by Colt, K. J.
“Found you,” I said.
“Away! Away!” No-Kill cried, panting and gasping as she pointed the hunk of crystal at the two of us. No-Kill’s eyes darted to the dagger on my belt; the gnome recognised its design as surely as I had.
“Put it down,” I said, my newly acquired weapon held aloft despite my tired arms, “and come with us.”
No-Kill shrieked something down the corridor, pleading in gnomish. I stared down the dark passage but no assistance came for her. She threw down the crystal hunk in disgust.
“March,” I said, jabbing my dagger at her. No-Kill groaned and slapped her legs.
“N-no march.”
“March or die.”
“No kill!”
I advanced towards her, but No-Kill held up her hands. I held off. Slowly, No-Kill reached down to her feet, hooking her stubby fingers into the edges of the fold of skin near her foot. She wiggled two of her fingers into the brown skin near her ankle as though there were a slit or gap there.
Then she pulled off her left foot.
I shouted and stumbled back. No-Kill, perplexed and apparently feeling no pain at all, just stared at me.
“Shit of the dead Gods, it ripped off its own foot!” shrieked Khavi.“It mutilated itself! And the bone is wiggling!”
The gnome upended her foot, holding it out for us, and the inside was hollow. “I think it’s an outerfoot,” I said, staring at it with a horrified and yet fascinated. “Look. It’s got stitches on it. It’s not a part of its body.”
Khavi spat onto the ground. “Foul gnomes,” he said, “it’s a dark magic indeed.”
“Why would they wear something on their feet?” I said. “How can they fight with something like that around them? How would they climb or run?”
“No kill,” added No-Kill.
I extended my hand for the outerfoot and No-Kill cautiously handed it over. I turned the strange thing over and over in my claws and gave it an experimental sniff and nearly choked. “It reeks of death!”
“Perhaps that is its weapon, then?” said Khavi. “It conceals a powerful stench to discourage predators?”
Placing the boot down on the stone, I examined No-Kill’s naked real foot. It had barely any claws at all, just stubby little things that were the size of one of my scales. “They have scales there,” I said, “a single scale. No claws.”
“What good is a single scale?”
“I have no idea.”
“Foot,” said No-Kill, pointing at them. It reached over and removed the other, prompting instinctive recoils of horror from both of us. “Foot.”
It was the right word in draconic, but I failed to see how my lean clawed appendages were anything like the stubby fat ones of the gnome, each little toe capped in a single scale. The bottom of the gnome’s scaleless limbs were covered in strange welts, red and swollen, and her frail skin was coming off in places.
“Perhaps it is saying that its feet cannot walk any farther,” Khavi said. “Its feet look damaged. It was walking slowly in the corridor. Perhaps we drove it too hard.”
“Its comfort is not our concern,” I said. “Its lucky that its permitted to live at all. You! No-Kill! Put your feet back on and march!”
The gnome gestured to its feet helplessly. I wrinkled my nose, picking up the outerfoot again, then examining the gnome’s real feet once more. Free of the container, its real limbs had swollen up so much that I doubted the outerfeet would fit back over them.
“If it dies we have no hostage,” said Khavi. I begrudgingly let the boot fall down to the stone.
“A period’s rest then,” I said. “No more.”
Khavi took the first watch, although I found little sleep throughout my rest period, tossing and turning, my dreams disjointed and impossible to follow. This time, when my internal clock shook me awake, I was as drained as when I had started. My magic had, again, not replenished itself from my dreams, and my body was weakened. None of that could be changed now. I forced my eyelids open, for beyond comfort, beyond simple things like sleep, kobolds had to fulfill their duty.
“Your turn,” said Khavi, curling up and resting his muzzle on his tail.
“Did she stir?” I asked. The sleeping gnome looked, in contrast to Khavi, terribly uncomfortable, her arms folded underneath her head and padded with her thin cloak.
“A little,” said Khavi, “but I suspect she will sleep right through both shifts.” He clicked his jaw. “Lazy creature.”
I rested my hand on Khavi’s midsection, rubbing it soothingly. It was an old kobold trick to aid another to sleep.
“Good night, Khavi.”
“Good night, Ren.” Soon he was quiet, a faint whistling noise coming from his nose. It was a noise I knew well.
In Atikala, kobolds shared lodgings, dozens sharing a single room, and my patrol group had slept together since we were hatched. We had been more than just comrades, we were life-long allies, and we knew each other intimately. The dragons had no word for this kind of concept, at least in the dialect my people spoke, but it was a concept understood by all.
I continued to stroke Khavi’s side as I stared at the tired, pained gnome as she slumbered fitfully on the stone, tossing occasionally in significant discomfort. I drew some grim satisfaction from the knowledge that, at the very least, our prisoner would have no better sleep than I did.
When Khavi stirred, uncurling himself from his slumber and giving a pleased chitter, I handed him his blade and the glowbug water canister from my backpack.
The scent of the water awoke our gnome prisoner, her nostrils twitching. I could see that her lips were dried and cracked, and I wondered just how much water she needed.
More than Khavi and I did, certainly. I had not drank anything for nearly a day, despite patrol work, digging, bleeding from broken claws, then marching to the gnome settlement, but the gnome looked ill indeed. She sat up, her body dishevelled, and reached her hand out timidly to the water.
Reluctantly, I handed it over. The creature tipped back the bug and eagerly drank. And drank. And drank.
I snatched it away, staring down at its hollow guts. Over half the water was gone.
“Greedy thing!” I hissed, screwing on the top. The gnome wanted more, but I replaced the bug in my backpack.
“March,” I said, and this time it was a word the gnome was beginning to understand. It pulled on its outerfeet, grimacing and yelping as they pulled over her innerfeet, then climbed to stand. A poke with my rapier and she began to walk, though, and Khavi and I fell into step behind it.
We walked again through tunnels that ducked and weaved over each other until the cavern mouth widened into an open area. An underground river emptied into a gouge in the limestone and a bridge arched its way across. This was no bridge made of chisel and brick, but one solid piece of stone growing out of the rock. I thought back to the scroll I had in my backpack that the gnomes had carried, and I understood how they had accomplished such a feat.
No-Kill eyed the water with obvious need, and I was shocked at the volume of it. The entire city of Atikala had been fed by a stream half this size—it had aqueducts and piping to distribute as much of the precious liquid as it could, and places where urine was collected and magically purified to garner more fresh water. The idea of letting so much rush down a hole, unheeded and wasted, was entirely foreign to me.
“I won’t kill you,” I said. “Now go. Drink.”
I let No-Kill stagger towards the river, collapsing by its edge, her face down near the water. I looked to Khavi.
“How far do you think we have to go?” I asked.
“Not far,” he answered. “By my reckoning, we’re only a few hours out from their settlement.”
“There should be a gate then,” I said, “or some kind of sign that we’re approaching the city.”
“Perhaps it led us in the wrong direction?”
I considered. “It was still thirsty this morning. Perhaps she just wants more water.”
“No wonder
they are so big and soft,” said Khavi. “They must be nearly all water.”
“This must be why they have so few eggs a year. They drink too much.” I smiled to Khavi, but he was looking at No-Kill, a frown on his face.
“It’s not drinking,” he said. I followed his gaze, and I, too, could see No-Kill’s face pressed close to the water. Her lips were moving above the surface of the water.
“No-Kill! What are you doing?”
There was no reply. “Stop!” I raised the tip of my rapier and moved towards the gnome. “It’s casting a spell!”
Khavi roared a battlecry and hoisted his blade. We broke into a sprint, charging after the gnome, Khavi’s eyes lighting up as his bloodlust surged.
No-Kill’s voice rose, babbling in her fey language as we charged in, but before we could reach striking distance, the river rose up to meet us. It formed a towering body of water, two stubby limbs sprouting from the river’s body. It boomed something in the tongue of the fey.
We stopped in our tracks. I looked at my thin sword hopelessly. It could not possibly hurt water. I shuffled backwards, sensing Khavi doing the same, and shot No-Kill a foul look. She had not looked like a caster; I had no idea how she had conjured such a powerful ally, but the lessons of my training echoed in my mind.
Gnomes were always tricky. Gnomes would always lie.
No-Kill strode across the bridge but seemed focused on the elemental, chattering away in its own language. The creature rumbled in return, and with one last angry glance towards us, sank back down into the river once more. No-Kill stopped, turned towards us and beckoned us across.
Cautiously, Khavi and I stepped up to the bridge, and No-Kill gave us a merry wave. “No kill,” she answered cheerfully, her imprisonment only moments ago seemingly completely forgotten.
Gingerly I extended a claw to the bridge, tapping it on the stone as if it were on fire, expecting the river to attack me. When it remained silent, I slowly and carefully stepped across, my eyes fixed on the tumbling water.
Khavi followed me across, and then the two of us returned our attention to No-Kill.
“No kill,” she said, waving her hand at my rapier.
Begrudgingly, I sheathed my weapon, Khavi staring at me as though I were mad.
“Now we’re trapped,” Khavi said, “and the damn fey can command the water monster at any time!”
“If she wanted us dead,” I said, “it would have happened already. A little bit of steel won’t change anything.”
Khavi shook his head, growling at the gnome. “I think not,” he said, “and I’ve had enough of fey and their tricks for one day!” He roared an angry challenge, but No-Kill shouted something in her own tongue. A rumbling from behind her signalled the return of the elemental.
“Put down your sword,” I urged him, but Khavi’s eyes shone with a fiery anger that was beyond words. I wouldn’t get through to him this time.
He darted towards No-Kill and swung an overhead chop, but No-Kill didn’t flinch. The water elemental caught the blade mid swing, its liquid limbs somehow able to grasp solid objects. It absorbed the shocked kobold entirely into its watery hand, then slammed its fist against the ceiling. Khavi fell out, plummeting almost thirty feet to crash to the stone floor, groaning in pain and flopping feebly around on the ground.
“Khavi!”
No-Kill called something and the elemental’s fist hovered over Khavi’s groaning form. She turned to me, then, holding out her hand. “No sword.”
Reluctantly, I passed over the blade, hilt first, and No-Kill took it in her pudgy hand. “No kill,” she said, pointing to my backpack.
I understood, slowly unshouldering my pack, retrieving the bug shell and handing it over. The gnome drank eagerly, spilling water down her throat, gargling a little at the end then offering it to the elemental. It took the bug, absorbing it into its body, then spat it back out as dry as a bone.
Khavi lay on the stone and didn’t move. I knew that the tables had, in just a moment, completely turned. We were now her prisoner.
“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” I spat as No-Kill began to rifle through my backpack.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I LEARNT A LOT BY watching No-Kill. The gnome was smarter with her prisoners than I was. The first thing No-Kill did was take the rope from my backpack, keeping it as one long length and using it to bind my hands behind my back and then to each foot. Now not only were hands, spells, or weapons useless, but I could only walk in a jerking shuffle, almost guaranteeing that if I ran, I would trip and fall. My weapons were strapped to No-Kill’s backpack, securely tied on and completely out of reach, with Khavi’s blade laid across the top. All of this was done under the hovering fist of the elemental.
Khavi had not moved at all. He was still breathing, but between the spider bites, the elemental’s work, and the fall, his body had clearly had enough. I hoped he would survive.
The ropes burned and chafed my scales. “Is this really necessary?” I complained, grinding my teeth together.
No-Kill waggled a finger at me. “No kill, kobold.” Then No-Kill pointed down the corridor, back the way they had come, away from the gnomish city. “March.”
With little other recourse, I began to walk, one foot in front of the other. I trudged down the corridor, each step taking me farther away from the gnome city. This time, however, No-Kill set the pace. Slow, almost agonisingly slow. The gnome walked behind me, her hands around the length of rope, guiding me like some kind of slave or pet.
The bitter taste of defeat filled my mouth. I was an idiot. Khavi and I had planned on what, exactly? Two kobolds marching to the gates of the gnome city with a single hostage? Of course the gnomes would have guardians. Powerful guardians. If they hadn’t, our people would have long ago torn down their walls with our vast army. There was a reason none crossed through the mists except the Darkguard.
I had nothing to say to No-Kill, and the gnome said nothing to me, so the two of us marched in silence, my claws scraping on the stone, the slow pace affecting my gait. At first it was merely uncomfortable, but when No-Kill stopped to rest, finally, the greater relief was with me.
“Too tight,” I said, jabbing at the rope. “Too tight!”
“No talk,” said No-Kill.
“Listen, stupid gnome breath, the rope is too tight!”
“No talk!”
I hissed at her, baring my sharp teeth. “I’m telling you that the rope is hurting me!”
No-Kill looped the rope around my muzzle and jammed it between my teeth.
“March.”
I used my tongue to push the rope out a bit, enough to speak. “What will happen to Khavi?”
“No talk.”
I tried again. The words were hard to form, painful, but I was a caster. I had trained extensively to speak with all manner of difficulties. “I am his patrol leader, I am responsible for him.”
No-Kill pulled the rope tighter. “No talk. March.”
And so we did, each step tugging the rope tauter, the thick fibres rubbing against my scales and chafing my tongue and jaws. No-Kill walked too slow and took too many breaks, her preferred pace an ungainly waddle. Finally, many hours later, we arrived back at the fork in the tunnel where we had fought her. The area was still littered with the bodies of No-Kill’s gnome companions, and the smell of death filled the corridor. I clamped my claw over my nose to shield against the putrid stink of rotting bodies. No-Kill swatted it away.
“Smell,” she said. “You kill, you smell.”
The aroma was sickeningly sweet, of flesh that had started to rot and bloat, mixed in with the thick stench of fecal matter. It was cold in the underworld; the stones have little heat, so the corpses were still mostly fresh. However the gnomes had emptied themselves upon death.
My classes had told me of these facts. Battle sites were best plundered and then abandoned, for the stink and the rot would set in faster than any thought possible. Numerous scavengers crawled in the underworld’s
perpetual twilight and would soon descend upon the carnage. Before the day’s end, the bodies would be gone, dragged off to some lair and consumed.
This had not happened yet. Now I was the scavenger, the worm to deal with the flesh of the dead.
“Dig,” instructed No-Kill.
I waggled my bound arms helplessly. No-Kill loosened the rope, and I pushed it out with my tongue again. “With my tail?”
“Many spell, kobold. No claws. No spells.”
“No claws,” I said, “no dig.”
We were at an impasse. My tongue hurt, and I let the rope slip back between my teeth. No-Kill knew the truth as well as I did, assuming she understood what I was telling her. Finally she reached out and carefully undid the rope, sliding it out of my mouth, but was mindful to loop the thick cord around my throat several times, giving a firm tug. The moment I began to cast the gnome would choke the air from my lungs.
“Dig,” No-Kill said again.
I held up my broken claws, still flecked with gold blood from digging through buried Atikala. No-Kill inspected them closely. She seemed saddened by the sight, almost compassionate, but then she hardened. “Kobold dig.”
And so I dug, scratching my bloody claws into the dirt, crying out in pain whenever my I scraped rock. In the moments when my pain was obvious No-Kill seemed to be sympathetic, but always the same instruction came.
“Dig.”
Hours later I had dug a shallow hole wide enough to fit all the bodies. I nursed my broken claws, licking each of them in turn, tasting dirt and blood.
No-Kill pointed her thick, stubby, scaleless claw at the dead body of her companion and back towards the hole.
Groaning, I reached for the first body, my claws digging into the rotting flesh. A dark fluid leaked from the gnome’s punctured skin. I dragged its bloated body into the hole and dropped it in.
An angry howl interrupted my work. I looked up in time to see a familiar rust scaled kobold, his face splattered with blood, leap upon No-Kill, biting and clawing.
“Khavi!”
I scrambled to get out of the pit to help. Khavi and No-Kill thrashed around on the ground, punching and clawing, but despite Khavi’s wild assault, No-Kill seemed to have the upper hand. She wrapped her fingers around his throat.
