"I don't know how it is with dracons, but we kobolds must always have a foot on the ground, from the mightiest chiefs to the holiest priests to the wisest scholars," Ardasa said. Her feet, in sheer excitement, tapped on the ground light as a feather, and she almost felt like skipping. "This land we walk on, the earth and the stones, are the skin and scales of the snake god, Hetuis. When a kobold dies, they are eaten by Hetuis, where they face judgement within his stomach. Were the kobold clever and virtuous in life, they are spit back out to join either Scen or Arda, of their choice. Were they not . . . poor souls." Her feet slowed to a walk. "Hetuis knows where we are and who we are by how our feet land on his back. Were a kobold to stop walking, their legs would weaken, and then cease altogether, the legs of their soul already having been presumed dead by Hetuis and taken early. Tell me, does the dracon have a similar phenomenon?"

The guards were a strange lot. They milled between each other, going up the ranks one by one until they reached Ternoc, and then went back down to the common soldier. It was like a dance, in some ways. Throughout it all, Ardasa heard not a word of whatever it is they were plotting. How much information is lost, going up through the middle officers and back down again? Could the troops be carrying out a completely different order than the one given them? Worse still, what could they be doing that required so much secrecy? Ardasa felt a now-familiar chill on her spine. Was she ever safe in this city?