Kobels were weak. Too weak to stand in the harsher lands where the few scattered of them only survived as lone vermin soon to wane.
To see a tribe venture in volcanic plains and come back spoke highly of them. To survive the fumes and the beasts surely those were among the strongest of their kind. Harsh conditions could only forge stronger bodies, or so one would believe.
After walking south their numbers had broken in three groups, such that those closest had to wait for the rest to join up. They had set up camp behind a ridge, among trees they were now busy cutting down as much for fire as shelter.
Those did not have tents. The tribe was used to digging holes and hiding in caves. In the forest they preferred makeshift cover from logs and branches.
The long march had them exhausted.
From the ridge they could see that distant hill they would call a mountain.
"They can't be kobels." A warrior grumbled. "That can't be true, and building? You ever heard of kobels building with stone?"
"It would match the rumors."
At this distance they could not really see who occupied the height. It was hard enough to distinguish the tents but there was no need: the fires alone exposed a tribe's presence to everyone.
Another warrior joined them, still carrying his baggage.
"Selik is back. Minotaurs in the distance. It's definitely their camp we crossed. How about you?"
"Nothing. Minotaurs you said? They must dominate the region."
The kobel shrugged in response.
"What about Savae? The chief is going to lose it if she doesn't come back."
"I would be surprised if she doesn't spend the night out there. Heck, she might already be eating with the legend."
The day was already advanced. Shadows stretched and light declined. While those warriors kept their guard, the rest was still busy at work, setting up camp and looking for food.
For those so used to harsher lands, the woods were plentiful. They picked fruits, they snatched mushrooms, everything down to roots and got excited at every sound of critters fleeing ahead when they approached.
The second part of their tribe was slowly trickling in, the youth with them rushing with empty stomachs.
And there was their chief.
None could mistake it for of all of them he wore the most red stones on his body. Only the parts too soft to stand the engraving had been spared, so much so that his motions were stiff. In truth his body still suffered to this day.
Yet it looked like scales and that alone was worth the pain. The kobel was not the strongest and relied on those looks to assert his authority.
He was looking at bags that the tribe was hauling and piling to be guarded.
"Looks like the rumors are true, chief." Another kobel approached.
"Sure does. But until I see it with my own eyes, I still won't believe it."
"So..."
The chief shook his head.
"I'll have our warriors ready. That legendary kobel better exist or tomorrow we squash their lies with blood. And if he does, well, we have something to trade."
"I don't like it." The weaker kobel admitted.
Weaker by looks. His short coat only bore stones by the dozens. If anything he looked miserable.
"If they are the ones who chased the minotaurs, they might look down on us."
"They are kobels. And they are visibly at war with the whole region. Why would they add us to the list? If anything they would welcome an ally."
He had pulled a few red stones from a bag to rub them between his furry fingers. It all made so much sense to him.
Their conversation got interrupted by flocks of birds fleeing the trees.
Then someone screamed.
It could still be nothing, just an animal, yet all of them got the same dreadful feeling. They knew too well how quickly things could devolve and with the tribe so dispersed it was, at that very time, extremely vulnerable.
So they waited, on alert, for any more rumor that quickly followed.
One of their own was rushing through the trees, back to the camp, yelling: "We're attacked!"
This time the kobels rushed. Warriors did not know where to assemble, looked for each other in the confusion. They were better off than the rest that did not even know where to find a weapon.
And in the midst of it more screams rose from a completely different direction.
A horn blared in the distance.
At this very time the clearing they had cut for themselves was turning in to a trap. It would have been tempting to just flee north, back to the rest of the tribe, but the chief knew better than to panic. It would only have been a hopeless chase.
So he assembled what warriors he could and faced the closest threat while the rest still prepared. With only minutes to spare they saw the sentries retreat along with what parties had been caught in the attack.
They stopped one fleeing kobel to get him to talk.
"Who is attacking? How many?!"
"I don't know! Dozens! They have boars!"
"Boars?"
That was true. Soon a mass of beasts rushed past the ridge to fall into the clearing. They were met by stone spears and axes, by heavy shields. That charge pushed hard but failed to break the warriors' ranks.
Javelins flew from the trees, then the first kobels emerged wearing bones for weapons and trinkets, eyes mad and skinny. They were met by javelins in turn.
The two sides clashed with fury.
Stone against bone, but of course the numbers talked and that first wave of attackers was repelled, falling back with their wounded.
The other side got attacked as well and the chief, seeing this, went to organize the defense. There he could only count on few warriors and kobels armed with makeshift spears. But they formed their front to meet the enemy.
And again their defense held but barely.
All around now warcries were piercing from the woods, slowly encircling the clearing. Skirmishes mutliplied all along and to the back where few were prepared to fight. With pressure from so many sides their chief did the best he could.
He ordered a charge, pushed in and found the enemy dispersing quickly. A whole flank shattered under his fighters and suddenly the pincers that had been so threatening vanished.
But even as they retreated on this side he knew the other was still threatened, so the kobels rushed back to help and saw their best warriors facing an onslaught. By now most of the clearing, the shelters, the fires were taken by that mad tribe.
So, despite the early fatigue the kobels, their skin like fire due to the red stones, attacked in turn and the battle, but for moments, turned into a chaotic melee.
It didn't last. All sides knew better than to stay isolated. Soon the lines reformed, threatened each other and with the madness of survival the fire kobels charged once more. This was enough to discourage their opponents and regain some space.
Now they had the means to breathe, let some rest while the others held strong.
Another charge broke against their stubborn defense. The battle was still in the enemy's favor, the tribe's back still as vulnerable and yet it felt like they were slowly clawing back the initiative. For those few minutes they were allowed the illusion of a chance.
Then he appeared.
A kobel covered in scales, true scales, not paltry imitation and mimicry. A kobel with horns stretching back, long and sharp.
And just his sight made the whole line waver.
But he charged. The spears when they didn't break just slid against his carapace. Just with that all cohesion was lost. Enemy kobels poured in behind, forcing a sudden retreat that quickly devolved into a rout.
Their chief found himself threatened. Two warriors came to support him, blocked that monster's path. Two warriors fell in seconds.
If any semblance of battle was left it shattered there and then.
And the chief, seeing that enemy approach him, felt no choice but to raise his own spear. It fell on the ground and him just after.
So Tunu turned and shouted:
"Your chief is dead! Surrender, all of you!"
There was no need. By now the rout had extended all the way into the trees with kobels throwing their weapons in droves. The fiery tribe was quickly brought on its knees.
He watched his own rush around, pursue the cowards and bring them back to throw them down as captives.
Among them was a child that saw the chief's corpse.
He screamed, got up and rushed to that body. Before anyone could stop him he was crying over it, near Tunu's feet.
"Why?!" The kid was screaming. "Why? We were going to join you! Why!?"
The warriors dragged him away, forced him on the ground, pressed on his head.
"Shut up you runt! That here is Tunu so behave or we cut your tongue!"
And they kicked him to beat the cries out of him. All the while the captives piled up, brought back into the clearing with more and more as they trickled from up north.
Tunu approached, crouched on the chief's body and barely looked at that child.
He plunged his claws right in the chest to get his prize.
"We follow the path of the wyvern. You will have to earn your place if you want to join."
And he brought that meat to his mouth.
He brought it to his mouth then realized the smell of it, the wetness in his palm slowly trickling down the wrist. He realized his jaws already open, ready to bite.
It fell on the ground.
Tunu got up, staggered a bit. For a moment all eyes were on him.
"Kill the warriors! Take the rest! Tonight is another feast for us!"