Dream 24 (Patreon)

Takkla paused in the undergrowth, raising a claw to stop Dussok and Samazzar.  She dropped to all fours before disappearing into the tangle of branches and leaves that marked most of the forest floor outside of the sporadic game trails.

Sam shifted, wincing slightly.  Putting any weight on his left leg hurt like crazy.  Takkla had looked at it before they left, and apparently the stormcrow hadn’t broken anything, but that didn’t make it sting any less.

Glancing around the narrow footpath, Samazzar grimaced.  Unlike the deep tunnels, everything on the surface was warm.  Plants, animals, even the ground after a day of soaking in the sun, everything radiated enough heat to blur his magical vision.  He could still see where he was going, but not much more than that.  More and more, he found himself relying upon the flow of the wind through the myriad leaves to pick his way through the dark forest.

“Do you think she saw something?”  Dussok asked in a whisper, setting down his pack as he leaned against the rough bark of a nearby tree.

“Maybe,” Sam replied, setting his own pack down.  The leather satchel was filled to the brim with the bones and rock hard feathers of the stormcrow. The real prize, the bird’s air bladder that helped it control the wind itself, was buried deep amidst the other alchemical components hidden in the sack at his waist.

“We are getting close to where Lellassa said the mushrooms would be,” he continued, reaching over to scratch at the tender scales on his left side.  “She said that there would be monsters nearby.  We’re probably going to have to distract or sneak past them so that I can harvest the bleeding hearts.  It would only make sense if Takkla saw something.”

“I know, but I just don’t like her heading off on her own,” Dussok said with an unhappy sigh.  “Her bloodline gives her better eyesight than the two of us, and she’s more than willing to take the risks, but I still don’t like it.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam responded, flinching from pain as he reached over to awkwardly pat Dussok on his scaly shoulder. “Takkla knows what she’s doing.  If there’s trouble, she’ll be able to spot it and get out of there before it gets out of claw.”

A rustle in the trees caused both of them to jump.  Samazzar relaxed as he recognized the warm hunched shape of a bird in one of the nearby tree branches.  It fluffed its wing, sending a small pressure wave of good air out into the night.

“What’s out there little dragon?” Dussok hissed, hefting the tree branch he was using to replace his broken club.  “I know your eyes can see more than mine.”

“Just a bird,” Sam responded, lowering his gaze to the forest itself as he scanned for possible predators.  “A little bigger than waist high.  Unless it has a substantial bloodline, it isn’t a threat to us.”

He nodded at the blur of warmth that was Takkla after she crawled out of the undergrowth.  She looked up at the bird before chewing on her muzzle pensively.  Finally, she just shrugged.

“Sam’s right,” Takkla said pensively.  “It’s more a threat to any rabbits that might be in the area than a kobold, let alone three.”

“Still.”  She wrung her claws together, frown on her muzzle.  “What worries me is that there aren’t any rabbits for it to threaten.  There are one or two birds out here, but the closer I get to the clearing on Lellassa’s map, there’s nothing.”

“No snakes, rabbits, or squirrels,” Takkla finished unhappily.  “Nothing but the wind rustling the leaves.  I don’t know enough about the surface to put my claw on it, but something doesn’t add up.”

“I don’t know about this Sam.”  Dussok picked himself up off the tree he had been leaning against.  “This isn’t the tunnels where life is a rarity.  You saw how things were on the hike in.  You practically couldn’t throw a rock without hitting something small and tasty.”

“Something is wrong,” he continued with a shrug, “and we’re in no shape to fight anything after tangling with the stormcrow.  I lost my club, and you’re already beat up.  If there’s a monster guarding the mushrooms, it’ll tear us apart.”

Samazzar closed his eyes, running the possibilities over in his head.  He didn’t have much experience on the surface, but Takkla was right.  Outside of their caves, the world teemed with life.  It had been almost impossible to sleep yesterday with the chirping of birds, keening of bugs and rustle of small animals in the tall grass.  Even at night, creatures filled the forest around them.  If all of that suddenly disappeared, it had to mean something.  On the other hand-

“We’ve come too far to turn back now without at least having a look,”  Sam said quietly, opening his eyes once more.  “Lellassa warned us that she couldn’t get scouts close because there was something there.  We always knew we were going to have to sneak past something to get the bleeding hearts, but we never knew what exactly we would be facing.  In all honesty, nothing has changed.”

He squared his shoulders, voice gaining confidence as he continued to speak.  “Tazzaera is still sick.  If she doesn’t get help, she will die before the first snowfall of winter.  If collecting the bleeding hearts is impossible, we will simply leave.  We owe the Crone that much.”

Takkla put a claw on Dussok’s shoulder, smiling at him in the dim moonlight that filtered through the branches.  Reluctantly, the bigger kobold nodded his head.

“You are right, little dragon,” he said with a sigh.  “I would never be able to forgive myself if I simply walked away right now.  I’ve already killed a stormcrow.  It wouldn’t be right to run away with my tail between my legs just because of a hunch.”

“Then lead the way Takkla,” Samazzar responded, hefting his pack full of stormcrow parts.  “But remember to be careful.  We shouldn’t be surprised if there’s something guarding the mushrooms, but if its out of our league, this isn’t meant to be a suicide mission.  If we need to run, there’s no shame in that.”

She nodded once before pressing a claw to her muzzle and setting out.  After only twenty or so seconds of creeping along the game trail, Samazzar could already notice the desert that had tipped Takkla off.  Other than the wind through the leaves, the only sound was the rasp of branches on scales as they pushed through the underbrush.

The entire situation was unnerving, and something deep in his gut screamed at him in warning.  To freeze still while the predators flew overhead and hope they wouldn’t notice, to turn and run in hopes that they wouldn’t catch him.

Samazzar blew out a shaky breath.  Dragons didn’t hide.  They might run when outmatched, ready for a rematch with their opponents when they were better prepared, but they faced their problems head on rather than skulking like terrified scavengers.

Takkla held up a claw, only visible in the dense undergrowth as a blur of heat in his magical vision.  She scooted to the side, letting Sam come up behind her and view the clearing.

Everything was there exactly as Lellassa’s map described.  A pair of massive trees, each almost as big around as the entrance to the creche cave, lay on the ground, slowly decomposing.  Between them was a small pond, fed by an artesian well.  A small stream, barely ankle deep, trickled out of the water source, flowing away from the three kobolds and into the dark forest.

Most importantly, the corpse was there.  A massive six legged shape, covered in thick, matted black fur from the tip of its tail to its fanged muzzle.  The body’s chest was rent open, a jagged gash tearing apart its pelt and spilling its organs like offal through the shattered clutching fingers of its ribcage.

“A hexawolf,” Sam whispered, awe filling his voice.  “Of course.  They have more than enough of a bloodline to spawn bleeding hearts.”

“Still.”  He paused, worry creasing his brow.  “A single hexawolf could slaughter our entire tribe without breathing heavily.  What in the world could do that much damage to one with just one attack.”

“Best not worry about it,” Takkla replied, putting a hand on Sam’s knee.  “I can’t see anything out there.  If you’re going to collect those mushrooms, now is the time to do it.”’

He nodded, taking a deep breath before quickly scanning the clearing.  Sam didn’t really know what he expected to see.  If Takkla couldn’t find danger with her enhanced eyesight, there was zero chance that he was going to spot it.

Samazzar scuttled out into the clearing, a couple hesitant steps before he paused again.  For the first time in hours, unobstructed light from the twin moons poured down on him, letting him see almost as well with his normal vision as with his magic sight.

When no beast attacked his suddenly exposed form, Sam continued forward, confidence somewhat buoyed but the lack of ambush.  With quick, sure movements he climbed over one of the downed trees.  It was much easier to scale than the cave walls of the deep tunnels.  Even without enacting his bloodline ability, his claws bit deep into the bark, circumventing the usually arduous process of looking for claw holds.

He glanced around the clearing one last time atop the tree, his instincts screaming danger at him.  The normally green leaves were silver in the moonlight, the only sound, the rustle of wind and the burble of the spring.

Samazzar sighed, biting his lower lip gently before hopping down from the log.  His knees bent slightly to catch his weight, giving him another moment to quiet his hammering heart.

Danger.  He didn’t know how or where the sense came from, but he knew he was at risk.  From the dead hexawolf’s cruel yellow fangs to the hole torn in its hide, everything about the situation screamed that his life was more at risk now that it had ever been.

He didn’t remember feeling like this against the purple otter, stormcrow or cave millipede.  There he had been afraid, but that fear had been tempered by the knowledge that he could win the fight before him with just a bit of luck and foreplanning.

Here and now, that wasn’t the case.  The creeping dread whispered to him, threatening Samazzar as it cajoled him to run away.  He might be able to escape, but this was a situation that a kobold couldn’t hope to win.

Sam shook his head before skirting the pond en route to the monster’s corpse.  The fear built as he went, sending his heart racing once again, but Samazzar didn’t let it distract him.  If there was a monster, he’d run, but until some sort of creature showed itself, he wasn’t going to let himself be defeated by simple terror.

His pulse was hammering in his ears by the time Samazzar made it to the hexawolf.  The creature’s innards spilled out onto the forest floor.  Even though they were half decayed, there were no maggots in the meat and flies refused to buzz to approach.  Evidently, whatever sixth sense was warning Sam away from the body worked on insects as well.

He pulled his collection gear from the small sack at his side.  Supple leather gloves treated with resin to keep the bleeding heart’s corrosive juices from his scales, and a small waterproof pouch to store the fungus in when he collected it.  Once the gloves were on, Sam crouched next to the quietly rotting and began searching for the dark red mushrooms themselves.

“What the-” He muttered to himself, frowning.  Rather than the medicinal ingredients, he saw boot marks.  Something had been here and it wasn’t a kobold.

“Sam! Run!”  Takkla’s shout broke the silence.  “They’re everywhere!”

He jerked up just as a cacophonous hooting noise, issued from dozens of lungs all around the clearing, assaulted his ears.  Vague blurry forms, bipedal and barely warmer than the forest surrounding them burst from the woodline all around them.

Samazzar raised a claw, willing the heat from it to coalesce into a ball that blazed orange in his magical vision.  He threw the sphere of energy, striking one of the hooting monsters in the chest.

Whatever coverings it was wearing became tinder dry in a moment, wisps of smoke rising from some of their thinner bits as the magic flash fried them.  Sam thrust with his other claw, forcing good air to flow over the smoldering bits of armor even as he fanned the embers with his mind.

The creature burst into flames, the good air around it turning the minor flickers into an inferno in a second.  Samazzar let a wicked smile play across his muzzle as the creature’s hoots turned to shrieks.

Then the flames snuffed out, stealing Sam’s grin.

“Now, now little dragon.”  Lellasa’s mocking voice rang out, quieting the hooting monsters that surrounded him.  “Enough struggling.  After all, you don’t want to make a bad impression on your new masters?  I offered your services as a slave, but I’m sure Chief Grolm wouldn’t mind beating you half to death to teach you your place if you keep this up.”

Samazzar created another ball of heat, frantically looking around him.  He was surrounded.  Now that the creatures were in the open he could see them for what they were.  Green bipeds, each a finger or two shorter than him and almost a full claw shorter than Dussok.

But unlike the kobolds, these enemies had equipment.  Iron equipment. Rusty hatchets, battered metal plates sewn into leather armor, spears, and simple bows, none of them would be terribly noteworthy in the outside world, but for Sam and his companions they represented an almost insurmountable barrier.

Kobolds had long since lost the ability to work forges.  Even if they found the coal and iron necessary to make armor or a weapon, there was nothing they could do about it.  Instead, they were forced to scrape together trade goods, precious commodities that often meant that the pups went hungry, to trade with the surrounding tribes for even the simplest of iron tools.

Goblins.  His heart sank.  Dozens and dozens of them.  Enough of a warband that they could likely take over his entire tribe if they were willing to suffer enough casualties.

A quintet of the creatures walked around the fallen tree, hooting and prodding at Dussok and Takkla as the two kobolds moved slowly, their claws in the air as they sought not to disturb their excitable captors.

Around the other fallen tree, Lellassa, flanked by two of the biggest kobolds in the tribe, walked stride for stride with a huge goblin.  The monster was almost a head and a half taller than Dussok, and more than twice as wide, his pale green gut jiggling slightly in the moonlight.  Still, one look at the huge axe slung easily over his shoulder, its jet black blade thrumming with some sort of mystical energy, told him not to disregard the flabby creature.

Beside him, almost an afterthought, came a smaller goblin, shorter even than the goblins approaching Samazzar from all sides, rather than armor he wore a black robe over his skinny frame and walked with the help of a gnarled stick, the handgrip replaced by some sort of animal skull that grinned sightlessly at Sam.

“He certainly has some fight in him,” the huge goblin boomed, sending his belly jiggling.  “I’m not sure I would want a magic user that didn’t have a little spice to him.  I already have one limp fish in Grimmshold here.”

He chortled, stomach rippling as he hooked a thumb toward his frail, robed companion.  A half second later, all of the goblins in the clearing with the exception of the indicated creature, began to laugh dutifully, forced manic shrieks that grated Sam’s ears.

“Lellassa,” Samazzar spat the word out, trying to calm the rage growing in his gut.  “Was this all some sort of trap from the beginning?  Were there ever bleeding heart mushrooms here?”

“There were little dragon.”  She sneered back at him, her tail flicking violently from side to side.  “They like you were part of this year’s tribute to the Greentoes.  A scout, a warrior and an alchemist, all magic users.  Many tribes wouldn’t be willing to give up those sorts of resources.  Alas, Chief Grolm had a half dozen spare iron tipped spears.  With those, our tribe will be able to delve further into the deep tunnels and harvest their riches, allowing both sides to benefit from further trade.”

“You’re sure he knows how to craft potions?”  Grolm asked with a rumble.  “He has the fire in him to be useful, but I need someone capable of making healing salves.  Grimmshold can create leveling elixirs and poisons, but little else.  I need someone that can keep my boys alive, and hopefully keep the elixirs Grimmshold makes from killing ‘em.”

“This is a bad idea Chief,” the short goblin rasped,  leaning heavily on its macabre walking stick.  “That magic it used on Red-Eye wasn’t novice stuff.  He’s young, but that kobold has the potential to be dangerous.”

“See what I mean?”  Grolm said, barking out another laugh.  “An absolute wet fish.  If the slave has the potential to be dangerous, so much the better.  The tribe could always use more combat casters.”

“Now.”  The goblin chief’s jovial tone evaporated, replaced by a much darker and serious demeanor.  His yellow eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight as he stared at Samazzar with a shrewd, almost animal cunning.  “If someone could answer my question about his capabilities before I begin to suspect that you lot are trying to hide something or pull a fast one on me, I would appreciate it.”

“Go on little dragon,” Lellassa responded, smiling pertly at him as she crossed her arms.  “Answer your new master.  Be careful of your words and your tone.  Your life may depend upon it.”

“I can make healing and protective compounds,” Sam ground out, baleful glare locked on Lellassa.  “I will obviously need ingredients, and I don’t pretend to be some sort of master brewer, but my skills have managed to keep me alive so far.”

“Good!”  Grolm boomed, slapping his free hand cheerfully against his belly.  “Slow-tongue, give the nice lady her spears.”

Another goblin, slightly shorter than the rest, scampered forward, a half dozen straight wooden rods ending in a crude sack clutched in its hands.  It thrust the package toward Lellassa only for one of her two guards to intervene, taking the weapons with a wordless grunt.

“One question though my dear Lellassa,” the Goblin chief turned to the female kobold, a distrustful look on his broad, discolored face.  “If this kobold is so skilled and useful, why is your tribe willing to give him up?  I know I am excited to have another healer and magic user, but why are the kobolds so eager to discard this sort of asset?  Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

She swiveled, sneering at Sam for a moment before responding.

“He’s skilled, but the pup is a troublemaker.  He follows his own rules and ignores the natural order of things.  If I gave him enough time, there’s no question he’d try to overthrow Chief Duromak and lead the entire tribe into ruin.  It’s better to prune these sorts of problems in the bud.  As a slave for you, he can’t cause problems for me, and you have ways of ensuring his compliance.  Our tribe would revolt if the Chief simply had a kobold beaten for disagreeing with him, but as a slave, if he strays too far out of line you can use force to ensure compliance.”

“Unruly,”  Grolm nodded thoughtfully.  “There are plenty of unruly goblins.”

“You could simply kill him,” Grimmshold muttered loudly.  “The kobolds obviously don’t want him because he’s a threat.  We’d be fools not to follow their example.”

“I’m not a fool,” the Goblin chief replied with a frown.  “And any other goblin saying something like that would be be busy looking for a new pair o’ arms after I ripped theirs off, so you best watch yourself shaman or not.”

“Of course my chief,”  Grimmshold said, bowing slightly, without even an iota of remorse in his voice.

“Good,”  Grolm grunted.  “We’ll assign kobolds to care for my hounds until they learn some manners.  If they aren’t careful, the doggies will rip em apart.  A month or so of feeding the pups and shoveling their shit will teach anyone to respect their betters.”