FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Cathka got lucky. So many of the souls in Basphemen's Tower had been so degraded they were nothing but scraps of energy. They remained a part of the tower, circulating within the lich's dead body. She sat in Basphemen's study, one of the few normal rooms unaffected by the lich's death. Cathka's jade necklace rested on the ground in the middle of a pentagram of glowing glyphs, and as those fragmented souls continued pumping through the tower, her conduit sucked them inside to restore its own reserves.

As it did, she perused Basphemen's library, holding onto Calth with one hand while her other touched the spines of books. Occasionally, she pulled one from a bookshelf and set it down on the desk in the room.

Do you think you will have time to decode his spellbooks? Calth asked.

“Likely not," Cathka said.

Regretting your vow to serve Karniel?

“No," Cathka said. Sliding books in and out of shelves had such a satisfying feeling to it. All of Basphemen's were in excellent condition, having wards to protect them from aging. The lich had lived for nearly a millennia, and his stores of knowledge showed. Karniel lived for twice as long as the lich, as long as any living being had on the material plane—far as they knew. She told Calth, “It's just as likely he knows a way to get you back into your own body."

There was soul transfer, of course. But something felt off with Calth's. Cathka only noticed her brother's deficits after a time, not quite all of him was there. Which made giving him an organic body risky. Soul expended never returned, and in a living body that meant premature death. Mages almost never used their own spirit to cast spells.

How did that old chant back at the academy go?

“Use other souls, stay whole, use yours as well, watch tumors swell." She remembered autopsy diagrams of mages who used their souls for magic, they died body riddled with teratomas. She did not want that for her brother.

But no one's made a golem that is autonomous, Calth pointed out.

That was their other option. Make an automata that Calth may control, transfer his soul to it… but then there was the problem of a power source. Conduits powered a golem till the conduit became drained, putting Calth in one meant any sort of action, even basic locomotion, would also slowly erode his very existence.

Cathka had reached the pile of books Karniel knocked off the bookshelf when he barged into this room. She knelt down beside it and began to pick through them. There was, of course, one other option.

Though, rooting through the corpse of a lich makes me less than keen to attempt it, Calth said.

“I'd rather you not be bound to a tower, either," Cathka added. “We'll find a way—between Karniel and these books there must be a solution." She did not bother mentioning their other fear with turning Calth into a lich: the phylactery may be just as unstable as a normal body.

By the time she finished collecting the books that seemed useful, she heard Mathus and Karniel both raising their voices from up in the lab. Cathka decided to sit and wait with her conduit. Once it recharged she would summon her purse, throw the books inside, then see what the boys argued about.

***

Karniel felt at a loss. Mathus sat at the edge of the table in the lich's lab, Karniel kneeling before him. The bismuth room had lost its luster and shine, with parts of it decaying, swelling in other places. All like an actual corpse might.

“I'm sorry you were trapped in there—I'm sorry about the Kwen," Mathus mumbled.

Karniel's ears drooped back a little. “Darling?"

Mathus grimaced.

“What is it?" Mortel's words had eaten at the bat. He knew something wrong. They should be overjoyed to survive, but Mathus…

The apothecary would not look at Karniel as he muttered, “You called Mortel 'darling,' too."

This time Karniel's ears pinched all the way back. “Ah… yes."

“When we talked about it last, you spoke of him like he didn't share your bed every night… like he was something you returned to now and then—had 'liaisons' with, but he was much more than that… Why did you hide that from me?"

Now Karniel could not look at Mathus. He glanced across the ruinous mess of the room, thinking what to say. That it scared him to tell the truth? Hurt to admit he could not hold onto someone who meant so much? That his grief and pain turned into a twisted revenge simply so he could escape the agony of being rejected?

Karniel sighed. “What do you want from me, Mathus?"

“I want to know why you lied to me," Mathus snapped. He shoved Karniel back and got off the table. His chest still stung from the vision Mortel gave him. But a different kind of hurt gathered there underneath it. He paced to the back of the lab, picking around rubble and the crumpled golems Basphemen had made. When he reached the end of the room he turned back and added, “Karniel I have given you everything I have—the least you could return to me is honesty."

Karniel stood now, a hard, unreadable mask on his face. “What does it matter? Mortel is a wretch and a wretched part of my past. My memory lets me remember nearly every moment with him. It is a gaping wound, a century of my life. I have a right not to rub salt into it."

Mathus clenched a fist. “That's not just it! It's not just Mortel—those soldiers, Karniel. You killed them—after all we talked about, and you lied about that because you knew how I would react."

“What do you want?" Karniel growled, stomping towards the much smaller human. “That I get on my knees and beg forgiveness?" The bat towered over him now, but Mathus remained as stubbornly undaunted as the first day they met.

“I told you what I want. I want to know why, Karniel."

Karniel grit his teeth and took a deep breath. He was scared. He was scared to admit he was scared. So he turned his back on Mathus and muttered, “You told me you wouldn't be afraid of who I was—of who the world saw when they looked at me."

Something snapped in Mathus. He punched Karniel in the back, which had about as much effect as trying to hammer a paper nail into a beam of wood. The bat didn't even recognize the blow. Mathus, trembling, said, “You don't get to pull that. You know I'm not afraid of you," even as Mathus said it, a sting of uncertainty coursed through his chest, the feeling of Karniel's hand digging under Mortel's ribs still very present for him. “Karniel, you can't decide what's best for me. You have to respect me. Don't push me away like you did Mortel."

“And what do you know of that?" Karniel snarled, wheeling back around. “You had visions forced onto you by a manipulative, dead god. Do you know how betrayed I was? You speak of trust," Karniel spat on the ground, “You have never had yours shattered like a mirror. Never had to cut yourself trying to pick up the pieces. You know nothing of what it's like to have someone break your trust!"

Mathus took a step back, stunned a moment. Then he shook his head, and muttered, “You're right… I had not, but now I think I have." Karniel's eyes went wide, but before he could say anything the human shoved past, mumbling, “Let's just get out of this fucking corpse."

***

Cathka came upstairs, conduit recharged, shortly after. Karniel stood still in the room, staring at the ground. She waited for him to notice her, but when he did not she cleared her throat.

“Hmm? Oh, are you ready to leave?"

“Yes," Cathka said. “Is everything alright."

Karniel waved dismissively. “Just a disagreement. We should head down. I doubt Pterodea will welcome me honoring all my grand achievements, but should something happen to me, they will still be perfectly hospitable to you and Mathus."

“Do you expect something to happen?"

“Frankly, Cathka, I did not even worry about it—I was so worried about Mathus' safety but…" the bat turned to the doorway the human left through, “I did not spare a thought to it."

“But now?"

“I am certain trouble awaits me outside this tower."

“We can stay longer, figure out a plan or perhaps some way to move the tower back—"

“No," Karniel grunted. “They will force their way in here if we wait much longer. I wish to meet them head on rather than cowering in some corpse."

He left the room without another word, and Cathka followed him out into the once greenhouse. It smelled of rotting meat with a sharp, metallic tang to it that stabbed through her sinuses. Her eyes watered a little as she took in the room of rotting flora and fauna, fleshy masses magically arranged to resemble a greenhouse trapped in verdant splendor. Without the magic to sustain them, they rapidly decomposed like the rest of the tower.

Mathus stood beside the lift, hugging himself and tapping a foot. The low, residual light from the remaining souls pumping through the tower almost hid the tears streaming down his cheeks. Cathka guessed it did not have to do with the smell. He said to them both, “The lift doesn't work."

“I can take care of it," Cathka said. “Everyone get on."

They did, and Cathka crouched down to touch the floor. She sensed the spell infused in the stone they stood on and channeled some magic from her conduit into it. As the lift began to move, Calth asked her, So what do we do if we walk out, and whoever is on the other side just kills Karniel?

She did not want to think about that. For one, the amount of force needed to kill Karniel would be grisly to watch. She remembered the night he returned after the Kwen spent a day feeding on him and shuddered. Cathka was grateful she needed to remain crouched and touching the floor. It gave her an excuse not to speak as the two quarreling lovers remained silent for the whole uncomfortable ride down.

At the shaft's bottom, they found themselves looking out through an open doorway into an underground cavern. A tangle of blue, glowing silk of some kind on the ceiling dimly lit the way outside of the cavern, and cast in that frail light were the tall figures of bats.

Four in all. They wore loincloths and sashes across their chests. And each one was as big as Karniel. The two closest to the tower carried polearms with curved, bladed tips made out of obsidian. But what took Cathka back was the raw magic coming from the cavern. She realized it was not just the tower her conduit pulled energy from, but the very stone of these caverns which coursed with it.

The bat that stood in the back said, “Karniel," and something in a language Cathka did not know.

Karniel held up a hand to his companions and said, “They seem happy to see me. Wait here a moment."

Cathka quickly touched her conduit and signed a glyph across her brow. She turned to Mathus and ordered, “Stand still."

“What—ouch!" He winced but let Cathka's claw trace a similar glyph across his forehead.

It was a spell for understanding foreign tongues. A spell most mages learned early on. Faster to learn spells that translated tongues and texts than learn all the languages a mage might need in order to conduct their business and research.

Karniel strutted forward and bowed to the bats before him. “Dera, dear brother, I assumed you would have gone along on your Death Rites by now. But I can hear the blood beats strongly in you."

The bat Dera said, “I postponed my rites until your soul or you returned here."

Cathka opened her beak and signed another glyph across her tongue. When she spoke, the bats could understand her: “Excuse me, but I must ask. Death Rites? Is Karniel here to be executed?"

“What?" Mathus gasped.

“My, apologies for my rudeness, these two are my…" Karniel searched for the right word, “traveling companions. They helped me vanquish the foul lich that brought us here, and I would ask you to receive them as guests."

“Of course," Dera said, “They will come with us, and we will provide quarters for them until they are rested and ready to leave."

“And Karniel?" Mathus asked. The bats glanced at Mathus in confusion. He still spoke common to the bats. Karniel glanced over his shoulder, something like hope passing along his face.

“Excuse me?" Dera asked.

Cathka said, “We care about Karniel a great deal, and wish to know what will happen to him."

“Karniel reached the end of his lifespan several decades ago. I saw to it he was returned here so we could begin our Death Rites together," Dera said matter-of-factly.

“Death Rites? Karniel is perfectly—"

“Forgive her, brother," Karniel cut Cathka off “She is unfamiliar with our customs. I only ask that you be patient with my companions until they are more familiar with the Pterodean way of life."

“Ignorance is no insult in this case," Dera said before turning to the bat closest to them. “Run ahead to see to it rooms are prepared in the Curtain District for our guests. I will take them there after we escort Karniel to his cell."

“Cell? Really, brother, that's—"

“Given your reputation on the surface, Scourge, it seems absolutely necessary," Dera told him pointedly.

The two bats stood each other down a moment before Karniel huffed. “Very well, long as I am allowed to die with dignity."

Dera said, “Your accommodations will be better than I believe you deserve, but, unlike you, I honor our people's code."

“Yes, yes," Karniel growled, “Let's get this over with already."

The three remaining Pterodeans formed a tight triangle around Karniel and led the way, while Mathus and Cathka followed close behind through a long tunnel that seemed dug out by a creature. Cathka occasionally noticed the trace of claw and teeth marks, typically banded every dozen paces or so. As if something dug, ploughed forward, dug, ploughed forward some more, and so on.

Cathka whispered to Mathus, “Did Karniel ever tell you about this place?"

“There is a lot Karniel never mentioned to me."

Cathka noticed the bat in question's ear twitch back in their direction. Of course he could hear the two of them. The other bats could as well, but they had the benefit of a foreign tongue there, at least. Cathka told Mathus, “I know you two are having a fight or something right now, but now is a shitty time to have it."

Mathus stopped and snapped, “Do you know what he—"

Cathka snatched his wrist and dragged the human along so they kept up with the group. “Of course I know. I probably know more about his 'crimes' than you do. But questioning your relationship to your lover when he is about to drown in quicksand is a poor timing, don't you think?"

Mathus wrenched his hand away but kept walking. “He'll be fine. He's Karniel the Great."

“Normally I'd agree," Cathka said. “But I'm worried we are about to be surrounded by Karniels, and one won't stand up to dozens—hundreds—hell, who knows how many are down here?"

“I'm not fighting these creatures. They seem peaceful enough, and Karniel is not offering any resistance."

“But would he be if—"

“Cathka!" Human and hippogryph stopped, the whole party did to look at Karniel. The bat glared at her over his shoulder. “I order you to not interfere." Hard edge and anger in his voice, but no tell that might let Cathka know he had a plan or an alternative. A command that settled to: don't stop me from marching into death.

The party began moving again as if there were no interruption, and Cathka resumed her pace as they finally reached the end of the tunnel and entered a massive cavern.

Cathka guessed the opposite end of the cavern must have been a gap wide as the Sebodal Strait. All along that wall were buildings with domed and circular architectures: all curves and no angles. And moving in long bands were creatures, glowing soft blue. It took Cathka a moment to realize they were like silkworms, but giant. Each one dozens of feet long, the longest she saw perhaps a hundred feet long. They moved along the city as titans in it, but were gentle as docile sheep, some burrowing into the rock. Cathka realized those creatures must have made the tunnel they came from.

The six of them stood at the top of the cavern overlooking buildings, tunnels, and architecture that covered just about every surface. A natural flow of water spilled across an aqueduct that zig-zagged throughout the underground chamber to a reservoir at its bottom, which was a bright blue, lavender, and lilac strip of glowing color. A farm of bioluminescent flora and fungi, Cathka would later learn. More glowing silk grew in a massive clump along the cavern's ceiling and provided the gentle blue light that consumed most of the cavern. And along that ceiling were hundreds of those silkworm creatures.

“Master Derada!" a voice piped up. From the left a figure trotted to them. He had a scaly hide, a soft rust color, draconic features with no wings, and a slim body. He wore no clothes, but dangling from his horns were two emeralds on a silver chain, each one big enough to make a king jealous.

“It's a kobold," Mathus said, voice wrapped in wonder.

Kobolds, most historians agreed, were dragons with birth defects, driven extinct over three millennia ago, or never existed in the first place.

But here this little creature, barely coming up to any of the bat's thighs, bowed deeply to Derada. He said, “I see you were successful—" the kobold then noticed Mathus and Cathka and squeaked. He jabbed a finger at the two of them and cried, “We have guests?"

“They came with Karniel," Derada said, “They will be staying with us for the foreseeable future."

The kobold clapped his hands together and, beaming, darted between the bats to them. He moved so fast Cathka thought he planned to pounce on them, but instead he took Cathka's hand and said, “My name is Srek. It is so good to meet you—I have so many questions—you have wings!?" He weaved around Cathka and grabbed Cathka's broken wing. The hippogryph gasped and snapped her tail at the kobold's snout.

“Careful with that!"

“Oh, it's broken. Let me help." Srek signed a glyph Cathka did not recognize and swept his tail across the ground. Sparks flew across the stone like flint striking steel, magical sparks before a flame moved through the kobold. He grabbed Cathka's wing and the appendage was lanced with icy-numbness. She gasped, almost falling to her knees. The sensation exploded through her body, and beneath the numbness she felt burning pain as bones were broken, reset, and quickly stitched back together.

It felt like an ordeal, but when Srek let go of her, Cathka had the sense it had taken the kobold less than a minute to heal her. A little shaky, she tried moving her wing. It was a little stiff, but otherwise totally healed.

She gawked at the little kobold. “How?"

Srek gave her a toothy grin. He then leaned around her waist to look at Mathus and asked, “And who is this?"

Mathus crouched to the kobold's level, also beaming as he said, “I'm Mathus, and I have so many questions."

Srek paused and cocked his head. He glanced back at Cathka. “Does this one not speak in Silk?"

“Neither of us do," Cathka said. “I used a spell, I'll use it on him as well." Cathka pulled Mathus up and touched her conduit. “Stick out your tongue for me."

Mathus did, flinching a little when she started signing a glyph on it with her claw.

“Hold still," she chided.

He huffed but managed, and, after she cast the spell, he did a little bow for the kobold. “My name is Mathus of Morgen's Rest."

“I'm Srek! Of Srek!" The kobold grabbed Mathus' hand and said, “You're so soft and squishy and—" he squeaked again, yellow eyes suddenly two shining saucers. “Are you a god?"

Mathus cringed.

“God?" Derada asked.

Karniel groaned. “For the love of—can we just move along?"

Derada said to his brother, “Somehow you've grown more impatient since the last time I saw you."

“The surface taught me the value of time."

Derada scoffed, but said to Srek, “Call your worm, Srek. I imagine our guests would like some rest."

“Oh! Right, sorry Master Derada." Srek marched to the edge of the cliff and stuck two fingers in his mouth before whistling.

“Wait, worm?" Mathus glanced up at the ceiling. “Are we riding one of—"

Four large, black eyes on a soft blue body lined with hairs, the line of a closed mouth, long horns that seemed flexible and soft—the head of Srek's worm appeared from over the cliff. It was covered in a coat of fine hairs like a caterpillar, which the kobold used to expertly climb up the side of the worm's face. He settled behind the creature's horns as it crawled several feet onto the ledge. All the bats climbed onto the beast, which was of a size they straddled it like a normal person might a horse. Srek waved at Cathka and Mathus. “Come up, Dizzy's perfectly safe."

Cathka glanced back and saw Mathus had broken out into a sweat. He pointed a trembling finger and asked, “We-we're supposed to r-ride that?"

The hippogryph grabbed Mathus' upper arm. “Fine time to be a coward, come on."

She dragged him to the worm, also a little nervous, but reassured if something went wrong she might fly away. She clambered onto the worm, finding its hairy hide soft to the touch. She settled in the middle of a band of the creature and offered a Mathus a hand.

He had frozen up at the side of the creature.

Go easy on him, Calth said, a little more sympathetic.

Cathka sighed and said gently, “It will be okay. If anything happens I have my wings and magic to protect us."

Mathus swallowed the knot in his throat and took her hand. Much to her chagrin, when he seated himself on the worm, he hugged himself tight to her back.

“Everyone on?" Srek called back.

“Yes," Cathka answered.

“Alright, let's go, Dizzy!"

They all lurched as they started to move. Mathus burrowed his face in Cathka's shoulder. “Tell me when it's over."

She wrapped her tail around his waist and whispered, “It'll be alright."

Honestly, he's adorable. Think he's afraid of all bugs like this?

“Quiet you," Cathka muttered to her brother.

The hairs around them shuddered and flexed. The smell of something… like resin, shot up through the smell of wet stone as Dizzy took them over the edge of the cliff. Cathka half expected them to need to cling for their lives. They crawled down the cavern wall, but some sort of magic held them in place. There was no sense of vertigo or blood rushing to her skull as they hung off the side of the cavern. Dizzy moved at the pace of a trotting horse as they descended, comfortably, easily, into the rest of the cavern.

The curved architecture made more sense as Dizzy slipped and slinked around domes, columns, towers, body never needing to dip at another forty-five degree angle to slink down. It also never seemed to disturb the traffic of the city. Cathka now spotted more kobolds and bats in the city. About a dozen kobolds to one bat. Which made apparent that Karniel's kin never lacked for food.

Think they feed on kobold blood? Calth asked.

Cathka doubted Srek would have been so amicable if that was the case.

They came to a stop halfway down the cavern, near a broad avenue in front of a larger domed building that went halfway into the cavern. The bats and Srek wordlessly got off and joined a crowd of onlookers. They gave the group some attention, but most seemed transfixed by Mathus and Cathka. Mathus who continued to ball himself around the hippogryph.

She tugged on his hand wrapped around her waist and whispered, “We're here."

Cathka did not know if Mathus even heard her over the chattering din of the crowd now gathering at Dizzy's flank, but the human looked up and whispered, “Oh gods."

“Come on," Cathka took his hand and the two descended Dizzy's side. At some unnoticed signal from Srek, the worm began to leave them all behind on the street. Immediately kobolds crowded around them both. Dozens of scaly hands touched them, brushing through Cathka's tail, tugging on the feathers of her wings, poking Mathus' tender skin, all while babbling too much to be understood.

Cathka almost signed a spell to get them away, but Srek rushed into the fray and grabbed her other hand. In a chain of Srek, Cathka, and Mathus, the kobold pulled them through the crowd towards the domed building. A bat among the crowd helpfully peeled away a mass of kobolds with a sweep of his arm, and soon they were through a doorway and the crowd from the street was blocked off by two more bats.

Srek offered a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that. We don't get visitors often."

“I can tell," Cathka breathed.

“Where did Karniel go?" Mathus asked.

They had lost sight of their companion. They were in an large antechamber of sorts, with more of that silk balled tightly into lamps that hung from the ceiling. Fabric, with its own very faint-blue glow had been spun into a rug that covered most of the antechamber. Two stairways on opposite sides led further underground and a long hallway extended before them. The furnishings in this room were bare, a few stone benches clothed in more silk. These were clearly bat-sized.

Srek pointed down the hall. “He is staying in the Council Chamber. He's under house arrest until his Death Rites."

Cathka started marching down the hall, but Srek grabbed her by the tail. “Excuse you—"

“Dera asked me to show you to your rooms. He told me you both could see Karniel at your leisure once you're settled."

“Nonsense," Cathka snapped. “Karniel needs—"

“Cathka," Mathus said. “You have had one real meal since leaving the opal Basphemen trapped you in. You need to eat, need rest, you've had the shakes this entire time."

“Nonsense," Cathka scoffed.

Srek frowned. “Your friend is right. You also smell like death, both of you do—a bath can also be arranged."

Cathka glowered at Mathus. “Is this really what—"

“I don't know what I want!" Mathus snapped. “I'm tired, I nearly died, I had a fight with Karniel, I had to ride a giant bug and, ugh—I'm exhausted. We're exhausted. We need rest. Even if we broke Karniel out of whatever prison he waited in—"

“Impossible," Srek chimed in cheerfully.

Mathus rolled his eyes over the little kobold's head. “Look, regardless, we don't even know how to get to the surface. We need to regroup." The human fixed her with a hard look that told her he would not take no for an answer, and it suddenly made sense to Cathka why Karniel admired him so much. No doubt Mathus stood his ground with Karniel countless times—a thing most mortals never had the nerve to do. Not without powerful mages or an army at their back.

She slumped her shoulders and, feeling very tired, admitted, “Fine. Show us the way, Srek."

***

Karniel did not want to die. Especially in a manner as ghastly as the Ptero Death Rites. He always assumed, if he played his cards right, he may live long as he pleased. But now?

He stood in the center of the Council Chamber, still in tattered clothing. His fur still had clumps of blood and Kwen gore in it. He stank of Basphemen's metallic death, and none of that seemed to matter to his captors. Bats, his kin, surrounded him on all sides. A council had been called together, and at least fifty of his brethren crowded the room. They were all washed in a silk light balled to the room's ceiling. The soft blues did nothing to soften the glower on Derada's face.

Derada projected his voice as he spoke, “Brother Karniel, son of Yinjra, Lepeste, Xeciel, and Dosa, parent to none, you are brought before today's Council for avoiding your Death Rites and jeopardizing the Cycle. What say you to this accusation?"

Karniel shrugged. “Oh, you know, it is so very hard to keep track of the years on the surface. They use these things called stars to keep time, and they are just so unreliable—winking in and out of existence every day. A bat can hardly keep track of it. I assumed I had at least another five centuries before I returned."

No one in the chamber seemed amused by his excuse.

“We made the summons, and you chose to ignore them."

“Yes, well, how was I supposed to know that? Do you know what it is like to be summoned? Honestly, you lot banished me before I even hit adulthood. I've never even witnessed a Death Rite. What does it involve again? Being cooked into a soup for—"

“Enough," Derada snapped. “You have been allowed to speak so you might offer apologies, a sense of remorse. You have endangered all of Pterodea, both with the life you lived on the surface and for ignoring the Death Rites. You should be entombed in silk and stone and starved to death, but we do not have time to wait for you to die."

“Mmm, thank the gods for that—awfully boring way to go, don't you think?"

“Karniel!"

The Scourge flashed his brother a fanged grin.

Shaking a little with rage, Derada said, “If he speaks again, take off his head." One of the bats with a polearm at Derada's side came forward and entered the ring. He raised his weapon to Karniel, ready to strike. “In two months the plates will shift. You and I will enter the Silken Womb to be consumed together."

Karniel cocked his head. “Why wait?"

The guard swung his weapon. Karniel caught the haft below its blade and spun, pitching his weight into it to throw the bat off his feet. The Scourge came down on his opponent's back, slamming a knee between the bat's shoulder blades and staking the blade of the polearm into the other's bat's spinal cord, right beneath the nape. Until Karniel removed the blade, the guard would remain paralyzed.

Karniel jumped up and barked at the next guard as he approached, “I have spent the last two thousand years fighting for my life. It will take the whole room of you fools to restrain me, and I am not interested in that. I will speak or no one will!"

Several bats in the crowd made to step forward, with companions grabbing and holding them back. For a moment, the ring of people trembled and squirmed, as if struggling to decide what to do. But it finally settled, and Derada snarled, “Very well, speak."

“Why wait to perform the Death Rites? Are the worms not hungry enough?" Karniel asked.

“To honor the rock that shifts and the pact we made with Dea, we will do it when the plates move, as every Death Rite has been done," Derada said.

“Are you and I the only two remaining from our generation?"

“Yes."

“Awfully selfish don't you think? To stay behind when any one of you could have hunted me down."

Derada's hands balled into fist. “You were my brother and so my responsibility. I wept when I could not join my kin and mates in the rite. You do not get to judge me, and until the time of your reckoning this room will be your cell."

“No dank dungeon for me?" Karniel asked. “Cleary I have not misbehaved enough."

Derada did not even deign that with a response. Kobolds had dungeons and prisons. Until Karniel came along, a bat had never broken the laws of Pterodea. They simply did not keep cells because of it.

“As Elder of this Council, I now adjourn it," Derada said flatly.

Karniel kicked the guard across the room to Derada's feet. “You can have this one back. Keep ten guards here, would you? I might grow bored and would prefer some exercise."

***

Pterodeans had plumbing. Something Mathus thought only existed in places like the Emerald Cities. Their apartment was designed in a T-shape with two bedrooms on the left and right, a main hall provided a living space for entertaining guests and cooking food, and on the opposite end of the apartment was a bathroom. Groundwater piped through the apartment ran fresh, iron-tinged water through a wash basin and bathtub carved, with magic, into a polished smooth basin. Their beddings were made of more silk, this the first variant Mathus saw that did not have some kind of glow on it.

The accommodations were, frankly, more than Mathus could hope, and they were well away from any of those horrible worms.

“Any questions or requests?" Srek asked. They had just stepped out of the bathroom after being shown how to run the water and use the toilet.

“Privacy, and whatever counts for food in this place prepared and ready in three hours," Cathka answered curtly. She marched for one of the bedrooms.

“Cathka?" Mathus called after her.

“I'm going to take a nap, then eat, then take a bath, then we will see what we can do for Karniel," the hippogryph said over her shoulder before sliding her door shut. It was some kind of lighter, glass-like stone threaded with veins of shining gold.

“What about you?" Srek asked. “Is there anything I can get you?"

“I could go for a bath."

“Then let's! Take off your clothes I will see to it they are cleaned."

“Let's?"

Srek's tail sagged across the floor. “You don't want me to help?"

“Is that something guides normally do?"

“Ah, I see. Master Derada requested I be your servicer for the foreseeable future."

“Servicer?"

“In Pterodea, all bats have at least one kobold companion who lives with them. We help them with household maintenance with our magic and feed them."

“Oh," Mathus blushed a little as he looked up and down the small creature. His lean, muscular body only came up a little above Mathus' navel. The human certainly did not find the kobold unattractive, but he was so small. And the bats were so big and…

“Oh, is this magic? Your color is changing."

“No no no," Mathus said. He knelt down so he might be eye to eye with the kobold. “What do you think Cathka and I eat?"

“I was hoping to ask you that." Srek glanced at the now shut bedroom door. “I'm too scared to ask her."

“She has just had a very difficult week and is worried about our friend," Mathus said.

“You mean Karniel? I hear he was banished for drinking blood instead of seed."

“That was the reason?" Mathus asked. The human shook his head and said, “The bath can wait, I have so many questions."

“Aww, alright, Master Mathus."

“Mathus is fine, I am not your master." He got up and said, “Let's have a seat in the foyer and talk."

The foyer had magically carved stone armchairs upholstered in more and more silk. When Mathus sat in one, he expected Srek to take the chair beside him. Much to his chagrin, the kobold scrambled onto the human's lap and settled reclining across Mathus and the chair. Flustered by this closeness with a stranger, but not wanting to impinge on curiosity, the human merely grunted and tried to relax.

“Well?" Srek asked.

“You like touching, don't you?"

“Oh yes. Kobolds live and sleep together in nests. We never like to be apart from others for long!"

“Heh, makes sense," Mathus was having trouble figuring out where to put his hands. On one arm of the chair rested the kobold's head, on the other his legs and tail. Eventually he settled on letting his left drape off the chair and his right resting on the kobold's ribs. The scales were smooth and warm, pleasing to the touch.

“You can pet me if you like."

“Err," Mathus pulled his hand back. “Pet?"

“Yes, please."

Still blushing, Mathus started running his right hand up and down the kobold's torso. He was so smooth and warm that the human found the act quite soothing. Srek shut his eyes with a little sigh, and after a few strokes he even began to purr like a cat. Mathus eventually said, “So, uh, questions?"

“Oh, yes, go on," Srek said, returning to purring. His tail swished happily from left to right.

“What do kobold's eat?"

“Oh anything. We grow food at the bottom of Pterodea, and when worms die we consume them as well. Occasionally a worm will dig something dangerous up, like a sleeping tarrasque, and after we kill it, we will feed on it for months."

“Tarrasque?"

“It's this great big giant thing!" Srek said a little excited. “The last one they found when I was just a hatchling. They have all these claws and teeth and can eat one of our worms for breakfast."

Mathus shivered a little at the thought. Being in Pterodea suddenly became a lot less desirable.

“It is fine, between the bats' strength and our magic, they're no match for Pterodea," Srek said, beaming before he twitched around Mathus' hand. “Oh, right there please—ah, yes, that's it… Okay, you can keep going."

Mathus couldn't help but smile at the whimsical little creature. “So all kobolds can perform magic?"

“Oh yes," Srek said. “Can surface dwellers not?"

“No, mages are very rare."

“I see… hmm, well, Pterodea hums with energy. Like you do—" Srek rested a palm over Mathus' heart then lifted it away with a silvery-white aura glowing from it. “See?"

“You can draw on my conduit?"

“Of course. Kobolds can take energy from anywhere. Surface mages can't?"

“It's complicated," Mathus admitted. “I don't honestly understand it."

“But you have all this power inside you—"

“It was not my choice."

Srek cocked his head and frowned. “You mean it was forced on you?"

Mathus nodded.

“That is not very fair. Can you not get rid of it?"

“I'm afraid that, for the time being, it is going to grow inside me indefinitely."

“And you're sure you're not a god of some sort?" Srek asked. “You must have almost half as much power as all of Pterodea coursing through you."

“Believe me, godhood is the last thing I want."

“Mhmm," Srek grinned. “You are very wise—very Pterodean of you to not want that."

“Excuse me?"

“Pterodeans do not hoard resources or power."

“There is a lot to admire about your culture it seems." Mathus sighed and settled into his chair. For a time, he just pet Srek, and the little kobold seemed content to purr for him.

They understood nothing about this place, and somehow Cathka wanted them to free Karniel and leave. If what Srek said was true, it seemed even an army like the one that sacked Gavalon or a god with the powers of Mortel would have trouble threatening Pterodea. So how did they even begin to escape? And Karniel… frustration and hurt still swelled inside Mathus when he thought of the bat. The Scourge really had done so much evil to the world, and neither Mathus nor Karniel ever discussed a plan for the bat to atone for those things. They had not done anything convincingly good for the world either. So could Mathus trust him when he said he'd changed? Especially when he so flagrantly lied about how they would get into Basphemen's Tower?

“Srek?"

The kobold twitched and came awake from a little nap. He yawned. “Oh, yes maste—err, Mathus?"

“The Death Rites for bats, what do they involve and why do they do them?"

“Well they do them to maintain the Cycle."

“Cycle?"

Srek nodded and waved an arm through the air. It shimmered and tendrils of light drew from the room—the stone, the silk, even Mathus, and the kobold drew with his finger a scene as he spoke, “Pterodea was born from a great silken egg. A God named Dea wove it round themselves and died, reborn as the kobolds and bats. We were gifted with the ability to tap energy from anywhere, like a god might, and the bats were gifted with a god's resilience. The Cycle follows the death and rebirth of our people. Kobolds do this by interring our dead in the stone so our souls may become one with the natural energy flow that encompasses Pterodea. The bats can only ever be two thousand in number. In order to sow new life, the old life must die so it may be reincarnated in the new generation. Every five hundred years an new generation is born. They enter their Death Rites by returning to the silk we were born from, where their resilience is nullified. They then ingest a toxin extracted from the worm's teeth that dissolves their insides before worms consume their bodies"

The last image was that of bats sitting in rows inside a massive chamber of silk, falling over one by one with peaceful expressions on their faces. But somehow, the thought of ingesting acidic poison did not sound peaceful at all.

Talons began to descend and squeeze Mathus' stomach, afraid of the answer, he asked, “So if Karniel does not do his Death Rites the Cycle will be broken?"

The kobold nodded gravely. “The bats are afraid once that happens all their powers will be undone. Pterodea's protection from the meddling of outside powers might also be undone."

“Outside powers?"

“Other gods cannot touch this place," Srek explained. “We are free to determine the shape of our society so long as we maintain the Cycle."

“I see…" Mathus' frowned but kept petting Srek until the kobold shifted to sit up on his lap.

“Karniel is a cherished companion of yours."

Mathus winced. “You are very intuitive, Srek. Until today, I was certain he was the love of my life."

“And now?"

“I'm not sure—here," Mathus stood up and kobold hopped off. He suggested to cast his mind toward other matters. “How about you show me where we can get food? Wouldn't want Cathka to be angry when she woke, hmm?"

Srek took his hand and beamed. “Of course! Stay close to me when we go out though. Our kin will be very eager to distract you and have your attention. Kobolds love curiosities."

Mathus offered Srek a smile that did not reach his eyes. He half-heartedly joked, “Seems kobolds and I have a lot in common."

***

Pterodean food was not the best nor worst Cathka experienced. Fried mushrooms served with the outer layers of fat of one of those worms which was akin in taste to lobster. That with water. Mathus had trouble eating it, but Cathka still very much needed food in her body. Afterwards, she left Srek and Mathus to their own devices while she bathed. She brought Calth with her, setting the blade at the edge of the tub while she slunk inside it.

Over dinner Mathus told her about the Death Rites Karniel must complete. Frankly the whole thing sounded ghoulish and did not convince Cathka of the importance Karniel should die. Pterodea did hum with energy, but in her mind it was because the souls that perished here never left. Their energy conducted into the stone all around, and the kobolds drew on that energy. The bats, though…

Without proof this Cycle is fake you'll never convince Mathus to help, Calth said, naming the worry flitting through her mind.

The running water reached her collarbone before Cathka shut off the faucet. The room became thick with steam as she sighed. It felt good to let her recently broken wing be soaked by the hot water. Cathka muttered, “Even if it is real, I made a promise to Karniel. We can't just abandon him."

Can't we?

“No," the hippogryph said flatly.

Cathka, he can't stop us. Not here.

“I won't consider it. He's Karniel the Great—he's too important to let die just so a bunch of bats who've never seen the sun can live at ease."

Important to the world or to you?

Cathka sighed and rested her head back on the lip of the tub. “That's a low blow, brother."

Can't you just admit you have—

“We both know where that goes. I'm not interested in breaking my heart on it. I just want to see him live."

Always a mistake to meet your heroes.

Cathka ignored her brother. She studied the ceiling before asking, “How deep underground do you think Pterodea is?"

Deep. Basphemen's Tower could have traveled off the material plane to get here.

“Ugh." Cathka hated the thought of more interdimensional travel after the week she had. “Even if it's not, we must be deep underground for no one on the surface to have ever found this place."

Then how did the lich?

“I'm starting to wonder if he wasn't shown by someone."

A Pterodean?

“Who else? If Karniel is overdue for his Death Rites, my guess is they did not wait around for someone to stumble upon this place who would agree to capture him."

Cathka shut her eyes. Still troubled, she hoped Mathus asked their kobold the right questions about this place, at least. They needed to figure out how to leave soon as possible.

And if we are stuck here for a time?

Then there were Basphemen's spellbooks to be decoded, and these kobolds to learn magic from. Cathka held up two fingers, “Two promising leads to figure out how to get you out of that sword. Just because I want Karniel out of here doesn't mean we can't pursue that as well."

And what if these kobolds have the answer, but we have to give up on Karniel?

“I made him a promise, Calth," Cathka almost snapped at the sword.

A knock on the door made Cathka start. Her hooves scrambled against the slick stone as she tried to stand up. “Yes?" she asked.

It was Mathus: “Derada is here and wishes to speak with us."

Cathka cursed and clambered out of the tub. She used a spell, a godsend really, to dry her fur and feathers in an instant, then another to make a dress flash onto her body. She grabbed Calth and slid open the door. Down the apartment, Derada locked eyes with her and did a little bow. She moved into the lounge and found Mathus sitting with Srek curled up on his lap. Cathka waved to the other chair and said, “Please, have a seat."

“I would not want to impinge on—"

“I'm fine standing," Cathka said flatly.

Careful.

She ignored her brother and asked, “What do we owe the pleasure?"

“I wished to inform you on the state of your companion."

“Karniel," Cathka said. “You mean you've not killed him yet?"

“The Death Rite will be performed in two months' time," Derada said. To her right, Mathus released a relieved breath.

“Thank goodness, surely there might be some way to appeal the process?" the human asked.

“I am sorry, but no. You two should make peace with his fate and with him," Derada said firmly. “And there is something else."

Cathka fingered the jade beads of her necklace, the reassuring flow of magic calming her as she asked, “Yes?"

“Pterodea's secrecy is of utmost importance to us."

“So you sold that information to a lich—"

“We planned to kill that blight soon as we had Karniel secured," Derada said.

Cathka scoffed.

Mathus, sounding scared, said, “You're not going to let us leave."

She cursed. Of course this was where this conversation headed.

“Until we can come up with a way to swear you both to secrecy, neither of you will be allowed to return to the surface," Derada told them. “You will live here until then."

“The hell we will," Cathka snapped.

She started to sign a glyph, but in a flash the bat's big hand closed around hers and crushed it into a fist.

“Cathka!" Mathus tried to get up but Srek flashed a spell in the human's face.

The kobold held a glowing palm to Mathus' eyes, and his muscles went slack, becoming docile in a matter of seconds. “Easy there, Master Mathus," Srek whispered.

“Fuck you both." Cathka, other hand still holding Calth, stabbed the short sword into Derada's wrist in an attempt to get him to release her. The bat didn't so much as flinch.

“We do not wish to put you both under house arrest, so please, behave." Derada released her hand. It was clear to Cathka that, without a plan, she was no threat to these Pterodeans at all. She yanked out her blade and stepped back.

Okay, fuck this place. We need Karniel, and we need to leave.

“You may release Mathus, Srek."

The kobold stopped channeling his spell, and Mathus immediately shoved Srek off his lap. He got to his feet as well. If Cathka had the human's power they might have a chance, but Mathus did not even know how to use his conduit.

“Given this outburst, I will ask that both take a week to reflect on your place here before you attempt to see Karniel," Derada said. “Learn about our ways, see that we are not a bad people, and please reconsider where your loyalties lie. Pterodea can be a paradise, if you two would allow it."

“A cage is still a cage no matter what it's made out of," Mathus snapped. He stepped up to Cathka and took her hand. They locked eyes for a moment, and she saw a resolve in him that relieved her some. “We have nothing more to say to the both of you. Come on, Cathka."

And they retreated back to one of the bedrooms. Mathus slid the door shut before retreating onto the bed. He sat back in it, and his head dropped into his hands.

“Fuck," he cursed. Fingers curled through his hair and he quivered and cursed again. He was close to tears.

Cathka, sighing, went to the human's side and sat next to him. She wrapped an arm and wing around him and pulled him close. “There there," she whispered, “We're going to figure this out. We beat the lich, we can beat these fools, too."

***

An interminable week passed in that pit of a Council Chamber. Frankly, Karniel began to worry Mathus and Cathka had been fed to the worms. Even with their fight, he did not expect them to leave him alone without some kind of force or threat keeping the two at bay.

Fortunately for him, time passed quickly when so long lived. So the week did not bother him as it would most creatures. He spent his time meditating and trying to piece together if the means they took Karniel to the surface was still accessible. Dammit. Even if they escaped, the bats would not rest till he was brought to heel and killed or the Cycle conclusively broken.

Not that Karniel minded death. He wanted life, certainly, it would be inconvenient after everything to simply get killed by such a trite thing. Certainly brother Derada and the other bats had their concerns, but Karniel found no traces of the God Dea on the surface. There was no more proof of their existence than there was evidence to disprove them. At least other gods had the good sense to be real enough Karniel might kill them should he need to.

It was while mulling over this sorry state that he was broken from his reverie by the sound of footsteps. A stride his keen hearing had memorized after only a week together with him. Karniel stood and faced the doorway to his chambers where four bats stood watch.

Mathus was escorted through the door, and the couple lit with excitement, then a tangle of emotions as both remembered what their last exchange had been. The Scourge hesitated to run and sweep the human off his feet. Mathus walked into the ring of sand and said, “It is good to see you."

“What kept you?"

“We would have visited sooner, but your brother does not trust us."

“I assume they won't let Cathka see me at the same time as you?"

Mathus shook his head.

“Of course," Karniel sighed. “Can I hug you? I've missed you, Mathus."

The tension in Mathus' body broke and the two embraced. Karniel still had not been allowed to bathe. And he heard his lover hold his breath. By now the Scourge had simply gotten used to the smell. He did not blame Mathus for being repulsed.

The human backed away and clapped a clump of Kwen flesh off his fingers. “You need a bath."

“Think you can get me one? These fellows don't seem keen on taking my requests."

Mathus said, “I can try. They can't just keep you like this."

“Well, that is the problem, darling, they can."

Mathus grimaced.

Karniel squeezed his elbow. “How are you and Cathka getting along?"

“We butt heads often, but I think we're coming around."

“Good, let her know my only order is to protect you."

“Karniel…"

“Mathus I do not know if escape is possible. I certainly cannot concoct an attempt from here. And you will need protection until Korlyon can find you."

Mathus reached up and grabbed the hand holding his arm. “I am not sure if we will even see Korlyon again."

Karniel studied the apothecary's sad look, then scowled. “They want you to stay here."

“They want us to stay until they can find some way to guarantee we will never speak of this place. And they've been keeping us under house arrest to make sure we behave."

Karniel cursed. “Of course—Mathus I am so sorry. I never wanted—"

“Why did you never tell me about the Death Rites? The Cycle?"

Karniel's ears flicked. “What do you mean?"

“We met and they were already searching for you, wanted you dead, Karniel." Mathus said. “You didn't think to tell me any of this?"

“I've told you before I have a lot of enemies. I did not think I would need to give you a list."

“Perhaps you should have—"

“And what, make you sign a contract saying you understood what you were getting into? The lich's tower, this—" Karniel waved as if to gesture to Pterodea, “These are just things I have lived with constantly. It is the cost of having and exercising power. And it is a cost you should prepare for with that heart inside you."

Mathus clutched his chest and stepped back. “I have no plans to ever use this."

“You might not, but what are you going to do? Run back to Morgen's Rest?" Karniel kicked some sand up. “Stay here until the very stones crumble to dust? If not, someone will come along to take that heart from you. Basphemen will be far from the last to make such an attempt."

Mathus bit his lip and shook with something between frustration and grief. The human was not stupid—he knew Karniel was right. Even with the Scourge out of the picture, he would never live a normal life.

Mathus took a deep breath and changed the subject. “I did not come here to argue. I came to ask if the Cycle is real. If you really are putting this whole civilization in danger."

“And if it is?"

“Karniel I won't try to save you from your Death Rites if it means destroying the lives of thousands of people."

“Ah, I see." A feeling, sudden and sharp and strange as when Mortel rejected him, pierced Karniel's chest. Cold anger, icy grief, a sense that nothing he did could change this fact. Still, he said, “I would for you Mathus. Without hesitation I would burn this world down to protect you."

“I would sooner die than let you do that, and we both know it."

“Yes… yes I suppose we do, don't we?"

Mathus, sensing Karniel's feelings, softened and whispered, “Karniel, please. Just tell me there is some other option. Some way of getting you out of this that—"

“There isn't, Mathus. Sometimes you must choose to sacrifice one thing to save another. I cannot prove the Cycle is some social construct and our gifts are just a matter of chance. It could very well be real, and all of Pterodea will need my death."

Sounding crushed, Mathus whispered, “I see."

“Abandon me, Mathus of Morgen's Rest. I do not know if I can be with someone who thinks faceless strangers are more important than the love of their life."

“Karniel I don't—"

“But you are!" Karniel snapped, eyes now blurry with the humiliating start of tears. He fought down a sob, a furious storm grief inside his throat. Losing his life was one thing, but knowing conclusively he had lost Mathus in the process? Voice, body, all of him trembling with the effort to keep steady, Karniel said, “You make choices, Mathus. And someone has to get hurt. You are choosing them over me. Now leave. The sight of you is an affliction far worse than death."

Stunned, eyes wide and also fighting back tears, he breathed, “Is… is this it, then?"

“Find a way to convince them to let you leave this wretched place," Karniel said. “These bastards don't deserve the honor of having you."

“Karniel…"

“GO!" Karniel roared, towering over Mathus with all the rage and might he could muster.

And Mathus, like the first time they met, stood there undaunted. Unafraid. But this time, he did not fight Karniel. He whispered, “I will never forget you," and quickly fled the chamber.