It was a bizarre mix of new and familiar. Kob had never set foot in this inn before, yet it was just like others he’d been in – comfortably warm, dimly-lit by candles under tinted glass globes at each table, the furnishings plush and well-carved rather than the ramshackle benches and trestle tables at most common inns. The bartop was gleaming, polished mahogany; the patrons held quiet conversations under the strains of the bard’s lute and her soft singing.

Rather than being a place for the masses to come for a decent and affordable meal, this was a place where people of means could conduct discreet business – and in any big city, there was some business that was discreet by nature. Practitioners of the sort Kob had sought out knew of each other; even across sea and desert, the token of the Silver Serpent of Sharktooth Bay carried some weight, when its bearer knew the right names. And while Kob had never acquired a taste for ostentation, he’d long since passed the point where a meal at a place like this was an expense worth noting; he could afford the polite measure of treating his contact to a good meal.

He even knew – now – the feel of a mind touching his; offering his table-mate a small smile to make plain that he was aware, he yielded to her mental scrutiny, presumably an investigation into the truth of his words so far.

The rat tilted her head slightly, ears shifting with a slight tinkle of jewelled rings. “You’re a man of many experiences, I perceive.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, crinkling in a way that suggested a smile behind the violet cloth of her veil.

“Do you have need of such a man, then, honoured lady?” Kob asked.

“I do not, personally,” she replied, head tilting slightly. “But in a city of this size, normally there are more tasks for people of skill and discretion than there are such people to do them. I can introduce you to some of my colleagues, and they may have need of your talents, or know someone who does.”

“I would be most pleased,” Kob said, carefully matching the cadence he’d heard from the locals, “to place my skills in the service of one who needs them. Whenever you can make that introduction, good dame, I would be honoured to receive it.”

“I have a spell of time now, as it happens.” Another of those mostly-concealed smiles, as the woman gathered her skirts about her. “Walk with me, good sir, and I will make you known to some people with distinguished tastes… and, perhaps, difficult problems.”

Kob laid a scattering of coppers on the table for the girl who’d served them. A quick glance confirmed that no sign of the silver coin under them was immediately visible; that was his discreet tip to her role in organizing this little meeting. However well-known it might be that the Amber Eye met contacts here, a little bit of discretion let everyone be a bit more comfortable with the arrangement. And with that, he followed the woman in violet across the common room.

Their conversation had suggested immediate departure, so there was no reason not to go by the front door, and so they did. He gave her the respect due an otherwise unescorted woman, as this country thought it – he stayed some distance to her side and a bit behind, enough that he could see if anyone menaced her, not so far back that one might think he was watching the way she walked.

He was, in fact, watching, but it was the sort of scrutiny he’d carefully practised, observation at the edge of his vision. He was not doing so because the motion was appealing, although he most certainly noticed that it was appealing. He noticed that however confining her long, close-cut gown seemed to be, however much one might expect it to tangle about her feet and tail, she moved easily and with confidence.

He didn’t doubt for even a moment that she noticed his discreet scrutiny. He’d have been completely unsurprised to learn that she also noticed the baser element of that observation. But if she saw that, she also saw that he was paying just as much attention to their surroundings, to the scattering of people coming and going along the sun-baked streets; the women gowned, the men in looser, flowing garments and head-wrappings. Kob himself wasn’t yet comfortable enough with the style to pull it off, and to look like a foreigner wearing local clothing would be more conspicuous than to just be a foreigner wearing foreign clothes; but he wore clothes that were also inspired by the environment – a loose jacket of light, pale cream fabric with a neckline cut in a deep vee, and a matching, somewhat thicker vest; billowing trousers that ran down to his sandaled toes. It was a style that other foreign men had favoured, while being close enough to what he was used to that he could wear it comfortably and not worry about looking comfortable.

Leaving him free to notice the man whose movements were out of place.

A local, probably – his fur was sun-bleached and he was quite comfortable indeed in the robes men wore here, in this case a pale blue. But he’d gone from stall to stall along the market without regard to what the stalls actually held. There was scant reason indeed for a man to visit so many different merchants in so many different trades – but those merchants followed the path that Kob’s guide was taking through the market.

It might have been another from the Amber Eye, but a dozen little clues told Kob that this man was no friend to him or his guide. He dared not ask her about it directly; a man simply did not accost an unrelated woman in public, not here – even if they had errands together, they spoke only out of necessity, at her initiation. But there were discreet ways to get her attention. Carefully, Kob scuffed a loose stone, kicking it ahead a few steps. They overtook it in moments, but it was enough to prompt her to glance over.

She followed his glance back, head tilting ever so slightly to peer past her shoulder, then just as slightly shaking from side to side, eyes narrowing.

Not one of her people, then.

Without any sign of alarm, the woman led him to one of the smaller streets that branched off of the market – little more than an alley between the pale stone buildings, though it was kept up well enough that none would question a woman of means using it. When they turned off of it a block over, their tail was just entering it behind them.

Definitely following them, then; nobody else had gone down the side street with them.

By this time, Kob was rather sure they were dealing with a common thief – someone who saw a woman and a foreigner and thought them both for easy marks. Especially since Kob, unlike many of the local men – born here or foreign – didn’t have a knife at his belt.

They turned down another street, quite casually. There was nothing unusual about their progress; the streets of this place were almost labyrinthine, and one would very often need to make many turns to get to one’s destination. Most likely the woman was indeed leading him to the place she’d intended to all along. But Kob did notice that the man was hustling after them, hurrying when unseen, but much closer on their heels now.

Kob heard the knife being drawn, but carefully kept following, acting in all ways as someone who was following the expected forms when escorting a woman but not actually being particularly vigilant. He heard the steps getting closer, but neither his ears nor his guide’s gave any sign that they were tracking their pursuer. When they approached a place where a balcony shaded the alley, Kob mentally prepared himself, but kept walking as normal.

When the hand seized his shoulder, he instantly ducked and whirled aside, and his guide turned the other way in such close synchrony with him that they might as well have shared a mind.

The knife jabbed into empty air where Kob’s back had been – it would not have been a fatal injury, but it would have dropped him to the ground from the pain if he hadn’t been ready for it. The woman followed through her turn in a whirl of skirts, one sandaled foot swinging up to strike the hand of the sand-fox in blue, sending the knife tumbling into the air, and she would doubtless have gone on to bring the man to the ground – except that Kob didn’t give her that opportunity.

By the time the knife was knocked free, Kob had brought up his hand, gathering his thoughts in an exercise that by now was instinctive, and a spectral blade was in his grip, ghostly white fire flickering over its surface. Insubstantial – but its serpentine edge would certainly feel quite real as it came up against the fox’s neck.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he purred, stepping back and to one side without removing his mind-blade from the fox’s throat. He’d seen how the knife was flying, the arc it was taking, that it wasn’t tumbling greatly and which way that limited tumble was going; now he reached out with his free hand, and the knife’s pommel smacked into his palm. “You haven’t the least idea who you’re dealing with, and that’s as it should be, but I’m much too busy to let street-trash like you interrupt.”

The man’s mouth worked. At first no sound came out; then a few aborted syllables. At this rate he’d soon work his way up to noisy and just-as-incoherent gibbering. Sighing, Kob took a step forward, exchanging blades between his hands with a quick toss; the blade forged from his aggressive thoughts had all the heft of a good dagger, if not so much as the short sword it matched in size, but the knife’s weighted pommel was a bit better suited to the task at hand.

But before he could knock the robber senseless, the woman in violet stepped in, sleeve falling back from her upraised hand. She touched the fox’s brow – there was a sense of pressure in the air – and just like that, the man slumped.

Kob caught him readily, easing him down to the ground. He wasn’t hurt, wasn’t even unconscious – the fox was asleep. Which meant he needed unusually gentle handling for a just-subdued aggressor, but the cheetah was ready to apply that.

They left him there in the shade and continued on their way, though Kob did take the curved knife along with him, slid carefully under his belt with the cross-guard hooked over it. His mind-blade dissolved as his mental grip upon it relaxed. There – now he fit in a tiny bit better with the local population than he had before.

“Your talents are varied indeed,” the woman observed. “And we work well together; this is pleasing. Many who wield the spirit blade are so wedded to independence and self-sufficiency that they cooperate only with difficulty.”

“I was used to working closely with a team well before I learned to use this,” Kob replied, willing his blade to exist in his hand for just a moment. It was good practise for the swift, easy draw.

The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly in good humour. “You are an intriguing man, but I will not delve into your secrets. Here.” She paused at one door among many, lifting her hand to knock in a careful pattern.

It was an old, run-down looking house, and the ground-floor window was boarded up. Which meant that once the door had opened to admit them and shut behind them, there was no way for those outside to see that the fox who’d let them in – another sand-fox, this one dressed in the worn but carefully-tended clothing one might see on a hired servant of a household on hard times, in a pale brown that went nicely with his fur – did not settle them at the ground-level table, but waved them into the basement.

It was a stratagem that Kob knew well; a way to get to the city’s literal underground. Only the details changed.

In this case, the tunnels that the basement connected to had probably been made for a very similar group in ages past, rather than being converted from some more mundane purpose. The tunnels could readily move people and supplies, but plainly hadn’t been made for anything more noisome – and unlike a smuggler’s tunnel would, they didn’t run towards the city’s old walls; that very lack might have protected them from destruction, if they’d been found at some point in the city’s history. They were suitable for people who wanted to be discreet – that word had been cropping up so often in his thoughts, here! – about meeting with other like-minded people, but not in a way that would obviously compromise the protection of the city’s walls.

This time around, at least, it was for people who generally wanted the best for the city’s residents and for civilization at large, but who felt that the town guard was not always the most appropriate resource for seeing good preserved and justice done. In that, Kob was right at home.

He found himself in a cozy sort of den – sparsely furnished and with a great deal of bare stone to be seen about the walls, but what furnishings were there looked comfortable and well-made, and bolts of coloured cloth hung about like garlands broke up both the pale monotony and the unyielding hardness of the stone. At the heart of the round room was a large brazier, a bed of coals keeping the underground chill at bay quite effectively; stanchions here and there burnt with the blue-white fire of eternal, harmless magical “flame.” A number of armchairs and small side tables were arranged about the brazier. Three of the chairs were occupied; two by women – a tuft-eared cat dressed much like Kob’s escort, save that her hooded gown and veil were slate grey instead of violet, and a dhole in much more serviceable leathers, dyed black, with an impressive array of sharp things about her person – and the third by a weasel in a nobleman’s bejewelled outfit, rich dark browns offset with silver and bright topaz. The weasel was pouring from a ewer for them; by the glimpse of clear fluid and the lack of any scent of alcohol, Kob gathered it was simple water, and by the way the clay cups sweated that it was quite cold.

If the man had any distaste for his humble surroundings, he hid it very well indeed; most likely he wasn’t that sort of nobleman to begin with, not if he was down here.

First to respond to their arrival was the caracal, rising to her feet with the same easy grace as the rat who’d shown Kob here. “And here is our newest arrival,” she declared. “A man of hidden talents, it seems, such as we do not expect to find coming out of the distant east.”

That little scuffle in the alleyway had probably been observed, Kob reflected. “I came to it relatively late,” he said. “I had an unlikely sort of teacher – not a local. So far as I know, there still isn’t anywhere east of the sea that teaches that sort of discipline.” Down here, he was willing to speak plainly about things – within reason.

“So.” The weasel clapped his hands, then picked up one of the goblets, bringing it over to him. “Now you have come to us, and we bid you welcome. You are, I gather, trained to at least the usual good standard of the Silver Serpent?”

“First as a locksmith’s apprentice, then they taught me the rest. How to spot and deal with traps, how to read people, how to use the shadows. I wouldn’t claim to be their best agent, but I was good – only one failure to my name, and that early in my career.” He permitted himself a smile. “Even then, I didn’t fail badly enough to get caught.”

“And what prompted you to leave their ranks?” the dhole asked.

Kob spread his hands. “Mostly wanderlust. Sharktooth Bay is my first home, but I got a taste of the wider world, and I needed more – enough more that I couldn’t stay and do much service to the city. The final break, really, was when I’d come back there, got into a fight with a yuan-ti cleric, and my kris got shattered.” He struggled to keep a wince off of his face. That knife had been a badge of pride and a trusted ally in one; losing it had been a cruel sting.

“Lost in the guild’s work?” The weasel flicked his ears forward. “It is, perhaps, a better end than succumbing to time. And you survived to carry on with your life, and you’re still putting yourself to deeds of that kind.” A tight, grim smile. “As it happens, there is a situation that’s come up that we didn’t think any of our order were quite suited to deal with. We’d have had to try regardless, soon, and likely we could have pulled it off – but the cost in blood might have been heavy.”

Well, this was a relatively small city, compared to the bustle of Sharktooth Bay; it might actually be that, having come here, Kob was in fact the most skilled sneak-fighter around. “What kind of trouble is it?” he asked.

“A necromancer,” the weasel replied, belatedly offering Kob the goblet. “An outcast kobold. At first he seemed harmless enough – oh, everybody was wary of him, of course, but he kept to himself, caused no trouble, and dealt fairly with our merchants. He made himself of some use to the city guard, even, when there was no other way to find the truth but to ask the dead.”

“I’d be the last to condemn you for harbouring unusual refugees,” Kob noted, turning the goblet in his fingers. It was neither ceramic, as he’d first thought, nor smoky glass, as had been his next notion; instead, it was carved from pink crystal – rose quartz, was his guess; not the highest-quality stone, it went white deeper in, but it had been carved from a single chunk of the stuff. For the craftsmanship alone, it was probably quite valuable – but that wasn’t what caught his mind. Something about the engravings was familiar…

He put it out of his mind and looked up. “I’m guessing he didn’t stick to that path.”

“We aren’t sure,” the caracal insisted, with the firm tone of someone repeating an oft-argued position.

“We do know he went to the old guardhouse north of the city,” the dhole explained, shooting an impatient glance at the other woman. “We know that graves have been desecrated, bodies taken. We know there have been forms moving around the guardhouse that didn’t look quite complete, and moved unnaturally.”

“And we know,” the weasel sighed, “that items of some potency have been stolen. Mostly enchanted charms – a few amulets, a scattering of rings, an enchanted robe that’s certainly small enough for a kobold. The most precious and the most alarming thefts were a staff – a particularly grim relic said to have power over the dead – and a crystal wand that could bring phantasmal creatures to do battle.”

Kob’s ears pricked. Something about the way he’d said that sounded… familiar. He’d used such a thing himself, some time ago, on the same adventure that had destroyed his Silver Serpent kris. Something was really nagging at him about that goblet, now. Taking a sip from it, he asked, “Drawn from the astral plane and shaped by the wielder’s will?”

The lot exchanged glances. “Your breadth of experience becomes ever more surprising,” the rat murmured. “It is indeed that nature of power. We suspect that the thief did not know this, but thought it like any other wand – and, by its description, thought that it was connected to the undead.”

“The staff wouldn’t be very useful for a typical foul cleric’s purpose of raising an undead army,” the weasel explained, “so we suspect that’s another case of misunderstood purpose – but if its holder learns the truth, it could make something significantly more dangerous: a flesh golem.”

Kob shuddered. “And if whoever has it did know that…”

“Kracheek never had any truck with the arcane.” The caracal shook her head firmly, earrings jangling.

“But it would be within his power to animate a few bodies and set them as guards,” the dhole countered sharply, “and that, at least, seems to have happened.”

“I knew him,” the caracal insisted. “He was eccentric, but he wasn’t even ambitious. This… isn’t like him.”

“Enough,” said the weasel. “Sir, I’m glad you’ve an open mind about refugees, because the one who brought this matter to our attention is another unusual sort – and he means to be part of the effort to retrieve his property. He needs the expertise of such as you to make it happen, though.”

“I’ve worked with some odd fellows in my time,” Kob replied. “I’ll do it – though an undertaking like this might consume some resources.”

“You will be given a finder’s tithe for any recovered items,” the dhole assured him.

A tenth of the value of enchanted items could make for a generous purse indeed; Kob nodded. “That should more than cover it, and be a handsome fee for my time and skills beside. Thank you.”

“Wait here,” the weasel suggested, waving him towards a chair, “and I will inform your sponsor. No doubt he’ll wish to meet you personally before making any further arrangements.”

Kob sat; as it had looked, the chair was comfortable belying its humble construction. These people did know their craftsmanship, though the carpentry didn’t hold a candle to the sculptor of that goblet.

That goblet… He held it up before him, half-empty, scrutinizing the carvings. It wasn’t a depiction of anything, but the geometric designs were definitely familiar. Something was jumping up and down in the back of his head, now…

“Local work,” the rat said, settling onto a seat of her own. “He that made it has a wonderful gift with crystal.”

“So I can see,” Kob breathed. His eyes were on the cup, but his attention was all around, and delving back into his memory of what he’d seen around here as well. The floor of this room was well-swept, but the corridors had been sandy, seemingly raked flat in places with a curious weaving path…

Just as the weasel’s voice returned in the corridor behind his chair, it connected. The carving – the crystal dorje shaping astral minions – the unusual refugee… it all fit.

He drained the last of the water, set the cup down, and rose to his feet. The soft scrape and occasional tap of wood on stone that now accompanied the weasel’s soft-shod footsteps confirmed it. “Well, well.” Kob let a chuckle slip into his voice as he turned, saying, “It’s been quite some time since we worked together, Ssithros.”

The yuan-ti hadn’t much changed since Kob had seen him. Comfortable, regular meals had taken some of the gauntness from the reptilian features, though it did no more than blunt the hard lines of his face. His gaze was just as alert; his head still held a good seven feet off the floor; his arms were muscular enough to please any sergeant. He, like Kob, had compromised between local styles and something distinctly foreign – a turban of pale tan cloth cinched with a silver-and-amber clasp, and a toga in the same hue with darker traceries; a few artful windings of the same light cloth went down a bit from there, but most of the serpentine coils were bare, scarlet and gold and inky black, gleaming glossy in the enchanted torchlight. His staff looked to be the same finely-crafted crook he’d had when last Kob had seen him, its surface scored with fine geometric designs, and nestled in the crook itself, lashed there by a web of thick strands, was a sky-blue crystal thick as three fingers, long as a spread hand’s breadth.

Gold-rimmed eyes met Kob’s own. Those eyes weren’t so expressive as most of the fur-bearing races bore, but in the slight tilt of the snake’s head, in the way those rings of gold narrowed still further and gave way to black, he could read surprise – almost shock, really. Then recognition.

Then – as the yuan-ti’s mouth turned up ever so slightly at the corners – delight.

«Kob. I had not expected to find you here.» The words slid into Kob’s mind without travelling through the air.

“Nor I you,” the cheetah replied, taking a few slow steps forward. “I’ve been practising, you know… never knowing when we might meet again.” With a flick of his fingers, his blade materialized in their grip, then dissipated; he kept his hand out to his side, hearing the sharp intake of the the weasel’s breath, the gasps behind the gowned women’s veils, the creak of leather as the dhole shifted.

Ssithros slithered a bit further over the floor, then stopped, grounding the butt of his staff firmly against the stone floor and staring into Kob’s eyes, searching for the cheetah knew not what. The tension in the air was a palpable thing.

Then Kob saw the subtle marks of humour in the yuan-ti’s face and pose, and he himself couldn’t keep up the serious mood. “Come here, you,” he laughed, striding forward with his arms flung wide. Ssithros slithered forward again, one arm leading his answering gesture; and then they half-fell into a tight embrace, strong arms sliding around Kob’s shoulder with the staff gingerly held mostly-clear of his spine, while the snake’s firm, supple body slid under his hands.

He’d thought weeks of travel separated them, not just a few layers of light cloth. He couldn’t help but laugh as he squeezed his friend close, cheek pressed against the yuan-ti’s chest.

The hand not cradling Ssithros’s staff instead splayed over Kob’s back. “You are unkind to your hosts and allies, Kob,” he said. His voice was always dry when he spoke out loud, but now there was a wry drawl in his words that suggested he wanted it to be. “You shouldn’t give them such a start when they don’t know of our past.”

“Oh, I may have mentioned you,” Kob laughed. “Obliquely. I’d no idea there’s be any need to be more specific.” He’d risen up onto his toes in a bid to press closer to the big male; now, as the yuan-ti’s embrace loosened, he settled back onto his feet and let his arms slip mostly free, hands coming to rest on what passed for the snake’s waist.

“Mmmmmm.” «And from that past, from the first steps I showed you on a new path, you’ve gone so far indeed.» Dark eyes gleamed. «It pleases me greatly to see that you have prospered from the scant lessons I could offer.»

“And you seem to be doing very well for yourself,” Kob replied, fingering the finely-embroidered cloth the yuan-ti wore, gliding fingertips along a fine metal chain that ornamented it. “But I hear you’ve been caught up in some difficulty, such as a soft step and nimble fingers could help you out of.”

«Quite so. Come, be comfortable, and we can make plans.» Ssithros gestured with his crook at the chair Kob had just vacated.

As Kob somewhat sheepishly took his seat and Ssithros reclined beside it, the rat tilted her head. “Curious. I sensed no connection between you, that you would know who was there before you saw one another.”

Ssithros shook his head slightly. «There was none, Vaerna. Save that he was from the east, I knew nothing of who waited here until I heard his voice.»

“For my part, it was deduction,” Kob added, and explained the clues he’d used to put it together. “Yes, it was a deduction I wouldn’t have been able to make if we didn’t know one another, but any deduction needs some degree of knowledge behind it to work.”

«Even if the history that lead to it were less personal, such clear thinking would mark you as just what this endeavour needs. Although I want my property back and a dangerous item away from one who might misuse it, it is very important to know exactly what is happening here,» the yuan-ti sent. «Darissa knew the kobold Kracheek best of our circle, and feels that this is out of character for him. Sandell thinks it very much within his capabilities, and trusts the reports that place him at the source of the recent difficulties. I feel that the truth is somewhere between the two, some combination of both, and may be delicately nuanced. That is why I need a good observer – for all my efforts, I find such nuances difficult to read.»

“Getting close enough to him to learn the truth will be difficult,” said the dhole – Sandell, Kob gathered.

“Too true.” Kob ran through what he knew of the race. “Kobolds are long-accustomed to being individually weak and vulnerable. Even an outcast would have been reared in a culture that makes the most of it. The original structure might be fairly straightforward, but a kobold might have moved into half-collapsed sections where full-sized people wouldn’t even fit. I have an answer to that,” Kob noted, looking over to Ssithros. “Do you?”

A slight nod. «I can adjust my size somewhat. Not greatly, but my form should help to offset that to some degree. Of greater concern to me will be traps.»

“And kobolds can be very sneaky about traps when they put their minds to it – especially about setting traps that they wouldn’t even have to think about avoiding, because only a bigger being would blunder into them. We probably wouldn’t be seeing any complex mechanisms – those would need a crew of trapsmiths to put together, not one lone cleric.” Pits, deadfalls, spikes… a great many hazards could be set up in ways that a kobold would walk right past, while being very dangerous indeed to a larger being.

“We can’t be sure he’s working alone, though,” Sandell pointed out. “Some of the thefts showed a great deal of subtlety and happened at very close times to one another. Kracheek was always furtive, but I’ll admit I’ve never known him to be much for subtlety.”

»If he is not alone, that may work in our favour, if he is working with a larger race. It would be unwise to rely on that, but we should be ready for traps that might not be specifically targeted at larger prey.»

So the plans went. There wasn’t much specific that came of them – more like cautions against any preconceptions at all. Supplies were checked and double-checked; Kob had all the gear on him he’d need for such a job, so that was easy enough.

The only additional preparation they took, it turned out, was inspired by Vaerna’s remark – indeed, the rat was the one to put it in place. Ssithros was naturally telepathic, but that was not his focus as a psion, so there was only so much he could do beyond “speaking” into people’s heads. Vaerna was a studied telepath, which was exactly why she’d been the one to meet the strange newcomer with the Silver Serpent token. In the course of her work, she’d accumulated a number of useful things.

At some undisclosed point in the past, she’d imbued a pair of diadems with psionic force. So long as their wearers were within some miles of one another, they could communicate by thought. It had a longer reach than Ssithros had on his own, and more significantly, it gave Kob a way to communicate mentally.

With their preparations thus complete, they set out that very night. It was a somewhat conspicuous move, but as Ssithros himself could never fail to be conspicuous here without mighty magic, there wasn’t much point in trying to keep his departure discreet.

It was something of a relief to leave that word aside, however briefly.

Ssithros had good habits for an adventurer, even if that wasn’t quite how he’d first acquired them. He’d exchanged his finery for similar but simpler, sturdier garments; other than that, all he’d needed to do was fetch his pack. Kob had taken slightly longer to change into desert-worthy travelling clothes and light leather armour; light not for the sake of the elements – one enchanted ring was enough to shield him from mundane heat and cold – but for mobility. The supple leather had no metal to jangle, and wouldn’t even creak like a stiffer jerkin might. It wouldn’t do much more to shield him from a blow than an extra thickness of hide, but he’d always found it better to not be there when the blow landed.

Which wasn’t to say he was always successful at it; of his usual companions, he’d probably been the most often hurt. That was the price of audacity, though – the same audacity that let him present a major threat to any enemies foolish enough to turn their backs to him.

Learning to fight with the concentrated essence of all his violent thoughts, instead of fragile and cumbersome metal, had only honed that.

His confidence before the Amber Eye had not been false bravado. Still, it was reassuring to be working with someone who knew most of what he could do, instead of needing to take it on faith. Wandering apart from his old companions had had its drawbacks.

Speaking of which – «I’d thought you were going north along the coast. What brought you this far west instead?» With the mental discipline he’d already been through, learning to project his thoughts through the connection of the diadem had not been difficult.

«I might ask you the same.» The yuan-ti’s mental voice conveyed subtleties like wry irony much better than his spoken voice. «Since you asked first, however – I did start out along the coast. However, I learned of places deep in the desert where my own arts were already practised, and thought I might find a readier welcome there. So far, it seems to have been the case.»

Kob shaded his eyes against the moon, looking out over the wind-swept badlands. It was surprisingly hard to make out the rising structure of their destination; it had fallen into disrepair and was made of stone the same shade as the broken landscape all around, differing most significantly in that it was closer. Once reassured of his course, Kob supplied his own answer. «It’s simpler for my part. I just followed the work, sometimes staying in one town, sometimes winding up in the next one over. Simpler in concept, at any rate. My actual course was probably more erratic.»

Ssithros, slithering around a tangle of scrub, shot him a sharp glance. «Your mind has prospered for your efforts. I somewhat regret not attempting to teach you the more direct application of its power.»

«When have we ever had the time?» Kob shot back. «Besides, this way uses more of what I already knew.» Indeed, he rather suspected he’d learned some tricks that his erstwhile mentor wasn’t even remotely capable of.

That didn’t escape the snake’s notice either, to judge by the glance that followed; but there was no reply. Conversation gave way to consideration, as both of them looked down from the ridge they were cresting.

It had never been a particularly grand structure, and years of neglect in this environment had not been kind. Still, a good portion of the run-down keep seemed to be habitable, and it didn’t look to be in any immediate danger of crumbling further. There was nothing so obvious as a light showing in any of the windows – but a thin trail of smoke blurring the stars did suggest quite strongly that it was occupied.

The surrounding basin was tenanted, but not by anything that needed the comforts of home; even from this distance and at night, it was clear that those unnatural things had no proper life. They didn’t look to have very much in the way of unlife, either, so sluggishly they milled around.

There were too many of them to just sneak past, especially since Ssithros wasn’t much of a sneak. But they were spread thinly enough that the pair might well be able to force an opening without drawing the whole ugly mob – and, most significantly, without the din that such a fight would inevitably cause.

Kob sent a quick mental instruction to wait and reached into the side pocket of his pack. As was its nature, the thing he sought came instantly to hand; it felt like nothing so much as a glob of goo, but it held its shape rather than getting all over everything else he’d stuffed in there. He held it in the palm of his hand, thought a single word in no language he knew, and just like that, the fist-sized globe of clear stuff raced over his body. In moments it had coated him entirely and taken on the colour of the surrounding terrain, obscuring him quite effectively. Thus protected from all but the most alert eyes, he made his way down the ridge, moving from boulder to brush to depression. The old, long-retired sneak thief who’d trained him would have been proud; not once did so much as a pebble rattle under his feet.

He got into place behind a fallen section of wall, with only one particularly ragged zombie between him and an exposed section of corridor, and there he brought his blade into existence. It, too, answered his need for stealth; it was barely there, the faintest of shimmers in the air.

Carefully, Kob leaned around the edge of the wall, cocked his arm back – and flung the blade forward. It hurtled forth, unerringly point-first, and struck the undead thing square in the back. There were no vital organs to pierce with a careful strike, nor a mind for the blade’s psychic force to ravage, but that didn’t matter; the thing was frail enough that the mere force of the throw dispersed the horrid energies animating it, and it collapsed on the spot, the mind-blade winking out of existence as it did.

A quick look around told him that all had went as well as could have been expected; none of the other vile guards showed any interest in this particular section. The monstrosities had each been set to patrol their own areas, rather than in an overlapping patrol, so even if they were smart enough to raise an alarm over finding one of their own fallen – which Kob rather doubted – they’d not come across the once-again-inanimate body to do so. «You should be able to make your way down here, so long as you take reasonable care. I’ll warn you if any of them start to turn your way.» A feeling of assent came back to him, and Kob split his attention between the roving undead and the yuan-ti’s cautious advance.

They both got to the hole in the corridor and slipped inside without further incident. So far, so good.

The halls were vacant and quiet, but considering that they were open to the outside, there wasn’t nearly enough dust to mistake them for abandoned. Someone came through here often enough that they saw fit to keep the floor mostly clear of dust; too clear for obvious footprints.

They proceeded slowly and with great caution, Kob leading the way. He scanned the floors, the walls, and the ceiling, alert both for deliberate traps and for signs of damage that could be just as hazardous. Twice he found alarms – a tripwire running across the corridor then to a corroded bell, and an improvised pressure plate poised to knock over a stack of pots in an otherwise disused kitchen. Both were the work of moments to disable, although they still needed to be careful not to disturb the stacked pots directly.

Their continuing vigilance was eventually vindicated. In the same room, they came across both the first signs of active habitation – a library, with intact books and with candles still burning – and the first directly-harmful trap – little twists of wire, worked together in pairs and littering the passage that connected the unused section the pair had entered through with the library.

Simple, improvised, but quite effective caltrops. This wasn’t an entrance the place’s inhabitants used; they wouldn’t want to pick their way through the little spikes, and there was no sign of a clear path already set through them. That was easy enough to remedy, though it took time and attention.

But it represented a border. So far they’d had it easy; they might actually encounter some resistance ahead.

A quick scan of the library failed to turn up any of the missing items, which wasn’t entirely surprising as none of them were books. One of the books, prominently placed on a lectern, seemed to be a research journal of sorts – written by someone who lived here; there were ink stains on the blotter that hadn’t had time to fade. Kob didn’t recognize the writing, but Ssithros placed it as a variant of draconic script.

«Don’t kobolds claim some dragon ancestry?» Kob wondered.

«They do, but they use a much simpler script. It is possible that Kracheek is using the language partly to match his research material and in part for vanity.»

«I doubt it, for one simple reason – a kobold wouldn’t even be able to read what’s put here, much less write it comfortably. But a half-dragon – or, Jakebi guide our step, a transformed dragon – might be able to command his respect and obedience. That might be why he’s caught up in something his closest contacts think is out of character.»

«Yes, of course.» The yuan-ti’s mental voice had a strong bitter note of self-castigation for missing the obvious clue. «It would also explain why no traps have been set that would harm someone of your size; they might harm his ally, or at least be a nuisance.» Left unsaid was that there still might be something nasty for one of his additional bulk.

«If this other is in charge, it might be why we haven’t run into many traps at all. Kobolds are used to being sneaky just to survive, but someone who’s used to being the most powerful force around is less likely to see traps as a serious need.»

«Likely so.» Ssithros peered a bit closer at the page. «If my translation is correct, this unknown other wasn’t able to make sense of the dorje. There are notes here about its magical aura being present but confusing, and the item being brought to the upstairs laboratory for further analysis.»

Well, that was more of a direction than they’d had before. «I suppose we look for a way up, then.» Ssithros assented, and they crept over to the library’s main door.

Progress was a more anxious, more delicate matter now. Though a pause to listen at the door revealed nothing, from the moment Kob eased it open on its well-oiled hinges he could hear the sounds of habitation in the distance – guards on patrol, so far as he could tell, minding the walls of the more-intact side of the keep. Inexpert though their deployment was to let the pair get this far so easily, it would only take a moment’s bad luck to bring them in contact now.

Heading deeper in wasn’t a very appealing prospect either. Guards were relatively straightforward; in the keep’s inner halls, there was no telling who or what they might run into. It was a difficult balance, trying to stay inside the ring of vigilance the guards represented without stumbling unprepared into whatever unknown hazards lay deeper in.

Kob had never much liked trying to get into a place without a chance to case it beforehand, but it wasn’t as though they could casually wander around for a few days outside this one. He made do, listening to the pattern of guards’ footsteps and the low murmur of conversation as they passed one another – or the still-lower muttering of lone guards.

There was only so much to be learned in the way of specific detail from all that, but he did pick up a few useful nuggets of information. There were references to some female figure who seemed to be the one handing down orders and whom all of them, in the way of hired guards, casually resented. This “Herself,” which was the only sort-of-title Kob overheard, seemed to be a wizard of some kind; that fit with what Ssithros had learned from that journal. It also confirmed that there was an outside party who seemed to be making the decisions. Kracheek was probably around somewhere, but where the wizard was a target of resentment, “that snivelling little lizard-rat” was the subject of nothing but contempt.

Interestingly, none of the guards that Kob chanced to hear seemed in any way aware that Kracheek was quite capable of animating the dead. They seemed to think him some sort of pet of the Mistress’s, and had no idea why she kept him around.

He did hear a pair talking about “the vault,” which was apparently the most closely-watched place in the whole keep, but no details on where it was or quite how the guards were laid out. The guards, after all, already knew all that, and weren’t going to go into long and rambling detail for the benefit of passersby. If he’d had days to observe the guards and listen to their conversation, he may have been able to piece together details, but all he knew now, from how the guards talked about going down to the vault, was that it was lower down.

Possibly underground. That would be the most defensible spot, after all. Walls could get knocked in, but breaching earth and stone took much more work, and without that measure, the guards were better-protected there, harder to get around.

Still, as they made their anxious circuit around the place, Kob began to get an idea. The keep was built to lay around a small courtyard, yet now that space was solid. If he could just find a room that went deep enough…

What he did find was a guarded door – a single, bored-looking bear rather desultorily looking from side to side, wearing chain mail and with a sword at his hip, next to a doorway on the inner side of the corridor. The angle didn’t let Kob see any great detail of the door itself, to know if it might have other protections on it, but he could see wood in the moment before he pulled back around the corner.

They’d just passed a dusty, disused storeroom; now, after a quick consultation, Kob took a vial of enchanted oil from his pack, dribbling it over the hinges. With that treatment, the door eased open with only the faintest of creaks, and loud as it sounded to Kob’s straining ears, it wasn’t enough to draw an outcry. At a closer look, the room hadn’t been used in weeks at least, which made it pretty much perfect; Ssithros slithered in, and they eased the door shut again.

There was plenty of space for the yuan-ti to conceal himself without being visible through the grille. Now Kob could get to work without worry that a patrol might happen along and find Ssithros in the corridor.

Reminding himself that he was already all but invisible, Kob eased his head around the wall, saw the bear looking the wrong way, and scampered over to the alcove of the next door over, on the outer wall. He pressed himself up against the aged wood; the bear’s gaze slid right past him once, then the other way.

Moving carefully to avoid sound, Kob reached into his pack’s side pouch again, extracting a hard, pearl-like sphere and concealing it in the palm of his curled hand. He didn’t want the membrane hiding him to encompass this – it wasn’t going to be in his hand long – and so he willed it not to. He waited for the bear’s vision to do one more circuit, then he stepped out into the hall, cocked his arm up, and threw the little thing forward.

It flew in a straight line, not an arc, unerringly striking the bear’s shoulder. It sank right through the mail; the guard stiffened, then slumped slightly, head turning forward, gaze fixed on nothing.

Perfect.

Kob crept right past the bear and examined the door. Stout wood, probably new, and inscribed with arcane designs; he glanced sidelong at them, gradually letting himself see more and more, but didn’t see any of the telltales of magical traps triggered by viewing them. Unsurprising, since the door was also guarded and the guards would almost certainly trigger any such that were laid – “Herself” didn’t seem the type to bother including each and every guard as an exception to such wards.

The door was locked, and there he did find a trap for the unwary – a mechanism in the lock that’d poke a needle at the hand of anyone trying to pick it. A quick twist of wire, bent just so and jammed in there, and that wouldn’t happen. Before he got down to actually opening the lock, he searched the doorframe and listened at the door.

Nobody inside, no traps around the frame. The door opened into the room, which blocked some trapmaking opportunities and presented others; he schooled himself for the right approach to opening it, and having committed to that approach, reached over his shoulder and into the main compartment of his pack.

From it he drew a copper wand, wrapped in silk and bearing an almost comical-looking puff of wool at its head. A whispered word, a careful gesture, and the bear started to keel over, eyes sliding shut.

A big man in armour was rather heavier than a slightly-built street thief in cloth robes, but Kob managed to get him down to the stone floor without incident. It was rather less elegant an approach than Vaerna had used; a wand was a cumbersome thing, and could only be used so many times. Still, once asleep, the bear would stay that way for some time unless something woken, whereas the power pearl would only have kept him out for a few moments more.

There was no guarantee that someone else wouldn’t come by soon, though – like, say, the next shift’s guard; shift change was one of many details Kob hadn’t had the chance yet to learn about – so the cheetah worked as quickly as he dared, getting the lock open, then easing the door away from him.

The door didn’t seem to be wired to anything; the space beyond was clear. So far, so good.

Kob eeled through as soon as he could fit, and left the door thus. Anyone who found the guard out cold would be almost certain to check in the room anyway, and this way he had a better chance to hear any such person coming.

He’d committed to memory the descriptions of the missing items, and while there was a great deal of stuff in here, it was all kept rather neatly; a quick glance over this shelf and that table told him that nothing on them was what he was looking for. He recognized an alchemist’s lab equipment, but other than that most of it was too esoteric for him to put a name to. If he’d had the time, he might have looked over the books shelved here and there.

As it was, he dared not. His search was quick, purposeful, and as it happened, fruitful; in the centre of the room, on a round table and surrounded by an array of unfamiliar equipment, was a long crystalline shard not quite a foot long, made of smoky grey quartz or something like it. None of the paraphernalia around it seemed to actually be interacting with it – no lenses focused on it, no clamps gripping it – so Kob took the chance to touch the dorje, then, when nothing happened, to grasp it, to lift it, and finally to shove it into his pack.

One objective complete, he turned his attention to the back wall, and grinned. There had once been a window there, and stained glass had been laid over it; but he could see a great open space beyond. Through some means, probably magical, the courtyard had been turned into an inner tower – but not all the gaps had been filled.

The stained glass had been laid in after the fact, and it hadn’t been cemented in place; it could still be removed. Beyond it, he could see a shelf of some kind – it might not be much more than a windowsill, but it was something. It was a narrow window – bot both he and his companion had come with answers to that.

The guard was still asleep, the hallway still empty, when he eased himself out of the room, advising Ssithros as he went. The next hallway was clear as well. The yuan-ti emerged from his hiding-place, following Kob back to the lab.

«I’m not sure it’s wise to commit to this course. We have no idea what’s on the other side, or what defences we might need to overcome to get out from there,» Ssithros observed.

«That’s true, but what I do know is that someone will eventually come this way,» Kob replied. «They’ll find the sleeping guard. They may even notice that I took this.» Reminded, he pulled the dorje out of his pack and handed it over. «We’d best be well away from this section when that happens, and this is about the less likely way anyone will think we’ve gone, as long as we close it up behind us.»

Together, they worked the glass panel loose – dust had served to lodge it in place, but once they’d wiggled it free, it actually wasn’t too hard to move. They set it down, and then they looked at what was beyond.

And Ssithros recoiled, his reptilian face showing open fear such as Kob had never seen him display.

Windowsill was all that ledge was, a narrow protuberance of stone that might have once held a trough for growing plants, but now was bare. Beyond it was a straight drop, down more than fifty feet, to a collection of items in carefully-arrayed shelves and crates, with a great double door on the far side from them at ground level. Actually, given the drop, it was probably an underground level, either the basement or sub-basement.

There was no obvious threat to be seen there – except for the fall itself. But that might be enough. «Afraid of heights? With the way your body’s made and you being raised underground, I suppose I should have considered that. I’m sorry.»

«I can manage,» the yuan-ti sent back, tinged with nervousness, «so long as there’s a sturdy rope to grip. It would be unnerving, but I can do it. I couldn’t possibly scale a bare wall, though.»

Kob surveyed the interior of the space, and there he saw what he was looking for – another ledge, up and a little ways over, with a very sturdy-looking ornamental gargoyle. Going up wasn’t ideal, but from that vantage, it would be possible to descent to a lower-floor ledge that might have once been a step before a ground-floor doorway, and from there to where the floor now was. «Rope is doable. As for getting out, if this is the vault I heard mentioned, the door will be guarded by two guards, but from there it’ll be easier out than in.»

Ssithros leaned out to take another look, “listening” as Kob pointed out the route, and he looked down at the door dubiously. «The fall is not my only concern. Something in there is emitting psionic static. Using my powers will be difficult, and they might fail at a critical moment.»

«If we can’t find what’s causing it and stop it, leave it to me, then.»

«I can start searching for some of the likeliest subjects, after a fashion.» Ssithros ducked back into the lab and started loosening the bonds that held the crystal in the crook of his staff.

Somewhat to Kob’s surprise, the thing didn’t fall once it was loose. Instead, it hung in mid-air, then drifted through the window and down towards the shelves.

«I’ve never actually learned what that thing is for,» Kob observed, pulling a length of silk rope out of his pack and tying one end to the corner post of the windowsill.

«A psicrystal houses a fragment of its maker’s personality, and can be of some assistance when performing tasks related to that personality’s focus. Mine assists me with delicate crafts. Thanks to its psychic link to me, it also has some additional abilities, such as the ability to scout and tell me what it sees, though I cannot see it myself. It has enough of a mind to keep searching for what I’ve told it to do.» He peered out at what Kob was doing. «How will you get it to the next hold?»

«All I need for that is focus,» Kob replied, closing his eyes and concentrating, bringing his thoughts into order.

It took a few attempts, but within about half a minute, he had the clarity he sought. Super-aware of where every part of his body was and how it could move, it felt like he could do anything.

He could certainly accomplish the remarkable.

Next, his left hand slid over his upper right arm. He could hardly see the torc that wound around it, but he knew it was there, knew what it did, knew how it worked. He willed it into action now, and in a moment of dizziness, the room expanded around him. When the moment passed, he stood not quite three feet tall, and was plenty small enough to fit through the narrow window.

He wound the loose end of the rope around his waist and eased himself onto the sill, balancing lightly on his feet. He crouched down, gathering his strength. And then he kicked off, running up along the very wall.

Each step was art. His balance naturally tended to swing out away from the wall, and only his heightened focus allowed him to correct it, to push down against the wall without pushing out from it. It wasn’t something he could sustain indefinitely.

But he could do it for twenty feet, if not easily, then certainly reliably. Even with his temporarily-shortened stride.

He came to the next hold and dropped lightly onto it, immediately setting to work with the rope. «Do you think you could swing from one perch straight to the next? You might even be able to lower yourself straight down from there.»

Ssithros looked over and slightly down at the next ledge, then down from there. «A good thought. It will be uncomfortable, but yes, I can.» He drew a vial from his pack, downing the contents, shuddering slightly as he underwent his own reduction. That done, he pulled himself partway along the taught rope, drawing his long body up onto the sill, and then ducked back in to untie that end of the rope. It was a tighter fit for him than for the cheetah, and working so precariously left him so anxious as to be visible even at the distance, but he managed it.

«Courage, dear friend,» Kob sent.

The yuan-ti emerged once more, drew a deep breath, and pushed himself sideways and off the ledge. Down he swung, long body nearly straight, clinging to the rope with palpable desperation. He passed the nadir of the swing, body coiling forward – then, with a heavy thump and a sharp grunt, he struck the stone, coils tightening to absorb some of the blow.

A few moments passed as he caught his breath, then, finally, he lifted his head and looked down. «It would be an uncomfortable drop from here. It would likely not be a harmful one, but if there is more rope up there, it would help.»

Kob had pulled the rope taut before tying it; now he undid the knot, retying it as close to the end as he could, letting down an additional eight feet or so. «That’s all I can spare. If need be, I can run it down to you instead.»

«This will do.» True to his word, the yuan-ti was already lowering himself hand over hand down the free length of the rope.

Leaving him to it, Kob dashed across the wall again, back to where he’d begun, and there he willed himself back to full size. The lab door was still closed. Bracing himself as well as he could on the small ledge, he took hold of the stained-glass pane and drew it up. It wasn’t a particularly large window, thankfully; with his restored strength, he was able to pull it up and into place without the assistance he’d needed to first get it to move. It wouldn’t pass a determined inspection, not with how they’d disturbed the dust on the sill, but it would escape casual notice. Hopefully anyone who discovered the sleeping guard and missing dorje wouldn’t expect the culprit to go deeper.

By the sound of a shout in the hallway beyond, they were just in time.

Swallowing hard, Kob forced himself to stay put, to ease the window back into its groove by way of claws curled right under the lead joining the segments, before he dashed up and over to where he’d left the rope hanging. Ssithros had already dropped down to the ground and seemed no worse for wear, looking among the shelves. Kob hurriedly untied, coiled, and stowed the rope, then shimmied down the wall to the next ledge, and from there to the ground as well.

Ssithros looked over at his approach. «So far, we’ve been quite successful. I’ve found two of the more potent stolen items already, and have enough of a sense of how the place is laid out that I think the others will be straightforward. I’ve not found what is hampering my powers, however, nor is the staff anywhere to be found.»

«So far we’re making good progress.» Kob looked over some of the things on the shelves himself, not for anything in particular, but letting his gaze wander. «Maybe we can find something in here that will give us some help getting out of here…» For a moment, his thoughts stuttered to a stop as his fingertips trailed along the shelf and stopped next to a coil of intricately-threaded rope. «Something like this, actually.» The sound of muffled shouting drew his attention to the window above. He winced; apparently the re-theft had been noticed, and now there’d be a big to-do. The cheetah ran his fingers along the rope, then gripped it near one end and gave it a careful shake; that end sprang straight up into the air, its tip plunging through the next shelf up and – he checked – failing to appear on the other side. Shaking it again caused it to drop and become a normal, if fancy, rope again. «How much of the rest have you found?»

«All but the staff and whatever’s generating that accursed catapsi field. What next?»

«Next we relocate – to anywhere that isn’t here.» Kob knew just enough about some magic that he dared not shove this rope into his pack; he wrapped it about his body, and, mercifully, the concealing “skin” shifted to encompass it as well. «We deal with the guards outside directly and quickly, and we find the nearest messy room we can as a bolt-hole. Somewhere we can hide our packs where they won’t be seen.»

The snake’s head whipped over toward him. «You’ve found some sort of link to an extradimensional space. Large enough for both of us? A portable hole?»

«It should be big enough. It’s a trick rope. Perri made them from time to time – said that the rope trick is one of the most useful spells he’s ever known, for a safety-conscious traveller.» Kob made a mental note to sent his lutrine wizard friend a great deal of money if they got out of this in one piece; even if this wasn’t Perri’s manufacture – and it didn’t look like his style – that knowledge just might get them out of this.

In the meantime, Ssithros had joined him at the door, staff held ready in his hands, psicrystal safely lashed in place again. It surely made an awkward burden in his undersized hands, but he held it confidently enough. Kob checked his pack’s side pouches for a few more things, coming up with two thunderstones and a flash pebble. The thunderstones he palmed in his main hand as he willed his mindblade into being, commanding it to full life; it gleamed with a sudden flare of inner fire. Not very stealthy, but it would strike harder with every blow. A moment’s thought lent it additional power for the first.

«Mind your eyes once we get this open,» he warned. Again, there were no traps on the door, and, as it turned out, the bolts were all workable by hand from this side. «Can you work one of these bolts?» A quick thought of assent, and Ssithros shifted his grip on his staff to seize the handle with one hand.

Kob counted down from three, then threw the other bolt and hauled the door open.

Apparently there was a trap he’d missed on the door, but it hadn’t been built with the thought in mind that someone might be already in the vault who shouldn’t be. The corridor beyond erupted in fire, and the wolf and tiger who were turning in surprise at the noise from within were engulfed in it.

What followed was unpleasant work, but straightforward. The guards hadn’t been expecting trouble, especially not from behind them, and would have been easy marks even without the trap. As it was, Kob sank his blade into the tiger’s back – a debilitating strike on its own; with the blade’s charge lancing into the man and ravaging his mind, it was almost certainly fatal, definitely enough to put him on the ground. The yuan-ti’s staff swung with punishing force, sending the wolf reeling against the far wall, easy prey for Kob’s next strike.

Even as the wolf was falling, Kob came to a quick decision – the hall to the left was less travelled, but there was a door in sight; he dashed to it at full speed. He took the chance that only the one door was trapped, tried it, found it locked, and released his blade in favour of his picks. Ssithros had barely caught up to him by the time he had it open. Beyond was a storeroom, and what he saw was a delight, for it was as cluttered as the vault had been orderly; sacks of grain and flour, piles of leather, heaps of weapons and pieces of armour, all in untidy piles. Kob wriggled out of his pack straps and tucked the thing under some leather jerkins, his fluid second skin trailing off of it in a glittering stream to rejoin the whole on his body. He unwound the trick rope from his body as Ssithros was stashing his own haversack, took three tries shaking the rope to trigger it, and looked out in the hall.

There was a commotion down the far end of the hall past the vault. Kob looked back, saw Ssithros already climbing “through” the ceiling, and turned to throw one of the thunderstones down the other way. He closed the door in the echoes of the resulting bang, picked the lock shut, and clambered up the rope as well.

All that remained was to haul the rope up in with them.

A rope trick could give space for four people and their packs, even with the rope drawn up. Just the two of them, with no packs, had plenty of space, even if Ssithros was still bigger than a normal person. It wasn’t exactly roomy – the yuan-ti had to curl somewhat because of the edges of the space, and even Kob couldn’t stretch out without feeling it force his toes aside.

But they could see out into the room below, whereas, with the rope pulled up, there was hardly a visible entry from the other side. Were it in open air, it might have been apparent to one who happened to look at the area just right, but against the ceiling here it would be even harder to notice. Magic might be able to find it, but only quite specific magic – which this wizard might not even have – could do so without difficulty and a good chance of failure. They were as safe as they possibly could be; and so, Kob imbued his blade with its maximum force, and let it disperse for the moment, knowing that it would still be charged when he reformed it.

Presently, the commotion worked its way closer, and the door was unlocked and flung in. A quartet of guards came in first, weapons at the ready. They looked through the place, nudging some bundles aside and even going so far as to poke swords in among some of the sacks, but they didn’t look up at all. They reported their failure, and two more figures stormed in. Well, one of them stormed; the kobold just scurried.

Maybe it was because of how well he knew Ssithros, but Kob could tell very plainly that the little creature wanted to be elsewhere. That was all the attention he spared for Kracheek right then, though. It was the other he turned his focus to.

Almost seven feet tall, clad in a long and close-cut black robe, she bore in one hand a grim item indeed – a staff of polished bone, a skull at its tip whose eyes were set with glittering quartz crystals. That was, without a doubt, the last and most worrisome of the missing items. The figure under the robe was scarcely less arresting, covered in ruby red scales, with a pair of black horns curling from her brow and leathery wings emerging from slits in the back of the robe. The close fit of the robe revealed no breasts, but the shape of the body was subtly feminine and the voice more plainly so.

Either a half-dragon or something that looked similar. Odds were against a true dragon masquerading as such; either they’d transform into something more discreet, or they’d be obviously themselves, at most shrinking down to a size that could fit the passage.

She prowled about the place, even cast a few spells – but she never once looked up.

She was still glaring about the place when she ordered the guards to go to the next room.

A sudden, almost manic plan leaped into Kob’s mind. If he could just reach his pack, he still had one last power pearl… He filled in Ssithros on what he planned, only for the yuan-ti to stop him before he could put the plan in motion.

«A wizard must necessarily have a strong will, and such a humble power might fail, costing valuable time. Allow me. We are far enough from the static, now, that this should be more reliable.» He nudged a foot or so of rope through the opening, his hand sliding along it as he poked his head through upside-down. It impeded Kob’s view, but not so much that he couldn’t see the yuan-ti concentrating, or the wisps of ephemeral something that suddenly sprang into being around the creature.

They wrapped around her so swiftly, she didn’t even have a chance to cry out before her mouth was covered and bound shut.

Ssithros drew more of the rope free and slid head-first out of the opening, flowing upright once he had enough of himself on the floor. Kracheek had backed against the wall, hunkered down and looking for a safe way to bolt, by the time Kob followed the snake down.

«This one has caused us great trouble, and will do so much more if given the time. I do not think it wise to let her live,» Ssithros said in Kob’s mind.

The cheetah was about to protest – killing a bound captive in cold blood was not a decent act – but the winged wizard must have had some spells prepared for such as this; spheres of inky darkness whirled into being, two of them slamming into the yuan-ti’s chest, the other striking Kob like a steel-booted kick to the gut.

His protest died unformed. He brought his blade into being even as he stepped forward, lifting his blade high. The strands of the cocoon concealed her somewhat, but with a moment’s preparation, that could be compensated for. “May the gods have mercy on your soul,” he whispered; and then he struck.

The blade’s half-real physical presence pierced her heart even as its energy scoured her mind. One horrible instant later, she was dead, hanging slack in the grip of the ectoplasmic cocoon.

If Ssithros’s sudden appearance had distressed the kobold, Kob’s seemed to have him utterly terrified – nothing but a shape in the air, wielding a blade of phantasmal fire that had erased Kracheek’s ally – mistress – whatever – with a single thrust. But he didn’t break down and cower – he glanced from side to side, from the dead body in its ghostly shroud to the door the guards had gone through, weighing his options.

Kobolds, Kob remembered, could be at their most dangerous when they were cornered.

He focused on a single thought, and the colour-shifting skin around him drew back, first from his legs, then his torso and left arm, his head, finally flowing up his right arm and coalescing once again into a fist-sized globe, dimpling under his fingers. Kracheek blinked, head cocked, but relaxed ever so slightly, seeing that Kob was not, in fact, some sort of avenging spirit.

That was as he’d hoped.

Now the kobold focused on Ssithros again, and his beady eyes narrowed. “You…”

«You know me, Kracheek. You know others as well – some of whom thought you may have been drawn into dealings quite unlike you.» Ssithros crossed his arms. «It seems that they were correct.»

The kobold’s gaze slid over to the bound body. “Of the old blood, she said. Take me to greatness, she said.” A snarl twisted the little being’s muzzle. “No respect for the spirits. Raise more, she said. Put them on guard, she said.”

«She was not a great power. Larger than you, yes, but her magic was weaker than yours. You could have bested her.»

Here the kobold was silent. In its own way, that he did not deny it was answer enough – but that silence also told of some deeper turmoil. Perhaps he simply couldn’t conceive of defying one of dragon blood, no matter how unpleasant her direction had become.

«It would be best for you to leave this place. Come back to Cavalisar and tell what happened here. With us to witness it, those who matter will not question your return, and will help to ease your return among those who might. Otherwise, you will be hunted by those who care less about your life.»

Kracheek hesitated, staring at the body still.

«We can help you, and you can help us,» Ssithros went on, his mental voice softer now, soothing. «If you can help us to pass the guards—»

But Kracheek cut in with a hiss and a sharp shake of his head. “Cannot. Hers. Not mine. Can only flee, find hidden passage. Small place, where they cannot follow…” Now he paused, looking at Ssithros as though just now taking in his shrunken state. “You can. Maybe.” Then he looked up at Kob. “Not you.”

“If it’s my size you mean,” Kob hissed, “I can change that.” He invoked the power of his torc, envisioning the size he needed to be, and in moments he had it – slightly shorter than the kobold, or at least than the kobold would be standing upright. Kracheek seemed nonplussed, but considered.

Noise in the hall caught Kob’s ear. “The guards won’t wait forever – they must know something’s wrong.”

Kracheek grimaced. “Cannot order them. But they hate her. Can push them away. Better use for the dead than she had.” The kobold scuttled over to the door.

With but a motion of his clawed hand scattering some oil over the bodies and a single syllable spoken, the corpses of the vault guards stirred and pushed up to their feet.

Feeling a mix of fascination and revulsion, Kob backed into the room, somewhat absently recovering his pack, as the new-made zombies obeyed their creator’s direction and shambled over to the dead half-dragon. The cocoon dissipated, the staff fell into the yuan-ti’s waiting grip, and the animated corpses caught the still one, bearing it out into the hallway just as the clang of metal came nearer.

It had the desired effect. There were sudden shouts – first of surprise, then of terror – and then the living guards ran very swiftly the other way, bootsteps receding into the distance.

“Others not so timid,” Kracheek muttered. “Captain, lieutenants. Not just bought. Owned, in the bone. Avoid them, yes. I show the way.” But once they’d all got to the door, the diminutive cleric paused, turning to the zombies that still held their grisly burden. “Rest, now,” he breathed, reaching up to touch first one, then the other, on the chest. “Go to dust.”

The bodies didn’t instantly decay and dissolve, but they did collapse in a hideous heap. Whether the force that animated them was truly gone, or just dormant, Kob couldn’t say, but he hoped it was the former.

Kracheek was good as his word, hustling them into another storage room, this one apparently bearing the implements of his trade and also converted to serve as his bedroom. It was in the back of that makeshift den that he pulled a cabinet aside, revealing a passage behind it, maybe two and a half feet high and rather too narrow to fit Kob’s shoulders at full size.

It was tricky going, especially with their packs; but the passage was mercifully clean and dry, not in the least slimy, and after a few twists and turns it met a larger, natural cavern where they could walk upright – at least at kobold-size. That bore them some way further, and at last daylight loomed ahead.

The kobold drew something from under his vestment – a pair of tinted lenses in a leather binding, which he tied in place with the lenses over his sensitive cave-dwelling eyes, shielding them from the glare. And then they emerged into the morning sun.

It took a few moments for Kob to get his bearings. They’d come out some way to the southwest of the old keep – west of the path Kob and Ssithros had taken to get there – but he could find the way to the city easily enough. Tired as he was, he’d sooner get back to it and find comfortable lodgings than camp out here, and a quick query revealed that Ssithros concurred.

Kob resumed his full size as they set out; Ssithros returned to his after about an hour’s travel. A leisurely pace for the two of them was still something of a hustle for the smaller kobold, so they made no effort to quicken that pace.

They made sure to be in the lead, coming up to the guards at the north gate of Cavalisar. Ssithros, already known to them, announced that they had retrieved the kobold from captivity, and showed one of them a token; that was apparently enough to convince her, because she overrode her partner’s protests and ushered the trio in. Through the twisting streets they went, making for one of the houses that connected to the Amber Eye’s tunnels – this time without a thief thinking them a mark. Ssithros laid out the recovered items, Kob added the trick rope for honesty’s sake, and all three gave private accounts of the journey. When Kob was finished with his, Ssithros was already done and waiting, but the kobold was nowhere in sight. The stolen items had also been spirited away, presumably to be either returned or stored someplace more secure, but the yuan-ti’s retrieved dorje and the rope Kob had found remained.

A quick discussion between the three who’d taken those accounts, and they were both dismissed, with their interrogators promising to bring Kob’s finder fee – less a tithe for the rope, recovered as it had been on the Sultan’s lands – within the day.

And then they were alone.

After a few moments of contemplative silence, Ssithros asked, «Have you arranged for lodgings yet?»

“Not yet,” Kob admitted. The mind-linking diadems had been taken back along with the recovered items, but he found that he already missed the sense of connection they had brought. He glanced over, but the yuan-ti’s expression was particularly inscrutable; familiar though he was, Kob couldn’t penetrate it. Hesitantly, he asked, “Should I?” They’d worked well together, yes, and Ssithros hadn’t objected to Kob’s embrace when they met, but did the snake have any desire for more than that?

One scaly hand lifted up to rest on his shoulder. «Only if you wish it. For so long as you wish to remain, I would be pleased to offer you a place to stay.» Though his expression was still blank, there was a tendril of affection underlying the words.

That was all the answer he needed. Kob put one of his hands atop the yuan-ti’s – his friend’s, his lover’s hand – and gave it a squeeze. “That sounds delightful.” He dared a grin. “By this time tomorrow, I might even be able to do something other than sleep there.”

Now Ssithros favoured him with a rare, wholly open smile. «Let us rest, then, dear one. This way.»

Why not? They’d earned this slice of time, and plenty more. It hadn’t taken an army to shift the course of events here; all it had needed was the proper focus and a nudge in the right place. They’d proven that quite well.

Hand in hand, content and yet eagerly anticipating more, Kob went with him.