Chapter 4 – Crossroads
The Sunshy campfire crackled softly, its faint light casting flickering shadows over the gathered group. Sylven sat cross-legged among his kin, listening intently as Sennith, a wiry Sunshy with a perpetual smirk, recounted his harrowing adventure.
“I’d been watching them for days,” Sennith said, his voice low and measured. “Their guards have a rhythm—patrolling at intervals, they always leave the entrance open for a few paces, around twenty breaths, before another one circles back. You could time it perfectly and sneak right in. I had it all mapped out.” He spread his hands, as if showcasing the elegance of his plan.
“What went wrong?” Sylven asked, leaning forward.
Sennith scowled, the faint firelight glinting off his sun-bronzed skin. “One of them. A female. She wasn’t supposed to be there. The last guard just left his post and then she suddenly came out of nowhere. She looked too young to be a guard, no weapons. Must’ve been sneaking out for something, but she threw everything off. Kept trying to look for me too. I had to cast blur, grab what I could and bounce.”
From his pouch, Sennith withdrew a collection of items: broken shards of eggshell, a handful of shiny pebbles, a single colorful bead, and a clump of shimmering kobold scales. The group murmured in interest, though some looks carried faint disappointment.
“You didn’t even get a whole eggshell or candle?” one of them asked.
Sennith’s smirk returned, though it was tinged with irritation. “If I’d stayed, I’d have been caught—or worse. No, being caught would be way worse than being squished. Those kobolds are faster than they look when they really go after you. Strong, too. You don’t realize how much until one throws a boulder at your head. The older ones don’t seem to bother too much with chasing us, they’re more obsessed with warming the eggs that look like they’re about to hatch. But some of the younger, smaller ones seem to think it would be fun to squish a shy.”
Sylven’s mind raced, piecing together the details. A narrow entrance, a rhythm to their patrols, different. He could almost see it. “Good to know,” he said more to himself than to the group around the fire.
“You think you could do better?” Sennith caught his remark, his smirk directed at Sylven now.
“Thanks to your scouting ahead, I’m not running in blind,” Sylven replied.
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Later that evening, after the fire had dwindled, Sylven approached Sennith as he cleaned his gear.
“How close did you get to the eggs? How do you know one’s good to grab?” Sylven asked, his voice low.
Sennith glanced up, his smirk faint. “The cavern is pretty bright inside—egg-candles everywhere. Big fire for warmth. Had to hide behind a few eggs they just left lying around, those are the ones they don’t care about too much. But it’s not the eggs you have to worry about. It’s them.”
“The kobolds?”
Sennith nodded, his expression serious. “They work together. Strong. Quick. Sharp claws. The one that spotted me was still kinda small, maybe around five shy tall at most, but she almost knocked me flat with her tail and snagged me with a claw if I hadn’t blurred and bounced.”
Sylven frowned, filing the details away. “And the entrance? How long does it stay open?”
“Not long,” Sennith replied. “You’ll need to be faster than them—and quieter, but that isn’t too hard. Just hope that one of them doesn’t decide to pop out for a stroll.”
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As dawn broke, Sylven was already packing his gear near the edge of the camp, looking out over the protected paths that the Shy could safely take between settlements. Whisker stood nearby, his harness modified for the journey with various carrying pockets and pouches. Not wanting to further stress the creature, the blurstring snare Sylven had used on the pika was coiled and hidden inside his personal pack. Since its Arclith charge was drained and it was no longer needed to catch a mount, he ought to trade it for other gear better suited for the egg heist.
“You really think you can pull this off?” asked Saera, still chewing her breakfast.
Sylven glanced up, his expression calm. “I’m not going to make the same mistakes as Sennith at least.”
Torran stepped out from their family yurt, sidling over toward Whisker and giving him a gentle pat. “Better hope he’s up for it. You’ll need both speed and coordination more than anything if you’re carrying an egg back. They’re more cumbersome than you think.”
Sylven nodded, tightening the last strap on Whisker’s harness. He knew the stakes— the short window of opportunity, the size and weight of the kobold egg, its value and meaning.
But he also knew he couldn’t turn back. The Daring Rite was his chance to prove himself as a Sunshy of worth, and he didn’t want to wait a whole other year for the next Big Mix.
“Let’s go,” Sylven murmured, his hand brushing Whisker’s side. The pika twitched but followed, his steps reluctant but steady.
As they set off toward Mossgrove Dell, Sylven’s thoughts lingered on Sennith’s tale, pondering the ferocity of the kobold warriors, and the sure-to-be mad dash back to safety. “I’ll be ready,” he swore. But why was it that he felt a bit more nervous about heading to a Middler settlement to deal with his fellow Shykind compared to infiltrating and escaping a nest of hostile kobolds?
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Pulled by two trained, armored plowhogs who served both as transport and defense, Murdo steered the Thistlebranch trading cart out of the passage leading away from Glowmarket. The settlement’s trading exit was well-disguised by thick ferns that overlapped seamlessly unless you knew exactly where to push them aside. If they were to squeeze through two layers of carefully placed thickets, they would be treated to a view of the wide expanse of lush prairie stretched across the caldera, dotted with clusters of rocky outcroppings and small groves of trees and bushes. But the Thistlebranch caravan evaded any patches open to the sun and sky, sticking to carefully plotted and disguised tunnels and covered paths that snaked through various natural and Shy-made hides, outposts and shelters, that were manned by Sunshy scouts or lookouts at reassuringly regular intervals. In the distance, the caldera rim rose like a jagged crown, its peaks veiled in mist.
Menna sat at the front of the cart beside her brother Murdo, her satchel balanced on her lap. She flipped through her notes, reviewing their stocks and arrangements to get ready for the market ahead. It would take around a day and a half until they reached Mossgrove Dell, the last trade stop before they returned home to Rootshadow, where preparations for the Big Mix would already be underway.
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Her father, Kerren mostly walked alongside the cart, his easy stride unbothered by the occasionally rough terrain and stick-thin rays of sun that shone through random holes among the protective shroud of the Shyways. Her mother, Ellanna, sat primly among the shadows at the back of the cart, her expression one of polite disinterest as she adjusted her cloak to shield her exposed skin from even the faint illumination that managed to filter through.
“Hold on tight to the ledgers and other important items out by the front, Menna,” Ellanna nagged. “Once the hogs hit their stride, if we drop anything it’s such a bother to get them to stop, turn around, then start up again. We can’t afford any more delays.”
“Of course,” Menna replied, though she fought back a sigh. “In case that happens though, and we drop something really important, we can always just tell the next Sunshy scout to signal to the last one to ride along the path, pick it up, and pass it on until it reaches us. Remember the last time when you accidentally threw out your Koboldscale comb?”
“I thought it was a bug that had flown in! You know I can’t see too well back here! If only you two would let me use the Arclith for light,” Ellana protested.
“It’s ridiculous to waste a charge inside the caravan when it’s perfectly bright enough outside!” Kerren chuckled, catching Menna’s expression. “Don’t let her fussing get to you, Menna. Just keep everything running smooth, and we’ll be back in Rootshadow before you know it.”
Menna nodded, her thoughts drifting back to home and how the preparations for the Concord Crossing must be going.
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The day wore on and the Shyways started getting dark enough that they were considering hanging up the Mooncaps and triggering their Arclamps. As the cart rounded a rocky knoll known to be a regular campsite for the Sunshy, the Thistlebranches heard the reassuring sound of pika pawbeats approaching, although it seemed to be going faster than a regular scout on patrol. Menna’s heart sank when she saw who was riding toward them.
Sylven, perched on the back of his new mount, waved with exaggerated cheer. Whisker’s ears flicked irritably, his nose twitching as they came to a stop beside the cart.
“Well, if it isn’t the Thistlebranch traders,” Sylven said, his grin as wide as the caldera.
“Sunshy boy! I remember you from our last circuit, you brought us some pretty nice feathers and pelts,” Kerren called out. “Looks like you’ll be a Sunbrave soon. That’s a lively mount you’ve tamed.” He was about to give Whisker a pat but had to step back to avoid getting poked in the eye by the pika’s longest whisker.”
Sylven dismounted and shook the trader’s hand. “Lively he is, but not quite fully tamed yet,” he explained. He then turned towards Menna sitting up in the cart and winked.
Menna crossed her arms. “What are you doing under the Shyways? I thought the Sunshy preferred to ride with the sun on their backs and the wind on their faces.”
“I’m heading to Mossgrove Dell,” Sylven replied, patting the bundles strapped to Whisker’s saddle. “Need to trade for some gear. The outpost noted a caravan passing through so I thought I might as well provide an escort.”
“What kind of supplies do you need that would force you to mix with us Middlers?” Menna asked, arms crossed even tighter.
Sylven’s smile didn’t falter. “Not just any supplies. I’m preparing for the Daring Rite.”
Murdo let out an impressed whistle. “I don’t know how you Sunshy can still smile about all your dangerous duties! When I was your age, not that long ago, my hardest battle was against a bunch of aphids snacking on our watercress stocks,” he shared good-naturedly. “So… What Dare did you go for?”
Looking Menna in the eye, Sylven crossed his arms and squared his shoulders. “I’m bringing back an egg from the kobold nest.”
Ellanna’s gasp was loud enough to be heard outside the cart, breaking the momentary silence. “Kobolds!” she cried, her tone scandalized. “If I ever see a monster that enormous, my heart would just stop!”
Kerren laughed and peeked into the cart to check on his wife. “It’s not all about size. We Shy have speed and smarts to make up for it. But I believe that among our kind, only the Sunshy could pull off such feats. It’s a rite of honor, isn’t it?”
Sylven nodded, his grin shifting into something more resolute. “It’s what we’re trained for. But the rite is also meant to teach us more about being careful and prepared, to balance risks.”
“And the prize of an intact kobold egg is a risk well worth taking, with all that you can do with it,” Murdo affirmed. “It would almost be worth our entire caravan. Maybe even more, depending on whether some rich Deepshy is desperate enough for one.”
“I think I need to correct your calculations, my dear brother,” Menna interjected. “We’ve already dealt the equivalent value of several kobold shells without having exhausted all our stocks.”
“But those are just shells, broken bits that you can sometimes find and pick up without having to go all the way inside the nest,” Sylven argued.
Ellanna answered this time, her tone clipped as she parted the canvas covering to peek at the Sunshy youth. “The shells you’ve seen may be mere fragments that we’d normally used as currency, or to craft jewelry and other ornaments. But you should know that the Deepshy wouldn’t openly reveal their more important, esoteric uses. When I last visited my Grand Aunt, the famed lith-crafter Nyssa Velris, years before I met Kerren, she once hinted to me that she used kobold shells in her work. But the details would not be knowledge they would share lightly, even to blood. You’d have to earn it.”
“Aye, a whole egg is more valuable than most Shy realize,” Kerren nodded, gesturing to Sylven to return to his mount and resume the journey. “The yolk, for instance—vital for certain alchemical brews, healing draughts, and who knows what else those deep city doctors can mix up. And the whites? I’ve been told that they’re used to build and reinforce tunnels and structures. Helps turn dirt into walls as hard as stone. That’s why you rarely see whole eggs traded among us Middleshy. The few that the Sunshy can steal go straight to the highest bidders, and it’s always somebody way down in the Deep, with even deeper pockets.”
Menna frowned, glancing at Sylven. “It may be worth the risks, but aren’t there easier ways to prove yourself?”
Sylven shrugged and rolled his eyes as the Middler girl. “It’s not supposed to be easy. That’s the point.”
Before the tension between the two young Shy could further escalate, Kerren tapped Murdo to scoot over and let him take over the reins, pushing Menna out of her direct view of Sylven’s exasperated expression.
“I fear our current pace may be too slow for our gallant escort. Let’s get the plowhogs up to full speed so we won’t delay him too much from his quest. Besides, the Concord Crossing waits for no Shy,” the Middler trader winked at his daughter.
Menna thought of the upcoming gathering, and all the effort everyone was putting to impress some snooty, stuck-up muckety-mucks. The Sunshy’s audacious attitude may be grating, but there was a part of her—a small, quiet part—that envied their boldness, and just how simple and direct his path to gaining favor was. Bring back the egg of a slow, stupid lizard-creature. Big digging deal.
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Like a hive, the kobold colony buzzed with domestic, nurturing activities. Female kobolds took turns tending to the eggs warming in the nesting chambers, their claws rotating the shells with practiced care. Others wove bedding or clothing from dried grasses and moss fibers, or chipped at stones to make tools, their movements rhythmic and steady. At regular intervals, males or females beyond laying age would bring up harvests of nourishing fungus from the farming caves, or bring in nutritious roots, tubers, slugs and snails from the gardens they tended in a tight perimeter around the Cradle Caverns. When females were well-fed, calm, and content, they laid more and larger eggs. The more viable eggs and healthy hatchlings they had to care for, the more blissed out and productive the females were. It was an almost perfect feedback mechanism that kept every kobold happily tied to the colony.
Vikka sat slightly apart from the others, her tail curled tightly around her feet. She could feel the weight of the egg pressing against her lower back, a constant reminder of the thing she didn’t want.
She glanced toward the other females, their faces alight with quiet pride as they worked. Their gazes flickered to their eggs every so often, their tails swishing with contentment. Vikka didn’t feel it. She didn’t feel anything but the growing certainty that the egg was a chain, one she couldn’t bear to wear.
Her claws tapped against the stone floor as she thought. The queen wouldn’t notice one egg missing—especially not an unfertilized one. Vikka could hide it, discard it, pretend it had never existed. The thought cut through like a knife, but it settled in her mind like a puzzle piece sliding into place.
If she did this, she could be free, or at least less shackled to the same old traditional routines. She could disappear into the tasks that other kobolds rarely took—farming, crafting, even scouting beyond the edges of the cavern perimeter. Free to explore, to experiment, to devote her time and energy something that wasn’t just meant for a nest or hatchling.
She flexed her claws, her tail curling tighter. I’ll do it, she thought. I’ll get rid of it. And no one will know.