Chapter 16 – Discord and Deception

Vikka’s claws raked the floor of her pen as she stretched out for the first time in what felt like days. Now that she turned her full attention to her surroundings. She could smell other kobolds, hear their hums and hisses, practically feel their eggs calling to be nested, arousing instincts buried deep in her bones.

She shook her head as if to ward off the primal sensations seeping into her consciousness.

It’s the call of the cradle, she thought, recoiling. After having broken free from her previous nest and queen’s influence, albeit not entirely the way she had envisioned it happening, her very being was currently being tugged back into the lulling groupthink of a kobold collective.

She distracted herself by checking in on Sylven through the bond, a dull echo of his presence pulsed. He didn’t seem to be in immediate danger, but she could feel his lingering pain and exhaustion. That thorn of worry stayed buried beneath her surface thoughts.

The humans had left her alone after unceremoniously depositing her in the pen, which was provided with fresh hay and troughs for water and food. A wooden barrier marked the edges of her enclosure, and beyond it, she could see a door leading into a larger structure. When the door was open, she could make out the outlines of other pens, their contents too far to discern in detail. But wafting outwards was the undeniable scent of her kind.

Through the slats of her pen, she would catch glimpses of human figures bustling about. They would carry in buckets of water and feed sacks, and then leave with baskets of what could only be eggs, going by the rounded shapes.

For the first few days, Vikka continued to track the humans’ movements, cataloging their habits and routines. She wasn’t here to wallow or wait. She needed to learn, observe, and—when the time was right—act.

On the third evening, just as restlessness began to claw at her, Vikka was rudely awakened by two humans wrapping her in a sack. As she stirred within the confines of the rough fabric, she could feel and smell the presence of her sisters grow closer and more concentrated.

Through what she saw through the sackcloth and her shifting sense of orientation, Vikka figured they’d moved her to a pen deeper within the structure, beyond the door she had observed earlier. The sound of heavy footsteps receded as the humans exited, the door creaking shut behind them with a solid thud.

A loud trill cut through the ambient hum, snapping Vikka’s focus to attention. A shrill, honking kobold voice called out to her. Vikka’s instincts jolted to life, and for a fleeting moment, she felt an urge to respond. She easily shook it off as she wriggled out of the sack.

She began to explore her new surroundings and was shocked to discover that the pen was easily opened. Cautiously, she walked out into the larger, open area at the structure’s center, her claws at the ready.

She was even more surprised to come across a cluster of other kobolds gathered in a loose circle around a raised wooden platform. They were all plump and sluggish, their scales lacking the gleam that was the sign of a healthy, well-kept nest, or so the elders had kept telling them as hatchlings. The other kobolds barely paid her any attention. They were all focused on the figure reclining on a cushioned perch atop the platform.

It was a large, obscenely bloated female kobold, her corpulent form draped in what looked like a patchwork of human-made cloth. Her scales, once perhaps a deep green, were now muted and mottled with grayish patches. She radiated smug authority; her movements exaggerated and deliberate as if putting on an act for an audience.

Vikka’s lip curled in disgust as the kobold’s gaze landed on her.

“Ah, a new face!” cooed the bloated kobold, her voice lilting like a lullaby sung off-key. “Poor little stray hatchling. Don’t worry, my dear—you’ll find your place soon enough under my care. Let me, your kobold queen Grilsha, welcome you to the Brood Barn!”

Vikka bristled at the patronizing tone but said nothing. She stood rigid as the other kobolds swayed, their tuneless hums blending into a meaningless drone. It was less a melody and more an attempt at soothing themselves into numbed bliss. Whatever kind of kobold Grilsha was, Vikka knew in her scales that she was no true queen. She didn’t even have the right kind of horns, and most definitely not the proper aura.

Grilsha clapped her hands together, and the humming grew louder. “See? Isn’t it peaceful here? No struggles, no quarrels. Just warmth, food, and safety.”

“You think this kobold coop is safe?” Vikka looked around her hissed, her claws curling into fists. This wasn’t safety—it was subjugation.

Grilsha’s gaze sharpened. “Oh, don’t be so negative” she cooed. “The humans take care of us. We have everything we need. Isn’t that better than the endless scrabbling of the outside world?”

Vikka’s tail lashed behind her. She turned away, refusing to dignify the fake queen’s words with a response.

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The rest of the day passed in a haze of monotony. As evening fell, the humans entered the enclosure to deposit food or prod the kobolds into moving from one area to another. The kobolds put up no resistance. Grilsha remained at the center, leading the group in futile activities—singing repetitive songs, weaving flimsy baskets, and playing with the colorful trinkets and scraps that the humans threw her way.

Vikka watched in silence, her revulsion growing with every passing moment. These kobolds had lost all sense of themselves. They were no longer like the spirited, sociable sisterhood she had grown up in. They had become pets, their personalities dulled by complacency. She never thought she would ever miss Skaith’s good-natured empathy or even Ryrik’s prickly nagging. But here she was, stuck with even more mindless egg-layers in the Brood Barn. One really didn’t appreciate the caldera cradle until you left it for good.

Through the bond, she felt a faint ripple from Sylven—frustration and pain but overlaid by grim determination. She focused on that connection, drawing strength from it even as her situation threatened to suffocate her.

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As the light faded outside, Vikka sat alone, leaning against the wall, her claws idly scratching the wood as she scanned the dimly lit space. The hisses and hums of the strange hive were occasionally broken by the tuneless warbling of their discordant songs. Grilsha’s voice, deeper and more commanding than the others, rose above the din, leading the group in another nonsensical ditty.

It was as if these kobolds had forgotten what it meant to be in a real hive, governed by a true queen, Vikka thought, her tail waving irritably. Their music was hollow, their movements lethargic. Her nostrils flared, catching the faint, sulfuric scent of eggs. But they still continued to lay, however pointless the effort.

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She looked over the makeshift nests scattered around the barn until it landed on a curious figure near Grilsha. He was a male, which meant he was noticeably smaller than the others. In contrast to the females, his scales were polished to an unnatural sheen, as though he spent far too much time grooming himself. A strip of patterned cloth, clearly human-made, was tied jauntily around his neck, while loops of shiny wire adorned several of his claws, clinking with his every overly dramatic gesture. His dainty movements and giggles made her eyes narrow in suspicion.

“What’s up with him?” Vikka muttered aloud, forgetting for a moment that no one was listening.

Through the slats, a voice hissed softly from the pen next to hers. “That’s Tibbin,” said a small kobold with sharp, alert eyes that darted nervously toward Grilsha before returning to Vikka. “The queen’s favorite, or so he likes to think. He’s harmless. Mostly.”

Vikka turned to get a better look at the speaker. This kobold was younger and slimmer than the rest, her green-tinged scales brighter, though a faint tremor in her tail betrayed her nervousness.

“And who are you?” Vikka asked, tilting her head.

“Nynka,” she replied, her voice cautious. “Got here just before you. Haven’t… settled in yet.” Her eyes looked back toward the group surrounding Grilsha, her tone hopeful as she added, “And now that there’s another kobold like you who I can talk to, not sure I ever will.”

Vikka’s interest was piqued. “Glad to hear it. I’m Vikka,” she offered, walking over to sit next to the other kobold. “So… you haven’t joined their little choir?”

Nynka snorted softly, an almost defiant sound quickly stifled. “Not much for caterwauling nonsense. Besides, I’m not ready.” She gestured vaguely to her midsection. “Haven’t laid yet. They don’t pay much attention to you until you do.”

Vikka’s tail lashed against the floor. “So, they just wait for you to push one out then take you in?”

Nynka hesitated, her claws tapping against the wooden slats of her pen. “Grilsha’s good at making things… easier for us,” she admitted reluctantly. “She says the humans like us better docile. When we’re useful. It’s less trouble than trying to fight them. The others seem happy enough.”

“Happy?” Vikka repeated, incredulous. “Is that what you call this—this twisted parody of our cradle?”

Nynka glanced at Grilsha, who was now stroking Tibbin’s head as he preened and made charming little noises. “I call it survival,” she said quietly. “But I don’t think you do.”

Vikka’s realized that there was something about Nynka—an edge, a flicker of resistance—that bolstered her own nerve. “No,” she admitted. “I don’t.”

Nynka frowned, as though puzzled by her own reaction. “You’re different,” she said after a moment. “The way you talk. The way you look at them.” She hesitated, then leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “It’s like you know something we’ve forgotten.”

Vikka didn’t answer immediately. Her thoughts drifted to the Cradle Caverns, the strong song of the queen, and the pride that had once coursed through her veins. She straightened slightly, meeting Nynka’s gaze. “Maybe I do,” she said.

The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy with meaning neither of them fully grasped. Nynka shifted uncomfortably, as though something deep inside her had stirred her will.

Vikka’s brow furrowed as she watched Tibbin strut over to one of the kobolds in the corner, a sly grin curling his lips. The female there clutched an egg protectively, but when he whispered something to her, she glanced at Grilsha and, in exchange for a colorful scrap of material, reluctantly handed the egg over. Tibbin cradled it delicately, his posture a perfect mimicry of a proud egg-layer.

Curiosity sparked, Vikka edged closer, peering through the gaps in the slats. Tibbin held the egg aloft, nearly tripping over his own tail in his eagerness, muttering something about it being “worthy of the queen’s approval.” He trotted back to Grilsha, presenting the egg with a flourish. The false queen patted him indulgently on the head.

Vikka nudged Nynka, using her tail to point out the crooked couple and a claw to carve out a question mark.

“Tibbin’s the only male here and the queen’s “consort”, but really more like her jester,” Nynka hissed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “He’s devoted to flattering her and keeping her amused. He then uses her favor to ask for extra eggs from us to offer the humans. Claims it’s all part of some grand plan to keep us in their good graces. Not that they can even seem to tell or care that he’s a male who can only push poo out of his cloaca.”

Tibbin spun on his heel, catching sight of Vikka and Nynka watching him. His golden eyes widened briefly before narrowing with suspicion. Then, with an effete sway of his hips, he sauntered over to them.

“Well, well,” Tibbin cooed, his voice high-pitched and overly sweet. “A new face. And such a dreadfully sour one at that. Haven’t you learned to smile, darling? The queen prefers her subjects cheerful.”

“I wasn’t ever much for smiling for no good reason, even back in our real hive,” Vikka shot back, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Such venom! How delightful,” Tibbin gasped theatrically, clutching at the ribbon around his neck in mock alarm. “Oh, but I do love a challenge. Queen Grilsha warned me about you. Said you’d be trouble.”

“And you’re not?” Vikka retorted, her tail tapping against the floor.

“Oh, I’m the queen’s favorite, my dear,” Tibbin said with a haughty smirk. “I know how to keep things running smoothly around here. Smiles and songs for food and favors, eggs for the humans. It’s all about keeping everyone happy.”

“By pretending to be something you’re not?” Vikka’s eyes darted to the frilly cloth around his neck. “Do you even know who you are anymore?”

For a brief moment, something flickered across Tibbin’s face—embarrassment, perhaps, or even fear. But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual bravado.

“I know exactly who I am,” Tibbin said tartly. “And I know how to stay on top. Maybe you should try it sometime, instead of scowling like an old kobold who can’t lay anymore.”

Vikka's eyes narrowed. 'You do realize that actual egg-layers don't need to ask for the eggs of others, right?'

With that, Tibbin turned on his heel and sashayed back to Grilsha’s side, where he resumed his role. His comical antics, particularly his playful mimicry of the human woman’s movements, earned him giggles from the other kobolds. But he kept glancing furtively at the two unimpressed kobolds sitting apart from the group.

Vikka watched him go. For all his pretense and pomp, Tibbin was a reminder of how far they’d fallen. Yet, there was something about him she couldn’t quite place—something that stirred both irritation and a grudging respect. Perhaps it was his audacity. Or the faint glimmer of desperation beneath his artifice that made her wonder if, like her, he was willing to do anything, just to feel like he was accomplishing something beyond just surviving.

Nynka stayed silent throughout Tibbin’s flamboyant display, but her occasional glances at Vikka betrayed her growing discomfort with the farce.

As soon as he stopped watching them, she hissed to Vikka, “He’s not half as clever as he thinks he is.”

Vikka glances at her, noting the tension in her frame. “No,” she agreed. “But he’s just clever enough to find a safe, comfortable place in this hive, no matter how fake and twisted it all is.”

Nynka’s tail twitched uneasily. “That’s exactly what I thought. But when I first got here nobody wanted to talk about how unnatural things are. Especially Grilsha and Tibbin.”

“That figures,” Vikka said, her voice firm. "They have the most to lose."

Nynka blinked, as though startled by her own words. She fell silent after that, but the glint of resistance in her eyes lingered, faint but growing.

Vikka’s claws curled into tight fists, her resolve crystallizing. This wasn’t her place. It was a mockery—a hollow shell of everything a hive was meant to be. She refused to let it take her over.

Through the bond, she sent a single thought to Sylven: I’m not staying here. We’re getting out.

A faint pulse of agreement answered her, carrying a sense of shared purpose.

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The next morning, Vikka awoke to the sound of heavy boots stomping through the barn. She sat up and looked out just in time to see Tibbin standing proudly by his pen, holding one of his commandeered eggs like a trophy.

“Egg!” he chirped, presenting it to one of the humans with a dramatic flourish.

The human hesitated slightly as if puzzled. Then she crouched down and took the offering, her massive hand engulfing the egg, barely giving it a glance before adding it to the pile in her basket and moving on.

Vikka couldn’t suppress a laugh as Tibbin’s proud expression wavered. The human’s indifference was obvious—they didn’t seem to care much about his fawning manner or the condition of the eggs beyond collecting them. Nor did they seem to notice or question Tibbin’s pretense regarding his laying capabilities.

Grilsha waddled over as the humans did their rounds, a smug grin on her face. “Well done, Tibbin. Another successful delivery.”

“They didn’t even look at it properly,” Tibbin muttered, his tail drooping.

“They don’t need to,” Grilsha said breezily. “As long as they think we’re doing what they want, they’ll keep us fed and cozy.”

Tibbin’s shoulders straightened, and he puffed out his chest. “That’s true! Our queen always knows what’s best! And I’ve helped keep us in their good graces, haven’t I?”

Grilsha patted his head condescendingly. “You’ve done marvelously, my little herald. We’re lucky to have you.”

From her pen, Vikka shook her head, a mix of exasperation and hilarity at their ridiculous situation bubbling in her chest.