by N. Saraven
The stranger hardly said anything else beside his warnings. He told everything way before it came to pass, so there were no surprises for the companions. Maybe he felt the need to warn the dragons; maybe he had such a personality.
In any way, the friends could move easily and had no problems, other than growing tired after a while. The guide, however, allowed only one rest on the way, although a fairly long one, in which the friends shared the food they had brought with them.
But for the dragons, they had nothing of the sort, so they tried to lessen their hunger with water. They almost took off to look for some, but the kobold stranger stopped them immediately. He showed them to a huge plant which apparently gathered rainwater in the middle of its great leaves, which grew in the form of a cone. Several stood near to each other, so the reptiles could drink as much as they wanted.
Although when Nightfang buried his nose into the ‘cone’, something jumped on his face, which made the dragon back away frantically.
In his surprise, he did not see or watch where he stumbled. He only stared at the little black something that sat on his long nose. Before he could step into something truly dangerous, the kobold jumped to him and tried to calm him down. Nightfang obviously did not understand what he was whispering to him, but his soothing tone did the trick. The shadow dragon stopped his circling around, then watched as the kobold carefully grabbed the thing on his nose. He released it on another leaf.
Neila and the others watched the whole scene, ready to fight if needed. Yet the kobold solved the situation with ease, and Nightfang showed no signs of fear either. So the companions stayed put, only observing. None of them tried to interfere, although they stayed sharp.
After they rested enough, the group continued with its journey. Nothing else happened to them.
Which suited Halgor perfectly, who slowly became tired beyond imagination. He had spent the last day scouting, and he had not really had a chance to actually rest since then. His energy was depleted; he could only put one leg before the other. His mind could not comprehend anything more complicated. With his head lowered, he rubbed his eyes more and more frequently, yet it did not help much. His whole body ached, his knees felt weak.
However, the elven would sooner rip out his tongue than complain out loud, or ask for a break. His only luck was that the guide did not dictate a fast pace, mostly because of the dragons.
Even though shadows became the kings of speed in the air, on the ground they moved a bit clumsily. Their wings held them back, and their legs were not really designed for long-term walking.
“Is everything okay?” asked Nightfang quietly.
The dark mage was about to snap at him, but he held his tongue. The dragon only tried to help; moreover, he could never deny his worsening condition. The reptile probably knew more about it after a short glance than himself who felt it.
“Yes, thank you. I just hope that we arrive soon,” he lamented as he rubbed his eyes again. But because he did not watch the path under his feet, he stepped on a branch, which rolled out from under him. He would have fallen then and there if Nightfang had not grabbed him. The elven thanked him with a faint smile.
“Hey, you two, hurry up. We don’t want to look for you too,” they heard Veilon bark, so they hurried forwards.
“What’s got into him?” murmured the dragon.
“Maybe something unpleasant dropped on his head,” mused the Master, which made the other chuckle.
Overall, the kobold stranger was not mistaken when he told the companions it would be dawn when they reached their destination. At one time, the friends realised that slowly but surely, they could see better. Colours returned to their eyes, as if the seeing-in-the-dark spell started to become faint.
Suddenly, the guide gave out a sharp, loud cry, as if he were cheering for somebody, or just making their presence obvious. The sound made the companions wince, and they started to glance around, worried. They almost made a full stop, but the kobold motioned them to follow. His calm behaviour slowly soothed them.
“What is happening?” asked Neila as her eyes still darted around, trying to spot something through the thicket. But she saw nothing, which was no surprise given that all kobolds were masters of disguise.
“Wii ar hier.” The guide glanced back at them. After Veilon translated, they really tried to shake off their sleepiness and tiredness to look around.
As they moved forwards, they saw nothing at first. Everything looked like the same, strange forest, as if they had never taken a whole-night-long trip.
Abruptly, they discovered a cottage made from branches, vines, and leaves. It looked like a half-sphere on the ground. Then another appeared, and another. Soon the companions realised that that part of the woods was full of them. A somewhat wide path appeared under their feet, leading to the middle of the village, where it widened to a clear space.
The little huts blended so perfectly into the surroundings that they would have missed the village completely if they wandered here alone and did not know what to look for. The companions could not really decide whether they were disappointed or everything looked so different and new that it made nothing actually disappointing.
They obviously had arrived at a kobold village—but before kobolds represented order, and … actual houses for them.
Neila looked around with widened eyes and opened mouth, although the same curious looks were glaring at her from all around. The inhabitants seemed just as intrigued by their presence as they were of them. Every stranger gathered around them now, carefully watching them, as they discussed maybe their arrival amongst themselves. Some gazes showed the same disappointment mixed with curiosity.
Neila had the pleasure to visit both kobold races’ capital before. She saw both the Golden and Silver Tower, the homes of the Rulers. She knew the citizens and their lovely homes—the perfectly carved and formed houses from either ores or wood, huge houses compared to these huts. Kobolds seemed to like comfortable spaces, where they did not feel confined. But now, Neila saw little, one-room shelters, which still gave home to whole families. Furthermore, they did not look very steady; probably from time to time the whole village moved away.
“Now I understand where the ‘nomad’ name came from,” murmured Halgor as he glanced around with utter astonishment. Neila only growled something in return.
The kobold who led them here now broke off and everybody cheered happily. As the dawn turned to day, the woods around started to brighten up as well. In the growing light, the companions could see what they did not see before—the transparent, filmy wings which now lay folded on the man’s back.
Their roots started at the shoulder blades, and as they were now, their tips did not reach the waist. They were so carefully folded that even thin clothing could hide them perfectly. Even if somebody would have put their hand precisely on top of them, they would hardly feel them underneath. Their use was for nothing; maybe they could cool their owner in the heat. But no kobold could fly with them.
There were a couple of hundred kobolds all around the companions at most; a lot of them now gathered there to see them. Their skin shone like bronze in the morning sunlight, much darker than any other race’s. They chatted happily with each other as they measured the newcomers. Some braver children crept closer to Neila, hurriedly patted her clothes, then scrambled away, giggling.
They were considered a huge event for sure, as it seemed. After a little while, when the kobolds decided that the friends were not dangerous, they started to step closer and got even ‘friendlier’—they walked around them, touching, poking, feeling them up close, while babbling about something. Overall, they behaved as if they had never met another species similar to them before, in which maybe lay some truth. They did not hold themselves back; if something was intriguing for them, they looked at it freely, even if it was considered to be rude or just uncomfortably close by the companions. They obviously did not have such strict rules regarding proper behaviour, like the other races.
&
nbsp; The kobolds seemed just as free as the shadow dragons. They got along terrifically, even the middle-aged Nightfang.
The friendly welcome probably hurt Veilon the most.
The Ruler became deathly pale as he stared at some women who stepped to him, touching or poking. He wanted to back away, but he bumped into Halgor, blushing, as he tried to look anywhere but at the women. He seemingly felt terribly sick with the mixture of confusion and shock, seeing the almost-naked females. The paragon had no way to go, as the elven stood steadily behind him, blocking the way.
Halgor grinned widely, enjoying the kobold’s misery. He could probably not feel any more content as he watched his rival being pulled away by a few women. But then a couple of young boys did the same with him.
Every rule or etiquette about the kobolds was thrown out in the heads of the companions.
Neila was surrounded by a bunch of young children who seemed completely amazed by her presence. As she glanced around, she felt a sudden jerk which almost made her fall on her back—a child got a grip on her long, braided hair. She had to crouch as she watched the young ones gather around, gasping at her hair. Perhaps they had never seen a braid before.
Most of the kobolds in the village had long dark hair, but they let it flow freely on their backs, using only a headband to hold it down. A few made some kind of a bun on the back of their heads. A few belted it back with long, strong straws.
Then the children discovered Neila’s golden eyes, which astonished them even more. They giggled loudly, still babbling about something, as they tapped all over her face, almost poking out her eyes. But she could only smile at this.
Then a desperate moan caught her attention, so she straightened up to look around.
She saw Veilon, who obviously stumbled on the rim of utter panic, surrounded by women not far from her.
He could obviously not handle the tapping and poking, nor the children jumping on him to draw his attention. No kobold liked unwanted attention and touch when somebody got too close into their personal area without permission. They loathed the physical interference when it was considered impolite, not to mention the clothing requirements—every true kobold maiden would cover their body.
The too-many impulses made Veilon’s mind go haywire.
He never lacked braveness; he could face anything. He would go up against Indrek and his army alone, if needed. He could resist torture, mind or body, and would never break. He would live further as a cripple if he still had enough goals which made it worth it.
However, when he saw all those rules and etiquettes which he grew up with and what he considered normal in life thrown out of the window, it was too much.
Veilon could not handle the situation at all; he did not know how. At first, he tried to slide away, probably without all the women noticing, but they did not let him off the hook so easily. They followed him wherever he tried to back away, like a nest of birds with the food. And when he backed into a tree, all paths became blocked.
The paragon tried to look for another way out; his eyes zigzagged frantically, yet he did not see anything, as if he had gone blind. He felt breathless, even though he panted heavily. But no fresh air could get into his lungs, it seemed. His body started to shake as he fanned away the unwanted hands. They were everywhere—tapping his clothes, his face, his hair, everything that they could get. The non-stop babbling made his ears ring so much that the sounds merged into an endless, uncomfortable noise.
Veilon could not take it anymore. He wanted to scream, although he could not squeeze out more than a desperate moan. Panic started to rule his mind and heart, as even less air got into his lungs. He almost choked, which made him fall on his knees.
He could not stop the Fear from crushing his soul and almost bursting out.
He knelt on all fours, staring at the ground, seeing nothing of it. His body trembled even more, as he gasped for air, panting as never before. Spell-words criss-crossed his mind, but he could not put them in order. He felt his mind go wild, and he could not get the control back. He heard nothing but the throbbing of his heart. He saw little sparks swirl around before him; he felt the power building up, which promised all to be over …
Abruptly, everything stopped. All provocation ceased, so his mind could calm down.
Slowly everything found its place again.
The paragon did not comprehend the silence at first. His mind was too shocked for that. He still just stood on his hands and knees, breathing rapidly. Then he faintly saw the ground slowly becoming sharper. At the same time, his ears heard again the noises of the forest—the quiet sounds as the leaves fell to the ground. Water dripped from somewhere. The jabbers from before turned into hushed murmurs.
Veilon took a deep breath, sitting up on his heels, eyes closed. The air felt fresh in his lungs again, although it still was warm. Yet it seemed cool to him, as he slowly breathed. One, two, three … He counted his breaths as he felt the control in his hands again. His mind became clear and in order. His body no longer trembled as he felt the wanted space around him.
Everything regained its rightful place again. It took only a few moments; however, it seemed an eternity to him.
Then Veilon felt a hand on his shoulder, which made him wince. Yet he would never have wanted to pull away from that one. The kobolds had a saying—‘Every touch is unique. The unwanted touch burns’.
He now understood it completely. As he comprehended that specific touch on his shoulder, he realised how true it was. The ones earlier almost made him go berserk, a rival’s touch meant danger, and the one he felt now would have been welcomed anytime, anywhere, in any amount …
The paragon opened his eyes and glanced around. Next to him crouched Neila, who looked at him worriedly. Her honest concern made his heart pound faster and ache in joy, mixed with anxiety. As he finally understood what had happened, he almost paled again.
The women, who seemingly wanted to gobble him up earlier, now stood quietly, forming a circle a few steps from him. Worry shone in their eyes, mixed with confusion and regret. They obviously did not mean this to happen and now apparently tried not to actually bother him, them, too much.
Neila still crouched beside him, her hand on his shoulder. She was the one who interfered, making the women stop the ‘friendly’ chatter. As a result, she probably saved not just the kobold, but them all. Nobody could foretell what would have happened if the dark mage actually lost control and went on a rampage …
Veilon had to really concentrate not to blush at this thought.
Between their arrival to the village and his ‘panic attack’, not much time had passed. The others still had to endure the villagers’ welcome. Halgor even seemed to like this whole thing, although he obviously tried to hide it.
Normally, elvens were mostly the opposite of kobolds—they liked each other’s companies. They liked to be touched, to welcome somebody warmly. Although the half-naked women must have bothered him too, the Master could overcome it almost in an instant. He looked around grinning, participating in everything the youngsters showed him. It was an unusual sight from him, but not from an elven.
As Veilon stood up, he stared at his rival, astonished. Honestly, the source of his amazement was the fact that the Master could actually mask the nature of his species. Then and there he looked as he should—free, happy, curious. He dived into the life of the tribe, inspecting the villagers’ clothes, toys, weapons, pets, and everything they brought before him. A few moments later he disappeared with the youngsters behind a hut, doing who knows what.
On the other hand, Veilon had to admit his failure. He absently answered Neila’s question regarding how he was, then watched her walk back to the dragons.
The paragon owed his life twice now to her, which made him even more ashamed. At the first time, Neila had arrived just in time to heal him, when a werewolf wounded him severely during the third Dragonwar. Goldenrain kept him somewhere safe, doing his best to elude his death, but if it were not for her, Veilon would ha
ve died for sure. He had not repaid even that yet.
And now … he thought, still gazing at the strolling Neila, who started a conversation with Enargit. Now she had to save me again. I still owe her … he lamented. He had absolutely no idea how huge his debts had become now.
He got the ‘dark’ marker a long time ago because he often used his power to gain more, instead of helping others. But, as every other ‘evil’ mage, he had his pride and honour. It was an unwritten rule amidst them—always repay your debt, even from beyond Death, if possible. And Veilon had little idea at the moment how he could accomplish this. Although Neila did not actually save him from Death this time, if she arrived only a few moments later …
Shame! Nothing more than shame! Showing such weakness in front of HER! he chided himself, clenching a fist and his jaws. The only good thing in all of this was that Halgor did not see any of it, which he could hardly call a silver lining …
Then somebody called his name, which brought him back to the present. He trotted to Neila, who stood by Enargit. As he moved, he realised how differently the women now behaved. They obviously gave him space now, as if they did not want to give the wrong impression. But even the men looked at him in another way.
“We need you to translate, if you’re up to it.” Neila turned to the kobold, who almost faintly blushed in disgrace. He straightened himself tall, trying to make the others believe that he was in perfect condition.
He turned to their former guide in front of them. Behind, Nightfang and Blacktooth crouched on the ground silently, waiting.
“Please ask him, where are Nighthunter and the others?” Neila asked the paragon, who nodded, then translated.
“Thy’ar asleep no faw away, et da big watefallen,” was the answer, as the tribal pointed in the right direction.
“Could ya show the pathaway?”
Only a nod was the answer, then the tribal started forwards, with the companions on his heels. Without Halgor, who could not be seen at the moment.
Meanwhile, the village returned to their routines. A smaller group, mostly women and girls, was headed for the woods with baskets in their hands or on their backs. Their chatter never stopped, whatever they were doing. Others started to weave baskets and other things from long, grass-looking strings. Some older men taught the younger ones to fretwork, or carve stones. All this was accompanied by buzzing, rattling, and other noises, as everybody returned to their daily chores.
