Kobolds Chapter 2 (Pre-Submission

Chapter 2

There was an awkward silence. Shrike stared out over the wastes, gripping the saddle on which he was perched so precariously. Rosmond ignored Shrike altogether, and kept her eyes on the ground a few paces in front of them.
‘So I guess, for now…’ Shrike glanced at Rosmond warily. He was waiting for more anger, or a snug grin, but she was still staring ahead. Shrike forged on, ‘I suppose I’m coming with you then.’
Rosmond grunted.
‘So, where are we going?’
Rosmond didn’t answer.
Shrike put his head in his hands. His money gone, with nothing but the clothes on his back and the items in his pockets, in a wasteland with the most difficult adolescent child he had ever had the misfortune to encounter.
And as if to cap it all, he could well be about to become entangled in a war that he had no part in. No kobold wanted to visit a dragon. Shrike recalled his uncle Brear. He’d found out for himself what happened when a kobold got too close to a dragon. The only excusable time was if there was a chance for a quick bit of treasure.
Unless they had a chance of treasure.
It hit Shrike like a charging mammoth. Angvar was a dragon, and dragons were like magpies, they horded all things shiny. What gems did Angvar have squirreled away in his hidey hole? Enough to see Shrike happily through, that was for certain.
But then Shrike remembered why here was still so much in Angvar’s lair. He’d have to be so fast, so clever, so cunning. One misstep and he would be ash. But still, Rosmond was there to keep him from waking up. Who’s to say that he, Shrike, couldn’t lay his scaly finger on something worth having? So long as he kept his head down Shrike could be rich, a legend amongst his people, the one to burgle the greatest dragon to have ever existed… Shrike closed his eyes and savoured the prospect, before making a snap decision.
Taking a deep breath he said, ‘I know someone who can help us find Angvar’.
Rosmond’s swivelled slowly to gaze intently at him.
‘My mother. If anyone knows, it’s her.’
The kobold couldn’t quite tell if Rosmond had misgivings at his sudden desire to help her. Nothing stirred behind those mismatched eyes, except a deep longing.
‘How far?’ She asked, softly, tentatively.
Shrike glanced at the sun. Mother had told him that the sun set in the west, and that home, was always in the sunset. He pointed, and Rosmond kicked the little horse that they were perched upon into a gallop.
They rode on in silence, each in the company of their own thoughts. For Shrike, he thought of coming home at last. Rosmond thought of the figure that had called her name as they had called to her as she left. Shrike didn’t notice her wiping her eyes with the snow dusted rim of her furs.
They finally slowed as the sunlight faded. Rosmond swung herself off the horse with ease landing with an exhausted sign. Shrike just felt sore. Sore and cold. He only had his coat, and he hated these conditions.
He swung his legs over the saddle and looked down. It was higher than he thought, and unlike Rosmond he wasn’t large enough to comfortably get down. He glanced at the girl and saw her looking at him, her eyebrows raised. Shrike squared his shoulders. He would not seem weak. Not to her.
He was still busy mustering the courage to jump, when he felt hands gently, but firmly, grip him under the arms and lift him down. For a moment Shrike struggled, but then realised what was happening when Rosmond set him down.
‘Thanks.’ Shrike muttered, not looking at her.
Rosmond shrugged,
‘No problem.’
She turned and lifted a heavy leather bag from where it had been hanging on the saddle, beside a hunting horn, and just peeking out from under the saddle, a scabbard. Setting the bag on the ground, she turned to look at Shrike.
‘Can you dig a fire pit?’ She asked, not impolitely. Shrike had a suspicion that she was trying to put earlier that day behind them. For a moment he thought about refusing, just to spite her, but only for a moment.
He squatted down and began scrabbling at the snow with his claws while she unsaddled the horse. Once the pit was deep enough, and the horse was tethered to a wooden stake that Rosmond had planted in the snow, they lit the fire. Shrike settled himself on one side, and the girl on the other. Neither of them spoke. Shrike counted the money that he had scavenged from his house, and rubbed the coins together as though they might multiply. Rosmond just stared into the flames, as deep red as her hair. Thinking.
At last she glanced up at Shrike.
‘So, what do you know about Angvar?’
‘Not know much yourself?’ Shrike asked
Rosmond flashed him a glare, but then Shrike continued.
‘Don’t be worried about that, Rosmond, not many people do these days.’
The girl’s gaze abated a little. ‘It’s Ros.’
‘Well Ros,’ Shrike said, smoothing out the creases in his coat, and shuffling into a more comfortable position in the snow. ‘Angvar was, is, the oldest dragon. They say that he was one of the All Father’s creations. As you know, he had three children: The human Damien, The Giant Urgenjarl and of course, Angvar.’
Ros looked intently at him. She was obviously hanging on the edge of every word. The fire crackled a little, but otherwise there was no sound at all. Shrike allowed a grin that revealed his pointed teeth flit across his face.
‘But, as you know, there was a war. Damien and Angvar were greedy and in the end, a fight broke out over who would inherit the All Father’s place.
‘That’s not true; my mother told me that Angvar was jealous of Damien, the rightful heir.’
Shrike had no eyebrows to raise quizzically, but he made a good stab at replicating the human gesture.
‘That is what you humans think. Well, it’s wrong. The giant was the true heir, but Urgenjarl wasn’t a suitable candidate.’
Ros opened her mouth to argue but Shrike forged on.
‘Anyway, they fought. And the war was long and harsh. So harsh that Urgenjarl fled into the mountains to hide from them, and the All Father left the world. So Angvar’s children, Thalla, Ragnok and Hildred, fought with Damien’s children. Eventually,’
Shrike gazed at Ros for a moment, letting the suspense built for the finale,
‘Eventually, Damien’s second son, Fabien, killed Angvar’s mate and only love, Sillarion. Angvar flew into a rage and pursued Fabien, but he was over confident, he let his guard down, and was defeated by the human.’
Ros looked triumphant. ‘Ha! Even back then we were the better people.’
‘That’s not the end of the story, Ros.’ Shrike murmured darkly.
The triumph slipped off her face.
‘When Angvar was at his mercy, Fabien burnt his wings. He can’t fly Ros. The greatest Dragon can’t fly.’
Rosmond looked shocked as she imagined the scene.
‘But why?’ She asked,
Shrike shrugged. ‘I don’t get how humans work. You’d know better than me.’
For a moment they sat in silence, watching the fire burn lower.
‘What about his children?’ Rosmond asked.
Shrike looked into her mismatched eyes.
‘Thalla and Hildred escaped. Ragnok wasn’t quite so lucky. He was seen as the most dangerous surviving Dragon, so Damien used the last dregs of his father’s magic, the last of the All Father’s power, and cursed him. Nothing fancy, just one curse. That,’ Shrike said with a sombre finality, ‘was how the first kobold came into the world.’
Rosmond couldn’t hold his gaze. She glanced at the fire, then at the sky. Anywhere but Shrike.
‘My mother told me that story. The only one I really remember anymore. It’s not a common one, but it’s the most important.’
Shrike looked for a moment longer at Ros, and then settled down to sleep. Ros sat up for a little longer, until she heard the first snuffling snore. The fire had almost burnt down completely.
She lay down, and wrapped her furs tightly about her, and stared into the embers.