EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (387 page)

“Wait, let me recast the spell!”

“There’s no time! There’s no time!”

He began dragging me along. I couldn’t cast being jerked and jostled around, so we ran together, stumbling blindly in the dark. I ran straight into a wall, but Khavi continued to drag and pull me along.

Light came from the passage up ahead. I ran towards it, Khavi running beside me, and the light grew brighter and brighter.

And brighter.

We stumbled out into the most fierce burning light that I had ever experienced. It was as though I had conjured my magical ball directly inside my eye; I could see nothing but a bright white sheet that turned to red as I snapped my eyes closed.

“I’m blind!” cried Khavi. I could hear him kicking around, stumbling, then he fell over.

“Wait,” I said, “just stand still! Your eyes will adjust!”

Slowly, reluctantly, I forced open my eyelids.

There was no ceiling above me, save for a sheet of brightness. From on high, far higher than I had ever looked, I could see a white-hot crescent of light. A sea of other lights, far too many to count, surrounded the glowing curve high above. Everything around me was bathed in such illumination, such brilliance, that the world seemed to sparkle with energy. Everything was shown to me in such amazing detail and with such raw and vivid colour that I could only stare at it in wonder, drinking in everything even though the light pained me.

Columns of a strange material grew out of the ground, brown and covered in some kind of green moss. The ground underneath my feet was a similar moss, thick and swirling around my knees, the brightest and most vivid green I had ever seen. In the far distance, impossibly far, were enormous mounds of earth, each topped with a white point. Teeth? Were we inside the mouth of the world?

I remembered seeing things that looked like teeth on Tyermumtican’s map. The entrance to Ssarsdale was that way. We had a direction.

I exhaled. To my shock, I could see my own breath, a thin white fog, just like those of the humans and Pewdt. Was this the curse of the surface? Would we breathe poison air for all our lives? I tried not to breathe in where I had exhaled, waving away the mist.

That’s when I caught the scent of the air and forgot all about my poisoned breath. It was the breath of the Gods, as fresh and clear as any I’d ever experienced. There was something about the it, something rich and so full of life that I couldn’t help but breathe it in by the lungful as my eyes tried to see everywhere at once.

This was a place of beauty and wonder, not of terror.

“Khavi,” I whispered, “open your eyes.”

He was clinging to the ground. He seemed to fear he would fall off and be flung upwards into the void. “It hurts! It hurts to live!”

“First you’re afraid of the dark; now you’re afraid of the light?”

He hissed at me, then cracked open his watery eyes. “It’s too bright!”

“You’ll get used to it,” I said. “Just keep your eyes open; it doesn’t matter if they water.”

I caught motion in the corner of my eye. A small creature, white and brown, covered in a brown fuzz. It was like hair but not. It had two long ears that twisted around, catching every sound.

“Hail and well met!” I called. “I am Ren, and this is Khavi. We’ve come from the underworld.”

The creature didn’t reply, but it looked straight at me.

“Who are you talking to?” asked Khavi, struggling to see.

I pointed. “There. Don’t you see it? Wait—there’s another one.”

Was it reinforcements? Another one of the creatures, then another, joined the first. They all watched me.

“We mean you no harm. We wish to journey to Ssarsdale.”

The creatures watched me for a moment longer, then began to eat the strange green mold that grew everywhere.

“I don’t think they speak draconic,” said Khavi, his eyes finally open, squinting heavily in the glare.

“I don’t think they speak anything. I think they’re some kind of carapaceless insect.”

“Maybe this world is different,” said Khavi, “maybe it’s bright unless some kind of un-glowbugs create darkness to prevent your eyes from burning.”

“I don’t think these are anything like glowbugs or un-glowbugs, whatever they are. They only have four legs. Look, see, they eat the mold then hop away.”

“Hop?” Khavi hissed faintly. “What kind of creature moves by hopping?”

“It doesn’t matter. Come on, on your feet. We need to get going to Ssarsdale. It’s this way.”

We set off for the distant teeth, our pace slowed by the thick moss and the strange stones that thrust up to the sky. As we travelled I found one that had been tipped over, the inside of it more like bone than anything I had ever seen, the outer ring a thick hide.

Worldbones, I called them. They reminded me of the spines on our heads. Was the surface of Drathari a giant kobold’s head, and had we crawled out of its gullet?

I kept a watchful eye on the impossibly high ceiling of this place, expecting it to fall down on top of us at any moment, and Khavi did the same. We walked with our heads high, squinting against the bright light coming from the burning sliver high above us, so we did not notice the presence of buildings and structures until we were quite close.

They were similar to our own but much bigger. Everything seemed oversized, the windows twice as big, the doors huge and imposing, the ceilings extravagantly high.

Sticks with flame on them, versions of the ones we had seen the tall monsters carrying underground, lit the area with even more light than the brilliant light sources above. We could see the faint outlines of figures moving around in the brightness, casting faint shadows across the ground. They would carry their own light, nearly blind creatures stumbling around in a world too bright to comfortably see in. Occasionally I would hear voices, boisterous laughing and chuckling.

The entire village was a beacon of light drawing us in.

“Is it Ssarsdale?” asked Khavi.

“I don’t think so. It’s so…
bright
. No kobold city would be like this. Besides, Ssarsdale’s underground.”

“It’s strange.” He shook his head. “I don’t like it. Let’s go around.”

“No, we should investigate,” I said. “They might be able to help us.”

“Look how big they are,” said Khavi. “Look how tall their buildings are. Nothing that big could ever be good.”

“Just come with me and try not to act threatening.” I steeled myself, took a deep breath of the impossibly sweet and rich air, and then strode forward towards the brightly lit village, my claws at my sides, and my posture relaxed and comfortable.

I should not have been so careless.

Act III

A Distant World of Wonder and Terror

M
Y
RELUCTANCE
TO
HAVE
ANY
aside, I have always loved children.

Children, wyrmlings, little ones, younglings…in whatever tongue you call them, the meaning is still the same. They represent the future, the next generation, the continuation and growth of the species. Their importance goes beyond an individual merely passing along our genes. In a sense, they are everything a society must treasure and nurture if the society is to continue to exist in the future. The next generation is everything we fight for every single day, everything we work towards, everything we sacrifice and suffer for. They are us.

Killing an adult is a terrible thing, yes, for this act robs a society of its present. To take the life of a child is to rob it of its future. It is a universal constant in almost all civilisations that to harm a child—physically, mentally, or sexually—is an abhorrent act punishable by the harshest means available. It is the worst of crimes.

Kobolds are not too dissimilar to any other humanoid in that regard. The community, the society, is all they consider with their actions. To damage the future of that community is to rouse from my people a terrible, unquenchable anger that demands revenge as disproportionate as it is terrible.

However it has been my observation that when a child of the surface races, such as a human or elf, is killed their societies treat it differently. The anger, the outrage, the pity is shared by all who know of it, but the grief is personal. Grief and mourning is limited to the parents, the family, the friends. The occasional stranger may be sympathetic, but rarely will they truly grieve.

For a kobold, with our communal and selfless mindsets, if a wyrmling is harmed, the grief is shared amongst all. It is a crime against the species. Against the entire community. It is an act that fires the blood, spurring one to violence, but also to shared anguish. The parentage of the child is irrelevant. The community was robbed of a piece of its future, and the future of all were harmed by this act, so everyone grieves for this loss in equal measure. The pain of that loss is the pain of all.

What could have happened to the egg Khavi sired? What potential lay within it? Would the hatchling be as I was, a maker of its own destiny, or would it be as its father, simple minded and cruel?

It does not matter. The potential was there for either, and that was the true source of my grief. The loss of the potential. It died without even having a chance to prove itself.

I do not say this often, but perhaps the surface races could learn from the kobolds, and make heinous acts a tragedy of the people, where grief and outrage are shared by all.

— Ren of Atikala

Chapter XVII

“G
OOD
EVENING
.”

I
WALKED
UP
to the first creature I could see, my hands comfortably resting by my sides, my rapier sheathed, and my shield on my back. It was a creature approximately my height, with short hair and clad in thick clothes to ward away the cold. To me the air was pleasantly cool, but they appeared to feel differently.

It stared at me, open mouthed and shocked, then began babbling excitedly in a strange language. It wasn’t feytongue; it was too low pitched and hard for that, and I found it strangely appealing.

“I am Ren of Atikala. I was hoping you could direct me to Ssarsdale?”

The creature babbled some more, then cautiously approached. A male, with broad shoulders and a rugged appearance.
 

“Ssarsdale,” I said again.

“Ssarsdale?” His pronunciation was horrible. He pointed at me.

I nodded eagerly. “Yes, I need to go to Ssarsdale. What is this place?”

“Ferokhan!”

I had never heard of such a place. They had a vague similarity to a gnome, but I didn’t let that resemblance taint my impression of them. I called over my shoulder.

“It’s quite all right, Khavi, come out and meet our new friend!”

I could see Khavi crouched behind one of the Worldbones, but he didn’t approach. I turned my attention back to the strange creature.

“Anyway. We would like some food, some supplies, and quarters for the evening.”

“Ssarsdale!” The creature pointed at me, crying out in excitement. “Ssarsdale!”

I twisted and looked over my shoulder. I swore he was pointing at me, but was he trying to point behind me? Had we come the wrong way?

The door to one of the houses opened. Another creature, similar to the one near me, stepped out. This one was much bigger and seemed like it fit the house; its skin was much thicker and more leathery, its hands thick and rough. This one too was male, and it had a sword strapped to its belt. The blade was longer than I was.

I realised that the first creature I had met was a child. The newcomer was an adult of their kind.

“Greetings,” I said to the adult, bowing low. “I am Ren of Atikala.”

The man shouted something. The child, suddenly fearful, backed away, and then ran for him, looking over his shoulders. The adult drew his blade.

“Wait,” I said, “I’m not here to hurt you!”

The child cowered behind the man’s legs. He held his ground, shouting over and over, loud cries of alarm. More creatures threw open the doors of their houses, some carrying longer weapons. Spears. Crossbows.

They looked at me with hatred and fear.

“I just want directions to Ssarsdale,” I said. “Nothing more! I’m not here to hurt you!”

Over a dozen of their kind approached, spears and giant swords held before them, their weapons levelled on me. They shouted words of command in their strange language.

I looked over my shoulder to Khavi and saw him retreating away, his head vanishing behind the Worldbone. Khavi could not help me, nor should he.

I raised my hands above my head.

The creatures took my weapons, shield, and haversack then bound my claws with a strange device, two metal bracelets connected by a short thick chain. It didn’t fit and was loose around my wrists even on the tightest application, but was still remarkably uncomfortable; the metal chafed and scratched my scales.

They were not gentle with me, dragging me through the centre of their town. There appeared to be some debate as to what to do with me. Some favoured killing me right away. They had their weapons in hand, ready to do the deed, but there were some who opposed them for reasons I could not understand.

Eventually they led me to a building with open double doors. Bundles of dead moss were inside bound up with string. A food storage location obviously. This was good; it had been some time since I ate, and my belly complained. I had never eaten the strange surface moss before, but it was clear that they were storing it for food.

The creatures shoved me inside, closing the door. The light returned to a palatable level, the bright illumination from the outside seeping in through the cracks. It was pleasant despite the distinct scent of dung.

I picked up some of the golden dried moss, placing a few strands in my jaws. It was tasteless and bland, but otherwise went down evenly. I munched on a few handfuls. It was not as rich and flavourful as glowbug meat, but it was what they had given me; I did not want to offend them.

When I had eaten enough to calm my stomach, I explored the building, turning my thoughts inward.