by Eric Ugland
“What? I was, I mean, I just hung out with her, like, the other week or month or something. What happened?”
“You hurt me?”
“No. We’re friends?”
“Friends?”
“Allies?”
“What that mean?”
“It’s like friends, but, I mean, less, uh, convivial.”
“Not know that word.”
“Do you have a name?”
The little guy shook its head.
“No? What do people call you?”
“You.”
“Like, hey you?”
Nods.
“Seems harsh.”
“Have not earned a name.”
“You need to earn names?”
More nodding.
“How do you earn a name?”
A shrug.
Skeld slid to a stop, spear out, and the little kobold looked around in panic before deciding to hide behind me.
“I got this,” I said to Skeld.
He gave me an eyebrow raise, then a vague shrug before heading back to the fire.
“So,” I said, pulling the kobold out from behind my back, and looking at the kobold.
The little dragon-looking dude wore mismatched armor. Or rather, things that could vaguely be classified as armor if you were being generous. A rusted bowl held onto its head with a piece of string, a carapace of an insect with bonus guts still attached on its torso, and something that looked a bit like oversized celery as its leggings. The spear he’d dropped on the floor was a chipped bit of bone, tied loosely to a not-quite-straight stick. I hadn’t exactly been impressed with the kobolds I’d seen previously, but those guys were leagues above this sad excuse for a scout.
“Who’s in charge now?” I asked.
Shrugs.
“Is Baltu here?”
The face of the kobold brightened, and then it nodded vigorously, so much so that the bowl-helmet’s string snapped, and the bowl clanged across the ground. The poor kobold scrambled around, trying to grab the bowl, doing that toddler thing of kicking the bowl a few times before managing to grab it. The kobold plopped the bowl-helmet back on, and made a pretense of tying the string back together, but, well, a frayed knot…
“Come,” the kobold said, eager now. “I show you.”
He grabbed my hand, and then started running. Which was a little awkward because I hadn’t gotten up yet, so it was a bit like a dog running off without realizing it was still tied up.
Chapter Fourteen
But we were off soon enough. I jogged while he sprinted, weaving through the various tunnels until I would have been lost, if it weren’t for my Labyrinthine Recall ability. Which, by the way, was proving to be clutch when dealing with the kobold warren.
Nothing really looked that good in the tunnels. There was a fair amount of trash built up, as well as some odd construction projects that seemed to block certain tunnels. And there were definitely multiple things scratching at those blockages. It was also a ridiculous distance from where we’d started until I finally saw another kobold. It happened to be in the throne room, I’m not sure if you could call it that anymore, since it was now devoid of any throne. Instead it held some very large, very muscular yet slovenly-looking kobolds, all lounging around. We sped through and down a more familiar tunnel, towards the cramped quarters of the old kobold Baltu. Once at the unassuming door, my little kobold guide opened the door without bothering to knock, and roused Baltu from what looked like a fitful sleep.
“Wha—” the old kobold said, his wispy white hair moving around in the slight wind. He tried to get up, then lay back down with a rather sad sigh. He closed his eyes.
“He ask for you,” my little kobold said, with the kobold equivalent of a massive smile.
Baltu opened his eyes again, and looked around the eager kobold.
“Ah,” Baltu said, “the duke.”
“Montana of Coggeshall,” I said.
“Come, stay awhile.”
“And listen?”
Baltu gave a wry smile. “I might be able to conjure a story if you like.”
I looked around the room. Now it had even less furniture than before, so I just sat on the floor.
“You used to have a desk and chair, didn’t you?” I asked.
“And a whole blanket,” Baltu said, gesturing what I took to be a missing bottom half of his blanket.
“Something going on in the warren?”
“Yes. But, before that, if you have a little something to give your guide here.”
“The nameless one?”
“Ah, yes, another of the Old Ways rearing its head. Maybe a bit of food?”
I reached into my bag of holding and pulled out some dried meat. What I would have considered a pittance, but the little kobold’s eyes practically came of out of its head as it reverently took the meat with both claws. He scampered out of the room.
“I hope that little one is smart enough to eat that meat before it is seen by one of the others,” Baltu said.
“Little dude,” I yelled out into the hallway. “Eat that quick. And go get the rest of my companions — I’ll give you some more of that.”
The little guy stuffed the entire chunk of meat in his mouth. Then he nodded at me and started running back the way we’d come.
“Okay,” I said with a clap of my hands, “enlighten me. I went through the throne room, but no Duchess FancyPants. Where did she go?”
“You would prefer to eschew the small talk?”
“You want to talk about the weather?”
“Has it started snowing?”
“Yeah. Good blizzard up top.”
“You came from the top?”
“I did,” I said, and I gave him a quick run-down of the path we took, from the river to the forests and the hills until the white out up the mountain.
He smiled, and nodded.
“Last we spoke,” Baltu said, leaning against his wall, “things were different.”
“Yeah. Just a little.”
“Things have changed here.”
“You just said that.”
“I fear I am a little out of sorts.”
“You seem hungry.”
“I am,” he said softly, almost like he was afraid to admit it.
I reached into the bag and pulled out some rations. Dried meats and fruits, hardtack, and a skin of milk. Hopefully cow’s milk, at least as far as I was concerned. Though I had no compunctions about what kind of animal the skin was from. I set everything on his blanket, and he shook his head.
“These can be used—”
“Just eat and drink something,” I said. “You look like shit, and you don’t seem to be able to think. I want to know what’s going on here, so that means you need to eat.”
He smiled, but nodded, and tucked in. Carefully though. I could see he was starving, but he still had the sense to go slowly with the whole ordeal.
After a few bites, he paused to drink some milk, then ate a bit more.
I leaned back against his wall, and took a moment to relax.
“As befits having a duchess,” he began, still chewing on the dried meat, “there is a kingdom we belong to—”
“The Mountain Kingdom.”
“Yes. You remember.”
“I’m trying hard to get over that whole being an idiot thing.”
“A long road to walk, I fear,” he said.
“You’re telling me.”
“There is trouble brewing in the Mountain Kingdom, and our duchess, in all her wisdom, has decided to return to the court and make a play at becoming the new ruler.”
“Is the, uh, did the king die?”
“Worse. He showed signs of weakness.”
“Not much in the way of loyalty?”
“I recall from our previous chat, that you know little of kobold culture.”
“Nothing you haven’t told me,” I said, which wasn’t exactly true, but it was mostly. To be fair, I didn’t really have much knowledge of any of the cultures
of my new home world. I should really change that. “Care to explain?”
He laughed a little, kind of like a chuckle.
“You know I am not like these kobolds here, in this brood.”
“Okay, warren or brood?”
“Warren is largely referring to the home, brood to the creatures within it. The brood lives within the warren. But the terms can be interchanged when—”
“Got, it, sorry for the interrupting, and I know you’re different, you’re a snowbold.”
“Yes. We, snowbolds I mean, are,” he paused, searching for a word, “different from our brethren for a number of reasons, perhaps most pointed because we are, fewer.”
“Fewer? Like there’s not many of you?”
He sighed, like he was dreading having to explain what he was about to. “Snowbolds are hunted. It is hard for us to grow. We have been moving deeper into the mountains, and that means we are fighting more monsters. I left my warren when it was overrun. When all my brood were killed and skinned. I was the only one who escaped. All to say we did not follow the Old Ways, because we had not the numbers.”
“So the Old Ways, it’s a, like, killing off the weak ones?”
“Not exactly. There is a,” he paused again, “it is not widely known that kobolds are able to,” again he searched for a word, and I started to worry there was something really wrong with the old guy, “evolve. We are able to become greater creatures if certain criteria are met.”
“Kind of like super-leveling.”
A very slight grin spread on his face, then he nodded. “I suppose that is a means of expressing what might occur.”
“So, like, what can you turn into?”
“Me?”
“I meant kobolds. In general.”
“Ah, yes, of course. What you ask has two answers: legends and what can be, I suppose, verified. There are any number of possibilities. Naga, with snake bodies, Lizardfolk, Dragonkind, Quetzals, Greater Kobolds, Lamia. I have met all of these in my travels. But it is said that there are other, greater forms available. Some kobolds even believe this is how dragons arose.”
“And the Old Ways are all about making these transitions happen?”
“That is certainly what is spoken about in more polite circles. But the truth is more sinister. It is a means of continuing a caste system. Different ways of feeding and caring for the eggs and the young, different ways of training, potions, experiences, everything is curated to boost or deform kobolds. Big but dumb warriors to serve as shock troops. Starve some young to make miners who can fit into the tiny crevasses. Keep them in the dark so they have better vision in the blackness down below. And save the choicest delicacies for the elite. Those who rule over us.”
“And the elites are the ones who transition or something?”
“Or something. While we might once have had a better understanding of how to make the transition, that information is lost to us now, and it has become more guesswork than anything. Should anyone find the path, they seem to keep it to themselves. Or their brood.”
“Got it. More or less. And so the king of the Mountains — he showed weakness?”
“He had made boasts, that he was going to be the next great kobold, a lamia. That he had the secret. But he has yet to make any sort of change while there are those under him who have. Not to a lamia, but there have been Nagas and some Dragonkind, and this growth has eroded trust in the king. Weakened his perceived power. And, worse, there is also a story of a kobold hero rising.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It is to the elites. This hero is saving kobolds. All kobolds, regardless of strength. He saves them, gives them food, a safe place, and asks little to nothing in return. From what I overheard the duchess speaking about, she worries those of us in the lower ranks will rally behind this hero, that the hero will raise the lowly kobolds up and cause a revolution.”
“I guess that could be bad.”
“For those who like being in power, yes, it would.”
“And why are you still here?”
“Those who were judged unworthy were left behind. We were told we needed to hold the warren, though I heard, in private, the duchess’s advisor decided we would be a drain on their food supplies as they traveled through the mountains—”
“Two things: one, that’s really shitty. Two, what do you mean through the mountains? Like along them? Through secret passes and stuff?”
A chuckle. “I am continually surprised at your lack of knowledge regarding us.”
“Yeah, I’m an idiot. I get it.”
“No, I mean it in the only good way I suppose it might be taken. You are one of the only surface walkers I have met who is willing to speak to us, to try and understand us beyond what they ‘know.’ But that is neither here nor there, and does little to let you know how we move through the mountains. Snowbolds, like me, we traditionally live closer to the surface, and we spend our time outside and inside in relative equality. However, the traditional kobold is a creature of digging. Of mines. And sadly we do not have the same fears as some of our digging brethren. It is rare for a kobold to stop and ask if it is wise to dig as deep as we often go. But because of that, say, compulsion to dig, and the lack of fear of being underground, nearly every kobold warren will have one, or more, connections to the Gloom.”
“I’m not even going to ask, and just assume the Gloom is some sort of great big cave system in the depths.”
“It is a cave system in a way, but few believe it is a natural phenomenon. Something greater made the Gloom, some greater being which longed for a world devoid of light. Just as there is the world above, so is there a world below. And a world below even there, and even one below that. Entire empires have risen and fallen without any glint of sun ever reaching any of it. And since nearly every kobold warren will have some connection to the the Gloom, it is possible to cross from warren to warren without going to the surface, if you wish to brave the dangers of the Gloom, that is.”
“Okay, first question,” I said, “I’m trying to get to this valley a bit further east and whatnot in these mountains, can I just take the Gloom there? Skip all this going up and down and around the mountains? Maybe skip some of the snow?”
“The Gloom is not a road, Duke Coggeshall. And it is not safe. It is a realm of darkness and monsters, and those who live there are savage at the best of times. Nearly all are cruel, twisted. It is almost a different world. And I know little of the other entrances or exits for the Gloom in the immediate area. There might not be any for hundreds of miles. The guides the duchess has know paths between warrens, but no others. And even though the duchess took all the elite guards and all our best warriors with her to cross the Gloom, it is not a safe journey for her. They will move fast and light, hoping to reach the king’s court with a minimum of loss.”
“And then what? Attempt to take over the kingdom.”
“And evolve. Your second question?”
“You kind of answered it. But that also leaves you and all the lower—”
“And all the wrymlings.”
“Wyrmling means baby?”
“Yes.”
“She left all the children?”
“She has abandoned this warren in all but name. Any she didn’t deem strong enough were left here. To die. Or struggle and survive, and if strong enough, recolonize the warren. Though I doubt she would like her warren to have survived without her input. She expects us all to die. Either to exposure, starvation, or merely waiting for the goblins to find another way to take us.”
“I take it the big musclebound asshats lounging around what used to be the throne room are not helping the matter?” I asked.
“Those are the current rulers of this minor fiefdom,” Baltu replied. “Those particular, asshats I believe you said, accurate term by the by, are adherents to a belief that exercise and gluttony will lead them to evolving to the kohemoth.”
“Is that just a huge kobold?”
“Is a giant just a huge human
?”
“Yes?”
“No.”
“No, okay. Of course. So the kohemoth is a big bad thing?”
“Your terminology is inaccurate at best, though it is, indeed, a large creature. It has a modicum of intelligence, but is mostly known for being a bastion of strength. In times past, the Sunless Empire was said to have entire battalions of kohemoths able to take down even tier one demons unleashed from the abyssal pits.”
“I’m feeling like there’s a lot of history in what you just said, but maybe let’s focus on what’s actually happening.”
“We are starving and dying, and I fear the quest we gave you can only end in failure now.”
“Do you want to starve? Or die?”
“Not particularly. I imagine it is against the nature of most every creature.”
“Is there a reason you remain here then?”
“Any place I am able to reach, I am not welcome, and any place I am welcome, I am unable to reach. The Gloom is a place of infinite dangers, and the surface is full of Imperials who will shoot me on sight.”
“I didn’t, and won’t.”
“You are a rarity, Duke Coggeshall.”
“You want to come to Coggeshall?”
He laughed.
“I would not presume to—”
“I’m the duke,” I said, knowing I was inviting trouble but not exactly able to stop myself. “So I get to make the rules. You want to come, then just ask.”
“I could not leave all my brethren to be eaten by those trying to become kohemoths.”
“Is that what’s going to happen?”
“When the remaining stores run out, likely. Or they will be hunted by something else who discovers the unguarded warren.”
“The little guy, he was guarding the place.”
“He is a curious sort, and has been exploring farther afield these days. I have tried to convince him to find a safe burrow, but he waits to get a name from those who are no longer here.”
“He seems nice.”
“He is young. He has yet to see the true vileness of the world.”
“How many kobolds would you consider your brethren?”
“Here or in the larger world?”
“Here. Who are starving.”
“Two thousand. Thereabouts.”
