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  I felt scared as darkness fell. What if dunters stumbled upon me? Or kobolds? There were no ansarks in these lowlands, but what of other predators? What had I done? I would have to sleep with no watch; who could tell what might befall me?

  Fortunately I was so fatigued that sleep overtook worry.

  I woke in the morning to the hoots and twitters of grouse nearby in the grass, although I did not see them. After my lonely despair of the previous night, it felt as if they had been sent to keep me company—and possibly to jeer at me. I stood and gathered my sleeping roll.

  I began to pull some food out of my bag, but thought better of it. I climbed onto the horse immediately; I could eat as I rode. The horse seemed glad to get going.

  I headed southeast, moving farther away from Red Gorge. The sun came up behind me and rose over my shoulders. I was prepared to ride hard all day and keep going into the dark, but I would not be able to push the horse that much. In the midmorning I came to a stream and stopped.

  I had seen nothing but the monotonous prairie in these hours. I was still wary of a chance meeting with roving dunters—but it then occurred to me that I was now near the territory of the elves. Red Gorge would be reluctant to come this far south, and it was likely I was being watched myself.

  I found myself gazing off to my right as I picked up the ride again. I imagined I could see the elven woods off on the horizon. I felt more secure, now—whether or not I had any real reason to—and the distance passed more easily.

  I thought now of Annelle and our meeting in Midwall. All along I had had a lingering feeling of disappointment, about our talk, but I hadn’t had the time to put my finger on why. I could almost feel a burn in my heart about her—a sense of loss. Not so much for a person, since I barely knew her, but for an idea. I felt as if a plan, a vision, had fallen through. I realized that all these years since I had met that beautiful, beautiful young woman, there by my home, I had expected that sometime we would meet again and perhaps stay together. There was always time ahead of me; I still had the opportunity to leave Emmervale and move closer to her orbit if I wanted to. And I pictured her as a wise and kind young noble, all along.

  When it had become obvious that Varenlenders were part of that dunter camp, I had hoped that she was not there. I couldn’t imagine she would have been. I assumed she would be back in her city, shaking her head at the greed of her peers.

  I had nothing much to base this on; one meeting of fifteen minutes with a girl, seven years before. And perhaps bits of news I had heard now and then about the calm of Varenlend and its competent leaders. Annelle developed in my mind as a potential partner.

  But she had been in that camp, and had countenanced the dunter raid on Emmervale. My dreams of anything otherwise had been broken. I could not now ever imagine collaborating with her, much less having any other sort of relationship.

  On the afternoon of the next day I reached the western outskirts of the Kurtenvold. As I saw the ribbon of dark green appear to my right, my heart suddenly raced as I faced up to my plan. I would be walking alone into a clan of armed and proud kobolds who were keen on taking outsiders for ransom. I reflected that it was fortunate the baron had been the obvious notable during our last encounter, and that Maghran had done most of the talking; the kobolds would likely barely remember me, and I hoped it wouldn’t occur to them to try to imprison me for a payoff.

  I remembered the Duchess, too, and our visit to her keep. I would have enjoyed seeing her again, and telling her the results of our altered message, but I did not want to spend the time doing so.

  But as I finally neared those woods, there she was.

  From some distance away I had noticed a form among the trees, but had assumed it was just a sapling. As I neared, it looked more and more like it could be a person. For a moment I became very wary about this apparent stranger staring at me, but then I recognized the blue of the robe. When I was close enough to shout to her she finally strode out.

  “Aiman, you return.”

  “I do. I am glad to meet you on my way.”

  Again I was struck by her strength, and her solemn eyes. She gave the appearance, at least, of a genuine Duchess of the Kurtenvold.

  “Were you coming to speak with me?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “I am very glad to. But I was going elsewhere.”

  She nodded very slightly at this, and I believe she looked disappointed. I would have been very surprised if such a hermit would have any interest in speaking with me twice in the course of just several weeks, considering that intervals of years went by between her visits to us in Emmervale. But her face did seem to fall a bit.

  “But I am pleased to see you, Duchess,” I repeated. “I could use your advice for my errand.”

  “What is it?”

  I had reached her, now, and dismounted.

  “I am going to speak with Korf, and his clan.”

  She did not seem especially shocked at this.

  “Concerning what?”

  “Well,” I said. “My companions are doubtful of my plan. But you know that Red Gorge City has been nearly emptied out of dunters.”

  “Yes.”

  “And it is full of kobolds. The dunters depend on them. I don’t think they can live without them.”

  “You intend to lead those kobolds back here?” she guessed.

  “No, I intend to take Korf there and install him as their leader. I am going to encourage these kobolds to seize Red Gorge City. They can do it if they raise all the ones that live there.”

  She stood silent and considered this.

  “A slave rebellion, then,” she said. “That is what you are considering.”

  “Yes.”

  “The dunters and many others believe that the kobolds are born to serve, you know. And that they can do nothing else.”

  “Well, Korf and his group here disprove that.”

  “Indeed.” She nodded. “It’s quite an idea, Aiman. Remarkable. There have been other such events in history, you know.”

  “Have there been?”

  “Yes. The state which became Nemeya depended on slaves, and there were revolts. And long ago, Caranniam had its own rebellion of indentured servants. I’ve never heard of an outsider instigating one.”

  “Korf will be an insider,” I said. “Or close enough.”

  “Good luck to you.”

  “Duchess, do you know their language?”

  “I do not.” She seemed reluctant to admit this; this was the first time I had seen such a reaction from her. “It never occurred to me I would have any reason to learn it. Do you?’

  “No. Just a few words.”

  “I only know what every other student of speech knows,” she said. “Their quirk.”

  “And what is that?”

  “What they cannot pronounce.”

  “Which is?”

  “So you have not learned that. It is P,” she said. “They cannot formulate it.”

  “Hm. Now that I think about it, I never heard that word in their jail. Too much dog in them, I suppose.”

  “You were in a jail?”

  “In Red Gorge, yes. Held by dunters, of course, but in reality it was the kobolds who did all the real work. Just as I said.”

  “I am glad you escaped.”

  “So am I. I ended up getting help from the kobolds, in doing so. That’s one reason I believe this will succeed.”

  “You are heading to their tunnels now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shall I show you the way?”

  “That would be helpful, thank you.”

  “I will take you just to within view of their hideout, and then I will leave you alone. I would offer to accompany you all the way in, but I don’t think it would be for the best. Two of us.”

  “I agree,” I said. “Two might be a threat. If it’s just me, I think they’ll listen for at least a moment, with their guard down.”

  She led me through the woods. She did not talk any further, and seemed
busy taking in the sounds and slight movements. A bird here, a breeze on a leaf there; she looked left and right at these things. In time we came to the thick growth of trees and brush that concealed their buildings and the entrance to their tunnels.

  “Good luck to you, Aiman.”

  She slipped away into the trees.

  I led the horse around the wall of brush, and came to the opening we had burst into, weeks before. I spoke to the horse:

  “You’re going to be seeing a lot of dog-men in a moment.” I touched my hand to its neck. “Keep your senses.”

  I moved in.

  The small clearing with its sturdy little houses was evidently empty. I had assumed I would be accosted by a guard, but no one was visible. Once again I marveled at the construction of all the stone walls and sloped roofs.

  I did notice a pen behind one of the buildings, still filled with pigs. The kobolds must still be around somewhere.

  I stood a few moments longer. I tied the horse to a tree and then walked further in toward the buildings. I stood still and gathered my breath. The pigs ate, and the trees swayed very slightly in a breeze; no one seemed to be around to pay me any mind in the quiet clearing.

  “Kororen akagen,” I called out. “Korf akag.” Strong kobolds, strong Korf. I hoped that would get their attention.

  A few pigs which had been rooting around in their pen stopped, for a moment. Beyond that, nothing moved.

  I waited a short time, and then shouted again:

  “Kororen akagen. Korf akag.”

  Still nothing moved. Would I have to go to the top of the stairwell and yell right down into it?

  But then a very confused-looking kobold stepped out of one of the houses. He was a young male, possibly one of the group that had stolen the baron from us, but he was not attempting any heroics just now.

  “Kororen akagen,” I repeated one more time.

  He just stared at me. His ears were cocked up as if I had two heads.

  “Listen,” I said, “will you get the translator for me? Or get Korf? Tell him this rafa wants to talk.”

  “Korf,” he said.

  “Yes.” I nodded. “Or someone.”

  He then rattled something off in his language, none of which I caught.

  “I’ll need the translator,” I repeated.

  Now another kobold appeared and sidled up to him. Both kept their eyes on me. The second one was also a male, a bit younger than the first.

  “Kororen akagen. Bring me the one who can talk to me.”

  They spoke to each other and then the second turned and dashed into the house which had the entrance to their tunnels.

  The first kobold and I stood there, just looking at each other. He clearly did not take me as a threat, fortunately. Within a few minutes, the translator emerged. This was the same one who had spoken to us before; mature and with a narrow gaze.

  “You were here before,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “You ask for Chief Korf,” he said.

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to tell him of a plan. Many other kobolds need your help.”

  “Kobolds where?”

  “In Red Gorge City.”

  He dropped his head and narrowed his eyes further. His expression was plain disbelief.

  “I have been there,” I said quickly. “I have met these kobolds. They helped me. I went there with the shenken, and I was given zhirnga and rach. I know. I must speak with Chief Korf.”

  Now the translator crossed his arms, still staring at me.

  Soon I stood before Korf, again in the large hall where he held court up on the stone stage. Only a few kobolds joined him, this time. The chamber was nearly silent, quite a contrast to the first time I had been down there.

  Korf was again wearing chain mail and a black stone circlet. I noticed he did not have the axe he had taken from Maghran; I guessed it was held for safety further back in their tunnels. He was also accompanied again by a few strong and tough-looking kobolds who must have been his personal guard.

  Korf spoke to me. The translator relayed it:

  “The Chief would hear more of your stay in Red Gorge.”

  “I thank him for the audience,” I started. “Red Gorge City is nearly deserted of dunters. I spent some days there, and I met kobolds. I think they could rise up against the rule of the dunters, but they need the idea. They need a leader.”

  I had paused between each sentence to wait for the translation. The translator passed along everything I said, and—although I was no expert at reading the expressions of kobolds—he seemed to shrug as he talked, acknowledging to Korf that I was speaking borderline nonsense.

  Then I added:

  “I am hoping you will march up to Red Gorge and liberate the kobolds, because it will cut down the dunters. They are still camped outside my city, and I want them gone. They cannot operate without the kobolds. That’s why I am here.”

  Chief Korf seemed like a smart and no-nonsense leader, to me. That’s why I admitted exactly why I was looking for him to act. I thought he would be impressed that I was not claiming to be there out of concern for the enslaved kobolds of Red Gorge. I hoped to make it clear I was treating him as an equal, and not attempting to hide my motives.

  He was silent a moment, evidently considering what I had told him. His eyes seemed more wise than wild, now that I focused on them. His face was marked with scars, I assumed from fights, and his canines protruded from his top lip a bit. This was not the case for all kobolds, but with him there was a dignity to it.

  He finally spoke, and the translator asked me:

  “Who are you to speak for your people? The dwarves ordered you around. And you served that man in red.”

  “I worked with the dwarves then, but they are not here,” I answered. “And I do not serve Caranniam. We only wanted to keep that man alive, for our own reasons.”

  Korf spoke again:

  “Our warren cannot raise an army to invade Red Gorge.”

  “I know. It will take only a few to raise all the kobolds there. You and these guards of yours could do it yourselves.”

  Korf made a sour face when he heard the translation of that, and I guessed he did not appreciate this obvious pandering. He spoke:

  “We cannot raise an army,” the translator said, “but we would take as many of our capable warriors as we can reasonably spare. Chief Korf will not walk into Red Gorge City with just his four cousins.”

  So that’s who the guards were. I answered quickly:

  “Of course. But my point is that the kobolds do all the work there, and they are practically alone. They are sitting atop enormous power, but they just need someone to show them. I can’t do it.”

  Korf asked a question:

  “Are you certain the expeditionary army of dunters has not returned?”

  “As of a few days ago, they had not.”

  “And some others are busy transporting supplies, again outside of their city.”

  “That’s true.”

  Korf spoke a few more words to the translator:

  “We will leave in the morning,” he said.

  I was amazed. Apparently when this kobold chief felt he had all his information, he did not dither making a decision.

  “Very good,” I said. “I would like to accompany you, if you will have me along.”

  “Yes. You may sleep up above, with your horse.”

  Korf, who had been leaning slightly forward in his chair all this time, now leaned back. He kept his eyes on me and said no more.

  I slept alone in one of the buildings aboveground. One was filled with sacks of roots the kobolds had dug, and I was concerned it would draw mice and rats; another was next to the pig pen, and I didn’t fancy those neighbors. The building which had the entrance to the tunnels I avoided for fear of being trampled in the night. I found one small shed which was used as an armory, and I rolled out my bedding there. It was filled with spears and a few swords, and many bare handl
es waiting for use. Had I not seen their tunnels I might have wondered why they kept this many weapons seemingly unguarded; but having seen their halls twice now, I knew they had plenty of better equipment down below.

  In the morning I woke at dawn as the clearing began to fill with kobolds. I gathered my kit and watched them file out of the tunnel house.

  Again I noticed that they were well-outfitted. All wore boots. Each had a helmet slung behind his back or tied onto a gear pack. Most wore leather armor; some had plate metal waistcoats. Only Chief Korf wore chain mail. They carried mostly spears but also swords, pistols, and a few short muskets.

  Korf, I noticed, was carrying Maghran’s axe at his side.

  Eventually around forty of them had gathered around Korf, and no others emerged. He then spoke to them briefly. They listened intently and often nodded and growled their assent to whatever inspirational speech he was delivering.

  The translator approached me.

  “We leave now.”

  “Very good. What is your name, by the way?”

  “Arken. And you?”

  “Aiman. Aiman Shearer.”

  “We plan to move quickly.”

  “I will ride along.”

  Korf looked over at us then, and nodded. The kobolds began filing out of the clearing.

  They marched through the woods in a single file. They were quiet, but that changed when we left the trees and entered the fields. They all gathered in a knot and began to chatter and occasionally bark as we all continued to move.

  The horse seemed a bit put off by the big pack, and their noise, but he kept up with them. I rode to their left, leaving a gap between.

  Before the sun had risen very high they had gained speed. We passed through field after field, and then I saw something new to me: Some of the kobolds would drop down and run on all fours. To do this they would close their hands into fists and run on their knuckles. Only those who wore their weapons across their backs ran this way, and they were the younger ones of the group. Korf and the rest of the older, larger soldiers seemed to disdain this, and they trotted proudly upright. Once I even saw Korf bark what must have been a quiet reprimand to one who had begun to gallop on all fours, because the one singled out instantly resumed his trot on just his legs. He was not young; apparently Korf didn’t mind the youth running like that, but expected more from his older members.