After the dwarf hit me across the face, like an insolent chick, he shook his finger in my fance and said, “I told your lot that deliveries happen in the back! Go around to the back before I beat you bloody, you wasted space of un-fried chicken!” 

He was close enough now that even as my throat began to click in unsuppressed rage, I could see his pleading terror, even as he shook a finger in my face. My Discern skill kicked in and overshot his Deception after nary an instant. And once I let a moment pass, I could feel the blow was about as gentle as it could have been, considering. Something was different here.

Used to hiding reactions better than most, I lowered my head and simpered, apologizing in broken Sumaran, “Such apologies, master. I understand it now.” I wasn’t ashamed to use the fact that most mammalian races couldn’t read Kobold body language against them.

I kept my head lowered as I backed out of the doorway and it slammed in my face. I hopped up the stairs and scurried around the corner to the nearest side street to find out where the Dunder’s Dark service entrance likely existed. I wasn’t sure why the bartender’s reaction suddenly set my tongue to twisting between my teeth, but as I approached the hatch that lead back into the bar from behind, the hatch opened.

I stared into the dark, contrasted by the high sun still above, wondering if my eyes would adjust quickly enough to avoid being jumped. I placed a hand into my right vest pouch, talons on a small dagger I kept on me at all times for self defense, and hopped the short six feet down into darkness. 

I wasn’t immediately assaulted by weapons, but a voice, quavering but familiar. 

“What the fuck are you doing out in the open! I have a reputation to keep up! You will destroy this whole operation!” 

The bartender, I could see now in the near pitch dark, was clutching his chest and leaning against a table, in what looked like a storeroom large enough for both of us, a prep table, and three rows of shelves enchanted to place their contents into short term stasis. A ladder let the proprietors reach the top of the eight-feet tall shelving. 

Of course, I had no idea what this bartender was talking about, but I had a horrible suspicion. Ignoring his questions, I asked,  “Has Fochet Raim arrived yet? When is the meeting? I desperately need to talk to him before then.”

“No, he hasn’t come yet! C’wain’s Stump, I thought he trained his cohorts better than this. But the dealer is, they are waiting in the third basement. They say they have members of the Drakenguard forward guard. What are you doing here now? Is he not coming?”

Oh gods. Justin did have preknowledge of the future. If the Drakenguard had been- if the coronation ritual was- I and the rest of my kind in the city would be lucky to die a quick death. Very, very lucky. And in forty years, I’d rarely been so blessed. There are rumors about places deeper than the prisons Justin was held in, places beneath the palace. 

My teeth wanted to chatter with the sudden rush of fear. I held back. The Dwarf stared at me still. I held myself very still and said, quietly, “I need to speak with him before the meeting. It is of absolute desperate importance.”

The Dwarf threw a hands up in the air, “I don’t know where he is. He probably came by the belowways-” a finger was shoved in my face, “Like you should have! I need to get back out there, or I will look suspicious. If you need to see him so badly, use the access-” the finger gestured to the far side of one set of shelves, “-And I never want to see your feathers again, even as I work to save your clutchmates.” 

Properly cowed, or feigning enough deference to appear so, I bowed my head, “My unconditional apologies and sincerest thanks for this kindness.” A childhood refrain, something from earlier than my own freedom, a reflexive defense that I knew would shame my peerage at the Temple to hear me repeat. 

He left, after grabbing a rack of finger breads. Through the door in a flash of light, I heard him announce, “Friends, to cleanse our pallets, a scone for everyone!” A weak cheer went up, as I walked towards where the hatch was set into the complete darkness, visible only as I got closer to discern details. “On the Forge, please, no charge of course!” The cheer came louder, following me into the darkness.

I opened the hatch and gripped the rope that led further down into the warm earth of my people's natural habitat.

In old stories, our deities had forged the kobolds from the earth and blew life into us via metallic dust to settle on us as scales, where we would toil and mine to our gemstone heart’s content. Our deities were dead, and there were no free kobold warrens left, so far as anyone knew. 

The floors below were just as evenly cut as above, but there was less art in the pattern, the edges sharper from less wear. The rope was secured below to a post, which was convenient, as dangling ropes are not exactly easy to grasp and climb with my limbs. The hallway was completely dark but for a dim light down where my instincts told me North was. It looked like the tunnel split off in multiple directions and the light was coming from the east.

The air here was warm and there was a draft of wind, as air pressure equalized across the city. I actually had very little experience underground, even as a child slave. Most of my life had been in the temple or in the bogs, when I was very young. However, I’d read a lot about how undercities worked.

The light appeared to be moving. Was that the meeting? Or the traitors who replaced the Drakenguard assembly?

My city safety on knife’s edge, I headed toward the light. As my dulled claws tapped on stone, I saw the lantern light pause, as if listening. Rounding the corner nearly blinded me, as the hooded lamp was shoved in my face. I had been expecting the sudden light. My assumption was  that Kobold or Drake infiltrators wouldn’t need lamps and would prefer the pitch dark. 

The human holding the lantern startled back, exclaiming, “Who are-, Fucking hells. Officer Fortuna? What-” I could hear Captain Raim’s jaw clamp shut after spitting out my name in fury. He must have realized neither of us could be here in official capacities. He took a step back as if to flee. Or to draw his longsword. 

He wore a day clothing that would have been appropriate in the merchants districts, trading futures or making contracts. Weapons were commonly worn among those wealthy enough to show off nice ones. I only recognized him because I was expecting him. I’d have ignored him on the street. As far as Humans go, he was tall and angular, severe but not cruel. He was usually clean shaven, but during his vacation, he must have let his shaving go by the wayside. 

He must have wondered if I was here as some sort of sting operation. I needed to explain quickly.

Whispering in Daeric, one of the Elven nation languages, a language I knew he knew, I said, “I’m alone. I have information about the delegates you are meeting. You must not Inspect them. They are agents of saboteurs and have replaced the Drakenguard.” I didn’t know if the meeting was nearby, or if they’d placed any snooping spells. Daeric was a hard language for most Kobolds to master, and the nation was on the far side of Sumar from the Drakenguard, so I gambled. “If you pierce their disguise, they will know. You may die, and the city guard will have no one able to identify them before the crowning.”

Fochet Raim was, by my observation, a good, if cold Human guard captain. According to rumors, he had Perspective and Poise scores at or above 20, only possible via magic or divine blessing. I’d seen him a few times in the Central Sumar Headquarters, but he usually operated in the officers quarters and traveled regularly to other parts of the city as a High Investigator of Criminal Inspections. I’d requested each year of my service to be transferred into his team. I was rejected every time, due to unexplained reasons. 

I wasn’t supposed to know anything more, but most of the paperwork in our headquarters - one way or another - passed by me, and I’d seen his signature on the rejection paperwork. 

I didn’t think he’d known who I was. He’s never spoken to me, so much as acknowledged my presence before today, but apparently he could identify me by my skin and feather colors alone, which was very uncommon for Humans, especially by lantern light. 

“What are you-” he started in Sumaran, before swapping to Daeric, “What in the high canopy are you talking about?” 

“Captain, I know you don’t like me. But you have to make it out of here alive. If the Drakenguard envoys are suborned and the-” The inside of my skull burned, and Raim held his hand up as a screen appeared before him in pale green, so dim as to be nearly translucent. I felt naked again for the second time that day, but here I had nothing to hide. I suspected he was checking to see if I were disguised or ensorceled.

He held up a hand, forestalling the rest of my words. “Stop, I believe you believe this. I am late as it is. Stay silent, follow me. I can’t be certain they don’t know you are here now. We will talk about this later. Just let me do the talking.”

A moment and the stiff, serious captain took a breath and then slumped. His face shifted and he grinned and winked. If I hadn’t seen it happen, I wouldn’t have believed a [Decieve] skill was in action. His dark eyes even twinkled where there was no light before. I was in awe of the transformation, but walked past me and to the west, lantern forward. 

We didn’t walk far; there was a door recessed into the wall, about where under the bar would be, a dim strip of light leaked out the side of the door. It was stone, like most Dwarven structures, and Raim rapped on the door in a tight pattern using the lantern, the light flickering across the walls as he did so. When no response followed, he put his hand on the slot and pulled it aside, the door rolled into the wall on smooth Dwarven bearings. 

The room inside was lit by a few honest-to-gods torches, rather than cheap magical light sources. The natural light didn’t play hell with my night vision which meant I could see everything immediately. 

The room had a number of small blanketed nests - traditional Kobold seats - set upon dias, with some upright chairs, around a table. There was a Human, four Kobolds and two Drakes. All but two of the Kobolds had one hand hidden or were reaching for an obvious weapon. 

Hadassah

The first of many journeys under Sumar City.

Fantasy world with explicit gods are always an interesting problem. Religion becomes as much fact as culture, in some ways. One of those sticky things for a fantasy world are the concept of racial deities. In The Halcyon Call-verse, however, most of the active gods are more based on abstract concepts and prototypes (think 'home and hearth', 'the first flame', or 'death').

In some cases, theologists even debate the existence of deities that are based on particular branches of sentient life, as they rarely answer or pay favor to any particular person. Other say that because there is such a broad diaspora of Humans, Drakes, Elves, Orcs, Dwarves, and so on across all the nations, that they cannot step into and aid one particular party or another, without hurting another of the same species. 

Most everyone agrees that the Kobold deities were killed. Of course, that's what would be the sort of expected common knowledge when it comes with regard to one of the least powerful sentients. It's possible they might be alive and still watching over their small brethren.

Scaleen, as you might have gathered, is a cynic.