Chapter One

Kythan sniffed the air as he hunkered down in the shadow of an imposing oak, the smells of Man searing his nostrils. He blinked in the rapidly approaching dusk, his weary eyes tracking the movements of sentries posted about the walled city of Karna. He silently skirted the edges of the man-raped clearing, keeping well within the natural barrier of trees. Gifram kept close to his heels, a growl rumbling deep within his feline chest. Kythan slowed and stopped, a mere hundred yards from the still open gates of the city and placed his weathered hand atop his friend's head. "Easy, Gifram. I like this place less than you. However, great treasure lies within those cursed walls, and I mean to get it. I shall no be long, and tomorrow we shall leave this wretched place. Await me here, and stay away from Man." Kythan felt his familiar's warm tongue rasp against his palm as he straightened, stringing his bow and placing it over his shoulder. He checked the freedom of movement of his longsword and the readiness of his daggers and stepped into the clearing.

"Halt, stranger! State your business!" A burly guard lowered his poleaxe and took three menacing steps forward.

Kythan resisted an urge to cover his offended nostrils with his hand and took three steps forward himself. "I come merely to collect some bounty on kobold tails and sleep in a bed. I'll only stay the night."

"Damn bounty hunters. How many tails
have ye?"

"'Tis no concern of yours."

"Oh no? Well, per'aps I'll make it my concern, eh?"

"Come now, Nibo. He's jus' a scrapper. One a' those ranger types, eh? No worth the trouble. Leave him pass." Another guard shuffled forward, a wineskin gripped in his right hand. "'Ere, have a grog, eh?"

"Ya better no be causin' trouble. Else you'll be dealin' with me!" Nibo grabbed the flagon and quaffed a sizable portion of its contents.

"I thank you sirs. I shall cause no trouble. A tankard and a bed is all I'm after on this night." Kythan adjusted the hide bag that hung heavily from his shoulders and started cautiously toward the doors, nodding deferentially as he passed the guards, now more concerned with the waning contents of their wineskin.

Kythan nearly coughed with disgust as he passed through the gates and into the market street of Karna. The foul stench of human feces permeated the area, countless flies droned their way from the half rotted corpse of a dog to a pile of unidentifiable plant matter that may have been considered food three days ago, and rats the size of large house cats scampered about with gleeful abandon, fattened by the filth of humanity. Barefooted street urchins scurried about in the mud, their magnetic fingers honing in on unsecured coins. Kythan shuddered and fingered the nearly empty pouch of copper pieces that rested safely against his chest and barely avoided a shower of urine that splashed from above. He glanced skyward and noted a frail, wraithlike woman leaning out of a shoddy window scraping a chamber pot right above his head. Cursing, he trudged away, his boots quickly weighted down with mud.

"You, sir, look to be in need of a new tunic! Here, feast yer eyes on this one, 'ere! Beautiful, no? And sturdy, too, just right for an adventurer like yourself! No? Well perhaps a new pair of leggings, fresh leather, just your size!" A weasel faced merchant shoved a handful of well-tanned cowhide into Kythan's face.

Kythan glanced at the garment, his mild interest turned into disgust as vermin crawled from under the tailor's sleeves and began to burrow into the fresh leather. "Thank you, merchant, but I've no coin as yet. Where might I find, uh, Sir Lochin?"

"Ah, ya've come to sell some Kobold tails, eh? I might've known. He's usually to be found in the Inn of the Lady of the Moon, just down the way, there. Be careful, though, traveler. There's a dangerous moon on th' 'orizon tonight, and the Inn of the Lady of the Moon is no place for the weak of soul. Good luck to ya, and per'aps I'll see you on the morrow, eh?"

Kythan nodded his thanks and plodded his way in the direction of the tailor's pointing hand. He stayed as close to the middle of the street as he could, dodging horses and carts and people, always people. He took a deep breath, or at least as deep a breath as he could manage before his tortured nostrils revolted, and scanned the buildings for the Inn of the Lady of the Moon.

When he found it, he scowled. A beaten sign displaying a busty lady standing naked under the full moon swayed drunkenly on a broken hook and harsh sounds of carousing echoed from within. He clutched his satchel closer and stepped through the open doorway, scraping the muck off his boots on the step. The Inn was not nearly as crowded as it sounded; the expansive floor wasn't even half full of half-drunk soldiers and merchants. Scantily clad serving wenches maneuvered around the men, merely smiling at the occasional slap, pinch, or grope. The floor was wooden, at least, but looked to have been swamped sometime last winter. The mud from the street infected the wooden floorboards with filth, and flies were even more prevalent inside than they were outside, and there was nowhere to flee. Kythan shook his head and made his way to the bartender, staying as far from the other patrons as possible.

"H'lo, laddie. Some grog?"

"Nae, barkeep. I'm lookin' for Sir Lochin. Hear he's started a bounty on Kobolds."

"Aye, that he has, that he has. Ya can find him over there, see? The man with the long pipe. Business is slow, laddie. Here, buy ya a tankard, so's Guntam there won't pitch ya out into the mud."

Kytham nodded toward the man called Guntam, a large man whose shoulders could hold up the world. "How much?"

"Here, I'll sell ya the cheapest grog I got that's still worth drinkin. Three copper."

"Three copper?"

"Aye, lad. Business is slow."

Kytham muttered an oath beneath his breath and pulled his pouch from under his shirt. He reached in and placed three smooth coins on the counter and accepted the offered mug of frothy ale. He sniffed it gingerly and flavored his mouth, swallowing the warm sludge with a minimum of retching.

"Good, eh?"

"Aye, barkeep. Good. Thank ya." He coughed, managing to keep the vile liquid down. He turned and examined the man who had been identified as Sir Lochin, recognizing him from the long clay pipe he gripped in a bony hand. Kythan strode over to the table and placed the tankard in front of the muscle-bound man whispering in Lochin's ear. "A drink for your man, Sir Lochin. I hear you offer a bounty on Kobold tails. Is it true?"

Sir Lochin frowned and shrugged, taking a deep puff from his pipe as his eyes played over the man in front of him. "Aye, ranger, 'tis true."

"I heard you pay a silver piece for each tail."

"Aye, that I do. Killed many Kobolds, have ye?"

"A few." Kythan dropped the satchel on the table, nearly upsetting his expensive drink.

"More than a few, I'd say, ranger. Less'n ya got a whole Kobold in 'ere." He poked the bag with the stem of his pipe before tapping the bowl onto the floor. "Well, I suppose I'll take a look, see how many ya've got, eh?" Lochin tucked his pipe into his tunic and reached for the satchel.

"Not here."

"What?"

"I said not here, Sir. Too many eyes."

Sir Lochin smiled. "Well, ranger, I'll do business nowhere else. Keep your diseased tails for all I care." He chuckled and leaned back into his chair.

Kythan glanced around the Inn, feeling the eyes boring into the back of his head. Sure enough, several men stared ruthlessly back, watching his every move. He frowned and turned back to Lochin. "Fine, then. We'll do it here."

Chuckling, the grizzled man opened the sack and began counting. Kythan stood directly in front of the exposed wealth on the table, hoping to keep himself between it and the greedy eyes. He knew he had at least fifty tails in that bag, but he kept his eyes trained on Sir Lochin's hands, and mentally counted along. "Ah, well, thirty-five tails, not a bad catch."

"There's at least fifty there."

"Whoever tought you to count, lad, was out of their mind. There nae more than forty here."

"Forty-five."

"Fine, fine, have it your way. But don't expect to be tellin' me how to count again. Here. Four gold pieces."

"Four gold? That's it?"

"Aye, and you're lucky to get that, stinking ranger. Now get out of my sight before Hythag here teaches you to count punches! Hah!" Sir Lochin began stuffing the remains of nearly an entire band of Kobolds back into the sack. Hythag drained Kythan's drink and stood, his body nearly as large as his stench.

Before either Sir Lochin or Hythag could react, Kythan pulled his longsword from it's scabbard and a dagger under his cloak. He spun and threw the dagger across the bar, his memory flawless. The dagger sunk deeply into the rotting wood of the bar right in front of Guntam, who shouted in surprise and fell backwards off his stool. Kythan yanked another dagger free and whirled back, placing the tip of it deftly against the matte of Hythag's beard. Sir Lochin gasped in shock as Kythan lowered his well-oiled sword and placed the very tip of it to rest on the bridge of his crooked nose. "Now, Sir Lochin. You shall pay me what those tails are worth or I'll be takin' the balance in your blood."

"Now, now, laddie, let's not be too hasty. Here," he pulled another gold coin from a bulging leather pouch and set it carefully on the sword. "There, now. That makes fifty silver worth of gold. Better?"

Without taking his eyes off Lochin, Kythan raised the tip of his sword, the gold coin sliding quickly down the length of the steel. "Aye, much better." He relaxed the dagger at Hythag's throat and returned his sword to it's home. "I don't know who you've been dealin' with, but I'll no be cheated out of what's mine."

"I wasn't tryin' ta cheat ya, lad. Just miscounted's all. Here, have a drink on me." Lochin tossed him a silver coin and turned back to stuffing the satchel full of half-rotted Kobold tails.

Kythan scowled back at Hythag, who grunted some obscenity and retook his seat. Kythan strode back to the bar and helped Guntam back to his feet. "Here, have a drink on Sir Lochin. I'm no thirsty." He tossed the silver coin onto the bar, pulled his dagger from the wood, and stalked out into the approaching night.

He made for the front gates of the town, keeping a wary ear open for footsteps behind him, but the hawking cries of vendors and the myriad of human noises made this task decidedly difficult. He tucked his money pouch back under his tunic and quickly laced up the shirt, keeping his wealth safely hidden. As he neared the gates, they began closing, the sound of tortured steel hinges shrieking through the town.

"Hold the gates, dammit! I'm headed out!" Kythan started running toward the guards, shouting and waving his hands, but the mud sucked at his boots and the gates closed with a shuddering finality.

Kythan cursed and turned back in time to duck under a slash that would have taken off his right arm. He quickly stood back up and looked into the familiar bearded face of Hythag, grimacing with bloodlust. Kythan grabbed onto the thick hands as they came back for another swing and planted his fist under his attacker's chin, crushing his delicate windpipe. Hythag's eyes bulged and gasped in surprise, falling to his knees. Another man, one Kythan recognized from the bar, let loose an arrow that stung Kythan's left shoulder. Kythan winced in pain and let loose a dagger which buried itself deeply into the archer's crotch. The man shrieked in agony and fell over backwards, splashing in the mud.

"Halt! You! Ranger! Stop, damn you!"

Kythan bolted as the guards mounted up behind him. He could hear the polearms cut through the air behind him as he sprinted through the mud as quickly as he could, the buildup on his boots growing heavier. Bolts of pain shot up his arm with every jarring step, but he could do nothing to quell the agony. He dodged quickly around a cart which lay overturned in the street, hoping to put some distance between himself and the oncoming men. His strength was waning rapidly, and sweat poured from his forehead into his eyes, blurring his vision. He glanced back over his shoulder, noting the difficulty that the heavily armored guards had maneuvering around the cart. He realized his mistake only moments too late. As soon as his eyes left the path, his laden feet failed him, plunging him to the muck. He managed to twist in the air, keeping his wound out of the filth.

"Come, this way!"

Kythan groaned and glanced up, only seeing the face of a beautiful woman and an outstretched hand beckoning to him beneath a black leper's cloak. He didn't notice any of the tell tale signs of the rotting disease on this woman, so he accepted the offered hand. With surprising strength, she pulled him free of the muck and between two buildings.

"Follow me, Ranger. And stay close." Her voice was like the sound of a spring breeze through a valley of budding cottonwood trees.

Kythan glanced once more at the guards, noting their progress around the cart. He felt a light tug on his cloak and saw the robed woman disappear around the corner of the building. Cursing his foul luck and shaking the pain out of his head, he ducked after her, glad that the ground here was much more sturdy than in the main street. "Dammit, woman! Run! They're right behind us!"

The woman lowered the cowl of her cloak and looked up at him. Beautiful black tresses danced about her oval face and piercing green eyes bored into his head. "Quiet, you oaf! Stand right where you are, don't move, and don't say a word!" She pulled a small pouch from her sleeve and quickly mumbled something in a language Kythan had never heard. Suddenly, she plucked a feather from the pouch and threw it into the air just as the first guard rounded the corner.

Kythan froze, his face not more than two feet from the armored man. The guard growled, grimaced, and continued to look directly at the pair, his sloe eyes gazing myopically past them. "He's no here, Sir Lochin! Per'aps he doubled back on us!" With that, the guard turned around the other building and pranced importantly out of sight.

The feather landed silently on the ground. The woman muttered something under her breath and plucked the wispy remnant from the dirt, brushed it off, and replaced it.

"What in the Two Hells was that? He looked right at us!"

"Sometimes people don't see what they're looking for, even when it is right under their nose, brave Ranger." The woman chuckled lightly and appraised Kythan, her emerald eyes seemingly measuring his worth.

"I've the scent of witchcraft in my head." He said, reaching up for the haft of the arrow that protruded from his shoulder with both hands. He took a deep breath, clenched his teeth, and broke the arrow neatly three inches from his chest. He sighed and shook his head, looking back at the woman. "Well, my Lady, I thank you for the assistance, but I must find a way out of this stinking hell."

"Oh really? Well, unless you can fly, there'll be no escape for you tonight. Karna locks down tight at night, and will continue to do so until all the Kobolds are eradicated, poor creatures." Her speech had an oddly fluid cadence that reminded Kythan of far away lands and peace.

He looked closer at her face, noting the odd angle of her eyes, the smooth yet pronounced line of her high cheekbones, the slightly pointed tip of her delicate nose. Her lips were full and naturally red, and as she grinned, her rounded teeth sparkled in the light. "Are you...?"

She threw back her head and laughed, her long, graceful neck curving erotically against the darkness of her hair. "Does this answer your question, Ranger?" She reached up with her elongated index finger and pulled her hair clear of her ears.

"By the Gods! You are elvish!" Her ears were long and pointed at the top. Her earlobe, adorned with a sparkling emerald ring, was small and rounded, giving her hear the look of a willow leaf.

"Elven, if you please. I am called Aluna al'Lani Tialushina, but you may call me Aluna. Now, unless you plan on standing here in this alley all night, Ranger, I would suggest you follow me and we shall find you less offensive lodging than the Inn of the Lady of the Moon." Aluna chuckled, a sound that reminded Kythan of the bubbling happy brook beside which he had camped last night. "Lady of the Moon. That is my name, in your tongue. Aluna, Lady of the Moon. How are you called, if I may ask?"

"I am called many things, but I answer to Kythan."

"Well met, Kythan. Shall we?" She bowed and turned, heading into the encroaching shadows. He followed, gritting his teeth against the grinding ache of the arrowhead in his arm.

"Where are we going, my Lady?"

"Please, Kythan, call me Aluna. I am not a noble, at least not in your world. And we are headed for a small Inn called the Three Boars. I have a room there."

Kythan grunted his response and followed, her scent like smell of falling snow. He rested his left hand lightly on the pommel of his trusted sword and used his right to slough off as much as the reeking sludge as he could. His ears picked up the sound of men walking in armor from far away, but coming ever closer.

"My Lady, er, I mean, Aluna, the city guard are closing in. Is the Three Boars close?"

Aluna stopped and looked quizzically up at Kythan, smiling. "Your ears are excellent, for a Man. Yes, we are nearly there." She hurried around another corner and knocked four times on what appeared to Kythan to be a blank wall. He frowned as she leaned in closely and muttered something in a flowing tongue. Suddenly, the wall opened up and she pulled him inside as Kythan caught a fleeting glimpse of the guard rounding a corner three alleys down.

"Aluna! What have you done! Do you realize the penalties involved for bringing a Man with you? Cursed, stinking dogs, anyway! I spit on the weaklings!"

Kythan jumped with a start and peered down at the compact little man with a flaming red braided beard, bald head, and bulbous nose. Angry eyes glared out from under wild eyebrows, which were long and braided like his beard. He couldn't have stood more than four feet tall, but the way his simple cotton tunic threatened to burst over his barrel chest and bulging biceps made Kythan think twice about teaching him the way to speak to a lady.

"Now, now, Jungrim. Calm that dwarven temper and welcome our guest, Kythan. I rescued him from Sir Lochin's men in the street. He proved to be quite able with both a sword and dagger, and from the way he handles that bow I'd say he'd stand up to Yashafel in an archery contest."

"Bah! Never happ'n. Yashafel's the best there is, best there ever was. This Man is like a slab of gneiss next to Yashafel, a sparkling ruby!" Jungrim crossed his arms over his chest and frowned mightily, his thick lips pouting out from under his bushy mustache. "But I'll tell ya one thing, Aluna. He sure stinks like a Man. And dirty! Bah!" The dwarf turned on his heel and strode off, muttering under his breath.

"Never mind Jungrim, Kythan. He's been too much time above ground."

"Is he a...?"

"Dwarf? Yes."

Kythan shook his head and glanced around the Inn, trying to get a feel for his surroundings. The rich smells of freshly baking bread drifted alluringly from behind a rich mahogany bar behind which stood another Elf, his ears twitching in Kythan's direction as he diligently polished a line of tankards with a white rag almost blue with cleanliness. The sound of a fire drew his eyes toward a rich fireplace, the stone masterfully crafted to appear whole, as if Garnok, God of the Earth, had created it just as it sat. The floor was freshly swept and had been recently sprinkled with water to keep the dust to a minimum. Soft music trickled from an Elven harpist in the corner, her flowing robes and ready smile putting Kythan at ease.

"Kythan, if it would please you, will you remove your cloak and boots? I know it is an odd request, but I'm sure you would like them cleaned, and I know Ushulabi, the barkeep, would appreciate keeping the mud as contained as possible."

Kythan blinked and nodded. "Where am I?" He began fighting with the clasp of his cloak, his left hand responding sluggishly.

"We are in an Inn. The Inn of the Three Boars, as I told you before. Is your memory that short?" Her deft fingers quickly freed his cloak and she bent to unlace his boots. He reached down and tried to help her, but he nearly fainted with the effort. "Allow me, Kythan, and I'll have Fungrik look at your shoulder. He is a priest of Garnok and can help. There, now step out."

Kythan pulled his leaden feet free of his boots and stepped onto the warm floor. Immediately, an enchanting young Elven maid floated from the kitchen, spilling aromas of cooking into the common room. The young Elf sang the beginning of a song and Aluna answered. By the Gods, they're speaking to each other! Kythan thought, his mind drifting with the lofting strains of their speech. Moments later, Aluna shrugged out of her mud stained cloak and handed it to the younger Elf, who wrapped it around Kythan's soiled garments, bowed, and danced back into the kitchen, laundry in tow. The Man looked at Aluna, his mind reeling with her beauty. She was dressed in a sheer silken garment which poured from her shoulders over her supple body and splashed onto the floor. His might struggled with a color to attach to the flowing, undulating pattern that seemed to change with every move.

"Cursed Man! Drooling over the Elven women, just like all the others! Bah!"

Kythan's adoration was interrupted by the harsh interjection of a voice he already knew to be Dwarven, though it was deeper and harsher than Jungrim's. He turned, his brow furrowing as he looked down upon an older dwarf, his white beard flowing loose over his brown robes. His face looked as if it was chipped from solid rock by a second-rate craftsman.

"Fungrik, would you be so kind as to tend to this poor Man's wound?" Aluna asked, the soothing liquidity of her voice seemingly calming the dwarf.

"Aye, aye, if ya ask it, Aluna. But only 'cause you ask it! Garnok hates men as much as I!" He spat a thick glob of spittle onto the floor. "An arrow caught ya, eh? At least ya had enough sense to break it off afore it tore ya to pieces! Now get down here, ya wretched waste of flesh and bone! I'm not about to mount a chair just to have a look!"

Kythan did as he was told, kneeling defensively before the aggravated dwarf. Fungrik sniffed the wound and grumbled. "Well? Take off that tunic, Man. How can I get a good look at it if it's covered?"

"But sir, there's ladies about, and, uh," Kythan looked around, red seeping into his cheeks.

"Blasted human! Take off that shirt or I'll have Aluna do it for ya, and then we'll see how red you're ears'll get! Hah!"

Kythan took a deep breath and shook his head. "Nae. I'll tend to my own wounds."

"Stubborn as granite like all Men. Fine. Look after it yourself, but just pray those pigs don't poison their arrows." Fungrik shook his head and scratched his bearded chin. "Where'd ya find this one, Aluna?"

"Kythan was accosted in the street by the Personal Guard after he demanded more bounty from Sir Lochin at sword point. Quite the courageous traveler, I'd say."

"Bounty? What kind of bounty?"

"Kobolds. Sir Lochin pays one silver per tail." Kythan shook his head to clear away the haze that had started to creep into the corners of his vision.

"Kobolds. Filthy things. Near as bad as Men!"

"Can I get a room? I think this arrow needs to come out." Kythan said, the room swimming before his eyes. He swayed heavily, reeling with a sudden fever that sent him crashing to the floor.

Fungrik caught the Man with a single meaty hand just before his face slammed into the hardwood floor. "Stubborn Men."

"His name is Kythan, Fungrik. I would prefer you call him that, for it is entirely possible that we will be seeing much of him in the future. Do you have a spare room, Innkeeper? I believe this exhausted Man would like to hire out a room." A slight smile curved the edges of her lips.

"Aye, I have room. Can the stinking Man pay?"

"Kythan, Fungrik. His name is Kythan. And yes, he's rather well off. He has five gold pieces in a pouch around his neck."

"Nae. Five gold? This Ranger? Just how many of those Kobolds this Man kill?"

"Fifty seven. At least, that's how many tails he had at the Lady of the Moon."

"Aye, perhaps we will be seeing more of this pathetic creature. What was his name?"

"Kythan."

"Kythan? What a horrid sounding name."

Chapter Two