have been, there was no time to put his armor on. Merdon simply grabbed his sword and shield before moving towards the sounds of combat that had broken the peaceful night.

Deeper into the forest the odd couple moved, each foot bringing them closer to the noises. A small clearing came into view, just enough foliage near the ground to obscure them from sight by crouching surrounded the outer edge, and inside the clearing itself was a campfire. By that orange glow, the two saw an impressive display. One human stood encircled by five others, a bow in his hand. With a grin, the cornered man turned and swung, his bow shimmering and turning into a sword somewhat longer than Merdon's own. The summoned blade reached the neck of its target, just barely, causing the enemy to shout and stumble backward as he choked on his own blood.

“Get him!” one of the men shouted, causing the other four to leap into the fray at once.

Merdon felt paralyzed as he watched the stranger fight. His motions were that of a trained, seasoned even, fighter. Even Sarel stared as the man parried several blows with the ease of a father sparring with his young children, a man in his prime with ten times the amount of experience as those facing him. Though they had numbers the men were simply outfought. Every thrust and slash made them open, and before long the stranger was taking advantage of those openings. His blade thrust and piercing chests, stopping hearts, its edge slicing eyes, cutting throats. A deadly but entrancing dance of destruction that left nothing but corpses in its wake. And when he finished with them, the pair in the bushes were left with a quandary. To reveal themselves and hope the man wasn't as hostile to them, or slink away quietly as possible and hope the five men were his targets. Their question was answered when the man stood up and called out.

“I know you're over there,” he said, just loud enough to be heard. “It's not nice to spy, you know.”

Merdon grit his teeth, wishing he had his armor on as he stepped out of the brush. “I'd say killing a few travelers is less nice,” he said, at least giving a reason why he was hiding.

“True,” the stranger admitted as his sword vanished into thin air. A mysterious weapon that made the knight's skin go cold. “But these were no simple travelers,” he explained. “They were bandits looking to sell their wares in orc's lands.”

Merdon had to ask, “And that's your job?”

The stranger grinned and said, “As an Eyes of Ethral, yes it is.”

The knight's blood turned to ice as his fight or flight kicked in. The glade wasn't so large he couldn't reach the Eyes before he attacked if he were using a normal weapon. That summoned blade, however, was different. Merdon wasn't sure if he could take the man before it came out. His grip subtly tensed on the hilt of his sword, just in case he needed to defend himself.

“So,” the Eyes said slowly, still smiling. “You are the kobold whisperer, yes? Don't be surprised, of course you would run for the orc's homeland, who else would take you?” It was exactly as they feared.

“If you know who I am, then you know better than to try and fight me,” Merdon bluffed, drawing his sword. It was one less motion he had to make if he wanted the first strike.

Of course, it also prompted the return of that silvery summoned blade from his opponent. “True, but I can see you're hardly on my skill level, not with this.”

Interested in keeping him talking, Merdon asked about the sword. “It's hard not to notice,” he commented. “What's so special about it? Other than the fact it can disappear at will.”

The Eyes chuckled. “This is no simple blade,” he chastised the knight. “This weapon is conjured from the soul of a great sword fighter. That, whisperer, is my special talent, why I'm the head of the Eyes of Ethral.” His statement made Merdon grip his blade tighter. The leader of the Eyes of Ethral, there, at the border? Their luck couldn't have been worse.

“I'm guessing you're not here to escort me out of Avant,” Merdon joked while he visually probed for an opening.

The man laughed. “Not hardly,” he said, stepping forward, his blade at the ready. “I'm here to test you, and then kill you.”

His slow advance gave Merdon enough time to ready himself and then smack his shield into effect. The monstrous faced shield would pull any swings towards it, giving the unarmored knight some protection. It worked, the first strike from the Eyes pulling him off balance and into the shield, leaving him confused as Merdon retaliated. While the Eyes muttered about cheating and swung again, only to be thwarted by the shield once more, his opponent struck back harder, drawing blood. Irritated, the stranger called a shield to his own hand as his sword changed shape.

“Less knowledgeable, more defensive,” he muttered.

Merdon pressed him between swings, “What is it with your power? Just to summon arms?”

The Eyes gave no mention to his secrets beyond what he'd shared already. Only a smirk followed by a series of blows. Merdon was once more forced to admit the man, young as he was, was skilled. Avant's most prestigious military group wouldn't accept lackluster members after all. It only followed the one who led them all was the most skilled, the most fervent warrior, assassin, whatever he was. And, the way he could change weapons in the middle of an attack was special, terrifying in its own way. Where one may have seen an opening, someone who uses so many weapons had to have a weak point, a weapon they were unfamiliar with, Merdon found none. Every strike was near perfect to Merdon, every move, every stance, even when he changed from the sword and shield back to a single blade for a time, it was impeccable.

Amid the unwavering attacks, the strength being exerted by the Eyes seeming to increase with every blow, a horrid realization came to Merdon's attention. One blow that pushed him backward, was met with an odd sound and the sight of a metallic chip coming off his shield. The Eyes grinned maliciously and began swinging faster, harder, without abandon. “Your defenses are starting to crack,” he taunted amidst his onslaught. Merdon grit his teeth as he understood he'd been fighting too passively because of his lack of armor. There was only one way to win and that was to drive his foe off, wound him in some way.

The knight renewed his assault, making sure his shield was always ringing to divert attacks despite its damage. They were more evenly matched with sword and shield together, but only thanks to Merdon's own magical gear. If he'd been fully armored, he could have won by himself, so he thought, but as he was busy protecting his own vital spots, there was no room for him to act too recklessly, to push the advantage and get a killing blow. Too much longer and one of them would have capitulated due to fatigue before the other could land that final strike. That was where Sarel gave Merdon the advantage.

She had been watching from the trees, waiting for the right time to jump in. No opening was more perfect than a weary opponent. With deft claws she lunged, her dagger coming out midair. Unfortunately, the Eyes was expecting some backup, knowing the kobold whisperer didn't travel alone, and so he moved out of the way, of a normal reach. Quickclaw swore as she grabbed his arm with her tail, surprising the man, and giving her time to swing around and bury her blade in his shoulder. Nowhere lethal, yet, and she was forced to kick off of him when he swung at her with his sword. Still, the pair now had the lead. Two against one, and the kobold was ready to kill, her stance low and ready.

The Eyes scowled and slowly backed off. His weapon and shield popping out of existence as he clutched his shoulder. “This is far from over,” he growled at the pair. “The Eyes see all, whisperer. You cannot hide from us, even among the filthy orcs. We will get you.”

Merdon straightened himself up and looked the stranger in the face. “We're not running,” he told the man. “We're building an army.” He wanted them afraid, he wanted them to worry. If they were focused on him, on the orcs, then Skyeyes and Red could move safely through Avant. And his ploy worked.

“A rebellion? You?” he asked, his eyes wide before he cackled. “Oh, that is just glorious! I can't wait to give those orders. Hell is going to rain down you, and I get to be the one to deliver it. I might even get a cage for your pet while I'm at it, a trophy.”

The knight stepped forward, ready to attack, but Quickclaw was faster. Her wrist flicked and sent a dagger right into their enemy's thigh, causing him to shout and fall. Taken back by that, Merdon stopped, and his hesitation was enough time for the Eyes to pull out a trinket of his own for teleportation. He looked at the pair with deep hatred as he disappeared into a flash of light.

“We should go,” Merdon said, turning back towards their camp with his sword still drawn. “To the orc lands, now.”

Sarel bounded to keep up with him. “Now? It's dark,” she reminded him.

The knight shook his head. “We've been compromised. We have to go now. It's too risky. You heard what Verist said about her own tokens, they can take us back as well.” Meaning the Eyes of Ethral could return at any time.

The thief focused for a moment before agreeing. “Yes, you're right. We aren't safe here anymore, but we might not be any safer beyond the borders.”

“No,” he admitted. “Not right away, but the deeper in we go, the better.” The Eyes being caught would mean another war, it would only help their cause, and it would be hard for them to follow the pair through all the orc's patrols.

They collected their things quickly, Merdon putting his armor on with Sarel's help, and started off as soon as they were able. It was tough going in the dark of night, with little light to see the brush and branches in their way they sounded like a bull crashing through a fence, but speed was key now. The knight didn't run, but he moved as rapidly as he could without wearing himself down more. Nowhere in the forest was safe, even though technically half of it sat in the orc's territory. That wouldn't matter to the Eyes of Ethral, and neither would crossing out of the forest for that matter. All they could hope for was to be as deep into the neighboring country as possible by the time the man and his magically summoned weapons came back to look for them.

As night turned into day and the sun rose high overhead, Merdon was forced to stop out of exhaustion. The forest was well behind them, but another problem reared its head as they halted in the orc lands. All around them were flat grasslands, plains with no cover nor significant foliage. Sleeping there was dangerous. No cover, not even a hill to hide behind, meant the Eyes could use a simple pair of binoculars to spot them. Worse yet, Merdon wasn't the only one who was tired, but they had no choice. Sarel laid herself down first, intending to nap while her mate at least tried to set up something to disguise them from far away. He was running on pure adrenaline and the crash was going to hit him sooner or later, regardless of whether he accomplished his task. The best he could hope for was Quickclaw being rested enough to keep watch while he slept for a time as well, and then seeking better shelter for the next night.

The knight barely managed to erect some low cover made from the surrounding grass and a tent, something a stiff breeze would knock over, before falling over. His eyes burned, his eyelids were like lead, and his body ached like never before. Everything screamed for rest, fitful as it may have been. Merdon almost didn't awaken Sarel before sleep forced itself upon him. For a moment after waking up, the blue-scaled kobold worried he might have died, but it was just her own sleep-deprived mind. She huddled under the cover her verakt had put up and waited. It was her least favorite activity, but, in this instance, she felt hyper-vigilant. Her verakt was trusting her to watch out for him, and she would not let him down, no matter how much she wanted another few hours of sleep herself. Sleep would not take her if she had anything to say about it.

# Book Two: Chapter Four, Midnight Madness

Merdon wished they'd gotten a horse before leaving. They'd had horses before, but with nowhere to stable them upon reaching Verist's tower the beasts had wandered off during their days-long trek through the white structure. Expected as that was, given how long they had been gone by the time they finished their fight with the witch, Merdon was missing them quite a lot as he carried Sarel, and her pack, and his own pack, through the land of the orcs. The kobold had watched him sleep for much longer than he expected her to and was near to collapse herself when he woke up. This was the closest compromise he could make for the time being. All around them was flatland, not so much as a tree in sight. For all the questions the sight raised, such as what the orcs were doing with an open and uninhabited stretch of land like this, perhaps even where any trees might have gone, was pushed aside by the knight's sheer exertion of carrying quite literally everything in the world he cared about.

It wasn't fast but his pace was steady. That was all that mattered to Merdon as he walked. There was no time to stop and ponder his direction. Until their encounter with the Eyes of Ethral in the forest was nothing but a distant memory, both physically and metaphorically, he would keep moving straight away from the place. It didn't matter how much he had to carry to keep them safe, he would shoulder the world itself if he had to. Though, as bold as he felt doing it, Merdon realized it was slow going and sooner or later the pace would put them at a disadvantage. All he was looking for was a place to lay low for the night. Somewhere sheltered, hidden from view where he could lay Sarel down, no fires, no signs of life, and just rest. They could plan as much as they needed to once they were back in fighting condition.

His silent prayers were answered at the sight of a small ravine to one side. A river he'd seen had been his goal for some water, but upstream was exactly the kind of location he needed. It looked, as he moved closer towards it, as if a small mountain had existed there at some time, or perhaps a full-sized one long ago, that had been cut down by the water flowing from it. The area was distinct, that was a danger he realized, people would naturally investigate it if they were following his rough path, but it was defensible. As he moved into the mouth of the area, Merdon realized it was only the ending of a long stretch of raised land. What appeared to be a hill, invisible for all the land around it, was actually split in the middle and ended with this rocky outcropping.

Merdon roused Sarel and shown her their location. The kobold looked behind them and grinned. She was pleased with the progress they had made and was well-rested enough after hours of plodding that she jumped off his back and scouted ahead. While the knight walked behind her slowly, examining the area in detail, Sarel discovered a small dugout in one of the walls of the ravine. With some rocks moved around, Merdon was able to slip into the area and push them back, forming a small wall between them and the outside world. It wasn't a large area, big enough for the two of them to lay down and be unseen from afar, but it would do nicely. Once the rocks were in place, along with some creative organization of their tent pieces, the human removed his armor and curled up in his bedroll. It didn't matter to him it was just after noon. His body was still sore, his mind was foggy. In short, he was tired and needed the rest.

Sarel watched out for him again until evening, at which point she woke him up with a cold meal of their rations and some of the fresh water from the ravine. It looked safe enough after all. The knight ate quickly and eagerly. With a decent sleep under his belt, other things were returning to the forefront of his mind, like hunger. They had shelter, for a time, and with the last of the light from outside, Merdon pulled out the map and looked it over with Quickclaw. It was difficult to tell where, exactly, they were any more. Vague guesses about distance and landmarks were all they had. No orc villages had been in their path, and they'd moved in a fairly straight line from the forest. Merdon pressed a finger to a spot on the map and shrugged. That was the best he could offer.

“We should turn West then,” Sarel said, glancing out of their hiding hole at the river. “Follow the river's flow for some time.”

The knight nodded in agreement. “At some point there we should see a village to the North, which will be our cue to back up and head North ourselves.” Out of sight of the village, of course. “After that, it's a complicated dance to try and get to their stronghold.”

Sarel frowned and sat back against the cave wall. “What will we say when we arrive?” she asked seriously. “Have we thought that far, verakt?”

“Not quite,” he admitted as he packed the map away. “At this point, it's something like... hi, I want your help overthrowing the king of Avant.”

The kobold giggled. “Well, someone will listen,” she joked. “How seriously they take it, however, is in the air.”

“Yeah, getting them to take me seriously is the part I'm not sure how to do.” The knight sat back himself and frowned while the last few strands of daylight faded away. “How would you convince a whole race, one who hates your race, to honestly believe you're willing to fight your own kind?”

Sarel's smile faded like the light and she looked at her mate in the darkness. He couldn't see the way she could. The way she saw his face in the dark as if it were early morning, the cloudy expression he was trying to hide in the shadows. “We will convince them,” she assured him. “Whatever we have to do.”

Merdon exhaled softly and nodded. “Get some rest,” he told her, reaching over and giving the kobold a firm hug and a short kiss. “I'm going to need you on watch again so we can both be ready to go tomorrow.”

She agreed, her mood greatly elevated by those signs of affection. Even so, the kobold fell asleep quickly once she was wrapped up tight in her roll. While she slept, Merdon went over his gear as quietly as he could. His armor still well buffed, but his sword needed a little work, what he could in the darkness anyway. The most concerning thing was his shield. It was cracked in the middle of the face, a small rend but significant enough. An enemy could get their weapon stuck in there, use it to push him, a strong weapon might even destroy the shield. While it was a question, it wasn't one he could ponder over at that time. There was nothing he could do about it, the shield needed proper repairs and not just buffed or cleaned. He wondered when the next time they would get a chance to fix it would even come. Perhaps if the orc leader liked what he had to say an orcish smith could handle the job. That was still a big if.

The knight sat in the darkness listening to the sounds of the stream while he tried to come up with something to say to the orc's leader. He thought of many approaches, being blunt, simply telling them he wanted to raise an army to dethrone the king of Avant. That, he figured, would be met with laughter and disbelief, making it a hard sell, but possibly his best chance of not being killed on the spot. Alternatively, Merdon considered testing the waters. If he faked being a messenger of the king he could gauge their cooperation without revealing his plans outright. Until it would benefit him anyway. However, the deceptive method had a greater risk of the orcs simply killing him, or challenging him to life-threatening combat. Both choices had a coin flip, but only the second one was likely to happen before anything else. Being upfront about his desires would at least make sure he was listened to.

It was a difficult thing to think about given his lack of experience with orcs. All he had to work with were rumors and hearsay from other folks, being Avant rarely allowed orcs inside the national borders. Sitting there in the alcove, alone with his thoughts, Merdon started to feel antsy. His instinct was to do something more, but his equipment was cared for, and he couldn't just get up and stretch his legs. They were in unknown territory with the possibility of being followed or watched at every turn. Taking a late-night walk was not on the list of acceptable activities, even if he felt mildly cramped inside the hole in the wall. He tried to think about things more, but the harder he tried to distract himself the worse his desire to get up and move became. A rare feeling for him, to be sure, but not an unsurprising one given what he'd gone through in the last few days.

“Come out where I can see you,” a deep voice echoed through the ravine suddenly, waking up Sarel as it got Merdon's attention.

The thief looked at Merdon with an accusatory gaze, silently asking him if he knew about whoever that was. Merdon shook his head and moved closer to look out of their shelter. A tall figure stood ankle-deep in the ravine's water, nearly a foot and a half taller than the knight himself, and was looking right at their place of rest. “I can see you,” he said, prompting Merdon to pull his head back inside and look at Sarel.

Quickclaw was putting some of her gear on, especially her dagger and armor. The human thought to do the same, but worried the sound would call the orc, it had to be an orc, to attack early. He settled for his sword and shield before stepping out into the night air. Glad as he was to be moving, his nerves were back with a vengeance at the sight of the orc before them. Belted on its side was an ax, wide and long, capable of cutting a man in half no doubt. Which gave Merdon a prickling feeling in his side, right near the bottom where the only thing keeping him whole was some skin and his backbone. An easy place to cleave him in two, especially without his armor.

The orc looked between the two, his dark skin color made him blend easily into the night. He grumbled and demanded, “Put your armor on, human. It's not a good fight if you die in a single swing.” Merdon frowned and looked back in the alcove for a second, unsure if he wanted to turn his back on the orc. “I won't,” the dark-skinned orc told him. “That wouldn't be sporting of me.”

Sour faced, Merdon went back into the hole and began putting his armor on bit by bit, slowly though. He was thinking some more. While he busied himself, a light started outside. A quick look shown a small fire on the bank of the stream. The orc had lit the place. His claims for a fair fight seemed genuine. That struck the knight strangely. Why did he keep bumping into honorable creatures? Perhaps his perceptions were just colored poorly. Whatever the case, when the human stepped back outside, his opponent was ready, ax in hand.

“Sure we can't talk about this?” Merdon called, leaving his helmet off for the time being.

“Talk?” the orc laughed. “Since when do you humans talk?” He looked at Sarel and added, “Besides, there's no need for me to talk after seeing her. You'll be free soon, sister.”

Sarel blinked and opened her mouth, but she was cut off by the orc roaring into the air. A fierce and loud noise which made her cover her ear holes. Merdon, realizing there wasn't much room for discussion, put his helmet on and got ready for a brawl. As soon as his sword was out, he banged his shield and started its spell. The orc moved first, and fast. Speed was not something the knight would have attributed to an orc, especially given its weapon of choice, but it was faster than he expected. Luckily, he'd taken the precaution with his shield, and the ax was diverted straight to it. Unfortunately, the orc struck with enough force to nearly buckle Merdon's arm. He barely had time to thrust in response before the orc moved away and laughed.

“First time fighting an orc?” he taunted. “It'll be your last too.” The orc swung again, smashing his ax into Merdon's shield, with the exception that the knight was ready for him this time. He didn't almost topple, and his retaliation came much faster, almost nicking the orc.

“I'm a quick study,” Merdon grunted, feeling the pressure of the fight already. He wouldn't give up. If he was against a stronger opponent then he needed to be faster and think better. The knight tried to strike quicker, keep the orc off balance. His second swing came out before the orc's third, forcing him to defend. Sadly, the orc was used to defending himself and easily twisted Merdon's sword out of the way before thrusting his ax. It wouldn't stab anyone, but it bashed against Merdon's shield and pushed him back out of his sword's reach.

The orc laughed. “Nice try, hume, but not good enough.” He swung again, a massive overhead blow that Merdon barely managed to dodge out of the way of, the heavy ax slamming into the ground and spitting mud everywhere.

Attempting to capitalize on the attack, Merdon stomped his booted foot onto the back of the ax, pushing it deeper into the ground. Continuing with his advantage, Merdon swung at the orc's hand, forcing him to let go of the ax. He stepped off and pushed while he was able to, swinging and thrusting at the unarmed orc, but making no real attempts to kill him. Not until they knew what his purpose was. That was when the fight turned sour.

In a matter of seconds, Merdon found his blade hitting air, and then a fist catching the side of his helmet. Ear ringing, a second fist slammed into his breastplate and knocked him on his back. The orc was much stronger than he thought. Stronger than any opponent he'd ever faced and it all clicked as to why Avant was so worried about them starting another war. It would take at least two men for every one orc, and with the way this one was beating on him, even that might not be enough. He barely managed to put his shield up to stop a foot from crushing him, and even so his arm had been pressed against his chest just trying to hold the orc back. While pinning him with a foot, the orc freed his ax and raised it up, stepping off to get the maximum angle.

Winded, dazed, Merdon only held his shield up in defense, protecting his face from the coming blow. The ax fell hard and fast, the orc roaring in triumph. Its blade sharp and landing at the right angle. An explosion reverberated through the air, sliding Merdon backward and into the ravine wall while throwing the orc back into the stream. The knight was left holding a handle and nothing more as fragments of metal rained down around them. His head still ringing, it took him several moments to realize what had passed. Red's gift had broken, the shattering of the shield releasing the spell in a magnificent fashion. A finale that gave him a reprieve, but not a victory. Wrangling his thoughts, seeing the orc stand stunned across the way, Merdon looked at Sarel desperately.

“Quickclaw!” he shouted, trying to impress upon her the need to flee. That wasn't what she understood though.

Rather, the kobold darted forward, drawing her knife and leaping at the dark-skinned beast across the water. Mid leap, however, something came off the orc's back, jumping at the same angle and tackling Sarel out of her own jump. The pair rolled in the mud until the blue-scaled kobold pushed her attacker off and got a glimpse. Another kobold, as black as the night itself, face obscured, and carrying a pair of daggers. Sarel froze for a moment at the sight. A full-blooded kobold assassin, nearly as much a mythological concept as a kobold knight.

The assassin didn't waste time. It dashed forward and swung, but clearly its heart wasn't in the fight. It didn't want to kill Sarel, only keep her from attacking the orc. Who was moving back towards Merdon with his ax over his shoulder. Merdon had nowhere to run, hide, or defend himself with. He could only stand and two hand his sword, which was not quite designed for such combat. Sarel would have to hold off her own opponent or risk her verakt getting a knife in the side again. Such worries fueled her parries and counters against the black kobold.

“Nice try,” the orc told Merdon, setting himself for combat a few feet away from the human, letting him recover. “But you can't get your slave to do your dirty work here.”

Merdon grit his teeth and stood up, clenching his sword. “Not my slave,” he growled before charging forward.

Without a shield, the only thing Merdon could do was be as offensive as possible. It was tough, the orc was fast and his ax had the range. The knight was battered, out of his element, missing equipment, and sadly out skilled. No matter how he saw it, the orc was his better. For the second time in as many days, Merdon had met someone that could do much more than stand toe to toe with him. His lack of training was becoming more apparent, and it was wearing on him. Without missing a beat, the orc managed to yank Merdon's sword out of his grip and kick him back over. There was no fight left in him after the last several blows. In just a few minutes he had gone from even, to at an advantage, to bested. He had no room for anger, only worry as he looked over at Sarel.

The kobold looked behind her and her eyes went wide. She was open, the black one saw it, but it stopped as the blue one moved, spoke, without regard for herself.

“Verakt!” Sarel shouted, lunging at the black orc, her dagger cocked back and thrown as hard as she could manage. The assassin stumbled, intentionally, its own dagger missing Sarel's shoulder by centimeters.

The orc was well aware of the coming blade, easily turning his arm to avoid it, but the black kobold did more than the dagger ever could have. “Halt, verakt,” the assassin called, making the orc pause and look at her; the voice definitively feminine.

“What?” he grumbled, keeping an eye on Merdon.

The black kobold sprinted past Sarel and nimbly climbed the orc. “You heard the blue one,” she said. “The word she spoke. Our word.”

Merdon was frozen, his eyes stuck on the ax looming over him, the orc like an executioner.

“Yes, she said verakt, mate, the human could-.” His comment was cut off by the kobold on his back slapping his head.

“No slave would call a rapist their verakt,” she hissed. “No kobold is so dense.”

The orc grumbled. “She could be mesmerized,” he reasoned.

“Not fighting the way she did,” the black kobold once more argued. “She isn't slow, her wits are clearly about her. I sense no alterations to her mind.”

After a pause, the orc set his ax down and grunted. “So... who are they?” he asked.

With a sigh, the kobold on his back said, “Why not ask them yourself, Grot?”

Sarel answered without being asked herself. “We were seeking the orc capital.” The blue kobold stepped over, putting herself between Merdon and the orc. “To raise a rebellion.”

Grot, as he was called, blinked and then laughed. It was an earth-shaking sound that felt like it would echo without a ravine around them. “A rebellion?” he asked, incredulously. “What ever for?”

Merdon recovered his wits and sat up, taking his helmet off. “My name is Merdon,” he told the orc. “But many more know me now as the kobold whisperer.”

The kobold on Grot's back looked at the orc. “The whisperer? We have heard … stories.”

“About a massacre in Ardmach?” he asked, the kobold nodding in response. “Yeah, that was me. They captured my friends, I saw things I-.” He stopped and shook his head. Merdon couldn't go back to those thoughts.

“You saw what they do,” Grot grumbled. “Well, what do you know, a human with a conscience.”

“He is not the only one,” Sarel told the orc. “Their government lies to them, keeps them in the dark.”

The black kobold gave a short laugh. “They do as humes do,” she simplified.

Merdon shook his head. “No, this is different. Kobolds are more related to dragonkin than monsters,” he told the pair, causing them both to raise a brow.

“It sounds like you know a bit more than we do,” Grot admitted. “What exactly were you hoping to achieve here, human?”

“I wanted to speak to the chief of chiefs,” the human said earnestly. “To see if he was interested in getting some payback for the great war.”

Grot smirked and then burst with laughter again. “You've got balls, hume,” the orc joked. “To see the chief of chiefs, however, you'll have to get endorsed by a chief yourself.”

Merdon picked himself up off the ground. “Fine, how do I do that?”

Grot rolled his shoulders, the black kobold slipping to wherever she'd come from on his back. “You want that? Come with me,” he told them. “Get your stuff and we'll go to the village across the way. We can discuss it with the chief there.”
Sarel nodded and went to get her pack before stopping and turning back. “How did you know where we were?” she asked, looking at their hiding place. It was quite well hidden.

Grot smirked at her and said, “Our scouts saw you enter the ravine this afternoon. When you didn't come back out, we knew you were camped in here.”

The knight frowned. Clearly, they weren't as stealthy as he hoped they were. It set in that the offer could be a trap, but he picked up his pack anyway, keeping his armor on. Just in case.

# Book Two: Chapter Five, Serendipity

The orc village was well lit by a large bonfire that burned in the middle of it, illuminating everything with a pale orange light and making the whole thing stand out in the middle of the plains. If Merdon had bothered to check further up the ravine, he would have seen it as easily as they had seen him and Sarel. He felt like an idiot as well a tourist. His eyes were drawn to every detail of the village, just in case it was important. Their walls, for example, were tall, pointed, but crude. There was only one way in he had seen, from the front, and the houses were of similarly simple construction. Wood seemed to be the most common material, each house more of a cabin than anything else. Orcs weren't nomadic after all, no more than the humans of Avant. Decorations consisted of bones, each house having something hanging near the front door. Merdon wasn't sure if it was religious, offerings, a ward, a warning to intruders perhaps. Inside the walls of the village, he was more out of his element than ever before. All of the orcs watching him didn't help things.

Merdon was tall, but not close to being as tall as the shortest orc he saw. The smallest among the guards watching them walk through to the center of town was easily several inches taller than he was. Their size and muscle mass were unrivaled and, as he had told Thickhide before, axes were belted to nearly every single one of them. What few swords he saw were large, too large to be held by human hands, likely for exactly that reason. Claymores were one thing, these were nearly slabs of metal that would crush before cutting anything. Wandering through the town without his shield made him feel uneasy, but Grot had assured him nothing would happen until they had a talk with the chief.

Beyond the citizens watching his approach, the human felt an overwhelming sense of solitude. In a sea of colors, the dark-skinned orc in front of him, the blue kobold beside him, the hues of the orcs around him, ranging from greens to angry reds and down to more dark ones like Grot, he was the only human. He wondered how dragonkin lived among all these races and never felt lonely and out of place. Twisted though it was, the feeling made him homesick. Their walk wasn't long, the village was designed in such a way the chief's lodgings were a straight shot from the gate, all one had to do was circle around the bonfire to reach it, but in that trip more than any other, Merdon felt isolated. This, he believed, was what it felt like to be captured, and it made him ill on top of everything else.

It was also difficult to not notice the little amenities for kobolds, though the human saw few of them on the streets. There were places for orcs to sit, benches made from roughly hewn logs, but there were also more meticulously crafted ones at a shorter height. He felt a small sadness at the perceived disparity, but then realized the benches had been made by kobolds and it was just a small step to think how much more freedom those kobolds had than the ones in Ardmach. They had jobs here, trades, they were craftsmen. Thievery and servitude weren't the norm for them, and it made Merdon wonder just how far down Avant had kicked the kobolds metaphorically. After all, he'd never heard of a kobold woodworker in Avant, but obviously there were ones here.

The silent tour came to a close as Grot led them into the main cabin and a pair of orcs at the door shut them inside. It had a high ceiling, more than enough headroom for Grot or even taller orcs, and was more than comfortable. Furs decorated the walls and floor. Along with the skulls on the outside of many buildings, Merdon was getting a very tribal feel from the orcs' home. There were many rooms in the big lodge he couldn't see, hallways and a second story it seemed, but the very first room was almost like a throne room. In it sat a single chair, backed by a plush pelt, seated with something equally soft, he was sure. It sat empty at the moment until Grot stepped up and sat down, with his black kobold slinging off his back and standing next to him.

“You wanted to speak with a chief,” Grot said, setting his elbow on the armrest and then leaning his chin on a balled-up hand. “Then speak.”

Sarel blinked in surprise, looking around before confirming, “You?”

“Of course,” the black kobold said, as though it were obvious. “Who else would have gone to deal with a human traveling unattended through our lands? We had to be diplomatic.”

Merdon let out a short laugh. “If that's diplomacy I can see why relations are rocky between you and Avant,” he commented cynically.

Grot shrugged. “If it were me, I wouldn't have ended the war,” he told the knight calmly. “The things you do, how you humes act, it's appalling to everyone with a sense of nature.”

Sarel stepped forward, her claws flexed angrily. “What his race does is not who he his,” she hissed, her tail slapping the ground behind her punctuating her words.

Despite the difference in their size, the kobold's anger caused Grot to sit up more than the human's cynicism. He cared more about her opinions than his, and the black kobold's chuckle told the room how she felt about the display.

“Be mindful of your words, verakt,” the assassin told her orcish mate. “It seems we must work with a hum-an who has his senses.” Her stumbling over the word human was not lost on Merdon, nor Sarel.

Grot, however, nodded. “You're right. Whatever problems the humans have, they shouldn't be applied to this one, not yet. We've heard of what you've done,” he reminded Merdon, looking him in the eyes. “How many did you slay in Ardmach?”

“I lost count,” the human told him honestly. “Skyeyes and I moved a little too fast for me to bother counting, and they hardly fought back. It's a blur.”

The black kobold tilted her head. “Skyeyes? This sounds like a kobold.”

Quickclaw nodded, “A member of our group. He is traveling with another kobold, Red, through Avant trying to raise support from the local kobold populace.”

“Ahh, I see,” the assassin said, leaning against the sturdy wooden chair her own mate sat in. “That is a difficult task. And you have come to seek the aid of orcs. To what end, we wonder?”

Merdon took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “We've learned a lot about Avant in our travels,” he started. “I've seen the inhumane treatments Avant forces on the kobolds, and the byproducts of such acts. To strike at one group, to try and kill every slaver, would be a monumental task that would ultimately achieve nothing.” Grot nodded in understanding, keeping silent, while his black-scaled mate stayed silent and motionless.

“To that end,” the knight continued, “I've determined the best course of action is to cut the head off the serpent completely. To dethrone the king, and restructure Avant from the top down.” A bold proposal, one with many flaws and loopholes, but it made Grot laugh rancorously.

“So, you expect the orcs will be led by a human? Marched to victory with one of their enemies at the helm of the battle? Replace one hume with another?” he antagonized Merdon, causing the blue-scaled kobold to sneer at the chief again. He ignored her this time. “What makes you think we would agree to such an idea?”

“I didn't,” he admitted. “But, I'm not asking to lead, either the war or the nation.” That caused a touch of confusion to wash across the faces of his debate opponents. “I'm only seeking equality, an end to these pointless hostilities between races.” After seeing the orcs' village, Merdon was thinking Avant hid more than kobold knowledge from the people. Perhaps not intentionally, but through a veil of ignorance misinformation spread like wildfire. People like himself were blind to what orcs were like, restricted as they were, and thus whatever foolish stories they heard were taken as the whole truth. Guilt by omission, but guilt nonetheless.

“And who would take the throne?” Grot questioned. “An orc?”

Merdon shrugged. “Why not a kobold?” Both of the creatures in question stared at the human for the mere suggestion, while the orc chief laughed. His laughter filled the whole cabin with his booming tone and didn't end until he'd pounded the armrest of his chair several times, causing it to crack under the jovial assault.

“A kobold king!” he shouted. “Now that would be something to see. Human, I can't guarantee anything, but you make a damn entertaining proposition.” Merdon bowed sarcastically. “But, entertaining won't win the chief of chiefs over. We need to workshop this idea of yours a lot more.”

Sarel frowned. “Why?” she asked earnestly. “Entertaining or not, Merdon is not asking for something the orcs do not already want.”

The black-scaled kobold nodded, but reminded her, “The last war with Avant ended poorly, and the orcs have a treaty with the humes. Breaking it will cause many serious repercussions unless we are prepared. All tribes must agree to such an act, lest we have cowards who stab us in the back or do not fight with all their strength.”

Grot smiled at his mate's words and said to her, “Shade, show our guests to a room they can rest in. We shall speak more on the matter in the morning. When we're not full of bliss over our fight.”

Merdon wasn't exactly feeling pleased after their encounter. Rather, his head ached slightly in the front, and his body wanted the armor off so he could unwind. Though he was equally unsure such a thing would happen in the orc's village. A place to relax, however, sounded like exactly what he needed, for a time.

Shade nodded and stepped away from the chair, leading Sarel and Merdon down one of the long wings of the cabin. The decorations were less egregious the further they got from the main hall, though they continued to walk on thick fur hides the whole way. Furs were a specialty of the orcs. Merdon suspected every cabin in the village was similarly decorated and covered. For warmth, both physical and emotional, if not status. More furs and skulls meant more seasoned hunters, or so he guessed. It was something to ask Grot about later. When they weren't busy fighting each other, or an army, or anything else.

The room they were taken to was large enough for three humans, which Merdon figured was about two orcs. Shade told them in her soft voice that breakfast was served at the crack of dawn, and the pair should arrive early if they hoped to get anything decent. It seemed even eating was a competitive activity in the orc's lands. Things were starting to surprise Merdon less and less as he heard about them for himself. Stories of the orcs barbaric tendencies didn't seem far fetched while standing in the middle of their town, but he also sensed there was a reason behind them. Customs and culture, not rowdy acts for the sake of being crude. A history Avant had failed, or refused, to see and accept.

As the assassin left the pair in the room, the knight looked around sighed, taking his armor off in the process. The room was nice, warm, a little spartan, but given the orcs decorated with pieces of their prey Merdon wasn't going to complain about a plain room. There were no windows, which Sarel frowned at, given her nature, but the human didn't mind. He'd rather they have some privacy for the night, and once his armor was off he went to test the bed. It was soft enough, they had been provided blankets, nothing seemed out of place or disingenuous. Overall, it appeared to be a good place to relax. So why did both of them seem so agitated?

Merdon knew why he felt that way, surrounded as he was by orcs, the race he had been told since childhood would rather see his corpse than listen. No amount of logic at the moment diffused such an ingrained reaction. It was just something he had to overcome by himself, the same way he'd had to get used to Sarel. Although, she was easier to get used to. He found kobolds to be rather cute, especially compared to dragons or dragonkin. Orcs, on the other hand, were terrifying, in statue, strength, and skill. Still, it didn't explain why the blue kobold was pacing around their room with her arms crossed. The way her tail swung from side to side as she walked giving away her distracted state to Merdon. If she were paying attention, it would have moved less, been more under control.

Naturally, he had to ask her, “What's wrong?” Merdon tapped the bed next to him, offering her a seat, but the kobold declined by avoiding it entirely.

“Shade,” she said slowly. “That is not a kobold name.”

Merdon frowned. “It could be short for something,” he offered, but Sarel shook her head.

“No, verakt. Would you call me Quick, or claw, for short?” she challenged. The human tested them mentally and frowned. Those did sound wrong. “Exactly,” Sarel continued. “You would, if needs be, call Sarel her name. It is shorter.”

“So, is Shade her real name?” he asked next. It didn't sound like it, but he wanted to cover his bases.

“No,” the kobold confirmed. “It must be a second name, but it is unlike any kobold name. Much the same way she speaks unlike a kobold.”

The knight nodded, but pointed out, “We've met several kobolds like that.” Skyeyes and Red didn't, just for the two easiest examples.

Sarel agreed, but with a sigh, admitted, “Sarel wonders if she should not change. It becomes increasingly difficult to retain a kobold's speech the longer one is with humans. At the same time, it feels... wrong.”

Merdon could understand her difficulties. It was like giving up a piece of her heritage, slipping further and further from her kind. He stood up and walked over to her, kneeling and stopping the kobold's steady pace. The knight put his hands on her shoulders and got her to look him in the eyes.

“Don't change just because you've seen others doing it,” he said softly. “That's not you, and making changes that aren't true to yourself is a sure way to end up sad.”

Sarel smiled at his words and put her claw on his hand. “Thank you, verakt. The notion is sweet, but this would be a choice Sarel makes. Perhaps it is just the nature of change. One must adapt or be left behind for nothing. The way one speaks is easy enough to change. Sarel is just over complicating things.”

Merdon nodded and let go, but reaffirmed, “Don't change for those reasons. Do it because you want to because you think it's a good idea. And, if you don't like it, you can always go back. I'm not going to judge you for how you talk.”

Sarel smiled and accepted his words before recalling what they'd been told. If they wanted breakfast they needed to be up early, and it was already late enough when they arrived. Merdon felt she was distracting him from her worries, but if she didn't want to discuss them further it wasn't his place to push. He simply agreed they should sleep and went to blow out the candles in the room. Before long, they were snuggled under thick blankets, perfect for the chilly, early spring evenings, and the human had his mate wrapped in his arms. Despite all his worries and wonders, sleep claimed Merdon's mind rapidly.

The following morning dawned crisp and clear. A gentle dew hung on the grass outside that Merdon could see as he left the room Grot had provided for them. Sarel was much more awake than he was, her eyes quickly scanning everything. It was the thief who smelled the food first and guided her mate towards it. A large feast sat in the main hall, with many orcs cooking a variety of meats in a huge fire. Grot was seated on one of the giant, roughly cut logs they'd seen walking into the village, and he made eye contact with Merdon as he tapped the spot next to him. As the human moved over there, Shade came by and pulled Sarel to another seat, one of the kobold appropriate ones. The knight didn't like how cleanly they'd been split up, but he was learning to trust the orc chief, and so he let it slide, but made sure Sarel noted his discomfort.

Grot had a whole ham by the bone and eating loudly as Merdon sat down next to him. The human felt dwarfed being anywhere near the orc, but somehow sitting down made it worse. Like he was seated next to an adult while he was a child. As if he needed babysat. Still, he pushed those pointless instincts aside and grabbed something to eat.

“That's bold,” Grot muttered with a chuckle. “Most folks wait for the chief to finish eating.”

Merdon glanced around. Shade and Sarel were already stuffing their faces in the manner kobolds were accustomed.

“I don't see anyone else waiting,” the human admitted.

“True,” Grot said, grabbing another slab of meat. “And you were invited here by Shade, and I'd rather not get on her bad side.”

Merdon, chewing for a moment, asked, “What's the story with you two?”

Grot smirked and started, “We met by complete accident. I was ambushing a slave caravan on the edge of Avant. Illegal, yes, but I'm not one to sit by and do nothing so close to my hunting grounds.”

The knight chuckled and said, “I freed Sarel from a cage down in Sedra, a shady little port town, while on a guild quest. That was before Ardmach.”

The chief grinned and clapped Merdon on the back, causing the human to cough up a chunk of meat. “Maybe you humes aren't all bad,” he praised the man. “Shade wasn't locked up though. She had been riding under the wagon for two days after scaring the slavers silly by killing one of their horses. They ran the beasts ragged and when they finally stopped out of exhaustion, she came up to kill them. Except, I'd already put an ax through one of their heads.”

Merdon nodded, following along. “I imagine she wasn't pleased?” he guessed, and Grot confirmed.

“As soon as she was done stabbing the other hume in the back, she jumped onto me, punching my face.” He laughed at the memory. “She was livid, and she tried to stab me a few times. I managed to get her off me before she did any lasting damage, but that wasn't all the fight she had in her. After two days under a cart, I'd have thought she'd be more worn out, but a couple of times the girl almost got me. Orcs aren't like humes, we don't pay attention to the same things in a mate. Shade was tough, energetic, it takes a lot to make me admit those things.”

The knight nodded slowly. Some humans liked those qualities, but he wasn't interested in interspecies debate at breakfast. “So, what happened then?”

“Well,” Grot said, pondering it. “We scrapped, eventually she settled down and let us help, and when we got back to the village she slept for a whole day. That's unusual for a kobold.”

“Yeah, they usually only need four to six hours,” he agreed, causing Grot to raise a brow.

“You certainly know more than most humes,” the orc commented.

Merdon gave him a sly smirk. “I am the kobold whisperer, and I do have one for a mate as well.”

Grot laughed and took another bite, talking through his mouthful of food. “I'm surprised at that,” he said. “I'd have figured the age gap would put a human off.”

“Age gap?” Merdon asked, confused at last.

Grot, however, slowed his chewing to a stop and looked at the human seriously. “You said yourself, kobolds are closer to dragonkin, and those bastards don't like to die unless you kill them. Kobolds'll live two, three hundred years, easy. Even if yours ain't that old yet, she will be one day. Like us orcs. Most of our chiefs were around during the great war, and that was a couple of you human's generations.”

Merdon paled at the information, his brain nearly blotting out the second part about orcs altogether. Sarel would outlive him by that much? And not just that long, but easily. He looked across at the kobold finishing her breakfast of roasted meats, leaning back and belching with a content look on her face. The human went cold all over as he thought about it. He'd never asked how old she was, it simply never occurred to him. Not that he'd have asked how long she had been alive afterward. His appetite left in a hurry, leaving Merdon with nothing to do but think.

# Book Two: Chapter Six, Growing Storm

Merdon was a knight, a strong, capable fighter that had faced many challenges. He'd fought a witch of powerful skill and turned her into an ally. He had walked miles in a single day, carrying all the things he owned in the world on his back. His history was filled with brutal bandit butcherings, stronghold sieges, and recovering lost items for wealthy and poor alike. His father had trained him in the ways of an Avantian knight, his mother had given him the skills necessary to survive in the wild. In short, there was very little the knight wasn't prepared to tackle head-on, and with the determination and strength of will that many couldn't muster in the whole of their lifetimes. For all of his training, combat experience, skills, traveling, hard work, nothing he'd done could have prepared him for the stony faces that were staring at him as though possessed by the abyss itself.

Shade was quiet, standing next to Grot's wooden throne. She was calm, collected, and silent. Grot, on the other hand, was starting to crack. His lip quivered and shifted, trying not to form into a scowl, all while his eyes remained set on Merdon's face. The knight was sweating as he glanced at Sarel, standing on the orc chief's other side, a completely deadpan look on her face. As though her mate had sucked the soul straight from her body in just a few minutes. Nervousness dripped down Merdon's fingers, and he had to shake himself just to make sure he wouldn't pass out.

“Was it that bad?” he choked softly, rubbing his brow with the back of a hand. “I thought it was all right.”

Sarel sighed and rubbed her temple firmly. “Verakt, do not take up theater,” she lamented.

“There is no way you could speak for him, is there?” Shade asked, not even lowering her voice to try and hide it from Merdon. The words striking the human like an arrow to the heart.

“It wasn't that bad!” he protested, slicing the air with his hand. “C'mon. It's not that complicated. I'm just asking the chief of chiefs for aid in a war, a war the orcs want to continue, right?”

Grot groaned and put his face into his palm. “No, Shade, I'm afraid the human will have to ask for help himself.”

Sarel stepped up before Merdon said anything else, cutting him off. “Verakt,” she said calmly. “You stumbled over every other word, sounded as though you were reading a play word for word, and stood as straight as a pole in a field.” He was unnatural when speaking publically.

The knight swallowed. “That bad?” he managed, just so.

“Merdon,” the orc chief said, standing up and stretching. “Giving a speech isn't about memorizing some words and spitting them back out like a drunkard's dinner after a night of ale. You have to be passionate, believe what you're saying. When you talk, I don't believe it.”

Shade nodded. “I would be inclined to think Grot has snatched you up from Avant and beaten you into this to incite the orcs into a second war,” the black-scaled kobold suggested.

Grot raised a brow. “Well now, let's talk about that,” he mumbled. “We could probably find someone more convincing than Merdon here to do it.”

Merdon's mouth hung open. “You can't be serious,” he complained. “You think some random person off the road could do better?”

The dark-skinned orc chuckled and cracked his knuckles. “Not sure, but they'd sure be a lot more motivated than you are.”

The human deflated and gave up. The four of them adjourned for lunch, a less involved affair compared to the breakfast Merdon had witnessed once the other orcs of the cabin awoke. Lots of fighting, shoving, punching, as if there wasn't enough food to go around. By noon, the lot of them were lethargic without something to do. Their menu mostly being leftovers from breakfast probably didn't stimulate them to argue with each other either. Sarel and Shade ate heartily enough, though Grot seemed much less enthused himself. Merdon wondered why but didn't ask. The worries of a leader were not his, and he doubted he could understand without being that position for himself. A few kobolds was nothing like a whole village and that was the most Merdon had ever dealt with being a leader before.

Alongside learning about orcs, Merdon also got to see the kobolds of the village. They were more active after his arrival, the orcs having hidden them away in case of an attack, and discovering he was friendly. The kobolds walked about the village rather openly. They engaged in trade with orcs, helped with the smiths forging weapons and armor, crafted pieces of jewelry and furniture with the precision of master craftsmen, yet somehow Avant had never allowed them any of that. It bubbled inside of him, the rage, thinking about how well these ones lived compared to the allegedly free kobolds of Ardmach. He felt surer than ever after seeing them that he was doing the right thing. Perhaps there was a better way, a way a smarter human could figure out, but Merdon was a warrior. Fighting for what was right was the only way he knew how to live.

The orcs themselves were also a lot more than he'd been told. They could be rude, bawdy, destructive, but mostly they were just like humans. Sometimes a fight broke out in the middle of the town and a crowd gathered to cheer the two combatants on, but half of an Avantian guard's duty was breaking up tavern brawls. He didn't see anything different just because they were orcs. Someone always stopped the fight before it turned into a bloodbath, and whatever ill the two fighters had was put away after their match. Their society was brutal, the strongest were the most important. Those that could end a fight were revered, those that lost were forgotten, and those like himself that fell in between were largely left alone. It was a culture that made Merdon ask Grot how they managed to survive so long.

The orc chief told the human of the orc's origins. They had come from the far North, a place of frozen solid ice year-round, a place that Merdon had only heard sailors fable of. Somewhere so cold the wind froze rigging in the middle of the ship, where dropping anchor could leave on landlocked by ice the next morning, and where few men ever returned from. Grot told him it was a brutal landscape where the orcs survived in few numbers only by being strong hunters. At the time, orcs were smaller, some claimed like kobolds, designed to preserve their body heat with minimal covering, but over the years they grew in size. Large white bears threatened them when they were smaller, and so they grew to be bigger than the bears they feared. A change spurred on by their god, Oorck, who in turn grew to love the challenge of a hunt. As their size increased, they stopped being afraid of the bears. Wearing their pelts was a sign of privilege and skill until, eventually, every orc had a pelt. They began to move after that, sensing how hard it was to keep warm and how they were impacting the animals of the North with their new sizes.

They needed more fertile ground, new challenges, more creatures to hunt. That led them across the ocean where they settled in roughly the same place, just to the North of Avant. Avant was more established, and the orcs often encountered human settlers in their hunts. The orcs saw them as new creatures to hunt until the humans started fighting back with steel and weapons. It took them little time afterward to see the humans were intelligent, at least as much as the orcs, and attempts at peace were had. Tensions were high in those times. Humans saw orcs as monsters, while the orcs saw the humans as a challenge. That led to the first conflict between them. A war that eventually spread to the elves, who proved themselves smarter than both factions, and forced an armistice. For a time at least.

Merdon could easily guess the rest from there. The great war between the orcs and elves would have broken out, with the restored and empowered Avant joining in. With weapons and armor blessed by Ethral, the original Eyes of Ethral entering the fray, both sides were taken by surprise. Avant was then the one to broker peace between them, as well as with the Queendom of Rastar. It was supposed to keep things amicable on the continent for centuries, but by Merdon's take, it was never good enough.

The orcs hated the treaty, despised the way Avant won, and wanted a rematch. That was supposed to be the speech he gave the orc's leader. Promises of glory and power, of a war that never should have ended. He was told to preach of glory and sacrifice, that marching off to Avant with flags raised high and warbands stomping through mud was what the orcs needed to do. All wrapped up in a nice package about how they would find humans to side with them against the Avantian nobility. That last piece was from what he knew about the Eyes of Ethral. How they killed humans that opposed the king's law on kobolds. It was the only part of the speech he felt any confidence in; the only part that he'd really come up with. Everything else had been worked out by Grot and Shade, specially tuned to rouse the orcs to battle. Even if Merdon didn't agree with the strategy or methods discussed. He needed the support of the orcs, no matter the cost.

Lunch ended as quietly as it started, and Merdon went back to his and Sarel's quarters to freshen up. The orcs didn't bathe much, so a quick rinse of cold water to clear his head was the best he could do, as well as giving himself a quick trim with a short knife he kept tucked away in his pack. In the midst of slicing off chunks of his hair, Sarel walked in and looked at him with curiosity.

“Sarel has noticed,” she said, announcing herself and causing Merdon to jump, “That her verakt does not grow facial hair.”

Merdon, after his heart stopped beating out of his chest, responded. “Yeah, it's a weird thing. My dad and brother don't grow beards or mustaches either. Just a family trait, I guess,” he shrugged, going back to lopping his hair off to its usual short length. It had been getting a little unruly after the winter months.

“Perhaps you're more lizard than you think,” Sarel teased, chuckling into her hand. Merdon laughed along with her as he tucked the sharp blade away into his things.

“What's next on our daily agenda?” he asked his mate as he sat on a chair built for a much larger creature. “More speech practice?” The knight made a face at his own words.

Sarel, however, shook her head. “Sarel does not know. Grot said he had something to take care of.”

Merdon wondered what that could be as he looked outside at the sky. Clouds were drifting in, robbing the light of the sun and leaving things a little cooler and a lot darker. It might have been a storm, he figured, but it also could have been nothing. The clouds were undecided as well, it seemed. He chuckled at the notion of nature being as conflicted as he was before leaning back in his seat and sighing. If Grot was going to be busy, the knight would relax. There were no pressing issues he needed to take care of at that moment. They were as safe as they could be in the orcs' village.

That was the plan until Grot flung the door open and shouted, “Get your things. We're leaving in one hour.”

The human bolted up and looked confused. “Leaving? What? Where?” he asked rapidly.

Grot grumbled, “Stupid humes... We're going to the stronghold. You wanted to talk to the chief of chiefs, well I sent him a messenger days ago when you were sleeping. The other chiefs are starting to gather. It's time to put your theatrics on display, Merdon.”

Fear seized Merdon's heart like a cold metal gauntlet as they rode towards the orcs' capital. The boon of a strong, well-bred horse under him, carrying him at speeds he could barely manage on his own with all of his things on his back, being the beast was walking, was heavily outweighed by what he would have to do in a few days. Overhead, the sky stayed as overcast as his heart. Grot had noted the weather when they left, calling for a storm, but it had yet to break. Shade rode with him, on his back, and watched their surroundings more than the sky. Even in their territory, she was cautious, surrounded as they were by Grot's men, and Sarel had wanted to imitate her. While the human sat on his horse in existential dread, his mate was attempting to stay on his back. A task made much harder by Merdon's smaller size and the movement of the horse under them. Merdon felt disconnected from the moment. He viewed everything around him through a haze; only taking in the information while not fully processing it.

Grot was spending more time with his kind, being their leader. Merdon observed it passively as they set up a small camp in the middle of the grassy plains. How Grot ordered his people around, taking charge of the big picture and only getting in the way when something went off. The knight's reactions were subdued, even as they all gathered around a fire and ate. Sarel noticed it, the way he acted dimly as the orcs around them cheered and sang boisterously. There was nothing she could do about it, however. Her best guess was to give him a night of rest, to process what was happening. They had moved very quickly, and Grot figured it would be no more than another day of travel before they arrived. She knew this was a lot of pressure for the human to stand, but it had been his choice to bear it. Even if he appeared to be shutting down while they traveled. Merdon wasn't the leader right now. He could afford this small breakdown as long as he was ready to do what he said he would when they arrived. Sarel would support him through it, that was her choice.

Quickclaw made sure her verakt was tucked in and asleep before she afforded herself any rest. The storm above started to pick up when she laid down, the moon being hidden behind clouds blanketed the fields in darkness. They were safe, however, surrounded by orcs protecting the small campsite. She slept soundly, but not for long. How long exactly she didn't know, but Sarel felt as if her head were filled with sand when a commotion outside roused her. That commotion quickly came inside as the tent she and Merdon were sleeping in was ripped out of the ground and hurled far into the darkness.

The kobold leaped up and shook her mate awake, his eyes just as bleary as hers. “We need to move!” she shouted, getting his attention while grabbing her things.

Grot was in the middle of the camp yelling orders to his subordinates. Merdon got the gist rather quickly and grabbed his pack, though it was in little danger of being lost because of his heavy armor, he preferred to keep it around anyway. With it on his back, he approached the orc chief with a look of confusion. How had the storm gotten this bad so quickly? It wasn't a weather pattern he was familiar with.

“We call them cyclones,” the orc shouted over the furious winds. “Bastard weather rips up anything that isn't nailed down and even those don't always keep it on the ground.”

Merdon frowned. This was new. “What do we do?” he yelled back. The orc pointed into the distance and the knight followed his direction.

“There's a decent place out that way,” he told the human. “If we can reach it quick enough. Gonna have to ride the horses a bit hard.”

The knight nodded and got mounted, along with Sarel on his back. She looked concerned, more for Merdon than anything, but the human was fully present at the moment. This was a time of danger and he had a plan he was fully confident in. There was no need to second guess himself when Grot had told him where to go. As lightning cracked overhead, he saw what the chief had been pointing to. A shape in the distance Merdon couldn't quite figure out, something like a mound of earth. How it would help them with the storm, he didn't know, but Grot did and his word was enough to get him to spur his horse in that direction.

The wind whipping around them was nothing compared to the storm's gale that surrounded the whole group. Grot's shouts were harder to hear the faster they went, but they were all moving towards the same destination. At the base of the mound was a hole, a cave. It was deep and difficult to get the horses to enter, but the orcs were very hands-on with their steeds, knowing their importance in the trip. Merdon entered the cavern first, not capable of pushing the horses the way the orcs were and scouted their hiding place. While the entrance was narrow, forcing the orcs to duck as they pushed the horses inside, it widened quite a bit deeper in. There was no way out though. If the entrance caved in or became blocked, they would be stuck, entombed instead of thrown. The knight wasn't sure which demise he disliked more.

His thoughts became more alarmed when Grot ordered his men to seal the entrance themselves. Several large rocks were piled at the front of the cave, suspending them in darkness even Sarel had difficulties seeing through and leaving them with nothing to hear but the howling wind above them. The orcs didn't seem bothered, most of them laying down and returning to sleep, but Merdon was on edge now. He twiddled his fingers and chewed his lip in the darkness. As long as the cave held they would be fine, but he didn't like the odds of that given what he'd seen above. Blocking them in felt like a bad idea even though he was utterly unfamiliar with this kind of weather.

Shade stepped over and put a claw on his hand, causing the human to jerk in surprise. “Relax,” she said quietly, keeping the echo of her voice down. “You are as giddy as the horses.”

“Can't help it,” Merdon commented. “Never been a fan of caves. As long as I can move through them it's fine. Being stuck?” He looked at the ceiling nervously.

“Ah,” the kobold said, “Buried alive. Yes, it's a common fear. Many of the orcs here are not pleased either, it's why they sleep. If they cannot see what they fear, they cannot fear it.”

The knight let out a strained laugh. “I wish I could just close my eyes and ignore it,” he admitted.

Grot came over and sat against a wall. “Relax,” the chief told Merdon. “Even if the entrance caved in we've got enough muscle in here to dig ourselves out. Supposing we didn't, the chiefs we're supposed to go meet would know and come find us. Eventually.” He shrugged. “At least we can eat the horses if we have to.”

The notion of being stuck in the cave longer than a few hours made Merdon sick. He knelt and then sat down with a groan. “Please don't,” he pleaded.

“We will be fine,” Shade assured him again, looking at Sarel.

The blue kobold nodded and put an arm around her human. “Yes, verakt. Relax. You have been under great stress for the last few days.”

He shook his head. “This is different,” he started, before being cut off by Grot.

“Merdon!” the orc shouted, causing his men to jump and look before realizing it wasn't their business. His voice echoed in the small cave and drown out the storm above. “You're a knight for gods' sake, act like it. This storm will blow over by morning and we'll be back on the path for the stronghold, and you've got bigger worries than some stupid cave.”

The human frowned and looked at the ground, but he stopped protesting and complaining. Sarel glared at the orc chief, but Grot didn't care. As long as they rode the storm out safely being rude to the knight wasn't a concern. And, after a few hours, the wind died down, returning to a simple, unheard breeze. Grot's soldiers opened the cave back up, which relaxed Merdon further. At some point, he fell asleep again, just for a while. Not long enough to wake up rested, but enough to forget about the cave.

He was tired as they set out at the crack of dawn, a yawn forcing its way from his mouth every few minutes, but he was alive and the sky was blue again. Even Sarel seemed to be happier about her mate's mood. The sunshine pleased them both more than anything. Despite her lineage and the claims of being a monster, it seemed Sarel wasn't a fan of being underground any more than Merdon was. Or perhaps she wasn't because of him, it was hard for the human to tell if there was a difference anymore. Still, he had a curiosity about the storm from the night before and there was only one orc to talk to about it.

Merdon rode up beside Grot and commented, “I suppose those storms don't last long.”

Grot shrugged. “Sometimes a few hours, sometimes a day or two.”

The knight paled. “Two days? Then how were you so sure this one would pass?”

“I wasn't,” the chief shrugged. He looked Merdon in the face and told him, “I lied because that's what you needed to hear. You didn't need soft coddling, you needed someone to give you some authority.”

Merdon frowned. He didn't like being lied to, but he couldn't help but admit Grot had a point. It had helped him calm down. He also thought about it in terms of the speech he was supposed to give in just a few hours. Perhaps he just needed to say what the orcs needed to hear. In fact, he glanced at the chief and pondered if that was exactly what the orc was trying to tell him. It seemed much too coincidental he used those precise words. Manipulation or not, it was working. He was thinking more and more about what needed to be done rather than the methods being used. They needed the orcs to go to war, it was just better if they did it less bluntly.

As they crested a hill, one of the few large ones in the landscape of Grot's territory, the orcs stopped at the top. Merdon's own pondering was halted as they reached the top, the hill sloping down into a stone wall that surrounded a large city. He didn't need it spelled out for him, but Grot did it anyway. “The stronghold of the orcs,” he said with a smirk. It wasn't as impressive as Ardmach, that was for sure, but it wasn't exactly what Merdon thought of when he heard stronghold either.

Castle was more accurate, and a castle town at that. Many buildings sat in the distance, each one of them spartan and war-like in their design. He had expected a large fort, at most a castle with a wall, not a whole city. Avant had never told anyone about this. Just another cover-up under their belts. Orcs were clearly capable of more than anyone had been told, and it was changing Merdon's mind about what he needed to say to their chiefs.

“Come on,” Grot said, starting his horse at a canter down the hill. “We'll arrive just at lunch if we keep this pace up.”

The knight followed, but he wasn't thinking about food. He was thinking about all the looks he was going to get in this new city. It was going to be another shock, he was sure. Sarel felt him tense up from her position behind him and frowned. At least he was starting to understand how she felt all throughout Avant. Though, she wished no one had to feel that way.

# Book Two: Chapter Seven, Too Many Chiefs

Merdon gawked at the orcs' stronghold as they passed through the town, almost as much as the orcs stared at him. He was more able to ignore their gaze this time thanks to all of the things he had to take in. Their buildings were all made from stone here, with shingled roofs that reminded him of the architecture in Ardmach. Unlike the capital of Avant, he didn't feel so oppressed here. Perhaps it was the lack of towering walls or how the city was placed at a normal altitude keeping it nice and warm on the spring day. Or perhaps it had to do with the fact no one was glaring at him, only watching with perplexed interest. The orcs were curious about the human, not angry, and they didn't care about the two kobolds they saw riding along with them. In fact, not a single orc gave any special attention to Sarel or Shade, which gave the blue kobold a small grin as they went.

The town was very structured, very orderly, which the knight didn't associate with orcs at all. Given their penchant for war though, he felt he should have expected it. They were warriors so it only made sense their city would be at least somewhat militaristic. Orcs wandered about their day with weapons belted to their sides or backs, moving as naturally armed as humans did without weapons. That and their various colors and size were the only things that really made the town stand out. Otherwise, it looked much like any city in Avant would, which only raised more issues for the human. Everything he learned about the “bloodthirsty killer orcs” he'd been told about made him question his kingdom more and more.

Sarel, meanwhile, was rather ecstatic about their arrival. She looked at everything with a smile on her face. Not just because Merdon had recovered, but because she noticed all the little details, all the signs of kobolds being around. Many of them weren't armed, despite the orcs, but they didn't need to be. The orcs respected their non-competitive culture, and the kobolds returned the favor with their craftsmanship. Details were etched and carved on things like axes and doors that couldn't have been done with the orcs bulkier hands. Several orcs were adorned with small jewelry that was unlikely to have been made by orc hands. This was a city, much like Grot's village, where her kind lived free and openly. In it, Sarel saw the future of kobolds and it only excited her to see it done so well already.

Grot pointed the way to the main stronghold, a castle in the middle of everything, and hurried them along. He wasn't too concerned with Merdon being attacked, but he was bothered by the idea of the other orcs being bothered. The less rumors got spread around before the knight's speech the better they would be. Avoiding all of the citizens watching them would have been preferable, but there was no avoiding it. Unmounted, someone might have decided to pull Merdon to the side and beat him before they even got halfway into the city. The chief wouldn't have that happen under his watch. That would have been a failure for him as a leader, but also he was starting to think more about the knight. Beyond his race, past him being a human. Orcs respected warriors and their strength, but they respected many kinds of strength aside from purely physical. The knight's decision to turn on his country for the sake of justice was a merit worth holding high and proud, yet the human didn't brag. He sought to do what was right for that simple reason of it being right. Grot had met more self-involved humans before; ones that would have polished their own egos for helping someone stand up let alone trying to end the enslavement of a race.

Shade had agreed with him, though they'd not spoken on it yet. Grot could feel her agreement in the way she interacted with the pair. Her kind words to the human during the storm and how she befriended the blue-scaled kobold told the orc everything he needed to know. She liked them, either because she agreed with what he saw in them or just because the knight promised a rebellion, Grot didn't know. What was important was that she cared, and if his mate cared, he cared, and there wasn't an orc eyeing the human he wouldn't knock down a couple of pegs in broad daylight if he had to. Until they reached the castle that was.

The guards were a little more concerned about Merdon than the citizens on the streets, for good reason. Despite being surrounded by other orcs and escorted by a chief, the human was armed. Grot argued with them. Being a warrior meant carrying a weapon. He challenged how they would feel being led into enemy territory unarmed, but the guards didn't budge. Their insistence that the human be disarmed was bringing the chieftain to an absolute boil. Right as Merdon threw his sword onto the ground between the two guards, causing them to look at him sharply.

His arms crossed, the knight only said, “This argument is pointless. With or without a sword you could kill me. If it speeds things up, take the damned thing.”

Grot, however, picked the sword up before the guards could and told them, “He's in my care, I'll be taking his weapon.” As much as they were willing to fight over it being in the hands of the human, they seemed less interested in trying to take it from a chief. The doors to the castle wall were opened and the group rode inside.

They were greeted by a pleasant little courtyard, with a stable for the horses and young orcs that would care for them. The party dismounted and Merdon looked around more. He could hear the sounds of training coming from somewhere, the distinct clash of swords in a practiced manner along with the thunk of wood and steel. Either training dummies or the orcs had bows now. Both were as likely as each other. He also noted the walls, a secondary set of walls to make the castle itself hard to get to, similar to how Ardmach rested on a mountain as its first metaphorical wall. It was a theme he was noticing in siege design; the more you put between the enemy and yourself, the harder it appeared to be to get in. Being there hadn't been a siege in several hundred years, however, he didn't know how practical all the defenses were.

As he poked around with his eyes, Grot passed the knight his weapon back. “I'm not carrying this thing around,” he told the human.

“But the guards...”

Grot snorted and shoved the sheathed weapon into Merdon's hands. “I'm telling you to carry it for me,” he said. “If they've got a problem with me telling you what to do, that's my business.” The knight smirked, getting the idea, and put the sword back at his side. “Besides,” the orc added, “Things should be more relaxed inside the castle.”

True to his words, the guards at the castle door didn't mention the armed human, they were more concerned with saluting Grot as he entered. Merdon focused on the inside of the castle before things got hectic, as he expected them to. It was furnished, well kept, which surprised the knight, and adorned still with things taken from hunts. What had been hunted, however, was different. Ancient Avantian armor and weapons hung on the walls. Some of them were dented, chipped, but they were polished, kept intact. A warning to all the humans that came into the stronghold of what the orcs were capable of. His comments back in Grot's village about relations being rocky between the nations stood out in his mind at the sight. The orc chief put a hand on Merdon's shoulder and pulled him away from the entrance. He didn't need the human getting cold feet one minute after walking in.

The orc guided him down the corridors covered in thick furs, the kobolds following behind them, to an ornate looking room with a pair of massive double doors. Grot, as gently as he could, pushed Merdon towards a chair before taking a seat of his own. The human looked a little confused as he sat down, Sarel hopping up next to him, before Grot softly explained they were expected. They were sitting outside the room where the chiefs met with their race's leader. A shaking breath pushed its way out of the knight's body as he nodded, knowing what was expected of him next.

“Relax,” Grot commanded him. “Just say what needs to be said and let me convince them afterward. I can't be in there when you're talking, they want to make sure you're not being coerced, but I'll be in right after to make sure they take the idea seriously.”

Merdon nodded and sighed. All of the pressure that had dissipated during the storm and amid the wonder of seeing the orcs' capital, returned in a massive rush. Like a volcanic force building up inside of him, pushing everything out of its way. To most, he looked calm, but Sarel and Grot could see the worry. It was the mile-long stare at the floor that gave it away. Where one could assume he was thinking, going over his speech perhaps, those nearby knew better. The knight was zoning out, trying to ignore the stress he was feeling. Not even Sarel's claw on his back was noticed in his duress.

The human jumped when the double doors opened slowly, banging as they reached the limit, and a pair of orcs stepped out looking right at him. “The council of chiefs will see you,” the said, walking over and practically pulling him out of his chair. He swallowed and went along with them, the two guards shutting the door behind him, cutting him off from what little support he had in the world.

His eyes wandered around the room to try and distract himself from what was expected of him. The room was circular, save for the two doors, and there were no windows to see out of. A long bench sat near the outside edge of the room with several orcs on the other side of it. They were the chiefs, at least half of the bench was full, with the biggest and toughest looking sitting at the front facing Merdon. That orc gestured to the middle of the room where a small podium stood on a raised dais. Nervousness filled the knight once more as he stepped up and looked around at the faces surrounding him. None of them were happy, but none of them were armed either. Not that he felt his sword could save him against the half dozen orcs that were scrutinizing him.

“Let the record show the hume is armed,” one of the smaller orcs commented venomously. “While we sit here without means of defense, he stands prepared to kill.”

One of the orcs across from him scoffed. “Are you afraid of a hume with a sword?” she asked in a gravelly voice. “Perhaps you should be the one outside.”

Merdon groaned and quickly unbelted his sword, tossing it behind him towards the guards. “It wasn't my choice to carry a weapon,” he said, just in case. “Chief Grot insisted I carry it for him.”

The female orc smirked and looked at her colleague across the way. “Would you like to discuss with Grot his use of a hume pack mule?” Scowling, the smaller orc leaned back in his seat and avoided another statement. “As I thought,” the female chief said before addressing Merdon. “Grot has told us a little about what you propose. An assault on Avant, on your own kind.”

“Yes,” Merdon replied, his mouth feeling as dry as a desert already. “I've discovered that the king does far more than oppress kobolds. I think with the right persuasion many of Avant's own people could be turned against it.”

A deep red orc leaned forward with a frown. “You realize you're giving up your nation to an enemy?” he growled. No one liked a traitor. One betrayal could lead to another. Merdon was suspect.

“No,” he argued. “I don't intend to put an orc on the throne.” The ones gathered made noises of discontent and several moved to stand up. “I'm putting a kobold on one.”

The chiefs stopped and stared. He'd gotten their attention, cut the ground from under them, and now was the time to talk. With a deep breath, the knight pressed on.

“The humans of Avant have taken to calling me the kobold whisperer, a name that I've gladly embraced after seeing what they do to them behind closed doors. In Ardmach I slew over a dozen slavers and escaped with my life and my kobold friends. We evaded the knights of Avant, the Eyes of Ethral, and even made peace with the witch of the white tower, convincing her to free her own kobold slaves. Avant is not some invincible entity because it won a single war. There are hundreds of people that disagree with many things in the nation, even if some of them are selfish reasons.”

Merdon paused and looked at the faces of his audience. The orcs were seated again and listening intently. He had their attention but not their support. He had to press on them harder.

“I can understand your worries about the treaty between your nations. Things haven't changed so much since the last war. In fact, Avant has only grown larger and more dominant over their allies. But that doesn't mean ...” Merdon stopped and grabbed the podium in front of him. He was shaking. His next words were to tell them that Avant was perfectly assailable, ripe for destruction, but he couldn't. The knight breathed in and shook his head. He couldn't start this with a lie. The human looked up and focused on the orcs' leader, the one right in front of him.

“Avant is strong,” he said earnestly. “You can't just march on their borders and smash them into submission. You'd have the elves and the humans of Rastar running up to join the battle. Humans aren't deer or boar, you can't just kill them and except to walk away. You have to lay traps and out plan them.”

One of the chiefs stood up and roared, “Cowardice!”

Merdon looked at them and slammed his own fist onto the podium beneath him. “Then die with pride and watch as the monsters of Avant wipe you from history!” The orcs muttered between themselves at that outburst, but the human continued. “I understand it goes against your culture, but you're facing a coalition of nations that have more warriors and more advances in weapons than you do. You cannot win a straight forward war, and if you wait until you think you can, they'll come for you like they've done the kobolds. Avantians go to bed at night afraid of the orcs and it's only a matter of time before some king turns that fear into fuel for a war on their own terms.”

The female chief leaned back and crossed her arms. “The hume makes a point,” she admitted with a scowl. “We harbor kobolds here, they are welcome and none of us would change that, so it's just a question of when the humes come for our heads.”

“But then we would have the advantage of our own lands,” the orc she'd argued with a moment ago shouted. “They would be forced to meet us on our terms.”

“No,” the head of the orcs rumbled, his voice getting the full attention of the room. “The humans are duplicitous. They wouldn't march on us openly until they were certain of victory. We have trade agreements with them that they control, they watch our borders, restrict our travel through their lands. Their king would start by choking us of resources and information, and then he would send assassins to kill us, throwing the lands into confusion and chaos before swooping in to fix the mess he created.”

Merdon looked surprised to hear that. “You sound as if you've met him personally, your … highness.” The human didn't know what the proper term was for the chief of chiefs, but it got him a chuckle.

“I have. In conference halls to discuss treaties and trade, and the previous one, and the ones before him,” the leader of the orcs told the knight. “I was there when the orcs fought against the elves and Avant the second time.” Merdon's mouth hung open. This orc had seen the great war Avantians only heard legends of. Their longevity alone was something to be impressed by.

The orc chief of chiefs rose and gestured to the door. “We shall discuss what you've said with Grot. In the meantime, the guards will show you to a room.”

Not arguing in the slightest, Merdon stepped down and went to the door. Grot brushed his shoulder as he left, with a guard on his other side, and the dark-skinned chief didn't look happy. He'd heard what the human had told them and knew how it deviated from the script. His job convincing the orcs was harder now, but Merdon couldn't lie to them, not looking them in the eyes. His nerves had vanished when he spoke his mind instead of lies he didn't believe in. They had been holding him back and now he was free. A sort of liberation coursed through him as he picked up his sword and allowed the orc guards to take him to a room when the doors shut behind them, Sarel following closely at her mate's side.

Through many hallways and beyond more decorations than Merdon could hope to remember, an unintentional labyrinth to his mind, the guard took him to a room. Once inside, he listened closely for footsteps moving away from the door. There wasn't a sound. They were being monitored. Not that he blamed the orcs for that, he knew what he would do in their shoes and it wasn't so different. In truth, the room he would have been able to offer them would have been significantly less impressive than the one he stood in. The orcs knew hospitality at the very least, as both rooms he'd been given in his stay were above the ones he found at inns in Bereth.

A certain homesickness came over him, topping itself with feelings of guilt over how he'd changed things for Grot. What had started as a feeling of relief turned into one of betrayal and doubt. He had endangered their plans with his impromptu script changes. It had been half a day since breakfast and the knots in his stomach were keeping the hunger at bay perfectly, while he heard Sarel's stomach growl from across the room. The sound made him chuckle in an uncontrollable sort of way. Such a primal noise to be made in the middle of his internal angst there was no way a smile wouldn't have formed on his face at it. Sarel felt differently, turning red in the face and crossing her arms angrily.

“We have not eaten since breakfast,” she said loudly. “I can't help it if I'm hungry.”

Merdon stopped chuckling and looked at her intently. “What was that?” he asked her directly.

“What?” she replied, confused. “I'm hungry. Is that weird? It has been hours since we ate.”

“You said I, Sarel.”

The blue kobold looked away. “Your point, verakt?”

“Why?” he questioned her. “We talked about this.”

She nodded. “Yes, we did, and you said to do it only if I felt it was right. I think it is,” the kobold said firmly. “The world of kobolds is changing. Sa-” Sarel frowned and pursed her lip at the slip-up. “I think this is what the kobolds living here sound like, and for good reason. They aren't like the ones in Avant.”

“Slaves,” Merdon guessed. “You think that maybe because they live independent lives they talk differently?” She nodded at his assessment. It made some sense, but not totally. He wanted to question why they would change their method of speaking just because they lived outside of Avant, but if she was convinced, that was ultimately all he needed to hear.

After suggesting she talk to the guard outside, the chances of him listening to her being much higher than the odds for a human, Merdon settled down in a chair and sighed. There was nothing more he could do, not for Grot, not for Sarel, no one. It was a matter of time and waiting. While Sarel got the guard to run errands like a squire for her appetite, the human relaxed and closed his eyes, yet he couldn't relax. He was no longer living from job to job, risking his life for a few silvers and the gratitude of someone he would never meet again. Over the last few weeks his life had been, all things considered, rather cushy. Sleeping on good beds with his mate, no one judging him for having a relationship with a kobold, eating food he neither had to pay for nor cook, and yet those days had been the most stressful in his life.

It was an odd sensation to feel so pampered and yet so tense. Merdon wondered if that just came with the territory or if he was unique, a creature outside of his comfort zone with these amenities and relaxed ways of life. There was a twisted comedy about a man that needed to be in danger constantly to feel calm, and the idea worried him about the future. How could he ever go to a normal life with his mate if the only thing that put him at ease was putting on a full suit of armor and gallivanting around the countryside looking to fight goblins and other ne'er-do-wells that lurked along the highways? It was a problem up there with his new knowledge of Sarel's longevity. Not to mention the side fact about how long orcs lived. Humans, it seemed, were destined to get the short end of the stick in almost every way.

Amid his mental wandering, the door to the room opened, causing Merdon to open his eyes and lean forward as if he could do anything unarmored against an orc. It was Grot, which set the knight at ease, but the look on his face said he should have been anything but comfortable. The orc chief strode over to the human and looked down at him the way a parent did when they found their child misbehaving behind their back. And from what Merdon knew of orc ages, Grot could very well have been much older than he was. Perhaps that was why it felt that way every time he was glared at.

“What did you say to them exactly?” he grumbled, the closest thing the chief got to whisper.

Merdon cleared his throat before responding. “I told them a head-on assault of Avant wasn't possible,” he answered, not beating around the bush in the slightest. “I told them the truth. That we need to make plans and force the war our way.”

Grot scowled and back away, walking over to a jug in the corner and opening it. He poured himself a glass of the water inside and downed it before continuing, “Whatever you said, the chief of chiefs liked it. Some of the others though … things are going to take a while.”

Sarel frowned. “How long is a while?”

“We have to wait for the rest of the chiefs to arrive now,” he said honestly. “I was hoping we could get this majority and force our way through the mildly democratic process we've had going over the years, but we're torn in there. We have to wait for the other chiefs to arrive and pitch the whole mess to them.”

“But we have the leader's attention,” Merdon noted. “Can't he override them or something?”

Grot laughed. “Sure, if he wants the bare minimum expected of them. Maybe half the warriors we could possibly field using whatever branches they can find to fight with along the way.” It wasn't a good idea to make an orc do anything they didn't want to was what Merdon was learning.

“So we wait,” he confirmed. The knight sighed and leaned back in the chair again. Waiting was the hardest part.

Over the next several days, Merdon found himself getting more and more privileges in the orcs' capital. For one, a guard stopped being posted outside his door at every hour, and he was invited to dine with the other orcs in a large hall. Unlike his time with Grot, the human respected what he learned to be orc culture and waited for the chief of chiefs and the other leaders to finish before digging in for himself. It was an awkward adjustment period but nothing he hadn't dealt with back in Grot's village. By the end of a week, the orcs were pretty much used to his presence among them. The sneers and gazes faded away as they simply accepted the human was part of the day for the time being. Whatever feelings caused those looks hadn't vanished but it became tiring to act on them all the time. The orcs had better things to do than be passive-aggressive with someone they couldn't challenge to a fight without upsetting a chief.

Unlike the orcs, Merdon had an inside man with the chiefs too. Every day Grot came by to talk about whatever had happened in the meeting with the chiefs and to try and plan more strategies for convincing the ones that were already there before the others shown up. Each report was virtually the same, with the same few orcs holding to their decisions and not budging an inch on it. Still, the dark-skinned orc found it important to push on them, to exhaust every idea, because a new batch of orcs would be coming in, and they could refine those ideas before they arrived. He was using the current chiefs as target practice to work on his skills, and the knight was instrumental to that. Merdon was coming up with ideas as much as Grot was, and he was putting distinctly human spins on them to boot. Grot found some of them displeasing but they were the best he had. Others he liked a lot and spent hours with the human working on them to present the best possible scenario to the other chiefs.

In that same time, Shade was spending more time with Sarel, teaching her about the ways of an assassin and the ways of the orcs. They ventured out into the city, where Merdon wasn't allowed to go yet, and snooped around. Sarel saw kobolds living in proper houses that had been bought with their own funds and not ones built from stolen supplies and mud. She also got to see some of their workshops where they trained apprentices, mostly former slaves, how to work a trade. The places were clean, efficient, proper work environments rather than the hellholes Avant forced upon them, if they were allowed to work at all. It brought a smile to the blue-scaled kobold's face being able to walk around in daylight and not be accosted by anyone. For once in her life, Sarel felt normal.

Of course, the pair found time for each other too. As much time as they spent with the other odd couple, they made at least as much for themselves. With no need for watch or changing shifts, their nighttime activities became nightly, and most of their mornings were filled with idle talk about the future. Not the long term future, their immediate plans for the day, and some time beyond. Sarel noticed that Merdon was very concerned about the coming rebellion and she tried her best to reassure him about the plans they had made together. He would talk about whatever Grot had mentioned, and she would debate him logically on it. She insisted that the orcs would see reason sooner or later, and every time he was forced to agree. It became so casual that Merdon stopped arguing about it almost altogether. Almost. Nothing could erase all his doubts, but that didn't stop the kobold from trying. She was intent on beating the optimism back into her mate.

With all the time they spent together in those days, it was easy for Merdon to notice that Sarel was missing one morning. Curious, the knight got dressed, including the sword Grot has insisted he keep on him, and started wandering the stronghold. It was earlier than any time he'd woken up before, the sun had yet to rise and all of the light was still by candle or torch. He judged it an hour before sunrise, at the most, but that didn't answer where his mate had gone. She wasn't in the kitchen, the food wasn't ready besides, and he didn't find her loitering in the courtyard. As he approached the two huge doors to the chief's meeting room Merdon finally noticed something was off. Where were the guards? A tingle went down his spine as he felt all of his warning senses coming back to life in the blink of an eye. His downtime had softened him, but not removed his training. Something was wrong.

Knowing there shouldn't have been anyone in the hall at that hour, Merdon approached the doors and heaved them open with great effort. The scent hit him first. That unmistakable smell of blood and death. Spurred on, the knight pushed the door open fully and gasped. Almost every orc chief was dead in the room. Some were slumped over the table, others were on the floor with multiple wounds in the chest, but the worst was the chief of chiefs, the one that had liked his plan the most. His throat was cleanly slit, his face displaying pure shock and surprise at whatever happened. Their looks told a story, and it started with him. The others reacted, too slow. One by one they were slain in their safest sanctuary.

# Book Two: Chapter Eight, Punishment

Merdon drew his sword and stepped into the room cautiously. Any piece of information he could gather would be crucial. He only hoped the guards weren't as dead as the chiefs were. Looking at the bodies confirmed only one thing for him, Grot was alive. The dark-skinned orc wasn't among the dead in the room, and a couple other chiefs were absent as well. Along with the ones that had yet to arrive in the city, the orcs weren't without leaders, but they were without their equivalent of a king. It was a grim day and a spike of panic stabbed into him as he spun around and wondered about Sarel. Where was she, would she be safe with the stronghold like this? She hadn't been in bed and now there were bodies in the conference hall. She needed to be warned, the knight wasn't getting anything particular from his examination of the orcs by himself. They needed an expert.

As Merdon turned towards the door and walked forward, a whistling caught his attention. He threw himself to the ground in time to see a dagger go flying and then vanish in thin air. On instinct, he rolled to the side and jumped up, weapon drawn in the direction behind him. His teeth gnashed together as he saw the familiar face of the Eyes assassin from the forest. In the light, Merdon was able to get a better look at his face, not that it did him any good. The Eyes' self-proclaimed leader had the most typical features the knight had seen. Brown hair in a medium-length cut that was styled in a very common fashion, his nose, eyes, mouth, even his skin, seemed meticulously curated to be average. If he was standing in a crowd, even Merdon would struggle to pick him out among the dozens of other men he'd look like. Hiding in plain sight.

What stood out this time were his weapons. A pair of silvery daggers sat in his hands, one of which had been thrown at the knight just moments ago. It was clear he could toss them with abandon as they could return to him at any given time. The weapons also told Merdon the rest of the story with the chiefs' murder. Once again Avant was stirring up trouble with the orcs. Maybe everything Merdon had said was for nothing.

“I knew you'd be lurking around here somewhere,” the Eyes' self-proclaimed leader taunted. “Wondering where your little lizard went?”

Merdon's eyes went to pinholes as he grasped his blade with both hands. “If you've touched her,” he growled threateningly.

The assassin laughed and suddenly lunged forward with his twin daggers, the shimmering blades moving faster than Merdon could keep up with, his sword barely blocking one of them. The other gashed down his arm and made him flinch.

“She's around,” the killer said cryptically, dodging back from Merdon's counterattack. “Unlike the little black one, who sadly departed us this morning.”

The knight made a face before a sound caught his attention. He looked to the side and saw Grot standing in the doorway looking horrified, as he should have, but his eyes were locked on the dagger-wielding human.

“What did you do?” he rumbled, fists clenched.

The Eyes grinned. “You think I'm here alone? My men caught your lizard when we came in. She put up quite the fight you know, but too little, as it were.”

Grot's eyes filled with tears as he clutched at his chest. Merdon had expected him to roar, to jump into action against the killer before them, but, instead, he leaned against a wall and sobbed. Which left the knight on the back-foot against the assassin's attacks. He moved much faster than in the forest as if his choice of weapon had made him faster. Every time Merdon blocked an attack a different one slipped through. Within seconds his hands were a bloody mess and it was hard to hold his sword properly.

“Grot!” the human shouted, each sentence punctuated by the sound of dagger against sword as he blocked every possible attack. “Get it together. We have to deal with him now. He can't leave this room.” The orcs wouldn't believe their leaders had been assassinated without proof, and what better proof was the corpse of their killer?

The orc shook his head, causing the Eyes to laugh again and retreat. “I wouldn't,” the assassin warned, reaching behind the long table that encircled the room and pulling Sarel up over it by her arm. She was unconscious, which made seeing her feel even worse for Merdon. How long had they been in this room?

“You bastard,” Merdon growled, but he stayed put. Moving closer would get Sarel killed, but so would staying away. The man was living up to his claim of being a master assassin.

He laughed at the insult. “Bastard, yes, in fact. I don't know who my father was, so that's a very astute observation. Like the one you've no doubt noticed about moving. Any closer, the lizard finds out if she can breathe with a hole in her neck.” He glanced at the orc chief and added, “He couldn't, so I doubt she can.”

The knight grit his teeth and tried to think of something to do, anything that could get them out of there. Grot had been made useless with grief and Sarel was being held hostage too far away from either of them to get to before the killer did something to her. Nothing was coming to Merdon's mind. They had been completely outplayed and there was not a single thing he could do to help. He felt weaker than a newborn as he watched the Eyes tuck a dagger away and pull Sarel closer.

The assassin grabbed Sarel's arm and sneered, "Is this the one you used to throw that dagger, wench?" Unconscious as she was, the kobold couldn't reply as he twisted her arm in an unnatural way. The kobold shouted, waking in his grip, and then screamed in a pitch Merdon had never heard pass through her mouth as her arm snapped. Her voice only got worse as the Eyes jerked and bent her arm as she struggled, forcing the sight of pointed, pale white, bone to poke out through the blood and scales. Sarel squirmed helplessly as the Eyes pulled his other dagger closer to her. “Stop that,” he growled, succeeding in making her pause.

She had just come to in a strange room without knowing her situation. Everything was a mess in her mind and escape was the only thing in her thoughts, however impossible that seemed. Sarel noticed Merdon across the way and realized just how much trouble they were in. Confused as she was, the kobold was still a quick study. The pain in her arm, however, was immense and distracting her from any plays she could make to escape. Worse, the Eyes had been successful in breaking her primary arm, leaving her significantly weakened for any clever escapes.

“You want her to live,” the Eyes continued, “You stay back. Maybe I'll let her watch you get flayed, from her cage of course, when we catch you personally.”

Their eyes met. Merdon glaring, hateful, angry, already vengeful for what he'd seen, while the assassin's were filled with glee at the despair he was causing. The knight couldn't tell if he was just a psychopath or if he really thought he was doing the right thing. With such intense focus between them, it was understandable that the sneaky black kobold was able to fire a well-placed arrow from down the hall, catching the human assassin in the shoulder and forcing him to fall off the table backward. Leaving Sarel free to leap, tuck, and roll forward off it and to safety.

Shade sprinted into the room, daggers drawn, and smacked Grot on the leg with her tail as she passed. “Stand, verakt, and fight!” the kobold shouted as she dove over the table after the human she'd shot.

Grot blinked and stared at her before snarling and grabbing a human-sized sword off the wall. He chased after her, his sadness replaced with anger at the trickery and rage for the grief he'd been caused.

The black-scaled kobold was a whirlwind of slices, the Eyes put completely off guard and wounded by her appearance it was the best he could do to avoid her, let alone the raging orc behind her. Shade's attacks were methodical, precise, and lightning-fast. Merdon couldn't keep up with her as she weaved, flipped, jumped, swiped, stabbed, almost all at once. She was all over her target, to the degree even Grot couldn't find an opening through her flurry of attacks.

“You were dead!” the Eyes shouted as he backpedaled away from her. “I saw it myself, my men had you by the throat.”

“Your 'eyes' are not so great as they seem,” Shade replied shortly. “Their cockiness was their downfall. Three men to kill me?” The kobold laughed and launched a dagger that the human assassin barely avoided. “It would take three of you to come close. Those men were hardly children to me.”

The Eyes gnashed his teeth and glanced at Merdon. The knight was holding Sarel in his bloodied hands while the blue kobold groaned and hissed over her broken arm. Taking the tables turning on him poorly, the Eyes kicked a chair towards Shade, which she easily leaped over, before pulling out a totem and snapping it in his hands. A burst of magic forced the black kobold back as a flash took the human assassin from their grasp. She yelled and hurled the chair he had kicked at the wall he'd just been standing at.

“Coward!” she yelled, her voice rising in a way even Grot had never heard.

The orc came over and put a hand, as much as he could fit anyway, on her shoulder. “He is gone, verakt. Nothing we can do about it now.” With a breath, the chief sunk to his knees, dropping his sword, and pulling the kobold into his arms. Shade, after a moment of heavy breathing, hugged the orc back.

“I am fine,” she said softly before pulling away and looking over at Sarel. The blue kobold was being cradled by bloodied hands, making things look much worse than they were. That bone sticking out of her arm was bad enough. “We need to tend to Quickclaw.”

Sarel was groaning trying not to move her arm, which Merdon was helping with by holding her as steady as he could. Tears were falling down his face but he was fighting through them. There would be time for sadness later when she was better. Grot and Shade came over and the orc chief winced at the sight. He hadn't fully taken in what had happened until right then and it was worse than he thought. The fact the kobold was holding on at all was impressive. He'd seen a few younglings break bones like that and pass out from the pain and fear.

“I'll get a shaman,” Grot said, moving towards the door, only to be stopped by Shade.

“That won't help,” the black kobold told him. “It takes them hours to set these kinds of wounds in orcs. They've never had to deal with a kobold before.”

Grot grumbled, “We can't leave her like that. What other choice do we have?”

Merdon blinked and looked up at them. “I can take her to Skyeyes, our friend, a kobold priest.” A healer.

“That's many weeks of travel,” Shade said, shaking her head.

The knight replied, “No, Verist gave us something for this kind of situation. An enchanted token to teleport us back to the tower and then back to where we teleported from.” One of the few things he'd kept on him constantly since entering Grot's village. Just in case.

“Are you sure?” Grot said, turning around. “Things aren't going to stop here just because you're gone.”

“Two days,” Merdon told him. “It shouldn't take more than that. I'll come back alone if I have to.”

The orc chief mulled it over and asked, “Your word?”

“I promise,” the knight replied seriously. “On her life.”

Grot exhaled hard and shook his head. “Get out of here.” There was nothing more he could say to such a claim.

Merdon reached into his pocket, holding Sarel with his knees and one hand while he pulled a coin out and clutched it tightly. He focused on the magic inside the token, letting it envelop him, pull him and Sarel back to the tower, to the point of its origin. They shimmered and vanished, fading out of existence. A human and kobold, battered and bloodied, disappearing from a room full of dead orc chiefs. Grot realized the implications the moment he turned back to the door and found several armed guards rushing towards the room.

“You know,” he muttered to Shade. “I hate the saying better late than never. I was kinda hoping these guys were dead.”

Hours later, in the capital of Avant, a man sat in a chair that was placed at the head of a table in a cozy conference room. A fire kept the spring chill away, especially being on top of a mountain, while he leafed through a proposal. The elf that had put the papers before him sat at the other end of the table awaiting a response. Her long golden hair was second in notability only to her piercing, icy gaze which was focused entirely on the king. His crown was heavy, metaphorically and literally, as he looked through the pages of a new trade agreement. He didn't like what he saw, not for his people.

Their meeting was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a guard. The panting guardsman bowed as he entered, a pair of men outside closing the doors he'd opened, and approached his king. He moved slowly, catching his breath before addressing his liege. The king waited impatiently.

“We've received word of the Whisperer, your Majesty. From the Left Eye,” he said hurriedly.

“And?” the king said, slowly, drawing the word out, spurring the guard onward.

He stood a little straighter and replied, “The Left Eye found him in the orc capital, as we predicted. He took care of the orc chiefs, however, he claims in the middle of subduing the Whisperer, an orc appeared and injured him.”

The king stood with a frown that turned into a sneer. “So, Rebeun has been playing with his food again,” the leader of Avant guessed.

The guard swallowed silently, but the elf across the table laughed. “Now do you see the folly in keeping such creatures?” the elven ambassador asked. “First you have a break out facilitated by some kobold loving murderer, and now you've chased him to the orcs' home only to lose him once again.”

“The kobolds are useful,” the middle-aged king told her, stepping closer to respond. “They are not only a great commodity to trade with, but they're also cheap physical labor. Most of this city was built on their backs, for humans.”

The blonde elf shook her head in disgust, and it was the last thing she ever did. In a flash, the king's sword came from its scabbard and buried itself in her chest. She looked down in horror before slumping against her seat. A precise stab to her heart, in her chest and out her back. Behind the king, the guardsman stood as straight a pole, waiting for his orders, hoping he wasn't next for seeing the killing.

“This is my refusal to your proposal, dear,” the king whispered before wiping off his blade. “Take the body to the Eyes. They will be pleased to know the Whisperer has struck again. I'm sure the elves will understand if we don't renegotiate with our city under such duress.”

The guard asked no questions, he only saluted and asked, “What of the orcs, my Lord? The Left Eye is sure to have roused their anger. He was spotted before fleeing.”

“Yes,” the king admitted. “I'll have to punish him for continuing to play around with this threat. As for the orcs, strengthen patrols in the North.” He paused and glared at the guard. “Was that all?”

“Th-there was one other thing, good news, sire.” The king stood still, not responding to the guard's pause. He was getting tired of them. “Our mages have discovered a counter-spell to get us through the witch's forest. We can assault her tower directly,” he said quickly, hoping to keep his head.

Thankfully, the king softened and smiled. “Excellent news, soldier. Prepare a full assault squad immediately. I want the witch dealt with. She's been a thorn in my side for much too long.”

The guard saluted again and moved, quickly. He grabbed the body and, with some difficulty, pried the door open and carried the elf out, leaving the king alone.

The king sat back down and lifted a paper again. “As if I would possibly agree to this,” he spat, tossing the paper into the fireplace. “I thought these elves were supposed to be intelligent. Then again, my own men have been confounded by a man whose special talent is speaking to kobolds.” He growled and threw all of his papers into the fire before standing up to leave the room. It had been a long time since the last attempted rebellion, and the king was getting tired of them happening at all. “Perhaps Rastar has a point. These lizards need a tighter leash.”

# Book Two: Chapter Nine, Meanwhile

Red and Skyeyes were having a lot of problems. They had managed to convince Thickhide to stop wearing his armor all the time, which was the only good thing they had managed. The villagers they spoke to were not as easy to persuade as the green kobold. Somehow, Skyeyes was not sure how exactly, the news of their travel had extended to the other villages after their first one. Group after group dismissed their proposal without even hearing it. Some didn't even allow them to come near the village itself, opting to catch them approaching and turn them away early. Each failure only made Red more and more angry, which left the white kobold trying to soothe her while the armor-clad one failed to comprehend what he'd done wrong the first time. The priest could only hope Merdon was having better luck with the orcs.

The trio of kobolds were checking one last village near the bay of Avant, some distance from Sedra. It was dangerous territory for them but, with the way Red had been fuming, Skyeyes was more concerned with the safety of any humans that tried to mess with them. After the kobold village on the beach, the priest was at a loss. They would have to go back to Verist and form another plan, scout more villages, something other than wandering around aimlessly. Even the serene surroundings weren't enough to lighten their moods. Waves crashing on the sandy shores seemed to only annoy the red kobold, while they distracted Skyeyes from his attempts to plan ahead. Only Thickhide cared enough to stop and gawk for a minute before running to catch up. He had never seen a beach before.

As they set up a small camp in a seaside cave for the night, Skyeyes took stock of their supplies with a sigh. Red had noted their steady decrease in food for a while. They were living on strict rations and none of them could hunt in the traditional sense. While the white-scaled kobold had suggested using his wolves to hunt something for them, Red declined on the idea of eating something a wolf, even a conjured one, had bitten. Their food supply wasn't that low and they could always return to the tower. At the moment, they just had to eat less and deal with it. It wasn't like they were starving, a fact Red was more than willing to point out.

“Hundreds of kobold slaves are suffering worse than we are,” she had told both of them the night Thickhide suggested they resupply at the tower. It was something Skyeyes remembered too well, and an argument the mage had brought up several times since.

They ate what they had and got as much rest as possible before dawn. Skyeyes was spurring them on as quickly as he could, trying to get ahead of this news of their arrival if they were able. It had to be something they could do, word of mouth just wasn't that fast and they hadn't seen any other kobolds traveling around and bringing word. At least not on their route. The priest was pondering it as Red and Thickhide awoke, the latter putting his armor back on before they got moving. He wasn't sleeping in it and that was all that mattered to Skyeyes. It could serve a practical purpose when he was awake after all.

Skyeyes led the way, with Red at his side questioning him about where they were going, just to be safe. He sighed and tried to recall everything he could. Most notably was how secluded the place was. Being near Sedra they had to be. The markings to find the village were even more hidden than the other ones and even less permanent. Certain marks in the sand that would wash out at high tide, pieces of driftwood placed in specific ways, signs the beach itself would take care of every day or so. Red was irritated by the cryptic ways of the kobolds too, but she had kept that better buried than her other problems. Until they started scouring the beach for wood. It took Skyeyes everything he had to not get angry back at her when the red-scaled girl threw a large plank into the ocean in frustration. He knew how she felt, but he also believed she was getting out of hand. The return to the tower would be good, and not a moment too soon.

“Is this what we're looking for?” the green kobold said, pointing at something that looked smashed against some rocks near the shore.

Skyeyes walked over and looked at it. He tilted his head, getting a better angle before nodding. “If it's not,” he admitted, “Then this is a very close accident.”

“Great,” Red muttered, following the priest. “So either we found it, or we're lost.” Back to square one with the beach and looking for driftwood.

The trio continued walking along the beach towards what they assumed was the village in silence. Skyeyes was watching for yet more clues that pointed to the kobold village, while Red was focused on bigger things. She started to notice tracks in the sand, faint at first, partly washed away by the tide. It was probably nothing, smugglers perhaps. Still, with a frown, she decided to ask Skyeyes about something important, something Thickhide wouldn't have been able to answer for her. It was just a matter of how to bring it up. Finally, she chose to be forward about it.

“Skyeyes,” she asked, getting his attention, “What do slavers that raid kobold villages normally do?”

The priest looked at her with confusion before replying. “Well, um, they normally approach in large groups. A dozen or so, with wagons, six men to a wagon, loaded with cages for transport. It makes them easy to spot for the few like Sarel that fight back, and for the guards that wish to protect the transports.”

Red nodded and glanced at the beach again. The tide was doing its job too well. She couldn't confirm anything anyway. There were no sure signs the marks were from wagons. Skyeyes, however, continued his talk.

“They also carry clubs, with a few more seriously armed with swords. Cuts and bruises heal easily enough on their own.” He shuddered at just how much he knew from his time spent traveling.

“What about spears?” Thickhide asked. “Merdon told me that you should watch out for spears with a sword. Their reach is deadly.”

The priest smiled and shook his head. He was proud of just how much awareness Merdon had drilled into the green one's head. “No spears,” Skyeyes assured him. “Or bows for that matter. Spears cost more than clubs, and since they'd be hard-pressed to avoid using the tip, it's easier to get a tree branch. Bows, much the same. An arrow will cause more damage than they want to. It's better to let one or two escape and try to track them to another village than deal with healing those they wound in such a manner. If they make it back to town with them alive at all.”

Thickhide shuddered. “Why wouldn't they live?” he asked cautiously.

“Infection,” Red guessed. “Too deep a wound and they'll get sick. A sword you can curb your blow, put shallow cuts. You can't half fire a bow.”

Skyeyes nodded. “Or, so I've been told,” he added with a shrug. “Suffice to say, such advanced arms aren't usually required for taking down kobold villages. In some cases, even a whip is more than enough to bring them in line. They would rather run than fight.”

Red huffed and went back to scanning the beach. Their unwillingness to fight was why they were having such a hard time getting the kobolds to join them. The few kobolds that were capable would have found these ones insufferable, as Red was, and left long before they came along. As much as it angered her, the mage was hoping that Merdon was having better luck with the orcs because they would need all the help they could get after the string of failures she had sat through. Perhaps he would bring some of the kobolds that lived up there back with him to drill sense into these ones.

She continued to tune out Skyeyes and Thickhide's chatting while they walked. The waves of the ocean helped a lot, but something slowly pulled her attention back to reality. Those tracks she thought she had seen were back, and they were a deal more pronounced. As the ocean's tide came in shorter and shorter, the trails became more obvious. Right up until she followed them to the horizon and stopped dead. The mage squinted and held out an arm to stop the other two.

“You said the slavers travel with a team of horses and wagons?” she asked carefully.

Skyeyes looked at her funny and then looked ahead. Now that he wasn't distracted by Thickhide and conversation, he noticed what Red had. Soft indents in the sand, lines, that trailed up into the distance. Lines that came to a stop at what looked like two wagons in a rough V formation ahead of them. The priest froze and his mouth gaped a little. He had no response, no idea what those were doing on the beach. Of course, the answer was obvious.

Red growled and sprinted, away from the beach and towards an outcropping of rocks that she could scale. Skyeyes hurried after her, with the armor-clad kobold in the rear. Thickhide opted to stay at the bottom of the rocks while the two lighter kobolds scampered up to the top as quickly as possible. From the vantage point, Red could see the village, just barely. Cages sat in the middle of it, each one occupied by two or more kobolds. With a quick glance at the wagons she could guess how many slavers there would be to fight. Two wagons, Skyeyes had suggested six per team, twelve slavers. Hopefully. The priest was watching next to her, getting the same information she was. The pair looked at each other and then descended the rocks to rejoin Thickhide and tell him what they saw.

Their plan of action was clear to Red. The villagers needed help regardless of what their stance might have been about their rebellion. Skyeyes was hesitant about their attack. Without Merdon or Sarel they didn't have a strong front line. If any of the slavers took down Red their hides would be skinned. Red had to remind him of Thickhide, much to the green kobold's approval.

“He's not exactly battle-hardened,” the priest told her. “It's not the same as Merdon or Quickclaw.”

“No,” Red agreed, “But it's what we have.” She looked at Thickhide and told him, “I'm going to start things. If, and only if, any of them manage to get close to me, you come in and get in their way. You only have to keep them away from me until I can take care of the rest.” She didn't imagine a couple of humans would like to risk their necks if the rest of their crew were dead.

The wannabe knight nodded eagerly, ready for his first real battle. An eagerness that made Skyeyes sigh. He had no idea what was waiting for him, but time was of the essence now. Something Red knew just as well, as she rose and started running towards the village. Thickhide sought to follow her until she pointed at some rocks to her side. The kobold dashed over and hid behind them, Skyeyes beside him, while Red stood to the front of the rock. Without delay, the mage ignited her hands and started raining fire down on the unsuspecting slavers. Those standing in the back near the wagons were the first to light up and their screams alerted the rest.

Red tentatively counted fourteen, just over Skyeyes' estimate, but well within her capabilities. She roared and started attacking them directly as they came towards her. The ones in the back had rolled enough to put their leather armor out, but the ones that rushed her were less fortunate. They were wearing simple clothes, likely the muscle just to watch cages. Their clothes and their clubs caught fire like kindling and left them shouting and rolling. One helpful man told them to run into the ocean to put themselves out. Unfortunately, the helpful man was unaware it was low tide, as was the mage. They watched with shock as a pair of flaming men dove into the water, only to scream and get sucked out to sea by a current. The one who suggested the act covered his mouth in horror, and the rest of the men wondered if they liked being burned alive or drowned. Red figured she would help them choose by launching more fire at them.

Skyeyes, in the meantime, found his way up the cliffs and down into the village as stealthily as he could manage. His staff in hand and the majority of the slavers investigating the fire, he found it easy to bash the head of the one unarmored guard amid the cages and set about freeing the kobolds locked inside with the unconscious man's keys. The only question he had then was where to take these freed kobolds. Their elder wanted to run, despite the gouts of flames spewing from the only direction out of the village. Up and over the cliffs was slow, it would expose them to the slavers, but they had little choice.

As he and Skyeyes debated that, Red faced her first and only real problem with the slavers. Four men in full armor appeared from inside the cove the villagers lived in. Her fireballs were largely ineffective against their steel shields. The flames weren't hot enough to melt them, nor did they linger long enough for the men to do anything other than walk through them. She started to back up, tossing fireballs at them even as the men chuckled at her seeming misfortune. Which was when Thickhide leaped from his hiding place, catching them at the side with his blade drawn. With a thrust and a battle cry, his blade found the gap in one man's knee joint, severing many important ligaments and tendons as he forced his blade through. The slaver yelled in agony and collapsed, giving Thickhide free access to his shield to help fend off the other three.

Their focus on the slippery armored kobold, Red was free to once more assault the less armored slavers. Her fire fell from the sky like the wrath of a god, lighting slavers and wagons alike. At some point, the horses were freed, which caused the beasts to whinny loudly and stampede around the flaming wrecks. The men were forced to avoid horse and fire until the creatures fled the battle and the carts burned around them. Humans choked and coughed in the smoke, trying to dodge the mage's spells. Some were more successful than others, but as they found themselves blinded by the aftermath of her attacks it was few who managed to escape towards her, their eyes filled with tears and smoke, leaving them sitting ducks.

Thickhide was having a much harder time with his enemies. One of them had managed to kick him to the ground once, but thanks to his tail he was able to rapidly right himself and reengage them. His goal was to simply keep two of them attacking him at all times, one against his shield, the other deflected by his swordplay. The third he needed stuck behind the other two. It was difficult maneuvering in such a way, but he was managing it with patience. Eventually, he recalled Merdon's lesson on flexibility in battle. Not every fight could be won with brute force, and so he tried to be more adaptable. After a swift parry with his blade, he dove between one of the men's legs, landing between him and the third slaver, who was just as shocked to see him there as the other two were to see him move. Surprised by his own success, Thickhide had trouble coming up with a way to capitalize on it until he saw the space between the man's chest piece and cuisse. An open hole to his stomach, which the green-scaled kobold took gladly, sinking his blade in and jerking it sideways as he dodged out of the way. With the other two spinning around to try and catch him, they watched as their friend was disemboweled before their eyes. A sight that caused Thickhide to pale considerably.

The smell of burning flesh, the screams of the dying, they brought a cackle to Red's mouth as she continued her vicious, fiery assault. To Thickhide, however, it seemed like an image from hell, and it wasn't until his opponents scraped a sword edge against his armor that he remembered what he was doing. His shield came back up and his sword went to the ready as their battle resumed with the two slavers more angry than ever. All of it was watched, silently, by the kobold villagers at the top of the cove. Their eyes were locked on the battle being fought, and won, by a mere two kobolds. To the ones that had lived sheltered and afraid it was like seeing a kobold fell a giant. They couldn't believe their eyes.

Those watching had no choice but to believe it as Red began to rout the slavers. The few that hadn't ran into her fire already started to see the folly in continuing the fight, unprepared as they were for a kobold with magic. After all, no one had ever heard of such a thing before, how could they have been prepared? They turned and fled back through the dark smoke created by their burning carts, while Skyeyes cheered Red on from the clifftop. Excitement and unsteady footing, however, led to a sudden problem, as a rock came loose and the priest slid. Try as he might to catch something, he ended up tumbling and sliding down the rock face to the sands below. His previous cheers had caught some attention, and so the armored slaver that had been stabbed in the knee was fast to react.

Skyeyes had been dazed upon landing, only a stone's throw away from the guard Thickhide had wounded at the start of the fight. The man's leg was destroyed, he wondered if a healer could even fix it, but seeing the white-scaled kobold gave him an idea. Using his one good leg and a great shout of pain, he propelled himself towards the priest and wrestled him to the ground, getting his sword out and holding Skyeyes hostage. His yell had garnered a few glances, but he made sure he got the red one's specifically.

“Stop!” he yelled, as loudly as he could over the chaos, “If you want to see your friend here live!”

Thickhide and Red both paused and looked at the injured man, giving the two sword-wielding guards a chance to bowl the green kobold over again and point their swords at him. Red, however, had a very different reaction. Her eyes widened and then narrowed in anger at the sight. She had shown a great affinity for flames in her training, but a marked difficulty with the other elements in a mage's bag of tricks. It was her greatest weakness. Whether because of her very focused mind pushing out other possibilities, or because fire was simply what she knew best, the other elements had eluded her. Until that moment of deafening rage.

Her ears filled with a rushing noise, whatever else might have been said was lost upon the mage. Anger flowed from her core out to her claws. The fight had gone on for too long, there were too many of them left. Red wanted to kill them all, to help her comrades. Not just the two that were pinned, but those on top of the cove's walls. Her fires dimmed, and the knight grinned at their victory. It was hard-fought, they had lost many men, but the capture of a magically capable kobold was the unicorn of their trade. A hefty sum, perhaps from the king himself, would be made from her alone.

Red inhaled and screeched, unleashing what had been building up inside her for the past several weeks in a single, soul cracking moment. Her claws crackled as she gestured sharply downward and let out a single word. “Verakt!”

Skyeyes looked at her with surprise for just a moment. In the next, Red's powers coursed through her and out into the world. The bright blue sky suddenly unleashed air shattering bolts of lightning upon the remaining slavers. In full armor, holding swords up like lightning rods, they were easy targets for her spell. All three of them were caught at once, as well as several more that had ran into the smoke to escape. Their vibrating shouts of pain came to an abrupt end as they all collapsed over onto the sand, which had turned to glass in places where Red's lightning struck. Thickhide pulled away from the bodies with a whimper, smelling the flesh that had cooked from direct contact with the electrified metal making him sick. He'd panicked the bolts may have jumped to his own armor, but discovered they remained contained to their targets. An act of magic, not nature.

Red collapsed to her knees and panted heavily, utterly spent from that last act of power. She felt like she could sleep for a week, but there was no time to rest. The kobolds needed to be relocated, spoken to, they needed to return from their travel before she could rest at all. Skyeyes, after pulling himself from under the dead slaver, rushed over to Red and put his hands on her. He focused and did his best to rejuvenate her, at least keep her on her feet until they were safe. Thickhide, the battle finished and his defenses no longer required, broke hard. He pulled his helmet off and ran past the two kobolds and vomited into the sea, much to Skyeyes' disgust. Still, the priest couldn't blame him. As Red recovered enough to stand, he turned and looked at the carnage the two had wrought, along with the kobolds coming down the cliffs. They seemed impressed.

Red nudged Skyeyes. “Go, give them your speech,” she told him. “I will rest here. I have a feeling this time you'll be heard.” It was the most positive she had been about their quest in weeks.

Skyeyes was a little hesitant to leave her, but he did. He sprinted over to the kobold villagers that were surveying the carnage first hand, some of who had gone straight over to Thickhide and started admiring him. The green-scaled kobold was shy about all the attention but he put up a brave face. The priest, meanwhile, gave his well-prepared speech to the elder and those that were gathered and listening. It took all of his effort, summoning up every drop of charisma he could muster, stepping into a role similar to a preacher rather than a plain devotee. When it was all said and done, the crowd looked fired up. More than likely it was because of what they had seen Red and Thickhide do, but Skyeyes was offering the chance to do it themselves.

“The other elders did you little favor,” the one before Skyeyes told him. “They sent word that you heralded false promises and doom, yet what we have seen you do is far above such descriptions.”

Skyeyes offered a tentative smile and asked, “How did they send word? We have not seen a kobold traveling near us. I thought we were being most direct in our paths.”

The elder smiled and pointed at the sky. “Birds,” he said. “We have trained many birds that can travel between villages, ones that are not targeted by hunters for their small sizes. Messages can arrive days ahead of foot travel and are rarely, if ever, intercepted.”

“Clever,” the priest admitted with a frown. “That explains why the other villages wouldn't even speak to us.”

“We shall see about that,” the elder reassured him. “After what you have done for us, it is likely the others will listen intently now.”

Skyeyes nodded and thanked the elder before asking next, “Where will you go? You obviously cannot stay here.”

“Yes, quite clearly we have been discovered, and the how is a mystery,” the elder admitted, looking at the smoldering wreckage of the carts. “Hopefully it was only misfortune and the humans have not figured out our signs.” Otherwise there would be no safe haven left.

Skyeyes shuddered at the suggestion. “It must have been luck,” he assured the elder. “Perhaps a scout from the town nearby saw one of you out hunting.” It was possible, even the leader of the village admitted it.

After some time, the elder told Skyeyes the village they were most likely to seek refuge in, and the priest gave him some idea of the traveling conditions that way. Of course, the villagers were not moving as a whole group. They were breaking up and traveling different ways, in smaller numbers. It would make them harder to find but more vulnerable if caught. Such was their world. With it out of the way, however, the priest was free to return to Red's side and see to her weariness, as well as prepare to take them back to Verist's tower where they could relax for a while and regroup. The only thing holding them up by that point was Thickhide and his new horde of fans demanding to know everything.

With some luck, he was able to dissuade them by mentioning the need to relocate. However, he also promised to discuss it with them all later, something Skyeyes felt he would regret in time. The green kobold joined the other two and asked about anything he'd missed. Red only shook her head and looked at the priest with a once more hardened expression. She reached into her robe and pulled out the coins, giving one to each of them while taking one for herself. Whether they needed it or not, she explained to them how to focus on the object and release the magic contained within. Skyeyes understood because of his experience with the magic ring on his finger, which he quietly noted would have been very beneficial in the fight before. His late realization both embarrassed and shamed him; he had never had much of a mind for fighting so it never occurred to him to use the ring. It should have. Thickhide took another run through to understand how to use the coin before being the first one to disappear. Red and Skyeyes followed shortly after.

Back in Verist's tower, the two late returners found Thickhide already animatedly speaking to the witch about his first real battle, all the things he had seen and learned, and glossing over the dirty details of death and destruction. A coping mechanism perhaps, the white-scaled kobold thought. Whatever the case, the witch asked the other two how their journey went more akin to the plan rather than individual experiences. Red was short about it, largely failure, one success, and she was tired. Skyeyes had to talk to her, later. For the moment, he sat down and spoke to Verist at length about their travels. Everything they had learned was integral to their plans, or it could be. Especially the birds the elders used to communicate with each other. It felt awkward explaining things to a human, but he was sure she would help them. For her own gain, if nothing else.

Verist took it all in, nodding thoughtfully. When Skyeyes was done, she told him, “Go ahead and rest up. We'll speak about the specific changes that need to be made later.”

The priest nodded and got up. He wasn't going to rest right away, however. He needed to speak to Red. Her outbursts during their travels had gotten worse over time. While he appreciated what it allowed her to do at the last minute before, he worried her anger would turn self-destructive with time. It wasn't too hard for him to find out where she was either. Verist's tower was large, but that only served to make it so the casual inhabitants had very specific places they liked to skulk. Red, for example, was fond of a small room with a view two floors down from Verist's own. She was sitting on a stool when Skyeyes entered, her eyes focused on the forest outside.

Skyeyes closed the door and cleared his throat to get her attention. “Can we talk?” he asked softly.

Red turned and tilted her head. “Sure? What about?” She didn't know why he'd asked or what he wanted.

The white kobold frowned and rubbed his arm. It was hard to bring up gently. “You seemed rather angry,” he started slowly, “for most of our trip. I know it wasn't exactly a vacation, but you appeared upset before we even left.”

The mage sighed and rubbed her face. “This again?” she complained. “Yes, I was angry. I'm tired of doing what humans want us to do. Verist, Merdon, slavers, I'm sick of it.”

Skyeyes nodded. “I understand, but the way you acted after we were turned away by the kobolds-.”

“Of course I was angry,” she interrupted. “We put our lives on the line and they acted like cowards.”

“Perhaps, but I want you to think about how all of that has affected you,” he finally managed to say. “You were angry, but the way you handled your anger wasn't … healthy.” Skyeyes had to stop himself from saying wrong. Wrong wasn't the right word.

Red stood up and crossed her arms. “So, what would have been 'healthy' ways to deal with it? Let them kill you?”

“That's not what I mean.”

“Isn't it?” she accused, stamping a foot. “Who knows if I would have been able to cast that spell if I wasn't mad.”

Skyeyes nodded again, he didn't know either. “That isn't what I'm talking about either,” he told her. “The way you slashed those kobold signs, how you spoke to Thickhide and myself, your short temper. If you act like this with us, how are you going to be with Verist, or Merdon?”

Red set clenched her teeth and scowled before asking, “What if I don't care?”

The priest blinked and stepped forward. “What do you mean by that?”

“What if I don't care what they think? What if I just hate humans.”

“You don't mean that,” Skyeyes said, reaching towards her. “You're angry, maybe a little hungry from the strict rationing, you just need time to cool off.”

Red slapped his hand. “I'm serious! I hate being in this tower, even if we are just here to plan how to free ourselves from the humans. I hate the fact we're working with them, that part of our stupid plan involves trusting them to help us after everything they've done.”

“What would Merdon think?” Skyeyes asked her. “After everything he's given up, what he did for you in Ardmach.”

“I didn't ask to be in Ardmach!” Red shouted. “I'm grateful he broke us out, yes, to him only. But, trusting Verist? His scheme to tell the world about the Eyes of Ethral and make the humans join our cause? It's insane, stupid.”

“I don't think it is,” Skyeyes said with a frown.

Red sighed. “You've always been too much of an optimist.”

Silence hung between them for a good while. Skyeyes didn't know what to say. Eventually, he murmured, “What happened to you, Skravna? To the kobold that risked herself to warn a stranger?”

Red shook her head. “Nothing happened to me, Shistra. You want to know what happened to Red,” she told him. “Red was the slave, the one that was broken, cowardly, afraid. I am the one that was free, willful. Now I am both of them. It is unreasonable to think I would be unchanged by my past.”

Skyeyes nodded once more and turned around. “I guess I just underestimated how much,” he said sadly.

“Perhaps so,” Red added, sitting back down and looking out the window once again.

The next few days were just as tense. While Thickhide and Verist spent much time together, Skyeyes and Red were apart. At least, until they were called to Verist's room one afternoon for an emergency. Despite their difference of opinion, the two did support the rebellion, one way or another.

“Avant's mages have discovered a way through my forest,” the witch told them as they arrived. She pointed outside at the troops marching through the trees. Behind them, mages were channeling a spell, allowing them passage. It would only take minutes for them to get through.

Red sneered at the sight. “Do you have a plan?”

“Of course,” Verist said with a wave of her hand. “I'll need some time to prepare it, however. I wasn't expecting them, you know.”

The red-scaled kobold huffed and pushed the window open, lighting a fire in her hand and throwing the flame out towards the forest below. The knights shouted and scrambled as the fire burst and spread around them. She would keep them as busy as she could. Skyeyes looked out with a frown. This was not good.

Their problems only grew when a flash of light caught everyone's attention, and in the middle of the room appeared Merdon. Carrying a bloodied and groaning Sarel in his own wounded hands. Skyeyes paled and rushed over to help them while Verist frowned and turned back to her preparations.

“When it rains it pours, huh,” Red muttered as she hurled another fireball out the window.

Merdon looked at them with confusion. “What's happening?” he asked. “Skyeyes, Red, why are you back?”

“Long story,” the priest said as he began healing Sarel. “What's important is … the tower is under attack.”

The knight's stomach sank. “And the majority of the orc chiefs were just slain by the Eyes of Ethral.” Everyone stopped and looked at him.

“Complete torrential downfall,” Red said through her teeth.

# Book Two: Chapter Ten, Recovery

“She's fine,” Skyeyes whispered to Merdon. Sarel was asleep, in a bed within Verist's tower, with the knight sitting on a chair nearby. It had taken the priest hours to put things right, and the blue kobold had passed out as her bones were forced back into place by magic, but it hadn't killed her. She was alive, breathing, sleeping peacefully given what had just happened to her only hours before.

“What's going on with this attack?” Merdon asked, distracting himself.

Skyeyes shook his head. “I don't know. We only found out as you returned. I'm about to go ask Verist what she knows.”

The man thought about going along, leaving Sarel to rest. There was nothing he could do about her condition now, but it felt wrong. “Keep me posted,” he said quietly, leaning forward in his seat.

Skyeyes nodded and left silently, not even a noise from the door as he opened and closed it. Once he was in the halls, however, he broke into a run back up to the top of the tower. When he reached Verist's room things were about how he left them. The witch herself was working on something at a desk while Red was casually hurling magical attacks out the window. One of them looked quite angry, the other was too distracted with her work to feel anything. Of course, the priest went up to the angry red kobold and mage and looked outside to see what had her so upset.

The knights were walking through her magic. They were utterly unimpeded by her attacks and the burning grass around them. It was a shocking sight, a vision of demons dancing in flames and ash. Skyeyes stepped back and pressed up against the wall with his eyes closed. What were they supposed to do with enemies like that?

“They're immune,” Red stated obviously.

Verist hummed. “Eyes of Ethral, if I had to guess,” the witch commented. “I've removed the door from the base of the tower. That should hold them for a while, at least until their mages crack another of my spells.”

Skyeyes paled at that notion. “And once they're inside, we're doomed. We need to leave,” he said, stepping away from the wall. “Teleport to the orcs.”

The witch turned and gave him a cold glare. “I'll not be leaving my things, thank you very much. I just need a couple of hours and we'll be fine. It should take them much longer than that to figure out how to manipulate my tower. If they can at all.”

Red grumbled and jumped off the windowsill. “So we just wait,” she complained. “Wonderful.”

“Well, Sarel is stable,” the white-scaled kobold informed them, looking to get Verist's gaze off him.

“She wouldn't need to be if she wasn't with Merdon,” Red claimed with a sour look.

Verist smirked and said, “But you can't do that without taking away her free will, and that's bad, isn't it?”

Red looked disgusted at the implication and shook her head. “I know! I'm just pointing out that if she didn't go tagging along with him everywhere she wouldn't have gotten hurt.”

Skyeyes shook his head at her. “I don't think that's the case, Red,” he said calmly, looking out at the knights once again. “Remember, the Eyes are an organization against kobolds as a whole. It wouldn't matter if she were with Merdon or not. If they had seen her while assassinating the orc chiefs as a free kobold of their lands, they might have done much worse.” Sarel was only wounded because it hurt Merdon.

Red refused to acknowledge that and simply left the room. She was tired of arguing with Skyeyes about humans and the consequences of interacting with them. They were simply at opposite ends of the spectrum. Perhaps they had to work with a few of them now, maybe in a few decades humans would be less of a problem, but the future she envisioned for kobolds had a lot fewer humans involved with kobolds. The mage decided to rest for a while since her magic wasn't of any real use against their enemies. It was a waste of time and power for her to keep throwing fire at knights that didn't need to worry about being burned.

Skyeyes was equally at a loss. He couldn't fight normally, and his wolves wouldn't exactly help against the Eyes of Ethral at the base of the tower. Verist was busy with her own work, whatever plan she had to get rid of the knights, Red was skulking, Merdon was keeping a vigil over Quickclaw. Thickhide was the only kobold he didn't know was up to anything special. He made a face and walked out of Verist's room, intending to find the green kobold. Wherever he was hiding around the tower. It wasn't useful, but it was something to do, something to take his mind off another fight with Red, off Quickclaw's injuries, off the dangers around them. If only to relax, himself, for a time.

Thickhide was sitting in a small room he'd claimed on the floor below Verist's. The knight was sitting on a bed and looking gloomily at his armor. His eyes were sad but the rest of his features were neutral as if he was trying to ignore that feeling. Skyeyes had a feeling he knew why the green-scaled one had that look. Their fight against the slavers had been brutal. No doubt it was the first time he'd seen so much carnage and he had been in the middle of it. Not only in the middle but a direct cause of some of it. He had killed while wearing that armor just a few days ago. Not everyone was fit to do such a thing. Many were capable of performing the act, almost as many would crack after doing it.

Skyeyes walked into the room and sat next to the green kobold. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.

“About what?” Thickhide asked, putting on a forced smile. He was shockingly transparent.

The priest sighed. “I can see it in your eyes. Once the adrenaline wore off, you started to feel sick about the fight, didn't you?” he guessed. Thickhide didn't respond, so Skyeyes continued, “It happens to everyone. Even Merdon. Your first real battle is always something disturbing. Even if you had faced only one opponent on your own, the act of taking a life is hard on the soul itself.”

“They were the bad guys,” Thickhide said, looking back at the armor. “It had to be done, right?”

Skyeyes put his hand on the green one's shoulder. “It might have to be done, but that doesn't make it any less difficult. There are many things that have to be done that are nearly impossible. This very day a man woke up with a sick wife and worked until he would collapse to try and keep her alive. None of it was easy for him, and it might not get better for a long time, but he continues doing it because he must.”

Thickhide tilted his head and looked at Skyeyes. “Who is this man?” he asked, confused.

“It's no one specific,” the priest sighed. “There are many people on this planet, humans, elves, kobolds, orcs, of one group there must be many this scenario happened to. It is just their lives right now.” Probability and all that. “Take it as a story, know that for someone out there it is just their life, and learn from it. Sometimes the things that must be done are the hardest of all.”

Thickhide was quiet for a while as he thought about that. Eventually, he said, “Killing is very easy, physically. Humans are very fragile, even with armor.”

Skyeyes nodded, “We can be too. Our scales are tough, but an arrow or a hammer and that's it.” Elves, Skyeyes knew, were just as easy as humans, they were simply long-lived, suffered less disease. Only orcs and dragonkin broke the trend.

“I cut a man open,” Thickhide said softly. “His insides spilled out and he died. It was so easy, it took just a few seconds, just two motions.” A stab and a slice to the side.

The priest guided him away from that. “What would have happened if you didn't?” he asked the shaken kobold.

“Red would have died,” Thickhide replied, “or been captured.” Their journey would have been over.

“And the other kobolds that were already in cages wouldn't be free,” Skyeyes added. “There's no reason to be ashamed of what you did, and it's perfectly normal that you feel this way. The question is what you do now.”

Thickhide looked at him again, seeking an answer with his gaze. “What I do?”

“Yes,” Skyeyes said, standing up. “You can stop. There's nothing wrong with that. Hang up your armor, find something else to do with your life.” Thickhide looked at the floor when Skyeyes said that, hesitating. “Or you can keep going, keep fighting. You'll have to do what you did again, but you can make sure it's for the right reasons. Because there are those out there that fight for the wrong ones.”

Skyeyes left Thickhide alone with his thoughts. It was up to him now, whether he wanted to continue on the path of a warrior or not. Nothing more Skyeyes could say would change his mind any more than what he'd already done. The priest found himself wandering again, deep in contemplation about the green kobold, and wound up outside of Sarel's room as he made his way back to his own. She was still in stable condition, but asleep. Merdon hadn't moved and clearly didn't plan to until she was recovered. Verist was likely still working on her plan and would call for them if they were needed, so Skyeyes simply returned to his room and tried to relax. There were no metaphorical fires he could put out, nor literal ones, there were no emergencies to fuss over, and yet he felt restless.

Hours after getting healed, Sarel woke up with a start. She didn't just sit up, she jumped out of bed, grabbing a bedpost and flinging herself to the top of a dresser where she yanked the drawer out and held it over her head, ready to throw it if necessary. Merdon fell backward out of his chair and then held the wooden thing up defensively, in case the thief was still out of it and decided to hurl that drawer at him. Luckily, she calmed down and slowly lowered the piece of furniture. The blue kobold rubbed her eyes and looked around the room, her eyes darting around as quickly as possible to catch her brain up to speed. The walls told her Verist's tower, which meant she wasn't captured, and the presence of Merdon relaxed her a lot.

She dropped down to the floor and sheepishly put the drawer back in place. “Apologies, verakt. Sarel did not realize where she was.”

Merdon put his seat down and went right over to her, hugging the kobold tightly. “It's all right,” he whispered. “As long as you're okay it's fine.”

Sarel hugged him back and then got up to date on what was happening. She was sour when she learned her broken arm wasn't a dream. Though, it also afforded her time to tell Merdon what had happened. How, exactly, she and Shade had gotten ambushed inside the orcs' city while wandering the town.

They had been looking at various kobold dominant establishments. Shops and workplaces that were ran or staffed by kobolds. There was even a part of the orcs' city that was largely lived in by kobolds exclusively. None of the businesses were open, but it was enough for Sarel to see tables and chairs built for someone like her. At least until the small group of humans ambushed them. The way she told it, the fight was terribly short and quick, with only Shade managing to do anything significant.

Sarel frowned as she discussed her ineptitude next to Shade's skills as an assassin. The way she avoided an attack she didn't see coming, pulled a concealed dagger from her waist and retaliated without a second thought. Of course, that had to end with Sarel getting a lump on the back of her head and blacking out. It didn't give Merdon any new information about the Eyes, but it did make him try to comfort the thief. Both of them were outclassed by these new opponents; he could relate to her struggles there.

After catching up for a bit, he suggested they go see Verist. He'd been sitting around all day and wanted to stretch his legs, with Sarel agreeing happily. She didn't like being cooped up any more than he did. A whole day in bed was too much for the blue kobold. Even if she didn't particularly like Verist, it was better than doing nothing in her book. The climb up the stairs gave her a workout, got her blood flowing again, made her forget about that bone that had been sticking out of her earlier in the morning. She needed to forget that, desperately.

Verist's room had changed since Merdon saw it last, and he stopped dead in his tracks to stare, with Sarel poking her head around his side to see too. She had moved all the furniture to the sides and made her bed disappear. The floor was marked with a massive sigil that went from the center of the room to the corners and then up the walls. If the knight didn't know any better, he'd think she was summoning a demon. He did know better, however, and recognized the runes as teleportation. Merdon had seen a mage guild once when he was younger, and it was how the mages traveled to different branches with ease. This, however, was ridiculous and complex, and the point of it escaped him.

“Are we going to teleport out of here?” he asked, daring not to step into the room for fear of messing up one of the marks and doing something catastrophic.

Verist laughed. “No, don't be stupid. Well, not individually or as a group anyway,” she muttered in correction. “I think this will do it.”

Without a single pause, the witch stood in the middle of the circle and began chanting in a language Merdon didn't understand. It wasn't draconic or elven, those were the only two inhuman tongues he knew. The marks on the ground began to shine as they filled with magic, and he glanced at Sarel nervously. Quickclaw shrugged and braced herself. Whatever came next would be better than getting slaughtered by the Eyes of Ethral, that was for sure. Merdon looked squeamish as he did the same, silently agreeing with her shrug.

Verist grinned as her eyes flashed, the spell finished, and she released all her built-up energy. In defense of the mages outside, there was no way they could have predicted something so rash and unheard of, and the knights were sure trying their best to break into the tower when it happened. They did everything they could have reasonably thought to do. It was just that seeing a massive white tower flicker and fade away, leaving a large open glade behind that they all walked through a dozen times to make sure it wasn't simply invisible, wasn't a sight one saw frequently. As for the tower's occupants, a massive shift of matter across great distances was disorienting and nauseating in the best of cases. Merdon could then be forgiven for throwing up all over the stairs as soon as they landed.

Recovering from his bout of displacement, the knight righted himself and stumbled into Verist's room. She was looking pleased with herself and staring out the window. Slowly, Merdon turned his head and looked. He was greeted by the sight of pure white mountains and a blizzard hammering down outside. Verist had taken them to the frozen North.

# Book Two: Chapter Eleven, Talk it Out

The six were seated around a table in Verist's room and had just finished catching each other up on the events of their travels. Merdon and Sarel had gone last, with the knight depositing the fragments of his enchanted shield on the table for Verist to examine. The majority of them had shown sympathy for Merdon's near death at the hands of Grot, and the witch seemed displeased with the loss of the magic shield. Red, however, was distant about the whole thing, in an angry sort of way. The knight recognized that Sarel was also apart, but a more melancholic distance. She was upset about her defeat and no amount of talking would have overcome that. She'd been silent for most of the conversation, barely emoting, rarely even nodding. It was hard to tell if she was even paying attention.

Red broke their discussion by slamming a fist on the table, startling Verist and almost making her drop the sliver of shield in her hand. “Does no one care about the fact we're trapped here?” she shouted, looking at them with a scowl.

“It's a simple matter to teleport away from the tower,” Verist said with a roll of her eyes. “Dramatic kobold.”

The scaly mage ground her teeth and retorted, “I can teleport, you can teleport us, what if you decide not to?”

Skyeyes sighed, but Merdon, confused, asked, “Why would she refuse to teleport us?”

“Of course you wouldn't get it,” Red said with serious condescension.

The priest spoke up in defense of Merdon, raising his voice to a shocking degree. “That's enough!” he told Red. “We don't need to be arguing among ourselves right now. The Eyes are onto our plans. We cannot afford to break down before the rebellion has even gotten off the ground.”

“Please,” Red scoffed. “The fact they've caught onto us is exactly why we need a new plan. They'll see us coming a mile away.”

“If we wait, the Eyes will do something worse,” Merdon said in disagreement. “They could declare war on the orcs and wipe out any hope of back up we have. Losing the element of surprise doesn't mean you go back into hiding.”

Verist nodded, “We cannot afford to wait any longer now that Avant's assassins have struck a group they're supposed to have a truce with. The war is coming, with us or without. The only question to be asked, Red, is whether you join in and seek freedom, or stand to the side and let a flip of the coin decide who wins.”

“It won't be a coin flip,” Merdon said sourly. “The orcs are already in disarray, and they were reluctant to agree to any form of surprise attack. They wanted to simply march out in numbers, just like before.” Like the war they had lost.

“Stupid,” Verist muttered. “Well, the good news is that I might be able to do something for your shield, but I'll need to do some research first.”

Skyeyes sighed and asked, “What do we do in the meantime? Just wait?”

“No,” Merdon told him. “We need to go check on the orcs. Grot is still alive and it's possible the other chiefs have arrived since I left. We need to convince them to do this correctly, not rush into a head-on war.”

Red shouted and jumped off her chair, kicking it over. “So the witch we were fighting not half a year ago teleports us to a place where our bodies would never be recovered, completely at her mercy, and you're all still stuck on this rebellion thing?” she yelled.

Sarel stood on her own seat and shouted back, stunning the other three, “If all you can do is nitpick and whine, maybe you should leave!”

The red-scaled kobold froze with her mouth agape, processing what the blue one had said. Skyeyes had argued with her, debated her, but not outright dismissed her. Sarel, on the other hand, looked deeply upset.

The thief looked at Merdon, and then to Skyeyes. “My verakt is right. The orcs were agreeing to help us, we must see their aid is secured first and foremost. We can use them to leverage the kobold villages to action.” She then glared at Red and added, “Having a neutral location that our enemies cannot spy on or reach will help.”

Verist smiled and said, “I thought precisely the same thing.”

Red puffed up a little and then stormed off, slamming the door loudly behind her. Skyeyes bit his lip, then quietly slid out of his seat to follow her. As they left, Merdon frowned and looked at Thickhide, the other quiet kobold in the room, to ask what exactly the problem was. Clearly something had been left out of the story of their trip.

Skyeyes was busy chasing after Red and, even if he had stayed around, it wouldn't have been in him to explain Red's actions to others. The mage was gone, being she was running and he didn't start until after leaving Verist's room. He stood on the floor below the top of the tower and listened, expecting to hear her running somewhere. Instead, Skyeyes flinched at the cacophony of expletives and splintering from a room down the hall. With a frown, the priest proceeded to the room and cracked open the door to peek inside before confronting her.

All of the furniture in the room was in pieces on the floor, amassed in a large heap that Red was setting ablaze. Skyeyes watched as she hurled a fireball at the center of the wood and stared at the flames dancing on the fragments of chairs, a table, and what looked to be a bookcase. With the fire raging, Red let out a frustrated yell and kicked a rug onto the flames as well before dropping to the floor and panting to catch her breath. Timidly, Skyeyes stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Red,” he said softly, causing the mage to look back at him with a growl, “we should talk.”

“There's nothing to talk about!” she shouted, jumping up and lobbing another fireball at the already burning wreckage.

Skyeyes crossed his arms and pointed out, “You've set an entire room on fire. How is this not something to discuss?”

She turned and faced Skyeyes with a snarl. “Because you're just going to say some stupid pragmatic shit about humans that I'm not going to listen to, then we're going to brush past each other and sleep in different beds, again,” the mage raged.

Skyeyes made a face of debate before telling Red, “You realize that pragmatic means what I say is based on facts, not feelings and speculation?”

Red groaned and dragged her hands down her face. “That is your problem, Shistra. You always have to be correct, you are embarrassed to be wrong, even if it means ignoring the opinions of those around you.”

“Is there a problem with being right?” he asked, stepping forward. “About setting aside my feelings for simple truth?”

“There is when your truth is temporary and fleeting! The humans are nice, for now, but what about the future? What guarantee do we have that Verist isn't planning something? None. We're just supposed to trust her, and how is trusting her based in facts, because the last time I checked she tried to kill Merdon and enslave us.” Red panted and huffed from all her yelling, but Skyeyes seemed thoughtful.

“You're right,” he admitted, causing the mage to blink in surprise. “She did some very bad things, and I don't like the fact we have to rely on her any more than you or Sarel do. However,” he continued, holding up a hand, “you simply won't accept the help at all. Tell me, Skravna, do you wish to end up a slave again, or would you rather work with the humans to be free? There is no in-between here. Without Verist's tower and magical prowess we could never hope to assault Ardmach, and without Merdon to help organize the kobolds and orcs together we would take years amassing support for this.”

“I hate it,” Red said, looking at the ground. “I hate that we can't do this ourselves.”

Skyeyes sighed softly, glad she had stopped yelling. “I can understand that,” he told her. “But kobolds will not be able to go into hiding after this. Our cities will not be hidden in forests, and there are those outside of Avant that want worse for us.” Rastar didn't allow any kind of free kobold, and the elves killed them as if they were goblins. They would have to seek refuge to build a society with someone, somewhere.

“Verist stole my memories,” Red said, looking up at Skyeyes. “She took the last things of my home that I had, and I'm just supposed to sit there and let her plan our future?”

“We will plan our future,” the priest told her. “When this is over the kobolds will be free, or we will be dead. Verist will have no say over us after that. Nor will Merdon, if that so concerns you.” He felt her anger ran deeper than that, she was cooling, but still angry inside.

After a time she asked, “So we check on the orcs? Then what?”

Skyeyes smiled. “We bring them here, and then we find the kobolds that will listen to us again. With these orcs at our side, the kobolds will find their bravery like you wanted them to.”

“And then we fight?” she confirmed.

The white-scaled kobold nodded. “And then we fight, and the corrupt humans will be dragged into the light as the monsters they have always been.”

Red smirked and looked back at the still-smoldering ruins of the furniture. “I'll provide the torch.”

With Verist doing research, Red and Skyeyes dealing with each other, and Sarel off taking a bath, Merdon decided to talk to Thickhide. He had heard about what the green kobold had gone through and figured it was best to talk about it. The human was responsible for him after all. He'd trained the kobold, taught him every skill he could in the short time they had together, but nothing prepared him for that fight. It was obvious in the way his room looked when Merdon walked in. Thickhide's armor had a very thin layer of dust, settled from the days of rest. Chances were good, Merdon suspected, that he hadn't bothered training much after either. That was normal. It took the kobold a minute to realize Merdon had entered, but when he did, Thickhide sat up and smiled at him.

Merdon returned the look and had a seat on a chair that was paired with a desk in the room, turning it the chair about to face Thickhide. “How are you feeling?” he asked first, testing the waters.

“I'm okay,” Thickhide said, his smile fading. “Skyeyes talked to me.”

The knight nodded. “That's good. Priests normally deal with these things, but they're also not really warriors. They don't sit in the middle of it like we do.” Thickhide had killed now, they were equals as far as Merdon was concerned. He wasn't a novice anymore, even if he was new.

Thickhide nodded back and looked at his armor. “It was easy to do,” he said, recalling his talk with Skyeyes. “Humans are kind of easy to kill.”

“A curse for sure,” Merdon said. “But that's not what matters. The mind can break as easily as the body. I'm worried about that. Kobolds might be physically tougher, but they aren't so mentally. In our heads, we're all about the same, in my experience.” He'd learned a lot about that in the orc lands.

The green-scaled kobold paused and thought about that before replying. “I did what I had to,” he said at last. “They were bad people.”

“That's not a good way to think about it,” Merdon told him, confusing Thickhide.

“I thought slavers were bad.”

“They are,” Merdon admitted, “but there's more to it than their jobs. They're people with families, friends, and the people in charge of them are lying to them. Some of them don't care, it's true, but there are those that enslave kobolds because they don't know what else they can do.” He stopped and looked at the ground. His words rang true within him, no matter how it made him feel. “You did what you had to, and you should keep that in mind, but you should realize that our enemies today could be friends tomorrow. Don't judge them all as completely evil so quickly.”

Thickhide tried to process that and looked back at his armor. “It's hard being a knight.”

Merdon chuckled at that. “Yes, it is. This world isn't as black and white as Avant makes it out to be, we have to be careful not to fall into the reverse.” Part of their plan leaned on humans from Avant joining in after learning about the Eyes of Ethral's true motives.

“I guess … I need to train harder then,” Thickhide said, standing up and walking over to his armor.

Merdon smiled and stepped over to the kobold to put his hand on his shoulder. “You won't be alone,” the human assured him. “We've all got training to do.”

After saying goodbye to Thickhide, Merdon went to his room and started packing his things. The orcs were still on his mind, and he was certain they were thinking about him as well. It was most likely he was the current suspect in the murders of the clan chiefs, and with the other chiefs due to arrive any time after that incident the knight was doubly sure they wanted his head on a pike. He just had to hope Grot was giving them his side of the story until he could make it back. Assuming the other chiefs didn't kill Grot as an accomplice. There were risks all over with him having left right after, but he had to. Grot just had to convince the other chiefs that it was necessary and not just him fleeing. That was a hard sell, which made it imperative he returned to the orcs' capital immediately.

Sarel seemed to have her doubts when she walked in and caught him packing, her mouth hung open in surprise. She didn't argue with him, however. As a thief, she knew the troubles he was going to face going back to the orcs' land. Knowing Merdon, she was also aware that he wouldn't run from those accusations, especially when he knew the real culprit and the problems that would bring on the orcs. The blue kobold sighed and gathered her own things, to Merdon's shock.

“You don't have to go,” he told her. “I know you're not feeling too go-.”

“I'm going,” she cut him off, looking back at him with a defiant slap of her tail against the ground. “You're not going to throw yourself onto the executioner's block without me there to break you out.”

Merdon wanted to argue with her but found himself chuckling at the assertion instead. He should have known better than to insist they split up again. It didn't take them long to gather their things after that. They had only stopped in for a couple of days, it wasn't like their packs were scattered to every corner of the room.

When they arrived at the top of the tower to tell Verist of their departure, however, they found more luggage than they expected. Skyeyes, Red, and Thickhide were sitting about, bags packed, waiting. Red looked at the pair and sighed out, “Finally, we can go.”

“Where?” Merdon asked, confused as his eyes slowly drifted over the three prepared kobolds.

“To visit the orcs,” Skyeyes said with a smile, getting out of his seat and picking up his pack. “We have to convince them of things ourselves.”

Thickhide got up as well, his armor clanging as he did. “Plus, you said there were free kobolds there. We have to talk them into joining us too,” he added.

Verist stepped over, humming with a book in her hand. “I can send you all, that way you still have a token to get back.”

Merdon looked at them all and sighed. “All right, but be warned, we didn't exactly leave on the best note.”

“Duh,” Red said flatly, standing up and getting next to the others. “You vanished into thin air, covered in blood and surrounded by orc corpses. We're going to be lucky if they don't put an arrow between your eyes when we arrive.”

Sarel scoffed. “That's stupid. Orcs don't use bows. They aren't intimidating enough,” she told Red.

The mage shrugged and replied, “An ax then, whatever. Merdon is going to need our help.”

Verist groaned and slammed her book down. “You all talk too much!” she shouted and readied the spell in a snap of her fingers. Merdon wished she'd taken another minute because suddenly dropping into the middle of the orcs' stronghold did not agree with his stomach.

He looked around and stood up, sword at the ready, but he didn't see anyone. The city was empty, which put everyone else on guard, including Thickhide. Sarel took the lead, with Skyeyes in the back, and Red and Thickhide at the sides, all surrounding Merdon. It was the middle of the day and not a soul was in sight. Merdon scanned the area and found no sign of battle, no blood, no bodies, no burns, no weapons, it was like everyone left on their own. Which didn't make sense.

“Where the hell is everyone?” Red muttered as the group started to move down the street in formation at a turtle's pace.

Sarel shook her head. “I don't know. Maybe once the Eyes attacked they abandoned the city?” she proposed.

“No,” Merdon disagreed, “they spent too long on this place to just uproot and move. Something's going on.”

Their questions were answered when Shade came sprinting down the street towards them, which got Sarel to loosen up. “Shade!” she yelled. “Where are the orcs?”

“They're in the arena,” she said with a scowl directed at Merdon. “Grot is performing the trial by combat on behalf of the Whisperer. He will face off against the remaining orc chiefs in simultaneous combat, by himself.”

Merdon paled and put his sword away. “We have to stop them,” he said in a panic, starting to sprint.

Shade yelled after him, stopping him dead in his tracks. “You can't, not anymore.” When Merdon turned around she finished, “The trial has started already, no one can interfere.”

“Not even the person that should actually be in there?” Merdon said incredulously.

Shade shook her head. “Either my verakt survives and clears your name, or you'll both be dead by sunset.”

# Book Two, Chapter Twelve: Grot's Gambit

An hour before sunrise, Grot stood in a cell under the arena, with Shade pacing behind him. The orc chief was sharpening his ax and double-checking his, relatively, lightweight armor. All was ready for his fight that afternoon. He'd been restless all night, but the few hours of sleep he'd gotten would be enough. Shade, on the other hand, wasn't capable of rest, at all. She resented what Grot was doing.

“I know you like Merdon, verakt,” she said, “But this is insane.”

Grot laughed. “It's not about liking the human, dear. It's about making sure the tribes focus their hatred properly. Avant has to be beaten. Merdon just happens to be a convenient catalyst.”

Shade sighed and frowned at him. “You always speak with that kind of sophistication when you're distracted.”

The chief shrugged, “Can't focus on acting like the ones outside want me to right now. I didn't become a chief by playing it safe.” Grot held up his ax and checked its sharpness before setting it aside and turning to face Shade.

“So, you got to chief by planning a public suicide?” she goaded.

Grot laughed, “Not quite.” He reached into his pocket and tossed the assassin an amulet. She eyed it curiously and then shifted that look to him. “I asked a shaman for something to detect magical disturbances,” he clarified. “Merdon left by teleporting, he'll come back that way.”

Shade sighed and put the amulet in her own pocket before asking, “You really think he'll come back?”

“Why wouldn't he?” Grot asked in return, shrugging.

“Because he's a wanted human and he knows it. I know you like him, it's obvious, but be realistic.”

“I am,” Grot asserted. “He'll be back, today. I can feel it. Our god speaks to me.”

Shade sighed again. “You really think that Oorck gives you divine inspiration on these things?”

“Of course,” Grot said confidently. “It was part of my blessing when I stood against him the longest in the yearly competitions.”

Shade shook her head and changed topics. “So, how does this amulet work?”

“Simple, it gets hot when someone in the city uses magic, you turn towards it and it gets warmer.” Easy enough.

“So when it heats up I need to look for someone using magic, and hope that's Merdon?” It sounded far fetched to the kobold. A needle in a haystack at best.

Still, it was the only thing she could do, as soon after Grot was taken away to be prepared for the fight. Shade went to the stands to wait while the dark-skinned chief was taken to a room and read the rules of engagement. A fact that annoyed him as he'd been the one to decide what, exactly, the rules were already. It was a trivial formality, but one that was observed, even by him. Once he agreed, he was given an hour of meditation and planning, a time for him to think about how he would approach his enemies, in what order. Grot didn't bother. He napped instead, choosing to have his strength and wits about him in the fight rather than trying to predict the unknown before it.

When the official returned and gave Grot his gear, the orc double-checked it for tampering before putting it on and readying himself. He was then guided out into the pit where an enormous crowd waited with bated breath to jeer him for siding with a human. Grot smirked and took it in stride, yelling at the audience in defiance. His armor was light compared to normal orc wear, but his ax was bigger and longer than any other's. He favored damage over defense.

Grot's enemies were led out next, two by two. Swords, axes, a mace, and even the rarely seen war hammer in their grips. Some were more armored, others were just as low in the defense as he was. Grot decided they would be first. When the official started the match, dropping the gates back under the arena as a flag, the lighter armored ones moved first, exactly as Grot had wanted. Evading a sword was much more predictable than a hammer, and Grot's own ax was well equipped for such things. He found it easy to deflect the strikes of those before him.

The first upset came when he knocked the sword from one orc's hands and shoulder checked him roughly to the ground. The crowd cheered, confusing Grot just long enough for the orc with the hammer to catch him in the chest and take the wind out of him. He was tossed into a nearby wall by the force of the blow and winced as he felt his ribs crack. That wasn't good. Shade was yelling in the audience, he could hear her, so Grot stood upright and readied himself despite the pain.

While he battled, Shade's amulet warmed in her pocket and she tugged it out hurriedly. First, she looked around the arena. No one was using magic to cheat in there. Frowning, she stood and turned on the spot, ignoring the eyes focusing on her as she did. Outside, in the middle of the city, was where the amulet warmed the most. She groaned in frustration and looked back. Grot had one of the other chiefs down on the ground and fending off two more. He was holding out, but not doing great. She promised to check for the human knight, but he was in the midst of danger. Swearing under her breath, the assassin vaulted over the bench she'd been sitting on and sprinted out of the arena.

Grot disarmed another chief and spun, catching the hammer-wielding orc in the side with the blunt of his weapon, causing him to buckle just enough for Grot to ram him into a wall. He used the pause to catch his breath and look at the audience again. Shade was gone. The chief smiled and threw the second orc to the ground and roared as loudly as he could, though he felt a pang of pain in his chest as he did. It wasn't a good idea to breathe so deeply with a broken rib, but the intimidation of having two of the nine on the ground and boasting was worth the risk. Grot choked up his grip on his ax and gestured for the others to come get him.

Merdon and the kobolds followed Shade at a dead run through the empty city streets. A pair of orc guards at the gates of the castle attempted to stop them, but Shade wasn't in a stopping mood. She jumped and grabbed the head of the first one, slamming him into the second one at the same time the pair realized who she was. They both pressed up against the arch they were standing under and let the group pass without further complaint. Shade had every right to see the arena after all. The other kobolds wanted to stop and look around, but they recognized how serious the current situation was. It wasn't the kind where you took your time. At least they wouldn't when it was Merdon's life on the line for something he didn't do.

Shade guided them into the castle and around a few hallways, eventually ending up back outside. The closer they got to their destination the louder it became. The cheers of hundreds of orcs, the sounds of battle. Merdon didn't need a guide so much as they got close and picked up his pace, going nearly side by side with the black-scaled kobold. They came out into the stands as the crowd reacted with sympathy to something in the pit below. Shade ran to the edge and looked down at the fight with a frown, and the others joined her curiously.

Grot was against a wall and fending off three opponents at once while two laid groaning on the ground already. As bad as it seemed, it was worse than that. Four more orcs were in the middle of the arena, armed and fully rested, ready to fight if Grot defeated the three on top of him already. The crowd seemed more interested in Grot losing than winning, as their feet stamped on the hard stone floors, heavy benches creaking under their weight, and their mouths cheering for blood. Merdon thought for a moment about how utterly archaic this all was, before reminding himself the orcs were quite stuck in their ways, stubborn to a fault. What needed doing at that moment wasn't chastisement. He needed to assist Grot in some way.

The knight stepped back and ran around the rim of the arena to where Grot was fighting, his armor and size getting a lot of attention as he moved. A human among orcs at a combat trial involving a human. It wasn't hard for anyone to put two and two together. Thankfully, his plan was working, as the ones inside the arena started to notice him as well.

“Grot!” he shouted down. “What in blazes are you doing?”

The three orcs against Grot looked up at the human, giving the dark-skinned chief the opportunity to push them away and make some breathing room for himself. “Fighting,” he called back, “for you, idiot.”

“I can see that,” Merdon replied. “Shade filled me in. What is this half baked idea about? It should be me in there if anything.”

Grot stopped and laughed. “You barely fought me, knight. These nine would shred you like a chicken breast.”

One of the combatants looked up and said, “So the hume coward arrives in time to see his plan die.”

“Not my plan,” Merdon mumbled. “But I can work with it.” He turned to face his half of the crowd and shouted, “I am not the one that killed your chiefs!” It was pretty easy to get their attention like that, and several of them stood up, just knowing he was the one that was accused was enough for them. “Avant sent their assassins to your lands, an attack I came to warn them about!”

Shade swore under her breath and added her voice to his, “This is truth! I was attacked by the Eyes of Ethral here in our own city.” The crowds paused and looked at the black kobold. Her status was known to them, and Grot was fighting in defense of the human, but to lie about the Eyes of Ethral of all things was unthinkable.

While they yelled, Grot fought. His heavy ax had been lost in an early scuffle and laid across the arena. In his hands was a thick sword, used by one of the now unconscious chiefs. As the two argued with the crowd on his behalf above him, Grot swung wide with his sword, the arc long enough to hit all three of his opponents but only catching the first one in the arm. He yelled and pulled away, but Grot wasn't going to let a wounded enemy go so they could return and bite him in the back. He charged towards him and knocked him to the ground, delivering a swift stomp to hopefully break something and put him out of commission. The others that had been staying back were now joining the fight. He'd traded one enemy for four more.

“The Eyes are after me because I'm fighting for the freedom of kobolds,” Merdon told the crowd. “Avant has worked for centuries to keep them oppressed, and I've learned recently that the Eyes have targeted humans in the past to achieve this goal. The government of Avant threatens the well-being of everyone.”

Shade knew the orcs wouldn't much care about how humans killed each other, so she added, “We came to convince the chiefs to go to war with Avant, to bring the human oppressors to their knees!” The crowd roared with approval at that, making one of the orcs in the pit grimace.

“Enough!” the orc shouted, hurling an ax at the back of Merdon's head.

The human barely half turned when the ax was intercepted by a ball of fire that knocked it off course and virtually disintegrated the handle while the head fell to the ground in the arena. Both the crowd and the fighters in the pit stood in awe of the red kobold who stood on the railing next to Shade, her hand alight with magic flames, her eyes glaring down at the orc that had thrown the ax.

“If you're going to interact with the audience,” she warned, “be ready for the audience to interact back.” To make her point more clearly, Red held up her other claw and caused it to spark with electricity.

Merdon sighed with relief and smiled at Red. “Thanks.”

Red rolled her eyes and glanced at him, “Do your talking thing, Whisperer. I'll make sure they don't interfere again.” As her eyes looked back down, Red saw the now weaponless chief swallow hard. It brought a smile to her face.

Grot took advantage of his defenselessness, rushing forward and swinging his sword broadside, slamming the blunt end of the weapon into the other chief's chest. He groaned and was tossed back a few feet, but not out. Another chief roared and swung, but Grot moved backward and parried, as best one could with a such a large weapon, and counterattacked. The second chief groaned with Grot's pommel upside his head. A little footwork and the dark-skinned chief had his opponent on the ground with the other four. Five were left standing, but Grot was breathing hard. If they could attack him all at once, it was over, but one of them was winded as he was.

“Your enemies are in Avant,” Merdon shouted at the crowd. “Not here in this arena. This is what they wanted you to do. They will come, they will strike from the shadows, they will provoke you until you have no choice but to fight back. And when you do, when you've finally grown sick of them, they will claim you as the instigators.”

Shade saw the opening and took it. “That is why we met in secret, why we were planning. This isn't a simple war, brothers. This is the end of Avant as it stands. We will fight the humans on their own terms and show them what their dishonor gets them!”

The chiefs in the pit looked very sour as the crowd turned against them, as Shade had promised them a war they didn't want. Without the support of the crowd, of their citizens, they wouldn't be chiefs much longer after their fight. It was a distraction that Grot took happily, grabbing the two closest enemies and banging them into each other before hurling one into the others that were standing around and then pulling the other to the ground to wrestle for his weapon. It was an ax, not quite Grot's but better than the sword he'd been using. Grot came out on top and punched the lights out of the one he'd dragged down before throwing himself backward, creating more room, and jumping up with his new weapon in hand. Four more. His eyes darted over each of them. Two were winded, they'd been part of the group that had put him against the wall, the other two were fresh.

Grot roared at them and rushed forward only to be met with all four of them meeting his attack. He worked smarter rather than harder, going at the one on the edge of their counter charge, rushing through him, lifting the opposing chief off his feet and carrying him into a wall with a loud crack. The others skidded to a stop and turned around to find themselves down another orc. One of them gestured and they took a formation, tight-knit, hard to take all three of them at once, especially when there was only one more weakened one, but Grot would manage. As they advanced slowly, Grot hurled his ax sideways, causing them to break formation or all take a hit. When they broke, Grot rolled and snagged his own ax form the ground and then used its long handle to reach out and hook an ankle by the underside of the head. The chief looked down and was suddenly pulled onto his back.

The other two rushed to Grot, he was on the ground and needed to not be there. He rolled towards them and swung his weapon, catching the two with the backside of his ax and sweeping them. They shouted as they fell on top of each other and the crowd fell silent. Thanks to Merdon's timely arrival, the chiefs had gotten sloppy, but it was Grot who recognized how to capitalize on that. He stood and roared, kicking one of the chiefs away from the other, the one that had given orders, and stomped on his chest. The dark-skinned chief looked at the two that were recovering, starting to stand.

“Lay down,” he ordered them. “This isn't a fight you can win anymore.” The two looked at each other and stood back up. Grot snorted and reached down, taking the shorter handled ax from the one groaning under his feet.

The fight was brutally fast after that. With the last of their efforts, the final two chiefs charged Grot and found themselves disarmed and beaten in moments. The first had an ax of his own which Grot's long-handled one outranged. He twisted his weapon skillfully and snapped the handle of his opponent's weapon before he got close. Grot finished leaping at him and bashing their heads together. The second had a sword and swung with a lot of rage and power, unfortunately, he also attacked with a lack of skill and foresight. Grot stepped out of range and planted the shorter ax between them. As the sword-wielding orc moved forward, he uprooted the small ax and stumbled, giving Grot more than ample time to disarm him and haul him into the air. With a final shout, the chief slammed the final orc to the ground with sufficient bravado to daze him.

Grot raised his weapon and his fist into the air at the same time and roared victoriously, the crowd roaring alongside him. Even Shade had turned about and was joining in the noise. Merdon, bold as he was, hopped over the railing and dropped into the arena with Grot, rolling along the ground as he landed to avoid breaking anything. He stood and walked over to the chief with a grin. The orc chief returned the look and shouted at the crowd for silence. They listened.

“With the absence of a chief of chiefs and the other chiefs currently indisposed, I pronounce the human knight Merdon is cleared of charges!” Grot shouted at them. The crowd muttered a little but didn't argue. Grot seemed to like that response. “Further, I hear by announce my own candidacy for the position of the chief of chiefs. If there are any who would oppose this, or any chiefs that would fight me for the title, stand now.”

The crowd got much louder, and Shade stared with her eyes bulging out of her head. “You absolute idiot,” she said, her normal volume not carrying over the crowd.

Sarel frowned and asked, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Shade said, though she certainly sounded upset. “This was his plan. No one was going to argue against him for that spot except for the other chiefs, and if they're unconscious on the ground they can't. He just self-electedh to the highest position in the land, knowing no one here would fight him after he won.” She was mad that he gambled his life, and Merdon's, on that.

As she predicted, no one in the crowd argued. They talked among themselves, but not a soul stepped forward to fight Grot's candidacy. As the orc led Merdon out of the pit through the under halls, he laughed and slapped the human's back. “Guess you're getting your rebellion after all,” he said with a smirk.

“Is that why you did this?” Merdon asked. “To usurp some power?”

Grot looked shocked. “I'm wounded, Merdon, truly. The perks of being in power come with heavy responsibilities. This little gambit of mine wasn't just for my sake. You needed the chief of chiefs to agree with you, and I'm sure one of those unconscious simpletons would have been first in line for the job, and first in line to send you back to Avant.”

“So now you're in charge, and you'll do things the way I wanted?” the human asked.

Grot nodded. “We'll do things your way, human. Subterfuge and all that dishonorable stuff. I don't like it, but you had the old chief of chiefs on your side, and that stubborn bull would have sooner cut off his own ears than listen to a human. You must have said something true to make him take heed.”

Merdon sighed. “All right, we've got to fill you in on the rest of the plan then.”

Grot nodded, but he stopped as they came to a waiting area under the arena. “That's gonna have to wait a while though,” he said in a strained tone as he sat down. The orc chief unlatched his armor and let it fall to the floor, causing Merdon to recoil.

Grot's chest had a nasty looking spot that the human recognized as a collapsed lung. The fact he'd finished the fight with such a wound was incredible. In fact, it was only then that Merdon realized why Grot had seemed so out of breath as he fought. He must have sustained the injury early on. The knight stepped back and asked how to reach the upper layers. Grot frowned and gave him some directions and Merdon sprinted off. An orc shaman may have helped, but Merdon knew someone better.

# Book Two, Chapter Thirteen: A Night on the Town

“That should do it,” Skyeyes said, paler than usual, sweating, and visibly exhausted. “You should stay off your feet for a day or two,” he added, stepping back and sitting down.

Grot was laid up in a room on a bed fit for an orc that just declared himself the chief-of-chiefs and newly healed. Shade was at his side the whole time and only gave the orc a glare once he was healed. “What were you thinking?” she hissed at last.

“I needed to do it,” Grot said with a shrug. “Everything was falling apart. The other chiefs wanted Merdon's head and to march on Avant in force.” The chief looked at Merdon and asked, “That would have been bad, right?”

The knight sighed and nodded, seated as he was in an orc sized chair across from Grot's bed. “Yeah. We get the feeling Avant wants you guys to push into open war. They can tell their allies you were the aggressors and bury any assassination as lies. There's no proof they were here, best case they pin the whole thing on me.”

Grot nodded and laid in contemplation, his hand gently eclipsing Shade's much smaller appendage. Skyeyes had Red sitting in the same seat with him, the pair reading the mood of the room. Thickhide was out exploring the stronghold, while Sarel was looking pensively out the window at the city below. Night had just fallen, cloaking the city in darkness before the torches were lit one by one down the main roads. It was the thief that broke the silence, peeling herself away from her windowsill and stepping into the middle of the room.

“Now what?” she asked, looking between everyone.

“We wait until Grot can travel,” Merdon said, looking back to the chief-of-chiefs. “He has to visit the kobolds in Avant, the ones hiding in the forests and the mountains, convince them that we have a fighting chance with their help.” It was still a longshot.

Grot nodded and slowly looked at each of the kobolds. “You really are some kinda whisperer aren't you?” he chuckled. “I've never seen a human traveling with three kobolds that weren't behind bars. Not even chained up.”

Merdon shrugged. “I try my best to treat them with respect, just like you.” The orc grunted in response. “It's a lot easier to do when the first one you meet can crack a lock better than most halflings, and discuss the philosophy of being an honorable thief while doing it.” The knight shot Sarel a smirk, which the blue one reacted to by blushing.

“You are too kind, verakt, but we've never had such talks while I opened a lock. Although we could.” She considered it, in truth, if only as an exercise in concentration. There might be a time she needed to open a lock and focus on more than just the lock. It had come up before, prior to her journey with Merdon, but listening for guards was different than carrying a conversation.

The dark-skinned orc looked at the two kobolds sitting together and added, “I've never heard of a kobold priest, or mage, before now.”

Shade had to chime in at that, “Yes, there is no kobold god I have heard of, and there are only legends about kobolds with magic, even here in the orc lands.”

“I burned down my home with my power, learned from a human spellbook,” Red told them with a sour look. Shade's eyes went wide in shock, while Grot looked more upset at the knowledge.

Skyeyes, however, looked nervous. “And I … do not worship a kobold god.”

Grot looked at him and held up a hand. “I noticed the robes,” he said quietly. “Ethral. I would suggest a change of clothes before you go out if you decide to at all. Her worshipers are rarely, if ever, welcome here.”

The priest gave him a faint smile and said, “I'm sorry, chief, but it is my firmest belief that the teachings of Ethral will be what unites the lands one day.”

Grot snorted and sneered at the assertion. “Not here, she won't.”

Shade put her hand on Grot's chest and then directed her gaze at the white-scaled kobold. “Ethral is the one that gave Avant the advantage over us, willingly. Whatever you may think of your goddess' teachings, the fact remains she gave our enemies power. It was her will you be enslaved.”

Skyeyes shook his head. “Her will has been twisted. Blessings are not so easy to revoke as they are to give. The humans needed an edge over the orcs, but they have gone too far. They must be reminded of the kindness within her words,” he said cautiously.

Grot huffed and shook his head. “Be that as it may,” he stated, “you should be aware most orcs, and kobolds, won't listen to your preaching. They'll beat you to the ground before you can tell them that.”

He frowned and, at last, conceded, “I'll consider it.”

“I hope you consider it quickly,” Shade said as she climbed off the bed Grot was on. “I thought this a good time to show you all the city when it's more active. Many kobolds here live and work well into the night, and the sun has just set.”

Grot bemoaned, exaggeratedly, “And leave me here to suffer in recovery alone.”

The black kobold slapped his hand and told him, “I will be back, and the priest has assured us your health. For the moment, you need rest, not war talk.”

“But talking about war is relaxing,” he asserted with a confused frown.

Shade rolled her eyes and walked towards the door. Red and Sarel joined her quickly, and readily, while Skyeyes was a bit more hesitant. Of course, the assassin wasn't so forgetful. They stopped off in a room down the hall to get Skyeyes into something less conspicuous. There was a lack of robes, particularly of the priestly kind, but he made do with some leggings and a tunic. The existence of clothes in such sizes within the orcs' castle spoke just as loudly as their civilization did about kobold acceptance. It certainly relaxed Red more than being back in Verist's tower. She had to silently admit to herself, however, that Skyeyes looked as out of place in normal clothes as he probably felt. Judging by the way he was picking at the garments, he felt very out of place. Still, it was better than getting accosted in the streets by offended kobolds and orcs, even if they had good reason to be.

Shade approved and led them out of the stronghold. The guards didn't give her any gruff this time, nor the other kobolds accompanying her. She had felt a little bad about having to slam the two guards earlier in the day, but orcs were tough and getting a good knocking rarely angered them. If anything, the pair would be boasting about how Grot's assassin had seen it necessary to fight them. There weren't many that faced Shade and were allowed to walk away. It was practically an honor that she'd knocked them around.

The black-scaled kobold walked the other three down the streets and explained things as they went. The free kobolds of the orc lands had trickled over the border of Avant for many years. Most of them were escaped slaves, some had fled their destroyed and captured villages, others still had opted to avoid the situation altogether. It hadn't taken the orcs long to adopt the small creatures as fellow citizens. Kobolds arrived with marks, whipped, beaten, claws clipped or removed, battered, but not broken in spirit. The orcs recognized the incredible fortitude it took to withstand the suffering humans inflicted on them, and, in some ways, saw the kobolds as allies in that pain. Both had been made to suffer at the hands of humans.

She also explained, to the surprise of Red and Skyeyes, that it was because of kobold craftsmen that the orc's capital had a proper city. The walls had been built by orcs, they were good at fortifications, but the buildings, though they matched the militaristic look of the castle and walls, were put together by kobolds. It was the race's most incredible achievement, apart from their survival, and it was hidden by Avantian propaganda. Their work on the city also explained why parts of it were designed for kobolds. They had made the city, it was only common sense they would build a place for themselves in it.

Greater still, to Red, was how they walked down the streets without so much as a second look. Even though they were traveling with Shade, the mate of a chief, the orcs they passed paid them no mind. Where they came from, where they were going, how they got there, were not questions the orcs cared to ask or consider. They were as much a part of the city as anyone else. Not to mention the other kobolds she saw walking around, resting on benches, gathering on street corners. Here, among these massive orcs, they were friends, not products.

Shade rounded a corner and took them down a side street that led to an area of the city that was almost entirely kobolds. It was enough of a shift to make Skyeyes stop and gawk. There were orcs, but they were few compared to the kobolds, and they appeared to be around on business, speaking to kobold carpenters or smiths. The black kobold smiled and encouraged them to look around, be impressed, see their futures as free citizens. While Red and Skyeyes went to do just that, Sarel stood near Shade, pondering. The thief had something she wanted to ask but didn't know how to.

“Something wrong?” Shade asked after a minute, glancing at the blue kobold beside her.

Sarel shook her head. “No, nothing is wrong. I just...” She didn't know how to phrase it.

“Worried about what happened last time?”

The thief nodded. That was one way of thinking about it.

Shade put her claw on Sarel's shoulder and said, “Don't. They won't get the drop on us a second time. We've already doubled patrols and included more kobolds on watch to help track any sneaky types that might roam about. We're better at that than the orcs are.”

Quickclaw just nodded. She didn't know how to tell Shade she wasn't worried about being attacked again. Rather, she was worried about how useless she had been when they were attacked, and how helpless she might end up in the future. She wanted the assassin to teach her how to defend herself better, how to become more helpful to the rebellion as a whole once it became tangible. A thief was limited to an army's use, an assassin was more versatile. Her silence wasn't missed, but it was misunderstood.

“C'mon,” Shade told her, pulling the blue-scaled kobold towards a building. “Let's get a drink. Nothing too stout, just to calm down.”

Sarel admitted to herself that a little something would be nice. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been able to drink freely. Verist's tower was dry as a desert where alcohol was concerned. Plus, she'd never seen a kobold ran bar before, and they were supposed to be exploring this part of town.

The bar was lively despite the early night hours. It only occurred to Sarel after seeing all the kobolds in there that they must have had many different schedules. Some had to be coming off shifts while others were just opening their businesses outside or getting ready to go help the guard. She was so used to thinking of their sleeping patterns in terms of humans that she had never considered how they would mesh together as a society themselves. Even the villages in Avant didn't operate like this small section of the city did. They didn't have jobs to tend to, just watch and scavenging, which were both often done at night to avoid humans. Everything the kobolds of Avant did revolved around the humans, slaves or not. Here they were genuinely free in ways those living across the border couldn't comprehend.

Sarel also noted that despite the building being normal-sized, the inside was not. The roof would have been just enough for a halfling, or in this case a kobold, but no normal-sized human could simply walk in the door. Many of the other businesses she'd seen were normal sized, but this bar was different. The notion made her smile. She did feel a lot safer in a room no one over four feet tall could stand inside, and she wondered if there were more buildings like that. Ones built to kobold sizes per floor, resulting in more space per building. There was an unmistakable sense of comfort and peace as she sat at the bar while Shade ordered some drinks. They got no more than two mugs in when Red and Skyeyes came wandering in looking for them.

Red started talking immediately when she came over, gushing about how wonderful it was to see a portion of a city dedicated to kobolds. Much like Sarel, there was a feeling of hope and relaxation for the pair. Something none of them had felt living in Avant. If they could even call what they had been doing living any more.

While Red had Shade distracted, Quickclaw's eyes were pulled to the patrons of the bar. Several kobolds were looking at Skyeyes sideways, pretending to be focused on their drinks. It was a look the thief was familiar with. Shade caught on eventually and stood up, smiling, pretending everything was all right. Unfortunately, Sarel wasn't as good at masking her emotions. Her scowl and unfinished drink spoke volumes to the barely disguised priest. Things escalated rapidly when a pair of kobolds stepped in front of the door. At last, Red's attention was in the room as well, instead of in the clouds.

“What's going on?” she asked quietly.

Skyeyes' claws clacked together nervously as he said, “I think they know who I am.”

Shade grunted in response and moved to the pair at the door. “We're leaving,” she told them bluntly.

“No one has a problem with you three girls,” the bartender said, wiping out a mug and setting it down gently. “Just the boy.”

“He's leaving too,” Shade said, a little bite in her tone.

“You aren't going to kill us,” one of the kobolds at the door said. “We aren't scared of a little roughhousing, and there's only four of you.”

Sarel looked around. It was true, there were at least a dozen other kobolds in the bar, but there wasn't a guarantee all of them would get involved either. Shade decided the time for words was over. She grabbed the first kobold at the door and threw him into a nearby table, knocking down two others in the process. Sarel, picking up the message, grabbed her half-full mug and tossed the contents into the face of one patron that was moving towards Skyeyes before sweeping his legs and leaving him on the floor. The whole bar stood up at that point.

Shade was like the wind, uncatchable, but felt by just about everyone that got in her way as she moved back to defend the white-scaled priest by the bar, who was paralyzed with surprise. Her feet and claws moved deftly, toppling, striking, or catching everything that she crossed. Sarel was slower, took a couple of hits, but moved just as effectively in defense. Where Shade was doing everything with her limbs, Sarel was using the environment to her advantage. Stools and chairs became weapons or barriers, mugs of ale created unsure footing for the less-than-sober attackers, tables were shoved and rolled to create chaos.

By the time they were grouped up, nearly half the kobolds in the bar were on the ground, but they weren't out. One by one they started standing up, largely because neither the assassin nor the thief had the time to land any serious blows before being overwhelmed. A few stayed down, but not many. Shade took a serious stance while Sarel kicked a chair up to her claws, ready to get serious. Skyeyes was pressed up against the bar, his eyes flicking wildly at the enraged crowd.

And then Red stepped forward and ignited her claws, causing everyone, including the bartender, to back away from her. “A few days ago I set an entire wagon full of slavers on fire,” she said to the crowd. “Don't think I'm afraid to put this whole bar to the pyre.” She looked at the customers that were now entirely drawn to her flaming hands. “We're leaving,” the mage said, looking back at the others.

They moved in tandem, slowly, towards the door, keeping Skyeyes between them as much as they could with only three. As soon as the door was open, they broke into a sprint out of the kobold section of the city. Their peace was short-lived, causing Skyeyes to tear up as they fled. Shade slowed down when they got back to the part of town with orcs roaming around, but she didn't stop. The assassin led them on a very roundabout path towards the castle, making sure they weren't followed or watched in the process.

Once they were back behind the stone walls, she said, “I think it would be best if we left sooner rather than later. News of our brawl will reach all of the kobolds in the city soon enough.”

Skyeyes nodded, forlorn.

“Again,” Red grumbled. “Again a bunch of stupid, useless cowards...”

“We can only hope their irrationality tonight doesn't turn them away from helping the greater cause,” Shade mentioned. “It's doubtful, but it would be best if the kobolds here were handled by someone other than you two.”

Sarel gave a faint smile. “That's why we have you, isn't it?” The assassin returned the expression with a nod.

“I'll get changed and check on Grot,” Skyeyes said, trudging off. “We can head back to Verist's tower tomorrow morning.”

The others nodded in agreement, but Red seethed. She was mad again, at her own kind this time. She knew why they were upset, but to take their aggression out on another of their kind was over the line. Humans were the enemy. It was a human religion Skyeyes followed, they were angry about human beliefs. Fighting him didn't change those elsewhere. He wasn't the problem, his institution was. Yet, they were blinded by their own perceptions. It was laughable to her how they missed such an obvious flaw in their hate. Worse, it had taken from her that sense of belonging she had only just started to feel. Their ignorance angered her to no end. For a moment, the mage regretted not setting the bar on fire anyway. She took a breath and calmed herself. There would be more important things to burn later. Human things. And maybe some humans along with their things.

# Book Two, Chapter Fourteen: Meeting of Minds

“I'm not mad at them,” Skyeyes said in his usual quiet tone. He and Red were gathering their things, preparing to leave the orc's capital with the others. “They don't understand, it's an anger anyone could hold.”

Red huffed and crossed her arms. “You're too forgiving, Shistra. They attacked us, regardless of their situation. Who knows what they would have done to you, given the freedom.”

The priest shook his head. “It is the world that is unforgiving, thus we must be the ones to forgive.” Red seemed unimpressed with his statement. “Besides,” Skyeyes continued, “we're leaving, and the next time they see me it will be unmistakably as a companion in this war.”

She wanted to argue some more, but Shade knocked on the door and pushed her way inside. “Merdon and Quickclaw are ready, and Grot is anxious. We should get moving before his irrational panic costs us more time.”

“How does he cope being so concerned with magic?” Red asked with a sour face, from both situations.

Shade shrugged. “There aren't many orcs with magic. Much like kobolds, it's a rare talent.”

Red shook her head and walked out the door without another word. It seemed silly to her. Skyeyes, however, apologized. “I'm sorry, she's been a little bullheaded since she got her memories back.”

The assassin frowned. “She had amnesia?”

“Not really,” he said slowly, realizing his mistake. “She had her memories stolen by Verist, the witch we're going to see.”

After a pause, the black-scaled kobold asked, “Is it wise to work with her? The witch, I mean.” She had heard some of Merdon's tale, but not everything it seemed.

“I'm not sure,” he admitted honestly. “She's proven helpful, but I can feel a secondary motive in her actions. I am not sure what.”

Shade nodded. “An ally of convenience and nothing more. Orcs are well versed in those. I'll tell Grot. He'll be more stable if he thinks less about us teleporting and more about what we're going to do afterward.”

The three of them joined Merdon, Sarel, and Grot in the main hall of the orc stronghold a few minutes later. Grot was pacing nervously, and his nervousness was making Merdon look antsy as well. The knight was sort of bouncing in place as he watched the dark-skinned orc wander around the room. His movement didn't stall even when Shade entered. Rather, it only gave him a direction to move in. He reached down and lifted her, the kobold doing what came natural and scampering around his arm and onto his back where she whispered in his ear. She was telling him all the things he needed to know about their destination.

While they talked, Red exhaled and got herself into position. She stood between Merdon and Sarel and looked around, mentally marking out the room, the size of the sigil she would have to make. It was her first time trying teleportation, but she knew the theory and marks. It was just a question of how well she could pull it off. Six travelers wasn't nearly as hard as a whole tower, and she was confident. To a point. Red had been going over the formula and signs in her head since the morning, and Grot's nerves hadn't helped her concentrate. With any luck, Shade could get him calmed down enough for her to work.

Eventually, Grot turned about and asked Merdon, “How much do you trust this witch?”

Merdon let out a derisive chuckle. “About as far as I can throw her, and the last time we tried that none of us could get near her.” Not very far then.

Grot grumbled. “She's the one that was messing with kobolds, right? Taking their names.”

“Memories,” Skyeyes corrected him. “The names thing was just part of their memories. Different magic apparently.”

“Still,” the orc said with a shrug, “not good company.”

“No, but she's the only one we've got,” Merdon admitted. “She's eccentric, but her heart was in the right place.” Red scoffed at the notion but said nothing.

The orc, however, laughed. “Her heart was in the right place? Taking slaves?”

Sarel made a face but agreed with her mate. “She did terrible things, yes, but she did it because she believed it was better for kobolds to not remember. Stupid, yes, misguided, certainly, but morally grey compared to the slavers of Avant.”

Grot frowned and pondered that. “I'm no fan,” he said at last, “but if it's what we have to do...”

“She's an ally of convenience,” Merdon assured him. “Our goals align right now, but if it came down to it, we could proceed without her.” That seemed to relax the chief-of-chiefs, at least somewhat.

Grot looked at Skyeyes and told him, “You'll be a little pleased the ones that attacked you in the bar won't be getting off without punishment.”

The priest, however, frowned and told him, “It does not. I'd rather they be left alone.”

“Well, even if you do,” Grot told him with a scowl, “they attacked Shade. You, that's one thing, her? They ought to have stopped. They knew better than that.”

Skyeyes shook his head. “Play politics with them over this and you're subtly supporting a resident of Avant, your enemy. It may fracture them when the time comes for the kobolds to join us.”

Shade laughed. “Subtly? I thought everyone was already well aware of his favoritism towards Merdon.”

Grot growled, but there was a hint of color in his cheeks. “Merdon's is an ally, and a useful tool for me taking things over here. You have to take care of those things, lest they get rusty.”

“An ally of convenience?” Shade suggested with a smirk. A suggestion that made the chief-of-chiefs look pained.

“In any case,” he said, turning the conversation from that. “The point is, those kobolds need to be taught a lesson. They know the laws here.”

“I still advise against it,” Skyeyes replied with a shake of his head. “They may refuse to help us when we need them, and besides that, their minds will change when they see what we're planning.”

“I think he's right,” Merdon chimed in. “How many of Ethral's priests have you smacked around, Grot? Would you have stopped if some official got in the way?” He knew the answer. Many of Avant's priests had turned from the orc lands due to certain cruelties.

The orc sighed. “I hate when you all make sense,” he lamented. “What's the world coming to when a man can't get proper public revenge for his mate?”

Shade chuckled and said, “Did I ask you to get revenge for me, dear? Very assuming of you to think that I wouldn't want to take it myself.”

Grot blushed openly at that and mumbled, “Gods you're perfect.”

Red sighed and whined, “Can we get going? Any more distractions and I might not make the circle properly.”

The group looked uncomfortable at the notion and moved closer together, towards Red. She sighed and closed her eyes again. Normally a sigil was drawn in something physical, for nothing if not convenience. Red had decided it was best they leave no traces behind, and was going to form one out of her own power. Which involved a great deal of concentration as the lines steadily appeared on the floor as she thought about them. It was a bit small at first, but she scrunched up her snout and widened it. In the end, they had to squeeze a bit closer together, but the sign was up and she was channeling. Grot was nervous again, but Shade was on his back rubbing his shoulders.

In an instant, Red flared her powers and they vanished suddenly. Their reappearance at the tower was just as fast and it left them all a bit ill. Grot was obviously holding his expression still, while Merdon had bent over and was hyperventilating. Red was the least affected, but even she was shaky as she stepped away from the others. Verist looked at them all slowly and smiled. Their plans were progressing.

“I'd worried you were caught,” she told them. “After you were gone for so long.”

“There were unforeseen complications,” Merdon admitted. “We're safe though, for the most part.” He groaned softly and moved towards a chair in the middle of the room.

Grot turned around and looked at the place, while Verist looked at Shade on his back with incredible interest. She was already wondering if she could get a kobold to sit on her back like that. It seemed difficult for her size, but she was willing to try. Perhaps a strengthening spell would allow it.

“I'd rather have taken a horse,” the orc said as he tested his legs.

Shade pointed to the window and said, “I don't think we could have.” The pair looked outside with wide eyes.

“Welcome to the far North,” Verist told them with a self-impressed smirk. “The Eyes of Avant can't see us here, and there's certainly no spies in the tower either. The perfect base to plan a war.”

Grot smiled and walked over to the table himself. “Now those words, I like.”

They quickly got together and brainstormed some rough ideas. Grot and Shade needed to go visit the kobold villages of Avant, at least one of them, and show off a little. Red and Skyeyes would show them the way. Merdon and Sarel, in the meantime, only needed to get themselves ready for the coming battles. Both of them, silently to themselves, admitted they needed more training. How or where they would get it was unknown, but they needed it. There was also the matter of supplies, the logistics of war, which Verist was more than happy to help out with. Shade began to see what the others saw so odd about her. Her willingness felt genuine, but there was a desire behind them that felt awkward. Like a child doing something right, but only because they sought praise or payment for their deeds. Something that rubbed her scales the wrong way. And she felt Grot noticed it too in the way he raised his brow at her from time to time.

“Speaking of supplies,” Verist noted, floating a book over from her table. “I've found what you need, Merdon.” She put the book between them all but pointed it at the knight. “A mythic shield, carried by the orc general Skath into the first great war against Avant. Burnished silver, and enchanted by one of the few orcish mages to be unbreakable.”

Grot frowned. “The grave of Skath has been lost since the war,” he told them. “If we knew where it was, we'd have the shield ourselves.”

Verist giggled, a dark noise that made Grot's hair stand on end. “Yes, if it wasn't in the middle of Avant.”

The chief-of-chiefs growled and sunk his fingers into the hard oak table, denting it with the force. “It's what?” he managed through his teeth.

“The Eyes buried it in a cave, along with his remains. Some old temple the humans used as a trap. A few Avantian scholars know about it, but no one really cares to find it. It's orcish after all, bad omens and such nonsense.”

Sarel, however, smirked and looked at Grot. “Think about it. An Avantian human with an Avantian weapon with an orcish shield and a kobold mate. If we get him something elven, maybe steal a dragonkin's necklace, we'd have a perfect hodgepodge of everything.”

Grot snorted at the notion, but it did make him think. “Having someone carry that shield into battle would be spectacular,” he mumbled. “Troop morale would be raised, but not if it's a human.”

“Or perhaps it's exactly what Quickclaw said,” Skyeyes butted in. “It would show solidarity with Merdon in particular. He carries an orcish artifact, he stands with you.”

Shade joined in as well with a grin of her own. “We really should replace his armor, you know,” she told Grot. “If only so he doesn't get caught in the confusion.” Obviously something orc crafted. It made the dark-skinned orc think harder.

Verist turned her attention back to Merdon. “The trick is, orc magic is a bit different than mine. Notably, I should be able to stack another enchantment on there.”

The knight was getting the idea. “You could infuse it with the fragments of the other shield,” he guessed. “Making something that can't break and pulls attacks towards it.”

“A perfect defense,” the witch said with pride.

“It would give you something to do for a couple of days,” Grot shrugged. “We can decide what to do afterward. So, where's this grave?”

Verist pulled out a map and laid it over the book. She traced her finger towards the end of a mountain range, several leagues away from the ruins Merdon had met Skyeyes in. “It's around here,” she told them. “Possibly hidden, maybe just rubble by now. I don't know the specifics, but it's on the mountain.”

“Great,” Grot grumbled. “How close can you put them?”

“That's the unfortunate part,” she said with a frown. “It'll have to be about two, maybe three, days away. I experimented myself and found a lot of interference.”

“Interference?” Merdon asked, his eyes narrowing. “What? Like, a trap or something?”

Verist shook her head. “Nothing of the sort. The temple is built from the same material Avant's walls are, anti-magic stone. It prevents mages like myself from simply teleporting to, or onto, it. And from casting inside it”

Grot hummed. “That explains the trap then,” he admitted. “Skath traveled with his personal mage, they were inseparable and undefeated in combat. Negating one of them, however, might have done something to their dynamic.”

“Almost certainly,” Verist agreed. “I would suggest Red stay here for the-.”

“I'm going,” the mage said with a huff. “There's no way I'm just going to stay in this damned tower for another month or whatever while we plan a cross-country trip with Grot.”

Shade climbed off her orc and said, “I'd like to go as well.” The others looked surprised, especially Grot. “This is an orc artifact after all,” she told them with her arms crossed. “Someone should be there representing them.”

Grot sighed and rubbed his face. “Then I'm coming too.”

Verist slammed the table. “No! You have to go talk to the kobolds, remember the plan here.” This was a diversion for Merdon while the others took care of business.

“I'll not let her go alone.” Grot looked at Merdon and quietly apologized, “No offense.”

Skyeyes looked at Verist and said, “We can plan some of the trip while we're hiking up the mountain. Besides, I would have to go in case Merdon or Quickclaw gets wounded, or stuck.” Avant was not friendly territory anymore. The more of them going, the better.

Merdon sighed and looked at Verist. “Besides, there's something I think we need to work on more than the kobolds.” She raised a brow at his insinuation. “I want to know where the Eyes train their assassins. Their knife hands are getting a little itchy for my tastes, and the last thing we need is more of Grot's chiefs getting stabbed.”

“So you just expect me to find the Eyes' training grounds?” she mocked. “Their highly secretive base where they train stealthy assassins that use enchanted garments to disappear into the darkness itself? Oh, yes, of course. It's not like I just finished tracking down a nearly lost tomb or anything.”

Sarel spoke up, “The Eyes attacked the orcs and provoked this war themselves. What stops them from going after the kobold elders as soon as we begin gathering them? The assassins need to be dealt with before we move into the open, not after.”

The witch was quiet for a moment, her face changed expression a few times as she considered all of that. “You're right,” she said with a breath, after a time. “Kobolds would be even less capable of dealing with assassins than orcs, and much less expecting of them. I should have thought of that.”

“Any ideas?” Merdon asked tentatively.

“A few,” she admitted. “I have some contacts in Ardmach. I can inquire, quietly, about such things. It might take longer than your trip, however.”

Grot grunted. “That'll work out fine then. We can do this, talk to the kobolds, and then put our boots to the neck of those cowards that killed half our leaders in cold blood. One right after the other.”

Merdon nodded and looked at the map again. “Guess we should get supplies ready for this first,” he said, standing up and folding the map to take.

Shade grinned and hopped down off the table. “It has been far too long since I've gone on a treasure hunt.”

“Is that all this is to you?” Grot asked with shock. “A treasure hunt?”

“Well, mostly,” she said with a chuckle. “You didn't need to volunteer to come along.”

“It almost sounds like you're trying to get rid of me,” the orc accused, teasingly.

Shade hopped up onto his lap and firmly grabbed his chin. “You couldn't get that unfortunate if you were cursed. You're stuck with me until the gods rain armageddon on this world, and even then it will be a cold day in all nine hells before I leave you.”

Grot blushed, but his eyes were drawn to the others in the room, who all looked away from the display, except Verist who was smiling wide. He always underestimated how passionate the assassin could be, considering how cold she was about other things.

# Book Two, Chapter Fifteen: Mountainside Musings

Grot shivered as they trekked up the snowy mountain, a large pack on his back instead of Shade, and his eyes locked forward in disgust. They had only been traveling for an hour after being teleported, another reason for the orc's sour mood, and already he was regretting coming along.

“No one told me it would be so cold,” he grunted, his arms folded together like a pouty village girl.

Shade looked back and pointed out, “It's a mountain, verakt. How many are warm at their peaks?”

“Well, no one said it was near the top!”

Merdon sighed and told him, “Keep that voice raised and we'll be buried in snow, Grot.”

The chief-of-chiefs' eyes went wide and he clamped his mouth shut tightly. Walking in the stuff was bad enough. Being buried would certainly be another sort of hell altogether. After just a few more minutes, however, his expression loosened and he began to think about the trip. Three days, in the snow, to reach this temple? Surely it couldn't be snowy the whole way there.

“The weather gets better, right?” he asked, keeping his voice down this time.

Skyeyes glanced at the map. “Well, the old ruins are in a valley. It's possible the climate there is warmer than this, but by how much I can't say without seeing it.”

“Anything is better than this,” Red replied through clicking teeth. The mage wasn't so good with the cold.

“What do you have to complain about?” Grot huffed. “You can make fire.”

“Let's stay focused,” Merdon begged. “No one likes the cold up here, but nothing's going to change by complaining about it.”

“Besides, there's a settlement nearby,” Skyeyes told them.

Grot, desperate for any distraction, asked about it. “What kinda settlement? Outpost? Village? Surely it's not a city.”

“Village,” Skyeyes replied, “At least according to Verist's notes. We'll need to be careful because the path to the ruins is very close.”

“I don't fancy sneaking around a mountain at night,” Grot said with a grimace.

Merdon shook his head from the front of the line. “No way, not after dark. That's how you fall off the mountain,” he told the orc. “Which is why we need to keep alert. We'll be walking in the daylight. One sight of an orc this far out of central Avant and who knows what kind of flags get raised.”

Grot grunted and went quiet again. It was easier to stay silent with his fears keeping a muzzle on him. Shade kept a smirk on her face as they walked, and the group only halted to have a small lunch before moving on again. Skyeyes was keeping them in line with the map, as best he could, as well as keeping them abreast of how close they were to the village. Sometime in the afternoon, Merdon halted and looked around. There was a rock formation to their side and the sun was sinking low behind another peak. The priest took the opportunity to remind them of their distance.

“Getting late for mountain travel,” the human noted.

Skyeyes nodded and put away the map, while Red sighed and started using flames to clear away snow. Sarel, without a word, grabbed some stuff from Merdon's pack and made for the rocks, followed shortly by her mate.

Grot blinked and stared at the group suddenly moving in absolute synchronicity. Skyeyes found a pine tree and was scraping bark and twigs off it. Red had cleared a spot for a fire to rest, as well as the rocks that Quickclaw and Merdon were using to form a shelter with their tent poles and canvas. It had taken a single comment from the knight to set them to work, and by the time the sun had left them in darkness they had a fire and food cooking over that flame. The chief-of-chiefs was impressed.

Among the orcs, Merdon had displayed a sense of helplessness. He was lost, confused, barely keeping up. Here, with these three kobolds, was his element. They knew each other, they knew their roles, and they followed them with little thought. It was something he had seen in orc squads back home. Comrades in arms were different than mercenaries or recently formed groups. This was what he saw from them. The clockwork precision, without orders, was impressive no matter how many times one saw it. It made him feel left out. Useless.

Grot was an orc, large and strong. He was the chief-of-chiefs, a leader, a veteran warrior, and yet his skills were simply not needed among these four. Shade may have felt the same way watching them work on the campsite, but she didn't express anything about it. As ever, she observed without commentary. It was hard for Grot to guess her thoughts without turning around and looking at her, and he feared doing so would give away their idleness. So he stood quietly, watching as well until he was called on to join them for dinner. None of them noted his lack of contribution as they ate, possibly because they hadn't needed his help in the slightest. He made a mental note to himself to speak with Merdon at a late time. The human was due some apologies and compliments. What Grot had seen in the orc lands was a man lost, nearly broken, hardly the warrior he would have considered killed two dozen men in Ardmach. Compared to what he saw on the mountain they were two different men.

“I'll take first watch,” Shade volunteered when the others started getting ready for bed.

Grot frowned, upset that he didn't think of that first. “I'll take the last one then,” he said. He would get up early, that was fair.

The others didn't seem bothered at all. With two extra in their group, they could each get more sleep overall. While Merdon and the others made for their shelter, Sarel quietly slipped over to where Shade stood, tossing snow on the fire to aid her kobold night vision. They would be safer in the dark with kobolds on watch than with a beacon. Once that was done, she turned to Sarel with a smile only she could see.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked the thief while sitting down on a rock.

“I wanted to ask you why you came with us,” Sarel said quietly, so as not to disturb the ones trying to sleep.

Shade chuckled. “I wanted to see you all in action,” she admitted. “Like earlier.”

“Earlier?” Sarel frowned, trying to recall what she meant. They hadn't done anything but walk all day.

“Setting up camp,” Shade elaborated. “Merdon made a single comment and you all moved in perfect harmony. I've seen battle-ready orcs that move with less coordination.”

The blue-scaled kobold blushed. “It was only setting up camp.”

“Yes, but it was more leadership and confidence than Merdon displayed in his entire trip through the orc lands,” Shade pointed out. “It showed both Grot and myself that he's not nearly as skittish as we thought, Quickclaw.”

“Please,” the thief insisted, “we've gotten to know each other quite a lot over the past few weeks. My true name is Sarel.”

The assassin paused and then chuckled. “Forgive me, I didn't take you to be a kobold of the old ways. Those of us living free in the orcs' lands don't use two names.”

Sarel considered that, and asked, “Then Shade is your real name?”

She nodded in response. “It was a name I chose myself. My family were not exactly there to give me one.”

“I'm sorry,” Sarel sympathized. “My mother lives in Ardmach, but my father...”

Shade nodded again and sat in silence. There was a long pause while the two listened to the world around them rather than each other. Shade was on watch after all. Once the wind died down and left them in silence again, Sarel spoke.

“I want you to teach me more.”

“There's plenty to know,” Shade replied with a smile. “Our traditions are very different with the orcs.”

It took her a moment to realize what the assassin meant, but when she did, Sarel gathered all of her courage and replied, “No, not that. I mean teach me to be an assassin, like you.”

Shade frowned. “Why?”

“Because, we will be going to war very soon, and while there are certain things a thief can do for an army, they are much less compared to one of your skill,” Sarel said softly. “Perhaps I can help with ambushes, with picking locks on cages, with certain planning, but you could do all of that and more.”

“You've been thinking about this,” the black-scaled kobold accused. “Ever since we were ambushed?”

“Yes,” Sarel nodded. “Ever since that moment I've realized how helpless I am in the face of real danger. I'm no knight, nor orc, I lack the size or strength to use armor. I've trained all of my life to be agile, more so than other kobolds, and yet there are humans faster than me, stealthier.”

Shade could understand her problem. Sarel was used to bandits and guards, not soldiers, not assassins trained by a crown. She had agreed to help with a task that asked far more skill than she possessed, but it took a certain something to show her that. Likely the events in the orcs' capital had shaken her to the core, and, in a way, Shade was touched she had come to her for help. Still, it was not a simple thing the blue thief asked. It wasn't just about some special training regimen that she did or some book to read. Shade had forged herself through action, to teach without being in the same crucible was difficult for her to envision. What would she have done if she wasn't hunting slavers and nobles? How could she have prepared herself for attackers like the Eyes if she hadn't encountered hired killers first?

“I can try,” she replied at last, to Sarel's glee. “But, I must warn you, there is no point at which you will simply be an assassin. It's not a title. You've likely killed before, silently, though unrefined. All I can do is try and teach you what I know, and give you an opponent to strive to defeat.”

“Yes,” Sarel agreed, readily in fact. “I have never sparred against another kobold, especially one that fights as you do.”

Shade grinned at that. “Well then, let us see what you have learned on your own first.”

Sarel was anxious as they stepped away from camp. Not only because it was leaving them slightly without a guard, she was sure Merdon and Grot were more than enough protection if anyone came by, but because she had no idea how to fight Shade. As they came to a patch of ground the assassin liked, the black-scaled kobold took a loose stance, one Sarel hadn't seen, and challenged the thief. A dozen ideas swirled in her mind, but in the end, Sarel went with the simplest of them all. With a deep breath, she charged forward, much as she would against any normal opponent.

Shade watched Sarel's feet, the way she moved, how she carried herself forward, and at the last moment, flipped the blue kobold with a single arm. She tumbled end over end in the snow and momentarily lost track of which direction was which until she pushed herself off the ground. Sarel stared at Shade, who had only moved to face the thief once more, nearly in the same position. Shade was testing Sarel, not the other way around. It wasn't important how the black-scaled kobold fought, only how Sarel did. All Shade needed to do was watch and counter.

Sarel stood up and went in again, slower this time, which changed how her opponent reacted. Rather than toss her, Shade blocked the few strikes Sarel tossed out. The thief was slower than her, that was obvious, but in the middle of their match, it was also obvious she had little practice with her claws. They would have to fix that. A kobold's greatest ally was their claws, it was why some slavers removed them, the ones in Rastar especially. Their claws were not only sharp but durable, capable of marking stone. Against flesh and hide, they were exceptional. Her form, however, was unique. Shade recognized it as a thief's pattern for sure, the way Sarel tried to quickly prod for openings, but what she failed to do was cover her own.

With a quick motion, Shade caught Sarel in the side and spun her around, easily kicking her back into the snow while staying in place. There were merits to Sarel's stance, but there were drawbacks. It used too much energy, took so much focus, where she could easily wait for her opponent to open up instead. She smiled as she realized there were things the thief could learn about combat, things she could actually teach her.

“That's good enough,” Shade said, walking over and helping Sarel stand again. “I think I understand.”

Sarel shivered as she got to her feet. “Good, I'm freezing,” she complained.

“Get some rest,” Shade laughed. “I think you will need it.”

After Shade's watch came Red, and then Skyeyes, Sarel, and finally Merdon before Grot. When the orc came out of their shelter belted in furs and sunk down in front of the fire, he only jerked his head for Merdon to get some more rest. He didn't feel like talking. If anything he wanted to dig into their stores before sunrise. Some would find the mountain to be serene or beautiful at night. The way the moon shone off the snow, the quiet, the stars. Grot found it unbearably cold and distractingly boring. He almost hoped for something to happen to them just to enjoy a fight.

Merdon didn't leave. He kept sitting for a minute before speaking his mind. “I need someone to help train me,” the knight said upfront.

“What?” Grot asked, glancing at the human. “It's not even sunrise, Merdon.”

“I don't mean right now. In general. Even before our little scrap, when I bumped into the Eyes in the forest outside the orc lands. He's younger than me, faster, and seems to know just as much about swordplay,” Merdon admitted. “It worries me.”

Grot grunted and leaned closer to the fire. “You aren't a master swordsman, that's for sure. I could give you some tips, but nothing much. You're gonna need another human to teach you anything serious.” Orc strategy and combat was different from humans.

Merdon mulled it over and admitted, “That's fair. Maybe someone in the rebellion will be helpful, but in the meantime, I need to be good enough to survive that long.”

“You want to take on that bastard that broke your mate's arm,” Grot clarified. “I can tell. No guarantees, Merdon, but I can try.”

“Right,” Merdon said quietly. “Nothing is guaranteed.” Not their success, not their war, nothing.

# Book Two, Chapter Sixteen; Ancient Ruins

Breakfast was warm, which was more than could be said for how Merdon felt. Not on the outside, his armor was packed away and he was dressed in heavy furs, much like Grot. His insides were what was cold. He had an unshakable sense of dread about everything after his talk with the orc. The kind of feeling that made one seek their bed and a warm fire for days on end, turning a blissfully ignorant eye to the outside. Something he could no longer do. At least, not until the hate-filled empire he had lived in had fallen into a rightful defeat. Thinking about their odds had not exactly been something he'd done. Their fight had to be fought, and there was no one better than them to do it. However, after hearing Grot talk about the previous war, learning that the Eyes were specifically created to deal with such towering opponents, and knowing that war with the orcs was something Avant now sought, all made him worry about their chances.

A chance was all they had. One single, opaque chance to challenge the kingdom of Avant. If it was even a possibility any more with the Eyes aware of their moves. Try as he might to focus on the quest ahead of them, of making sure he had the proper equipment and ability to face the challenges ahead, he could not. Merdon's eyes were cast down at the snow, trudging along behind Skyeyes, who held the map in his claws. The human's thoughts called him to distant places and times. So much that he missed the reason their group came to a halt.

Merdon looked up sharply and glanced around. Over the edge of the trail they were walking along he saw smoke rising from the distance. The village they were avoiding, or trying to avoid anyway. He squinted at it and hummed softly. It was a lot of smoke for a village, but they lived in the freezing cold. Without a better look at things, he didn't think much of it. Grot, however, had a scowl on and was stepped forward, almost tempting fate with how close to the edge he was, all to get a better look at the scant few houses they could see.

“Dammit,” he mumbled. “I can't see anything.”

Merdon shrugged. “It's a village, what's to see?”

Grot turned, his face scrunched in disgust at the human's ignorance. “That's too much smoke for a small mountain village, Merdon. And look at the color. That's no fireplace.”

“A forge?” he guessed, confused. “Why wouldn't they have a forge up here?”

Sarel dug into Merdon's pack and procured his binoculars for Grot's use. “Here,” she said, tossing them to the orc. “I bought them for Merdon when we started out.”

The chief smirked and pushed an eye up to one lens, his face too large to use them both at once. He grumbled softly as he scanned the village.

“What do you see, verakt?” Shade asked, standing at his side.

“Soldiers,” the chief-of-chiefs said with a frown. “Lots of 'em too. Looks like they've got about six or seven forges going at once down there.”

Skyeyes blinked a few times as he tried to piece that together. “Why?” he finally asked.

Grot grunted and put the binoculars down. “Simple. Weapons and armor. They're turning that place into a supply depot. I imagine there's a whole mess of wagons coming to pick up their shipments, drop off troops. In about a week, that little mountain town will be a small fort, primed to walk right through these mountains.”

Red caught on and finished, “And into the orc lands.”

“Away from many of our outposts,” Shade added. Her gaze as well was distant at the thought. “What should we do?” she asked Grot.

“Ideally, we'd burn the whole place down before it got that far,” he told her. “But we don't have the force necessary, even with a magical kobold. Second best, we should fall back and get those reinforcements.”

“And delay our objective here,” Shade noted.

“It's a bit more pressing than a magical shield for one troop.”

“I didn't say it's not,” she replied calmly to her orcish mate. “I'm saying, perhaps now is the time to divide and conquer.”

Merdon crossed his arms. “You and Grot go back to get the orcs?” he guessed.

Shade smiled. “A good idea, but what would I have to do there?” she asked. “Nothing, if I'm honest. Grot can rally the orcs himself. This temple we're going to, however, is something I should be present for.”

Grot looked indignant. “And why is it you're more important there than with me?”

“Because,” Shade told him simply, “I know more about spelunking than you or either of these four.” She looked at the others for agreement.

Sarel frowned and tapped her chin. “She might,” the thief admitted. “Picking locks isn't the same as diving into a tomb.”

Merdon shook his head. “I retrieved stolen goods. Sometimes that meant going after bandits, so I know a little but, usually, the places were already scouted for me.” Bandits tended to loot the tomb first, which helped reduce their numbers as well.

“And how do you know so much about ancient temples?” Grot asked his mate, his arms slowly folding over each other.

“Slavers would often use kobolds for checking traps or clearing away debris,” she told him confidently. “I've slipped into many ruins, disabled or used their traps to my advantage, and added to the number of those sleeping in such places.”

Still, Grot looked pained. Merdon decided to speak up, hoping to ease the situation. “Besides, the place is probably going to be boring. Traps, maybe, a maze probably, but no one to fight. If you're right about the village though, it's going to be a complete battlefield.”

Grot's face twitched as he fought back a grin. He looked at Shade and knelt down. “You're sure about this?”

“We will be fine,” she insisted. “We aren't joined at the hip, verakt. There are times us being apart is helpful.”

The orc grunted and stepped over to Merdon to retrieve one of the coins Verist had made. As he took it, the dark-skinned chief muttered, “You watch out for her, Merdon. If she gets a scratch so help me...”

The human stepped back and held his hands up in surrender. “Relax, Grot. It's an old temple. If the Avantians used it as a trap before I'm betting any traps inside the place got set off back then. It'll be fine.”

Grot grumbled and looked at Shade one last time before clutching the coin and vanishing from sight. Shade sighed and looked at the village again for a time, before turning around and nodding at the others.

“We should get moving,” she said with a smile. “The sooner we get done with this, the sooner we find out what's up with that village.”

Merdon and the other kobolds nodded back. Without Grot their trek through the snow would be easier, Merdon admitted to himself. The giant orc was like a beacon of negative light against the snowy trails. Shade was smaller and knew how to stay further back, away from the edge closer to the settlement they were keeping their distance from. Though it was possible they were spotted when they stopped to look at the place. Nothing was certain.

The knight shivered and steeled himself from such thoughts. There was no point dwelling on negativity. Their enemies had gotten the drop on them before, but now they were planning to counter-attack. If Grot was right about the mountain village being turned into some kind of fort or depot for Avant then they had an advantage already. It was up to him to use that knowledge correctly, and it was on Merdon to finish their little quest as quickly as they could. His fist clenched silently as they walked, and unclenched slowly. He felt a pressure unlike anything he'd ever felt before while thinking about this war. It loomed over them all. Even Sarel was quiet as they marched through the dense snowy ridges.

Near nightfall, their destination came into view. Calling it a temple certainly did it justice. Shade sprinted ahead and squinted at the stone ruins. There were several smaller structures around the perimeter of one much larger building. The small ones were destroyed. Only one of them was even half-standing, missing two walls and lacking a roof, while the rest were rubble. That larger building was their primary focus, however. She frowned and tried to gauge its size and purpose. That was the first rule of looting a ruin. What the building you were trying to infiltrate used to be determined what sort of traps you could expect to encounter. A cathedral might have focused on magic, signs hidden under rugs or paintings, crystals that powered arcane machines, whereas a fort would be more conventional.

The assassin frowned as she took in all the details of the temple before the sun went down completely. It wasn't possible to gauge the age of the structure, but the tented roofing and collapsed steeples on either side told her religious building. Arcane traps were possible, as well as conventional, depending on who the building was made in worship to and who, exactly, the devouts had been. They would be walking into a mystery. Merdon's prior optimism about the traps of the temple being triggered before was just that, optimism. Shade doubted even half the traps had been set off if only two groups had ever delved into the building. Caution was about to be the word of the day.

She turned back and gave the others a summary of her guesswork, which led to sour feelings all around. Ultimately, they decided it would be more cover to duck inside the temple before night, and just barely made it through the front doors as it went dark. Red lit up her claw and glanced around while Shade prodded their surroundings carefully. They were safe in the entryway, at least for the moment. The black-scaled kobold took a branch from some of Skyeyes' firewood, which had been gathered before they left camp, and took a flame from Red to scout around. In the meantime, the others set up a small camp by the door.

There was no need for a tent, but there was a definite need for a fire and more wood. Having nothing to do, Sarel opted to look around for more things to burn, as well as track down Shade.

“Be careful,” Merdon warned her.

Sarel grinned back before stepping into the dark, “I always am, verakt.”

It didn't take her long to spot Shade's torch in the dark with her own vision. The black kobold was hunched over and examining the floor, prompting the thief to approach her carefully. Glancing over her shoulder, Sarel saw Shade prying up a flagstone with something engraved on it. Once it was in her claw, she smashed it against a wall and stood up, the sound of the stone shattering sending an echo all over the empty ruin.

“I hate magic traps,” Shade complained as she turned to face Sarel. “You can't reliably see them with our vision, and you can't just smash them from above, you have to go below.”

The blue kobold nodded. “Have you learned anything more?” she asked, glancing at the high ceilings and broken windows that were letting in a slow snowfall that must have started outside. They were in for a cold night.

“There were a few mechanical traps that were already triggered,” Shade told her, pointing to some small holes along the walls. “Pressure plates were depressed and the arrows that should have been in there were gone. I'm guessing that was the trap that pushed our shield further inside.”

“Inside where?” Sarel asked next, looking around. They were standing on the far side of the building. The temple was large, yes, and there were some rooms in the back to explore for sure, but the place didn't seem too complicated. Surely the two of them could find the shield without much difficulty.

Shade, however, smirked and stepped over to a door. Setting her torch aside, the assassin grabbed the ring that served to open it and pulled. It grated along the stone, making an awful racket as it peeled out of the frame around it. There were stairs inside that led down, and a musty, decaying stench that made Sarel heave and step back. “Catacombs.”

The thief paled. “You mean... corpses?”

“Yep,” Shade sighed, lifting her torch and poking her head down the stairs. They went on further than the light reached. “No idea how far they spread either. We could be down there for days.”

“Great,” Sarel replied sarcastically. “Maybe by the time we find this shield we'll be free.”

Shade laughed and turned back. “We should check this main room over before moving on, just to be safe. Wouldn't hurt to sleep up here before going down there either.”

Sarel agreed and helped Shade check for more traps. As they went about prying up more stones or ripping out pressure plates, she couldn't help but think about Merdon. He didn't do very well in the orc cave for one night. How was he going to handle a catacomb on a mountain? For that matter, how were they going to make their way back when they were done? Verist had warned them the tokens wouldn't work inside the temple. Maybe there was a reason for that, maybe they could disable whatever countermagic was at work. The traps she and Shade were disabling seemed to fly in the face of the building being made of anti-magic stone, as did Red's use of her own magic. There had to be something else at play. Something that might have to do with the Eyes luring the shield's previous owner to the temple. A potent something that they could use, or at least destroy to keep Avant from rediscovering it. Whatever the case, she was trying to stay focused on their immediate goals. Merdon's fear of caves, whatever inhibited magic near the temple, were things to think about, but not stress over. She would remain in control of things, as much as she could, and would simply improvise the things she couldn't. That was the flexibility of a thief.

# Book Two, Chapter Seventeen; Catacombs

“Catacombs?” Skyeyes asked softly when their two scouts returned.

Shade nodded. “Quickclaw and I examined the rest of the temple. There's nothing up here. No bodies, no loot. If I had to guess, thieves were probably bold enough to ransack this part, but the areas below are worse.”

Merdon sighed and rubbed his face. “Of course,” he complained. “Nothing like looking for treasure in a cave full of corpses.”

“It could be worse,” Shade told him. “At least with catacombs we know they're reinforced.”

“Thanks,” the knight replied dryly as he moved away from the fire to sleep. Shade wasn't bothered by his response, though Sarel looked worried.

“We'll have to tread carefully,” the assassin said to the others. “We didn't go down the stairs so there's no telling what's waiting for us down there.”

Red frowned. “If you didn't go down, how do you know they're catacombs?”

“I threw a rock and listened to the echo,” Shade shrugged. “You get a different sound from a dead-end compared to open space.”

The mage continued feeling skeptical but didn't exactly have a way to test it herself. She shrugged and went about preparing to sleep instead of debating it. Trusting Shade was easier than not since she had no reason to lie to them. Sarel, Red noted, seemed impressed with the test the assassin described, likely adding it to her repertoire of thieving skills. Skyeyes seemed similarly pleased, which made Red's frown deepen.

As she stepped away from the campfire, she called to the priest, “Skyeyes, you coming?” The white-scaled kobold looked back at her and nodded, swiftly getting up to follow.

With everyone gone, Shade and Sarel were free to slip away into the darkness to continue the thief's training. Shade was no slouch in toughening her up. She made it abundantly clear that for an assassin to be caught in the middle of their attempt was far from a thief's. A burglar could run away, disappear into the night and try again elsewhere. It was a setback, weeks of planning would go wasted, but they could recover. An assassin had to finish their job. They couldn't leave and come back later. The guards would be more alert, security worsened, traps set, and the target possibly moved to another location entirely. Which meant an assassin that was caught would have to fight their way through to the target. Something Shade had done on multiple occasions when she started.

So she emulated those against Sarel, fighting with the kind of brutal efficiency that guards were known for. Although, she was much faster than any human. Her strikes were faster but weaker as a result of her size, and the danger was minimized due to the lack of weapons. She couldn't exactly threaten her ally's life, but she could make her regret fighting. Time and again Sarel was thrown to the ground, jabbed, kicked, thrown onto the hard stone. It made an hour seem like eternity. After two, the blue-scaled kobold could hardly stand herself up, and Shade offered a hand to help.

“Let's see if you learn anything from that,” she said with a smile, helping Sarel back to their camp.

Sarel groaned but nodded in agreement. She was sore all over and was glad she had taken the last watch for the night. The sleep would be good for her muscles, and scales, and everything else. As long as the training helped, and didn't impede them on their adventure, she was glad to be bruised and battered once and a while. It also had the side effect of being a terrific sleep aid. As soon as she was laying on her bedroll, the kobold passed out, like her body had been waiting for that moment she would relax.

The next morning was cold despite the fire. Merdon poked his head out the door and into a snowstorm that blocked his vision of the cliffs they had used to reach the temple. He shuddered and shut the barely functional wooden door and turned back to the kobolds to give them the news. Shade slyly remarked, “In that case, it's good we're going underground, hmm? Away from the storm.” Merdon frowned at her joke and grabbed his pack.

He figured it was better to take all of their things and leave as little trace behind as possible. After all, they had no idea if some other adventurer would come through seeking shelter from the snow. Shade guided them across the empty hall, which looked much different in the daylight, towards the door to the catacombs. They carefully moved over wreckage of tables, chairs, pews, and assorted items like candle holders, and of course the glass from the windows, as they traveled through the room. Merdon paused at the center and looked around at the cracked stone and dilapidated statues along the walls. There was no telling who was worshiped in this place in the ages past. The statues were weathered and worn down to smoothness in most places, a sign of the time the temple had stood.

He started along again quickly, his heavy footfalls only momentarily muffled by a tattered rug that had once lined the floor up to the dais at the far end of the room. Behind that dais was their destination. A simple wooden door with a ring for a handle. Shade gripped and pulled with all of her might, groaning as the door popped open again, much like the night before. It made Merdon wince. The doorway was pressing in on the door, collapsing.

“Best leave this open,” Shade said about it, looking it over. “Sure we could get it back open when we come up, but why slow us down?” She smiled back at them and then descended down the stairs, Red following behind her with a claw full of fire.

Skyeyes glanced back at Merdon before proceeding down the stairs with the other two. The knight sighed softly and looked down into the now lightened abyss. Red's flame shown the walls to be bricked, which was good, it implied the same structural stability that Shade had mentioned before. However, the stairs went down a very long way, he could see that already, at least further down than a couple floors. He set his jaw and took the first step, and then another, with Sarel bringing up the rear. As they caught up to the others at the bottom, Red burning some cobwebs out of their way, Sarel whispered encouraging words to her mate.

“Everything is fine, verakt. We won't be down here longer than the day, and the tunnels have stood for much longer than that.”

She was right, or at least she had a point. They weren't to be down there long. Just enough for them to find this orc shield and abscond. The thought became less comforting as he stepped to the bottom and looked in both directions. It was like a maze. Both sides were open leading to more corridors with a very musty smell pervading the entire area. The scent alone made Merdon cough and wipe his face, almost nauseating. He shook his head and looked at Shade.

The assassin had fashioned a crude torch and taken some of Red's fire for herself. “We have two directions, but I'm guessing they meet up again at some point,” she said quietly, though her voice still echoed. “It would be silly for them to make both sides lead to a dead end.”

“But not improbable,” Red pointed out.

“We'll be careful,” Shade promised with a smirk. “We have to be. Remember, watch out for traps. It doesn't look like too many people bothered coming down here.” She stepped around the left corner and pointed. The others followed to see.

A skeleton stood, pinned against a wall with a crossbow bolt right around where its heart would have been. The bolt was the only thing holding the remains up, though it was only a rib cage and skull. The legs and arms had fallen into a pile under it, and the sight caused a shiver to run up Sarel's back, and make Skyeyes gag.

“Traps,” Shade said again, “Be very careful of them. Watch out for pressure plates, runes, anything that looks even slightly off, or even something that looks too uniform.”

Red sighed, “So be wary of everything. Right.” She was irritated. The others couldn't make fire, and it wasn't like they packed more torches. Unless they found some down there with them, she and Shade were on light duty.

Their pace was abysmally slow. Every few feet they stopped to disarm something or rip up a rune etched tile. Once and a while they encountered a room full of caskets or wrapped up bodies that needed to be searched through, only to discover nothing. Their prize was around, somewhere, they just needed to find it, and remain sane while they searched. It was a tense plodding, hoping that Shade and Sarel had found and disabled every trap as they passed through an area. Would they be safe if they needed to double back? Questions like that hung in Merdon's mind while they moved. Each new hallway was a new kind of stress that mounted steadily. So, it wasn't all that difficult for him to see where Red was coming from when she turned a corner and suddenly darted into a room on her own. Merdon, in the middle of the pack, followed her due to the speed of her movement, concerned for her safety. Skyeyes was just a moment too slow, and the two trap experts were busy enough to notice their absence a minute too late.

“Got it!” Red shouted as she pulled a shield from a pile of bones that were much larger than a human's.

Shade stared, tense and alert as she noticed the two were outside of the safe area they had cleared. Her fears came to light as a slab of stone dropped at the entrance and sealed Red inside the room with Merdon. The knight whipped around and inspected the now closed door. He didn't see a mechanism to open it. His next idea was to lift it back up himself, but the base was stuck inside the ground. There was no opening for his fingers to fit into. Red frowned as she looked back.

“What was that?” she asked, anger rising in her voice.

“We set something off,” Merdon said with a huff as he stood again and stepped back. “I think we're stuck in here.”

Red walked over, pushed the shield into Merdon's hands, and started channeling. She focused on the door and attempted to raise it herself, only for her spell to completely lack a target. “The stone is repelling my magic,” she said largely to herself.

“Which was why Verist couldn't teleport here, but we could wander around with your fire,” Merdon guessed. “The stone prevents magic aimed at it.”

Red cursed and scraped her claw along the stone, doing nothing to either of them. “What do we do now?” she asked, looking around the room.

Merdon walked over to the door and tried to shout through it. “Shade, can you hear us?!” Curiously, he put his ear to the door to listen. He heard a lot of scuffling around, but no words. It was muffled and impossible to make out. “We might just be stuck,” he said to Red.

The mage's blood started to simmer. “This is your fault,” she said out loud, and directly to him for the first time. “If you didn't break your shield we wouldn't be here.”

“Grot's the one that attacked us,” Merdon pointed out as he moved over and sat on the ground. It was better than standing around for no reason.

“Who decided to go to the orc lands?”

Merdon looked confused at that. “We all did remember?”

“You and Verist did,” she told him. “We kobolds had barely any input in there at all.”

“So what would you have changed?” Merdon challenged her.

Red was fuming. “Besides that,” she changed the subject, “What were you doing following me in here? You probably stepped on the trap, wherever that is.”

Merdon raised a brow. “That's a good point,” he admitted, looking at the floor, starting to scour it slowly. “Where is the trap?” he asked no one in particular. “Pressure plate, rune...” He wasn't seeing it. Maybe it was outside.

“What are you doing?” Red nearly shouted.

Merdon looked back at her and said, “Looking for the trap. Maybe there's a way to unactivate it, or whatever. Open the door.”

“We wouldn't be dealing with this if it wasn't for you, do you understand that?” the mage finally shouted, directly in Merdon's face. “It's your shield we're looking to fix so you can fight a war that's only coming because of your kind!”

Merdon had enough. “What is your deal lately, Red?” he asked, starting to get heated himself. “You've had this attitude ever since you came back from meeting the kobolds. I didn't want to bring it up more than what Skyeyes has shared, but, by the gods, what is wrong?”

She glared at him and replied, “What's wrong is that every single decision that has been made since we met Verist was made by you and her. Decisions about my kind, and Quickclaw is just ready to bounce along with them, and Skyeyes is too much of a coward to disagree. It's slavery of a different kind but still the same in the end. We don't have a choice.”

“No one's making you follow the plan,” Merdon shouted back, at last infuriated with her assertion. “You can leave any time you please, Red. The same goes for Skyeyes and Quickclaw. None of you have to go along with this fight, but you all decided to because you know it beats the alternatives.”

“So it's still coercion,” she told him through her teeth. “We don't have a choice but to listen to you humans. What's going to change if we keep living in Avant with a human government?”

Merdon breathed out sharply, steadying himself. “I don't know, I don't have the answers. That's part of where freedom comes from, Red. Not knowing what's going to happen or how to deal with something. The door's open, metaphorically, to tackle things however you see fit. If you don't like what we're doing, go find your own way of doing it. When we're done you can go find somewhere else to live, maybe with the orcs, I don't know.”

Red rolled her eyes. “And the kobolds leave their homes, their villages, everything they've built, behind. Exile, so much better.”

“What's your idea then?” Merdon shook his head. “Genocide? Wipe out all the humans. That certainly makes you better than them.”

The mage's eyes flashed and she swung with her claw that had just been holding fire. It was a slap, but there was still flame in her palm. The sparks and embers were dazzling as her hand connected with his cheek, just to the side of his eye. Like a firework going off on top of him, blinding his sight with yellow and reds before leaving Merdon in the dark. The heat alone caused him to flinch and close his eyes, shouting in pain as he felt his skin sizzle. It took only that long for Red to realize what she'd done. Her hand recoiled and she covered her mouth in fear. She was afraid to relight the room, to look at what she'd done. The smell told a story all its own and inevitably compelled her to hold a flame out again to see.

The left side of Merdon's face was burned. It wasn't the worst, many lived with much more debilitating injuries, but they weren't caused by a friend. The heat didn't scorch his entire cheek, only the part in the middle was hot enough for that. His eyes were untouched, his vision would be fine, but the space in front of his sideburns, down on his cheek, was already an angry red color, shiny and smooth. He could feel it, oblong and maybe taking up a quarter of the left side. It hurt, still burning, and he imagined it would blister for sure. Still, it was intense and he couldn't stop himself from reaching up and rubbing it. The size was almost as large as his own palm, only a little smaller all around, and he noticed an extension going up causing the oval shape. Red's fingers, the base of them at least.

“I'm sorry,” Red whispered. “I didn't... I was just...” She tried to slap him, not burn him.

“It's fine,” Merdon grunted, opening his eyes slowly, testing his vision. “I can still see, that's what matters.”

“Your face though,” she said softly. He would probably get a scar out of that.

“It'll be fine,” Merdon said again. “We can find Skyeyes, he'll take care of it.” Of course, they had a priest. Red sighed softly as she remembered that.

“Right,” she said, confidence returning. “How do we get out of here?”

Merdon stood up and started looking around the room, Red trailing behind him silently. She didn't want to do that again, she didn't mean to hurt him like that.

The knight tapped on the wall furthest from the door. “Try your magic here,” he said calmly. “Push hard.”

Red nodded and extinguished her flame. She held out her hands and pushed with all the force she could muster. The wall made a noise, so she pushed harder. With a grunt of effort, the wall gave. Stone tumbled down suddenly, filling the halls with a cacophony of rocks rolling over and off each other. The knight hefted the shield they had found up in his hand and looked it over, now that they were free. It shined the way most enchanted items did. If it wasn't what they were looking for, it would be good enough. He didn't want to stay under the mountain any longer.

“Come on,” he said to Red as he stepped through the hole in the wall. “Let's find the others. Carefully. Let's not trigger another trap.”

Red followed him through that hole and held up the flame again so they could see. “I'm sorry,” she said as they started to walk.

“It's okay, Red,” Merdon said again. He seemed a little distant. “I shouldn't have pushed you like that. You aren't like those slavers, you aren't. I know you wouldn't think something like that.”

Red bit her lip as they walked. She had though. For a few moments, now and then, she wondered what it would be like to live in a world without humans. Moments where she forgot about Merdon, the human that had risked his life to save her from Verist, from the slavers in Ardmach, to get her memory back. She knew he was a good person, yet she exploded on him. Her anger had finally gotten the better of her, and she had to live with that consequence staring her in the face every time he looked at her.

# Book Two, Chapter Eighteen: Catacombs pt2

Navigating the catacombs was much harder without Shade and Sarel probing every few inches. Merdon wasn't experienced with traps, and while the runes were easy to spot and destroy, the tripwires were much harder. They had come out on the opposite side of the wall, with no clear corridor back to the entrance they had unintentionally sealed off with stone. Cut off from the party, just the two of them wandering in near darkness, slowly plodding along the eerily silent gravesite. Red kept as quiet as Merdon while they traveled, not wishing to even think about what she had done minutes ago. She wanted to wake up and find it all to be a dream, a prophetic vision of things to come, but the cool stone under her feet and the pain in her chest were too, too real for any kind of fantasy. Her only solace was that Skyeyes would help, as soon as they found the others.

Merdon was focused on the path ahead. The catacombs were twisting and tricky, with the side benefit of helping him forget the radiating heat on his cheek. Occasionally, he slowed down more and prodded extra thoroughly for a trap he knew wasn't there as the pain swelled and made him wince. Otherwise, the pain was negligible. If something or someone attacked them, the knight was certain he would be capable of fending them off with little trouble. Even if they attacked during one of its flare-ups. Still, it slowed them down even more, and it wasn't long before the human simply opted to shout into the darkness.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Quickclaw! Skyeyes!” Only the oppressive silence greeted his yell, making him frown and ponder.

“We must have come a good way from the room,” Red remarked softly, a tone she hadn't taken in a long time. “Perhaps they went around the other way to try and find us.” Meaning they were walking away from help.

“Maybe,” Merdon grunted in agreement, glancing back past her. The sight of her fire caused him to flinch involuntarily, and made the kobold lower her claw.

“Sorry,” the mage said hurriedly. “It must be a little too bright.” She knew the real reason for his reaction. Neither of them wanted to discuss it.

“Yeah,” he mumbled before shouting the names of their companions again down the opposite hall. Still nothing.

Red frowned and looked around. “We haven't seen a turn since we left the room,” she commented. Or else they would have doubled back to the hall they originally came from.

“That would be the problem,” the knight said. His tone was exceptionally sour.

The mage ignored it. He had a right to that feeling, as much as it pained her. “Yes, but perhaps that wasn't the only room we passed.”

Her idea clicked and Merdon started tapping on the stone walls with his hand, sometimes pushing them with his whole body weight. Red followed along, doubling back down the hall they knew was clear to test for something they might have passed. When she found something, she didn't wait for Merdon. The mage summoned her power and shouted as she pushed a weakened wall, the force throwing her backward and dazing her a little. Despite that, she'd found another room, one that opened back to the tunnel they were checking through before.

Merdon came running and helped her up. “Are you okay?” he asked as his hand braced her back, pulling her off the wall.

“I'm fine,” she replied, her eyes swimming, but not enough she couldn't see forward. “There,” Red pointed, causing the knight to look. The hole was small. He would have to crawl.

Moments later, they were in another room with a doorway on the far side. This time, they went slowly, checking the floor for traps. Merdon spotted it this time. Just outside the door was a slightly raised stone. Enough to trip over in height, but short enough to walk right over. His legs were long enough he probably stepped right over it, and Red had moved so fast she must have jumped it. Skyeyes, Shade, or Sarel would have to have stepped on it trying to follow them. The trap was intended to keep someone out more than lock them inside, though either worked for preserving the peace of the dead. He sighed at that realization and then refocused himself on their separation.

“We should head back to where we got lost,” Red suggested, looking to the left.

Merdon, however, noticed the floor first and foremost. “There's a tripwire here,” he said, picking up a strand in his hand. “Someone stepped on it.”

Red shrugged. “These ruins have been here a while.”

“Without triggering anything else?” the knight posed to her skeptically. “I think they ran this way.”

That made the red-scaled kobold alert. “Ran from what?”

The human shook his head and stood up, drawing his sword and putting the shield in his off-hand. “I don't know, but we have to be careful. Finding them won't do anyone any good if we're injured.” If they had run down the path though, chances were high there weren't any traps left to trigger.

With a steadying breath, Merdon sprinted forward down the dark pathway before him. Red was startled but managed to keep up well enough for Merdon to see what was immediately ahead of him. Certain sounds started to come up as they ran, above their heavy breathing. A lot of clacking and the sound of steel against stone and something the knight couldn't quite place. Soon, shouting could be heard, too faint to be understandable, but enough they both knew it was the right way to go. At one point they had to stop and turn back, the noises coming from a turn, but it only meant they were getting closer to their friends.

One last turn and Merdon was suddenly blinded by a light, causing him to yell and stumble backward over Red. The mage managed to slip to the side, but the human took a fall. Wincing herself, the kobold blinked a few times to clear the spots from her vision and flared her fire to get a better look ahead. The only thing she saw, however, was a wave of skeletons standing in front of them with swords. Her mouth hung open in horror, which only worsened when the two at the back slowly turned to face her.

“Merdon,” she said in a shaky voice. “I think we should run.”

The knight pulled himself to his feet and looked at them. Rather than run though, he set his jaw and stepped forward, weapon at the ready. “There's something you should know about skeletons,” he told Red as he brandished his sword, a slow grin forming on his face as the two approached. He moved faster.

With a roar, Merdon bashed his new shield into the one on his left, slamming it into a wall and reducing it to a pile of bones while he worked his sword into the ribs of the other. It looked down at his weapon in time for the knight to twist and yank his weapon in such a way it shattered the left side of the skeleton's rib cage. It didn't stumble from such an act. Rather, the walking bones swung at the knight, its slice met with a shield. Merdon moved with the precision of a combat-hardened warrior, taking out the skeleton's leg before bashing it with his shield just as he had the first one. When it crumbled, he put the skull under his boot and stomped, crushing it like glass under his weight.

“They have a tendency to fall apart,” he finished before stepping over and crushing the other skull as well. “See about burning the bones,” the knight told her as he looked ahead. There were more. A lot more. “If there's nothing of them to come back, they can't reform.”

Red nodded but glanced at the horde before them. “What about those?”

Merdon took a deep breath and took up a stance as several more skeletons turned towards him. “They're mine,” he growled.

Skeletons were not like ghosts. Ghosts made Merdon antsy, just like being underground. Ghosts could not be fought with sword and shield, only with magic or prayer, neither of which he was particularly proficient with. The walking remains were corporeal, they were something he could hit with his shield, his sword. They could be smashed, broken, dismembered, and Skyeyes could defend the others while he worked on doing that.

“What's the holdup?” Merdon heard Sarel shout from the other end of the walking mass of bodies.

“I don't know!” Skyeyes replied, frantic. “It's not working on them, I don't know why.”

That was a problem. As much as Merdon heard the clattering of bones up ahead over his own calcium carnage, he also heard the sounds of them moving forward and reforming as they did. The knight huffed and stepped back from his opponents and went for something daring. Sheathing his sword, he hefted the shield in his hand and hurled it sideways, aiming for the area of least resistance, the skeletons' spines. Red watched with fear as Merdon threw his shield away, which shifted into a grin on her face as a dozen undead returned to piles of bones, splitting in half from the impromptu weapon.

Merdon wasted no time hurrying forward, stomping where possible to break things up, with Red following after him setting things on fire. Her work was a lot harder, and she was panting by the time she caught up to him. The light of her flames reached past the bodies and got the attention of the others.

“If that isn't Red, we've got a dragon coming,” Shade joked, her form just visible through the last of the skeletons in the way. Easily another dozen or so.

“Merdon!” Sarel shouted, jumping atop one set of bones and tearing the head off before retreating.

“Smash the skulls,” he told them as he dealt with the ones on his side. “It makes it harder for them to put themselves back together.

Skyeyes huffed. “That's a myth, Merdon. They're reanimated by magic. Their skulls would just piece back together.”

The knight paused and looked behind him. Between him and Red were many unburned bones, and not a single one was stirring. Shade frowned and snatched the skull from Sarel's hands, examining it quickly. There was a mark on the inside of the skull. They had been so focused on using the priest's magic they had ignored the other traps inside the temple. It had been a place of magic, and while necromancy was a kind of magic, there hadn't been any other evidence of it until the bones started moving from their resting place.

“They're golems!” she yelled, smashing the skull against the wall and causing the still standing corpse to collapse. “That's why Skyeyes couldn't repel them or return them to rest. They haven't been revived.”

Merdon smiled as he lifted his shield and readied his sword. “Red,” he called to her, “forget burning them. I think we have something better.”

The mage smiled herself, cooling her flames and pointing her claws at Merdon's weapon. She called forth the spell from Verist's tower, the one that had allowed him to cleave through rock. His blade shined and the knight went on the offensive. Having a clear target to aim for was just as helpful as Red's spell. The enchanted blade cut through bone as well as it would grass, rendering the golems inert as their sigils were broken. Though it didn't solve the problem as a whole, there was a power source somewhere in the temple, that wasn't their concern. Escaping the catacombs with the shield was all they wanted. Whatever loot or other secrets that were buried there were not the goal. Although they all considered what was worth protecting so much, the fact was they were busy in the world above with a war. Or below, depending on how far down the catacombs went.

After a couple of minutes, both sides worked towards the middle and met up, the last of the skeletons in their vicinity devoid of their heads. Shade picked up a femur and broke it over her knee in rage, tossing the two halves onto the ground with a huff. She was about to make a comment on Merdon's timing, but the mood between everyone felt heavier than the air after the orcs found Grot and her in the council chambers surrounded by dead chiefs. Her eyes followed the gaze of Skyeyes and Quickclaw, stopping on Merdon's face in the torchlight.

He was catching his breath and double-checking their surroundings, which only made it easier to see the large welt forming on his face. It wasn't from a blow, that was a burn. Sarel shifted her head at the pace of a snail towards Red behind the knight. She was looking at the ground, avoiding their looks.

“Got a little carried away with the fire back there?” Sarel said softly, her voice probably only carrying because of the tunnel.

“Bones do take a lot of heat to burn,” Skyeyes offered louder. “I'm surprised the tunnel didn't melt with them.” He chuckled nervously.

Red spoke up, her voice barely louder than the blue kobold's. “It was an accident.”

Sarel tensed, her claws forming into fists. “What was?” she asked, enunciating each word.

“We argued,” she replied, still quiet. “He... I...” Red couldn't form the words. It seemed stupid in hindsight. She still hated humans, that was never going to leave her, but seeing Merdon wounded like that had made her realize she didn't want to see him hurt. Verist was another matter, but the knight had helped her selflessly in the past. She was frustrated about so much.

“You got angry,” Sarel breathed. “And you burned him!” Her voice shook the catacomb, surprising the other kobolds, which the thief used to her advantage, pouncing towards Red with her fists.

Merdon stepped in her way and grabbed Sarel, turning with her momentum to drop her right back where she lunged from. The blue-scaled kobold blinked and spun back around. She glared at Merdon and then beyond him to Red. “You're taking her side?” she shouted with indignation.

“It was an accident,” he said to her calmly. “I lost my head too. Now isn't the time or the place for fighting each other, verbally or physically.”

Shade put a claw on Sarel's shoulder and told her, “I can understand your anger, believe me.” The assassin gave Red a dirty look as well before continuing, “But your verakt is right. Now is not the time. We should leave first.”

Merdon sighed. “We have a war to fight,” he told them both. “Now isn't the time as in not when there are bigger things at stake. Besides,” the knight smiled at Skyeyes, “we have a cleric, remember?”

Sarel relaxed her hands reluctantly. “Fine,” she spat. “Let's leave these tombs, quickly.”

Red frowned and led the way, Shade and Sarel bringing up the rear. Their path out of the catacombs was much easier than into them, and Shade made sure to jam the door inside of its own archway once they were out. The storm outside had yet to leave, still effectively stranding them in the temple, however, after their fight none of them were in the mood to walk several miles anyway. As Sarel, Shade, and Red went about setting up camp, the latter avoiding the former, Skyeyes sat down with Merdon to heal his burn. Once the camp was established once more, and the girls came to see, the priest was annoyed.

“I can't fix it,” he said with irritation. “It was caused by magic. There are surely accomplished priests that could heal such a wound, but this is beyond me.” And since those priests were in human lands, Merdon was stuck.

Red was on the verge of tears as Sarel and Shade looked at her from the side. “I'm sorry,” she apologized again.

Merdon reached up and rubbed the spot on his face. It was starting to heal, as much as it would, leaving it tender and half-covered with a boil. “Not my first scar,” he said to her, though again his tone made him feel distant. “I'll get over it.”

The mage nodded and left the others alone, slipping into her own tent. Quietly as she could manage, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed. When the worst of it was over, Skyeyes came in and put an arm around her, holding her gently until the tears were long past.

“I should have listened to you,” she said, her voice low to avoid eavesdroppers. “I let my anger get the better of me.”

“No,” Skyeyes told her. “You let it out at the wrong time, Skravna.” The priest settled, getting comfortable, and told her, “The goddess speaks of two distinct feelings when it comes to anger. There is hatred, a blind beast that brings ruin to all, and there is a righteous fury. The fury is anger channeled, directed towards a good purpose.” Likely used by the clergy to stir hatred against the kobolds, but in this moment, he meant it another way. “You have let yourself stew in the hate, you lost sight of who you need to direct yourself against. Merdon isn't your enemy, but he looks like one. As those in Ardmach tell the citizens we are monsters, you convinced yourself anyone that looks human is one.”

She was silent for a long time, questioning that internally. “What do I do?” Red asked, eventually. “How do I fix that?”

“You've started,” he told her, rubbing her back. “You hurt Merdon, and you know that's wrong, but it brought you back from the edge of your anger. Now you have to focus yourself. Anger and hate themselves are negative emotions. You must turn them into something productive. They are fuel for a fire, not fire themselves. Whether you let them catch and burn down the forest or stem their growth and build a camp is up to you.”

Skravna sighed and looked at Skyeyes with a frown. “You're always talking in these priestly metaphors. Just say what you mean for once, Shistra.”

The white-scaled kobold sighed. “Learn to let your anger out on those that deserve it. Merdon doesn't, Verist doesn't at the moment, but those slavers on the beach did. Your anger can be used for good, you can use it as a reason to get up in the morning, to help us with the rebellion, but if you live inside of it then you become dangerous to us all. Like you did with Merdon.”

Again, the red kobold went quiet to think about her mate's words. “So, I need to focus,” she said plainly. “To keep my head clear until I can let loose.”

“In a general sense,” he replied with trepidation. It would have been better for her to not go off again at all, but if she wasn't wounding their allies it was a step in the right direction.

“I'll apologize to Merdon again tomorrow,” she decided with a nod. “A better apology. Then I'll work on focusing.”

Skyeyes pulled away and sat across from her, getting a confused look from the mage. “Why not start now?” he suggested. “Have you ever tried meditating?”

“Not really, but Verist talked about it.”

He smiled. Verist knew well before he did, it seemed. “Close your eyes, and just breathe.” He should have thought about this months ago.

# Book Two, Chapter Nineteen: Casualties of War

The storm had blown itself out by the early morning, but Merdon held off on leaving until the sun was up. It was better they had a good understanding of where the cliffs were after the new-fallen snow covered them. He walked out front with Sarel, Red and Skyeyes in the back, and Shade forming a sort of buffer between the two groups. Merdon was withdrawn, though focused on where he was walking, while Sarel was half tempted to jump back and fight Red right then and there. Shade was a necessary barrier between the two for the moment. They had a shorter walk back to a place where the tokens would work, only just beyond the village they had spotted before, yet some of them felt the trip was even longer this time around.

When the crunching of the newly fallen snow beneath their feet had aggravated her enough, Sarel grumbled to Merdon, “Why did you defend her?” While her voice was soft, her eyes darted back to the red-scaled mage several feet behind them.

“Because she didn't mean it,” he regurgitated, the same as he said the day before.

“She meant to hit you regardless,” Sarel hissed. “What of that is forgivable?”

The knight sighed and rubbed his forehead. “What's forgivable about it is the same thing that keeps me from shoving Verist out of her own tower after what she did to you,” he replied with a scowl, surprising Sarel. “We're going to war, we need allies, not enemies. Now is not the time to brandish our weapons against those that would otherwise stand with us.”

The thief bit her tongue for a bit as they walked, but soon enough responded, “Simple pragmatism?”

“If that's how you want to see it,” he shrugged. “Red is a capable mage and the only I've heard of besides. She also saved the village on the beach and got the trust of their elder. Turning her away for a lapse in judgment, a nonfatal one at that, would be too detrimental.”

The blue kobold frowned and went completely silent after that. She hated when Merdon made sense. Doubly so when his logic was ignoring his own ills. Of course Red was valuable to what they were doing, but she felt the mage was getting off without punishment at all, and no amount of her moping around behind them was changing her mind on that front. Anyone could fake sadness. Sarel's glances back were always watched by Shade, who seemed to agree with Merdon's assessment of Red's attack. She made sure neither of them fought the night before, nor as they traveled. It annoyed the blue-scaled thief to no end. The kobold she was learning from was siding against her. Yet, no one seemed to be siding with Red either. Sarel remained deep in her thoughts as they walked along the snow-capped ridges and pathways along the mountain.

Long before they reached the village, a tower of smoke rising in the distance caught their attention. Merdon looked back at Shade, wordlessly questioning if Grot could have struck already. She nodded. The knight frowned and started moving at a faster pace, as fast as the slippery and rugged terrain would allow. They walked for another hour at the very least before seeing the village in the valley. Sarel stared at it with shock, while Merdon and Shade were calmer, almost passive in their surveyance of the scene. Red and Skyeyes were closer to Sarel's expression, though the priest recovered faster than all of them and started down the cliff using his natural agility to avoid slipping or falling.

“I don't think I can do that,” Merdon commented as Red followed her mate down the mountain.

“I wouldn't want you to try,” Shade said with a chuckle. “You can probably head back to the tower from here. Grot likely used the witch to sneak something across the border. Like a warband or two.”

Sarel's eyes were still glued to the village. It was burning, the source of the smoke the fires that raged through the two dozen or so buildings below. There were carts in the middle of the town that were on fire as well, their contents contributing to the thick column of gray byproduct rising into the sky. From their view above and with her exceptional eyes, Sarel could make out bodies in the street. Not all of them were armored. Had the orcs slain civilians or were they simply unarmored soldiers caught off guard? She couldn't help but wonder if they deserved such a thorough defeat. In truth, the thief wasn't even sure the orcs had left any survivors at all. They had no reason to. It was war. Any human left alive from such a raid would spoil their plans, become a soldier down the line. She pushed the notion from her mind anyway because it was easier to ignore it while she could.

“Let's go, Quickclaw,” Merdon said, passing her a token.

The thief came back to the present and nodded, squeezing the coin firmly in her palm. A burning village was firmly etched in her mind as she teleported away. This was the first casualty of war.

Grot was standing in the village square, his troops finishing their investigation of the village. The fire had started in the town hall and had spread to the adjacent military buildings. None of his orcs had been in the building when it went up, leading him to suspect they were hiding something or a simple accident had occurred. He sighed. There was always an accident like that when it came to invading towns and cities. Some hapless citizen caught off guard drops a candle, leaves the fire blazing, some entirely preventable scenario spreads more chaos and destruction to be blamed on the invaders. Although, he admitted if they hadn't come along whoever had accidentally started the fire would have put it out before it became an issue. It was their fault, to a point. The rumors would spread that they spitefully lit the village on fire though. Without context, anything could be blamed on them.

His contemplation was broken by Shade sprinting into town from the cliffside and darting around. Rapid reconnaissance she called it, the way she ran, hopped, climbed, and examined the area as quickly as she could. By the time she flipped herself onto his shoulder, Grot was certain the assassin could have given him a body count accurate within a handful and a decent damage report on the fire. Which she did.

“I don't see any remaining forces, and the fire is going to consume the north end of the village by sunset.”

Grot nodded. “That's about what I was thinking. Unless we put the flames out, of course.”

“No need,” she told him. “Not like anyone lives here anymore.” A grim statement.

As she said that, Skyeyes and Red came sliding down the mountain, the priest rolling as he reached the bottom and lost his footing. He jumped up and ran into the center of town towards Grot, panting, “Are there any injured?”

“A few,” the dark-skinned chief admitted. “Not on me though.”

Hesitation in his voice, the white kobold asked, “Are there any human survivors?”

Grot shook his head. Skyeyes' face fell, but he said nothing more. He walked on to find those injured orcs and patch them up while Red slowly looked over the village. She was in a state of shock worse than Sarel as she stood amid the carnage.

Orcs were busy clearing things out but they had yet to take care of all the bodies. As sure as there were humans in armor brandishing weapons in their hands there were also unarmed civilians. She covered her mouth as she turned and saw one woman in particular, a spear through her chest and into the ground, half propping her up off the snowy ground. The woman's face was one of shock and fear, mouth agape and eyes wide. Red could hear the scream that passed through her lips before she died.

“What happened?” the mage managed at barely a mutter.

The chief-of-chiefs looked at the woman and grunted. “Crossbow,” he said, walking over and picking up a rather small crossbow. He recounted with detail how she had shouted for them to spare her, giving him an ounce of pause. She turned and pulled the weapon from a bundle the orc had thought to be a child in her arms. It was luck one of their spear-men was watching his back. “Damn good shot too,” he commented before pulling the weapon out of her.

Red retched and turned away. Bandits were one thing, slavers too. “Did they have slaves?” she asked, looking around. That would make her feel better. If she knew these were evil humans; if she hadn't slapped Merdon...

“Not that we saw,” Grot told her. “No basements either.”

Shade frowned and strummed her fingers on Grot's armored shoulder. “Where are the children?” she asked her mate.

Mouth agape, Red turned and stared at Grot. “No,” she whispered. They hadn't killed children too.

Grot's face fell in a very slow way as he recounted their assault of the village. “There weren't any?” He started so sure of himself but quickly lost confidence in his knowledge. How was that possible?

Shade jumped off his back and ran off towards the burning town hall, shouting for the orc troops to help her put out the flames. Red followed her, knowing a few spells related to water, she might have had a chance to help with whatever the assassin had figured out. While they dealt with that, Merdon and Sarel appeared near the village's gate, their footsteps loud in the snow. The thief was just as appalled by what she saw as the others seemed to be.

“Good fight?” Merdon asked as he walked up and looked around.

Grot grunted in acknowledgment. “Not really. They weren't ready for an orcish warband to come through just yet. We can thank Verist for that.”

Merdon chuckled grimly. “Surprised she let you borrow her for something so mundane.”

“She was pretty keen about it, actually,” Grot corrected him. “It meant she got to stand around in the orc stronghold.”

“I'm sure you made certain your guards won't get the wrong idea,” the knight guessed.

“Certainly not,” the orc assured him. “As long as she doesn't wander too far.”

Sarel felt numb, but not from the cold. “How can you be so casual about this?” she asked the two, her tone between horror and anger.

“This is war, little one,” Grot replied. “This isn't even half of war, actually. We haven't gotten to the crop burning and poisoned water supplies yet.”

The thief scowled. “Why?” she demanded of them, her claws balled into fists.

“Disrupt supplies, lower morale, keep the peasants from joining the fight as soldiers later, put additional strain on Ardmach dealing with refugees,” Merdon said in a detached way.

“Someone's been studying,” Grot approved.

“My father was a knight, a proper knight of the king,” he explained.

“Hmm, so you've got more first-hand knowledge,” the orc gathered. “Taught you how to ride a horse, burn a crop, but not how to haggle?” Sarel had shared their tale of buying horses long ago.

Merdon shrugged. “He wanted to leave something for the instructors in the military to teach me. I just never joined up.”

Again, Sarel interrupted their unceremonious chat with a burst of outrage. “This is only the beginning?”

“Unfortunately,” Merdon agreed, his gaze passing over the buildings. “This is the cost of freedom.”

With a short laugh, Sarel asked, half-serious, “Can I get a better price?”

“Nope,” Grot said calmly. “This is what it takes. We might find some defectors here and there, maybe a campaign of information could sway a few outliers away from Avant, but overall this is what we'll have to do. All the way to the capital.”

Refocused, Merdon questioned, “Do we have any way to help the kobolds inside Ardmach? Once the word gets around this is about kobolds they're going to have a lot harder life in there.”

Grot hummed in thought. “We'll have to ask the kobold chiefs.” He had no ideas, himself.

“So we burn and kill and pillage,” Sarel said bluntly to the two of them. “We act like the monsters they say we are until they have no choice but to free us? Does that not seem counterproductive?”

“Any man would act like a caged animal if you treat him the way kobolds do,” Grot told her. “Whoever thinks we're acting out of line for this would have to be the most privileged ass in the nation.”

Merdon nodded. “This isn't just because of some small sleights, Quickclaw.” Avant's slavery was lighter than the elves or Rastar, but that didn't make it right. The Avantians had to be made to listen.

Before she could respond to that, Shade came running up with a handful of papers, and Red right behind her.

“What's that?” Grot asked incredulously. “Did you really put out that fire to find some papers?”

“Orders,” she said, tossing a couple at Grot, who barely caught them thanks to his large hands. “From the king of Avant to prepare a retaliation against orcish invaders.”

“But we just got here,” Grot joked. However, his eyes saw the truth, she was right.

“Duh, verakt,” Shade said, impatiently. “Avant is going to sacrifice a village to start the war. Or they were going to before we did this.”

The dark-skinned orc frowned. “We played right into their hands,” he growled.

“There is good news,” Red spoke, stepping up beside the assassin. “None of the humans here were civilians.”

Merdon's eyes went wide. “How is that possible?”

Shade scoffed, “Spies, Merdon. This village is an outpost that watches the orc border. That's why they got word to prepare for retaliation for an attack that hadn't happened yet. These were Eyes in training.”

Sarel blinked and looked around once again. The village looked so typical, the villagers didn't stand out at all. “How did you figure this out?” she asked, hoping to learn.

Shade smiled and boasted, “Where are the children? How do you have a village that's been around for decades with dozens of men and women, but no kids? Not even saints could stay that clean.”

Grot's mouth hung as he caught up with Shade's logic. “Damn, that's so obvious it's like a rock on the plains,” he chastised himself. “We need to regroup,” the orc said to the others. “I don't like being tricked and the king just played us like a hand-carved flute.”

The others agreed, on various levels, and made to find Skyeyes before getting the whole warband out of there. Verist would need to be talked to. There was a chance they had another stop to make before talking to the kobold leaders.

Across the land, sitting on his throne, the king of Avant was idly reading a letter of little consequence from the queen of the elves when Rebeun walked in and knelt. He found the throne room to be very dire. Although it was decorated in the Avantian golds and blacks, something about it always felt wrong. Rebeun believed it to be more the king's domain, the plane of His Majesty Aschrel, rather than the seat of power for the kingdom. Of course, that might have been the guards stationed at every door and every eight feet apart, for a total of fourteen guards, in a single room. The ones standing next to the throne were fellow Eyes, but not subordinates of his. It made him feel weaker than he was. None of them possessed his ability, his talent, his drive.

“Speak, Rebeun,” the king commanded, not looking away from his letter. “There's no special reward for doing as you should.”

“Of course, your majesty,” the Eyes assassin replied, suppressing a frown. “Our village in the mountains was burned down this morning, partially. There are no survivors. Our trainee assassins are no more.”

Aschrel looked up, at last, with a smile. “I see. So the orcs caught wind of our preparations and struck first, ironically giving us what we wanted to begin with.” The king crumpled the letter in his hand and tossed it to the ground. “We'll have to speed things up elsewhere. Has the new elven ambassador arrived yet?”

“No, sire,” Rebeun replied. “She should be en route already, but we've heard nothing from the border.”

“I want your finest man on it as soon as she's here,” the king told him. “Make sure she's delivered safely.”

Safely into the ground. Rebeun knew the plan already. It wasn't some anonymous best man that would be doing it. He would take her personally. He was the only one that could use a weapon similar to Merdon's long sword to make the whole story believable.

“What of the village we expected to be attacked?” Rebeun asked in thinly veiled terms.

“I suppose we should recall our troops from there,” the king admitted. “If they've struck elsewhere we'll need more soldiers to cover that front instead.” There was no need to sacrifice another village if the orcs were doing it for them. “Hopefully the ambassador can supply us with additional reinforcements in this trying time.”

Rebeun nodded and stood. “I've gotten your majesty's correspondence back at base,” he told the king. “I'll make sure everything goes as planned.”

“Do so,” Aschrel said with a steady voice. “And, Rebeun? The next time you have the 'kobold whisperer' at the end of your dagger, be sure to deal with him properly.” The king mocked the nickname with his tone, but that moment of levity vanished as he added, “I'm sick of your excessive power fantasies. Do not taunt the criminal and his conspirators. Simply deal with them.”

Rebeun bowed deeply. “Yes, your majesty.” He agreed because he had no choice. Silently, the assassin fumed as he left the throne room. Aschrel was needlessly concerned with the kobold loving adventurer and his pathetic band of miscreants. He had no special powers, not even a magic artifact any more the last he checked. Merdon was a waste of their time. Rebeun felt his dagger hand twitch as he thought about how much more concerned with the kobold whisperer the king was than with the assassin his own group had trained. As if he wasn't worth considering a threat. That would be a mistake.

# Book Two, Chapter Twenty

Verist was lethargically skimming the papers Shade had brought her from the village in the mountains. What had started as a methodical and careful examination had devolved to a point of boredom after the witch realized the kobold had gleaned all the important information already. The village was a setup, a fake town designed to house spies of the Avantian kingdom in case of the exact events they were planning. To have been so readily outsmarted irked her. She would have teleported right to the king's throne and impaled him with an icicle right then if it weren't for the walls of Ardmach preventing such movement. Another hurdle she had to circumvent for the rebellion.

That brought a smile to her face and eased her soul through the rest of her monotonous paper reading. Without her, the rebellion lacked brains. Merdon had some tactical knowledge, but Grot outshined him on the battlefield any day. Ultimately, what the knight brought to the table was a dose of charisma, a poster boy, the face, and little more beyond that. She was the one making all the plans, coming up with ideas, doing the heavy lifting with her magical might that surpassed any physical strength either group could muster. In her absence, the whole fight would collapse in on itself. Yes, she was the cornerstone, the linchpin of the entire operation. Verist giggled, finishing the last page, and imagining the end of the war.

Grot and Merdon would be praised, of course as the armored heroes on the frontline they would be first, but she would have to be up there with them. The kobolds would speak of her with respect, awe, infatuation. She grinned and turned back to her own work. Those papers were useless to them, and a waste of her valuable time. The kobolds wouldn't venerate a slouch of a witch that wasted time on fruitless endeavors. No, they would love her as their own when she found their enemies and brought the battle to their doorstep. She lamented the wasted years helping them one by one now. Merdon had shown her the light. Their memories were important, the kobolds were much better with individuality. They all had such adorable little quirks. The way Thickhide tried to emulate a human stance despite his tail being in the way, or the way Shade rode on the back of her orcish mate, or how that one cook in the kitchen slept in a cupboard rather than a bed. Verist bit back another laugh as she remembered the day she saw that.

The witch shook her head and refocused, it wasn't time to reminisce just yet. That would come when the kingdom had fallen to her planning and the orc's armies. Which, she reminded herself, was also her idea, if a very pedestrian one any peasant might have come up with. For the time being, her mind was to be put to more laborious tasks. She had to find the Eyes' training grounds before the rebellion could really start. Some thought of it was a war, and rightly so given the orc invasion they were planning, but, at its core, they were going to turn Avantians against their own government. At least, that was what she planned, and for that plan to work she needed more dirt.

“Where could you be?” Verist murmured to herself as she looked at a map of Avant. She'd been given some ideas on where to look outside of Ardmach, but nothing had aroused her suspicions. Everywhere that might have been a possibility she checked with her scrying orb turned out to be nothing special. She even sat and watched many of the locations for hours with no progress. The whole task had begun to wear on her and she was looking forward to taking a break to enchant the shield Merdon was supposed to be bringing in. However little a minuscule task like that would be a break for. A few minutes, no more than a half-hour.

Rather than Merdon, however, it was Grot who roughly pushed her door in and stepped inside. “We're back,” he announced obviously. “Merdon's got some kinda orcish shield all right.”

“Well, get it up to me,” Verist replied with the patience of a wasp.

“He's testing if it's really invulnerable right now,” Grot informed her. “He'll be a minute.” Verist huffed and crossed her arms while Grot looked at her barren desk. “Anything in those papers?”

“Nothing useful,” she told him. “I've been searching for the Eyes' training ground. No luck there either.”

Grot scoffed. “You'd have thought something like that would have been mentioned in a spy town.”

“If they were idiots. A spy would know better than to mention where their base was,” Verist pointed out.

“Do we have any leads?” he asked her, noticing she only had a crystal ball in front of her.

“A few,” the witch replied with measured cadence. “I have a man in Ardmach that gives me good intelligence once in a blue moon. The Eyes don't train within the city walls. They have a special place out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Someplace they can see unauthorized movement coming from a mile away,” Shade commented, unseen on Grot's back.

“Yes,” Verist agreed with a smile. “It also helps them maintain whatever cover they have. A farm, perhaps, or a...”

The witch stopped and threw herself to the ground, her hands wildly shuffling the papers she had just cast aside. Her palms were flat on them and she moved any page with a full motion of her arm as she searched for something. Shade peeked out over Grot's shoulder with a frown, an image mirrored on the orc's face as they watched her frantic chase. When she finally came up with a page in her hand, Grot said nothing. He waited for her to figure out whatever it was had sent her into a frenzy. Her hair seemed to be raised now, reminding the orc of a cat in some ways. Something had raised the witch's dander.

“New recruits are coming in from the manor today,” Verist read, word for word. “I had thought that meant the town's own building, but they would have referred to that as a hall, yes?”

Grot shrugged. “What's it matter what they called it?”

Verist sighed and shook her head. “It matters because there are very few manors outside of cities.”

Shade once more chimed in, “With the chances of bandits and monsters attacks around Avant, and the way humans like to bunch up, I would imagine so.” Again, Grot shrugged in indifference.

“This narrows my search down,” Verist told him outright. “Instead of keeping tabs on every empty field in the nation, I can watch the few manors that sit outside of towns and cities for suspicious activity.”

“That's all we got from those pages?” the orc asked. “Was really hoping for more.”

“As was I,” Verist admitted as she looked at the few in her hands. “It would have been much more helpful to find further incriminating evidence against the king, but a single village of spies and a plot to assault another, without proof of that assault, is very inconsequential at best.”

“It seems damning to me,” Grot told her, his lips tight in a sneer. “A coward's trick, killing his own to blame on the enemy.”

“But an effective one,” Shade told him. “If we're looking for more evidence on that plan, why not go look for it?”

Verist sat the pages down and thought about it. A small hum escaped her lips as she considered the idea of sending them back out. “You could look at the village,” she murmured, “See if any of the king's men were lingering around.” That could turn her needle in a haystack into a pincushion.

“Not me,” Grot told her. “The assault on the village was one thing, but recon?” That wasn't his strong suit.

Shade jumped off Grot's back with a backflip and told him, “You, no, but the rest of us would blend in well enough.”

Verist grinned and said, “I will go as well.” Her statement caused the two non-humans to look at each other with concern. The witch told them, “As good as you and Merdon may be at searching for things, this little paper trail idea is mine. If there's anything to be found, I will be the one to suss it out.”

Grot turned around and paced for a few moments. His hands flexing in small amounts while he considered the witch's words. “You're sayin' you're better suited to find this stuff than the rest of us?” he said in his own time.

She nodded in response. “That's no offense on you two, especially you,” Verist said to Shade, “but, it's only right I get my hands dirty as well, so to speak.”

Shade's face lit up with understanding. “She's looking to prove herself, verakt,” the assassin told Grot. “We have gone to the field many times while she remained safe in the tower.”

That wasn't quite what Verist meant, but the witch nodded in acceptance of the notion. It seemed much nobler than her desire to not have the evidence that would turn the tides of the invasion into an inward civil war be heralded by any hands other than her own. She needed to be the one that found those documents, and she knew they existed. Unless the cunning assassins were so blindly loyal they kept nothing worth considering blackmail, which would be incredibly un-assassin of them. Given what she had heard of this head assassin from Merdon as well, keeping blackmail on the king seemed right up his alley.

“It's settled,” Verist said, standing up. “When I've finished adding to Merdon's new shield, he, the kobolds, and myself will set out to investigate the area surrounding the sacrificial village. With any luck, we might find the soldiers that were intended to assault the village themselves.”

Shade smirked at that idea. “We could get them to confess their intent directly,” she gathered. That would be much better than some papers.

Moments later, Merdon walked in, trailed by Sarel. The human sat the shield down on a table and sighed. “I took every tool I have to this thing and nothing scratched it,” he confirmed for the rest of them.

Verist, ignoring the burn mark on the knight's face, walked over and shook her head. “I could have told you what it was enchanted with by looking at it,” she bragged. “Your test was pointless and a waste of time. Get your things together, Merdon, we have an investigation to conduct elsewhere.”

The knight blinked and looked at Grot and Shade for an explanation. The dark-skinned orc walked over and put his arm on Merdon's shouldering, leading him out of the room while Verist got to work on the enchantment. Merdon struggled briefly, still confused, but inevitably went along with the orc's pull. Not that he had the strength to break away from the orc to begin with. His resistance was a token effort at best.

Their preparations didn't take nearly as long as Verist's magical work, but when she emerged from the top of the tower and gave Merdon his new shield, it was notably changed. The shine was brighter, seeming to flux every so often, and its inherently orcish design stood out from his Avantian steel almost as much as that glow it had. Grot, in particular, admired it with a smile. In an uncharacteristic moment of subdued discussion, he explained the craftsmanship and design of the shield. Many parts were intended to be form over function, but thanks to the enchantment it didn't need much more than that. It was the ultimate form of orcish stubbornness. Defying even natural order with brutish strength.

“At its core, it's still orcish steel,” he told Merdon, “but if the magic holds the way it's supposed to there's nothing that can break it, regardless of how thin it seems.”

The knight hefted it a little and remarked, “It does seem lighter than my old one.” Not by much, but it was noticeable. Perhaps a pound of difference. More importantly was the top, which had some spike design. The peak and corners were raised, pointed. Given an indestructible nature, he could imagine what those were for.

“Even in defense an orc is ready to attack, though we haven't used designs like that in a few hundred years,” Grot mentioned. “We've largely copied Avant's military in the hopes of evening out the advantages they have.”

Merdon nodded, but their talk was cut short by Verist, who pushed herself between them. “Yes, yes,” she said rapidly, “A very interesting history, but the longer we wait the further these soldiers could be getting from our grasp.”

“I hate to agree,” Grot said with a scowl, “but she's right. We can discuss the evolution of warfare later.” And considering who was talking, the odds were high they would discuss that later.

Verist barely waited for the others to assemble before casting the spell to send them off. In the blink of an eye, they were standing just a couple rolling hills away from a farming village on the edge of Avant. Merdon braced himself, bent over, hands on his knees, as his eyes swam in his skull like fish in a pond, just to keep his stomach from turning itself inside out. Shade was relatively unfazed and was looking over at the village, blocking the sun by putting a hand over her brow. Thickhide, who had insisted on joining after hearing about Verist leaving the tower, looked the worse of them all, with Skyeyes patting his back and looking with concern as the green-scaled kobold seemed to turn an altogether different sort of green.

Sarel, after recovering from her own queasiness, questioned if they even knew where to look for these soldiers. Luckily, Shade had some ideas just from looking around. She pointed to a treeline that was about half again the distance from the village to their backs, as well as another set of hills to the side they couldn't see over. Either would provide decent cover for a squad of knights disguised as travelers. At least long enough for them to set up their assault and ease the villagers' alertness down to a point their defenses were lacking.

“We'll split up then,” Verist suggested. “I will go with Shade and Thickhide.” The green kobold perked up at hearing his name. “That way our forces are equally distributed.”

The assassin shrugged. “Would be nice if we had some healing too, but I guess getting hit would be like admitting defeat.”

“Indeed,” Verist said with a smile. “Put your faith in me, dear kobold. I may be able to burn down a city with a gaze, but I can protect one just as well.”

Merdon sighed and started pulling out his armor. “Be ready for anything,” he told the armored kobold. “We'll take the forest.” They had more experience with less cover.

Verist shrugged, indifferent to what location she traveled to. “The odds we find anyone so close by still are slim. We want trails we can follow,” she told him. “If we happen to be fortuitous enough someone is nearby, try not to slaughter them.”

“No promises,” Merdon mumbled as Sarel helped with his armor.

The witch rolled her eyes and set out towards the hillside with a bounce in her step. She could feel the two kobolds following her. This was her chance. Her skin formed goosebumps at the idea, at the simple possibility of getting to show off. They were certainly impressed with her magic so far, they had to be. She had moved an entire tower halfway across the globe! Now, however, they would see her in action, outside of her confined element. Stories, legends, would be told of her exploits. And she might help pen a few of those herself.

Verist had taken the lead by a large margin, leaving Shade covering their rear, and Thickhide hustling to keep up with the witch. After the jangling of his armor began to wear on her last nerve, she turned about and looked at him with a frown. The kobold just kept on moving, breathing harder than normal until he was in front of her by a few feet. She watched him, her frown turning into curiosity as he bypassed her. Once he had the lead, however, he stopped and turned back to wait for her, with Shade also stopping when she had caught up.

The boy clacked his claws together and said, “I think I should take the lead. I'm, uh, better defended with this armor.”

Verist covered her mouth with a hand to hide her smile. It was too cute, too precious. There were very few things she couldn't deflect or shield herself against with magic.

“Very well,” she said, dropping her hand and keeping a straight face. “Lead on then, sir knight.” Her chest filled with pride as the green kobold's eyes lit up and he started marching towards the top of the hill. She had a kobold trying to protect her the same way Merdon did. The witch used every drop of self-restraint to keep her pace casual to follow him. She wanted to break out into a run, to shout, she felt like a schoolgirl again. Her plan was bearing fruit already.

# Book Two, Chapter Twenty One: Witch's Desire

“Nothing here,” Merdon sighed, rising from his knee and looking around the forest once again. The shady forest had given them about as much to work with as an ocean. What evidence there may have been to find was buried under brushes, and every brush they checked had revealed nothing. It was like fishing for clues in a vast sea. Even Sarel had come up empty-handed in her search. The thief had circled the treeline looking for tracks leading in or out. A caravan of knights and equipment would have to have made some sign of their passing in the dirt, the grass, broken branches, yet they'd seen nothing.

Merdon took another deep breath and looked up through the canopy overhead. The sunlight danced between the leaves and glinted off his armor. The contrast in weather between the plains and the snowy mountain was so great he almost forgot about the mark on his face. Hidden as it was under his helmet, the scar was easy to forget in the temporary moments out on the field. When it was quiet, however, even for a time, he remembered. That dark, dank room in a catacomb under some unnamed mountain would linger in his mind for the rest of his life, and that mark on his cheek would serve as a reminder. Was it so disfiguring? Not at all, but the emotional impact it had left on him was enough that even a fraction of the mark that would be left on his visage would remind him well enough.

He glanced at Red, the mage doing her own searching. She'd voluntarily withdrawn from him. Her silence as they walked to the woods, her wordless nod when he'd suggested they split up, spoke loud enough for him. Regret was a powerful thing. Even if Sarel wouldn't forgive her, Merdon knew the red-scaled kobold felt bad about what she had done. There was as much reminder for her on his face as there was for him. Once in a while, he saw her glance over her shoulder at him before looking towards Sarel. The thief had come nowhere close to leaving the two of them alone. Merdon could guess both of their intents.

Red wanted to apologize once again for what she had done. It wasn't her intent to burn him with her claw, but that was what happened in her lapse in judgment. Merdon wasn't in the mood to forgive her any more than his blue-scaled mate was. Her apology would be wasted on him for some time to come. They needed space, yet Verist had haphazardly thrown them together without any thought or concern for how they might have been feeling. In fact, Merdon realized, she hadn't even asked them about what happened. Either she didn't care or had put two and two together. He was figuring the latter and it only made him angrier to consider. Verist wasn't stupid. Naive, absolutely, but she was quite smart. Many people were book smart and emotionally stunted, he'd seen it often enough in mages and priests. Verist was on another level with her blindness.

“Nothing around the edges of the grove,” Sarel said, stepping back into the middle and putting her hands on her hips. “If they came through here they were stealthier than assassins.”

“Considering they were going to assault a village and make it look like orcs, I doubt they were that lightly armored,” Merdon admitted.

Red stepped over like the ground was made of rice paper, as gingerly as possible, before suggesting, “Should we see what Verist has found?”

Sarel repressed a scowl while Merdon looked at the village in the distance. “There might be something on the other side,” he considered.

“I will find out,” the blue-scaled kobold offered as she walked over to a tall tree to climb it.

Merdon sighed again and flexed his fingers, his gauntlets making a small noise as he did. His armor needed some maintenance.

“I could fix that,” Red offered in a soft voice, trying to keep her eyes on the thief climbing the tree.

“It's fine,” Merdon replied, his voice even colder behind a layer of steel. “The upkeep distracts me when we have downtime.”

Red nodded and looked over in the direction Verist and the others had gone. “I hope they're having better luck than we are.”

Merdon grunted in agreement. “Some kind of lead would be nice.”

Shade was knelt in the dirt, rubbing the track through the grass with her fingers and trying to determine which direction they were heading by their curvature. If they were going towards the village, they'd have been driving that way, but the tracks were pointed elsewhere. She glanced at the field nearby and hummed. They had already checked it and found plenty of evidence someone had been camped there. A lot of someones by the way the grass was stamped flat still and a fire pit had been hastily filled back in. These trails in the dirt, if they held up, would be their ticket to the king's death squad, and hopefully some answers. She didn't fancy trying to find the Eyes' hideout even with Verist's magic. Or maybe because it was Verist who was looking.

The witch in question came over and looked at the tracks herself. Thickhide was standing nearby on a hilltop, scanning the area, trying to make sure they didn't get jumped by the men they were looking for. After a short exchange between Verist and Shade, the black-scaled kobold called to Thickhide and started leading them herself. She was much better at following tracks than either of the others. It was almost nostalgic for her. Following the divots in the earth of a wagon loaded down with supplies, knives sharp and ready to gut the first slaver she saw. Now she was doing it with more purpose, towards a greater goal. It put a smile on her face imagining the shocked soldiers when a pair of kobolds beat them into the dirt.

Thickhide, in the meantime, was focused on their surroundings. Rolling hills and empty grassland, the warm sun shining on the verdant fields was relaxing. Too relaxing. He had to regularly reassert what they were doing to himself, mentally. Merdon wasn't there to watch their backs. It was on him to keep these two safe, to be a knight, stalwart and defensive. Laying down his life to make sure nothing bad happened to his companions. Of course, the amount of time he spent drifting between lulling off and focusing himself might have been where he missed the awkward patch of grass to their side. Raised just a little suspiciously.

Shade noticed it too late as well, her body turning to strike as a cover of faux grass and dirt was hurled towards her, knocking her down and revealing Rebeun. The Eyes assassin moved with a speed Thickhide would have had trouble following without his armor. A crystal was cast towards Verist while the man rushed Thickhide, a shield materializing from nowhere and slamming the armor-clad kobold onto his back and sending him tumbling. Shade recovered and swiped at their attacker, her crooked orcish dagger singing in the air with each missed strike. He was so cocky, smiling as he danced back out of her range, his longer legs giving him an advantage over her speed and agility. She had to get closer or make him move towards her if she wanted to land anything serious.

While Shade fought with the assassin, Verist frowned and watched the thrown crystal with curiosity. She had sensed magic the moment it was released from his hand, yet it only laid on the ground. The witch tapped it with her foot, confident it would have already exploded if it were something so dangerous. It didn't budge, even when she pressed against its side. It wasn't large, no bigger than a child's hand, and it hadn't sunk into the ground when it landed. Humming, she reached out and found her hand stopped cold by an invisible wall. Verist smiled and gave the barrier a tap, causing energy to ripple out from where her knuckles landed. Crystal magic, a very rare and expensive form of spell that confirmed only one thing. This assassin was telling the truth about his position in Avant. The king wouldn't give something like this to some lowly contract killer.

Thickhide, in the meantime, had recovered and was going after Rebeun with Shade. Neither of them could get at him. Without the element of surprise that Shade had the first time they met she was evenly matched with him, and Thickhide was not helping her as much as he thought. His sword swings were timely, but swords had more reach than daggers, and Shade was spending as much time trying to stay out of his arcs as she was avoiding their enemy's attacks. Finally, she slipped around him, trying to sandwich the assassin, but he wasn't letting that happen so easily. He moved between them, constantly putting them shoulder to shoulder, limiting their movements. Rebeun dictated the pace of the battle.

Nothing showed that fact more than when he parried one of Thickhide's strikes, blocked Shade's dagger, and then put the armored kobold on his back. Before Shade could react, he had a sword down against Thickhide's armor, which sadly was not nearly as reinforced as it could have been. There were no smiths at Verist's tower after all. The armor had been created magically, which gave it some helpful advantages with weight but was also not up to every possible standard. Moreover, the blade Rebeun held against Thickhide's chest plate was large and heavy, easily capable of crunching through the armor like a giant fang.

“And you lose,” the man said with a smirk. “As kobolds are meant to do.”

Shade scowled, trying to think her way out of the corner without sacrificing Thickhide.

“This spell is impressive,” Verist said, looking at the assassin's weapon. “Where did you learn that?”

“The court mage gave me the crystal to-.”

“No,” Verist said sharply. “This crystal is about as interesting as jewelry. Expensive, intricate, but well understood. I mean your summoning.”

Rebeun frowned. “Trade secret, witch.” He looked at Shade then and ordered, “Drop it, or the dumb one gets it first. I'm not sure which of you two I mean yet.”

Verist crossed her arms, restraining her bile, but waited to see how things would unfold first. The disdain in his voice set her on edge. She had done things she now found regretful, but she did them out of love. Kobolds suffered so much she couldn't imagine they would want to remember their suffering. This man, however, purely despised kobolds.

Shade dropped her dagger but kept her wits about her. She didn't need a weapon to kill him. She watched Rebeun with murderous intent, claws at the ready even if he was watching them. All she needed was one good looking opening.

“Good, keep doing what you're told and maybe you'll get a nice lord to put you to work,” he taunted. Always so confident when he was winning. He grinned and stomped on Thickhide's chest a few times, making the kobold groan as his body was shaken in the armor. “Probably no help for one like you though. A few too many rocks in your head if I had to guess.”

“I'd wager they're both smarter than a dolt like you,” Verist called, her eyes thinning to slits as she summoned up her powers in silence. Her magic slipped out and reached towards the crystal near her feet. It may have kept a lesser mage entrapped, but she was no lesser anything.

Shade glared as the assassin pressed the tip of his broadsword further into Thickhide's armor, starting to press through it. “What was that?” he growled.

“Allow me to rephrase,” she said, stepping back, her hands up as in surrender. And then she unleashed hell.

The prison she'd been placed in exploded in a very violent way, the crystal at her feet bursting into shards, the release of energy flattening the grass for miles around all radiating from Verist's body. Rebeun stumbled back off of Thickhide as Shade was blown totally over trying to stand her ground. As the human assassin recovered his footing, bolts of lightning fell from the sky, leaving him with little choice but to dart about madly to avoid them. Verist watched his frantic movements with serene fury. She thought of that green kobold on the grass, she recalled the blue thief's broken arm, and she channeled those emotions into her magic. People often saw mages as volatile, and there was a point to it. Emotion gave weight to their powers. An apathetic mage would be bowled over, without significant training, by any mild practitioner fueled by sheer trauma. Though it was not her trauma she was funneling, Verist had seen the memories of hundreds of kobolds. Memories of men like the one she had running scared, of humans like him. It had only been Merdon's words that showed her the truth. Erasing their memories meant nothing, but she could do more. She could simply flay those troglodytes herself.

“You think that kobolds are stupid and that gives you some right to insult them?” she yelled out over the thunder she was causing with her electrical attacks. “Then does that mean I've the right to torment you for being stupider than me?”

Rebeun replied by conjuring a pair of thrown weapons and launching them at Verist, both of which were shot down into the dirt by a barrier she placed herself. She watched them get recalled by whatever power he held and smiled as he scowled at his inability to fight her.

“What's wrong? Did you think the court magician's trap would really hold me of all people?” she taunted him now. “His magic is a pale shadow of what's possible, assassin. Let me show you.”

Verist extended both of her arms and began to move them as if conducting an orchestra. Fire surged from the ground, appearing out of nowhere and burning the peaceful landscape with blistering flames. Lightning continued to crack from the heavens, scorching the earth black where it landed, turning up chunks of dirt from the impact. Icicles were flung from the witch's hands as she slashed the air with her arms as if cutting him from afar. Each new attack caused a different response, ranging from blocking the ice with a shield to deftly dodging the dangers she summoned with unearthly speed. Verist was learning a lot about their opponent from watching him flee.

“How does it feel to be the rat in the trap now?” she yelled over the raging destruction she was causing. Verist was actually starting to enjoy displaying her power. One errant blast, however, blocked him from her sight. When the tower of fire receded into the charred landscape, he was gone. “Tsk,” the witch clicked her tongue and then walked over to the kobolds, kneeling to help Thickhide to his feet. Her furious elements dissipating with a silence that belied the devastation they caused.

“What happened?” he asked with a groan, peeling his helmet off and rubbing his head. “I heard the sounds and just stayed still.” Looking over at the blackened soil he was reminded of the beach and the glass that Red had left behind from her assault.

Verist put an arm around him and cooed, “It's okay little one. I had to show the Eyes just who they're messing with when they attack you.” She looked over at the same broken landscape with a smile. This was a testament to her resolve, a mark upon the land itself of what she would do.

Shade recovered her dagger and whistled at the sight. “Guessing we need you around more often when he's going to show up, huh?” she commented. “You could have stepped in a bit sooner though.”

“Indeed I could have,” Verist admitted. “I was hoping he might let loose a little more information before getting abusive. Although I do wonder about his power.”

Shade hummed in both agreement and thought. “Maybe he's been resurrected,” she proposed.

“Yes, those blessed by the gods in such a way do tend to return with substantial power, but I would have heard of that,” the witch insisted. “No one would have kept that kind of event quiet.”

“You're right,” Shade agreed after thinking it over. “We would have heard about it up in the orc lands too. Its been a few hundred years since anyone's seen Ethral, let alone gotten revived by her.” At least a thousand since that. It took someone doing something extraordinary for the gods to even take note of them. For them to bring back the dead required a good show, some humility, and a lot of faith in the gods.

“We should return to Merdon,” Verist suggested, helping Thickhide stand up. “We were ambushed looking for those soldiers. I would imagine if they haven't teleported away as the assassin did, Merdon might be in trouble.”

Shade whipped around in the direction of the forest Merdon had been searching. “You think the soldiers turned back?” she asked in shock. It was possible.

“I don't know,” Verist replied, her tone sharper than a lemon. “And I don't like not knowing things.”

# Book Two, Chapter Twenty Two: Coalition

Verist paused as she came over the hill and saw through the trees of the forest Merdon and the others had been looking over. There were a dozen armored men, at least, laying on the ground in various states of death. Some had been taken out by Red's magic, char or burns from electricity and fire marred their steel as well as the ground, and the witch could only imagine the smell. Enough to make her press a finger to her lips at least to hold down her bile. Others were in pools of blood, some in a lot and others in very little, Merdon and Sarel respectively. The thief's dagger finding much subtler places to disable and end their foes while Merdon had to slice open much bigger wounds due to his larger blade. There was only one Avantian soldier left and he was preoccupied dueling Merdon. A few steps closer and Verist could see Quickclaw and Red standing off to the side while Merdon fought the man.

His swings were wild and untamed. Seeing his comrades struck down had enraged him, Verist assumed, but where his anger exploded like a storm, violently lashing out without rhyme or reason, Merdon fought like the ocean, just as powerful but with more subtly and calculation. The soldier swung rapidly, multiple blows being grazed off Merdon's new shield before the adventurer decided to finish things. He parried several strikes in a row, opening his enemy up on the side he was looking for. It was over so quickly Verist had no time to prepare a spell nor to remind their knight they wanted someone alive. Merdon deflected a strike into a position he found favorable, one where his sword could get between the soldier's armor. Just enough space to get him in the gut, but not be fatal, yet.

As the Avantian pulled back to free himself of Merdon's blade, the adventurer raised and jerked his blade with precision, catching the man's throat between his helm and breastplate. He gurgled and staggered backward, hand at his throat as if it were enough to stem the tide of red pouring from his neck as if his mailed fist could even reach under there enough to help. He turned and stumbled over one of his allies' bodies, falling flat on his stomach with a loud clatter. Merdon wiped his blade clean as the soldier kicked the ground, banging his legs on the body he'd tripped over and making an even greater noise, trying to stand back up and finding his strength fading fast. Within moments his struggle came to a cold and slow end, his legs draped over another body.

Verist approached them with trepidation, not wanting to be attacked by mistake. Closer inspection of the scene revealed arrows sticking out of some trees and the forest floor, while others laid on the ground after being deflected, either by Merdon or Red. A scene painted itself out in Verist's mind where the soldiers doubled back on the orders of that assassin, firing into the forest in the hopes of catching someone off guard. Sarel dove behind a tree, Red cast a barrier, while Merdon bunkered himself behind the large orcish shield he now carried. From there the soldiers entered close combat and were met with skills they were unprepared for. Their target was a small village to the North of the forest, unaware, while here they faced ready and able combatants. Red smote them with lightning and fire, Sarel weaved between them to find gaps in their armor, while Merdon made himself a bulwark, drawing the majority of their attention.

The knight sheathed his weapon and looked around slowly. “We didn't leave a single one alive, did we?” he muttered, muffled further by his helmet.

“No, you didn't,” Verist said, her ears sharp enough to catch such whispers. “Although, I cannot blame you. It seems you were set upon quite quickly.”

Sarel sighed, “Tell me about it. You realize if the villagers see this they're going to think exactly what it looks like?”

“Like some band of mercenaries or warriors killed precious Avantian knights come to protect them from the orcish hordes that are coming?” Shade suggested with a frown. “It does seem that way.”

Merdon let out a mocking laugh. “That's about what happened though, isn't it?” The village wasn't in danger from these soldiers anymore, though it wasn't exactly under threat of the orcs either. Meaning their battle was pointless.

“We should retreat,” Verist suggested, stepping into the small cluster of trees with the others. “We encountered that Eyes assassin over the way and it would be best if we left before he came back with reinforcements.”

Sarel clenched her dagger as Merdon balled his fist in rage. “What happened?” he asked in a voice like a bad winter, cold and harsh.

“I ran him off,” Verist said with pride, “But that's not important. We can discuss details when we're back in the tower.”

Merdon exhaled and nodded, accepting that. Sarel, however, still seemed tense, looking out in the direction Verist and the others had gone. She wanted to find him and give the assassin some payback, even though she knew her skills weren't up to the task, yet. After another few seconds of angst, the kobold thief turned back and stepped close to the others where Verist was starting the teleportation spell. Her time for retribution would come soon enough. When they found the Eyes' base and could strike on their terms, where she would be the one jumping out at him from a dark corner of the room.

Verist recounted their encounter with the assassin once they were back in her white tower and seated around a table. Grot's nostrils were flared and his eyes twitching as she explained the way Shade and Thickhide were dealt with while she was trapped. As she spoke, Skyeyes moved around the table and healed whatever wounds he could, especially on Thickhide. When the witch got to the part where she broke out of her cage and went on the offensive, the orc chief growled and tossed a decorative vase across the room, the shattering sound causing several of them to jump.

“You let him beat them?” the orc huffed, his jaw clenched and fists balled.

“I was hoping he might say something out of turn,” Verist said, remaining calm. “Psychopaths like him have a tendency to think themselves two steps ahead of everyone around them.”

Shade put a hand on Grot's forearm. “She stepped in before he did anything serious,” she assured him.

“A calculated risk,” Verist told them. “The danger was minimal. His knowledge of my magic was off the mark entirely. We should be glad Red was not the one caught in the trap.”

Grot was still fuming. “A risk taken with my mate, witch!”

“Calm down,” Merdon said, becoming the next human to get Grot's ire. “I know how you feel, believe me, I know.” He glanced at Sarel and recalled Verist using her as a weapon against him. “Verist had a decent idea, but highly flawed in its execution.”

“Flawed?” Grot roared, his fingers digging into the heavy wood the table was made from.

Shade slapped his bulky bicep and insisted, “Yes, flawed. It would have been more productive to simply capture the assassin than let him volunteer information.”

Verist nodded in agreement. “It crossed my mind, but I was unsure of how much he was capable of myself. His powers are strange, almost otherworldly.”

“So we're just going to let this slide?” the dark-skinned orc growled at the rest of them.

Red huffed and said, “As much as we seem to be letting everyone slide.” Herself included.

Verist stood and looked Grot in the eyes. “I am sorry,” she said plainly. “I never intended to put her or Thickhide in any danger. The situation was largely under my control, but predicting the actions of unstable men is not exactly my strong suit.”

“We need to know what Avant is up to, Grot,” Merdon reiterated. “Verist did something stupid, you're right to be angry, but what would you suggest we do? Throw her out of the tower? Lock her in a cell? What cell even? We need her as much as we need you.”

The chief-of-chiefs growled for a moment and sat back down. “When this is over, you're going to pay, witch.”

Verist seated herself once more and shook her head. “You will have to find me, Grot, and if I've not earned your forgiveness by then, rest assured you'll not ever catch me.”

He frowned at that, realizing it was true. “What now?”

“We have to rally the kobolds,” Skyeyes spoke up. “That was what we were going to do before getting sidetracked with these plots and assassins.”

Shade hummed. “We'll also need to train them,” she mentioned. “That will mean transport to the orc lands if you ask me.”

“Yes,” Merdon agreed, leaning back, trying to relax from the tense moment that had barely abated. “It's difficult, though not impossible, to train regiments in secret. Some guerrilla armies have done it, but it's a lot more trouble than it's worth.”

Verist smirked and said, “Especially when you have a witch that can teleport said army to almost any location.”

“So we take them to the stronghold and we train them,” Grot restated, processing the ideas himself. “How do we rally them, exactly?”

“They want to see a showing of orcs,” Red told him. “We promised them orcs were going to go to war with humans, they want to know it for themselves.”

“And then we're just supposed to sit on our heels until the witch finds the assassins?” Grot assumed.

“It's the best plan we have,” the witch in question told him. “It shouldn't take me too long to find them now that I have a real idea of where to start looking.”

Merdon sighed, and commented, “Maybe not too quick. We have to train a bunch of kobolds, remember?”

“You never know,” Grot said with a smirk, “They might surprise you the same way us orcs did.”

Grot frowned as he took in the sight of the kobold village around him. It was the same one Red and Skyeyes had visited before, with the homes built into hollowed trees, the first of many to reject them and their ideas. To say what he saw was as impressive as it was crude would be accurate. That the kobolds could hollow out these trees so well tickled the orc's imagination, but the way they behaved, their lack of even basic looking equipment, gave him pause. Somehow, Grot had never suspected the kobolds of Avant were so unprepared. Even hearing Shade's stories of their general cowardice, of their hidden settlements, he had always believed some of them were more prepared. Seeing Quickclaw and the others had assured him of that, but now he was much less sure of himself. The kobolds were looking at him with awe from afar, too timid to approach. Even their elder stepped with shaking that was uncharacteristic of an old kobold. It made the chief-of-chiefs uncomfortable.

“I wish we hadn't left Merdon behind,” he grumbled softly to Shade, who clung to his armor on his back.

“They would have kicked us out at a moment's notice,” she replied. “In fact, it may be best we don't mention him until much later in our discussions.”

Grot let out a rumbling sigh. “I'm not good at this tiptoe stuff,” he reminded her.

Ahead of them, Red was puffing herself up and giving a great little introduction. She smugly berated the kobolds for disbelieving her, introducing Grot as the head of all orcs, that his words and commands would carry through the entirety of the orc clans. She wasn't wrong but it put the dark-skinned orc on the spot. He couldn't snap his fingers and make all the other orcs do ballet, there were limits to his authority. Still, as he stepped forward to speak with the kobolds, he held his head high, did his best to seem intimidating, powerful, in control. Even with a kobold riding on his back.

He stepped forward and took control of the discussion, cutting off Red to do. The mage blushed, a sight well hidden by her scales, and stepped aside for him. Grot just had to do what came naturally to him. The orcs listened, by and large, so the kobolds would too.

“Your kind has been enslaved too long,” he bellowed, swiping at the air with his arm, making sure all eyes were on him. “The humans walk over you, and us, and almost all other races of the world with a casualness only dragons have possessed before them. Their greed and hate outweighs all the gold and treasure in the world, and so their vision comes down to you, to us, and who knows who else in the future. They seek to have that which they should not: Our very lives, bodies, and damned if they wouldn't try to claim our souls once we pass as well.”

The kobolds were alert at his words. Most of them understood what he was saying, the few that didn't were more appealed by his conviction and tenor. He was a giant, a beast that fought against the humans many times before. His presence alone was awe-inspiring to the kobolds.

Grot's conviction wavered as he looked at the mass of kobolds standing in front of him. Not his desire to see them freed, nor his knowledge that they would have to fight, and possibly die, for such a right, but in what he was keeping from them. The orc took a steadying breath, inhaling deeply to steady his nerves as he thought about his next move.

“You will have to work with those you'd rather not,” he told them vaguely, at first. “You know the suffering wrought by human hands, as do we, but understanding must be reached that it's not all humans that would do this to you.”

Shade tensed on his back as the kobolds looked at each other in confusion. “What are you doing?” the assassin hissed.

“What Merdon did,” Grot mumbled back before addressing the crowd. He had their attention, it was their trust that was faltering. He needed to reaffirm. “I ask you, have you heard rumors of the kobold whisperer?”

The crowd's whispers grew in volume, rising to a hushed discussion. They had heard, but they doubted.

“I know him,” Grot told them. “He has freed kobolds from Ardmach, the human's stronghold, converted the witch of the white tower to our cause, and both of them have helped the orcs start this war against Avant.”

Dead silence filled the forest as if even the birds feared to speak after such a list of actors. The orcs were working with humans against humans. They had seen Shade, as well as Red standing next to Grot, and so it was easy to guess there were kobolds involved as well. Grot had formed some sort of coalition. Some of them looked upset, others intrigued, and a few amazed. It must have taken some miracle to get all of those forces to align together.

“The Whisperer is not your enemy,” Grot continued. “His mate is one of your kind, whom he freed from captivity without incentive or guilt, but out of plain moral fiber.”

Thickhide stepped up beside Grot and butted in, “It's true! And he's the one that trained me to fight.”

While the chief-of-chiefs looked sour at the interruption, the crowd's discussion raised to a near cacophony, their words reaching the dark-skinned orc clearly.

“Ironhide was trained by a human?”

“Well, it makes sense. Armor and swords are human weapons, I guess.”

“We were saved by a human trained kobold?”

The green-scaled kobold seemed confused until the elder of the coastal village stepped out of the crowd and addressed him directly. “Tell me truthfully, Ironhide, warrior that helped save our community, were you truly trained by a human? Is that to what we owe your arrival in our settlement?”

Thickhide, still processing the incorrect name, nodded. “Merdon sent us to gather you while he spoke with the orcs.” Again, the crowd began speaking among themselves.

Grot's face dipped into a severe frown as he listened to them. Maybe Shade was right about keeping Merdon's name out of things. However, it was Merdon that had told the truth in a similar situation to his own, and Grot felt it was wrong to keep their driving force from the kobolds. Merdon had gathered them together. He deserved, at least, to be known to all those that joined their ranks.

After a few minutes, the crowd died down and seemed to come to some quiet agreement. Grot had missed whatever particulars they had come to but became highly alert when the silence fell in the forest. The elder addressed them once more, joined this time by the kobold elder of the forest village they were seeking refuge in.

“We agree to this,” the coastal elder said to them.

“But there is a condition,” the elder of the forest added quickly. “Many of our kobolds wish to be trained as Ironhide has been, to use human weapons and armor.” To take further strength from their oppressors.

Grot nodded, suddenly trying to figure out how he could use a regiment of short armored lizards. Less strength than a human, less height meaning shields couldn't block arrows, less reach, less speed than a kobold, it was a tactical nightmare. They made their demands though, and it was simply his job to agree to them at that juncture. The kobolds still had a solid information network through Avant, and, with any luck, they might know a way into Ardmach itself without being spotted by the guards. If Grot had to surrender a few kobolds to armor and steel, so be it. It was a fair trade for all the quick wits and secrets he would gain in the process.

“It's a deal,” the orc agreed verbally. “I'm sure Merdon will have no problems teaching you all how to fight.” There was no way an orc could teach them. Maybe there were other kobolds in the orc lands that had tried it. He would have to look into that.

Red looked at Grot and commented slyly, “Now we wait.”

The orc sighed and shook his head. “No, now we train, and hope Avant doesn't do something ahead of schedule again.” Or else they might not be ready for the war they had started.

# Book Two, Chapter Twenty Three: Training

Merdon roared as his shield slammed into the large-bodied orc. His green-skinned sparring partner was taken by surprise at the assault, his defense lacking in the face of the human's assault. He had barely managed to get a portion of his massive blade in front of him before Merdon crashed into him in full armor. Eyes wide, the orc looked down at the human as he came just far enough off the ground to be hurled across the dirty training field. Grot watched, slack-jawed, at the moment before him. Shade, at his side, looked just as surprised as the human stepped back, panting heavily, and eyed his recovering opponent. The dust had settled around the orc's body as he got his legs back under him. Shaking all over, the orc sat down, at last shaking his head in surrender.

“I thought Merdon needed a human to train him,” Shade said to Grot, eyeing her mate. Naturally, they had converged to speak about their respective apprentices.

“I told him as much,” Grot said, folding his arms. “He didn't tell me he had the bullhead of an orc.”

Merdon, across the way, peeled his helmet off, sweat pouring down his face like rain, leaving his short hair matted down on top of his head. He shook it off and looked at the sidelines. Another half dozen orcs stood, nervously now, waiting for their own sparring session. “Let's take a break,” the human said, catching the mood of the room. The orcs nodded and dispersed with deliberate care. Not too fast to appear afraid and not slow enough to get called back.

The knight took a deep breath and approached the orc he'd knocked flat, offering a hand. “I wasn't too rough, was I?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“Not at all, Whisperer,” the orc said, taking Merdon's hand more as a gesture of goodwill than anything else. He could have easily pulled the human down to the ground with his weight. “The younger orcs are simply surprised. We tell tales of murderous humans killing orcs by the dozens in enchanted armor. Rarely do we speak of the few warriors that can battle us one on one.”

Merdon grunted in acceptance of that. “I suppose you haven't too many of those stories to begin with.”

The orc, standing again, gave him a smile. “Not many, no. Wars do not lend themselves to single combat.” Most of their stories were about triumph over the humans in groups, though their strength was beyond one normal man, there were hardened veterans that could stack up. With Grot's help, Merdon was becoming one of them.

The chief-of-chiefs stepped over and patted Merdon on the shoulder, causing the knight to bend and wince. “Good job,” he told the human. “You're starting to learn.”

“Starting,” Merdon gasped, rolling his probably bruised shoulder. “I have a long way to go before I match up to your warriors in a serious fight.”

Grot shrugged, “That's why I said starting, human. If my men were intending to kill you'd have to fight a few of them at once. You're not there, yet.”

Merdon chuckled and shook his head. “I doubt I'll ever be that strong without magic.”

“You never know,” Grot said with a smirk. “Keep training and we'll see what happens.”

“Assuming I survive this war.”

The dark-skinned orc nodded grimly and added, “Assuming any of us do, Merdon. Nothing is certain. The best we can do is our best, and hope the winds are in our favor.”

Their discussion was cut off by the sudden continuation of Sarel's training. The blue kobold had found a place to climb the orcs' wall, evaded several guards, and used the advantage to land on top of Shade in a surprise attack. It was one of the last parts of her training, the element of surprise. The black kobold was extremely stunned as she was tackled to the ground, rolled end over end, and pinned to the ground by the blue-scaled lizard. After a quick assessment of the situation, however, she turned the grapple around on the thief, launching her backward and twisting up to her feet.

Sarel was not done just yet though. She landed on her feet and darted towards Shade, sliding out of the blue onto the dusty ground towards her target's legs. Shade covered her face, trying to keep the dirt out of her eyes. A futile effort as she found her legs entangled by Sarel's, and moments later got dragged into the dust cloud the thief had kicked up. Grot turned to watch, what he could, as the silhouettes in the dirt scrapped with each other. Neither of them made a sound and their scuffle caused the cloud to slowly expand until the sounds stopped.

Merdon and Grot watched with burning interest, neither of them daring to blink, ears turned sharp and open for any noise. The dust fell, one shadow on top of another. Merdon took a step forward.

Sarel had her claw around Shade's neck, her other arm drawn back and poised stab or slash as necessary. Shade had both of her claws up and against Sarel, prepared to dig them into her. Neither of them had won, seemingly. As easily as Sarel could strangle or stab Shade, the other could leave her with a fatal wound on her chest. After a moment, the pair relaxed, the blue kobold helping her friend up.

“I think that's as far as I can get you,” Shade admitted with a smile. “The only thing you haven't done at this point is to sneak into someone's house and kill them.”

Sarel chuckled and told her, “Just wait. There are many in Ardmach that deserve it.”

Merdon stepped closer with a smile on his face. Sarel was a quick study, he knew that, yet he was still very proud of her for managing to catch up with Shade so quickly. The blue kobold grinned at Merdon and put her hands on her hips with confidence. He didn't need to say anything to her, she knew from the look on his face.

“I think we can take a break too,” Merdon said, still smiling.

Sarel nodded and started to walk off with him. “It's after midday,” she noted. “The cooks should be done with lunch.”

“Thank the gods,” Merdon stated with a breath like an explosion. “I missed breakfast because I was soaking my muscles after yesterday.”

The thief giggled and slapped his shin with her tail. “You'll be doing that more often if you keep throwing orcs around.”

While the pair were heading off, Grot looked at Shade and asked, “Did she really get the drop on you?”

She looked shocked. “Why would I lie to her, verakt?”

The chief-of-chiefs loosed a low chuckle and told her, “I saw the blue one's shadow twice as she moved around the parapet. You're getting sloppy.”

Shade looked aghast at his suggestion but considered it nonetheless. “Maybe I am,” she admitted. “Might be what taking a rookie under your wing does. You forget the nuances teaching broad strokes.”

“Are you saying we both need training?” the dark-skinned orc accused.

She looked at him flatly and said, “When was the last time you stepped into the arena?”

Grot riled up a retort, but it died on his tongue. She was just as right as he had been. They were both out of practice. A week of training others had dulled them. “A week of rust isn't hard to clean off a sword,” he mentioned. “I doubt it's any harder to get off us.”

“If we practice,” Shade mentioned.

Grot sighed and stretched. “I'll go find a few guards.”

Merdon had been pulling double duties, and after his lunch with Sarel came the second half of his work. He was standing next to Thickhide, the green kobold fully equipped, and watching their handful of kobold recruits experimenting with their armor. It had been custom made by the smiths in the orc city and it was their first day wearing it. Before they had to make do with ill-fitting scraps to simulate the weight, on that day they finally looked like a group. Thickhide was excited, to say the least. His tail thumped against the ground a few times as he looked over them but stopped when he got control over himself again.

As soon as the kobolds were outfitted, the green one stepped forward to give them instruction. Their first task was laps, just as Merdon had made him run in the tower. It raised groans from the crowd, but they had long been over the reasons why. Their armor slowed them, they needed to be aware of just how fast they could move in their armor, to know when a strike could be dodged, and when it needed to be blocked or parried. Thickhide joined them as an example, and while he didn't lead the pack in terms of speed he was the only one not out of breath when they finished.

The green-scaled kobold then subtly looked to Merdon for what to do next. He did a good job of imitating the things Merdon had made him do in Verist's tower but was helpless beyond that. Merdon quietly suggested sword-play, by grabbing the hilt of his own blade. Thickhide nodded enthusiastically and turned back to the recruits to instruct them to get ready. Their blades were smaller than a human's but larger than the knives and daggers kobolds were more commonly familiar with. Many of them had to hold them with both claws just to raise the blade off the ground. That would need to be fixed and it was exactly where they started. The green-scaled kobold demonstrated a few proper one-handed swings as he told the group to not be discouraged by their current lack of strength. Most important for them starting out was to build their muscle strength to use their equipment effectively, then they could focus on better techniques.

That was where Merdon came in. The human pulled his sword out and slung his shield over his arm, waving Thickhide to attack him. With only a little reluctance, the kobold moved forward, striking with a powerful overhead. Merdon caught it with his shield and pushed up, moving to thrust his blade at the kobold, who raised his own shield in response. Both attacks stalled, the pair retracted their blades and went for a new angle. This time Merdon went first, slicing at Thickhide's exposed side. The kobold stepped backward out of range and then lunged forward, aiming at Merdon's relatively unprotected legs. A gamble that didn't pay off, as the human readjusted his stance to avoid the attack and brought a knee towards Thickhide's face. He only just avoided the armored leg by rolling sideways, then backward, acrobatically, before springing up and raising his shield, a readied stance Merdon had explained. Any time he lost visual contact with the enemy, the shield was to go up in defense.

It was short, but exciting, and caught the interest of the kobolds watching. That was their future, being able to stand against a human with their own equipment. The demonstration over, Thickhide lowered his guard, sheathed his blade, and went back to shouting at the knights-in-training. They had a long way to go before they were ready, and they had much less time to get there than Thickhide had gotten. Grot had planned their invasion for as soon as Verist located the Eyes' training camp. It would be their first target. The kobolds wanted to help. How much time they had was uncertain, but Merdon would have liked to give them several months at least. It was doubtful they would get even one.

The next day came with the sweltering heat that signaled the end of spring and the start of summer. Where the mornings were hot and muggy before the sun even rose, the men, or orcs rather, grumbled as they changed guard, and the sight of the sunrise made them swear. A morning where Merdon awoke with the blankets kicked off, his body already moist, and a certain irritability setting into his bones. The castle stronghold seemed to do little against the heat, either because of its construction or a natural reaction of the building materials Merdon didn't know, but regardless it was only just cooler inside than outside. Sarel stirred with much the same grumpiness that Merdon had, promptly excusing herself to the baths. Kobolds could sweat. Yet another thing they must have taken from their human splicing. The knight wondered just how far that genetic similarity went when a heavy fist pounded at the door.

“You up yet?” Grot called from the other side, more awake than Merdon was by far.

“Barely,” the knight replied, pulling on his padded clothes. He could sweat, or he could have sun-heated metal pressed against his flesh all day. One was infinitely preferable after Red's mark.

The orc chief chuckled from the other side of the door. “Meet me on the field as soon as you can,” he told the knight before walking off. Merdon could tell from the footsteps that Grot was armored already.

He was curious, but not curious enough to skip a light breakfast and catch Sarel in the process. The blue thief shrugged at Merdon's story, unaware of what the chief-of-chiefs could want with him either, outside of the usual training. Their answer came when the knight stepped out onto the training grounds in the early morning light and saw Grot stretching, swinging his weapon casually, adjusting to its weight after his long absence from serious combat. Merdon, equally armored, looked at the orcs standing nearby, the ones looking between the two quietly. Orcs were not often quiet.

“Grot?” Merdon asked, apprehensively.

“We're sparring, Merdon,” the dark-skinned orc told him, hefting his ax up with both hands. “I gave the boys a thrashing yesterday afternoon and it reminded me of why I became a chief to begin with.”

Sarel chuckled, stepping out of the way. “Because you really don't like fighting?”

Grot laughed along. “No, little one. Because I'm the best in this whole region. There isn't an orc in this city I couldn't pound into a paste, and the human has been working his way up there.”

Merdon drew his sword and readied his shield. “Couldn't find a ravine for us to fight in?” he joked, nervously.

“I could have,” the chief-of-chiefs shrugged. “But it would have taken a little too long to march everyone out there just to watch me beat you again.”

The knight set his jaw and banged his shield, that familiar hum starting at his side. “You won because my shield broke,” he told Grot. “Not this time.”

The orc smiled and hefted his ax. No more words, only actions.

Merdon took advantage of the only positive he had over an orc, his size and speed. The knight dashed forward and made to intercept Grot's first swing, significantly reducing its impact. His shield might not have been breakable, but his bones were. Stopping Grot's swing before it had time to build up momentum saved him a lot of pain and opened the orc up to a few good swings in retaliation. Nothing near-fatal, but enough to make the chief more cautious of how he moved in the future. Testing, the orc angled a kick at Merdon, which went through, catching the knight in the shin.

Both combatants stepped back and reevaluated their situation. Merdon glanced at his shield and realized it didn't pull in every possible attack. It was a radius, or perhaps an angle. He had to be facing the general direction of a swing to block it. An attack from behind, or below, could get through. Grot came to the same conclusion and held his ax at a lower angle as he approached. Merdon rolled his shoulders and took a tighter, lower stance. The shield was large already, being made for an orc, but there were flaws in the angles. He had to cover himself. This was valuable information to him already.

Grot swung again, aiming from bottom-up, and Merdon blocked by pointing his shield down, which would have opened himself up to the orc's free fist, if not for his shoulder charge. Orcs were not so easy to move given their size and weight, and so it spoke volumes to the audience when Grot staggered backward, nearly dropping his weapon in the process. Merdon followed up with a fist, wrapped around his sword, to try and get the orc further away. He was too close for a proper swing, and also too close for the knight to put his weapon away to punch normally. The orc chief smirked and started a hectic barrage against Merdon, ignoring the shield blocking every strike.

“You have to make a move,” Grot shouted at Merdon.

“Not if my shield's unbreakable!” the knight replied, wincing at his already sore arm.

And then, the shield went quiet. Merdon blinked and looked at his first, last, and only real line of defense. He'd spent too much time on the offensive. Grot had planned to wait out the enchantment the whole time. As long as he pressed the knight, Merdon couldn't reactivate the spell with his own tap. The chief-of-chiefs grinned and swung hard, sideways, catching Merdon's shield and opening him up. It went flying, and Merdon thrust his own blade forward in a frantic assault. Grot froze as Merdon did. The knight's blade would have caught him in a space between his linked plates, but it wouldn't have killed. They could both see that.

“Not bad,” Grot muttered.

Merdon shook his head. “Not good,” he panted back. “I need more practice.”

The orc shrugged and lowered his weapon. “Aye, but you're still standing, aren't you?” The knight cocked his head ever so slightly at that. “When we first fought,” Grot reminded him, “You were on your knees taking a beating from my ax in seconds. You might have lost, but you lost on your feet. Maybe next time you'll keep your shield, and then...” Maybe he'd start winning.

“Baby steps,” Merdon simplified, sighing.

Grot laughed, “You've made a lot more than that, but as long as you don't get comfortable, think about it however you'd like.”

He'd fought other orcs and come out on top, just not Grot. He'd lasted longer, made a more even match for the chief-of-chiefs than the first time they fought. Merdon had made many strides in his weeks of training with the orcs, but the doubt had to remain, it had to be the fuel to move him forward. Would that training be enough? His enemy wasn't a mountain of muscle. No, the Eyes assassin was fast, cunning, and had some magical weapons at his disposal that Merdon couldn't practice against. At least, not in the same way.

The knight recovered himself and looked at the orcs standing around. Swords, axes, shields, spears, all hanging on backs or sides. He pointed to four orcs, each with different weapons.

“Come with me,” he told them. “I have some special training to do.”

# Book Two, Chapter Twenty Four: Intensity

“You have a frightening grasp on fire and lightning, but the other basic elements seem to be eluding you,” Verist said, legs crossed as she sat on a metal chair padded with some luxurious material the kobold in front of her couldn't recognize. The intricate molding seemed like it would have snapped under the weight of someone like Grot, yet it held up perfectly with the witch atop it. Only serving to exacerbate Red's condition just a few feet away struggling to lift a single stone from the white tower's floor with her magic.

The mage was panting heavily, all of her mind focused on moving a block that was only the size of her body. She had blown away larger pieces of ground, yet lifting it with the same kind of magic Verist used to move the tower walls and such around was like trying to lift Merdon in his armor. Red felt the strain in her body as much as her mind. Sweat dripped off her snout and ran down her back like a river. Which only reminded her of the water manipulation she failed hours beforehand.

“Why is this... so damn hard?” she struggled to utter before dropping the stone back into place unceremoniously. The heavy thud of the block shook the area around her feet and made the red-scaled mage reel. Red panted and wiped her forehead before glaring at Verist. “Fire, lightning, easy. Water? Impossible. Earth, I'd have an easier time physically throwing these things.”

The witch nodded and shrugged. “Every mage aligns to some elemental type. There's no weakness involved as some have speculated, simply that certain elements come easier than others. Fire was easy for you because you're well attuned to it, and that's just a short hop to electricity. Water, earth, ice, wind, those sorts of things are practically on the opposite end of the spectrum for you.” Verist said all of it with authority, leaving Red no real room to complain or argue.

“I don't have time to stumble,” she told the witch as she stood up straight and started to concentrate again. Moving the stone had been easier than the water, so it was better practice.”

“Please, even if you were to gain a perfect understanding of the vast elemental forces out there we still have many pure magical spells to learn,” Verist told her. “Don't break your mind so quickly learning parlor tricks.”

Red's hand dropped to her side and she narrowed her eyes at the witch. “Parlor tricks? So what isn't a parlor trick to you?”

Verist smiled and leaned forward. “Do you remember the spell you cast right here in this room?” At the top of the tower, against Verist herself. Red nodded, it was impossible to forget that fight. They'd almost died. “Most magic can be accomplished without incantations or chants,” she began, standing up and walking over to a bookshelf. “The few that do require vocal commands are leagues above the ones that don't. You don't simply call forth magic from within, you pull it from the air, the earth, everything around you, the very cosmos itself.”

“Sounds fake to me.” Red crossed her arms and tapped her foot against the white stone of the tower. “I didn't feel any different casting that spell than any other.”

“Of course not,” Verist replied, shaking her head as she pulled a book from the shelf. “You pulled all your mana out, as well as the mana of the world around you. Think about it like digging a ditch from a lake to a stream. The stream is much smaller, but the larger burst of water still flows the same direction.”

The witch sat the book on the table, drawing Red's curiosity if nothing else. Inside, as Verist flipped to the page, someone had detailed the exact spell Red had spoken nearly a year before. Its effects, how to counter it, how it was made, even who had created it. Some great wizard attuned to fire in years past, apparently.

“So?” the kobold asked, looking sideways at Verist. “What's the point?”

Verist sighed. “You could spend the rest of your life rounding your skills out, Red. You could master all the elemental spells in the world, but when confronted by any great mage, anyone near the caliber of me, that one incantation would be stronger than casting every other spell you know without one.” The witch then smirked and turned a few pages, revealing a spell of great lightning. “And there's more.”

Red's mouth opened involuntarily as she realized what Verist was getting at. Learning how to throw rocks with her mind, maybe conjure barriers, or pull moisture from the air, was mastering basics. If she wanted to deal damage, and by the gods, she wanted to turn Ardmach into a second sun by the time they got there, she needed to double down on what she already knew. To become the best fire-spitting lizard smaller than a dragon.

“Where do I start?” she asked, looking at Verist with renewed vigor.

The witch chuckled. “Easy, memorize the spells and incantations. When you can repeat them in your sleep, you'll never lose them. Once you have that, it's simple practice.”

“You seem distracted,” Skyeyes said the next morning as he sat across from Red in their room within the tower. Their legs were crossed and the priest's eyes were closed. Even still, he could sense the mage's emotions.

Red sighed and rubbed her face with her claws. “Training with Verist wears me out,” she deflected.

“Take the time we use to meditate to reflect on what you're learning,” he offered.

“It's not that easy,” Red replied, her voice starting to rise in that familiar, angry way. “I know she's helping me, she gave me a whole spellbook to memorize, but it feels wrong.”

The white-scaled kobold sighed and opened his eyes to look at her. “Why? Because you're accepting help from a human?”

“Yeah,” Red admitted, deflating the moment she did. “No, not just a human, because it's Verist of all of them.”

“Once we capture the country, maybe you can find a mage that isn't Verist to teach you how to burn humans,” Skyeyes suggested sardonically. “Until then, she's the best we have.”

The mage scoffed. “She'll probably be better than anyone we find out there anyway. I'm upset at how she acts.”

Skyeyes raised a brow. “Would you care to explain?”

Red sighed, “It's just … she does stuff like let me waste days and weeks practicing moving rocks and whatever, then she out of the blue mentions it would be better for fighting if I mastered these weird chants.”

“You're upset that she let you do what you wanted to do and come to a wall before giving advice?” he surmised. “Like how you had to assault Merdon before listening to me about your temper.”

The red-scaled kobold drew herself up, chest puffed, claw extended to point in accusation, but reality hit her and she popped instead. “Wow, is it that bad?” she muttered, looking at the floor.

“It's a problem that you have,” Skyeyes admitted, only sugar-coating it enough to sidestep a tantrum. “Verist is trying to help you, but she knows you won't ask for her advice until you've exhausted your own ideas first. You get these notions, Skravna, and you don't let go of them until you personally run every one of them down and leave yourself frustrated beyond sanity.”

She was quiet for a moment, processing that, before responding quietly, “But I've been working on it.” Her tone was unsure, almost a question.

“You have,” the priest admitted, moving closer and putting an arm around the mage. “But the others will need to see outward improvement for themselves before they can change how they approach you.”

“How?” Red's question was simple and direct. She wanted to change now.

“You start by clearing your mind, closing your eyes, and concentrating,” Skyeyes told her. “You focus on your actions, reflect on yourself, and try to remember how you were the next time something comes up, and then choose to be different.”

Red exhaled and closed her eyes again, the priest next to her doing the same. They sat in silence for several minutes as Red tried to follow that advice. She reflected on how she had acted, how her emotions had controlled her. It was embarrassing to admit, yet that was the first step in her moving on. After some time and thought, something occurred to the mage which made her open her eyes and glance at Skyeyes.

The white-scaled kobold almost looked asleep. He was perfectly calm and deep in his own mind, a state Red still struggled to reach. Everything felt amplified when she settled down, from the hard floor to the little ambient noises like folks passing in the hallway or a nearby candle wick burning. Skyeyes, however, seemed to tune it all out without difficulty. His meditative state was honed and professional. Which only raised her question higher.

“Skyeyes?” she asked gently, “Does this help you? Having a clear mind and all that stuff?”

The priest nodded, without opening his eyes. “My loss of power after our journey through Ardmach was due to internal strife over my faith. My power comes from my own belief and that of the goddess. Shaken as I was, there was no power to draw on. It was only when I settled down that I was able to help Merdon. Acuity is important for me, and many mages.”

Red nodded, though her partner couldn't see that. It was mostly a gesture for herself. If he could manage to meditate through his problems of faith, after everything he'd told her about what happened in the cathedral, she could certainly match him. It was just sitting still and clearing out her mind. That couldn't be so hard to master.

Across the tower, Verist was spending some time attempting to butter up the green-scaled Thickhide. Her scrying orb would alert her to any suspicious movements in the location she had it watching, making the job entirely autonomous and freeing up her time better spent elsewhere. Like watching the kobold knight as he trained on his own. He followed the instructions Merdon had given well, but with the lack of fluidity the adventurer had. That sort of flow that came with being a seasoned fighter. Thickhide was going through the motions without knowing why he did them, without purpose or thought beyond training. He started slowly, attempting to perfect the little things, and then repeated them faster. Nothing was fancy or over-the-top. The kobold was focused on the basics of defending himself and defeating others. An art that was difficult to practice alone, if not downright impossible.

Verist found his dedication to be admirable. In a similar sense, she felt that about Merdon as well, but less strongly. Merdon had been a honed fighter his entire life, from birth to his chosen profession, the human was a warrior. Thickhide, however, had explicitly picked this path for himself. With no prior training or knowledge, the kobold had decided he wanted to fight, to improve himself beyond the life he knew as a servant. In a way, it reminded the witch of herself. Though she wouldn't admit that so openly, not even internally. It was the struggle, she decided, that made Thickhide's training more enticing to watch. Merdon's movements were with purpose, direction, intent. The human knew what each move he practiced was for and he moved in those exact ways. He bent his knees when pretending to block, imitating the weight of the strike, varying its heft and his bend to match. Thickhide simply held up his shield before proceeding to the next part of the act. One of them would be more prepared than the other, their life more uncertain, and Verist found that more valuable to pay attention to.

When Thickhide finished, taking his helm off and wiping his brow with a claw, the witch approached as if on air. Her shoes never seemed to make a sound on the stone floor of the tower. At least, they didn't when she was focused. Like a wolf stalking its prey, she came up to the kobold's side and smiled. “Finished?”

Thickhide jumped sideways and held his sword a little tighter before his brain registered the sights and sounds of the witch. “Oh, Verist, yes,” he said quickly.

The witch chuckled at the reaction. “You're more like Merdon every day, you know?” she teased and complimented him at once.

He blushed and looked at his blade, still held fast in his claw. “It's nice of you to say so.”

“You don't believe it?” she asked with a smile. “The way you fought the slavers, saved those kobolds on the beach, and now you're training more.”

Thickhide nodded, but told her, “I'm far from as practiced as he is. I can see it when we spar.”

“That will come in time,” she assured him. Then, changing the subject, she pondered, “I wonder what his relationship with the blue kobold is like.”

“They are very close,” the green one said earnestly.

“Yes,” Verist said slowly, “But, I mean in a more intimate sense. Relationships between kobolds as a whole are rather undocumented, let alone them and other races.”

The knightly kobold shuffled his feet nervously and admitted, “I wouldn't know about any of that. I didn't really get a chance to before...” He was enslaved. Thickhide had been a human captive for most of his life.

As much as Verist felt sorrow for his admission, it also prompted her to move closer. “Perhaps we can find out,” she flirted.

Thickhide, however, considered, “Maybe you should ask Skyeyes. I don't think he's ever been a slave.”

Verist was torn between groaning and slapping the green one into some sense. “I didn't quite mean it like that,” the witch replied, a touch stern.

“Sorry,” the green kobold apologized, shifting in his armor, trying to settle a feeling he couldn't place. “I'm a little nervous about this,” he told her. “You're going to find these bad guys, right?”

Verist nodded. She was on their trail. Something was sure to turn up any day.

“When you do, we have to go fight them.” He looked at the floor as he spoke, his claw gripped around his sword hilt. “That man, the one that attacked us, broke Quickclaw's arm.” The leader of the Eyes.

“We'll deal with him,” Verist told the kobold with a smile. “You saw how I ran him off.”

Thickhide nodded, but argued, “He wasn't ready for you. In his own fortress, he might be.” The armored kobold exhaled sharply, gathering what nerves he had left, looked Verist in the face, and told her, “If something happens, I'll keep you safe.” A weight was crushing his chest even as he spoke, and it didn't remove itself as Verist blinked and leaned back, stupified.

She had been flirting, yes, but Thickhide's remark was far from what she had in mind. The way the little green lizard stood in his polished steel armor, blade in hand, trying to keep the nerves from showing on his face, and failing, it was downright adorable. As if compelled, she reached out and stroked the top of his head. It was impossible not to, and the green-scaled kobold only blushed in response.

“Thank you,” Verist said, as honestly as a witch like her could manage. “Hopefully we won't need it.”

Thickhide nodded in agreement with that desire. He didn't want anything to put them in danger, even though they all knew what they were coming up against. There was no avoiding the bloodshed and consequences of their rebellion. It would be a long time before any of them could be safe.

# Book Two, Chapter Twenty Five: Snooping

The tension in the air was as thick as forest foliage when Verist called for a meeting just a week later. Merdon had wanted more time than that even for himself to train. Yet, time was not on their side, things never went according to plan. There was only one reason Verist would have asked for them to meet in her room atop the white tower in the frozen North. She had found the Eyes' training facility. How and where had yet to be seen, but as Merdon, Grot, Shade, and Sarel teleported to the room, they all knew in the back of their minds. Skyeyes and Red were already there, seated on the metal chairs, faces stern and unflinching. Verist was calm as well, an uncannily serious look on her face as she waited for the four arrivals to sit down around the table. Grot was the first to move, his frame barely fitting on the seat that the witch had conjured just for him. Sarel and Shade moved at nearly the same time, with Merdon being the last to sit down.

On the table in front of them was Verist's scrying crystal, currently staring at some nondescript manor in the middle of nowhere Avant. They all knew that was their target, it had to be. It was no secret that the witch had been watching places exactly like that looking for signs of their enemies. If they were watching one in particular at that moment, then that was what they were looking for. Each of them tried to spot something off. A trail, a sign, movement in the windows, anything that would tell them what Verist had found. A numb hyper-awareness came over them all as if they had become pure consciousness to travel to that mansion on the plains. The warmth of the tower faded into the void with their forms until Verist cleared her throat.

“As we have gathered,” she said, her eyes dragging across each of them, “I've located our target.” Her voice was calm and steady, far from her usual grandiose act. Somehow, it made Merdon even tenser.

“How'd you figure it out?” Grot asked, still staring at the orb.

“Many merchant wagons stop off at the manor,” the witch said, directing their attention to the road that led to the building. “They come in often enough to have worn down a path. The groundskeepers try and keep the road in order, but the signs are there.”

“Lotsa wagons drop off stuff,” Grot grumbled. “What makes this special? Looks like a big place to me.”

Verist nodded, “However, I've counted. The number of people who go into the manor is more than the number that comes out.”

Merdon leaned forward, catching the drift. “They stay. Do you see them again?”

The witch shook her head. “There's a spot in the back where I've seen riders head out in the night, covered by cloaks, always in pairs, never more than four a night.”

“Finished recruits,” Shade guessed. “Or perhaps scouts, agents on a mission.” The list went on.

Verist stood, commanding their attention. “This is the only house I've watched that has this level of activity. If this isn't their base of operations then something is happening there regardless.”

“We need more information,” Grot surmised. The orc leaned back and stared at the ceiling, envisioning their movements, using the lines in the bricks above him as units of measurement. “There's cover to the back of the manor,” he started. “Trees, a copse, maybe a forest. If we could position ourselves in there, watch the place up close, snag a couple of their riders...”

Shade shook her head, “Pointless, Grot, and you know it. We need to know if our enemies are hiding in that mansion, and we have the perfect method to access it without alerting them.”

The chief-of-chiefs swung his head down so fast it made Merdon wince. “Not a chance,” he told the assassin.

Shade grinned back at her dark-skinned verakt and proposed to the lot of them, “An assassin and a thief sneak into a manor.”

Sarel grinned. “They find out whether the Eyes hide there or not, the army waiting outside in the bushes comes running in or quietly slinks away after.”

Merdon frowned and looked at the building in the orb again. “It's risky,” he admitted, thinking about it from his and Grot's perspective. To trust their little mates to sneak in without causing a commotion. “But what choice do we have?”

Verist chimed in, “The building is warded against magic, so I can't peer inside of it. How heavily it will affect casting spells once inside has yet to be seen, but they don't want it monitored.”

“That can't be too common,” Grot hoped against hope.

“More common than you'd think,” the witch shot him down. “Especially among the Avantian elite. Any well-intentioned novice with a cut of pure crystal can scry. Let alone a paid one.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Grot biting his lip, Shade already concocting plans of entry, the others looking at the orc expectantly. There was no smarter play, and he knew it. This was their best chance at finding out if this was their target. If they moved on the wrong mansion Avant would start the war and have the full force of the Eyes at their beck and call. What little advantage they had to cut off Avant's most powerful tool would be gone, if it wasn't already being moved. Speed was key, but so was accuracy. Too heavy a loss of either could turn the tide of their campaign against the humans dramatically. Shade and Sarel were their only choice. Yet, the chief-of-chiefs held out for a savior, some glimmer of hope that they could do something else. A diversion to draw out the Eyes inside, ambush them when they were least prepared. Having Verist gather more information from afar, give them more time to train and prepare. The more he thought about it, the more Grot knew he had to give in.

He groaned and shifted in his already uncomfortable seat. “Fine, fine,” Grot grumbled. “We'll set our forces in the trees, some orcs, some kobolds, enough to deal with a couple regiment of rookies, but not enough to see us coming. Once you two figure out what you're dealing with, you signal us. We'll either back away or advance.”

Shade rolled her eyes. “Yes, the obvious plan. There are more important things to consider now, verakt,” she told the orc.

“Like what?” he huffed.

“How will we break in?” Sarel finished, leaning forward, much like Merdon, to look at the mansion displayed within the orb closer.

The night sky was clear and dark without the moon in it. Only the stars dotted the sky above and shed the most minimal light possible. For the humans walking around the inside of the manor, it was a terrible time of month. One where they had to remain extra vigilant, where even blowing out the candles wouldn't help them see beyond the windows of the mansion they occupied. The darkness outside obfuscated everything, but after years of being established outside of a city, the inhabitants of the manor were largely desensitized to the scenario. It was another month, another new moon, and nothing would happen just like every other month.

The maids did their rounds, picking up the linens, replacing candles, making supper. What men were notable in the house were lightly armed and dragging their feet. Their days wore on them, made them tired, a changing of the guard was in order soon, right before dinner. That was Sarel's window of opportunity.

With inhuman dexterity, the thief and assassin scaled the side of the mansion and readily climbed in through an upper floor window. The mansion had three floors and the windows on the topmost floor were open for intrusion. It made sense; who expected a kobold thief outside of a city? Once the pair were inside, they glanced around before moving to the closest door. Shade was dressed specially for the occasion, her face and head covered by cloth that matched her shirt, making her blend into the darkness even more. Sarel had stayed in her usual clothing, really lacking anything like Shade had to blend in. She would rely on her usual wits to avoid being spotted. Every house had blind spots and she was good at finding them.

The first room they entered was a study. A desk sat across from the door and bookshelves lined the walls. On top of the desk sat a map, which interested Shade for just a minute before she turned back to Sarel and shook her head. The thief nodded and subtly dug her claws into the outside doorframe, to signal to Verist this was an area of interest for her. The witch insisted on coming to find something within the mansion, and no one was interested in telling the most powerful spell caster they knew to stay at home. She could help them one way or another.

Other than the desk and books, the room was unremarkable. There were no ornate decorations, switches, traps, nothing stood out. It was a plain room, oak, like the rest of the manor, with dark wood bookshelves that Sarel didn't feel like inspecting too closely. It was dark, and she and Shade were only able to see what they could thanks to their kobold eyes. Besides, the books weren't of importance to them, although maybe to Verist. If they were wrong about the purpose of the mansion, they were only vandalizing a few doorways.

The pair moved out of that room and back into the hallway, their foot claws covered in cloth to move silently through the house. They split up, Sarel taking one side while Shade moved to the opposite. More ground could be covered that way and neither of them would get in the way of the other if they needed to hide. Sarel, used to breaking and entering as a thief, moved quickly, ducking into corners and doors as she heard footsteps coming. Shade spent more time moving above her patrols, using her claws to stick to the ceiling when necessary and remaining totally out of sight.

Their sweep of the top floor turned up nothing, except a conference room and a master bedroom, which Sarel marked for Verist as well. Bedrooms were usually where people felt safe, a good place to stash something away from other humans in the mansion. The thief noted, however, that this bedroom was as bare as it could be. While the wardrobe and dresser were fancy, much more than any commoner owned, and the bed was made and topped with fancy quilts and downy soft pillows, there were no personal affects to speak of. More and more she felt in her gut they were in the right place. Even the poorest peasant in the world had something of personal worth in their hovel. It took extreme training and dedication to live without any kind of identifiable items in a home. Unless they happened to be in a spare bedroom, which the thief found extremely unlikely.

Bypassing another group of maids, the pair worked their way down to the second floor and continued their search of the premises. Shade made note of a sickbay that had dozens of beds, of which two were occupied by sleeping men, while Sarel found the maid's quarters. After meeting back up, the pair had a silent conversation with their eyes and hands. Both of them conveyed the notion of beds, to which Sarel asked in mime, why would all of the bedrooms be off the first floor? There was some sense to be made. If someone were injured on the third floor it would take longer to get them to an infirmary on the first. The number of beds, their occupants, and the fact the maids were put on the second floor also raised questions to the thief. She'd never seen that layout in a manor before. Nor had she seen this many maids, and the assassin before her raised a point. The maids were patrolling in an organized pattern. Like guards in a prison.

Minds made up, the two kobolds moved to the first-floor landing and spread out once again. At last, Sarel got the information she was looking for. After ducking into a room to hide from a maid, she heard a familiar voice. A voice that made her snarl involuntarily and flex her claws in a threatening manner even in the dark and quiet room. She pressed her head to the wall and listened to the Eyes that had broken her arm, assaulted Shade and Thickhide, the bastard she wanted to put in the ground more than anyone else.

“Our men will be ready,” an unknown voice told the leader of the Eyes assassins.

“Very good, Drake,” the familiar voice spoke again, causing Sarel to dig her claws into the wall she was pressed against. “The king has insisted on our new recruits being ready for the impending war. As long as his majesty is happy my plans will go uninterrupted, and that's really all I care about.” His twisted chuckle made Sarel's scales crawl.

“And as long as you get your chance at beating the so-called Kobold Whisperer, yes?” the other voice said, the sneer audible in his tone.

There was silence for a time before the assassin replied, “Yes, and if I get my rematch with the second-rate swordsman the king is oh so concerned with.” Sarel heard a rustling in the room, the assassin or his companion, or both, standing up. “Get the men gathered in the training hall. We'll pick up where we left off and the next two graduates will move out tonight.”

The thief didn't wait to hear more. She moved towards the door and into a room across from the one she'd been eavesdropping on, so she could watch the assassin and his man leave. As much as she wanted to follow him and make the Eyes leader her first kill as a trained assassin, she had to prioritize the mission. If he caught her, things would not go well. Summoning the cavalry, metaphorically, was the smart play. The man that had been ordered to gather the recruits went a different way, and after letting him walk around a corner, Sarel followed. She shadowed the other man, Drake, down several hallways before he stopped at a clock. There were no windows around, it was a dead-end, and no doors that the blue-scaled kobold could make out. Until the man rotated the hands of the clock to a certain time and wall beside it slid open. Whatever was down there had to wait. As quick as she could, Sarel moved back and went to find Shade. They had the right place and she knew where they needed to go. It was time to put the Eyes of Ethral into the ground.

# Book Two, Chapter Twenty Six: Plucking the Eyes

Merdon was on edge as he sat in the thicket of trees just beyond the mansion that his kobold mate was infiltrating. They had scouts stationed on the tree line watching the house and the surrounding countryside for any movement. Not that such lookouts did much good in the deep dark of a moonless night. The best they could do was monitor the mansion for any unusual activity and watch for Shade's signal. In the meantime, the human knight was stuck sitting on a log in full armor. It was far from pleasant, but it made less noise than the pacing he would have rather been doing. He looked around at the other members of the group, the orcs restlessly rolling their shoulders, checking their weapons, conversing in hushed tones that carried through the whole copse on the silent night air. The kobolds nervously clacking their claws, the few among them, like Thickhide, that seemed to anticipate the upcoming battle, the ones that felt ready.

Then there was Verist. The witch was standing near the treeline, watching the mansion alongside Grot. Merdon hadn't seen the two move in quite some time. He couldn't guess whether they were nervous, ready, or paranoid. It was Shade that was supposed to signal them. If the manor was what they were looking for, the dark-scaled assassin would scramble up to the roof and light a torch. If anyone inside the place noticed the sudden light source from above it would be too late to stop their charge. They had enough rallied forces to tear through the walls if they had to, and with Sarel inside Merdon felt like he could take a whole wall all by himself. Grot would feel no different, he was sure of that. Still, the two were an odd couple to see standing close together even in the odd situation they found themselves in.

“You're certain?” Grot huffed, quiet enough to keep his voice from his own men.

Verist nodded. “We can't let them figure out what I've done if this is the location,” she replied just as soft. “While you assault them from the front, I'll check the areas Quickclaw and Shade have marked as interesting. With any luck, our assassin has a dossier on the king, something we can use to leverage the people of Avant against their king.”

“It's risky, even if you find something,” the chief-of-chiefs told her bluntly. “Turning loyalties isn't easy. Especially when it comes to orcs.”

“Yes, I'm well aware of the prejudices involved,” she said, brushing his concerns off like a gnat. “If we want this to succeed we have to have more than us, more than Merdon and myself helping the cause.”

Grot sighed and picked his helmet off to rub his head. “Okay, so you go in, look for these documents, and what?”

“I'll set the manor ablaze when I'm done,” she told the orc. “One of the kobolds will be looking for that to start. When it does, you just need to get our forces out of there and we can bar the door.”

“By the gods,” the dark-skinned orc sneered, disgusted. “You're talking about burning them alive.”

“I'm talking about a plan that involves minimal casualties, maximum morale destruction, sends a point, and doesn't gamble our survival,” she hissed, catching the orc off guard. “This means the Eyes are taken care of, no matter how many of them are in there. We don't have to rely on numbers or training.”

“I don't like it.”

Verist shook her head. “You don't have to like it, you just have to realize it's the best plan we have,” the witch told him forcefully. “You won't be fighting the humans like orcs this time. You'll be fighting them like humans. They won't expect that, which is why you'll win this time.”

“I'm not sure it's worth winning like that,” Grot snorted.

Before Verist could reply, a torchlight shone from the top of the manor, and both of them looked at it with intent. Grot turned and started shouting orders at the troops, orcs scrambled over and around each other while kobolds awkwardly gathered into position. Merdon joined Verist at the front of the group, though she was only watching them. He eyed her, questioning with his gaze if she was going to storm the place with them. The witch answered his silent question with a smirk before raising a hand, which she thrust towards the ground before disappearing. Not teleporting, but becoming invisible. It made the knight's hair stand on end to imagine how often she could have used that back in the tower. Nowhere was safe from her. He couldn't even make out the grass she had been standing on to see if it was still indented if there was any way to see where she was. It was too dark to make such an observation and his mind quickly focused back on the manor. Time was up.

Despite being such a large force, the group moved as silently as they could across the empty field towards the manor. There were no screams of charge, no battle cries, nothing except the clanking of armor and weapons against their sides as they rushed forward. The kobolds, even though they were weighed down by their new armor, overtook the head of their charge and did as they had been ordered. They fanned out, circled the mansion, and dove in through the windows. The silent night was broken by the sound of shattering glass and screaming maids as their advance troops moved to subdue the help. Grot and Merdon, along with the main force of orcs, went through the front and back doors. Their breach was hard and fast, but not fast enough a certain blue-scaled thief couldn't supply some intelligence when they kicked in the doors.

“The maids aren't what they seem!” Sarel shouted as she leaped off the banister to the front staircase, narrowly dodging a dagger as she did.

The pale-skinned woman that threw it chased after her all the way to the top of the stairs. Her face blanched as she saw Grot and a half dozen orcs, and she changed direction shortly after they started up the stairs after her.

Merdon took the opportunity to move to Sarel and make sure she was all right. “What's happening?” he asked, with as few words as possible.

“The maids are trained assassins as well,” the kobold told him. “Shade and I noticed they were patrolling the mansion rather than wandering around doing chores. They had a set routine and everything.”

The knight frowned inside his helmet. “Where are the Eyes?” he asked next. “Apart from these maids.”

“There's a hidden stairwell by a clock on the first floor,” Sarel informed him, standing up from her fall. She looked around, getting her bearings. “This way.”

As they rounded a few corners, one of the kobold knights shouted in pain. The pair turned to see one of the maids holding a bloody dagger and darting off. Sarel glanced around with just her eyes and swore under her breath. She'd gotten turned around, the maid was heading towards the clock, not them.

“We have to move!” she shouted at Merdon before sprinting after the fleeing woman. There was no time to investigate the bleeding kobold, but given the professions of who they were after, it wasn't a promising future for them. Sarel used it to fuel her body, stoking herself with rage and indignity. More humans than the one she was chasing would pay for what they had done, for what they had done for as long as she and every other kobold could remember.

The walls and floors of the mansion blended together, nothing stood out, nothing was remarkable, it was too easy to get turned around. And maybe that was what they wanted all along. By the time Sarel came around the correct corner, catching the wall with her claws and dragging herself around to avoid slamming into a wall, the maid they were chasing had moved the hands of the clock to the secret time and was watching the wall slide open. Thinking fast, Sarel pulled her knife out and launched it towards her target. Unfortunately, the maid was two steps down before the knife landed, catching her in the shoulder rather than the back. She screamed and tumbled down the stairs, which gave the thief an idea of just how far down they went before she took off after her. A knife in the shoulder wasn't going to kill her, but her yelling might alert the Eyes in the basement, and that could kill them.

While the orcs and kobolds dealt with the mansion's security, Verist was busying herself with the marked doors. The first floor was a complete bust, and she accepted that. After slipping past a flying thief on the staircase, the witch made her way to the second floor and continued her search on the doors that had claw marks. While Shade and Sarel hadn't looked too closely at the books and drawers in each room, Verist was quite keen on searching them. Her first stop was a meeting room that provided little information, other than a few maps that she memorized before moving on. Just in case they had to do with troop movements later. Assuming that their assault paid off. Carrying the maps wasn't part of her goal, she was after something much bigger, and she couldn't afford to break her invisibility until she found it.

Her feet made no noise on the wooden floors as she moved around the second floor of the mansion, which made her exceptionally effective at dealing with the few guards the orcs hadn't gotten around to. The men that had been stationed in the infirmary were wounded as they exited the room and headed towards the commotion downstairs. They were weak but determined. Until Verist gave them a reason to be more tired with a wave of her hand. Stepping over their sleeping bodies was easy enough. Sadly, the infirmary didn't have anything worth noting either. Just more confirmation that they had the right place when she found high-quality healing salves and what looked to be a medallion belonging to a high priest, a sign of power within the Avantian church. It took more than money to keep one of Ethral's powerful priests staying in one place. Like a royal order.

The second floor scoured, Verist moved to the third floor where she expected to find something worth taking home. Her first stop was a bedroom fit for a lord. With all the opportune hiding places she knew could be in there, Verist dispelled her magic and went to work tearing the place apart with her hands. She started with the bed, taking off the blankets and sheets, flipping the mattress and checking the pillows before pulling out a knife, taken from one of the sleeping men downstairs, and sliced them open. Ripped stitching and shredded cloth filled her ears as the knife carved through the fabrics and her hands reached into the soft innards of the bedding. The witch dug through the fluff and feathers but came up empty. With a huff, she tossed them to the side and looked around. The desk was next.

Drawers were yanked out, smashed against the desk itself to look for hidden compartments, wood splintering and clattering into pieces as she did each and every part individually before searching the body of the desk. It was a solid material, barely dinged by the drawers she'd thrown against it. Heavy enough she resorted to magic to dismantle it. The nails were yanked out safe but quick using her powers, and the desk fell into slabs of wood for her to dig through. No hidden compartments, no secret walls, or false bottoms. It would make great kindling for when she found what she was looking for though. Until then, she turned her attention to the books on the shelf.

A cursory glance told her something was wrong. She had seen these books strewn about the manor already. Their titles and spines as familiar to her as the workbooks of a school student. She'd seen them everywhere without picking one up herself. Verist peeled one off the shelf and flipped through it. Nothing was out of the ordinary at a glance. Another, and the next book, until she'd combed through them all without success. Humming, the witch checked the shelf much the same way she had the desk, taking it apart with her magic and leaving the wood on the floor when she failed to find her target. The dresser and closet were much the same as the shelf and desk. If there were files to be found, and she was confident after meeting Rebeun that there was a paper trail of the king's orders, they weren't in the bedroom.

Verist didn't bother with her spell as she left the bedroom. The noise from the first floor had settled down entirely; it was as quiet inside the house as it had been outside. She moved with haste towards the next marked door and stepped into a lavish study. A grin came over her face as she saw the walls lined with books, the much heavier, fancier looking desk. This was where the assassin spent his time, not the bedroom. She cracked her knuckles and went to work tearing the place apart in the same ways she had the bedroom before it.

The desk was ripped apart by her magic, the documents inside she examined closely but found unsatisfactory. Verist turned her attention to the bookshelves, skimming the spines and titles again. She frowned at the repetition. Every book on the shelves was the same as what she'd seen in the master bedroom and other places in the manor. Curious, she picked a few titles off the shelf and skimmed them. They were the same. For whatever reason, the mansion had dozens of the same twenty or so books, even inside the same room. That was when it occurred to her.

With her magic, Verist pulled every copy of a single title from the shelves and skimmed them as fast as she could. It was time-consuming, minutes went by as she scanned over dozens of copies of the same book before discarding them and moving to the next set. On and on until she found it. One book was not like the others. Correspondence between the Eyes and the king of Avant wrapped in the cover of a philosophy book. Though the book didn't contain every single letter they had ever exchanged the witch felt it was more than enough with what she was reading. Plots against the elves, strategies for throttling support for Rastar's ventures in the nation, and plenty of assassinations at least planned within their own borders. The nobility of Avant would riot. It was time to cover her tracks.

With a wave of her arm, the pile of books in the room caught alight, and she calmly moved back to the bedroom to start the remains of the bed and desk in there to burning before making her way to the front door. As she stepped onto the first-floor landing she looked around. There was a nervous, scared, looking kobold in armor that looked at her with surprise. “It's time,” she told him as she stepped outside. Hopefully, he knew what that meant. If he didn't, the smoke coming down from the upstairs would certainly clue him in sooner or later. It was time to tell the others to leave, to let the Eyes' base take care of their enemies for them.

Sarel neatly slid her knife across the throat of the maid who had come to an abrupt halt halfway down the staircase into the hidden basement of the mansion. After retrieving her dagger she stood and looked at how much further down it went. A long was, she figured, after tapping on the wall. The echo traveled until it stopped, which usually meant a long passage ahead. She twirled her weapons for a moment, just until she heard the clanging of armor behind her. Feeling safe that the cavalry was marching down after her, the thief proceeded down the steps at a casual pace. If she went too fast, she might encounter something she couldn't handle alone, and there were no drawbacks to being too slow. What problems could there be having a whole regiment of armored allies backing her up? She would just play the forward scout and see what laid at the bottom of the stairs before they caught up.

The heavy footfalls of armored troops got quite loud as she reached the bottom steps. Cautious, the blue-scaled kobold poked her head out of the doorway and looked around. They were in an arena, a full-on stadium minus the seating. She looked up with a hint of awe in her eyes as she saw the cavernous ceiling went up a very long way, supported by pillars in the space before her. There was no way it was natural, and not handmade either. Geomancers had touched this space, it was the only explanation she had. And the stone it was made of was familiar too, the blackened walls of Ardmach. It was no wonder Verist had trouble looking into the mansion, and it made the decision to leave Red and Skyeyes on watch outside the manor, to catch any Eyes that fled, a good choice. Ahead of the entryway was the field, and on it were over a hundred assassins in training, each one practicing with a different weapon in hand. Sarel slid closer, taking cover behind a wall to get a better look without being spotted.

Moving between each of the recruits was the man that broke her arm, the one that made her claws itch for revenge, to feel his blood between her digits. She held herself back and kept looking at the ones training. They were outnumbered slightly, but each orc was worth three humans according to old legends. How many orcs the assassins' leader was worth had yet to be seen, however. He'd killed a room full of them back in the stronghold, but that was with the element of surprise on his side. If there were more waiting in the wings, however...

Merdon was the first one down the stairs, followed shortly by Grot, Shade, and the whole line of orcs they'd brought with them. He moved over to Sarel and glanced at the men in training as well. The same calculations came to his mind as he looked back at Grot. The orc chief was not so analytical. They had a job to do, their enemies were before them, surprise was their ally this time, and orcs didn't really do organized very well. He charged out onto the field with his warriors slinging their weapons off their backs, out of sheathes and loosing battle cries into the cavern. The collective look on the assassins' faces brought untold pleasure to the chief-of-chiefs. They had surprised a group that had named themselves after omnipotence. Avant could be caught off guard and broken.

They didn't stay that way, of course. Some of them drew real weapons and met the orcs head-on, others ducked into side rooms to retrieve better gear, while someone raised an alarm. A loud bell sounded, its deep intonation reverberating through the cavern and calling out dozens more over time. Each one was better armed, but there was a certain lacking characteristic. None of them were knights, none of them came with heavy armor and few had shields. The ones that did were clearly not trainees, and Grot made note of them as he waded into the carnage. Not that a lack of equipment mattered for these opponents. The heavy swings of the orcs were evaded and countered, their smaller force was kited until it was spread thin and eventually broken into smaller groups. What started as two large forces meeting head-on quickly devolved into smaller skirmishes dotting the training field.

Merdon and Sarel had one target in particular they were searching for and made no effort to hide that. They drifted from fight to fight, pushing their way through the various encounters without overstaying. Sarel would land on someone from behind and stab their back a few times before flying off to another opponent or back to Merdon's side, while the knight would disable or impale his foes as he moved. Halfway through the field, a group surrounded the two and cut them off from their intended target. Merdon gripped his sword tightly and moved into the first man who was holding a short sword. His blade gave the knight an advantage, and that doubled when he smacked his shield and caused it to vibrate and pull strikes towards it. The ones to his side were confused when their blows were deflected without Merdon even trying, and the man he was riposting felt genuine fear as his skills fell short and he met his end at the tip of a longsword.

Sarel used Merdon's shield as well, taking it as a distraction to cut their foes down to size. Humans tended to function less well when the back of their heels were slit, their legs collapsed, and they were on the ground howling in pain and agony. It was when their enemies laid lower than a kobold's height that she pushed her daggers into their chest, across their throats, and gave them the only mercy she felt they deserved for all the things they had done in the name of their corrupt nation. Something about fighting these humans beside Merdon made her feel complete.

Winded, but not wounded, the pair pressed on towards the greatest threat in the room. The leader of the assassins, Rebeun, was still standing near the back of his trainees, but now he stood with two dead orcs in front of him, and the corpse of one of the half-trained kobolds under his boot. Sarel seethed with anger at the sight. He had let them run through his men or turn, unwittingly, into him before fighting them. Tactically it was sound, but it wasn't like she and Merdon. They were well known to their enemy, no one stood in their way that didn't know who they were, and while the orcs were surely aware, that kobold hadn't seen anything other than another assassin-in-training. It was irrational, she knew that, but he wasn't standing on an orc's body. He had chosen the kobold for a reason. It sent a message. One she intended to put on its head.

While Merdon and Sarel charged through the battlefield, cutting a bloody path through the Eyes in their way, Grot and Shade were busy keeping things together. Grot was shouting at his men, forcing them to group up, leading by example by tucking his large ax away and grappling with an assassin using his bare hands. Their weapons were large and excellent for fighting the armored guards that were scattered through the enemy forces. For the fast-moving killers, however, they needed a quicker approach. Orcs were more than proficient with their hands, thankfully, and the chief-of-chiefs found that once his hands were locked around his enemy they had a very hard time getting him off them. Wrestling them to the ground and beating them into unconsciousness was enough, assuming no one else jumped on his back while he was doing it. In the times where he felt unsafe completely subduing them, Grot was happy with throwing the assassins around the room like dolls. Things weren't going as well for everyone on his side of the battle though.

Next to them the kobolds, with Shade and Thickhide as their leaders, were having a hard time keeping up with the faster-moving humans. Their armor weighed them down enough to be a detriment against these specific foes. Shade, with no such drawback, plunged headfirst into each and every encounter. Her blades were a fearsome opponent to every light or unarmored human she faced. Not a minute went by that they weren't coated in a fresh supply of blood from one target or another. Thickhide was just doing what he could to keep his little troop together. A few had been separated from the pack and easily dealt with. Morale was nonexistent for those remaining, their training worthless as they panicked beneath the blows of the well-prepared killers. If not for the orcs posing a greater threat, Shade thought they may have lost the whole group they'd taken into battle. There would be no telling where the kobolds would want to be after that. Certainly not fighting alongside them, potentially backing out of the war altogether. It was on them, she and Thickhide, to keep these ones alive, to ultimately stress the importance of more training to them.

The room was a chaotic mess of shouting, clanging metal, slicing flesh, fear, anger, distress, all melting into a singularity of what war was. Grot yelled for his men to push on and break the enemy, Thickhide was trying to raise the morale of his kobolds enough to get them to back away from the middle of the battle, while Merdon and Sarel acted on their own to come face to face with the enemy leader. Rebeun watched everything with manic glee. Chaos suited him like brimstone suited a demon.

“Isn't it glorious?” he asked Merdon as the knight came close. “All this is just a glimpse of what's to come.”

Merdon gave him no response but a readied stance. He had no words for someone like this. Nothing except a forceful banging of his shield as both taunt and activation method for its magic. The assassin leader frowned and conjured his pair of knives before leaping over the knight and slashing at his back. As he landed, Merdon pulling away and turning around, Sarel roared and sliced at their target. He dodged her swings with inhuman agility. His weapons of choice did more than give him tactical advantages, they enhanced his physical abilities as well. Even with a greater range and a sleeker weapon than the orcs', Merdon couldn't land a blow on the assassin. Rebeun seemed to float under or backward from every strike the knight and thief made against him.

His retaliations were staggering and sudden, deflecting Merdon's blade before stepping behind or sliding under him and trying to slice into the open parts of his plate. If Merdon were less experienced, like the kobold that had faced him already, he would have died. He knew how to move and in what way to make such gaps smaller or harder to reach while moving out of the way, and what gaps he couldn't close Sarel was there to defend. The blue-scaled kobold found herself moving along her mate's body as they fought, jumping onto and off his shoulders, using his legs to spin after the assassin, whatever hold she could use to chase and deny their enemy his strikes.

When Merdon was turning to face Rebeun, Sarel was left alone to face him, and the assassin was faster than she was, despite her improvements. Her blades couldn't reach him, though his found a hard time catching her as well. If the fight continued like that, Merdon realized, they would never finish him. They would have to wait for Verist to bring the whole mansion down, and it wasn't exactly safe to say the cavern would collapse on them to finish the job. At the very least, they had to put their leader down, there and then. Merdon grit his teeth and looked the leader of the Eyes dead on.

“So you can dodge us all day, but you can't kill us,” he told the assassin, whether it was true or not. “But even if you did, what does that prove? Your supernatural speed can best a knight? It's not your skill, not your power. It's nothing more than something you've stolen.”

That seemed to hit a nerve as the assassin hurled his blades at both of them, causing Sarel to hop back and roll. “What do you know of thievery?” Rebeun shouted back. “I am owed everything by this accursed empire!”

“Fighting from the shadows?” the knight taunted. “Even when I was tired and under-equipped in the forest you couldn't beat me in a straight-on fight. You pushed me, but you couldn't finish me, or else you would have.”

“You had help,” Rebeun seethed, glaring at Sarel.

The kobold laughed. “So now I am worth mentioning?” she asked sarcastically. “I thought kobolds were so far beneath you. Do I sway battles that much?”

“Show me what you can do,” Merdon challenged the assassin. “One on one, sword versus sword.”

Rebeun's scowl began to reverse, turning back into a grin. “Yes, sword and shield against sword and shield. The weapons of a knight, of royalty.” His daggers vanished and were replaced by his ethereal looking longsword and kite shield, which nearly matched Merdon's. Although it was very notable that Merdon's shield was different now. The difference between an orcish shield and a human's.

Sarel glanced at Merdon, but the knight signaled her away. She frowned but focused on watching his back. He'd said one on one and it seemed he meant it truly. The two humans, stances taken, circled each other slowly. Merdon pondered what enhancement this combination gave his enemy. Perhaps the durability to keep blocking, or maybe the stamina to sustain a fight for longer and wear his opponent down. Whatever the case, he couldn't fall here. Now that Rebeun was baited into Merdon's element he could be outclassed.

Merdon swung first, his sword catching into Rebeun's shield just as Rebeun's blade caught against Merdon's moments later. Both of them withdrew and lashed again. They were probing each other, looking for an opening. In the middle of all the chaos they stood in a dance of thrusts, parries, shields bashing, pushing, each step timed to avoid giving the other an advantage. For all of his training, all of his skill, Merdon had only managed to avoid needing Sarel to step in and save him. He avoided the doubts that would cloud his mind while he focused on Rebeun's blade, watching for every twist of the wrist that signaled an incoming attack. He tried to pull his shield to the limit of its reach, to drive the assassin into an open stance, but Merdon's counters were always met with perfect defense. A stalemate.

“This is your limit,” Rebeun told him. “You can only hope to match me with my weakest skill set. My other weapons were taken from masters of their craft.”

It took intense focus to ignore that taunt, to find the one opening he could while the assassin was busy talking. Merdon's sword came down, brushing across Rebeun's shield, and caught his thigh. The wound was small, but the damage to his pride had to be immeasurable.

“You should have looked harder,” Merdon grunted, slamming into his opponent and aiming to push him off guard.

Things were not that easy, unfortunately, as Rebeun called his daggers out to backflip, using Merdon's force to create distance, before resuming his previous weapons. “Perhaps I'll use your soul when we're done,” he taunted back.

That was when all hell broke loose.

A kobold came down the stairs screaming, “Fire” at the top of his lungs. Grot, knowing what that meant, roared for his men to subdue their enemies and push backward, to regroup and prepare to retreat. Rebeun looked at the shouting kobold in confusion for a moment before understanding that something had happened up top. Something the invaders had planned.

“Don't let any of them escape!” Grot shouted, but mostly in Merdon's direction. “We have to keep them here even if we die doing it.”

Rebeun smirked and shouted at his own force, “You heard the orc! Keep them here even if it kills us.” Worst case, they would all be buried together. His men weren't fond of that order. Several of them began to rush for a way out, most of which were trying to escape up the staircase the kobold was standing on.

Thickhide's group, who had fallen back earlier, were now grouping on the stairs. “Keep them back,” he shouted at his own group. “As long as we stay on the stairs they can't get up.” They were forced into a choke point where the armor of the kobolds actually held weight. It wasn't anything the orcs couldn't have done themselves, but it was something more than before.

Most importantly, it riled up Rebeun who, in a rage, dispersed his weapons in exchange for a massive two-handed sword. One that he began swinging towards Merdon like it had the weight of a stick, while it landed with the force of a horse. The knight held his shield firmly, eventually in both hands as he blocked the blows from the large weapon. Each swing came faster and faster as Rebeun become utterly focused on one thing in the room.

“You won't take this from me,” he cawed. “I'll kill you, and then those damned lizards, and then that bastard on the throne! I'll show him who the real threat it, who should have been there all along.”

Merdon couldn't focus on the ravings of a madman while he blocked and tried to think of a way out of there before the mansion above was no longer an escape route. He wasn't the only one thinking about fleeing, luckily. Sarel moved behind Rebeun when his insane yowling began and she took great pleasure in landing on his back and driving both of her blades into either side of his neck in the middle of his speech. The leader of the Eyes gurgled and clutched at his throat, his large blade dissipating as the kobold on his back ripped both of her daggers forward, completely opening his throat and spraying blood on Merdon's raised shield. He fell to his knees, holding his hands over his gaping wound before dropping sideways on the floor and gasping his last. Merdon lowered his shield and watched as their mission was accomplished, as the leader of the Eyes of Ethral died before him.

It took a lot of work to fight their way through the gathered assassins-in-training to reach the doorway that led up into the mansion. There was no door at the bottom of the stairs they could close either, and so the climb up was faced with dozens of men pushing, shoving, and climbing over each other to try and get ahead, or at least keep up, with the fleeing orcs and kobolds. At one point, an orc in the back snagged on man and threw him into the others, causing a domino effect that knocked many of them down and created just enough breathing room for them to reach the surface. The door to the underground was closed as they entered the first floor of the mansion, and with some genius remodeling, Grot pulled a few loose support beams down in front of the door to make sure it didn't matter if they opened it. His hands were burned, but it was hardly an issue.

“Let's move,” he shouted at the others, hurrying them out of the building. In the rush, the orcs with their long legs made it outside first, with Shade being the first kobold out of the building by riding on Grot's back.

The armored kobolds, battered, bruised, and heavy in many ways, were less fortunate. Merdon stopped at the front door and watched them come running. Some were still fast and spry, making it out before the others, while the stragglers were more wounded and almost confused. The mansion was on fire, smoke filled the air as parts of the building came falling down on top of itself. It was hard to tell how long ago Verist had set the place on fire, or if she had just used a very potent spell to light it all at once. Whatever the case was, they had to move faster. Thickhide stopped between the kobolds and Merdon and helped his little impromptu squad reach the exit as quickly as he could. One kobold fell over from his beating, prompting Thickhide to help him up and pass him to another kobold before looking back to make sure they had gotten everyone. At least the ones that lived.

As Thickhide turned around to leave, the second floor partially gave way and came thundering down. The kobold ducked and covered his head, not sure what he was hoping for if it actually fell on top of him. Alarmed, Merdon sprinted over and tried to wave away some of the smoke that was pouring from the upstairs. Thickhide wasn't buried, but he did start screaming in agony very suddenly. Merdon grabbed him by the arm and pulled only to find him stuck and to make the screaming louder. Sarel, not leaving before Merdon, came running over as well. It took her all of two seconds to find the problem.

“His tail is stuck,” she shouted at her verakt over the fire that was growing. “There's a damned support beam on his tail.”

Merdon forced himself through the smoke, coughing, trying to get a look. “I can't move that,” he told Sarel. And they didn't have time to go hunting for someone else to do the heavy lifting.

“We can't leave him,” the blue thief stated as if Merdon didn't know.

The knight frowned. He didn't like this.

Grot looked back at the burning mansion with a grin on his face as Red and Skyeyes walked up with Verist at their side. “We did it,” he said softly at first, before erupting with jubilation. “We actually did it!” The dark-skinned orc pulled his weapon out and held it in the air while letting out a victorious whoop, which lead the other orcs to do the same. Red took a step back in surprise and looked around. While the orcs may have been celebratory, the kobolds were less so.

The newly formed troop of armored kobolds were missing a third of their number, even counting the stragglers that were just reaching the trees and looked worse for wear. Skyeyes went to treat them as an obvious feeling permeated Red's head. She didn't see Merdon or Sarel, for that matter. After double-checking the copse for them, she walked back over to Grot and tapped his side.

“Where's Merdon?” she asked in a flat tone, countering the chief-of-chief's celebration.

Grot opened his mouth to say what he thought, but a cursory glance of the glade told him the same thing. Cursing, he stepped out of the treeline again and moved towards the house before stopping. “They're coming,” he said to Red as he squinted into the distance. “They've got a kobold with them. Merdon's carrying them.”

Red frowned and looked out. Sure enough, Merdon was moving away from the burning building with a kobold in his arms. It wasn't Sarel, they could see her at his side. Which filled the mage with some dread. “Thickhide,” she muttered.

“No,” Grot shook his head. “The green thing was fine when we got up the stairs. What could have happened? The Eyes were buried if not dead.”

Their question was answered when Merdon reached the clearing with the sobbing green-scaled kobold in his arms. Everyone stopped, totally silent, and looked as the human set him down next to Skyeyes. The priest abandoned his current work of bruises and cuts to see what had happened. He sucked air through his teeth at the sight of it. Thickhide's tail was gone, cut off at the base, and serious burns were going up his back. Merdon explained things in a hushed tone, leaving Skyeyes to patch Thickhide up as best he could. Verist was nearby, hand over her mouth and eyes wide. Red couldn't even look at the burns on the green-scaled kobold's back. It reminded her of too much.

Merdon stood up and looked at Grot. “This was a costly victory,” he said somberly.

“No cost was too high to shut down their assassins,” Grot disagreed. “With this, even if we had all died, the war would stand a fighting chance.”

While the orcs nodded in eager agreement, the kobolds looked at it differently. They had never lost companions like that before. To see them slain in front of them, not even an attempt at capture. It was new, terrifying, unnerving. Even though it took a while, Grot eventually caught on to their dropping mood and decided to make a statement. He found a log to stand on, raising himself up even more, and addressed the gathered troops. The orcs would have cheered at anything he said after their victory, the first of many they hoped, but the kobolds and even the two humans would be harder to impress.

“This was a decisive victory,” he bellowed. “We dealt a blow to the Avantian empire they couldn't have seen coming in a hundred years. In a single night, we plucked the Eyes from their home and have left the humans even more blind than they were before.” The chief-of-chiefs paused for the cheers that came from his men. Sentiments that weren't echoed by the lizards next to them as they watched the white-scaled priest healing Thickhide. So, he pressed on. “War has always been about sacrifice. Nothing in this world comes free, especially not freedom from oppressors. It's paid for in blood and lives, not coin or jewels. It's a sad fact, but one we must face with dauntless determination. A fearless focus that no matter the cost, no matter how steep, we will come out ahead in the end and our enemies will pay ten times what we do. A promise I plan on keeping to you all.”

Again, the orcs were loud and proud, but the kobolds only looked sickened. Merdon couldn't blame them, but some of what Grot had said was true. This was the cost of war. An unsettling reality they needed to face, but more importantly than making Avant pay for their effort, they needed to realize what they were fighting for. Freedom wasn't cheap but it was a damn sight better than the slavery the kobolds suffered every day. That wasn't how the gathered kobolds in the grove felt. One of them stood from the pack, stepping in front of the orcs that were hollering in celebration.

“We don't want this,” the armored one said, taking his helmet off and dropping it to the grass. “We can't fight like this. We'll be killed.”

Grot frowned. “This was only your first battle,” he reminded the kobold. “It was a mistake to bring you here, I can admit that. You need more training, but once you have that-.”

“That won't stop us from dying,” he replied, afraid. “Even some of your own orcs were killed in there. There's no safety here. We would rather live in a cage than face that horror again.”

Grot was speechless at that statement. A being as independent and powerful as he couldn't imagine being content with enslavement for the sake of survival. Merdon could though, in a way. He had seen kobolds being treated terribly in Ardmach, and many of these ones hadn't. He had also seen ones that lived in the city, browbeaten but free enough, a dream that didn't come at the cost of blood and lives. It was the false promise that Avant gave them that restrained these rebellions in the first place.

His hands cold and a sharp pain in his chest, Merdon stepped up onto the log next to Grot and addressed the troops himself. He set his jaw, held onto his courage as best he could and spoke loud and clear.

“The cost is high, like Grot said, but it's worth it,” the knight told them, his eyes glazing past the orcs and focusing on the kobolds that hid in the shadows of the superior fighters. “What hope Avant offers you is a mere shadow of the truth. Kobolds that escape slavery are constantly at risk of being dragged into it. The papers the humans offer are just that, paper. Easily burned or discarded when they need new bodies to sell. What kobolds you see in shackles working the fields or serving a lord at a mansion like the one we raided today are the few. Many more live in abusive environments, taking beatings just as bad as what you received this very night, but without armor, without weapons, without the hope of fighting back.”

The kobold at the front shifted nervously in place. That didn't sound good either.

“Life is up to chance, everything is,” Merdon continued. “You could die in the next battle, or you could be enslaved and find out what it's like to be beaten every day for the rest of your life. Just as well you could survive and find a brighter future free of chains, and equally, you might find yourself chained to a human that gives you a shred of respect and feel it's not so bad. But something happened here tonight, something important.” He looked to the side at the burning manor, the blaze still lighting up the night sky for miles around. “Avant won't forgive that,” he told them.

Thickhide, his tail stump no longer bleeding, stood up and pushed past the orcs, causing a stir as he moved through them. His legs were unstable and he fell trying to reach the log that Merdon and Grot were speaking from, but he pulled himself up with it to speak his own piece.

“Merdon is right,” he coughed, leaning on the knight's leg for stability in place of his tail. “We cannot give up now. If we do, the humans won't take it easy on any of us.” Thickhide looked at Merdon for a moment and then found his own confidence in his words. “We attacked the humans in force,” he explained softly. “They won't forgive that if we stop now. They'll do worse to us than any of us have seen.”

“There's no guarantee we succeed,” Merdon told them outright. “But we've already started down that path. Turning back won't change anything, it will only get worse, but pushing ahead, fighting harder, could change everything. You just have to take the risk.”

The kobolds didn't cheer, they weren't going to clap for that, but the one in the lead looked down at his helmet for a while before picking it back up and putting it on. The others nodded silently in solidarity. They were afraid of going back and continuing on, but now they were aware that going back wouldn't help them. There was nothing to go back to if they failed or quit. Merdon sighed softly and climbed off the log to slip into the shade of the trees again, to be as invisible as possible after his speech.

Grot followed him while Verist prepared to take them back to the orc lands with her spell, just as soon as Skyeyes was done with the healing. The dark-skinned orc crossed his arms at the human knight and stood silent for a long time. At least, long enough to make Merdon nervous.

“You said you didn't want to lead any army,” Grot accused.

Merdon let out a short, anxious chuckle. “I don't.”

“You must after that,” he insisted. “Because those kobolds aren't going to look to me for a pep talk anymore. Leaders don't just give orders, Merdon, they inspire. And if you didn't just convince every one of those weakly seasoned kobold warriors to stick around, they must be deaf.”

The knight's pallor was hidden by the moonless night that surrounded them. “What do you mean?” he asked as if there was any doubt about that.

“You just kobold whispered a whole group of soldiers, and you'd best believe they'll be spreading that 'no way back' talk to the others. I give it a month and they're all listening to you instead.”

# Book Two, Chapter Twenty Seven: Epilogue

The king of Avant sat in his study reading the reports that had been delivered to him concerning the destruction of his assassin training grounds. While the loss of time, materials, and talent was problematic, the situation was far from a complete failure. With the orcs attacking his nation first his allies would have no reason to withhold their support. Their ancient enemies were acting up once again, therefore it was simply time to put them back into their place. Maybe once and for all. With the way he'd been playing the elves, painting several ambassador's tragic ends as orcish vengeance, they were primed to turn on the monsters. Once the kobold populace was implicated in the war as well, Avant could safely crackdown on them within their borders.

His majesty sneered at the thought of his ancestors, the ones that had lifted the slavery of the beasts within their borders. Not that the king hated the kobolds, he found them to be useful laborers, diligent even, given the right motivators. He just found it utterly stupid that one of his lineage could believe giving the pea-brained lizards more freedom would inspire them to be more productive. None of his predecessors had sought to undo this change that lacked foresight either. Of course, it fell to him to clean up after others. Just as it did now with the crumbled training grounds in the middle of his nation. Not that he was unused to such foolhardy decisions in his bloodline. He needed to look no further than his feckless father for that.

A knock at the door pulled the king from his thoughts. Nervously, a soldier entered, the light clinking of his armor as he shook within it irritated the royal. “Get on with it,” the king barked, if only to stop the noise.

“Yes, sire,” the knight barely managed, swallowing hard before continuing. “There were no survivors. Our mages just finished digging through the ruins. The mansion collapsed into the training ground below.”

“Pity,” the king muttered. “Some of those men shown real promise. Not that it matters greatly. We still have the other Eye.” The soldier only nodded. “Still, Rebeun's powers will be missed. Bastard though he was.”

“There's one more thing, your highness,” the soldier said, his voice soft as if that would save him from any wrath. The king suspected as much. What he'd been told so far was nothing to be shaking in one's boots about. “The white tower has reappeared. In the orc lands.”

That, however, was. The king sat his papers down and inhaled deeply.

“I see.” That was all he could think to say. The man in front of him was not some seasoned veteran, not worth taking his anger out on. “Who sent you, soldier?” he asked carefully.

“Captain Seiz, sir.” A prompt and terrified reply. The king wrote the name down on the side of a page.

“You're free to go,” the royal dismissed his soldier. Seiz had sent someone fresh anticipating the new blood would either take the brunt of his rage or that the king would keep his head. As the knight left the room, the king sat back and muttered, “We'll see how you like a week of sparring with the other captains, Seiz.” If he did well, his majesty might just grace the training grounds within the castle with his presence. Show the good captain a thing about sword-play.

“Done,” Red told Verist as she stood up. The red-scaled kobold dusted the chalk off her hands with a frown at the cloud it created. “Now what?”

The witch stood in the middle of the circle that had been drawn, prepared to once again move her tower. The frozen wastelands to the far North of the continent had hidden them well enough, but now it was time to once more be present for matters at hand. She was aiming to set her home down near the orc capital, perhaps even within its walls if she could. Another thought was forming in Verist's mind though as she watched the kobold mage step over the lines they had just completed.

“Come here,” she told the kobold. Red frowned but stepped into the middle of the circle with Verist. “I want to see how much power you've got on tap,” the witch revealed. “You'll cast the spell with me.”

Red frowned. “I'm not that good with these sorts of spells,” she reminded the witch.

“Yes and no,” Verist chuckled. “You're not good with many kinds of spells, but this is entirely outside of that realm of power. Teleportation is something unique. All you need is sufficient strength and a good sense of coordination. You'll see.”

The kobold shrugged. It wasn't like she had a choice in the matter either way. Verist walked her through the steps. They stood in the center of the circle Red had just finished making on the floor, their feet having only the slightest contact with the sigil. Then, they focused their energy onto the markings and directed the tower to the place they wanted it to be. Red needed to recall the orcish capital, a place Verist had only ever seen from her crystal ball, and put the tower down inside of it, at just the right spot. To simply will the materials of the tower to move from one point to another. It was why teleportation totems only worked one way. Verist would focus on the tower around her while sealing in the power, and thus they only returned to her tower.

With two of them contributing to the spell, it would take less power to move the tower, and the worst case was a few inches or so off of their target. It was hard to sync up exact destinations within one's mind, especially when neither of the participants hadn't really paid attention to the landscape of the place they were aiming for. Verist gave her best description of where she wanted the tower to appear and then she and Red shut their eyes and focused. The others were out of the tower, so luckily there wouldn't be any Merdon vomit to clean up after they moved the place.

The witch had only just started to reinforce the spell with her magic when she felt the tower shift and bend through the magic. She winced and focused on her destination as quickly as she could with the sudden movement. When the spell stopped, she staggered forward and clutched the edge of a desk to look back at the kobold she had asked to assist her. Red took a few deep breaths and stretched with an annoyed sound.

“That was rough,” she complained. “You do that all the time by yourself?”

Verist was, sufficed to say, speechless. She had hardly put any power into the spell at all.

Once more the group was gathered in Verist's tower. Days had passed since their assault on the Eyes of Ethral, since their victory over them, and things had shifted somewhat. Not just in the tower's location, but notably, Verist assisted Thickhide to his seat, which had an extra cushion for his still sore backside. The green-scaled kobold had difficulties walking without his tail. Stumbling and a loss of balance was to be expected until he got used to his missing appendage. The nightmares he appeared to suffer were worse, giving him a haggard, somber look. Shade had remained in good spirits, while Grot fell into the deep end of planning a war, positioning armies and supply chains. Avant had issued an official declaration to their people the morning after their attack. The chief-of-chiefs had hoped for at least a couple of days. Their time was short and the machines of war marched steadily onward, even without their leaders at the helm.

“What's this about, Verist?” Grot growled, irritated to be pulled away from his machinations.

“I've had a chance to read through all of Rebeun's files,” she told him. That caused the orc to lighten up.

“Well?” he spurred her on vocally. “What did you find?”

The witch sat herself down and opened the dossier disguised as a book in front of her. “Firstly,” she said with a note of excitement, “It seems our assassin was a bastard son of the previous king. His mother was a necromancer from Rastar, a forbidden practice even there.”

Merdon whistled. “That would explain his abilities if nothing else,” the knight stated obviously.

Shade sat back and tapped the table with her claws. “The Avantian nationalists wouldn't be pleased to know a bastard son of the previous king was so high up in a secret part of their government,” she guessed.

“If they can be convinced it existed at all,” Sarel countered. “The humans would rather blind themselves to the obvious to continue living in their own safe state of mind.”

Verist nodded, agreeing with them both. “That's why I'm working on sending out copies of this entire document to the nobility, domestic and foreign.” Some of the Avantian nobles would question the authenticity, but many outside of the nation would see it connecting dots. Still, other Avantians would take it as an opportunity to leverage their government or perhaps to even step out of line in their own ways. The goal was chaos and confusion.

“If they believe it,” Merdon worried.

“We don't need them all to,” Verist told him. “Just enough to destabilize the royalty and splinter the nobility's support. Not to mention the elves.”

Grot raised a brow. “What about those uptight ethereal forest dwellers?”

Verist smirked, “Nothing much. Just that the king has had several of their ambassadors assassinated before they even reached the capital in order to put pressure on you and Merdon in this upcoming war. If there's even a shadow of doubt about the king's intentions, they'll step back and let us kill each other. A win-win where they only have to clean up the victor.”

“So we only have to fight one then the other,” Grot grumbled. “Better that way, I guess.”

Merdon sighed and shook his head. “There has to be some way to get them to stand down,” he suggested. “Why do the elves hate kobolds anyway?”

“We don't have a god,” Shade told the knight. “Every race on the planet has a god of some kind, and the elves have been around long enough to know their faces. Kobolds have no god, and therefore are no better than monsters to them.”

“So it's not that easy to fix,” Skyeyes added. “We can't just make someone up or start worshiping nothing.”

Merdon agreed and sat back again to think. Perhaps there was a way, but what that was he didn't know. “One problem at a time then. We have to figure out how to take down the king first.”

“It might be easier to find the kobolds' a god,” Grot laughed darkly. “We've got a chance here, Merdon, and not a good one. Just a chance. Even if we manage to pull Avant's reinforcements out from under them, we have to deal with their armies, the people, and Ardmach's anti-magic walls.” Assaulting the capital was only one large problem atop a heap of others.

“It all starts with getting our information into the hands of nobles,” Verist said with a smile. “That should, at least, shake things up for the king and his men.”

Grot stood in an orc war room, surrounded by maps, intelligence, reports, speculations, suggestions, and plans for moving his forces. Shade stood nearby, toying with a figure that would represent a whole regiment of troops in a short while, as she looked at the map on the table. Lines were directing from the orc capital to Ardmach, some deviated and went to other places around the nation. Plans within plans, few of which Grot expected to go as smoothly as envisioned. Nothing ever survived the battlefield entirely intact. A good orc knew that.

As he pondered over invasion routes and supply chains, a guard entered and informed him of an unusual visitor. A human that wasn't the Kobold Whisperer. The chief-of-chiefs frowned, thinking for a moment, before relenting and asking to see the visitor in the throne room. Seated atop a large wooden throne decorated with jewels and skulls, Grot felt particularly powerful. At least, he felt confident enough to meet an unknown human with mysterious intentions. It wasn't the king or his army after all, the guards wouldn't miss that detail for the life of them. Although the chief-of-chiefs felt a little remiss to have not asked for more details when the man walked in.

His hair was well cared for, his clothes giving away his nobility without question as if the rings on his fingers didn't, and the smile on his face belied the cunning Grot could see in his eyes. A snake oil salesman were it not for his refined walk. That way he carried himself told the dark-skinned orc that this human was connected enough to be worth his time. Verist had sent out her copies of the Eyes' actions to the nobility weeks ago, and this, Grot expected, was a fruit of that labor. The human approached and bowed with the caustic grace of a traitor.

“I'm unsure what to call you, as an appropriate title,” the man said carefully. “Kings would be your majesty or some such, but I understand orcs go by chiefs.”

“Sir would be fine,” Grot replied shortly. “What is it you want?”

“Very well, sir,” the human chuckled. “Getting straight to the point, as someone in your position must. Good sense. The information that your side of this war has uncovered has sparked some degree of, shall I say, unrest with those of us in Avant.”

Grot hummed and leaned on a fist. He was waiting for that point he asked for.

“It's not enough to make us come flocking to your cause, sir,” the noble covered himself from conscription with that. “But, rather, there are those that wish to see which way the winds will blow. Neutral parties that aren't afraid to continue with their businesses as usual.”

“You're a merchant,” Grot guessed. “And you know other merchants that are willing to keep trade routes open.”

“More than that,” the man offered. “I'm talking about pre-established supply routes within the nation you're poised to invade by month's end.”

“And you ask for what?” Shade asked him, leaning against the throne her mate was sitting on in a very casual way.

The merchant carefully looked at Grot and, seeing that he did nothing about the kobold leaning into him, replied, “It would only be my civic duty to overthrow a tyrant that has ordered his own countrymen and their allies to be slain by shadowy figures, would it not?”

Shade didn't buy it, not for a second, but Grot eyed a guard, who stood at attention. He then looked to the Avantian and told him, “Speak to our quartermaster about what supplies we're most in need of. Have them stored somewhere on our side of the border; we have plenty of villages for such things.”

The man bowed gracefully and departed with the guard Grot had looked at. The chief-of-chief's kobold made a face, however. “I don't trust him,” she warned her verakt.

“Neither do I,” he told her plainly. “He's a snake through and through, but we need the kind of connections he's touting.”

Shade sighed, “His promise of a supply line does solve a lot of issues. The Avantians won't be happy when we start burning crops and sacking villages though.”

“No one ever is,” Grot grunted in acknowledgment. “They understand war though. If we offer some suggestions about what we're about to do, our merchant 'friend' can wriggle on prices.”

The black-scaled kobold tapped the seat with her claw. “He gets us supplies, we tell him which way the market will blow before we change the wind.”

“It's as close to a win as he'll get.”

“He's not in this for kobolds,” Shade pointed out.

Grot shrugged at the notion. “Of course not, he's here for money and power. We take out the nobility in Ardmach, he and his friends fill in the gaps, then they can play ball with whoever invades next. They stood against the king that slain emissaries of their nations, but hate the new regime.”

“So we play with fire,” the assassin assumed. “And hope we can put it out before it burns us.”

The orc shook his head. “No, we play with humans, and know we can outsmart them before they can make their move.”

Skyeyes was meditating inside his room within Verist's tower when Red walked in without knocking and cleared her throat. The white-scaled kobold cracked open an eye and looked at her with curiosity. She was supposed to be training with the witch, not meditating. Red seemed uneasy, her foot tapping impatiently on the stone floor, her arms folded against her chest as she thought about what to say. Groaning to break the awkward silence, she settled to simply say, “There's a nun here to see you?”

Skyeyes frowned and stood up. “A nun?” he asked the mage in return. “What nun?”

Red sighed and shrugged. “I dunno, but she's dressed like an Avantian nun, not that I know what a follower from Rastar looks like.”

The kobold priest started out the door, not afraid of whatever Avantain the orcs had let into their lands. Whoever she was, they hadn't deemed her a threat. He was in for a surprise, however, when he walked out of the tower and saw much more than a single nun. The woman dressed in white and blue was backed by at least a dozen others in similar garb. Their style was unfamiliar to Skyeyes. He hadn't seen it when he was in Ardmach's grand cathedral, yet they bore the mark of Ethral like any other. As expected, they were surrounded by a light group of orcs with large, heavy weapons, which relaxed Skyeyes further. He was in control here.

The nun that Red mentioned stepped forward, a slight limp in her right foot, leaving her comrades in the care of the orcish guards as she did so. Around her neck was a familiar amulet, but in her hand was one even more so. She wore the typical amulet of a follower of the church, nothing special, but the one in her hand was the one that had been ripped from Skyeyes' neck many months ago. He could tell by the unique and elaborate design that made the ones worn by lesser church members look like fakes, as well as the feeling of the enchantment around it. It had to be his because she had brought it to him, but for what reason?

“They call you Skyeyes, yes?” she asked him in a soft voice. “I … we heard about you when the head priestess had you removed from the cathedral.”

“It wasn't my proudest moment,” the kobold admitted as he shifted awkwardly. “But, why are you all here?”

The nun nodded, understanding his confusion. “We were disciples of Father Reing, and this is most certainly his amulet, taken from your neck by the inquisitors. We had to know,” she said, looking at the kobold with questioning eyes, “Do you know his technique?”

Red raised a brow, while Skyeyes seemed to pale. “I'm not sure I know what you're referring to,” he dodged, unsuccessfully.

“You do,” the nun replied quietly. “You know the prayer that he invented, that only the most devout can perform. We know of it,” she told him. “We are a sect dedicated to the Father's teachings above all. If you were his chosen student then there is none other we should follow.”

Skyeyes swallowed hard and looked out at the crowd. None of them looked at him with anything but curiosity and wonder. Red stepped back at the words of the nun, her words were like an arrow from the dark. It felt like a trick, it was too ridiculous, too surreal. Yet, her white-scaled companion stepped forward and placed his hands on the nun's arm. He exhaled softly and muttered in a low, indecipherable voice.

The nun's eyes widened and she moved backward as he finished his prayer. She moved with perfect grace and fluidity, while Skyeyes limped on his right leg, as she had moments ago on her approach. There was no question among those gathered, the ones in white robes of the goddess Ethral. They knelt, hands clasped in prayer, as the nun before them presented Skyeyes with his pendant.

“This is yours,” she said with reverence too deep to be fake. “We, the Martyrs of the Goddess are at your command, good Father. The wounds and ails of your allies shall become ours, as the goddess takes the pain of her followers.”

A chorus of agreeing amens came from the crowd as Skyeyes reached for his amulet. They hadn't given it to another. As he placed it back around his neck it bound to him once more, and he looked out at the Martyrs. He had heard stories, but no one believed them. It was far fetched at best. A group of Ethral's devout that used a special prayer to take the afflictions of one onto themselves. Yet, Reing had shown Skyeyes that power long ago, confirmed it for the kobold years before. It was only now that he saw how much charisma his teacher had. These humans were devoted to the same teaching that Skyeyes had spent the majority of his life following. They were not bound by the high priestess or the church of Avant. They were Reing's flock, and he, Skyeyes, a kobold, was the Father's chosen shepherd.

The white-scaled priest felt fear and awe building in his chest. He was responsible for these people, but now he could do something for the war. Something more than healing one person at a time. With Red watching in shock, Skyeyes stepped forth to deliver his first sermon, and to get his followers moving in the right direction. There were orcs with pains they could take away, troops they could get moving again, with Reing's prayer or other more conventional ones. This was part of Avant's effective war machine, a church of healers that could keep people in top condition. Now the orcs had enough to even the odds. Skyeyes would not waste this boon.

# Book Three, Chapter One: Death March

Thick gray smoke billowed over and through the village from the burning crops to his right while the homes before him stood abandoned and ghostly with the sight of corpses all around in the dirt. Merdon surveyed the scene with a grim seriousness hidden behind his new helmet. This was the cost of war. He'd lost count of how many battles had gone like this, on the front lines of all three of their advancing forces as he was. The sound of steel meeting steel, the ringing of swords, the shouts of men, and the cries of civilians were present even when he was away from the battlefields. Ghosts that lingered in his mind during even his quietest moments. Verist's teleportation magic had been helpful in taking him to these battles. It was his obligation, he felt, to see these fights firsthand, yet their scars lingered as long as the one on his cheek. A mental toll that would never heal no matter what magic was brought to bear.

Grot was commanding the army from one side, Shade another, and his own front was here, making the most direct approach of the three. It would have run a normal man ragged, but Merdon was well trained by the orcs, a far more effective war machine than the common soldier. Already they had been assailed by Avant's forces trying to push them back into the orcish territory, and each time they'd come out on top, despite losses to their forces. Something had begun to trouble him about their tactics however, the way they were met and repelled didn't speak of legendary enchanted warriors. They had yet to face any of the remaining Eyes forces. The ones who, hundreds of years ago, had single-handedly stomped the orcish invasion into the dirt.

It was not a quick march into Avant towards the capital they had on their hands. Their pace was slow, glacial even. Three separate groups were closing in, trying to divide Avant's military into unsalvagable pieces that each group could crush. That had yet to be the case in Merdon's experience. Avant's numbers were greater than the orcs' and kobolds' put together despite gaining the free ones in the nation itself, and Verist's plans to turn the nobility in on itself. Watching the burning village before him, Merdon couldn't help but feel his opponents so far out were untrained, like a militia instead of an army. Part of him didn't want to believe the king could be that cruel, despite everything they knew about the leader of Avant. That wasn't deplorable to the man with the crown, it would have been nothing for him to throw bodies at them just to slow down their approach, to wind them before they met the main forces. He wanted to believe their march had met with at least some of Avant's soldiers, that their tactic was working. The ruins whispered otherwise.

He made a note of that as his horse trot through the debris and remains of life that lingered for a time before the orcs' flames inevitably consumed all. War was brutal, all-consuming. It was showing the Avantians that they needed to be met with extreme force, it was crippling the very nation they were trying to correct as they carved through it like butchers across a cow. Methodical, practiced, unwavering, yet all of those things made them appear to be the exact monsters the people of Avant feared the orcs to be. How little they must have realized of combat. Of the wells that Avant had to poison to stem the flow of troops, of the traps that had been laid before the oncoming army. Villages just like the one before Merdon laden with disease, its own citizens falling in the off chance members of the encroaching force would drink from those toxic wells, interact with the infected townsfolk. Precautions had been taken, and the Avantians were far from aware of Skyeyes' healers, so those villages only came off as disgusting to Merdon. Pathetic attempts to wound an already weaker force at the cost of the citizens. The king was worse than he had ever imagined.

Sarel darted from the smoke, stepping behind several pieces of cover before scaling Merdon's mount and landing on his back. The knight's new orcish armor had been fitted with special notches just for her to grab onto. The blue-scaled assassin leaned into his ear and whispered a report from their scouts ahead, her breath muffled by the dark mask she now wore over her snout, much like Shade's. It worked well with her black leather and cloak to help conceal her more now that she wasn't simply hunting for wealth. In the next moment, Sarel was gone, leaping from the back of her mate and disappearing into the thick smog that surrounded the ghost town. Her report delivered, the kobold had other things to tend to in the fogs of war. Enemy scouts and messengers to catch up with and takedown, stragglers that couldn't be allowed to reinforce the enemy army or give away their positions. A grim burden laid on her shoulders, and it was one she took a certain joy in completing. Besides, Merdon wasn't exactly alone out there.

As the knight trotted through to the other side of the village, he came out to face his army, more of a detachment than anything else, breaking down their encampment and preparing to move out. Skyeyes came shambling out of the smoke, coughing and wheezing, his claw flapping in front of his face to clear away whatever was coming out of his lungs faster. He had insisted on traveling with the fire team in case they ran into trouble. The orcs chuckled at the little white kobold's reaction to the smoke. They'd done enough of this before to no longer be bothered by the smell and the fumes.

“Must we?” the priest complained as he hacked some phlegm up. “These crops could be better used-.”

“By no one,” Merdon insisted, removing his helmet only now that he was in the safety of their camp, and only for as long as he felt necessary. “Karsan has investments in other crops. Burning these raises his income and benefits the army.” Their merchant double agent playing the field had started to issue 'suggestions' on what should be destroyed and left alone. Not always his own purchases, to avoid suspicions, but enough to help fund their rebellion while still lining his own coffers no doubt. “I don't like it any more than you do,” the knight added, seeing Skyeyes' sour look.

“We need allies in Avant, but the man is a leech, Merdon.” No one denied that.

“Rather a helpful leech than something unhelpful,” the man shrugged. “We've months yet of marching and still no idea how to penetrate the walls of Ardmach other than a protracted siege.” Which they wouldn't win. They needed a smart play, something to outwit the Avantians. Meeting them on unfavorable ground was a death sentence.

The priest sighed. “Do we think he can provide that?” he asked Merdon bluntly. “It's been months already and we don't know what he's planning. Giving him more time to work doesn't necessarily sound like a positive.” It sounded like a way for him to milk the orcs and kobolds and then give him ample time to disappear into the night.

“Grot is supposed to be wringing that out of him as we speak,” Merdon assuaged with a smile. “I wish we could be there, but we've got more important things to tend to.”

Skyeyes nodded in agreement, with both of those statements. “My healers have patched up the wounded from that last skirmish,” he reported. “And I use that word with extreme emphasis. Merdon, these soldiers don't feel trained. Certainly not against orcs. It's almost as if-.”

“Someone dropped off supplies and told them to fend for themselves?” he finished with a sigh.

Skyeyes nodded in agreement.

“I've felt the same way for a while now. They have basic coordination, but most of them lack serious training. We're being baited.”

“To what end?” the kobold asked.

Unfortunately, Merdon didn't have an answer for him. The armored human shrugged, a rather noisy action in his current garb. “That's the question, why. What could they be planning that's worth throwing away the lives of their citizens?” It would take a rather deranged mind to work out the reasoning, or a look at the enemy's plans. Assuming they ever encountered an actual enemy camp and not well-armed civilians, mercenaries, and veterans.

Skyeyes looked at their group of orcs pensively. “Perhaps it's something to bring up the next time you meet with the others.” Thanks to Verist's magic, the three primary leaders of the orc army were able to meet and strategize frequently, at least more often than the average military officers.

The pair sat passively for a moment, letting the sounds of war wash over them and pull them under. Crackling fires could be heard in the distance, while the shouting of orc commanders was closer. Tools and armor clanked and dinged as the soldiers worked. Tents were uprooted, supplies were stored, wagons attached to horses. It was surreal for both of them. Merdon was used to working alone, to being an adventurer, not a soldier, not a general, and Skyeyes had always opposed the idea of open conflict until he saw how desperate things were. The priest wanted a way for the races to co-exist without this bloodshed, yet it seemed Avant had put the wheels in motion long ago. This conflict was inevitable.

“Does it ever feel like we're the bad guys?” Skyeyes asked the human quietly.

Merdon looked back at the smoke-covered village, where bodies lay abandoned, homes smashed and ripped open like wooden carcasses. And he and his army, they were the beasts that ripped them apart that way with brutish strength and weapons. All of that in his vision, he could only reply, “Sometimes, yes.”

Across the world, a certain merchant was bowing to Grot and smiling as he did it. The chief-of-chief's chamber was largely the same as it ever was, decorated by bone and hide to disguise the bland stone of the orcs' capital. Grot's throne was simplistic. A heavy wooden chair decorated with traditional pelts and bones from every orc chief's greatest hunts, not a few of which were human. That usually unnerved Avantians, but Karsan was making a killing off these orcs, and money overcame morbidity any time of the year. The chief-of-chiefs meanwhile was frowning at the sight of the human before him. No one was a fan of Karsan, not even the orc that defended him helping them. His posture, smile, extravagant aristocratic act, set everyone's teeth on edge in the orc lands. He was tolerated thanks to his connections and usefulness. Both were things that were running thin with Grot. The orc wanted real progress.

“You called for me, dear chief?” the merchant asked, standing upright.

Grot grunted at the platitudes. “I wanted to know how things are progressing.”

“Well,” Karsan started, tapping his chin and pacing before the orc throne, “profits are up tremendously. I've asked your armies to burn several of my competitor's stores while assaulting relatively few of my own, only enough to avoid too much suspicion. Knowing the invasion routes ahead of time helped with my purchases.”

The merchant glanced at Grot and caught the chief-of-chief's curled lip before changing the heading of his discussion. “Of course, sir,” Karsan bowed again as he spoke, “the coin has been reinvested into the war efforts a considerable amount. Your supply chains are healthier than ever, and your forges smelt the purest metals that can be found in Avant.”

Grot held up a large hand to stop him, “Yet we're no closer to breaking through the cursed walls of Ardmach. A promise you gave to me a month ago now.”

Karsan froze and nervously strummed his fingers along his side. “Yes, well... I didn't want to come to you so early with what I had discovered...” He'd wanted to find a way to make some gold off of it first, he meant. Grot could see through it.

“And what did you find out?” the dark-skinned orc coaxed the human.

Karsan bit his lip as he reached into his pocket and produced a sack. Grot sat, unenthused, until the little bag was opened. A single dark stone tumbled out into the human's hand, its onyx color a stain on the white silken hand of a merchant. The chief-of-chiefs sat forward, his eyes wide. It could have just been a piece of onyx, or obsidian, easily found from any of the mountains around Ardmach, but the context of their conversation mattered a great deal. The black walls that surrounded the capital, the cursed material that blotted out magic attempting to bypass it, the very thing that made their enemy's mountainous stronghold so unapproachable.

“I found a vein of what we believe makes up Ardmach's walls,” Karsan said quietly. “There's precious little of this left, and the artisans I've shown it to have yet to find a way to manipulate it as the Avantian's have to build their walls.”

Grot stared into the black rock for what felt like eternity. It was a miniature black hole, sucking in everything, even time, until his brain caught up. “Take it to Verist,” he told the merchant. “If there is anyone that can figure out what to do with it, it's the witch of the white tower.”

Karsan frowned but nodded. He couldn't argue with Grot, and his smile soon returned as he remembered how much money he was making playing both sides already. Besides, he had a whole vein of this mysterious mineral to mine out later. “Of course, chief,” the human said with a flourish. “Is that all?”

The orc scowled and waved him off. For all his help, the merchant's attitude still pissed Grot off.

# Book Three, Chapter Two: More Questions than Answers

Verist examined the dark stone in her hand like it was a viper ready to strike at any moment. She felt equal parts revulsion and curiosity as she cupped it in her palm. Without applying any force, physical or magical, the witch could tell it was suppressing mystical phenomenon just by existing. Avant had gone above and beyond in being the first to discover this material so many hundreds of years ago. In truth, she was amazed a vein of it had been found in the wild, and by their side of all things. Its special properties limited how she could study it, however, leaving her in what felt like the dark ages. Chisel in hand, she had broken a few slivers off the main chunk she now held and doused them into special chemicals to see the reactions.

In one vial it sat within acid, which was eating away at it with a steady pace. Expected, but ultimately a useless measure. There was no way to throw enough corrosive liquids at the walls of Ardmach to eat through them without taking heavy losses themselves. Getting so close to make a strategy like that viable, they might as well have just stormed the keep. At best, she could perhaps use the idea to melt a small hole in an unmonitored section and slip in a small force. That could be used to assassinate the king, perhaps a few key political figures, but it wouldn't win them the day, as well there was a time limit to such an act. No one would miss a hole in the wall of the capital for more than a couple of hours if that. All the test told her was that it followed the natural laws. Other than barring magic, the stone was stone, nothing more.

Another piece was placed in a kiln and set over high heat. Were it a typical cook stove she would expect to see nothing happening, but that was not the case for the witch's tower. No, the kiln was placed in a crude blast furnace, the flames powered by magically obtained but naturally occurring elements. The fire was perfectly natural, Verist had just cheated in how she came upon the fuel for her fire. Not that the smiths of the orc kingdom would be missing their fuel. As expected of stone, the fragment took extreme heats to melt down, far greater than common rock even, and the witch observed it had a very minimal work time. She doubted the walls of Ardmach were crafted in that way. No, as her experiments went on she came to the conclusion that the walls must have been carved into the bricks that now formed the capital's dark defenses. Which meant there had been massive veins, if not outright mountains, of this material all those centuries ago.

The other three beakers were filled with different concoctions to see if she could dispel or inhibit the stone's capabilities without destroying it outright. After hours of mixing, heating, testing, Verist came to an unfortunate conclusion. There was no subverting Ardmach's defenses magically. Those black walls needed to be smashed through, climbed over, or tunneled under. A test confirmed her theory, the rock stationed on a table across from her as Verist threw a few spells in its direction. Anything that crossed the stone itself vanished on contact, as if swallowed by some invisible maw. Just above or just below and the spell passed without any incident. Which was why Ardmach had been built so high up. Tunneling into the mountain would be no easy feat, and the siege engines atop the plateau could fire down on them with impunity. Equally, trying to go over the wall was absurd, even to her. Thus, the capital of Avant still left them with an unsolved problem. To reach the king and end the war, they had to assault that impenetrable keep.

At least, Grot seemed bent on it. Verist had written him time and again that the proper course of action was to surround Ardmach, and that was what she wrote with her reported findings this time. If their army captured the entire nation bar Ardmach, the king would be forced to surrender or be starved out as they refused him and his citizen's supplies. A protracted siege only ended one way if those inside could no longer eat. The chief-of-chiefs was not so convinced. He worried that the king would not let them capture the nation so easily, that he would use Ardmach as a strike point. His troops would mass out and attack the back of their lines if they tried to march around the capital. It was a fair point to be made, but they needn't march so close to the city as to be ambushed, simply avoiding the area until they claimed the surrounding lands before turning inward would suffice. Assuming they had the forces to do that.

The witch sighed as she whisked that letter off to the chief-of-chiefs with a thought. Her plan to rile the aristocrats to their cause had not worked as she intended, and it was a sticking point that filed her with rage to consider. In the wake of her document leaks the king had addressed his nation, her spies had told her. He placated the peasantry, sealing the nobility behind a wall of stirred patriotism. Anyone that voiced ire of the king was a traitor, and the loss of their power would be secondary to the odds the poor stormed their houses and took their lives for the newly popular king. He left the nobles outnumbered and browbeat into compliance. The best they could hope for was that some would defect when the armies were knocking at their gates, under the promise of leniency and perhaps a place in some new government. She had heard several of the upper crust within Ardmach had taken a lighter stance since the information was made public. Hearing the king was behind the assassination of several dissenters had made most of the nobility question their safety until the general population was whipped into a fervor about traitors and a great upheaval. Some of the elite had decided to stop participating in the slave trade, yet they hadn't set their own servants free, nor tried to flee the city, yet. Too much haste would draw attention. It was the best she could do to make them suspicious of their leader, and it was far less than Verist was hoping to accomplish.

“Any luck?” Red asked, stepping into the room dressed in her newly acquired mages robes, courtesy of Verist's teleportation and a quick trip to a certain clothier mayor.

“None,” the witch sighed. “The stone's properties aren't tied to any particular state or, well, anything.” She threw her hands up in surrender and grumbled. “We have to go through or around it, and Grot is insisting we take the king.”

Red nodded. “It's the fastest way to end the war. If Avant loses their leader the whole snake falls dead.”

“He's not the only one that supports this.”

“It doesn't matter,” the kobold mage told her. “The aristocrats that support enslaving my kind will find themselves without a bastion to hide in, and the commoners will change their tune when we get someone with better interests on the throne.”

Verist shook her head. “The commoners don't care about their own well-being, they're focused on things that make them feel important. Patriotism, high callings to the military, serving the good of the kingdom. We can't placate those ideals.”

Red shrugged. “Then they can leave,” the red-scaled kobold said flatly. “If it was up to me, I'd kick all of you humes out. Go live in Rastar for all I care.” She was less vitriolic, but the mage still believed the kobolds would be better served without humans in their affairs.

“Then you abandon them to a more hateful regime that will radicalize them further,” Verist warned her. “Right now they think you belong in shackles, but after this conflict, they'll want your heads on pikes, and two wars back to back will leave us crippled.”

Red looked angry for a moment, then sighed. “You're right, yes,” she conceded, the most progress she had made on her issues in months. “I don't like it, but we don't have a lot of choices. We'll figure out how to make the commoners agree with us, at least tolerate us, for a while anyway. If only to give our kind time to grow.”

Verist smiled, “You're getting better about thinking things through.”

Red glanced at the claw she had slapped Merdon with. “Acting rashly will only cause us pain,” she said quietly. “We have to think things through before setting them in motion. That's what it means to be a mage, yes?”

The witch gave her a resolute nod. “We mages carry tremendous powers. Opening up the earth to swallow our enemies over and over leaves the ground unstable, calling forth lighting to strike from the heavens is impressive, but it can generate unnatural storms in large numbers.” That was why many mages stuck to using things that could be generated from their own bodies. Pulling from nature had a counteractive force. Crashing a wave onto your enemies on the beach sounded powerful until the tides washed out and caused a tsunami up the coastline that wiped out a village. Those with magic had to think about what to manipulate and when, because pulling at every string often broke the marionette.

Which brought Verist back to studying the red kobold before her. Red possessed an intense natural mana reserve. She had fueled a spell that normally left Verist dizzy and only felt a little winded. Such a latent power meant Red could likely summon a storm from thin air without resorting to manipulating the weather. Verist could count the number of living magicians on her fingers and toes that had such capabilities. The fools in Avant would sooner see this talent washing dishes, and she felt disgusted to remember that, at one time, she agreed for what she considered their sake. Now she knew the error of her ways. The kobolds could handle themselves, given proper care.

And so, Verist cleared her throat and asked Red, “Have you been practicing?”

The kobold mage nodded. “As much as I can traveling with the troops,” she confessed. Red was part of Shade's contingent of troops, a hybrid of kobolds and orcs that were making the most rapid progress through Avant. Grot's forces were making a huge mess, trying to draw the most attention, while Merdon's group were the largest force. Shade's were smaller and focused on striking key points that Karsan had plotted out for them. Red was their emergency plan, capable of getting their most important people out of the fray and bringing back reinforcements in the blink of an eye.

“Yes,” Verist hummed. “It's not a great place to train. Our talents need to be focused on other things, while we need to be ready to respond to hostile activities.” Energy couldn't be wasted on practice, yet the practice would be necessary for success at some point.

“I've gotten good with electricity and teleportation at least,” Red replied as she held up her claw and demonstrated. White lightning magnificently arced between her claws, lighting up the room further as the power coursed up and down her fingers. It put a smile on Verist's face.

“Keep going,” she encouraged the kobold. “Before long you'll be ready to move onto bigger things.”

Red put her arm down and asked, “Like that hellfire spell?” The one she had cast over a year ago, in that very room.

Verist's face fell and she looked at the walls of her tower. She remembered. “Where did you learn that?” she asked.

“There was a book,” Red told her. “I found it when I was living in my village. When I had a village. I didn't understand the words, even when I learned to read them. They didn't make sense.”

“A book of spells,” the human muttered. It also confirmed something for her. If any other kobold had read that passage aloud, nothing would have happened. Red had the potential for magic, for great magic if she concentrated. “Where did you get it?”

The red-scaled kobold shrugged. “Fell off a wagon or something. It was just in the forest where we lived and I found it. I learned how to read it over a few months and decided to ask our elder why it didn't make sense. When I read it out loud...” Her home burned, consumed by a fire that could only be stopped by holy rains or incapacitating the caster. Red had blacked out from the strain, but not before the fire ruined her home.

“You will be ready for such things one day,” Verist told her. “In truth, that you've cast that spell not once by accident, but once again on purpose, means you have a great potential, Red. But you must understand your limits, and the proper care of magic before you tackle anything greater than what you have now.”

“Or else I'll hurt myself,” she guessed, Verist confirming with a nod. “I understand,” the kobold mage agreed. “I've stepped beyond that line too many times already.” She didn't fully trust Verist, still, but she didn't feel like submerging the orcs' home in a conjured ocean by accident or destroying it with a never-ending tornado. Magic required her to act in a more contained manner, and so she would learn it. She would master control, her abilities, and then she could use it as she saw fit, without restraint. Then, the king of Avant would regret his life, and every choice he'd made that led up to his death at the fiery hands of an angry kobold.

# Book Three, Chapter Three: Information Gathering

Shade sat in the darkness of a treetop watching the light of the Avantian camp from afar. Beneath her sat a dozen kobolds in similar black garb to her own. Their faces covered, bodies armored, all blending into the shadows around them. Ahead was a small force of the main Avantian army that had finally gotten mobilized after months of their borders being under siege. The assassin didn't know if their lack of speed was being caught off guard or deliberate, but that was what she and her team were hoping to figure out. Those below her were trained by her personally from the orc capital, city-dwelling, free-living kobolds that had volunteered for the impromptu spy corps she had established to lead the third prong of her verakt's offensive strategy.

Miles behind their position was their own camp, stationed out of sight from the humans and their forces, who were marching to meet Grot's legions. The chief-of-chiefs had an army, several thousand of the best orcs they had. Merdon, the kobold whisperer, the human champion of the non-humans, marched with a couple thousand of their elite warriors; a strike force capable of dealing with any Eyes of Ethral soldiers that might have been left. Shade, the spy, the assassin, the dark-scaled kobold mate of the orc chief-of-chiefs, had less than a thousand at her back, and perhaps half as many of them in kobold numbers. They were the least trained of their numbers, but the loudest braggarts she had ever laid ears on. This was their choice to prove their worth to the cause. Stir up trouble, prod defenses, sweep along the edge of Avant that bordered the sea, all to hide the fact that she was there to steal intelligence.

No army marched without orders, the chain of command was sacred to lifelong military men. Finding the right officer with the right letter from the king meant the difference between death and salvation in this war. A weapon they had that the Avantians no longer did. Their spy network was crippled, their assassins and recruits dead, buried under rubble. There was no better time to strike than the dead of a moonless night. Starlight was more than enough for kobolds to see by, while the humans would wander with their bright torches held high. Lights that bright were beacons in the night for Shade and her assassins. By morning, the camp would be a graveyard, and whatever orders they had would be theirs. Then, the orcs behind her would come up and desecrate the camp, making it seem like a battle had raged fiercely fought and lost.

Shade dropped from the branches and landed silently before sprinting forward. A second later and she caught the sound of her team fanning out around her. They needed no signal, this wasn't the first time they had gone after the humans like this. Their assault would be as deadly as it was quiet, and a force of thousands would fall to the blades of a dozen. Most of the camp would be asleep. Once the guards were dealt with it would take only a couple hours to slit the throats of the sleeping army. Brutal, effective, and quite fun for the dark-scaled assassin.

They started with the walls. Avant had begun repurposing their old forts into staging areas for their march, which meant the forces had shelter, most nights, from the weather and other things, but mere stone was no match for Shade. Kobold claws could sink into stone, sharp and durable as they were, and it made for easy climbing with how easy it was to place them into the mortar between blocks. Shade watched, waited, and pounced on a flame as it passed her position under a parapet. The guard sounded stunned as his last breath gurgled out of a new hole in his throat. She left the torch burning, setting it in a nearby rung for such things, before moving out across the wall. In moments her team had secured the top of the fort and then came the tricky part. Half of them would descend into the courtyard and silence the men on the ground before circling the outpost's outside and taking care of any patrols that lingered. Meanwhile, she and five others would enter the fort proper and take care of the remaining conscious guards.

Her force was completely silent as they went about their bloody task. While the others went about making sure the only person the guards would alert was their goddess, Shade went snooping for the commander's room. Their primary mission was intelligence gathering after all. The trick to Avantian forts, she had discovered, was that none of them liked to put the commander in the same room. It was a scavenger hunt each time, and the giveaway was the pair of well-armored guards standing outside the door. No other room had two guards standing idle in front of it. As far as obviousness, they may as well have painted her a sign. Which left splitting them up to take care of their leader. Shade took her claw and raked it along the wall, making a very loud, distinctly unhuman sound before scurrying up the wall itself and clinging to a wooden support beam.

She heard the door open and a pair of voices talking. One guard had gone to inform their commander of the noise. That only made her job easier. The first guard came around the corner and looked around. His eyes were naturally drawn to the marking that Shade had left on the wall beside him. As his fingers raised to drag along the wall and test the mark, to see how fresh it was, Shade dropped from above. A clang of armor and muffled shout were all that came from his lips before a dagger snaked its way under his helm and into his throat. The collapsing corpse caused a commotion that sparked his ally to come running, only to be blindsided by the kobold assassin. Shade bounced off a wall and hooked her knife into his throat as well, turning and landing on the ground behind him as her blade split him from ear to ear while preserving her momentum as she dropped.

The Avantian commander was not wearing his helmet, making him an infinitely easier target than his guards. A middle-aged man, the lieutenant, or whatever pointless position he held, turned to run while shouting about intruders. He might have gotten some attention if his guards weren't taking dirt naps. Shade didn't let him get far either. Only the lightest of sleepers, or anyone stationed near their leader's room, would have awoken from his shouts. Before he could round the corner, Shade leaped up and threw one of her daggers with expert precision. The man turned as the assassin's weapon sunk into his head. He slammed into the wall and slumped over, his eyes glazing as what life he had spirited away back to the ether. The black kobold strode over and pulled her blade free from her target's skull, wiping it off before tucking it away. Now came the boring part, sorting through paperwork.

Before morning came the fort was a better tomb than anything else. Shade lingered, documents in hand, to make sure that everything wrapped up as intended, and set out with the rest of her group. Despite the silence they traveled in back to their own camp, there was an air of accomplishment and confidence about them as they ran through the grass. This was their third detachment of troops. Between her two teams, Shade's assassins had racked up hundreds of kills per kobold. By all technicality, they were the most experienced killers in the orc armies, as long as the enemy was asleep. There wasn't any fanfare to be had when they returned to camp, however. The orcs would have rather rushed an army twice their size than let the kobolds wrap things up quietly, and Shade suspected that some of the armored kobolds were feeling the same way, maybe due to their inexperience.

Whatever the case, Shade made for her tent to find Red. The mage had only just returned from Verist's tower, she knew, but what the assassin had found was too important to ignore. Shade slapped the papers down on a table in the center of the tent with a sneer on her face. Ever curious, Red picked them up and skimmed the contents for anything meaningful. It became dreadfully obvious before she even reached the second page, which could only make things worse. The papers detailed the king's plan for dealing with the invasion, and it would have riled up the peasantry for sure.

“We have to get this out there,” Red told Shade without hesitation. “This is the key to making Verist's plan work, to getting the people of Avant on our side.”

“If they believe it,” Shade told her. “I'll not get my hopes up so quickly that a group of commoners will wrap their minds around the political intrigue happening here. At best we might get some resistance away from Grot and Merdon.”

Red sighed and sat the papers down. She tapped her claws on the wooden table irritably before getting herself under control. “Yes, you have a point,” she admitted. “The common folk of Avant aren't the sharpest swords in the armory, but let's think about it like this. If the towns on the outskirts of the nation start to doubt the king then we can show them how peaceful we want to be. We can get them out of their towns, away from the bloodshed, and in the process claim the edges of Avant for ourselves.” Strangling the nation itself, in essence.

“It's a bold proposition,” Shade shrugged, “and one I'm not so sure will work. We can try it though. Ultimately, I'm more concerned with the Whisperer and Grot getting their hands on this. It changes our early plans significantly. The king is sacrificing these outer towns to fortify an inner circle. Our three-pronged approach isn't going to work if the enemy is just placing traps in our way. We're going to need to bulk up and surprise them, slam through one route and make the other fortifications a waste of resources.”

Red shook her head and held up her hands. “I'm not leading an army,” she reminded Shade. “None of that needs to convince me of anything. My point is that we should do everything to try and weaken the king's hold. Every human that doubts their cause is one less body they can throw at us.”

“Aye.” Shade agreed with that much. “Either way, we need Verist to get this and spread it around, to our generals and to the Avantians through her spies. Take Ironhide with you as well. I imagine we'll have a meeting to attend shortly after she reads those.”

Before Red could so much as nod in confirmation, the tent flap was thrust aside and one of Shade's team burst in. His mask down and eyes blazing as he shouted, “Why does that tail-less failure get to sit in on meetings between the generals?”

Shade cocked her head and momentarily debated knocking this kobold flat, but Red did so verbally before the assassin could come to a decision.

“That tail-less failure is a dozen times the 'bold you will ever be,” Red hissed at the intruder. “The last time I checked, he lost his tail participating in a raid on an Avantian military hideout you city lizards were too cowardly to join up on.”

The kobolds of the orc lands hadn't been confident about the group's success rate going up against the Eyes, and it shown in how this assassin recoiled at the memory. “We were playing it safe, yes, but now that we're all out here in the middle of the war surely there's someone with more skills, more knowledge of the field.”

“Like you?” Shade suggested with a firm look. She knew all sorts of kobolds like this. It was why she had two separate teams that she alternated between. To try and avoid making them think that sneaking into a fort in the middle of the night made them great warriors like the orcs. Some would never learn.

The kobold fidgeted and looked away while mumbling, “Not specifically...” He didn't want to be in trouble.

“You realize eavesdropping on our meeting doesn't exactly look good for you?” Red added with a frown. “Even if we did take your suggestion as more than arrogance, it would never be you.”

Shade smiled and started idly looking for a blank piece of paper. “I wonder if a court marshal is in order for this,” she said aloud, making the assassin go pale. “Grot would just love to know why one of our own felt it necessary to listen to our plans without invitation.”

Realizing his own grave was being dug before him, the kobold in question fled the tent without so much as an apology. The ladies stood for a moment before looking at each other with smiles.

“It's been a while since I got to be that open,” Red whispered. It was liberating to be as angry as she felt sometimes.

“Maybe we'll put you on the tribunal,” Shade suggested. “You can shout down the rafters at all our wayward military members. Maybe bring in some little girls to compare their bravery to or lack thereof.”

“Tempting,” Red joked.

While the two were joking around, something was brewing outside the tent. Ironhide, formerly Thickhide, was on guard duty around the edge of the pavilion. With the surge of ore from Avant to work with, the kobold knights had been properly fitted. Their tails were now adorned with steel plating that made them even slower than usual but protected them from the same fate that Ironhide had suffered in the Eyes training camp. Which made him stand out all the more. Ironhide now fit into a more normal armor shape, and if one saw a halfling-sized armored creature with no tail, they knew exactly who it was without a second thought. Exiting the tent in a huff, Shade's assassin saw Ironhide from a distance and made his way over with his teeth set. If he couldn't convince the kobolds in charge with words, he would just have to prove his stance with his fists. These armored kobolds were slow and helpless against a real kobold like him, one that was trained in speed and agility.

Shade and Red's attention wasn't caught until the fight grew into a camp-wide spectacle. The low chanting rising up into an arena of voices got them to leave the tent, hearing Ironhide's name being the one repeated caused them to break into a run. A crowd had gathered around them, and the two kobolds had to force their way to the front to see what was happening. In the middle of the circle was Ironhide, as expected, and the assassin that had just been thoroughly dismissed by the pair.

Red growled and raised a claw to help, but Shade caught her arm and shook her head. “I don't think that's necessary,” she told Red over the roar of the crowd.

The assassin was on his knees while Ironhide stood with a clenched fist. There was some blood on the ground already, and a splattering on the armored one's gauntlet. With a surge of rage, the assassin sprung up and lunged at the green kobold before him, striking furiously and rapidly. Yet, despite his speed, despite the armor slowing him down, Ironhide stood his ground and avoided the more serious blows. Any punches and kicks to his abdomen and legs were pointless, he was wearing full steel plate. His face lacked a helmet though, it having been torn off by his attacker before the crowd gathered. Each swing was directed at his face, and that made the assault predictable.

Ironhide stood ready and shifted from side to side, deftly evading every blow that came up high until the opportunity arose to turn things around. He fought grounded, ready to counter when the time came, while his opponent was going at him with every limb he had available. One kick was all it took, a roundhouse that Ironhide blocked with a bracer, making his opponent shout in pain before the real hurt kicked in. With the attack stopped, the knightly kobold wrapped his arm around the offending leg in his face and pulled the assassin in close. Off-balance and without a choice, the other kobold hopped closer and into Ironhide's waiting punch. Blood and a couple of fangs went flying as Ironhide leveraged his weight and strength to raise the lightweight killer and slam him back to the ground in a terrific fashion.

The offending kobold coughed and groaned as he hit the hard earth, while his target stood proud over him. All around them the sounds of an arena, of a hundred orcs and half as many kobolds, rose into the night air. Ironhide had single-handedly bested one of Shade's personally trained assassins in single combat. Even with the disadvantage of taking the first blow, a less evident punch to the face that had caused infinitely less damage than either of Ironhide's gauntlet assisted strikes, he had put his opponent on the ground without issue. Orcs loved a good brawl, and the kobolds in the armored division hadn't forgotten what a hero Ironhide was to them. Seeing him triumph in action once again only steeled their resolve, lit a fire in their hearts to keep going. Ironhide had beaten a kobold that was using all of a kobold's natural advantages, and he'd done so without a tail.

Shade had to break everyone up and get them back to their posts, a less than friendly reminder that they were still in the midst of enemy territory and were supposed to be stealthier than a coliseum. Red stepped out to talk to Ironhide, while the knight picked up his defeated challenger and moved to take him to the healers they had stationed in their camp.

“We're going back to Verist's tower,” Red told him.

Ironhide nodded, “Let me just, uhm, drop this guy off.” He was as unsteady with his words as ever.

“That was a good fight,” Red noted. Not that he needed the affirmation with the orcs around them still congratulating him.

The green kobold blushed and shook his head. “It was kinda pointless, wasn't it?” he asked. “We're supposed to be allies.” He didn't even realize what he'd done. Typical Ironhide.

# Book Three, Chapter Four: Meeting of the Minds

Grot groaned as he sat down at the little round table that had become relaxing in its own strange way. Across from him sat Merdon, the adventurer turned general, a twist the orc wouldn't have guessed after fighting him a year ago in that ravine. The hume that had come asking for help from the “monsters” to the North was nothing like the confident man that sat before him now. Sure, his features hadn't changed, except for that burn mark, his hair was as short cut and clean as ever, and he hadn't grown a beard or an extra limb, but the way he carried himself had shifted dramatically. It was in his posture, the way his shoulders rested, in his every glance and look around. Sarel wasn't much different.

The thief turned assassin and spy had changed the least, Grot felt, but she moved like Shade did, on silent, swift feet. How she held herself in public was different, a stance more than anything. Quickclaw was all but gone, the thief sinking into the waters of Sarel, and Sarel was a kobold with purpose beyond rebellion. It was a similar shift to what Skyeyes had undergone, now that he had a whole regiment of healers under his command. A sense of responsibility echoed through everyone that sat at the table in Verist's tower. Which applied even greater pressure to Grot to help guide them.

Of the most changed was Ironhide. Not only had his name changed, but he'd lost a vital part of himself, a physical part, and it had forced his hand. The green-scaled kobold had spent weeks in the infirmary, and then one day he was done. A talk with the witch of the white tower and he was back on the fields clad in steel and swinging his sword. Grot wouldn't have exactly replaced one of his soldiers with the little one, but he felt the knightly kobold could be trusted to watch his back if push came to shove. Ironhide was capable now, in some capacity, a true warrior, an echo of what Merdon had been before. He was unsure, untested, and only time would tell if Ironhide could square his shoulders and stand tall, or if he would find reason to abandon his path once his kind were free. Unlike Merdon, the kobold yet had a choice.

Then there was Red, whose temper had become much more controlled in recent months. Whether he could attribute that to Verist or her saintly verakt, Grot didn't know, but the change was just as remarkable as Verist's own. The witch still believed she was some paragon of intellect and foresight, despite her plans going awry, but she was much more willing to admit her faults. Which seemed to be what this meeting was about, judging by the look she had on her face. Eyes down, a slight frown, just a bare tugging of her lips, and the awkward silence they were sat in, all things telling Grot that the witch was about to do something uncharacteristic for her, although not unheard of.

Verist took a deep breath and told them, “I wish I had gone looking for something like this before. These orders from the king are much more damning than the Eyes orders.”

“More damning than murder and conspiracy against his own people?” Grot huffed. “You humans are something else.”

“The conspiracy only really affected those in positions of power,” Verist told the orc. “Why would the king care about some commoner, such as Merdon, betraying the country? That was his oversight, looking back. He never expected an adventurer could grow into a storm like this. The aristocracy, however, have troops of their own, influences outside of Avant. If there was anyone to raise the elves and Rastar against him, to shed light on his actions and bring down Avant's treaties, it was one of them.”

“We've stopped them from interfering at least,” Merdon noted. “Our scouts haven't returned word of marching forces from either the elven lands or Rastar.”

Verist smiled. “My own visions have shown much the same. The elves are sickened by what the king has done and are awaiting the conclusion to this war. Regardless of who wins, however, they plan on attacking when we're at our weakest.”

Grot wiped his face with a hand. “Problems for later,” he told them. “Focus on the battle at hand first. The elves won't be our problem if the Avantians bury us in a mass grave first.”

“So you think these will get the people on our side?” Skyeyes asked hopefully, flipping through the two pages of orders back and forth.

“The king ordered cheap supplies taken to the outer villages and distributed to the peasants,” Merdon reiterated. “Not to help them, but as roadblocks to slow us down and wear us out.”

Shade added, “All so the army ahead can fortify positions around Ardmach and dig in for a siege.” The only thing Ardmach was good at being so far removed from the world. “We need a plan.”

“I agree with my mate,” Grot said with conviction. “We should ditch this three-sided attack, the subterfuge has failed. Our forces should gather via teleportation and we can smash through one of their barriers with incredible force.”

Verist groaned. “Do you know how much time it would take to put all of your forces together with magic?” the witch asked. Even Red sighed.

“It's not hard moving a few troops at once,” the kobold mage told them. “But moving entire armies? We'd need flat land for each group and a lot of chalk.” It would require a sigil to move each army together.

“But we'd save weeks of marching,” Merdon argued. “I know it would be a pain, but consider the alternative of giving Avant more time to prepare.”

Shade, however, informed the mages, “You only need to move one army.” The table looked at her with confusion and surprise. “My detachment can stay where they are while my spies push forward. While they watch our orcs and kobolds start a slow march towards the others, Merdon and Grot's forces can group up and make a sudden push into enemy territory. They'll be off guard, and we can keep stealing information.”

“Not to mention how effective you've been,” Sarel remarked. “I think your infiltrators have killed more than Grot and Merdon's forces combined.”

“Only because they haven't attempted to raise a real army against them,” Shade said sourly. “They're playing coward tactics until they've gauged how strong we are, then they'll try and wipe us out with one big battle.”

“Just like before,” Grot stated. “Except last time it was because they couldn't fight us head-on."

"This time it's thanks to the elves being out of the conflict," Verist replied with a small smile at her own tactic bearing fruit. "That doesn't mean the Avantian's won't try and reason with them."

Merdon rubbed his face, exhausted, and looked at the map again. "So we have a timeline to play with," he said to no one in particular, or perhaps the whole table at once. "If the king can convince the elves to join in, our casualties will jump unacceptably."

"That's a big if," Skyeyes muttered.

"If they can," Merdon said again, firmly, "We'll be in trouble. If they can't, we still have the people of Rastar to worry about. They'll be much easier to convince, even if they hate Avant right now." They hated kobolds more, even more than the elves.

Grot sat forward, his eyes joining Merdon's on the map. "Then we have to secure the capital as soon as possible. Cut off the peace talks, and dig our heels in. Assuming we take it by winter..."

"By the gods," Verist whined. "A whole war in a year?" That was a tall order even for someone of her skills.

"Not a war," Merdon corrected her. "We have to take the capital, the king, that's all. We need a way around the walls of Ardmach. Once the king has been dealt with we can squash the remaining forces later."

Shade picked up on that with a grin. "Sabotage," she hissed, her claws clacking on the table. "I like it, but how?"

The group looked to Verist for answers about the wall, which made her nervous. "I'll figure out something," she promised cautiously.

Across the world, a dark mirror of the meeting was happening in one of the castles of Ardmach. A knight adorned in armor with a supernatural glow stepped down the stone halls towards a well-lit meeting room where the king sat with reports in hand. The guards at the door were swift to admit the second in command of the Eyes of Ethral when he approached. He gave a sturdy salute and waited to be addressed before speaking as the door closed behind him. It was a short wait that only felt longer in the silence of evening. The king held his council alone, preferring papers he could parse in moments to rambling advisors and their opinions. The knight across the room was an exception to the rule.

"The orcs of fewest numbers massacre the most of our men," the king muttered, "Yet somehow they do so in safety. Hundreds of bodies, all our own men, and not a drop of orcish blood."

"Assassins, sir," the knight replied through his helm. "Our mages have revealed the smallest group is comprised largely of kobolds."

The king sneered and tossed the page aside. "Kobolds," he spat. "Filthy creatures committing heinous and cowardly acts. A perfect fit for those monstrous orcs."

"Indeed, sire," the knight agreed readily. "I've also come with information regarding the traitor."

The king sat forward at those words. "Yes? I've been wondering just who this Whisperer is supposed to be. Some magician playing a role?"

The second in command shook his head. "The man's name is Merdon, as you have heard from our reports. He was an adventurer here in Avant, a knight in service to himself. There are no reports of magic or unnatural powers regarding him."

"So, he's a man. A plain, ordinary man?" It seemed hard to believe some commoner had rallied a whole race of slaves to buck the trends so prevalent in their world.

Yet, the knight nodded in confirmation. "His father served yours, and his mother was known as the Amazon of Steel."

"That's quite the relationship," the King noted. "I'd heard those two had retired together, and I believe they passed some years back, yes?" He waited for no response. A question sprung to his mind as the words passed his lips. "How have you learned all of this? I had been told his closest associate lied about his objectives. What rock were these hiding under?"

"I only needed to confirm who he was," the knight told his liege. "I've had my suspicions since the attack on the slavers here in the capital. The wounds were too methodical and familiar for me to shake. We're brothers after all, my lord. I wouldn't misread his swordsmanship."

# Book Three, Chapter Five: Forced March

With Merdon, Sarel, Shade, and Grot back at their forward camps it was just Red and Skyeyes sitting in the tower trying to devise a way to get through Ardmach's walls. The red-scaled kobold rubbed her eyes and groaned after staring at the map of Avant for literal hours. She had no idea how Verist did it. Through an entire day and into the early evening the witch had no problems going from one piece of paper to another. From the map over to her notes, to some book on the shelf, and back to the map. Skyeyes had effectively checked out several hours ago. His knowledge of magic didn't match either of the mages by so much as half. He was there to try and offer an outsider's perspective, which had fallen off early.

Verist had determined from her samples of the stone used to make the walls that the force compounded the more materials one had. With the amount making up Ardmach's walls, the barrier around the city stretched well into the sky. It wasn't a case of simply appearing overhead and then going down, one would have to use powerful geomancy to raise a mountain next to the peak Ardmach sat upon, and, at that point, it would be easier to just aim a few cannons at the city. For a secretive infiltration, the plan was a complete dud. In a similar sense, going down to the base of the mountain would take so long to get through that they'd be noticed well before surfacing. Unless there were caves already situated under the city.

"That's our best option," Verist said after nearly two days of research. The sun was setting behind her, and the trio were exhausted.

"Caves that the Avantians built themselves," Red confirmed. "According to old legends of escape routes from the city for the royals in case of siege, whereby the royalty would have to exit into the besieging army."

Skyeyes groaned, "Stupid..."

Verist shrugged and carelessly tossed her book aside. "It's that, or we tell the orcs to invest in enough black powder to sink the entire mountain."

Red pushed away from the table and stood up. "We'll call that plan A, and the caves are the plan B we try first."

"Doesn't that make it plan A?" Skyeyes questioned, his first coherent thought in hours.

"No," the mage kobold replied. "It makes caves under a fortress a massive long shot that we don't expect to pay out, but we'll send a scout for anyway." The priest could only hum disgruntledly at that explanation. Though Red was still focused on the planning. "What about the ocean?" she asked. "Avant has a navy doesn't it?" Wouldn't that be a problem for their invasion. She was surprised no one had mentioned it.

Verist, however, shrugged the notion off. "The sea is too far away for them to do anything about our land marches. Sure, they could transport troops, diplomats, supplies, but they could do most of that with magic and take a hundredth of the time to do it. Their oceanic superiority doesn't matter to our campaign, but it's something to consider once we take Ardmach." Any ambushes could happen at a moment's notice with magic, rather than slowly and with warning by deploying troops behind them. For all intents and purposes, the navy was for show in this war.

Red frowned and sat back down. "Okay, so," she paused as she considered everything once more. "That's it, isn't it? We go through the mountain of Ardmach, one way or another."

"I'll keep digging," the witch promised them, "But I can't say I'll find anything significant or useful."

Skyeyes stood up and stretched, a groan freeing itself from deep within his soul as even his tail stood off the ground for a moment. "Then we should report to Merdon," he said, looking at Red.

"Now?" she complained at being forced to stand up again. "It's not like we really learned anything new."

"No, yet it changes how we approach the finale of our campaign," he told the mage. "That's worth planning around even this early."

Verist smiled at the red mage and told her, "Oh just wait, we're moving Merdon's army in a little bit for that plan. Then you can complain."

Red groaned like an annoyed child at the thought. "Fine, I'll take Skyeyes back so we can just move him later," she whined as she stepped over to the priest to start.

Back at Merdon's camp, the human was speaking with the orcs that served under him. Lieutenants in their own right, Grot had told them to listen to Merdon. Which had led to the knight making it sound like everything he said came from the chief-of-chief's himself. It sped things along and kept the orcs from feeling too bad about taking orders from a human. Red and Skyeyes appeared in time to see the camp being set up for the night, while Merdon told the lieutenants about their next move and what they'd learned of Ardmach's plans.

The lot of them seemed more than excited to get back under Grot's command directly, and Red felt like she saw a certain weight coming off Merdon's shoulders at the notion too. He wasn't used to being in command of anything, much less an army. He didn't mind helping out with the planning but when it came to giving orders the man simply preferred someone else to do the yelling.

Once the orcs were gone and out of the way, Red stepped up to give the shorthand of their discussion with Verist. There was nothing she could do about the wall as of yet, explosions might be necessary, pray there was a hidden cave. Merdon sighed, his head hanging in defeat at the notion.

"I guess we'll just have to hope then," he admitted. "Grot and I finalized the details on our troops meeting up as well."

Red crossed her arms and asked, "Yeah?"

"Two days from now, at night. His forces will enter a mountain pass with some sparse tree cover. They'll be coming down here and we're pushing through the middle."

"Won't that open you up to being surrounded?" the mage suggested.

Merdon took a deep breath as his head bobbed once in agreement. "I said the same thing," he told her quietly, "but Grot pointed out that we'll move faster over flat land towards Ardmach directly." He paused for a moment as the sun sunk deeper into the horizon before adding, "We're on a forced march here. We're only resting a few hours the next two nights."

That caught Red off guard. "What? Why?" she practically shouted. It wasn't like she slept all that well at the tower what with listening to Verist for hours on end and having to try and plan a way through Ardmach's walls.

"We've gotten the position of the Eyes' barricade," he told her. "It's several days march ahead, but by speeding up we can push them off balance. Our forces teleport in and we rush down their defenses days in advance."

"And we lose a few dozen orcs to sleep deprivation on the battlefield," she argued.

Merdon didn't have any kind of counter for that. All he could say was, "We'll have to see."

While Red went to find a tent to sleep in, Skyeyes went back to his healers in the makeshift medical tent they had. Orcs were hesitant to be healed by human hands, but the work was never done. A steady stream of injuries were natural on a warpath. Twisted ankles, sore shoulders, backs, feet, things that could be taken care of with rest, but that was not the way of the Martyrs. They took on the aches and pains of dozens and made them their own. Which had sprung into Skyeyes' mind the solution for their forced march. When the last of the orcs were out of the pavilion, the priest gathered his little flock.

"The Whisperer has told me the next two days will be a hard march," he confirmed with his healers. A few nodded, others sighed in resignation. "This will mean tired combatants when the time comes to fight. So I'm ordering a split in our shifts."

The nun that had come to him in the tower months back stepped forward to ask, "What do you mean, good Father?"

Boldly, Skyeyes outlined his idea to them. They would work in half numbers. The first half would take the tiredness from those orcs the night before and then sleep in the supply carts while the army marched. The other half would deal with the usual aches and pains of the day, and then when the next morning rolled around the group that slept would take the days pains, while the ones that stayed awake would take to bed.

"But we will be at half strength for any battles," one of the other priests remarked.

Skyeyes agreed, but told them, "It's a sacrifice we must make, I'm afraid. We can only hope that we'll have the time to rest before the conflict with our enemies arises." Two days of marching at that pace, and then another day's march to meet them in a siege, at least.

"As the Father commands," the nun said with a bow of her head, and the others followed. Skyeyes felt the same weight Merdon did when he saw the Martyrs do that. His fist tightened instinctively at the sight. He needed to be stronger.

They were in the middle of their second day of marching when Verist appeared in a flash and ran towards Merdon. The knight pulled his horse to the side while the army continued, Red sprinting to join the pair when she saw them.

"We've got a problem," the witch panted. "Shade's group has been ambushed."

# Book Three, Chapter Six: Ambush

"So why aren't you telling Grot?" Sarel shouted as she leaped off of Merdon's back and landed in front of the witch. "Shouldn't he know?"

Verist huffed. "You expect him to make a rational call about his mate? Of course not. I wouldn't come to Merdon for advice about rescuing you." She looked at the knight coldly. "We need a plan, now."

Merdon hesitated for a moment as he considered what Sarel said. They should have told Grot, but it was too late for that now. Every second he stalled was more danger Shade was in, Thickhide, the other kobolds, the rest of their army in fact. There was no choice in the matter; they had to respond in kind.

In a blink, the knight turned his horse around and started hurling orders at the orcs with abandon. "I need the best front and center, now! This is not a drill," Merdon howled as far as his voice could carry. "Enemies have ambushed our third battalion. Move it!" He was galloping through their ranks as orcs peeled off the main force and gathered around Verist.

When she had the number she expected her and Red could carry, she signaled Merdon, who came thundering back over on his horse. Considering manpower and equipment, along with the healers that came over to join the warriors, it was going to be tight. She and Red would be winded at best when they arrived. There wasn't going to be magic to save the day here. None of the combatants expected it themselves. This was it, a fight with the actual enemy, not just props put in their way to slow them down.

"Defensive positions!" Shade shouted at the orcs that were still engaging the enemy. They were being surrounded and the assassins could only do so much out in the open. Nimble as they were, the Avantian's had positioning on their side. A few had lunged early into the fight and gotten picked off, their corpses stomped over, or even on, as the glimmering knights stepped forward in a death march. They had to hold out until help arrived.

"Where did they come from?" Ironhide asked after he'd pulled the armored kobolds back into formation. His troops had tried to save the assassins, but he knew it was too late just by looking at them.

"Dunno," Shade replied shortly, focusing on the immediate issue. A mage, she guessed. Avant must have had a court mage that moved these troops on top of them. As if nothing they did was a secret.

The orcs were ready to fight, as always, but they also understood orders. Shade had told them to get into positions and they were moving, though some went faster than others. The ambushers had a lot going for them, marching out of the surrounding area the way they were. Shade couldn't see a break in their formation for a retreat and they appeared heavily outnumbered. Not that either of those were a difficult feat with the size of her forces. Their only boon was that they'd been preparing to leave in two days to join the rest of the army, halting their progress. Shade's troops were dug in with some basic fortifications around them, though nothing for a long siege. At best, they could expect the enemies to swarm from several entrances to their camp, assuming the orcs did what they were told and fell back.

Begrudgingly, the orcs had moved back into the camp and were setting up defensive stands around the openings where the Avantians were likely to enter. Shade whistled sharply and the kobolds that hadn't gotten confident and jumped over the walls to assault the encroaching army to their deaths lined up and drew bows. She sounded again and a meager forty arrows peppered the surrounding area in a loose circle around their walls. The kobolds sprinted in a clockwise formation and readied a second volley. Changing the direction ever so slightly would, hopefully, catch someone off guard, and the fact that Shade no longer signaled the attacks would add to the uncertainty. Surprise maneuvers like that would only hold the humans off for so long, if at all. Their shields were easily raised to defend themselves, and the number of shots was exceptionally small. Delaying tactics at their lowest.

The orcs in the walls were getting rowdy, making noise, taunting the humans marching towards them, egging them to break rank and have a proper brawl. None of the Avantians did so. Their focus was to be commended, even as it involved preparing to slaughter their foes that they viewed as beneath them. For all the damage that had been caused by the orc's invasion, not a single human charged out of line, not until they were close enough for a proper clash at least. No one engaged out of formation, each human stood shoulder to shoulder and fought as a unit. Orcs were incredible warriors, every one of them equal to three humans in sheer power and ferocity, but they weren't the best soldiers. They lacked a great deal of discipline and strategy in the heat of battle and resorted to brute strength, turning every battle into a series of smaller skirmishes. In a normal situation, this would be detrimental.

Within the group they were aligned with, however, the orcs forcing the humans to splinter into smaller factions around the canvas walls made for opportunities. Shade gestured and the kobolds joined the fray. She and her assassins began weaving through the battlefield to find openings in armor and formations, their daggers seeking exposed flesh and causing the humans to shift into more awkward formations. They had to keep their backs to each other, limiting their mobility against the larger orcs, taking away some of their advantages. Ironhide joined in soon after with his group of armored lizards. While the newer recruits fought like kobolds, using their agility to out-move the humans, Ironhide himself stood his ground and fought much as Merdon would have. A shield in hand, he used his smaller stature to deftly re-angle blades as they came down, creating unusual openings for his counterattacks. The humans were used to fighting forces their size when it came to shields and swords, not halflings. Most of them didn't know how to approach the metal-clad kobolds.

Still, as Shade broke from the battle to climb a wooden stake and get a swift vantage point, it was clear how far behind they were. Casualties were slowly mounting on both sides of the fight. Assassins that missed their target or got attacked from behind due to poor opportunities could be seen laying in the dirt, dead or incapacitated, orcs that had tried to bite off more than they could handle, some impaled on their own defenses from the wall of humans closing in, and more of Ironhide's knights. All littering the field as the humans closed in, pushed them back. The arrows had run dry shortly after the fighting started, and few had sustained injury from that ploy. They were running out of cards.

It was fortunate that Verist's timely teleportation had paid off. Merdon's forces, the best he could rally, came charging over the hills, roaring with all the rage and vigor that only fresh troops had. The Avantian's advantage had been numbers and surprise. Now, they may have held numbers but they were sandwiched between two unique forces, and disengaging one meant opening themselves to the other. If they turned back to face Merdon's troops, they would have to pull off the entrances to Shade's camp to mount an effective defense. Trying to push into Shade's camp and take a tactical advantage would leave them exposed to the fresh faces charging their backline. Topping it off, the new arrivals weren't worn down by combat yet, despite their fewer numbers.

Merdon lead the charge on his mount, sword drawn and used to deadly efficacy on the unmounted soldiers. Archers that took shots at him found their arrows entirely nullified by his shield, the projectiles pulled magically off course to his one defense. The orcs in his command were just as frightening. They tore into the humans' armor, ripping it off to give themselves access to vitals if their weapons were found lacking, or for intimidation where appropriate. The Avantians had difficulty cutting through the orc armor, their blades bouncing off even the most direct hits, and what ones landed inside orc flesh barely fazed the battle-crazed beasts.

Signs of reinforcements pushed the ones within the camp to fight harder as well. In moments the Avantaians were turned and facing a two-sided battle they couldn't hope to win. A horn went up to sound the retreat and those on the sides of the camp found better luck at getting away. At least until Merdon spurred his horse on and gave chase. Those orcs in the camp followed suit soon after, ripping through their enemies as they struggled to get over each other in their haste to flee. There was no order, no chain of command there. It was a signal that every man was for himself, and before long there was no one left standing that carried the flag of Avant. The orcs let up a howling cheer while the kobolds slinked out to find their dead. Merdon rode into the camp and dismounted from his horse to find Shade and Ironhide, hopefully alive.

Ironhide was ordering the kobolds around, getting them to be more disciplined than the orcs they fought beside. He'd leave no bodies of theirs for the Avantians to find. Shade, on the other hand, was sitting on a stump and processing everything that had happened. The attack had been so fast she'd only reacted on her instincts. It was only now that the battle was over that she could think again. Merdon approached her first, removing his helmet and sinking closer to her level.

"Everyone okay?" he asked quietly. As quiet as one could over whooping orcs.

She shook her head. "At least six of my assassins tried to fight the legion head-on. They might have killed one or two of them, but they were overconfident."

The knight nodded. "Given their tight ranks, I doubt the usual tactics for a kobold worked." Ironhide's troops, however, seemed less impacted. The armored kobolds had, more or less, held their own in the onslaught. "We're going to converge our ranks," he told Shade.

The assassin looked surprised by that. "It's not time for-."

He cut her off. "I don't care. Your forces were wounded and the orcs that are still standing here will be too confident if the Avantians attack again. Besides that, they know your location, chances are they've got the rest of us too." Safety in numbers.

Shade chewed on that in silence for a moment before nodding. "You're right. We can't risk them attacking us again. Our numbers are too small to repel even an assault of this size." And it was far from the most soldiers Avant could pour out. "If they had attacked two of our forces at once, it could have been a slaughter."

"Assuming they can transport that many troops with magic," Merdon pondered. That was a limitation they had as well. Avant was sure to have more mages at their disposal, however.

"When Verist recovers we'll have her take us to Grot," Shade insisted. "You and your troops continue your march. We can't divide Avant's elite troops three ways, but we can damn sure split them in half."

Merdon couldn't argue with that, so he simply agreed and went to find Ironhide. The metal-clad kobold was helping the others gather the bodies for transport back to the orc lands for burial. It was only natural after everything that had happened that the knight asked if he was alright.

"This is war," the green-scaled kobold replied somberly. "Nothing but death and destruction on both sides." His innocence was long gone now.

"Force is the only way some people learn," Merdon told him in a grim tone. "They don't see reason or mercy, only absolute strength."

"And they'll fight to their last man," Ironhide suspected.

"Perhaps, or maybe not. The king is the one who won't give up. Severe the head of the snake and the body dies with it. It's more important to remember why you fight."

Ironhide thought about it before replying quietly, "For freedom. For all the kobolds that died. Not just these ones, but all of them, everywhere." After saying that, another thought occurred to him. "We're going to have to fight the other nations too, aren't we?"

Merdon couldn't bring himself to reply to that. The answer was obvious. The elves saw kobolds as monsters, the citizens of Rastar saw them as chattel. Avant was the nicest of the trio and if nothing else the rebellion displayed what happened when kobolds had too much freedom. "Eventually," Merdon said, distancing himself from his own thoughts. "Focus on what's in front of you right now. Getting lost in the future is as bad as being caught in the past."

Ironhide could feel the desperation in Merdon's words. Even his mentor was trying to avoid thinking about this lingering on any more than it had to. Yet, it must continue. Their freedom in Avant would mean nothing if thousands more were suffering just miles away. It was a rebellion that would blossom into a bloody war to ravage the entire continent if they won. And, as he considered that, Ironhide realized why it was so worrying the elves might join with Avant, regardless of what the king had done to their ambassadors. They would appear to be the greater evil by far. They had come too far to reconsider now. The armored kobold took a breath and started barking orders at the others again to get the bodies covered and ready for transport. Thinking wasn't his strong suit, he'd leave that to Verist and the others.