by David Adams
I summoned my wings with a surge of magical power and flew out the window, over the city, towards the eastern tunnels.
My people had laid the kobold bodies out in the eastern tunnels. They had been stripped of their equipment and lay bloated and rotten, shoulder to shoulder in one of the old mining caverns. Not a natural cave, but one of our own creation. Ssarsdale’s miners had carved it out of stone, excavating iron and precious minerals. Now it was home to these bodies, transported in faster than I could fly there. Sirora’s assistants had worked quickly.
The nature of Sirora’s assistants gnawed at me. How many did she have? How did she communicate with them?
What even were they?
I faced the corpses, resisting the urge to cover my nose. The smell of the death was unpleasant, but so had been their fates. They had suffered horribly; the least I could do was endure a little discomfort.
“Friela,” I said, recalling the survivor’s name to memory. Her headless body was still there. “Chali. Shilke. Geefa. Pella. Vris. Thaar. Ivashi. Lharan. Ulorja. Wret.” I struggled to remember the last name. It was on the tip of my tongue, like a song I could barely remember. “…Wekma.”
Three times the names were said. I did not want to forget. Yet, even after all this, I could not trust myself.
I moved over to the cavern wall, and using the tip of my claw, scratched their names into the wall. I put each name above their heads, vertically to save space. The process hurt my fingers and blunted my tips, and produced a grating noise that made me shiver, but I did it any way.
The dead should have names.
With it all done, I turned around to leave.
“Gah!” I nearly choked. A vague shape moved in the very corner of my eye.
A white kobold casually leaned against the stone wall. Tyermumtican.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” he said, smiling widely. “Accept my apologies. I had to hide myself. I thought your gate guards would be concerned if one kobold departed and two returned.”
I had not noticed him at all. I was sick of people sneaking up on me. “You could have asked,” I said, more defensively than I meant.
“I could have,” he said.
A moment of silence.
“It’s good that you’re taking care of the dead,” said Tyermumtican, nodding approvingly to the crude scratch marks I’d made. “Do you intend to keep doing so?”
“For as long as kobolds die in my service, I feel I must.” The smell was beginning to get to me. “Let’s go for a walk,” I said, pointing further into the tunnels. “This should be a place of peace.”
Tyermumtican seemed surprised, in a good way, with my request. He fell into step with me as I walked away from the impromptu tomb, down further into Drathari’s underworld, away from the noise of Ssarsdale and the smell of the dead.
“So,” he said, when we were definitely alone. “Tzala mentioned some issues with the council, and a particular necromancer sorceress…”
“I don’t want to talk about the council,” I said, swishing my tail over the stone as I walked. “And I definitely don’t want to talk about Sirora.”
He seemed happy with that. “When’s your next trip to the surface?”
“Soon,” I said. “In fact, I might leave after we’re done here.”
He stopped walking, putting his white hands on his hips. “We’re doing something here?”
His question confused me. Once again I felt warm all over. “No. I mean, we’re not, right?”
“Are we?”
We were talking in circles, but for some reason, I didn’t get mad. I just kind of…laughed. A halting, nervous gesture, which I was infinitely glad was not observed by the council.
Tyermumtican laughed, too, and he stepped closer to me, once more putting his hands around my waist.
I didn’t know what happened. A wild impulse seized me. I grabbed him around the shoulders, and I kissed him—more powerfully and passionately than I’d ever done, tilting my head to one side, pushing his back up against the stone wall.
Tyermumtican emitted a surprised squeak, but soon I found my actions returned in kind. His hands gripped my backside and squeezed. I ground my chest against his, claws digging into his shoulder. I pressed my chest so tightly against his I felt like I would push him into the stone.
I felt hot all over, as though spellcasting, but different. Very different.
“Wait,” I said, breaking the kiss, panting softly. What was wrong with me? Kobolds did not kiss. There was no point in it; it did not hasten the mating process and increased the risk of disease transfer. Besides, our mouths were not made for it, long and reptilian.
Tyermumtican had introduced me to the practice, and I found it to my liking, but this sudden, powerful urging was…coming from some place I did not understand. Something outside of who I was.
Or rather, outside of who I’d always been told I had to be. Not that I could ever understand. I’d only ever been me, and for many reasons, I was not a typical kobold.
I let him go, taking several deep breaths, trying to clear my head. It felt like I was back in the snow, freezing to death…everything was distant, warm, fuzzy. “Just wait.”
He said nothing, just stood there, his back against the stone. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said.
“I know.” He could turn into a colossal dragon and crush me if he wanted to. He could scorch Ssarsdale with his acid breath, or do any number of things, if I made him angry enough. Yet he didn’t seem angry. He just…stood there. Waiting.
Waiting for what? I didn’t know what to tell him. My heart was beating a thousand times an instant. This section of tunnel was completely abandoned. There was nobody around for miles. It wasn’t fear of discovery that made me hesitate, or fear of him; it was something else.
Fear of myself.
“I can’t,” I said, softly, the words drifting out of my mouth before I could think them through. “I’m sorry, I just—I can’t. I don’t know why, I just…”
“It’s okay,” said Tyermumtican.
“I do want to,” I said, finally looking at him. “With you, I mean…do things. I do. I like you. You are strong, powerful, wise, kind, I just feel—”
“It’s okay,” he said again.
Was it? I ran my hands over my spines. Everyone wanted to reproduce. Even if I didn’t, I liked Tyermumtican. The urge came from me, and it was genuine. Why did I resist this? Why was I different?
I was Contremulus’s child, but I had turned out all right.
Hadn’t I?
“I’m so, so sorry,” I said again, taking a step back. “This…this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have brought you down here. And…” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Shh, shh…” Tyermumtican took a step forward. “There’s no need to rush into anything.” He touched my cheek with his hand. “We have all the time in the world. You’re so young. You have so much yet to do, so many deeds yet to accomplish. Being a dragon teaches you one thing—patience.”
I cried. Just a little.
“Okay,” I said, smiling sheepishly and trying, very hard, to keep everything together. “Okay. We’ll wait.”
“All the time in the world,” said Tyermumtican, and I believed him.
CHAPTER VIII
WE KISSED SOME MORE. FOR how long, I couldn’t say. The time passed far too quickly; we rested side to side, our arms around each other, cuddled together on the stone. I felt the warmth of his scales, and he felt mine, and it was good. I wanted to do more, but my demons kept me back. Tyermumtican shushed my continued apologies.
But we couldn’t stay there forever. Eventually, but with painful reluctance, Tyermumtican slipped away into the deeper tunnels. I watched him go with a distinct pain in my chest.
I would see him again soon. I had to keep this in mind, reassure myself that this wasn’t the end. It was the beginning. Of what, I wasn’t sure, but…I knew it was go
od.
Daydreams of the future made me smile for the first time in a long time.
When he was long gone, my face had dried up, and the warm spot on the stone had cooled back to nothing. I walked back to Ssarsdale. Tyermumtican was on my mind as I did, so when I finally returned to the main cavern, it was sudden enough to be a surprise.
Ssarsdale. My adopted home, lit by the light of a million glowbugs. I’d seen it so many times that it felt, in some way, more home to me than Atikala did. But at the same time, I’d never truly felt like I belonged here. I was an outsider in a city I ruled.
Ren of Ssarsdale. That had a nice ring to it. Perhaps I should adopt that moniker. It might help me fit in.
I felt good. This was the right decision.
As I sat there, pondering various things, a dozen of my warriors approached. The leader bowed her head low.
“Sirora wants to see you immediately, Supreme Leader,” she said.
The good mood evaporated. I touched her snout in thanks, and turned my thoughts towards magic once more. My wings returned, bathing the doors of Ssarsdale in orange light, frightening the nearby glowbugs into submission. I flew towards the central spire, a flaming beacon of light over my city.
Sirora was waiting for me by the door.
“Good evening, Leader Ren,” she said, dipping her snout low as I dispelled my wings. “I hope your journey did not exhaust you.”
Insincerity dripped from every word. “I am fine,” I said, walking up to her. “I received word that you needed me.”
“I do,” said Sirora, “I have something very special to show you. Come.”
Once more we walked down into Sirora’s lair. Once more I was struck by how dark and gloomy it was, and empty of everything. Although we were the only living creatures here, I felt as though I were being watched.
Sirora took me deep within the stone below the tower, to an empty room on the far side of her lair. On a raised dais, a human skull—completely flayed of flesh—sat in clear view.
“The head of one of the humans you killed,” she said. “From the group that attacked our patrol. I was seeking your permission to interrogate it, as we did earlier. I have already made the necessary preparations.”
Again, Sirora had worked ahead of me, anticipating my actions, and effectively, undermining my commands. What could I say now? No? It was tempting. Tempting to just walk away and order the skull crushed into powder.
But my investigation of the surface had yielded no fruit. I had no more idea who sent the soldiers than when I had left, although I knew who didn’t send them. Useful information. Sort of.
“Very well,” I said. “Four questions, yes?”
“That is correct, Supreme Leader.”
Four would have to do. “Ask the human where it came from.”
Sirora picked up the skull, and once again, blue light flooded the chamber. She repeated my question.
“From the north and the west,” groaned the skull, its voice echoing, pained. “My Lord sent me to strike at the kobold armies.”
“The skull is resisting,” said Sirora. “It is compelled to comply, but it is withholding information. It does not want to help us. You will need to be very specific.”
The needs of my people outweighed the desires of a single human. I considered my next question.
“What is the name of your lord?”
The skull did not answer. Sirora’s face scrunched up in a mixture of focus and pain, and the skull’s flayed jaw shook. They fought a silent, mental battle for a moment, and then Sirora relaxed.
“My lord’s name,” said the skull, “is Contremulus the Sunscale.”
I knew it. I knew my father was moving against me. “What is his plan?” I asked. “Tell me!”
Sirora shook her head, although she smiled, ever so slightly, as though in approval. “Not specific enough, Supreme Leader.”
I only had two questions left. I had to think, I had to focus. “How long until Contremulus arrives in Ivywood?”
Sirora was about to repeat my question, but footsteps reached our earholes.
“Were you expecting someone?” I asked, my hand casually resting on my rapier.
“I was not.” Sirora’s eyes flicked to one side, as though looking at something I could not see, and then nodded to the empty air.
I searched within myself, drawing upon my magical pool, readying to cast should an enemy appear. I was bubbling, full of heat, and whoever it was would face my flames. I raised my hands, smoke rising from my fingertips.
The face of my mother poked through the door. “Ren? Are you here?”
“Tzala?” My magic failed. “What are you doing here?”
“Lady Tzala,” said Sirora, her voice sharp. “You are intruding—”
“I called out, nobody answered,” said Tzala to Sirora, then turned her attention to me. “Many eyes saw you enter here.”
Sirora crossed her arms. “You do not believe I can protect our Supreme Leader?”
Tzala said nothing, the skull in Sirora’s hand, still glowing with a blue light, stealing away her attention. Her face became ashen, the skin around her eyes tightening. “What…what are you doing?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” said Sirora, the edge in her voice turning venomous, as though it might poison the very air between the two.
“Intelligence gathering,” I explained. “Pried from the bodies of the dead.”
Tzala put her hand over her maw. “You would speak with the dead? Ren, this is powerful, dark magic, and it should not be trusted.”
“Is it necromancy which should not be trusted?” asked Sirora, bile creeping into her words. “Or its practitioners?”
“They are one and the same,” said Tzala. “A sword cannot kill without a swordsman.”
“And yet,” said Sirora, “when murder is done we do not punish the sword. Nor do we pontificate on the evil of blades. They are tools, nothing more. Tools do not have opinions.”
Tzala glared at her. Sirora glared back.
“This is madness,” said Tzala, shaking her head. “And it is mad of you, Ren, to be party to it.”
“I need to know what the skull knows,” I said. “Then I can strike at Contremulus.”
“Let it go.” Tzala’s severed stump twitched. “Leave whatever happened behind you. He hurt you, but that’s in the past. You can’t change that. You can only control your future.”
Frustration bubbled inside me. “We’re doing this for freedom. Freedom for my people.” My people. A faint flicker on Tzala’s face told me I had driven the point home. “Freedom for those on the surface. Freedom for all, from Contremulus’s iron fist. For those who suffer in Northaven.”
“If a person says they’re fighting for your freedom,” said Tzala, “it’s a safe bet they’re fighting for the freedom to tell you what to do.”
“That’s not true,” I said, trying to keep my anger in check. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Can’t you see I’ve suffered? Have my tales of Northaven not swayed you?”
“I believe you, but…” Tzala’s voice increased in pitch, turning pleading. “Listen to me, child. Something’s changed inside you. Deep inside, twisting you to your core. The Ren I knew in Atikala, the Ren who fought beside me in the tunnels outside Ssarsdale, the Ren who stayed her hand when Vrax pleaded for mercy, she would see this wickedness for what it was and reject it.”
And yet, in the end, I had killed Vrax. Nobody knew about that. They assumed he had fled the city. It was sometimes difficult keeping up the lie. “I forge my own destiny,” I said. “The choices I make are mine alone. As are the consequences.”
That did not seem to satisfy her. “No.” Tzala’s upper lip curled back, her tail swaying. “I thought it just stress, just an echo of your suffering there, but it’s more than that. Something’s different about you. It has been since you returned from Northaven. First there was your mistake with the fire elemental, then you wanted to strike at Ivywood without knowing a thing about
them, then you send Ilothika out for who-knows-what purpose—and now, necromancy!” Tzala ran her hand over her snout. “There’s a rot in your soul. Deeper, more insidious than your traumas. You’re being poisoned in your mind. You don’t even see what’s happening to you!”
She was babbling. “Are you finished?” I asked. “We have work to do here.”
Tzala and I locked eyes. For a moment, I saw something in her gaze that gave me pause—a powerful mix of anger and despair—but then she turned to walk back down the hallway she had come.
“Is…this going to be a problem?” asked Sirora, regarding me with a strangely sympathetic look on her face.
“Pardon?”
“Your mother.” Sirora glanced down to the skull in her hand. “She clearly opposes you. Questions you at every turn, I imagine.” Not quite true, but I couldn’t technically disagree. “If she gets too much to handle…”
I scowled at her, tail lashing. “If you lay a single claw on my mother I will burn you to your bones.”
Sirora held up a hand. “I won’t,” she said. “I swear it.”
“You’ll do more than swear if I find you’ve moved against her.”
Strangely, my threat seemed to please her, and she inclined her head. “Of course. Shall we continue with our work?”
Truly, I did not want to after Sirora’s…offer…but as much as I hated to admit it, she was right. We had work to do.
“Ask the skull when Contremulus arrives in Ivywood.”
She did so.
“I am unsure,” it said. “The speed of his soldiers is not known to me.”
Odd. I should press that line of questioning, but I needed to know other things. “What about…why? Why were you sent to kill kobold patrols, knowing I would not be among them?”
The skull hesitated again. I could see the fight in the blue light that was its eyes, and Sirora struggled, once again, to force it to obey.
“Contremulus knows your biggest weakness,” said the skull. With a low echoing groan it blew into dust.
