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Dearest Readers, may you always find friends around whom you will always feel you have a chance. At not being doomed.
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﴾ THE HIDDEN SWORD ﴿
Book Three: Meeting of Fires | Chapter 62: Sentinel Specie*
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Capitulating to morbid curiosity more than hunger, Xan finally plunged a spoon into the bowl. Congealed grease and questionable bits swirled within the pestiferous goop that passed for a vegetable stew in this place. He cleared his throat and waved at a passing serving maid. Face as brittle and brackish as the soil of this land, the woman glowered as she approached.
"What does the knife-ear want now?" she threatened, more than asked.
Xan flinched at the slur but bravely held up the broth. A delicate operation so as to avoid spilling what might be corrosive swamp mire upon his person. "If you could be so generous as to provide another-"
"We're out of clean bowls," she spat.
"Yes, I'm also concerned about the cleanliness of the receptable, but foremost is the unconvincing digestibility of this-," Xan stammered just as the serving maid turned her back on him and stomped off.
Disappointed, he gently put down the bowl and folded and rubbed his hands. At this rate, death by starvation seemed more probable than battle injuries. Xan diffidently pushed the bowl away and looked over the misshapen lump of bread served with the stew. Upon the blackened crust, patches of mold stared back at him.
"You still eating that?"
Xan glanced up and his stomach sank even deeper and heavier at the sight of the newcomer's face.
A human. Accompanied by more humans. Well, only three others but the presence of one already often proved too much for his tolerance, with a handful of extremely select exceptions.
And these ones surrounding his table and looming over him – all possessed grimy youthful faces, shoddy garb, plain weapons of evidently inferior quality. Adventurers. Specifically, overly optimistic, and unseasoned adventurers. Xan briefly looked around. This rundown inn's common room only housed a handful of other patrons at the moment. Mostly mine workers hunched over, weighed down by the oppressive layers of dust and thankless toil, scowling so intently into their watered ale like despondent petitioners in fruitless prayers. From the looks of it, not the kind of people to care if a lone elf is accosted by thieves and opportunists in the middle of the street in broad daylight. Must manage this encounter with tact and diplomacy, then. He nodded at the small group and gestured to the untouched food.
"Much obliged, my new friend," their leader cheered and swooped down at the stew, followed by his fellows who wrestled over the stale bread, carrion fighting over rotting carcass.
The urge to squirm proved strong, but Xan suppressed the impulse. Wordlessly, he waited for them to finish the meal. Hopefully, like vultures they might fly away once satisfied and henceforth leave him alone.
"Aw gods, that was good. Thought I'd starve just three days on the road without rations," the young man murmured, content and rubbing his belly. He callously chuckled at the sight of his companions picking at the crumbs while another seized the bowl and licked for remnants.
"Oh my, perhaps the provisions were unexpectedly insufficient for the expedition," Xan commented unthinking, his annoyance at their evidently poor planning having overcome any initial caution. Then inwardly he cursed himself for humoring them and inviting even more conversation.
"Elf, you got no idea," the leader said, leaning back. "We've been fighting the worst monsters out there, our lives in constant relentless danger. But now we're here in Nashkel to answer the mayor's summons for heroes and finally ink our names in the books of fame."
"Don't forget the gold they promised for checking out the mines," one of them grumbled, crumbs showering through his cracked and yellowing teeth.
Fussing at the interruption, the leader finally introduced himself as Chaud the Saucy Swashbuckler, and his three companions – Mianne the Master Mageling, Rog the Rascally Rogue, and Bort the Beastly Barbarian.
"I'm working up to my first fireball but I can cast a missile now," Mianne boasted and held up a proud finger. "Just one at the moment. Still, I bet a lot of mages can't do that."
Xan narrowed his eyes. Yes and indeed, a good number of mages are unable summon a single magic missile – those like himself in an arcane specialization barred from evocation magic, those who have never learned the Art, and those so powerful they cannot even consciously tone down their output to the level of a novice.
"Maybe if you got magic instead that opens locks or puts folks to sleep and makes them easier to rob, then my life would be easier," Rog groused at the girl who stuck out her tongue while Bort grunted in agreement.
Painfully aware of the pitfalls of volunteering one's true magical competency in any situation no matter how outwardly inconsequential, Xan wisely kept his mouth shut.
"You can see for yourself," Chaud cheerily continued and pulled the stool to scoot closer to Xan who then edged away only to find himself flanked by a leering Rog. "We are honest hardworking highly accomplished heroes just trying to make the world a better place."
But the road to riches and renown hasn't been easy for their group, oh no it has not. Following embellished tales of adventure which strangely involved a lot of fleeing from goblins and xvarts, Chaud recalled with blatantly feigned sorrow how one of their cherished companions had fallen along the way.
"What was the poor sod's name again?" Rog asked, picking at his teeth.
"Kenny, you bonehead," Mianne hissed. "Or was it Kenar? Kenir?"
"Kennair, Son of Farmer Marl!" Bort roared but fell silent and surly again.
"Yes, that, thank you Bort for reminding us," Chaud said, rolling his eyes. "A young aspiring knight who forsook the plow for a sword to save the world. But alas, taken too soon for he gave his life to cover our escape when we were overwhelmed by a mob of fearsome gibberlings."
"Gibberlings," Xan echoed dryly, skeptical.
"You seem to know your monsters. Well, since you have the look of a wizard about you," Chaud said, tilting his head and eyeing the tip of the sheathed moonblade peeking beneath the cloak. "Or a greenhorn warrior? Then you ought to join our capable band."
Rog hunched forward with uncomfortably obvious interest. "Yeah, an elf would be nice to have around. I heard them knife-ears like to horde really nice things in their fancy tree houses."
But Mianne was unimpressed. "Oh please! Why would you rope in another wizard when you already have me? What we need is a healer or a better fighter. Even that Kennair fellow seemed sturdier than this one."
"Skinny like shrimp!" Bort pronounced with an unkind guffaw, whose unsolicited judgment of a less than robust frame met no protest from Xan.
"Eh, sometimes even heroes can't choose the strays they pick up along the way," Chaud tutted, then leaned forward with a glint in his eye. "So, what say you, Elf?"
Xan pursed his lips, frowning in hesitance. Far be it from him to ally himself with these dubious characters. Yet on the other hand, information had been eluding him at every turn. Talking to the locals yielded nothing but outlandish tales of demons in the mines and gripes about dwindling dreams of prosperity and plenty. However, he dared not march up to the head of this town to make inquiries. For when he sought an audience with the mayor, he was curtly informed by the militia members of how Berrun Ghastkill would only see mercenaries willing to venture their lives in the deep and treacherous darkness of the mines. Understandable then that the burgomaster preferred not to divulge information to outsiders without getting anything in return, given his presently precarious position.
But here now, an opportunity presented itself, though not in a most agreeable package. At the very least, allying himself with this band would provide him the excuse to inspect the mines unhindered, obtain sufficient information for a workable theory on the iron plague, and most importantly – deliver proof and demonstration to the elders of his glaring unsuitability to field work.
Xan sighed and bobbed his head, though waveringly like the unsavory garnish aimlessly floating in the stew.
"Splendid," Chaud cheered to the echoing lack of enthusiasm from the rest of the group. "Though I must inform you, we will require payment of a bag of silvers. A middling fee for the honor of joining us. Oh, and you're expected to bring your own kit."
"Well, he should," Rog griped. "Because I tell you all, we're never gonna recover our coin from that farmer boy's father. Tightfisted dirt-lovin' sod."
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Chaud, who must have never learned the importance of patience and preparation in his seemingly twenty or more years of existence, kept grinding his boot in the ground. He clicked his tongue incessantly, far more discordant than the clinks of steel picks against stone. "Can me get moving now, Xen? Really, we're wasting a lot of time talking to this riffraff."
The misnaming, deliberate or accidental, didn't surprise him at all, given the history of this pitiful band's recently reduced roster. But the constant interruption whenever he must take a moment to interview a laborer or inspect the mined ore was beginning to grate on his nerves. Xan could only visualize himself inhaling deeply in frustration given the dust oppressively permeating the air. Must resist the enticement of charming them into shutting up for the next few hours.
Rog made a show of wringing his empty hands. "Why're we even bothering? No one down here's got anythin' worth nicking too."
Mianne rubbed at her arms and glanced around. "It's so dirty in this dump, even worse than the woods! A mage like me is too good for a place like this. I want to go back to the inn for a hot bath!"
Bort merely rumbled his own complaints, but his eyes wildly darted around with unease and distrust of the darkness.
"Xeeeeennnnn, just hurry up with the stupid questions already. Adventure and rewards aren't going to wait any longer," Chaud whined.
Before he could give in to the temptation to waste a Sleep spell on his companions, Xan hurriedly wrapped up the queries and dismissed the miner. Almost envious, he watched the man trudge back to his fellows to resume their toiling. How fortunate sometimes these simple folk, so singularly concerned with the cares of today and only for themselves, free of the burden of responsibility over many, and blissfully unthinking of the inevitable pointlessness of it all. Though right now, no one's lot in this forsaken hole could be deemed privileged in any facet.
Beneath a torch sconced high in the wall, Xan scribbled on his journal while citing his findings. "No one can explain how the iron came to be tainted since the ore appears otherwise normal when carted to the surface. Though some of the miners claimed coming across partially unearthed deposits as well as extracted piles already drenched in an unknown substance which eventually absorbed into the ores. I suspect that may be causing the accelerated corrosion, whatever it may be, naturally caused or not. Nevertheless, it is more prudent to gather more evidence to support this proposition."
As for the missing or killed laborers, the interviewed workers confirmed that the incidents occurred in the lower levels. None of them, not even the militia and mine guards dared venture deeper to investigate, following sightings of suspected hostile creatures.
"I recommend we return to the surface and consult with Foreman Emerson on a more efficient approach, plot which areas suffered the losses, plan our next routes based on the impact analysis and then-," Xan droned on. A force of habit from his training sequences, this reporting of results and seeking consultation and consensus for the best course of action, or at least, the course of action resulting to the least disastrous outcome. He paused, noting everyone else staring blankly.
"D-did he say creatures?" Mianne mumbled in fright even as the others fidgeted with unease. "Doesn't that mean monsters? Gods, what are we gonna do? I thought we're just here to find out where the bad ore's coming from? No one said anything about monsters!"
He nearly clapped a frustrated palm on his face, but thankfully remembered the dust coating his hands. Perhaps now might not be the best time to remind them that they should've taken seriously the reports relayed by Emerson and the other miners. Voices echoing from the walls and chattering in fiendish tongues, deadly fiery arrows suddenly shooting out of the darkness, rocks and wooden spikes raining down from the ceiling without warning. All speculated of demons and dragons creeping out of their hellish caverns to come and take their due for the disturbance.
Could be much worse - Duergars and Drow. Xan grimaced.
Well then, death from food poisoning by unhygienically prepared porridge no longer seemed like a terrible idea after all.
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"Ugh, you mean you can't do a fireball? What kinda' amateur wizard are you?" Rog griped through his clumsy attempts to finish off a snoring kobold. "Makin' us do all the hard work. Selfish sod."
"Yeah, not even able to cast a missile, he admits," Mianne added smugly. With flourish, the mageling conjured an acid arrow and aimed it at another sleeping kobold, pointedly ignoring Xan who flinched at such wasting of a spell.
"Now, now, my friends, don't be so harsh," Chaud retorted cheekily but lost his grin from the effort of stabbing an adjacent unconscious kobold. "Not everyone's an accomplished hero like us. Think of this as our way of helping the weaker ones to survive the rigors of the road until they realize they aren't fit for a life of adventure."
Whatever. Xan wagged his head at the glaring dearth of appreciation for his efforts. For when they descended into the level below and entered one of the passageways, his more capable hearing caught faint scufflings from behind a pile of rocks several paces ahead. He had motioned for his companions to halt and wait when less than half a dozen kobolds suddenly leaped out for an ambush.
In an instant, Xan had uttered the chant, pinched some colored dust in one hand and fanned the air with the other. A cone of clashing colors had sprayed from his fingers and crackled over the creatures which fell unconscious to the ground unresisting. At least without prompting, the others proceeded to make swift work of the then cataleptic enemy. But couldn't they simply do their task without complaining? Bort did, though the man could've done so without the shouting and over-dramatic chest pounding with each stab.
Chaud circled the last breathing kobold. Xan motioned for him to refrain from delivering the final blow.
"Hold, let that one live. Perhaps it knows something of the tainted ore and the attacks on the miners."
Everyone regarded him with incredulity bordering on hostility. Rog threw up his hands and sneered, "Oh great, so he wants to talk to dumb animals now. Yeah, real useful! Maybe you've already forgotten, but these freaks tried to kill us first."
Xan drew a coil of rope from his pack. "It cannot harm us if bound. A little time is all I require for the interrogation, or a charm if it proves uncooperative," he continued while unwinding the line.
But the abrupt squelch of steel through flesh startled him. He glanced up at Chaud, jaw dropping in dismay at the sight of the blooded sword in the other man's hand. "What have you done? We had a chance to learn something, anything!"
Unperturbed, Chaud casually wiped the blade with his own cloak. "Rog's right, these things are too dangerous to be left alive. Maybe you've never been in a real fight, but we all know better than to trust in magic that can't even finish the job on its own."
Pointless and futile to even reason with them. He ignored the baleful looks thrown his way while stowing the rope into his pack. Drudgingly they continued their trek through the gloomy corridors as Xan marked the walls with chalk at intervals and turns. Why even bother when doing so was pointless?
Humid, airless, choking with dust – the mine tunnels were a far cry from the familiar secret passages within the Greycloak Hills. Though also hewn in rock and constantly shrouded to protect its secrets, the corridors there were warded to protect the Tel'Quessir. Likewise, he knew the way by heart from when his training required access through the tombs which led to the hidden settlements of Greyhome. But here in Nashkel, the tunnels only led on into an endless darkness fraught with perils and disturbing obscurities.
They descended into the next level and found more kobolds. After each skirmish, Chaud called for rest which often stretched longer despite none of them having suffered grievous injuries. And why would they? Xan always made sure to incapacitate most of the enemy before they could do serious harm. Kobolds don't register on top of the list of threats in the realms, but these creatures knew how to use sheer numbers, traps, and the treacherous surroundings to their advantage. Best not to underestimate enemies in their own element, especially with these humans' utter lack of coordination and foresight. Speaking of foresight, though.
"You didn't even bother to stock up on healing kits?" Xan stammered as Rog greedily snatched the last bottle of curative potion from the elf's pack. He huffed, frustrated, then rounded upon Mianne idly brushing her hair.
"Did I hear you right a while ago? You are already almost out of spells? Where is your spellbook? And what were you doing instead of studying the night before we came here?" Xan demanded and almost screamed when Mianne nonchalantly confessed to accidentally leaving her spellbook behind at the inn and carousing with the rest of the group and other patrons until the break of dawn.
He wrung his hands. This group is especially hopeless today.
After another skirmish, they retreated into one of the passageways. Halfway through the corridor, Xan with his more capable sight in the dark spotted a tripwire along the path. He pointed it out to the rest.
"Stop hogging the glory for yourself," Rog countered petulantly. "Everyone knows I saw it first."
"Then might you be the first to disarm it as well," Xan suggested wryly.
Rog refused. Made excuses. Claimed he lost his tools in one of the fights. Xan glanced down and raised a brow at the young man's hands visibly trembling. No, Rog didn't lose his tools, just his nerves. Rog must have noticed the elf pointedly looking and quickly stuffed those twitching fingers into his pockets. Xan wagged his head dismissively and took out a chalk, stooping down to carefully mark a line on the ground, parallel to the tripwire. At least they were now aware of the trap's placement and could easily avoid it should they pass this way again. With that, they marched on and reached the end of the passageway which led into an antechamber ceiled higher and carved wider where they found two empty carts. It only continued one way and into another narrow tunnel ahead.
Chaud dropped his bag and made to unpack a bedroll. "I say we've done enough for today and make camp."
Everyone else followed suit and plopped themselves on the ground. Though equally weary and doubly frustrated, Xan stayed on his feet, ruminating on previous encounters. They have had to contend with ambushes from the prior and current level, but this was the first time the group had come across a trap. They must be getting close to the kobolds' lair. Now shouldn't be the time to allow for complacency.
"Before we rest," Xan spoke up, gesturing to the wagons. "We ought to make provisional barricades for our protection." While these flimsy barriers will offer little defense, it was better than none. Better to delay their doom than hasten it.
The others weren't convinced so easily, preferring to take their respite right away. Xan finally convinced them with a reminder of the previous ambushes. By pairs the four men worked to drag the carts against the entryway into the next corridor. Of course, partnered with Xan, Bort mercifully did more of the legwork. Chaud and Rog eventually finished pushing the other wagon into place, though not without complaints and vague threats of the things they'll do to a certain bossy elf after leaving this godsforsaken hole. If any of them manages to leave at all without falling to someone's stupidity first, Xan rued likewise.
An hour passed with the group crouched and sulking in weary silence. Obviously bored and frustrated, Chaud got up and began absently whacking his sword against the side of the crate, putting more weight behind each successive blow. Xan grimaced, fists curling on his knees. Is this fool so eager to come to his end by trying to call down the kobolds on them and fulfill some misguided sense of valor? He rose to his feet, about to reprimand the man for his imprudence, when Xan paused and realized something equally disconcerting.
"Why isn't your blade cutting through mere wood?" His eyes broadened at the true reason – the sword had already begun to disintegrate at the edges. Yet Chaud simply shrugged as if no longer caring and even irritated. Xan stammered, disbelieving. "Those silvers I provided – Why didn't you use them to acquire better weapons knowing the dangers awaiting us down here? You wasted them on drink didn't you! See then how negligence will profit you in the end."
At the accusation, everyone tensed and stared. Chaud glowered and sputtered, raising a fist and pointing into the elf's face. "You've been complaining and bossing us around ever since we got here. Have you forgotten who heads this band?"
But Xan held his ground. "I have not. Nor should you forget it is your responsibility to keep us all alive if you deign to call yourself our leader."
Let diplomacy be consigned to the pits, but he will not stand for anyone's blunders jeopardizing what could mean the very survival of The People.
"I think you've ordered me around for the last time, Elf."
Chaud straightened himself and glowered down at Xan. Mianne clicked her tongue, summoned a magelight and pretended to look elsewhere while Bort stayed put but visibly tensed. Rog sneered with barely concealed excitement. Xan stepped back, not for fear, but to give himself space for a spell if needed. Mercifully, or not, Mianne interrupted the tension with a shout.
"Kobolds," she shrieked, the magelight above her palm now flickering and revealing rows of glittering ruby eyes in the darkness ahead. "And lots of them!"
Immediately the tunnels echoed with yips and barks followed by the whistling of arrows. Everyone dived behind the wagons except for Bort who gripped his axe, already climbing over the cart.
"What are you doing? Get down," Xan screamed at him.
But the man only spat in contempt. "Kobolds are nothing. Small and weak." And with that, Bort leaped over and rushed into the tunnel. His battlecries soon mingled with the shrieks of his diminutive foes. Yet not long and the barbarian fell silent, overwhelmed by greater numbers, his grim fate undisputable.
Mianne shook her head, craned her neck to steal a peek, then hasted to dig in her spellpouch. "I've been dying to try this," she gleefully said and held up a lump of desiccated guano.
Xan paled. No, not that spell, not here where there might be traces of volatile gas emanating from the very rocks. "Imprudent child, this isn't the time for boasting!"
Heedless of the warning, Mianne shot up to her feet, raising the component with a triumphant fist and commenced to slowly and deliberately chant the words to evoke a fireball. Except –
Mianne never even screamed. How could she when the first fire-tipped arrow found its mark in her throat? Another hail peppered the unfortunate mage and she fell on her back, already dead when she hit the ground. Her lifeless eyes and mouth opened and stared at them in the sinister parody of a doll pinned by needles. Rog took one look at his former compatriot and screeched. Crazed with panic, the man tried to rise in an attempt to flee, but Xan grabbed him in time. Clumsily they wrestled in the ground, ignored by Chaud who leaned against the wheel, clasping at a spoke, wide-eyed and trembling.
Rog overpowered the slighter elf and pushed himself up to take off. Xan rolled on his elbows and felt against his side. His spellpouch – gone. He glanced up in time to see Rog barging into the prior corridor, a familiar pouch in one hand. Thieving fool just made off with his spell components!
Xan shouted at him to stop but just as he tried to get up to give chase, a sudden blast roared through the tunnels and knocked him off his feet. Dazed and coughing from the dust, he rubbed at one ear if it might dispel the ringing. Amid the clatter of falling rocks, the kobolds had fallen silent. He summoned a magelight and surveyed the aftermath with growing dismay. Rog must have set off the trap in his foolhardy retreat, something magical in nature and powerful enough to cause a partial cave-in. Not an impossibility for even kobolds were capable of the Art. And now, another of their miserable group had fallen and only two of them remained.
Once more, the tunnels echoed with stirrings and furious yips. The kobolds have recovered their senses and must be regrouping for another assault. Xan crawled towards Mianne's corpse. Hopefully, her spell pouch still carried something useful, anything. He rifled through the bag. Empty. Why did he even hoped otherwise? Sighing, his shoulders sagged. He cast a resigned gaze at Chaud still cowering and hugging his knees.
Kobolds leapt over the wagon. More than a dozen surrounded the survivors of this failed expedition. Crude spears and arrows aimed menacingly at them. Their leader in tattered leather jerkin, beads and teeth around its scrawny neck, head in a rusty ill-fitting helm, advanced and hoisted its short sword.
Xan shut his eyes and waited for the end. How? How did everything go so wrong so quickly? This was not how he envisioned his very first field mission would turn out.
Actually, this is not a field mission since technically he was still on vacation, Xan mentally reminded himself with a groan. How futile. Hopeless. Doomed.
"Munthrek," the kobold barked at him.
Xan's eyes flashed open. Did it just call him a human? The nerve! He frowned, indignant, and without thinking, snapped back, "Thric munthrek." Not human. He tugged at both his ears to show them. "Vaecaesin." Elf.
Hearing another creature speak in draconic shocked the kobolds into hesitation. Likewise, Xan blinked, astonished at his own reflexive response. As it so happened, he had also taken to studying the language as part of his Greycloak training.
Not because he harbored lofty expectations of associating with any of the metallic dragons, powerful beings of pure goodness and undying friendship with the elves. Rather, because he thought it an effective way to say 'please make it quick and painless if you are going to eat me' if he should ever find himself in the clutches of any of the chromatic dragons, powerful beings of pure evil and undying enmity with the elves.
But the kobolds edged their spears closer. Xan hastily raised his hands in a gesture of yielding. "Thric irlym. Thurirl. Tuor renthisj mrith wuxmaekrix."
Squinting at each other, the kobolds parroted Xan's request among themselves as if surprised. "Not our enemy?" "Friend to us?" "You want to talk to our leader?"
A pinch more of confidence gained, Xan continued his reply in draconic. "Yes, by your permission, I request for the chance to speak with your leader."
"Why, Elf? You'll kill him?"
"That is not my intention," Xan said. "I just want to ask –"
He paused. By the Seldarine, what string of words should he pull out of his mouth that won't turn around and become a noose on his neck instead?
Hopefully his gamble will pay off. Whether or not these kobolds knew something of the deterioration of the ore, at least he might prolong his own existence. Xan inhaled deeply.
"I only wish to inquire with your leader. To ask -"
Sehanine, Lady of Mysteries, what does one ask of kobolds? Xan cleared his throat, drier now than ever. "To ask you all –"
He tilted his head like a friendly harmless fox cub and ventured with an anxious smile – "How is everything coming by so far? Are you quite liking this mine for yourselves?"
And Xan resisted the urge to smack himself for the somewhat doltish idea. But then, it was common knowledge among the rangers and defenders of their vale that kobolds lived underground in tribes, forever mining to make their nests, and tended to follow strong authority figures. Such as evil dragons. Again Xan resisted the urge to smack his own temple. Of course, evil dragons which love to live in caverns with their treasure hoards and despised intruders with a fiery burning hatred.
The kobolds blinked at him, as if uncomprehending how anyone might be concerned with their welfare at all. Xan stiffened and readied himself for a spear through his neck. Yet suddenly, the kobolds huddled together to confer among themselves, regressing into Yipyak, their own draconic dialect but with more yapping, though Xan could still make out a bit of the words. And more importantly, names.
"He must be Tazok's man, sent to give word to Mulahey. Maybe that's why he asks how things go for us."
"Good, good. Mulahey waited too long already. Maybe now he won't be so angry with us," this a kobold said with a shiver and twitch of its tail.
Grunts and nods at each other indicated their having reached a consensus, though if it was good thing, Xan doubted as much. Whoever this Mulahey is, the kobolds feared him. Best to handle this matter delicately.
The kobolds approached again and poked him and the other man lightly with their spears, urging both to stand. Xan had risen to his feet when they were startled by angry screeches from a pair of kobolds flanking Chaud. A few more swarmed around the human, thrusting their scaly snouts at him.
"Eh, what's happening? Don't touch me, you little freaks! Get away from me," Chaud squealed even as they grabbed his hands to pull him down to his knees.
"Calm yourself," Xan hissed. If he could at least get the creatures to leave this one alone, the man might stand a slim chance of making it back to the surface, report of their findings, and seek help. That is, if Chaud would have the heart to at least appeal for aid in Xan's rescue.
"This human smells of our blood," one of the kobolds pronounced. "And lots of it too!"
But before Xan could beg for leniency in Chaud's behalf, he was pulled to the side by the other kobolds. A mercy that they didn't strip him of his moonblade and gear, though a blade at his back and the rope being coiled around his hands didn't serve to allay his worries. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Chaud pushed to the ground on his belly, spears poised over his back and neck. Terror and knowledge of his impending end filled the young man's eyes.
"Do something! Don't leave me!"
Xan could only shake his head in a pathetic apology as the kobolds led him away into the tunnel. Did their fallen companion, the once mentioned Kennair, beg for aid in the same manner while being cut down by gibberlings?
As the man's screams rose then fell silent behind him, Xan kept his head up and gazed into the darkness ahead.
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Sentinel Scribblings:
* Sentinel species refer to organisms or animals that are used to provide advance warning for environmental risks and dangers to humans. The most well-known example of sentinel species are the canaries that were carried by miners to detect for toxic levels of carbon monoxide in coal mines from 1896 to the early 20th century. And so given the setting and events, Xan was the proverbial "canary in the coal mine" in this chapter. However, I refrained from using the exact phrase because its origins and usage hark closer to modern history which I felt wouldn't be "Realmsian". And because the mines in question were iron and I couldn't find any instances of canaries being used in mines other than coal. Too specific, I know. Why yes, I am that kind of person and things like these keep me up at night. *sigh*
Feeble attempts at Draconic are based on "Dragontounge: A Draconic Language Primer (from Dragon Magazine #284)" by Sean K. Reynolds with a Draconic lexicon by Owen K.C. Stephens.
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