by David Adams
THE CLOP OF HORSES REACHED my earholes before the light from their riders brightened the tunnel.
Khavi and I had established a defensive line according to our training, hiding in the darkness, waiting for the signal to strike. Although Khavi wanted to fight with the others, his wound would mean his place was here with the injured and spellcasters. Jorena and Cevota, the two warriors, commanded our front line. The front line was whatever warriors we had and the caretakers who were strong or confident enough to wield what weapons we could give them. All of them crouched low in the darkness, their positions laid out well in advance.
Praxa stood with Tzala and I farther back down the tunnel. Our ankles were surrounded by the wounded or those too weak to move. Khavi stood in the front, protecting us. We could see nothing, hear nothing, except the thump of horse legs on stone, and we waited.
“Not yet,” I whispered. “Not yet. Wait until we see the light from their flames.”
The faint squeak of squeezed leather. “We should go now,” urged Khavi.
“No. Wait. Wait…”
The first human rounded the bend, puffing the white gas from their mouths. I had told the others about it. It was just their breath fogging and was harmless. I did not want them to be alarmed as I was.
The first row of horses came around the bend, three abreast, bearing their riders uneasily in the dark. I could see them. Humans, tall and strong, wearing thick leather coats. I knew them now. Goatskin over metal chain, the hilts of their weapons carved from the bones of trees. They wore shields made from the same, shaped into a triangle with the wider part at the top and the narrow at the bottom.
Even the horses had armour. A chain blanket that hung down to their knees.
“What are you waiting for?” hissed Khavi over his shoulder.
“Wait.”
I kept my focus. Everything depended on the first strike.
The second row of horses and men appeared around the corner. The light grew uncomfortably bright.
“Now!”
Tzala spoke words of magic behind me, a spell I knew but was nowhere near powerful enough to cast. She was drawing on the fire of dragons, much as I did, but to produce a different and more powerful effect. A diminutive yellow ball flew out from behind me, sailing gracefully over my head. It shed a pallid radiance, a speedy flying glowbug rushing to greet our attackers.
Cries of alarm and shouts of warning sprung from the humans who led the assault, but their warnings would not save them. The orb struck the ground by the legs of the beasts in the second rank, bursting in a roaring sheet of flame that enveloped them, charring the flesh from their horses and washing over the riders.
The first ranks were blown down, dismounted by the blast. Cevota and a half-dozen caretakers fell upon them, stabbing and slashing in a screaming frenzy, their yipping war cries echoing down the tunnel towards us. So did the screams of burning humans.
Those screams fell silent, one by one, as Cevota and her group made short work of them.
One horse from the front rank got up. It staggered around in a daze, throwing its head around and emitting a terrible noise, echoed and amplified by the long tunnel like a horn. I reached out, sending magical needles of force to end its misery.
The smell of roasted flesh and blood wafted down the corridor towards me, signalling a job well done, but farther up the corridor came shouts in another tongue. Not the panicked, frightened warbling from the warriors we had killed, but firm commands given by experienced soldiers.
“They are warning their companions that we have a spellcaster.”
I sometimes forgot that Tzala spoke many tongues. “Good,” I said, “let them be wary.”
The lights that the humans had brought in, coupled with the scorched and burned corpses of those Tzala’s magic and Cevota’s spears had fallen, made the ambient lighting too high for my taste. I cupped my hands around my snout and called down the corridor.
“Extinguish those flames!”
They did so, the caretakers scurrying around with remarkable efficiency, grabbing the burning lights where they fell and dousing them in the water. Steam wafted into the corridor as the glare was reduced down to tolerable levels.
“That was easy,” said Khavi, stepping back with me. “Bah. And I thought I’d get a chance to test my new blade.”
I went to reply, but another sound, just like the one that had accompanied the bolts of electricity outside, reached my earholes. It grew louder and louder. The roar of a stampede, of horse legs pounding on hard stone.
“Back!” I shouted to Cevota’s team, “back into your positions!”
More horses charged around the corridor, their riders armed with long spear-like weapons that were held in one hand, their bodies protected with kite shields.
Cevota’s team was scattered and exposed, half way between the ambush point and their cover.
“Tzala! Do it again! Hurry!”
She began casting, but the horses moved with a speed and ferocity that surprised everyone. They ploughed into the ranks of Cevota’s team, the strange one-handed spears expertly skewering warrior after warrior. The weapons were torn out, each leaving a horrific wound, and then the horses trampled over the top of them.
Cevota was the last to die, torn in half by two spears.
Tzala’s spell completed. Another golden ball flew down the corridor and exploded in the air, forming a solid sheet of flame. This time though, the men and their horses rode through it, shields raised to protect their faces.
But there were no shields for the horses. Their mounts panicked and fell, sending their riders crashing to the stone.
“Shit of the dead Gods!” said Khavi.
“Jorena!” I shouted, “Kill them all!”
Her team leapt to their feet. They had fewer weapons and were weaker, but still they engaged, leaping upon the humans in a biting, clawing frenzy, stabbing and slashing with what weapons they had.
But the humans were ready. Spears, weapons twice as tall as a kobold held easily in one hand, pierced through scales and flesh. I cast again and again, sending my missiles down. I wounded one with such a blast, distracting him long enough for Jorena to thrust her spear into his belly.
Then her head was taken from her shoulders.
Tzala waited until all of Jorena’s team were dead, then another ball of fire blasted the human survivors to oblivion. This time the smell of roasting flesh was sickly sweet, of kobold scent, and I felt sick.
An eerie silence persisted for a time. Hope began to swell in my heart. Had the humans retreated, their losses too great?
The faint sound of spellcasting reached my ears. I did not recognise the spell cast, but Tzala’s eyes widened with fear.
“A killing cloud!” she said, grabbing hold of my shoulder. “Back! Do not let the mist touch you!”
Mist? I looked down at the kobolds all around me. Those too sick, hungry, or injured to wield weapons.
“What about the wounded?”
Tzala shook her head. “There’s no time! Run!”
Khavi turned and sprinted into the gloom. I started to move backwards, away from the passage to the surface and towards the deeper passages, the area of the underworld lit by the blue light. A roiling green cloud began to pour in through the entranceway. It moved over the few remaining torches, extinguishing them one by one, and the entire area was black.
I panicked and ran. The wounded didn’t try to stop me or cry out in panic or do anything but await their end. They knew they were doomed.
I could hear the others running alongside me. I ran snout first into a wall, falling over. I couldn’t find my footing. The vapour would catch me.
“This way!” shouted Tzala in the darkness. I crawled in that direction, scrambling as fast as I could.
It wouldn’t work. I needed light. I focused inwards, pressing my claws into the arcane symbol required. Light sprung from my clawtips.
The mist was almost upon me, silent death a mere foot away from wher
e I crawled.
I scrambled back to my feet and ran. I ran as fast and as hard as I could, letting my light be my guide. Had the others fallen behind me or run ahead? I couldn’t think of that. Instead I continued till the tunnel became lit again, blue light shining at the edge of my vision.
Blue crystals dotted the tunnel. I ran until it forked then turned back to where I’d come. The roiling gas seemed to flow to the lowest point, always downhill, so I took the higher road. To my infinite relief it flowed down the lower tunnel. It would dissipate long before it reached Ssarsdale.
I hoped.
Footsteps. Large outerfeet, not the agile feet of kobolds. They were following the gas, giving it a healthy distance. At least three or four of them, based on the noise.
I slipped farther back, walking backwards, my eyes on the fork in the tunnel. My heel hit something faint. I looked down.
The tripwire. Twice now I had not seen it.
Although I had hardly touched it, this slight pressure should have been enough, but it hadn’t activated. I knew that Jedra had to adjust her traps to trap larger creatures, so doubtless the Ssarsdalians had to do the same for heavier humans.
I gingerly stepped over the wire. The outerfeet were coming. I backed up again, keeping my shield held in front of me.
The humans rounded the corner, flames on sticks held high. “There’s one!” their leader shouted, pointing his spear at me.
They approached, careful and slow, weapons and shields raised. I took one step back for every two of theirs.
“Come on,” I hissed, careful not to look at the tripwire and give away its position. “Come on, you overgrown gnomes. Come on…”
Click. The tripwire whizzed as it activated, the sound of gears and cogs whirring in the stone to either side. I hoped it would be enough to wound them, enough that I could escape.
A dozen spikes flew out of camouflaged holes below the humans, impaling their legs and bodies with spears as tall as I was. They shrieked and clutched their wounds.
I poured fire onto them until they were charred hunks of meat and my spells were exhausted.
The last of the green poison disappeared down the tunnel. I crept forward to the junction. I had to make sure there was nothing trailing in its wake. I risked a peek around the corner. Nobody. Nothing but the darkness that held the corpses of the refugees. Had any survived the poison?
Light would give away my position if there were any more humans left. I inched forward in the dark, moving as silently as I could. I crept forward until I bumped into something half way between our ambush point and the fork. Something soft.
It was a body, I knew it was, and this far back it could only be one of ours. Was it Khavi? Tzala?
I risked casting another light spell. I saw that it was Praxa, her face distorted. She had died in agony. There was not a wound on her.
The radius of my light revealed no other corpses.
A noise.
I looked up, straight into the eyes of Quennax the eidolon, his snakelike body curled around a stalactite.
“I wonder if I’ll get to eat you now?”
He fell towards me, four arms outstretched, each carrying a long blade. I had no hope of dodging; I simply raised my shield above me, curling up in a ball underneath it.
Four blades slammed on the sides of my shield. His teeth snapped at the edge, trying to find a way around. I tilted it to one side, pushing up with my tail, slamming him in the face.
He howled in pain, and the distraction was all I needed. I rolled to a side, drawing my rapier.
“Tell Melicandra her little trick didn’t work.”
Quennax advanced on me, his four blades weaving in the air before him. “And yet you are alone, the corpse of your companion at your feet.”
He struck, his four weapons each taking a different route to my body. I blocked the with my shield, turning his upper left hand aside with my rapier. The lower left slashed into my side, but I trusted my armour and scales to take the hit; I stepped past Quennax’s reach, using my shorter blade to my advantage. I twisted my hand, driving the weapon against his chest.
His scales were as tough as mine, the tip barely penetrating, but I saw green blood.
“Brave kobold.”
He had four blades, but I had forgotten one of his weapons. Quennax snapped at me, long incisors latching hold of my shoulder, piercing my chain and into my flesh. I dug my rapier deeper, growling away the pain.
Quennax’s right hand weapons hammered at my shield, but I kept it close to my body. I twisted my rapier, tearing his flesh, but he struck me again.
My arm went numb. I had to stop. I pulled my weapon out and retreated, using my shield to protect me.
Quennax made a noise half way between a chuckle and a hiss, straightening himself on his tail, four blades outstretched before him. “Foolish. This is but a flesh wound, and I can smell your blood. Now I know your tricks.”
I took a step backwards, then another. “You don’t know all my tricks.”
“I know you’re a spellcaster. You use fire as your element. I saw the burning in the night after your escape, when you killed and butchered the goat you fled on. A goat is valuable to farmers. It produces milk from grass, feeding them for years. They will suffer because of you.”
I had not intended to make the owner of the barn suffer. “I didn’t burn the goat. Electricity from the sky did. My fire was sealing a wound.”
“It matters not in the end.” He pointed one of the swords directly at my throat, a triumphant smirk plastered on his face. “You would do well to surrender yourself now, goldling. Your crimes will earn you a swift death, and one for your friends as well. Refuse and fate will be far less kind.”
“I don’t think you want to kill me.” I lowered my rapier. There was no way I could fight a creature with four arms. “I think you want to let me go.”
Quennax’s voice eyes flashed a bright blue, the same colour as his mistress. Suddenly he was speaking with Melicandra’s voice.
“Why did you kill the men we set to guard you?” There was hurt in her voice. Pain. “I trusted you.”
“I didn’t kill them.” I glanced down the corridor. “Khavi did. My companion. He thought you would execute me and wanted to save my life. I was angry that he had done this, especially when I heard about the child, but he could not know differently.”
“Your companion?” Melicandra asked through Quennax, “Some of the farmers said there were two kobolds, but I dismissed their claims as hyperbole. An ally? Comrade? Hireling?”
The question was easy to answer. “My friend.”
“Kobolds rarely make such a claim.”
Not true. We had friends. I understood now why she would think I did not. “I do.”
Quennax’s face scrunched up. I couldn’t tell which one of them was doing this thinking, but Melicandra’s voice remained. “So you did not kill them, but you ran? If you were innocent, why did you not turn in the true killer?”
“He is my friend,” I said, “and the act would serve no ultimate purpose. The dead cannot be brought back to life, least of all with good intentions.”
Quennax sheathed three of his weapons. The edge of his single blade, held in his upper right hand, hovered above the ground. “Correct,” said Melicandra, “and nothing we do here today can undo the past. All we can do is trust our sense of justice.”
“So is that what you seek, then? Justice?”
“That, or as close as I can get.”
Justice. The concept was a strange one to kobolds. Every crime, no matter how minor, was punished with execution. I tossed my rapier to the side, dropping my shield at my feet and easing down onto my knees.
“Then come. Make things as right as you can.”
I closed my eyes. I knew then what No-Kill had felt, kneeling beside the gaping rift that had once been her home, and the strange peace that came over her when she accepted she was going to die. There was no anger, no fear, just the realisation of the end.
“Goodbye, Ren of Atikala,” said Melicandra. “I believe, even now, that you are different from your kin.”
Not that it had meant much in the end. “Goodbye,” was all I could say.
I waited for the death strike to fall, determined to have my final thoughts be happy ones. I thought of the good work I had done for my community. Of talking with Tyermumtican. Of talking with Melicandra.
Strangely, I thought of Khavi and all we had shared. I had broken my promise to him. We would never make an egg.
Right as I was about to die, I desperately wanted Khavi here with me.
“Ren?”
I opened my eyes. Quennax was nowhere to be seen. “Khavi?”
It was him. Tzala was with him, crouched beside Praxa, checking his body.
I threw my arms around Khavi’s shoulders, crushing the air out of his lungs. “I thought the vapour killed you!”
“That’s what I thought about you!”
Relief and joy. I hugged him so tight, so closely that his scales rubbed against mine. Without thinking I pressed my lips to his.
I kissed Khavi. I kissed him because I was so glad to be alive. So glad that we were alive.
He pulled his snout away. “Blech!” Khavi wiped his lips down. “Why did you do that?”
“I don’t know!” I laughed. “Does it matter?”
Khavi stared at me. I wasn’t sure if he enjoyed what had happened or not, but I was too happy to care.
Tzala, politely ignoring the two of us until now, gave a cough. “If you’re quite finished?”
The sound of horses from the incline reminded me that our work was not yet done. Khavi wiped his tongue on his sleeve, trying to purge a foul taste. I retrieved my blade, then Khavi and I stood in front of Tzala, ready to fight for our lives.
We waited and we waited, but the sound became more distant. Daring to hope, I moved between the bodies of my fallen kin, letting my light guide the way as I made my way up to the surface.
The surviving humans were riding away, back towards the home they had come from, their dead slung over the backs of their horses.
I didn’t understand, watching just over half the humans sent to hunt us down turn around and retreat, but I was filled with a wild exhilaration.
We had won.
