Degra stared as Kvegok knelt and picked up the stone she had just conjured out of the bodies of the tribesmen. What would she do with it? Were the spirits destroyed? How many of these things, these stones had the evil one made?

A sharp nip on her shoulder let her know that while her ferret sympathized, he was also aware that the evil Mala had left, and with that, the path was clear.

Degra nodded. Bite was correct, it was time to seek help.

Shuddering as she walked past the room full of bodies, she decided that at this point speed was more important than any attempt at stealth. She would get as far away from Kvegock Cairnbuilder as she could for now.

She was not as familiar with the upper levels of the tribal stone paths, as these were where the less fortunate, the common and tradesfolk lived. All to close to the endless space that loomed about the safety of the caverns.

This was also, probably, hopefully, farther away from the curse.

Finally, she made it to the uppermost level, where the smell of stone faded and the air felt changeable and disturbing. Ahead she could see four armored guards standing alertly the gates, which were closed. Odd brightness outlined the edges of the gates and made her eyes water.

She hadn’t thought to check for the bright cycle. That the upper world was glowing was probably a good sign, as this was when it was less dangerous and groups of foragers might be going out. Degra had participated in this early on in her apprenticeship as knowing how to find the valuable, and the edible, and the components needed for rituals was an important part of her studies.

She sighed, looking around. It would be much wise to accompany a foraging party than to go alone, which meant waiting.

It turned out to only be a few minutes before a hatching group gathered. Easily identified by the triangle of black spheres on their Strophion, the Egg Guardians hustled their charges along, urging them to stay together. The group was made up of the sturdiest hatchling specimens and their egg guardians. The expressions of the group were split. Many looked eager and curious – that would be the children – and wary – that would be the Egg Guardians. She estimated they were about 3 or 4. Probably this wasn’t their first trip out, but from the way the hatchlings restlessly checked and re-checked their packs, pointed at each other’s shoes which looked quite new.

One of the Egg Tenders held up a bell with one hand and rapped it with a striker in her other. The hatchlings obediently gathered in group.

“Hats” Reminded another adult and there was a mass scrambling among packs. A few of the hatchlings turns, allowing nest mates to reach greedy hands into each other pouches, pulling out occasionally carefully rolled, but usually crushed leather wide brimmed hats.

Degra pulled out her own, and slowly moved in the direction of the chaotic group. Not being a very large specimen herself, she hoped that she would fit right in.

Bite snuggled under Degra’s cape. No hatchling would be likely to have a pet or a bonded. For the rare exceptional youngster that might be so blessed, as Degra had been, generally the bonded attracted was relatively similar in age, and Bite was much to old to pass for a bonded of a hatchling.

With a slow creak, the outer doors of the tribal complex slowly opened.

Golden brightness assaulted the group; and they shuddered almost as one, ducking, pulling hats down or blocking the light with a raised arm, or both.

Heavy steps marked the first to move out. The change of the guard. Groups of four moved forward; short spears raised, partly in combat readiness and partly in reflex to defend against the light.

Degra tugged the brim of her hat down to better shield her eyes. She paused, watching the orderly movements of the guards, and the more random meanderings of the hatchlings. Degra moved in their general orbit but kept a bit of distance between herself and the Egg Tenders. The hatchlings might recognize that she was not of their nest, but compared to the adults, they would likely not be overly concerned about it.

The group moved out. Despite the horrific brightness that had blazed into everyone’s eyes at first, there were numerous tall growths that blocked the light. Degra noted various smoothed places that were clearly paths, here and there marked with ruts where wheeled containers had likely been used over and over to carry supplies or refuse back and forth for many years.

She could easily see one main path, wide enough for most of the hatchling group to travel as a group. Branching off of it were at least two other smaller paths that were likely less travelled. She stood for a moment, noting that as seen from where she was, the widest path seemed to curve in the distance, appearing to vanish to her right. That was the path she needed to take. Or perhaps follow, as she had no great desire to walk in the brightness between towering plant growths.

Once separated from the hatchlings, who were happily accepting instruction about what was edible, what was dangerous and occasionally being reminded to “stay close” and “listen to your elders”. Degra’s expression became much more serious.

She moved slightly off the road, following it, but staying in the relative darkness nearby. It was also cooler, she noticed.

Once at a distance, Bite happily gamboled, eyes not as sensitive to the brightness as Degra’s. She was not entirely content to just follow the trail. It wouldn’t remain empty for long, surely. After an hour of walking she reached into her pack and unrolled the parchment map.

At some distance from the tribal lands, there would be a number of other paths that crossed this one. She looked up from the map, turning in all directions. Other than the path itself, marked on the map as “Truce Road”, all she could see was endless brown and green. Supposedly the stone nest was huge, and visible from a great distance. Turning completely around again, she shrugged. Even on the map it seemed to be quite a distance.

Distance.

Degra hadn’t really done any significant travelling outside of the tunnels of her people. Vetrick had once made a reference that the Stone Nest was days away. Days? Was anything really that far away? Rolling the map back up, she put it away and kept walking.

Walking. More tall growths. More walking. Occasional high pitched musical squeaks that were startling at first but soon became just background sounds like echoes over a tunnel stream. Up here everything seemed to be moving. The brightness seemed to climb higher and higher and cast strange shadows, as air seemed to constantly move the growths.

She found herself wondering if bits of them might be in danger of falling off.

The brightness moved to a lower angle, and Degra found herself getting hungry. She hadn’t really thought about how long this trip was going to take, or what she would eat. She was aware that Bite had already helped himself to a number of small skittering insects, but that was not really to her taste, or at least not yet. Depending on how long this took, it might well be she would make a meal of some of them.

For now she was just walking. And despite the odd feel in the air that kept moving, and the strangeness of the trees and the urgency of her mission, she was starting to get bored.

Eventually she burrowed into her pack again and pulled out her Kimba. She had only been playing for a few years, and didn’t consider herself expert, but she enjoyed it. And some of the weird sharp chirps had made her start to think of a tune.

Randomly at first she plunked at the instrument.

Nearby Bite dook-dooked at her.

She looked up in time to see a pair of flying creatures swoop across the path. She couldn’t tell if one was actually chasing the other or if they were just travelling as a pair. They landed in an extended stalk of one of the largish growths and made noises at her. She’d wondered if they might be bats at first, but the flight pattern was too different, and their calls were far too low.

Fairly tuneful noises, come to think of it.

So she echoed some of the patterns she heard, weaving the best bits together into a pattern. She started to listen for their noises, though they were not complex enough to truly be called songs.

The smallest ones seemed to be the most melodious with calls that had simple but pleasant patterns. The largest black creatures had more harsh cries, though oddly they seemed to be most attracted and curious about the sounds she was making.

Walking along, she started to shuffle her boots in time with her playing.

Reprehensible as Kvegock Cairnbuilder was, her idea to combine many sounds into music strong enough to carry magick was a good one. Degra had never heard of it. Yes there were plenty of Arcava who used sounds to summon and shape power. Use of a skindrum was not uncommon.

Degra could think of at least three who used it. She knew that Vettrik had made one, shaped from the hide of a great beast he had slaughtered in his youth. Supposedly there were several skindrums in the clan made from the remains of tortured enemies. They would likely be powerful, but rarely used. Spirit strength was drawn from the power of the target that had been killed, had been sacrifices. But there were always stories of those who created a drum too powerful, and were overcome and possessed by it.

There were songs about that. She smiled as the tune she had been crafting to echo the calls around her easily wove into the opening music of one such.

You only live once / By bowl you come

By blade you claim / The blood that runs

The shell of foe / the power you fill

But one mis step / a cairn you till

It was a child’s jumping song that many thought was old enough to be true, telling the tale of one who spilled blood to great a weapon so rich in power that it killed him the first time he used it. Or she. Degra didn’t recall hearing for sure one way or the other, and probably it didn’t matter anyway.

She took a shuffling step and finished with a flourish of notes on her Kimba.

Ahead of her she heard clapping. “Well played little bard! Do you know any others?”

She looked up, shocked that she had gotten so distracted that she had so lowered her guard. From the nearby thick plants, she heard an apologetic chirrup from Bite.

Ahead and slightly to her left, she saw a pair of individuals leading a pair of small furry four legged stubby horned creatures who were pulling some sort of odd wheeled contraption. It was full of long green sticks with thick brown sections at one end. She couldn’t imagine what they would be used for, but they must be valuable.

The one who had spoken to her still had a hand half extended. He, if it was a he, stood half again as tall as she did, at least six foot to her four. He wore a sort of a hat, not unlike her own, but his was woven from pale strands of something and had a ragged look about its edges. He wore a somewhat shapeless brownish garment that covered his upper body, including being shaped to his arms, and a similarly close fitting leather garment that covered his legs. His skin was an odd combination of pale with brownish dots scattered here and there and some redness on his hands and face. She could see patches of hair sticking out from under the hat, and in small bunches from various places on his face.

No scales, no fur. He was a soft skin then, a human.

His companion was smaller, and wore less, showing uncovered lengths of forearm. This one had fur atop their head that was woven in a kind of rope that trailed behind, and had no fur patches on their face.

Derga could see a string around the second one’s neck and after a moment realized that it led to another woven ragged brimmed hat that was hanging down the person’s back. It seemed very odd to not take advantage of the protection, but the smaller being’s eyes were bright with cheerful curiosity.

The smaller one spoke. “Glad to meet you, bard! My name is Sorrow.”

Derga blinked. They spoke the trade language quite well, for having nothing in the way of muzzles.

“I greet you,” she said. “But my name is not Bard.”

The larger one made a laughing sound reminiscent of a Gnoll’s war cry. It put Derga on edge, though she tried not to show it. “Bard,” he said “is what we call those who wander, and share and seek news and song”

That did sound familiar from Pandita Vettrick’s tales. “I do seek news,” the small kobold allowed cautiously, “and I do play, so I suppose that isn’t a bad description.”

Sorrow clapped her hands together. “You are going that way, right?” Pointing in the direction Degra had been walking, she grinned an odd small-mouthed grin at the Kobold’s nod. “Well we can travel together and I’ll teach you songs I know if you teach me some of yours.”

The larger one rolled his eyes. “You didn’t.”

Sorrow fished in a pouch. “Of course I did.” She pulled out roughly egg shaped object with rows of holes. “I have to practice, you know.”

“When I gave you that,” began the larger one.

“You had no idea you had such a talented daughter,” Sorrow finished firmly. Then turning to Degra again, she asked. “Where are you going?”