“The bag on the left is filled with silver,” Sarel explained as she and Merdon walked to the guild. “The other is a single piece of gold. However, it has many traps while the bag of silver is out in the open. Which does verakt choose?”

Merdon shrugged, “The silver. What good is money if you're dead?”

Sarel shook her head. “Then why did verakt protect the contracts? He could have died trying to make much less than one gold.”

“It's different for a knight,” he told her. “You have to have some degree of renown or else you don't get jobs. It's risk vs reward.”

“Much the same for thieves,” the kobold countered. “We must risk dangers to get our coin, else we're hardly more than beggars.”

Merdon was about to say something else, but he realized something was wrong. He held out his arm to stop Sarel and looked at the front of the guild. She looked as well, with a frown, but wasn't as familiar with the place as the knight.

“The front light is on,” he said quietly. “Cath should have turned it off by now.” It was after daybreak, why keep using oil?

Sarel nodded and silently pulled out a dagger before the pair moved to the door and opened it. Halfway between the door and Cath's desk was a man in dark leather with a knife of his own. Cath had her hands up and was looking at him until the two came in. The thief also spun around and looked at them angrily.

There was a pregnant pause, where Quickclaw debated attacking, the thief glared at them, and Merdon stood with his mouth open. He was the one to break the silence with, “Oh you had no idea.”

The thief opened his mouth to ask what the other man meant by that, but it was significantly too late. A heavy thunk echoed in the office, the sound of the drawstring on a crossbow going off, followed by a sickening squelch. There was just enough time for the intruder to look down and see the arrowhead coming out of his chest before he fell over and died.

Cath held an empty crossbow and sighed as if the intruder were nothing more than an overbearing salesman. Which surprised the blue kobold; she hadn't figured the receptionist as the killing type. The blonde woman tucked the weapon under her desk and then stood up to move the body. This revealed even more to the kobold, as the woman's left foot made a heavy clunk and moved awkwardly as she pulled the body out of the entryway.

“Cath was a ranger,” Merdon said quietly to the kobold. “Went out on a quest to take down some bears, stepped in a trap some stupid villager left.”

The lady in question came back and sat at her desk with a huff. “Every couple of months some idiot with a blade comes in here,” she complained. “Can't we afford some security?”

“Aren't you the security?” Merdon joked, already over the fact he'd watched a man die before breakfast.

Cath rolled her eyes and fished out their contract. “You've got the papers, I assume?” Merdon produced them without a word. “Perfect,” Cath said, pulling out a few silver pieces in return. “Four silvers each.”

Quickclaw glanced at the blood, then stepped up to claim her share. “There was ten times this in the chest,” she said half accusingly.

“It's too bad the goblins didn't get into it first then, the merchant was fully expecting to lose the whole box,” the blonde huntress said with a smirk. Implying, of course, that a simple lie could have gotten her a whole pouch of silver.

The kobold grumbled. “Quickclaw will wait outside, verakt,” she told Merdon before turning around and heading out the door.

Cath's eyes were wide though and she leaned forward. “Verakt?!” she half-shouted, keeping her voice as low as possible. “You're having sex with a kobold?”

Merdon's face flared red as flames. “W- how do you know?”

“Pfft, I know what verakt means. I used to live in the capital,” she told him. “Anyone that knows draconic will know.” Surely that couldn't be too many people. Dragons, sure, kobolds, maybe, but people? Very few. Definitely.

Merdon shook his head. “Just … keep it quiet, okay?” he asked her. “We both know how folks get about kobolds.”

Cath shook her head and sat a new contract up on the desk. “Fine, but you really should do something about that,” she told him seriously. “If you can't admit to other people what your relationship is... Well, it's just kind of terrible, isn't it?”

The knight couldn't deny that. A romanticized idea of forbidden love was one thing, but in reality, it drove couples insane to hide their feelings. His only saving grace was how often he traveled. As long as he and Quickclaw were alone on the road they could do what they pleased without judgment. Merdon didn't fancy himself a romantic by any stretch of the imagination, but he did realize the limitations that brought on them. No dinners at someplace fancy, no hand-holding, or claw holding as it may have been, no wedding or anything like that, assuming Quickclaw was even interested in such a thing. It was difficult to consider.

He decided to focus on the contract in front of him. Another simple two-man job, so it claimed, although this one promised to be more rewarding in more ways than one. Some other adventurers had pulled an old chest out of a ruin. They were certain it was trapped but some nasty wolves scared them off before they could crack it. With their own knight injured fending off the wolves, they needed a replacement to escort them back to town, and a thief to crack the chest so they didn't have to lug the whole thing with them. It would be a pain traveling with others for a couple of days, but the promise was 5% of the value for the chest, or twenty silver each, whichever was higher.

Merdon signed it and passed it back to Cath. “See you in a couple days,” he said, trying to act like nothing had changed.

Everything had changed. Sarel was leaning on the wall outside looking somewhat sour. “Your guild should invest in thicker doors, verakt.”

The human coughed nervously. “Maybe you shouldn't eavesdrop,” he countered.

“Your city would not … appreciate us,” Quickclaw noted. Merdon could only nod in agreement as he watched the citizens going about their early day.

“Would your kind?” he asked her in return, after considering all the things humans had done to kobolds so far.

Sarel was slow to answer, but when she did it was resigned. “No, Quickclaw does not believe they would.”

They were outcasts, in a manner of speaking. Neither group typically liked the other. Still, they could make the best of it.

“I got a new job,” Merdon said, handing her the details.

The kobold's eyes skimmed it and made her grin. “This, verakt, is a job,” she told him with a bit of glee. “There is danger, skill, and great rewards.”

“Well, let's not keep them waiting then,” Merdon told her as he started to walk towards the inn. They could gather their things quickly and be off.

The trip to the location was mostly uneventful. Except for Merdon asking more about kobolds, such as their limited need for sleep. Sarel was a good watch because she only needed four to six hours of rest, and was personally a light sleeper. Her rest could be gained with periodic naps instead of consecutive hours. Which meant she could stay alert the whole night and not be winded in the morning. The information wasn't gathered for free, however.

“Sarel wishes to know more about you and your kind,” she soon asked him in return.

Merdon chuckled. “What's there to know about humans? We're kind of … everywhere.” They weren't a mystery as far as he knew. But clearly, the kobold felt differently.

“You worship your gods,” she told him, “But also humes on thrones.”

So, kobolds lacked a monarch?

“Not quite,” Merdon said slowly. “We don't worship our kings. Well, not like we do gods. The kings are our leaders, the bravest or smartest among us. We trust their judgment to guide our nations.”

Quickclaw frowned. “There are so many kings though. Do they not fight over who leads best?”

“Of course they do, that's when wars break out,” the knight said with a sad expression of his own. “The kings lead different nations, and different nations have different wants and needs and ideas. Conflict is inevitable sometimes.”

That seemed to throw the kobold for a moment. “The kings lead … different tribes of humes?”

It was then that Merdon understood her confusion. “Yes, that's an accurate way of putting it. The kings don't lead us all together. They lead their own small portion. Aren't kobolds the same way?” Perhaps they were more like elves and led by council.

“We cannot afford to, verakt. Our villages, what few of them there are, must work together. Shared information is the only way to stay a step ahead of the humes,” she told him very seriously.

Merdon nodded solemnly. “Maybe someday things will be different,” he offered with a half-smile.

Quickclaw shook her head but smiled back at him. “You're an optimist, verakt,” she said in an almost accusatory tone.

He shrugged in response. It wasn't something he could help. Still, the kobold didn't seem to hold it against him.

Beyond that, the couple enjoyed some of the smaller comforts that came from being a lone traveling pair. Rather than scamper up a tree, they put their bedrolls close together, and Merdon made liberal use of his kobold's true name. Something she made sure to warn him against in more casual company. Still, it was two day's travel that they shared with no one but each other. The weather stayed nice through the days and nights and they encountered no struggles. Merdon even got to hear the kobold's laugh a few times as he told a few bawdy jokes late in the evenings. He couldn't imagine a better time together.

The countryside they crossed slowly gave way to hills, and mountains that were visible in the distance from Bereth got closer. Ruins could be seen on the horizon, which Merdon pointed out. Some ancient city that used to sit in the shadows of the mountain. It was largely stone, overgrown now with moss. Wooden supports had been used in many of the buildings, and they had rotted over time, leading to the roofs and some walls collapsing. These collapses were most notable with the larger manor that had sat at the far end of town, and the bigger government buildings in the center. Its lack of paved roads spoke of how old the city was, despite the fact the buildings were made of stone themselves. Scholars had investigated it a few times and found nothing to give them any clues. Clearly, this adventuring party had found something more. Whether they found a chest of artifacts or pure wealth, the contents of the box would be worth quite a bit to the right buyers.

At the dawn of their second day, Merdon suited up in his armor to be ready for anything. If wild animals were a problem in the area they couldn't be more careful. His armor slowed them down, but still, they found their way to the three travelers in short order. Entering the ruins sent a shiver up Merdon's spine. He didn't fancy meeting a ghost of some kind without a cleric handy and there was no place better for one to attack them than these sorts of places. Places where it was likely some tragedy struck.

He quietly ushered Quickclaw onward, past the crumbling stone that used to be a front gate, only stopping to check in the doorways of the other decrepit buildings as they went. The buildings, old as they were, provided more cover than anything else in the surrounding area. It only made sense that the wounded would hole up here rather than out in the wild. Which made it trickier to find them as the houses were nearly identical to his eyes. Some were more ruined than others, and it wasn't exactly difficult to keep track of where they'd come from by using the mountain as a landmark and yet he was positive he'd stopped in one doorway more than once during their search.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before Sarel pointed out a door, rather far from the ruined city's crumbling entrance arch. It was on the furthest corner of an overgrown street, whatever wall had once surrounded the city was gone there giving way entirely to a forest. The door on the house was shut, firmly, and if the group were being accosted by wolves the beasts using the forest for cover made sense. Wolves could stalk their prey from the treeline, smelling the blood of the warrior that was supposed to be injured inside, and stay well out of sight. If there was a craftier animal than wolves, Merdon hadn't met it. Unlike bears or foxes, wolves hunted in packs, attacked as a group, employed strategies like warriors. If bears fought in timed packs humanity would be in a lot of trouble.

Merdon stepped up and knocked. “Someone in here call for help?” he shouted.

The door opened to the dark face of a relieved, but drained, cleric. “Thank the gods,” the blond man muttered while pulling the two inside.

Inside was just as terrible as outside in terms of dilapidation. Stones were overgrown with moss or other plants, sections of the wall were rather loose, worn from the changing of seasons. Merdon was sure a good punch or two could topple entire sections of the house. The only benefit was how sealed it was. Crumbling and chipped as they were, the walls had no holes in them that led outside. Wolves, smart as they may have been, weren't strong enough to bash down stone. It seemed they were safe.

On the floor was another man, partially armored, with a bandage over his sword arm. The wounded knight, which judging by the cleric's condition needed more help. Merdon set to work, supplying the man with some medicine for the pain and readying him to travel. A topical ointment for numbing and to help reduce any potential infections, that would take time to set in, and then packing the man's bag for him. Thankfully he was traveling light, as the warrior was likely going to have to carry most of his armor on his back instead of over his body.

While he worked on that, Quickclaw's eyes were drawn to the chest and her claws were running across it, checking every angle. There was a trap inside, rather than some magical protection or enchantment. She peeked into the keyhole, leaning and tilting her body to let light in, as much as she could. No trigger mechanism in there, that she could see anyway. A frown crossed her snout as she continued to investigate the treasure chest. No mere lock would best her.

The wounded knight glanced at her, then Merdon. “A slave?” he asked softly.

Merdon gave him a hard look. “A friend. She's as capable a lock pick as any you'll find.”

The wounded man grunted and said no more. Looking a gift horse in the mouth wasn't his intention.

Before all their preparations could be made, however, there was a loud howling from nearby that made everyone freeze. Even Quickclaw halted and looked at the door. These wolves were unusually persistent in her experience. That they had attacked armed humes in the first place was odd; that they returned enough to scare the humes was another matter. Surely there were easier hunts to be had in the forest they were next to. It puzzled her as much as the chest she was supposed to open. Sarel did not lose games, and it felt like someone was playing with them.

The last member of the group, a mage, came down from upstairs looking frazzled. Clearly, the two days Merdon and Sarel enjoyed had been hell for these three. New to the fight, rested and strong, it was Merdon's job to run the wolves off this time. He stood, walked over and opened the door, then took up a defensive position in the doorway. The wolves would be funneled towards him, shield up, taking the whole width of the doorway, he could easily take stabs at them as they came. Quickclaw took up her own position behind him. If any got through they'd do so at a low angle, something she could easily cover. Between the two of them, every angle was covered, nothing would get past them.

It didn't take long for the wolves to sniff them out, but they didn't come into the doorway. They circled around outside, preventing escape. Merdon frowned and watched. That wasn't normal wolf behavior, even he could see that. Quickclaw noticed that as well. She drew a dagger and glanced around. Perhaps there was a leader, or at least something different about the wolves she could determine. That sneaking suspicion they were being played with returned, along with her frown. Patience wearing thin after five minutes of tension, Merdon stepped out after them, keeping his body in the door rather than the shield, he swung and cut the ear of one wolf. The pack growled in unison and jumped at him.

Merdon's shield was good enough to cover his left side, bashing the face of one wolf and sending it tumbling back, but the majority of them struck at his right side. Unlike the wounded knight inside, however, Merdon was wearing steel plates instead of chainmail. The lupine fangs got around his steel covered wrist, but couldn't puncture the metal. He drew his arm backward, slamming the stuck wolf against the wall with a great deal of force. It released his arm and yelped as it skittered back away from the fight. If only the others had followed suit. They seemed to be angrier at that, charging in again from all sides to keep the man off balance. Even so, Merdon held his ground. These were just wolves after all and he was an intelligent human.

Quickclaw, inside, realized there was something amiss about the wolves. Merdon's sword had cut one, but there was no blood. Their actions were too smart, too coordinated. Something or someone had to be leading them, guiding their actions. Her eyes were peeled for any inconsistency. Any clues as to what was driving these wolves would help.

“Open the chest!” the healer shouted, panicked. “We have to get whatever is in there and run!”

“Are you daft?” the pale-faced mage said, turning towards him. “We can't leave with those wolves out there. They'll eat us alive.”

“That's what the knight is for!”

Quickclaw shook her head but noticed something. The priest's skin was quite tan. His blond hair didn't match the dark complexion. Unless he was frequently outside. That didn't stack with what the kobold knew about clerics though. They spent more time reading, like any magic-user, and with certain requirements of faith, they were often indoors for long periods of time. Not to mention the wounded knight. If they had a cleric here why was he so injured? Even a low-rank farmhouse priest could heal a bite. Unless one had no piety at all.

With her verakt in danger protecting them, Quickclaw had little time to suss out the details. Dagger drawn already, she leaped towards him and drove it straight into his chest. The priest blinked and looked downward, shocked at the blood flowing out of him. A moment later he collapsed while the mage screamed shrilly. Merdon looked over his shoulder and stared, which allowed a few more mouths to bite onto his armor. The knight already in the room stood up, ready to fight the murderous thief, until the wolves outside the door let go of Merdon and vanished like dust.

Merdon glanced outside, then stepped in and walked over to Quickclaw. “What the hell was that!?”

“The cleric was not what he seemed,” she shrugged. A thief had tried to play her and she had won instead of him.

After hearing the full explanation, the two other adventurers looked at each other. “He … was the one that gave us the information,” the wounded knight said.

“It explains why he was so intent on getting the box open instead of fleeing to town,” the mage added, sinking down in disbelief.

Merdon sighed and closed the door to their temporary base. “Well, it's dealt with now. Quickclaw, can you open that chest so we can get out of here?”

The kobold grinned and walked over to the box and started to work. Sarel was a competent thief, and he believed in her ability to deal with a simple lock. In the meantime, Merdon investigated the body of their traitor. His robes were a bit older, but Merdon found blood on the inside. Old blood that didn't belong to the man wearing them. A story started forming in his head. A story about a bandit that heard rumors of treasure in a ruin, waylaid some poor traveler, stole his identity, and went seeking companions under the guise of a pious cleric. It explained why his healing magic had been so poor, but not how he'd summoned the wolves. That was explained by the shining ring on his finger. Its glint was something Merdon was familiar with, an enchantment. Perhaps the bandit had been in these ruins before, or perhaps it was from a stash of his own.

Merdon stood and turned towards Quickclaw to tell her about his findings when the kobold suddenly leaped to the side and shouted, “Watch out!”

For all of her skill with chests and traps, this one had eluded her. Sarel was a modern thief, used to strongboxes and the like. The chest was old, from around the time the ruins were inhabited, or slightly after. Its construction was sturdy, and alien to her. When she failed to find a trigger inside the lock she expected a switch inside, a tripwire perhaps that would trigger a mechanism. When she didn't find one, she opened the lid, and as it opened she saw the whole mechanism. A metal wire attached to the hinge depressed the trigger of a crossbow mounted inside the box as she opened the lid to see inside. Her warning was too late as she barely had time to dive out of the way herself.

Without his shield at the ready, and his body sore from skirmish outside, Merdon's reaction was nowhere near fast enough. The chest was opened and he saw a crossbow. Naturally, it was much too late by the time he could register that. A heavy thunk echoed for a moment in the room and Merdon staggered back into the wall and slid down. His armor grinding against the stone made everyone wince, but the bolt stuck in his belly caused them to gasp.

Quickclaw was the first one to his side. He'd pulled an arrow out before. This was fine. Merdon knew what to do, right? Her claws were testing him, he was awake but dazed. In shock from what happened, he only blinked and stared at the bolt in turns. It was too deep to pull out, too dangerous to push through.

The other knight, as well as his companion, stood and told the kobold they would seek help. With the traitor dead, travel was safe. Four days, at least, to get help. Merdon couldn't survive four days with an arrow in his stomach. They left anyway, without the items in the chest. It seemed they truly wanted to help the injured man. Sarel didn't know what to do. Merdon didn't either if he was being honest. All they could do was wait.