by David Adams
“Uh, young miss?”
A voice from nearby. Male. I ignored him. I needed to rest.
“Young miss! Young miss, are you all right?”
I finally turned to the sound. It was a young man, brown hair, dressed in the drab brownness of the villages I had seen. His features were soft, round, and he had a gentleness about him that belied the strength of his muscles and the thickness of his arms. His face was clean and full of concern.
He had a sharp-looking sword tucked through his belt.
“What do you want?” I asked, but the words slurred as they tumbled out. I didn’t know why. He was looking at me in a funny way, not really at my eyes, but at my body. Maybe at the amulet, maybe something else.
“Seven Stones,” he said, sucking in air. His hand drifted down to his sword. “Are you a dryad? Witch?”
At least he didn’t think I was a kobold.
“What do you want?” I asked again, stepping towards him. I tried to find the fire within, to ready a spell, but I was just so cold. My fingers trembled uncontrollably.
He said something I didn’t catch. His voice sounded so far away.
And then I pitched forward, planting my face in the snow, and I finally got to sleep.
I didn’t dream of fire, as I usually did, but I woke up to heat and the crackle of something burning.
I was lying on a wooden chair inside a building made of stone and wood. A recess was built into one wall and a fire burned within. I was covered in blankets.
My instincts, honed by a life underground, forced my eyes open. If that fire kept burning it would eat all the air, and we would suffocate. I pushed myself up to my elbows, and fighting a wave of dizziness, tried to get up.
“Da,” said a voice, high pitched and excited. “Da, she’s awake!”
It was no good. I slumped back onto the bed. The amulet tinkled as I did so.
A human child scrambled around in front of me, his eyes wide. I pulled the blanket up over my head and checked the amulet.
It was still securely around my neck, and my skin was still fleshy and pink. I slowly pulled the blanket down.
Three faces stared back at me when I did. The man from the woods and two children—one female and one male.
“Good to see you’re still with us,” said the tall man, carefully folding his hands behind his back. “You’re in Ivywood. My name is Serren. I’m the innkeeper for the Witty Fox, and these are my children.” He gestured to the female child, then the male one. “Kyrina and Reeve.”
The two children stared at me. I tried to avoid their gaze.
“My name’s—” I realised that giving my real name might sound odd. A draconic name. I had to think of a human name and fast. Maybe I could turn Ren into something human sounding. I said whatever came to mind. “Reina.”
“Reina,” said Serren, smiling widely. “Of course. Because of your hair.”
I really had no idea what he was talking about. “Yes,” I said, “because…of my hair.”
That answer seemed to satisfy them for some reason, and Serren sat in a chair opposite mine. “So,” he said. “What village are you from, Lady Reina? And what were you doing out in the fields by yourself?”
Lies did not come naturally to me, but my survival hinged on my ability to convince these humans that I was not a threat. “I’m from Northaven,” I said. I had spent enough time there to convince them of this. “Originally.”
“That explains your eyes,” said Serren, pity and something else crossing his features.
If I did not need one specific thing right now, it was a reminder that I was Contremulus’s daughter.
“Yes,” I said, trying to change the subject. “But right now, I’m travelling.”
“Alone, with nothing but that amulet?” Serren tapped his fingers on the chair’s armrest. “You’ve come a long way, my dragon-blooded friend, to a small village on the frozen arse of the world…without even the shirt on your back, only a trinket. Why?”
My brain evidently had a stockpile of lies that was small. I couldn’t think of a compelling reason, so against my better judgement I decided to tell the truth. “The amulet was my mother’s,” I said. “It’s the only thing she’s ever given me. And…I’m here because of my father.” A truth shrouded in vagueness.
“Of course,” said Serren, and then he stood. “Let’s get you dressed, shall we?”
“Why?” It was a simple question.
The ghost of a smile played on Serren’s lips. “Pleasant as it might be for you not to, the nights are chilly here and our women modest. You don’t wear clothes in Northaven?”
The humans there had all worn clothes. “We do,” I said. “I…lost mine.”
“Lost.”
“It is a long and very tiresome story; I do not feel the need to tell it tonight. Perhaps in time.”
Serren considered, and then seemed to accept this. “As you wish. Fortunately, though, you are in luck; my wife’s around your size, more or less. We should be able to find you something nice.”
“That would be good.” I stood up, and the blanket fell off.
“She’s naked!” shrieked the girl. The boy stared.
“Come along,” said Serren, ushering them out. “Out you get, little man.” The boy twisted and turned, trying to look at me as much as he could before the door closed.
I wrapped the blanket around my body, and Serren led me upstairs. It reminded me of Rockhearth, an underworld tavern I had visited with Tyermumtican. There was more stone than wood, but the same architectural styling—walls made of stone, supported by thick beams—was clear.
Or perhaps that this was the best way to build structures that weren’t carved out of solid rock by the picks of a thousand kobold Builders, and the builders here had simply followed the most effective path towards creating buildings.
Not everything was cultural preference.
“This way,” said Serren, leading me down the long corridor full of doors. Door after door. There must have been twenty of them. “Our family room is second from the end.”
“What is this place?” I asked. “What purpose does it serve?”
“It’s an inn,” said Serren, as though this explained it. “As I said.”
“What’s an inn?”
“It’s a…” That expression crossed his face again—pity and something else—and his tone changed, words coming slower as he stopped before a door. “Contremulus must not have let you out very much before you escaped.” He fished a key ring out of his pocket, selected one, and slid it into the keyhole. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”
Memories trickled back into my mind of being strapped to a blood-soaked board all day—my blood—and enduring torment after torment. Of Contremulus taking some of my blood and feeding it to a goblin, and that goblin bursting into flame. Of Kurdax, the knife, parting my scales like paper, cutting my skin, digging into my flesh…
“Hey,” said Serren. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Just relax, Reina.”
I realised I had not taken a breath in some time. I gulped in air, resting my hand against the wall, steadying myself.
“You just wait here,” he said, and then disappeared into his room.
Breathing came easier to me once he was gone. I had to tell myself that it wasn’t Serren’s fault; he was trying his best, that much was obvious, but the memory of my internment in Northaven was still fresh despite everything that had happened.
Sometimes I thought that I would never be free of the memories. I used this thought to focus my pain and harden it into ambition. Bad things had happened to me, but my destiny was now in my own hands. I could make him pay; I could make everyone who had hurt me pay.
My hand went subconsciously looking for Kurdax, the dagger I’d taken from Northaven, but it came up empty. That was a distressing feeling. I had my magic, but without weapons…
Serren pushed open the door, his arms full of folded cloth. I stepped back and let him out.
“This sho
uld fit you,” he said, unfolding what seemed to be a full-length piece of cloth the colour of the morning sky. It flared at the bottom and had long, loose sleeves with white trim. “My wife used to wear this dress to the summer festival.”
I took the cloth and folded it over my arm. “Where is she?” I asked. I did not want to take someone’s clothes without their express permission.
“Buried in the town graveyard,” he said, his tone quiet. “It happened some time ago.”
I nodded sympathetically. “I am sorry for your loss.”
Serren smiled. “Our bodies are not ours to keep. They are on loan, and soon, every one of them will return to Drathari. So it will be for you and me both, Reina, one day. We all have our time to go.”
I liked that sentiment. “Later rather than sooner, I hope.”
He didn’t seem to contest that. “Best get dressed,” he said. “You can’t go around the village without clothes on.”
Humans and their strange customs. I did want to fit in, though, so I pulled the dress up over my head and tried to squirm into it. I got stuck halfway in.
“That’s an arm hole,” said Serren. He rearranged the dress, and it slid on.
“What a useless piece of clothing,” I said, realising what I’d said too late. “Sorry. I just meant…”
“It’s okay,” said Serren. He nodded approvingly. “It does fit.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I suppose.”
He nodded towards my neck. “Nice amulet,” he said.
“A gift from my mother,” I said. That’s what I’d told him before.
“That chain’s a bit small.” Of course it was. It was made for a gnome. “I can have it resized for you if you like,” he said, reaching out as though to touch it.
I snatched it away before he could reach.
“Whoa,” he said, raising his hands. “Easy.”
“Mine,” I said.
“Okay,” said Serren. “Yours. Your amulet. No touching.”
“Good.” If I lost this thing, I would be completely undone.
For a moment, there was a tense silence between us, and then Serren lowered his hands, seeming to relax. “How about I show you around Ivywood, then, mmm?”
Almost as though I’d forgotten why I was even here, the purpose of my being here returned to me. To inspect the human village and find any strategic weaknesses.
“That sounds like a good idea,” I said, giving my best smile.
“Morning, Berad,” said Serren to a surly, muscled human with an axe big enough to be held in two hands slung over his shoulder. His hair was like mine, crimson and long, but much frizzier and wild. He looked to be heading out of town towards the woods where I had gotten myself completely lost.
“Morning,” Berad said, the words barely understood thorough the man’s impressive and plentiful facial hair.
The main street in the village looked different than how I remembered it, seen now through human eyes. As a kobold the buildings had loomed over me, dark and terrifying, but now they seemed welcoming, even quaint. Villagers milled around, going about their daily tasks without paying me much heed at all.
“That’s Berad,” said Serren, when the man had left our hearing. “The local lumberjack. He cuts the frost pines for Katria, who runs the timber mill.” A playful smile consumed his face. “They’re two birds of a feather, those two. Both rough as iron and as sour as lemons. I’ve only ever seen them smile at each other; nobody knows why they don’t just admit it, get married, and make the whole thing completely official.”
Neither of them looked like birds and human mating habits were as alien to me as any. “I wouldn’t know,” I said. “Why are you asking me this?”
Serren laughed. “I didn’t mean for you to actually answer, young Reina. I’m just sharing village gossip. You know, making conversation.”
So he’d said before. Making conversation was something humans did a lot; it involved a lot of pointless discussions that went nowhere and contained very little useful information. In a lot of ways it reminded me of the council meetings in Ssarsdale. Still, to ignore Serren’s attempt to be social would seem impolite, so I tried my best to contribute.
“Perhaps Katria has found someone more suitable to breed with,” I said, a touch more defensively than I should have been. “Berad should accept this and pursue her no longer.”
Serren almost fell over with laughter, and the action attracted the eyes of several villagers. “If you’d met Katria, you’d know she isn’t exactly flush with options, Reina. And the way they stare at each other, all awkward like they’re teenagers…adorable.”
Talk of breeding and reproducing. Humans were more akin to us than I had ever imagined, but I tried to steer the conversation towards something useful. “Berad looked strong,” I said. “Is he much of a fighter?”
The question seemed to confuse him. Serren ran his hand across the growth on his chin, considering. “All that axe work does strengthen the arms, I suppose. A few moons ago he got into a scrap down at Fera’s place, having had a few too many brews. Threw punches like you wouldn’t believe. Those arms of his are mighty, I’ll give him that, but when it comes to weapons I don’t think he has much experience with anything beyond that axe of his.”
I had to keep remembering that, as a human, that axe was as tall as I was—dangerous, to be sure, but while it could certainly kill me, as a kobold it would be twice my size. A single blow would split me like sandstone.
Being modestly skilled at a broad range of weapons was often not nearly as useful as being very skilled with a single one. We only had two arms, after all.
We passed by a building with bars on its windows and a thick lock on its gate. Inside I saw me-sized suits of chain and leather, spears and shields covered in dust, and that made me smile. These were people who had not seen war in some time.
One day, the armouries of Ssarsdale would be like that.
They had been. Before I started the war.
That thought made me sad.
“Are many of the villagers good fighters?” I asked. It was important for my mission. “Do you have a standing army? What sort of siege weapons do you possess?”
“Siege weapons?” Serren looked at me, his brow creasing. “We’re farmers. We barely have a handful of rusted swords for the village, and we certainly don’t…” His voice trailed off, and when it came back, it was a lot more gentle. “Contremulus can’t get you here,” he said. “We haven’t seen his men around these parts in nearly a year, maybe more. Don’t worry. I won’t let him take you back.”
Was he saying that the village could resist Contremulus’s might? That seemed impossible. Looking around me I saw farmhands and people with barely a copper to rub together, working out an existence far away from the trappings of civilisation. No matter how strong their woodsman, he could not fight a dragon.
“If Contremulus wants to take this village,” I said, “he will.”
Serren’s reluctance to continue this conversation was obvious, and he fell silent. We walked past row after row of small houses and huts, and far off to one side, I saw something I definitely remembered.
A lone barn, standing about a fifty yards outside the village. I knew this barn because I had been kept there.
Two guards had died, killed by Khavi. He had cut down many others on his path to me, including a child.
That was not a good place for my mind to dwell on. I tried, rather hard, not to stare at it.
Yet, beside the barn, were two little stones placed before barely perceptible mounds of earth. They were the length of humans, and there was writing on the stones.
My heart beat faster. Memories flooded back to me. I tried to pull my eyes away, but I couldn’t. I remembered the sound of Khavi’s steel slipping between the human’s ribs. The smell of the blood. The look of—
Fortunately one of the villagers stepped towards us, breaking me out of my daymare. She was a dark haired woman with hard angular features that were only softened by her
gentle brown eyes.
“Who’s your friend, Serren?”
Serren held his hand out to me. “This is Reina, she’s a traveller who nearly froze herself to death last night. I’ve been helping her recover at the Fox, and now I’m showing her our fine little village. Reina, this is Aleria, our local tanner.”
Thoughts of practical crafts helped drive the memories away. I knew of tanning; making hides was one of the few ways kobolds could produce armour. Since raw materials were hard to come by in abundance, we typically used human skin flayed from those who we captured in surface raids or those who attacked us.
Where did Aleria get her leather from?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said. When it came to battle, Aleria’s stock would clad their warriors. She wasn’t my friend.
“Pleasure’s all mine.” Aleria rested her hand on her hip, giving me an appraising look. “We don’t get many visitors around here. You from Sharrowton?”
I had not heard of this place before. “Northaven,” I said.
Serren tilted his head in a strange way, as though passing some kind of subtle message to Aleria that he was trying to keep from me. “Reina’s spent some time in Contremulus’s manor,” he said, words coming a little slower than they had in the past.
“Oh,” said Aleria, and then that same look Serren had—pity and something else—came across her face. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Although obviously not forever, of course.”
That intrigued me. “Why not forever?”
Awkward silence. Then, Serren spoke.
“Well,” he said, “it’s like we were saying before. Eventually Contremulus is going to come look for you. I said that I’d keep you safe, not necessarily that I’d keep you here until your end of days. In some ways, it’d be better if you headed south, to Valamar or Nuriel or even the halfling territories. Longspear Keep is a vicious, bloodthirsty place where the weak prey on the strong, and blood is spilled openly on the streets, but it’s gotta be kinder than Contremulus’s manor.”
I knew nothing of halflings and their faraway cities, but no matter how brutal and wicked they were, Contremulus was worse.