The upper district of Lahf’ikon held nothing else special in its grasp. The architecture was more detailed than its lower counterpart, but in its detail came more signs of the siege that had decimated it. Arnzos searched for traces of life. He pushed away web covered corpses and bygone boulders. Slashed through expanding brush and territorial herbage. He came across bootprints near a mossy footpath, in between two giant green monuments.

  The evidence of his travels here pointed to these monuments being temples. Other obelisks and totems were plenty. Some of the corpses even bowed to the monuments in their deathly states. Like it would save them from the destruction of their prized city. Clearly it didn't, but Arnzos did not judge. In his many times of crisis, he reached out to powers beyond him as well. Regardless of whether he believed in them before. He couldn’t stray from his objective for long.

  Arnzos crouched down to the prints. Tracing his talon along the embedded sole marks. “I’d say these are around a day old.”

  “Can you tell if they were leaving? Or if they continued exploring?” Phyletta asked.

  Arnzos gazed beyond the footpath, past the obelisks a dozen feet away, and into the distance. He estimated it was half a mile away—that being a spire built of crystal. Dirty, grimy crystal, but still crystal all the same. It towered up to fifty yards in the sky. Jagged points hung out from the structure and it rounded out at the peak with a belfry that was the shape of an upside down spinning top. Before he looked away, he swore he saw something pass by the belfry. An outline that moved. A humongous outline.

  As the dracokin turned his head back to the prints, he saw the boot tips pointing toward the spire. With that knowledge, the team likely traveled toward the spire. There were plenty of exits where Arnzos came from, but it seemed there weren’t many up ahead. Where he was going. If Waterfowl’s team ventured through the ironclad entry doors, like he did, they probably wouldn’t gamble on searching for a way out in unknown territory.

  Arnzos had his answer for Phyletta. An educated guess. “I think they continued exploring. That tower up ahead seems promising.”

  “I’m sure they thought so as well,” she responded.

  “Or they currently think so. As in… they haven’t left.”

  A few seconds later, Arnzos flinched at a loud, guttural cry. Like the wail of a soon-to-be-dead man. It echoed through the spire’s top and out into the Lahf’ikon air. Though, he never heard a mortal make that sort of noise before. It sounded closer to a beast than a person. It rattled his bones and made his heart jump from his chest. Now anxious, he dove for cover behind a gray obelisk. Waiting for a minute, then peeking out.

  Again, the outline trudged past the tiny opening in the belfry. Arnzos thought about all manner of creature that could be huddled up there. An impurity. A glethrip. Or even… a type of wyrm.

  [“I pray Lord Palmgrease’s coat is worth as much as you think it is.”] Phyletta messaged him.

  Arnzos began to creep, following the sole marks. Leading him west. [“It’s about more than the jacket now. I’m getting my horse and my saber back.”]

  The bluescale and his spirit companion inched their way down the plain road. They passed more simple huts and hovels of cubic architecture, until they reached the surroundings of the crystal spire. The other homes in Lahf’ikon were in terrible shape, but compared to those in the vicinity of the spire…

  Well, the other homes seemed brand new.

  Arnzos had no way to tell what used to surround the spire. He saw the stone that comprised every other building here, but only in ruined chunks. Like a tornado had swept through the area. After it had been firebombed by a pyromancer too. This must have been a central location for the fighting, the dracokin thought. Natural disasters might have explained the decimation, but Milosk was here once, and that was explanation enough. He tiptoed through a destroyed arch. Eyeing the spire’s balcony like a hawk preying on fish.

  Then, an elastic hand shut Arnzos’ mouth. He felt a dagger brush by his neck. Any more force from this mysterious person and blood would spill from his throat. “Is brain damaged?” the person whispered. “Klougher up there. Sensitive. Move back with me, or you crushed.”

  In his peripheral vision, he saw black reptilian skin atop the hand covering his mouth. Softer than a dracokin’s rough scales, so this person had to be a lyzanite. Aipo. Arnzos shifted his calculated demeanor to something more shaky. He went from Arnzos the mercenary to his persona of Drezos, the cowardly knight of Butcherie. He shook and sniffled as the lyzanite guided him away from the tower.

  While Arnzos acted to the best of his ability, he got a glimpse of Aipo’s self. The lyzanite had springy black skin, with the appearance of scales but the texture of rubber. His large, purple eyes pierced whatever they looked at. Lyzanites had the appearance of a gecko mixed with a human, but Aipo was even more abnormal than that. His right nostril drooped. A bump on his head projected from the usual ridges. It looked as if his left eye would fall out from his skull at any moment.

  The dracokin wondered why Aipo had such an odd appearance—whether it was from injury or sickness or just plain bad luck. Could have been a poor draw from his bloodline.

  Regardless, Arnzos put on his performance as a meek knight of Palmgrease “Are y-you from Waterfowl’s t-team?” he said quietly.

  “Save talk for soon. Follow me.” Aipo replied.

  The two of them stuck to a road that followed along the border of the ruins’ massive ramparts. Aipo took him across an alley—where a cruder pathway ran free like the brush that encompassed it. At the end, a lone structure stood. Well-kept for one that existed in such a perilous region. Besides the huge hole that almost carved out the southern wall.

  The structure’s base was rectangular, with a smaller cube on top acting as its second floor. Yet again, the signature Lahf’ikon stone shone beneath the light. In the structure, Arnzos could see engravings of… letters? Perhaps words of a language he did not understand. They hung above the place’s opening—in the center of it. Likely an indication of the purpose it served. Aipo continued. So did his new companion.

  They entered the opening. Stepping on the hard red clay that made up the structure’s floor. Its interior was rougher than its exterior; shavings of the inside decayed and peeled from their place. Webs, dust, and bugs of all kinds enjoyed their habitat, as Arnzos swatted a few away from his face. The spiraling hallway they set foot in guided them to the main room.

  Old racks made of a withered clay held weapons and shields long rusted. Ripped flags and banners hung like corpses. Arnzos could see this structure might have acted as a guard station once. The station’s circular center was devoid of light, except for a campfire crackling in the middle. Two people sat by it. A human and a cerulian. Both female.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Miss Waterfowl and Ungrette.

  The Waterfowl girl was not what he expected. She appeared barely old enough to venture out on her own. A teenager. Fresh faced and probably stupid. Teenagers pretend like they know everything. She reminded Arnzos of that elven boy that stole Sunslash.

  Her attire was like a stereotype of sorcerers’ garb. Flowing black robes with streaks of white along her arms and sides. Furls of messy brown hair that—while not colored like wheat—clumped together like it. A pale white skin that made it seem like she had not stepped outside in years. Topped off with a goofy hat; the type evil witches would wear in a children’s story. She also had this… brown thing on the bridge of her nose. An ornament that made her eyes amplify in size, behind two little glass panes. Arnzos hadn’t the faintest idea what it was.

  Ungrette… well, Ungrette was exactly what he expected. Palmgrease’s description couldn’t have been more accurate. An old cerulian hermit. He always felt bad seeing a cerulian because nine times out of ten, they were not exactly pleasing to look at. Now, Arnzos would be humble—he realized many people found him ugly too. For a dracokin, he believed himself to be average. But most cerulians… they seemed cursed to look the way they were.

  With their severe under or overbites, their crooked chins, and their short, scrawny stature. Ungrette was not fortunate enough to be in the ten percent of cerulians that looked attractive. However, she fitted herself confidently, with a long yellow dress and beige sandals. It contrasted with her thinning, dirty blonde hair.

  There was a time when Arnzos’ guessed his nerves might twitch at the danger of meeting these three. But, after seeing them now…

  He pitied them. It was as if Palmgrease dragged out three strangers from a tavern and forced them to do this. Arnzos knew that wasn’t how it happened—how the Lord hired them. But still, with how downtrodden they looked, it didn’t leave the realm of possibility.

  “Meet team, draeken.” Aipo said. “I see you are Palmgrease soldier. So, hand your explainings.”

  Aipo’s speech patterns hurt Arnzos’ head. “I’m Drezos. I was g-given the task of hunting down a felinian. The um… he was… he killed so many of my f-fellow knights.” A decent start to his lies so far.

  “Ooooo, hello Drezos. You’re quite manly,” Ungrette said, her voice like a fork scraping on glass. “It’s no wonder why you survived.”

  Arnzos gave Ungrette a nervous smile. Playing into that ‘Drezos’ role, until she burst out with, “I have a husband! None for you, busy boy.” He recoiled. That was genuine.

  “If you had no Lord’s gambeson, your neck have slit already,” Aipo said. “Why chance it here? Why not run back to manor?”

  The Waterfowl girl finally chimed in with, “Because he can’t survive alone! Look at him, with his pathetic spear. Unbloodied. Palmgrease must have ran his mouth, telling all his knights of his plan while posing proudly and downing a bottle of wine and—”

  “We understand, Jane,” Ungrette commented. “You hate the Lord even though he’s like a faucet of shinies.”

  Waterfowl scoffed melodramatically. Maybe she had a future in theatrics too. “I am practical. I use my mind to think practically.” She now faced Arnzos instead of Ungrette. “It’s horrible what you went through, but maayybe you should go bother someone else.”

  “If I go b-back to the manor,” Arnzos said, “Palmgrease will chop off my… my… um…”

  “Ah. Well, that’s a predicament. You could always desert,” Waterfowl said.

  “Don’t tell him that!” Ungrette fumed.

  Arnzos did his best ‘blind kitten’ impression to foster sympathy. Which was difficult considering he was a burly dragon man. “To be honest, I came to the ruins to ask if you could h-help me. I was close by and… that felinian, Vaelar, he’s…”

  “I reject,” Aipo said. “In fact, you should be in debt of mine. I saved you from klougher crushing.”

  Kloughers. Arnzos seldom heard of that monster. Honestly, he remembered a time in Day’s Sunder that Olexei said kloughers were all extinct. Slain by the heroes of Ystryx before the elemental cataclysm over nine hundred years ago. But Olexei would spin his bullshit sometimes, just to talk for the sake of talking.

  Kloughers were mighty, hulking beasts of gray muscle. Animalistic and opportunity-driven eaters. If he recalled the facts correctly, they could digest rocks, dirt, and sand just as well as flesh. Their sense of smell was impeccable. It had to be, since they had no eyes to see with. If the team was having issue with a klougher, and Arnzos desperately needed to insert himself in their affairs, then perhaps he could…

  “You’re searching for those Psiona pearls, right?” Arnzos asked. “Modra told m-me about it.”

  Waterfowl facepalmed. “That mouse thinks he’s so smart. What an idiot.” Ungrette gave her a stabbing glare, but said nothing.

  “Behind the klougher, they sit,” Aipo informed. “But it no care of yours. We have job. You have own. You failed. We not fail. Keep annoyance of me going, and heart will fail just like hunt for felinian.” He twirled the dagger between his stretchy-skinned fingers.

  “I can distract it!” Arnzos pleaded. “If I go back, I’m d-dead no matter what. If I do this, then at least there’s a chance I can survive. I can help you and you can help m-me. Please…”

  Arnzos believed he might have overdone it with the stammering. Ungrette seemed to disagree, based on how she stared at him. The ‘blind kitten’ impression worked on someone. Waterfowl dismissed his acting. After all, it was that pompous superiority all nobles had. They loved to blabber but rarely listened. If they did listen, they would hear all the hatred that common folk had for them.

  “If he wants to help, we should let him,” Ungrette said.

  The noble girl half-laughed. “He’ll ruin our mission! I say we send him on his way.”

  Aipo soaked in the quiet that followed. He weighed both options silently. Tapping his finger on his nose. Arnzos almost spoke again, but a swift crossing of the lyzanite’s arms kept him speechless. It was agonizing to wait for his response. It was as if he denied the dracokin a quick answer on purpose. He wished to crack open his head and see Aipo’s thoughts. Metaphorically, of course. He lacked the current mood for senseless violence.

  “I accept,” the lyzanite finally said, “on single condition. You receive no shinies. And we take whatever loot we desire from felinian.”

  “Horseshit!” Waterfowl blurted. “I don’t agree to this!”

  “I do.” Ungrette shot a smug smirk the girl’s way. “Two against one. Sorry ladyling. Can’t always have your way.”

  The girl wanted to storm off, but also wished to stay inside. Aipo followed up with, “Tonight, then. Jane finalize a plan. Drezos included. Rest now, for we act when stars show themselves.”

  Lady Waterfowl pouted—her inner spoiled child taking root. In their time of rest, Ungrette’s curiosity had her ask a list of questions about Arnzos’ background. He borrowed from his father’s history, some from his own, and even a few strays entirely fabricated. She delighted in the conversation, as Aipo and Waterfowl added little to it. He simply had nothing to say, while she kept her lips shut in spite.

  Hours later… the stars arrived in their blankets of deep, murky blues. The team positioned themselves on the outskirts of the spire, where Arnzos had been earlier that day. The once shining green rubble was now a muted brown. With no light to pretty it up, it appeared just as boring as standard brick. Waterfowl and Aipo watched the spire’s belfry, while Arnzos noticed Ungrette was a distance away from them.

  [“She isn’t the greatest at keeping her loyalties inconspicuous.”] Phyletta telepathized.

  [“They’re so absorbed in their task. She doesn’t need to be.”]

  Well, he had to approach her sometime. Being a part of Modra’s scheme meant Ungrette was his prime ally. Guilt plucked at his heartstrings for having to be so deceptive. And yet…

  “Ungrette?” he asked. She swooped in her frilly dress to meet him. “I’m with Modra. I know about the plan to topple the Lord.”