KI
The gulls rend the air with their cries. They're a hundred kilometres from either the sea or Lake Sunosera, but there's enough food here in the rivers and streams of the Kannak Delta. Nox told her many of the shrill birds have never seen the sea or the great lake.
Pain stings her heart. Nox, where are you? Where did you go? Why did you have to leave Ki?
The sun's setting behind her, illuminating the great white western walls of the human capital of Kannak. She returns her attention to the structure to distract from the pain. She can barely see the top. Her neck is craned almost as far back as it can go; an accomplishment for a kobold.
She has been to the foothills of Sunosera's Maw, but somehow this spectacle is more impressive to her. As Nox put it, deep below their feet the world's core is molten, super-heated rock. The Maw was made by two gigantic floating plates of land pushing against each other. After millions of years, they forced up the massive peaks of both the Maw and Onischam's Belly.
But the walls before her were made by hands. The humans began building it five hundred years ago. That was still ages, but much faster than millions.
Here and there are pockmarks and scorches; signs of ancient battles. By the look of it, Nox was right. There is no getting through those walls. It's more impressive considering the earliest walls have sunk into the soft delta soil. In some places, it extends down at least another fifty feet into the ground.
It's not even possible to tunnel under the walls. Protection runes are carved on the inside of the walls to repel attacks. The city is only realistically assailable by air or sea. To mitigate these weaknesses, the top of the walls are dotted with powerful runic weapons to down airships. At sea, an extensive navy patrols day and night.
The kobold studying the walls is far from the same one who Nox found in his lamp. Now twenty, she's almost tripled in height; a hair shy of a meter tall. Her figure has matured; her hips widened and her shoulders broader. Her arms and legs look slender, but every inch of her body is muscle.
Her snout's lengthened, though not by much. Her eyes are still sapphire blue, with a hint of whites around the large irises. She remains grey-scaled, with a pale countershaded chin and belly. The purple stripe that once ran from her nose to her eyebrows now runs all the way down her back to the tip of her tail.
She's dressed spartan for the warm weather of the delta. She bears a soft, black, forella-fibre top, green breeches of the same material, and leather spats. She wears a necklace of feathers. It is simple, but still her most prized possession.
On her back is a pack that looks oversized for her little frame, yet she's more than strong enough to carry it. Inside are all her worldly belongings: her short bow and arrows, her broom of flying, her clothes, and the last note from Nox she'd cut out of the wallpaper.
I must leave. There is no time. Sigeadlow summons. Fate of all relies on quest. Cannot promise to return. You are strong and you are brave, little Ki. Seek out Jilaotto in Kannak.
Ki had the note memorised. She'd read it over and over during her journey. She couldn't make sense of it. Who, or what, was Sigeadlow? Why did they need Nox? Why did everyone's fate rely on Nox? Why couldn't Ki go, too?
It was the most pain she'd ever felt. She'd torn and smashed a great deal of things in the house in her rage and despair. How could he just leave her? How could he not tell her to her face? What was she supposed to do?
She's never been alone before. She always had Nox and Jilaotto. After Jilaotto moved away to work in the big city, she only had Nox. Jilaotto's parents weren't any help. They'd never liked her.
Voices draw Ki's attention. There's a humming rune-rider to her left, waiting to enter the colossal gates. The driver's bickering with the guards who're going over his truck with zeal. Ki shrugs her pack higher up her shoulders and starts toward the gate.
The nearest guard is over twice her height. Not that it's difficult. There are three of them, all humans. They wear simple, leather armour bearing the city's crest. Their tunics underneath are gold and silver; the city colours.
The truck is finally allowed to head inside. She curls her little snout at the vehicles' brimstone scent. Fire runes always smell like that.
"The fackin' hells is that?"
Ki looks around, roused from her distraction. One of the guards has noticed her.
"Me Ki."
"Maw's Mercy, it fackin' talks!"
"Y'sure? Sounded like squeakin' to me. Meekee?"
Ki's eyes narrow. The handful of humans she'd met, even Jilaotto's parents, mocked her speech. It's not her fault she's little. It's not her fault her long lips and tongue cant properly form words in Common like humans.
Nox had taught her to speak as best he could. He first had her use words she could pronounce more easily. It wasn't perfect, but it was passable. Eventually, her mastery grew, but certain quirks remain.
"It some dragonborn whelp?" the nearest guard grunts, leaning down.
It?!
"Ain't ever seen a dragonborn kid b'fore," another remarks.
"She's a kobold."
The guards fall silent as heavy thuds approach. Ki peers around the closest guard. A dragonborn nears. Ki's interest rises. She's never seen a real dragonborn. Not outside Nox's books, anyway. She thought they all lived on the far northern island of Aihsavuch. What's this one doing here?
His scales are brass in colour. His eyes are a similar hue, which makes them difficult to discern. Unlike the others, he's un-armoured. According to the books, some dragonborn find armour dishonourable. Their scales and prowess in battle are supposed to be enough protection.
"Cap'n, sir," the closest guard salutes.
The dragonborn pays him no mind. His imperious gaze burns down on Ki. Her spirits start to drop. Even if he's a draconid like her, he's not going to be an ally. The captain's eyes drift to her bow.
"Weapons are not permitted," the captain snorts.
Ki's eyebrows rise. "Why not?"
The captain looks more irritated.
"Cheeky l'il spit," a human guard grunts.
"Ki here to see a friend. Ki's friend made Ki's bow."
"Weapons are not permitted within the city walls," the captain points back up the road. "More importantly, kobolds are not permitted in this sector of the city. If you wish to enter you must do so via the docks, and you will do so unarmed."
Ki bristles. Her sharp eyes size up her chances. She can take the humans. It's the dragonborn that worries her. She's not afraid of those larger than her. She and Jilaotto got into plenty of fights with bigger kids when they were young. Nox trained her how to take down boar.
However, this particular dragonborn has the air of one who shouldn't be messed with. He's a slimmer build than most of his kind she's seen in books. He doesn't seem evil, but he's definitely dangerous. The heavy maul slung across his back is glowing faintly.
"What's the hold up? Tell the little shit to fack off!" someone bellows behind her.
Ki glares over her shoulder. There's another rune-rider pulling up. This one's smaller; meant for passengers. The driver looks like a squat human at first glance, with a hefty beard. On closer inspection he's a dwarf, as is the person in the rear.
"Piss off with ya," one of the human guards kicks a few loose stones at Ki.
Ki hisses and instinctively her hands go for her bow and quiver. Just as quickly, the dragonborn reaches for the handle of his maul. One hit from it would crush her flat. She lowers her hands, but the captain does not move his from the hilt of the maul.
A blast of sound comes from the rune-rider, shrill and brass. Ki cringes and clamps her hands over her ears.
"Oye!" a guard shouts and slams a gloved hand on the rune-rider hood. "Cut it with that!"
"Watch the bonnet!" the driver hollers back. "Know who this is?!"
Ki tries to ignore the continued spectacle as she slinks off, her ears still ringing.
"No, and ain't one of us give two facks. What's yer business in town?"
"Dulee Gekith," sighs a bored, sultry voice.
Ki glances up at the car as she passes. That name sounds vaguely familiar. It's the passenger who spoke.
He's like no dwarf she's seen. Dwarves often seek out Nox to guide them across the Bloody Bellows, so she's met many before. This dwarf's thin for his kind. If it weren't for his beard she'd have mistaken him for a halfling. His beard is trimmed so short she can see his skin through it. He pays Ki no mind as she moves on.
"Ooo, lookit the little scaly."
Ki freezes. Her nerves have been cut to the quick. No Nox. She'll have to walk who knows how much farther to enter the city. Once she's inside, she still doesn't know where Jilaotto lives. She's in no mood.
"A sweet little one, that," laughs another voice.
Ki gives her antagonisers a sideways glance. They're a human and a halfling. Unlike the other rune-riders, they're in a horse-drawn cart. The humans' driving while the halfling's sitting on a stack of boxes.
The human puckers his lips at her. Her stomach churns.
"Fack's wrong with you?" the halfling swats the human in the back of the head with his cap. "They carry diseases, they do. Ain't even yer own damnable species."
"Nothin' I ain't already got," the human sniggers. "Wonder how tight a cloaca really is?"
He barely has time to finish the sentence before Ki strikes him in the eye with a stone.
"Maw's sake!" the halfling cries as the human topples from the driver's seat.
The horse pulling the cart whinnies and rears. The smaller humanoid steadies the beast then hops down, drawing a dagger. With alarming speed his blade slashes out at Ki. She's just quick enough as it cuts the front of her shirt. That does it.
Ki's hand grabs her quiver and the swings it around. The steel bottom catches the halfling in the temple. He grunts and crumples.
Ki turns to face the human who's getting back to his feet. Ki draws her bow from the bag, taking advantage of the human's dazed, pained distraction to fit the string. He spots her, one hand clamped over his bleeding eye. He snarls and blunders towards her.
Ki doesn't have time to draw an arrow. The half-blinded assailant takes a swing down at her. Ki dodges and jams the end of the short bow into the back of his knee.
He shouts again and stumbles to the ground. In a second, Ki is standing on his back, nocking an arrow and drawing her bow. The pointed tip is pressing into his cheek. His one, good eye is bulging with alarm. The other's swollen shut and bruising.
There's a clicking sound. Ki whirls around to see the dwarven driver standing up on his seat. He's drawn a rune-spitter, aiming it at Ki. Ki aims her arrow for him instead.
"Put that away!" the passenger shouts, forcing down the driver's runespitter. "She's defending herself!"
"But, Messer Gekith!"
Dulee gives the man a hard look. Slowly, the driver lowers the rune-spitter. Ki lowers her bow and hops off the thug. Dulee, the dwarf, continues to pay Ki no mind. Past his car, one of the human guards is starting towards her but the captain holds him back.
"Outside our jurisdiction," the captain declares.
Ki locks eyes with him. She can tell he's stuck somewhere between disapproval, and respect. To her surprise, he gives her the slightest of nods.
Ki grabs up her pack, but keeps her bow at the ready. She looks at her broom of flying, and then the wall. She supposes she could just wait for nightfall and fly over. But would the weapons on the wall detect something as small as Ki? She could also ride the broom to another gate, but she doesn't want to show off that she has such a powerful magical item and draw more trouble.
Ki's eyes rise to the gulls far overhead. She narrows them as she begins formulating a plan. Screw the captain. She's not walking any farther. She's not waiting for nightfall, either.
Ki will enter your city where Ki wants, captain, she thinks bitterly. And Ki is damn sure going in armed.
MEDWIG EALWOLD, GUILDHEAD OF MINES
What a glorious day. The sun's still high enough to shine in over the walls. It will be a pleasant airship ride to the quaint village of Bodrats. He doesn't travel there often, perhaps thrice a year, but he enjoys it all the same. It's his little home away from home.
His other, and much more important joy is his wife, Ceren. She's sitting beside him, her strong hand lying sweetly in his. Precious few in their class marry for love. He and Ceren are among the lucky few.
She was betrothed to another when Medwig first saw her. He can't even remember the fool's name. He was from the Qeptch family, that much Medwig could recall. Ceren came from the Kriebs.
Medwig was already married at the time. Her name was Vilaa, a lovely but simple woman from the Parvone family. She hadn't received a proper education, and Medwig suspected she was illegitimate, as she bore no resemblance to her father. Medwig had no say in the matter.
Typically, Guildheads marry their firstborns to those of other Guildheads. Its stated purpose is to maintain peace between the rival factions. In reality, it gives the Guilds free rein to build more power and influence. After all, the more diversified the guild, the more commerce it helps control.
Medwig was the Ealwold's oldest, and only son. Yet, Vilaa was her family's second-born. This meant she would not inherit when her parents died. Medwig decided to correct this sleight, and never forgave his parents for the poor decision.
Within a month of seeing Ceren for the first time, Medwig's mother and father died. It was a freak and tragic airship accident. The following week, Medwig came into the ownership of a mine in Sunosera's Maw. It was rich in cold-infused stone; perfect for ice runes.
Kobolds previously inhabited the caves, but it had collapsed on the poor creatures. His guild's excavations had not found a single living member of the pack. It was almost as tragic as the loss of his parents.
Medwig's purchase of the mining rights had nearly drained the family coffers, but it was worth it. As Kannak lie on the shores of the southern sea, ice-rune stones were in constant demand for cooling homes and iceboxes. Within two years the return on his investment had doubled.
The following month came the scandal. Sailors discovered Vilaa and Ceren's betrothed adrift in a boat in Kannak Cove. Both were dead. The healer said they'd imbibed Midnight Tears. On Vilaa was a tear-stained letter confessing her love for Ceren's promised husband, and apologising to Medwig for her shameful affair.
Medwig was gracious. He forgave the Parvones, and took on their third-born son as his protégé, keeping the family bonds intact. In fact, Medwig and Ceren are on their way to see the young man right now. He currently runs business in Bodrats.
During the mourning, Medwig and Ceren 'met'. It was love at first sight. The populace ate up the bittersweet story of Medwig and Ceren finding love in their pain. Ceren's parents accepted his proposal at once. He clearly adored Ceren. What's more, he brought them into alliance with the Parvones.
In addition to the mines, this gave Medwig stakes in textiles from the Parvones, and manufacturing from the Kriebs. It also eliminated the Qeptch family as rivals. The other Guildheads were suspicious, but it didn't matter. They had no proof of any wrongdoing on Medwig's part, and were compelled to expel the Qeptch from the Guildbureau.
While Medwig had hoped to claim the Qeptch's holdings, he was forced to accept it was a step too far. It didn't matter. His efforts had made him more powerful than any other family in the Guildbureau.
"We should do this more often," Ceren presses, as she does every time they leave the city.
"I wish we could," Medwig sighs, truthfully, brushing a silky strand of her hair from her face for her.
Ceren hates the city. Yet, it's where almost all guild business is done. As a Guildhead, Medwig must be at the seat of power. He can't let anyone else in the guild start getting ideas.
Medwig returns his attention to the drive. The driver, Hars, is silent. As he should be, being a golem. He was a gift to Medwig from his parents for his fifth birthday. He couldn't remember life without Hars watching over him.
He obeys Medwig's every command. He's never more than two metres away. His parents had disapproved of him naming the silent sentinel, but what did he care? He was five at the time, and now they're dead.
Ceren sniffs, crinkling her nose. She hates the smell of the rune-rider as well.
"We'll be to the airfield shortly," Medwig soothes.
"I know," Ceren sighs. "Does not make the ride any easier."
"Someday the artificers will discover how to do away with the smell," Medwig chuckles. "Until then, at least it's not horses."
Ceren rolls her eyes at the tease. She positively adores horses. Almost as much as Medwig adores her. She has a soft spot for all animals. Their country estate outside Bodrats on Lake Sunosera has a veritable menagerie.
"You'd never stand seeing them have to pull a carriage," Medwig teases further.
Ceren sighs. "True enough, my love."
Almost as soon as she says this, another rune-rider being trailed by a horse-drawn cart comes into view. Ceren tenses at the sight of the put-upon horse but Medwig puts a calming hand on her shoulder.
Ceren's disdain replaced with delight at once.
"Goodness... Meddy-love, isn't that Dulee Gekith?"
"Gracious me," Medwig nods. "I believe you're right."
Dulee Gekith is the most famous bard in the city. Unfortunately, he's been all but ostracised from his own people for taking on too many human customs. Why shouldn't he, if humans are his primary audience? It's only practical.
"Stop."
Hars brings the rune-rider to a halt. Medwig raises a hand to hail down the approaching vehicle.
The driver, a fully bearded, proper dwarf, looks particularly irritable. That's saying something for a member of his famously temperamental race. Dulee sighs and kicks the back of the driver's seat. The rune-rider chugs to a stop beside theirs.
"Hail, Lord and Lady Guildhead Ealwold," Dulee greets them, rising from his seat and bowing.
His voice is more golden than the flags of Kannak.
"Hail, good Dulee," Medwig waves.
Ceren extends a hand to him. The slim dwarf leans over, pressing her delicate knuckles to his forehead. Ceren beams, clearly aflutter as she resumes her seat.
"How was your holiday?" Medwig asks.
"Tedious, my lord," Dulee replies. "Closed minded as ever."
Ceren launches into conversation with the dwarf. Medwig notes the carts and rune-riders filing past, most of the road blocked. He sees their annoyed faces, but it's of no matter. Not even another Guildhead would dare say a word.
Medwig's eyes drift to the horse cart again. It hasn't moved on, which he takes to mean it's Dulee's luggage. He's more interested in the driver and his companion.
The driver's a human with a heavily bandaged eye. His shoulders are sagged, looking utterly defeated. The halfling beside him seems barely conscious, with an equally thickly and poorly doctored temple.
Dulee notices Medwig's gaze. He shakes his head in disgust.
"Pay them no mind, my Lord. They had it coming."
"Your own porters?" Ceren's eyebrows nearly vanish in her thick salt-and-pepper fringe.
"They got on the wrong side of a kobold, of all things," Dulee explains.
"A kobold?" Medwig blinks.
A strange coincidence, as he'd just been thinking of the mine that began his fortunes.
"Feisty little thing," Dulee snorts and nods to his driver. "Bepis here thought he'd unload his rune-spitter on her, but I've a sneaking suspicious her arrow would have found its mark first."
The driver's knuckles whiten on the steering sticks.
"Arrow?" Ceren scoffs. "She was armed?"
"Like a ranger of old," Dulee chuckles. "I won't lie to you, my Lady, I've been contemplating composing a sonnet or two about her. I shall have to alter a detail or two. Poetic license, and all."
"Of course, dear bard," Ceren smiles radiantly.
Rangers have been outlawed. The law says it is because allowing a guild to be so armed and combat trained is a threat to the city. The reality is they are competition to the city-guard, and the dragonborn order which guard the roads to the continent's other cities.
The wealthy, like Medwig, can afford safer airship and trackcar travel. For those who can't the dragonborns' Order of Sigeadlow will provide protection and passage on the normal roads. It's far slower, but the Order's fees are reasonable.
Medwig would have voted against the move. The competition would have kept the Order's influence in check. He does understand the logic. The lizards need to be propitiated somehow. While they never succeeded in taking Kannak, they came close several times. Their base of power is far away on Aihsavuch, but they are still the only remaining force on the planet that can rival Kannak's power.
"What was a kobold doing here?" Medwig presses.
Dulee shrugs. "She was trying to enter the gate. Captain Szithluon sent her off."
"I see..." Medwig muses, before chortling looking to the two woebegone figures. "What made her assault your porters?"
"Orce lobbed some lewd comments to her," Dulee explains. "She took understandable offence."
"You know... I should have liked to have seen that," Ceren muses.
"It was a sight," Dulee smiles softly. "I think even Szithluon was impressed." Dulee finally sighs. "But I am holding you two up."
"Not at all," Ceren waves a dismissive hand. "We are on our way to our country home. Will you be in the city long? We should love to catch one of your performances."
"It seems so this time," Dulee replies kindly.
"We will only be gone a month," Medwig adds.
"Ah, I shall be here much longer. You're in luck my Lord and Lady."
"Where are you staying?"
"At the Suoutinnoc," Dulee replies, his eyes glossing over a little with delight.
Medwig knows well from his sources that Dulee is sweet on the proprietor of the inn: Thulile Wheatworth. The Wheatworths are the only nonhuman Guildheads in the Bureau, being a family of halflings. They are in charge of every inn and pub in the city. He can't blame the dwarf. For a halfling, Thulile is quite fetching.
Ceren gives Dulee a cheeky, knowing smile. "Then we shall not take anymore of your precious time," she teases.
Dulee's cheeks pinken, but he doesn't seem the slightest abashed.
"I beg your leave then, my Lord and Lady," Dulee bids them farewell, bowing again.
The driver touches his cap to Medwig and Ceren as the rune-rider chugs to life. The cart-driver and his dazed compatriot do not show proper signs of deference as they pass. Medwig briefly considers calling for a guard to teach them respect, but after a moment he decides they've likely learned enough for one day. Not to mention it would further delay Dulee.
"Onward," Medwig bids Hars.
Their rune-rider resumes chugging forward, picking up speed. Medwig and Ceren make further idle chitchat as they make their way to the Grand Gate. It has been sometime since he's seen the good dragonborn captain of the guard. While the city-guard's guild is headed by the Remmat family, they hired Szithluon to do the day-to-day running of the guard.
Of course, they did so on Medwig's recommendation. Szithluon is not a paladin as most dragonborn. He was born on Sunosera, rather than Aihsavuch. Medwig had found him fighting for money. He had studied enough combat to recognise a natural at work. As a result, Szithluon was not only fiercely loyal to the Remmats, but also to Medwig.
At last, he spies the gate as they round the final corner. It stands almost as tall as the walls themselves. Captain Szithluon is beside the blockhouse, speaking to some of his guards.
The bronze scaly spots them coming, and raises a hand in greeting.
"Hail, Lord and Lady Guildhead Ealwold," he addresses them in the proper way.
"Hail," Medwig smiles kindly. "On our way to the airfield."
Szithluon bows deeply, until his snout nearly touches the street. He's lithe for a dragonborn, having lived rough for so long. As a result, he's deadly fast.
"I understand there was a commotion when dear Dulee came through?" Ceren asks.
Szithluon snorts, stinging the air with acrid smoke.
"Yes... a kobold of all things attempting to enter this gate. I sent her off to the docks."
"As well you should," Medwig nods sagely. "At least the day was not boring?"
"That is fair enough, my Lord."
"Cap'n...?"
"She did assault Messer Gekith's porters, but it was outside city jurisdiction. According to Messer Gekith's testimony, she had cause. She left before a proper apology could be rendered by his porters."
"I see..."
"C-Cap... Cap'n!"
"What is it?" Szithluon snarls in agitation.
"Take a look at this!"
Szithluon crosses to the smaller doors carved into the gate. Medwig and Ceren exchange a puzzled look. He focuses, drawing on his patron's energy. He can feel Ceren's own power crackle beside him. Neither of them truly need Hars for protection.
"Captain...?" Medwig queries.
Szithluon steps into the doorway and freezes at once.
"Down!" he bellows. "Everyone down!"
The reason for alarm is apparent at once. The air is rent by a cacophony of shrieks and caws. The world becomes white and grey as hundreds of gulls begin pouring in through the gate.
The attack is overwhelming. Hars is flailing ineffectually in the air trying to hit the agile birds. Ceren draws out a small crystal but Medwig quickly claps a hand on it. Cone of Cold was more likely to hit an unwitting guard or Szithluon than it was to deter the birds.
He's not sure how, but the incongruous little figure in the cloud of gulls catches his eye. Rocketing through the door, past the distracted guards, comes a grey, black, and green streak. It's bigger than an individual gull, but still petite. What's more, it has a tail.
It's a kobold.
The little creature seems to pass in slow motion. Medwig can make out every detail. Her eyes are sapphire blue, yet burn with triumph. There's the bow and quiver, just like Dulee said. Of all things, she's riding on a flying broomstick.
Medwig looks to the gulls flapping around his head. That's not a coincidence. The kobold got the gulls to swarm the gate. By Eservatem's Maelstrom, she's a ranger.