By my best guess, this bathhouse served as a playground for highborn kobolds. Most of their levels stood in the high single digits, and a few reached the teens. Half wore Rings of Obedience, and the other half wore amulets. Level 2 food and water bearers scurried about, serving their larger brethren.

  Bix waved away a water bearer as he scanned the bathers. We went to adjoining baths and did the same until he spotted a group of amulet-bearing rats gathered around a large stone table. They glistened with wetness from swimming or showering in a nearby waterfall. None wore armor or weapons, but a few wore jewelry. While Bix’s pear-shaped profile showed a lack of physical fitness, these highborn looked downright corpulent, leading me to believe we’d reach an understanding without further violence. These guys looked to be in no shape to fight.

  They received Bix cooly initially, but the squeaking grew more insistent when some directed their attention toward me.

  Deciding my ruse had run its course, I tossed back my hood and pulled open my cassock to show my mithril chest plate. I equipped Creeper and my Wall of Wind shield for good measure. A spear and shield seemed to be appropriate tools for initiating diplomacy.

  The group’s squeaking grew louder, and several waddled away, under arches and into the tunnels before I could decide how to react. While some highborns showed agitation, others appeared indignant over the intrusion. I’d invaded their safe zone.

  It seemed best to wait and see if Bix won his parley. I grew weary of fighting, and violence amongst these nobles might harm Hawkhurst relations irreparably.

  More highborns emerged from the baths and observed the interaction—curious bathers filled the space under the archways.

  When their squeaks turned to hisses, I’d decided the debate hadn’t progressed as I’d hoped.

  I closed my eyes, blasted a dose of Presence, and observed their reactions through my infravision necklace.

  The room exploded in a chorus of high-pitched squeaks. Some onlookers hurried away, while others covered their faces with their forepaws. One highborn plopped into the bathwater with a splash, drawing disapproving grimaces from its companions.

  I canceled my spell, opened my eyes, and approached the level 14 highborn who seemed in charge of the opposition block—his nameplate read Bratatat the Mover.

  When Bratatat opened his eyes, I leveled the sternest stare I could muster. It conveyed an unmistakable message. “I’ve got ten ways to kill you, pal. I only need an excuse.”

  “Take me to the Graytooth King.” I made the crown gesture with my hands.

  Though Bratatat squinted, he seemed to understand. He lowered his ears, bowed, and raised his paws. Whatever happened, it appeared I’d won. He made waving gestures, and Bix beckoned me to an archway leading out of the bathhouse.

  We took a downward slope. The rustling of the crowd followed behind. Everyone wanted to see what would happen when I reached the big cheese. The kobolds quietly squeaked as they followed, and I picked up an increase in their energy. As we walked, I watched for changes in my campaign status about quelling the kobold threat, but the interface window showed no progress.

  The architecture featured masonry, but the bulk of it used simple earthwork. The kobolds used stones only for the floors and archways over doors. Hard-packed dirt held together by a mesh of woven roots formed an arched ceiling. Perhaps the smell of the earth made them feel comfortable, but the care they put into their environment provided a hopeful sign they wanted to live—and comfort-seeking creatures might be more reasonable.

  We passed highborns surrounded by low-level servants. Squeaks increased whenever someone saw me, and the train following me grew longer with every room. I’d finally acquired a rat tail.

  When my map interface displayed the words Graytooth Palace Receiving Room, I knew we’d arrived in the right place.

  Bix conferred with a group beneath a large open archway. As they spoke, I admired the architecture. A central earthen pillar wide enough to block the sight of anyone on the opposite side stood in the center of the donut-shaped space. Above, more window-like apertures ringed the ceiling’s perimeter, perfect for eavesdropping courtly conversations. It served as a parlor for anyone waiting to meet the sovereign.

  The bigger rooms had ceilings tapering to a point, much like the silo-shaped sleeping chamber. This shape was, I supposed, the most structurally sound way to hollow spaces in the earth. Reminiscent of the silo, the apex of these conical ceilings had overlooking windows. It reminded me of the spot where Fabulosa had given me cover in the panopticon. I’d benefit from no area-of-effect artillery fire down here.

  I’d lost Bix in the crowd of kobolds, but the procession migrated toward another high-ceilinged room. When I entered, my interface updated the area name to Graytooth Throne Room Antechamber.

  Rotten leather armor, rusty weapons, and emblems hung from the central pillar. Helms and shields rusted amongst the other trophies, but none looked valuable or well-made. This junk provided the first signs of decoration in the entire complex, and I could only guess at their significance.

  Dripping candles clung to the armaments, providing the room’s only light source. They gave little light, boding well for the potential of Presence to blind anyone trying to fight me. Perhaps this gloom explained why Winterbyte carried this infravision necklace. If she had dealt with the ratfolk, infravision would have been essential.

  The rats led me to three earthen arches reinforced by masonry. The narrow openings didn’t befit regal proportions, but packed earth required structural compromises. Red curtains flanked the central archway. They weren’t clean, but any color down here passed as ostentatious. I assumed the three arches led to the throne room.

  A crowd of kobolds wearing amulets and rings entered the room from the third arch. They dressed like beggars—far better than anyone else—but carried themselves like dignitaries. Dozens of them surrounded a tall person with an overbite, large ears, and a generous nose. Her high cheekbones and shallow eyes completed her rodentlike appearance.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  I couldn’t read what lay behind her mad eyes, but Suellen Collins had once been human. She counted as the first lycanthrope I’d seen in Miros.

  When she approached, I realized she wasn’t tall—she was thin. Although she had a tail, her silhouette lacked the girthy hindquarters of highborns. Her ragged clothes, frail frame, and vacant look gave her an undead mystique. Her misshapen features looked human enough to convey a malevolent temperament as if she might lash out without provocation. The wererat persistently curled her lip, and one of her eyes focused to the side, making it hard to follow her gaze.

  A thin band of metal crossed her forehead.

  Her place at the helm explained why the kobolds reorganized things. Maybe it wasn’t easy for another species to control an entire nation of kobolds. That explained the obedience items. The dormitories made sense if kobolds proved too hard to police in individual homes, accounting for the abandoned rooms and construction. Humans shaped their cities through streets, so perhaps this wererat reshaped the kobold homeland into something more familiar to her.

  The madness in Suellen’s eyes extinguished hopes of diplomacy. As she stared at me, I mentally erased plans to negotiate across a table like reasonable people.

  Suellen Collins punctuated this thought with a command using words from the Common Tongue. “Kill him.” She might be crazy and vicious, but at least we could communicate.

  I put up my hands. “Wait, before we—”

  Kobolds didn’t understand Common, but they obeyed whatever impulses the crown issued. The congregation rushed in a single motion as if every kobold stepped toward me in unison. I froze time with my interface to delay them from taking a second step. My day’s diplomacy track record wasn’t exemplary, and I couldn’t afford more mistakes. Though low-level creatures surrounded me, I didn’t have enough spread-damage spells like Fireball couldn’t kill them all. After nearly dying in a fight against farmers, I couldn’t possibly defeat a kingdom by myself.

  About twenty feet of space separated me from the wererat. Even though every kobold faced me, none came between us. The frozen scene vaguely reminded me of a formally posed historical painting. The congestion of their numbers gave me an idea, and I pulled out a weapon I hadn’t used before.

  I wouldn’t need to kill them all. My adversary served as the head of the snake, and if I could dispatch Suellen and snatch the metal band off her head, perhaps I could stop everyone from tearing me to pieces.

  The last line in the Crown of Obedience’s description worried me. Charmed creatures had vague limits to what they would do, but it wasn’t clear what charmed kobolds wouldn’t do. They showed adeptness to cruelty, bullying, and servitude. Kobolds also worked together well in combat, making them ideal creatures to charm.

  But using Common to issue my death warrant convinced me I could quell them with my own commands. Language would not be a barrier.

  I knew of one thing contrary to their nature. I closed my interface, squinted my eyes, and cast Presence. The host of citizens universally turned their heads and shielded their faces with their furry forepaws. A crescendo of squeals protested the brilliance, and I half-expected the Deafened debuff to appear from the clamor.

  Even Suellen averted her eyes.

  I wasted no time in Charging the wererat’s flank, running straight toward her with my Lance of Commitment. The weapon gave me a bonus for every step taken toward my target. This weapon forced linear movement until I struck a target, but I reasoned that if the wererat dodged or I misjudged the angle of attack, I could impale one of the highborn kobolds surrounding her.

  And yet, my aim was true. Ten steps of running with the lance gave me +100 damage. Charge awarded +1 damage for every 2 ranks in piercing weapons, so my additive bonus damage reached 110. Fighting inside a foreign settlement doubled my opening attack’s damage to 262. As I tabulated the damage, I made a mental note to inform Fabulosa about the new record. Unfortunately, I didn’t critically hit, or the fight would have ended there.

  Eliminating over half of my enemy’s health in one shot made for a promising start. However, the wererat reacted quicker than I expected. Her agility must have been off the charts. Before I could put away my lance and equip Creeper, the lycanthrope leaped outside my melee range.

  I saved Slipstream for such occasions. Using the spell to position myself behind the creature, I landed a backstab with my spear. I scored a critical hit for 108.

  The lycanthrope had only a quarter of her health when she slashed me for 22 damage with her claws and bounded over a crowd of highborns. The wererat hadn’t attempted a bite, making me wonder why she wouldn’t want to convert me into another lycanthrope. Perhaps becoming a wererat meant I’d be stronger, faster, or placed myself in the line of succession. Before I could react, someone blew a whistle.

  I pursued the elusive usurper until Suellen’s eyes adjusted to Presence. Soon, she lost me in the crowd, whose ineffectual attacks only prevented me from closing in on my quarry.

  The wererat circled the central pillar, using the obstacle to delay my next attack. Every passing second brought more kobolds into the fray. Assuming I survived, what treaty could we make after this point?

  I needed to finish this crazy game of duck-duck-goose before I spilled noble blood.

  A new danger emerged from between the arch with red curtains.

  I should have guessed there might be an augmented version of the many-legged rodent. The greater ratipede moved like a small ward worm, except its segments bore fur, and rat paws propelled it. Its name formed from the words “rat” and “centipede,” but the monstrosity had only 40 legs. It stood as long as a Chinese dragon—it only lacked firecrackers.

  Since I illuminated the space, it had no problem finding me, and its bite inflicted 34 points of damage. Rows of claws swatted at me but caused negligible damage.

  Things got worse when the creature body-checked me from reaching the fleeing wererat.