Zoil stumbled through the back alleys of the residential district, pale green light from the moon rising cast shadows over the alley. He pressed his hand against the searing pain in his hip. Blood dripped down his leg, leaving a trail of red on the orange-bricked buildings as he lurched forward in pain. He saw a long shadow cut across the light out of the corner of his eye, and he spun to see people passing by. He let out a breath. The city's sounds echoed off the walls around him, and the floral scent of window planters filled his nostrils. He leaned on a wooden crate and kept looking over his shoulder; its creaking frame barely held his weight. The stinging in his hip and shoulder made him grit his teeth.

  Adjusting his leather tunic to get off his wound relieved some pressure from his shoulder. Wincing from the gash at his hip, he grabbed the crotch of his linen pants, pulling it down with a grunt. The sound of glass rolling made him whip his head behind him, but he saw nothing but shadows. Blood gushed out of his hip from his sudden movement, staining his beige pants in red.

  Entering the back room had been a mistake; he should have left when his scales stopped vibrating. The kobold had seen him, and he shouldn't have pushed his luck. “Your curiosity and sticky fingers are going to get you killed,” Sumehxi’s chiding voice tickled the back of his mind. Zoil heaved a great sigh that became a hard cough that sent him reeling into a spin. Did the gunslinger drug him, he wondered as he started to hiccup. Each spasm of air was harder than the last, causing his chest to throb.

  A lump formed in his throat, and his stomach churned with unease. The churning in his stomach pushed the lump further up his throat. He bent over and emptied his stomach of the red elk meat. The half-digested chunks splattered onto the purple bricks of the street with a vile green liquid mixed in. Zoil cursed and wiped his mouth with his scaly arm. "Ugh."

  Screeching goblin voices rang through his memories, warning him not to touch the elk, then begging him to stop. He shouldn't have taken it as a personal challenge. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he took a few steps forward. He slipped on something wet and chunky, his own sick, and fell hard. The tall buildings loomed above him, swirling around in a dizzying blur as he fought the blackness creeping into his vision. Struggling to his feet, the burning on his hip sapped his strength, making him crumple again. He knew he had to get up but couldn’t think straight. The noise from the city scrambled his thoughts, mixed with annoying shouts headed in his direction.

  Looking up, he saw a group of animated furry orange things shouting and moving toward him. They pointed and walked into the quiet alley. A hint of recognition hit him, but his thoughts were becoming fuzzy. One called out to him through his haze, but he couldn’t make out the words.

  Deep inside his lizard brain, a piece of him told him to run, but his legs wouldn’t comply. Before he realized it, the big orange blob stood before him, shooting a meaty fist to grab his collar. With some effort, he was pulled toward an orange fuzzball getting close enough to smell his rancid breath. The creature spoke words he couldn’t comprehend as darkness constricted his vision. An unexpected flash of stars lit his sight, followed by a blossom of pain on his cheek.

  Through the pain, he gained clarity, counting five bandaged firbolgs, each wearing a look of pure contempt. A fragment of a memory flittered across his brain of smashing some faces. “’Ello boys,” Zoil said through a bloodied mouth. “Good ta see ya.” He tried to back away, but the meaty hand pulling his leather tunic prevented him. The bullet's effects took hold, and Zoil's moment of clarity faded. Another blow to his stomach caused Zoil to double over, spewing bile onto the ground. A peal of laughter cut through the chatter of the city.

  The orange blob holding him yelled over his shoulder. “Shut up!” Then to Zoil, “You twat! You… Ugh… You… BLARRGH!” Letting go of Zoil’s tunic, he stumbled back, spewing bile over himself.

  Zoil’s vision blurred as the poison continued to work. The distinct sound of liquid hitting stone let him know that his wasn’t the only weak constitution. Nauseous groans hit his ears. Somewhere in the mire of thoughts, he knew this was his chance to crawl away. Using his one good hand, he clawed the rough floor in an attempt to pull away from them. His nails slipped and scraped as he tried to find purchase.

  Another rage-filled yell from the orange blob reverberated around the alley. “What is wrong with you!?”

  Zoil focused on the stomping wet footsteps quickly approaching, raising his hand over his head in feeble defense. His arm was thrown to the side, causing a stinging pain to shoot up from his shoulder, followed by a blow to his chest. He stumbled back onto his tail, bending it awkwardly underneath him as he tried to roll away. The world kept spinning as he backed into something solid; adrenaline surged through him. Had he hit a wall? Was this where he died?

  Whipping around, he saw a tall, dark figure looming above him. His heart raced, looking up at the white-haired blob in the orange alley. “Who…you,” clumsy words fell out of his mouth. A gentle hand touched his forehead, and he felt a warmth he hadn’t realized he wasn’t feeling. Cascading warmth filled his body, and his wounds didn’t hurt as much anymore. The fog in his head started to lift, and his eyes began to clear, but his strength still escaped him.

  The figure leaned down to his ear, letting his hot breath kiss his cheek. “Glad I followed you.” The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “Hang tight.”

  More shouts from the firbolgs cut through his dissipating brain fog. “You want another ass-whooping pigsticker?” The lead firbolg said. “Stay out of this. This fookin’ lizard owes us our gold. We’ll get to you next.” He took a few angry steps forward but abruptly stopped.

  Zoil looked up and saw a dark-skinned elf extend a hand with crackling energy spiraling around it. “You could get it back, I mean, it’s yours, technically, so maybe you deserve it. But if you come any closer, I’m going to blast you,” his hand blazed with arcane light at the threat. “Your choice, I suppose, but I’d walk away if I were you.” The energy was so powerful that Zoil heard the pops of electrified air around him, and he could smell the burning ozone.

  Two of the firbolgs stepped behind the leader. Zoil recognized the smallest one as the one he had spared. “Maybe we should go.” The smallest one said, pulling his friend back.

  Looking over his shoulder, the leader snarled his lips and pushed the small one away. “Run if you want. I’m getting what’s mine.” Trundling forward, the leader got within a few feet of the drow when a bolt of purple energy ripped through the air. It smacked into the leader, melting slowly through him, then ruptured in screaming arcs of energy. The leader’s face stretched agonizingly long from the crackling energy boring a hole through him. Three firbolgs screamed and fell over themselves, trying to flee before a streak of purple energy skewered them.

  Zoil let his jaw hang open as the brilliant display burned away the shadows, casting haunting light everywhere. Purple missiles slammed into them one after the other, knocking them to the ground. As he watched their smoking carcasses, sizzling energy pops permeated every inch of Zoil’s mind. He looked up at the drow he had rescued earlier and blinked. “Uh, thanks.”

  Radiant eyes looked back at him with a pure white smile. “Now we’re even! Well, you helped because you wanted to, and I helped to make us even, so does that make us even? I dunno, tell you what!” The drow threw up his finger with his goofy smile still plastered on his face. “We can keep hanging out, and then when you feel like we’re even, we can be even.” With that stream of consciousness, he stuck out his hand.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  Looking warily at the hand, Zoil took it and stood, towering over the little drow. “Alright. We should go. Never fun to explain dead bodies.” Zoil explained as he walked past the drow. Thankfully he saw the smallest firbolg balled into the fetal position, untouched, and breathed a sigh of relief. Ignoring the puddle beneath him, he bent down to the man. “Uh. Sorry, you seem like a decent bloke.”

  The firbolg flinched and tightened himself into his knees. Again Zoil sighed, reaching into his endless money pouch. He felt around for a handful of coins but winced, then produced ten pieces and laid them at his side in a neat stack. “You didn’t see us.”

  The scared man met Zoil’s yellow eyes and nodded furiously, causing his floppy ears to bounce but said nothing.

  The drow knelt with arcane energy at the tip of his finger. “Are you sure we shouldn’t kill him?” He brought the finger closer. “Feels like we shouldn’t have witnesses.”

  Zoil turned up his lip and shook his head.

  “Okay,” the drow shrugged, letting the energy fade from his finger. Tapping the firbolg’s forehead, he sighed. “If the big guy trusts you, then I do too!” the drow stood and walked to the end of the alley, calling over his shoulder. “Your wounds need more work; I’ve got a place we can hunker down at.”

  Snorting hard, Zoil left ten more gold and patted the firbolg on the shoulder, causing the thing to tense harder. “Right.” He stood, feeling light-headed, and followed the drow out of the alley.

  They walked a few blocks into the part of the residential area that hadn’t been fully cleared. As they walked, Zoil scanned the streets to see who clocked him without his camouflage. But nobody looked their way. Not one person took notice of the eight-foot-tall lizardman and his small guide. They went left, right, straight a few blocks, and left again, and he watched the strange drow skipping along. He wore a purple cloak that appeared black in the green moonlight. It didn’t quite touch the ground, making his knobby ankles and goofy pointy shoes visible. Something about this drow wasn’t right, and he wasn’t sure why he trusted him. Yes, he saved his life, but why did he agree to follow him home? Had he even agreed to that?

  Zoil continued to follow but kept his distance, sweeping his head from side to side in case he missed anything. Sweeping his head, he realized his shoulder had stopped bleeding, and the drow was talking. The pain remained, but he couldn’t feel the flow of blood. He couldn’t help but wonder what the drow did to him and how he did it so quickly. This was either a great ally or a dangerous enemy to be aware of. Pushing the thoughts aside, he noticed they came to a solid brick wall.

  The drow turned and pouted his lips. “Oh. I thought you were next to me.” Stopping in place, he waited for Zoil to catch up to him. “I was saying my place is right here, but you gotta hold your breath when you go through.” He nodded, sweeping his arm toward nothing with a twinkle in his ice-blue eyes.

  Zoil shifted his eyes from the wall to the drow. “What on you on about?”

  The drow laughed and sucked in a gulp of air. “Come on!” He hopped into the brick wall causing it to ripple. Zoil stood alone in front of the wall and started to feel eyes all over him. Looking at all the surprised faces, he realized the drow was casting something the whole time. Not wanting to stick around, he took a deep breath and dove into the wall. The second he stepped in, all the air was ripped out of his lungs, making him claw at his throat in a panic.

  Tumbling through the portal end over end brought the churning in his stomach back. Up became left, right became down, and he swore he could taste colors melting off his scales. He could smell himself screaming a tangy, burning copper odor singeing his nostrils. Sounds poured over him in waves of light, blinding him, and then he stood still. The world around him returned to normal as his senses regained their normal functions. Ducking down in a low entryway made his neck start to cramp. How long had he been standing there?

  “Oooof.” The drow said, stretching his back. Zoil flicked his eyes at him.

  The drow stood before a large rectangular room with plush seating and bedding bathed in soft yellow light. Part of the floor was carved into a circular pit with a perfectly round bed inside. Despite the insane scrambling of his sense, Zoil was in awe of the room made for comfort. Rustling from the drow grabbed his attention as he shook his long white hair hard, causing it to fall off in clumps. Luckily, the silvery wisps popped out of existence when they touched the floor. Locking eyes with the drow, Zoil watched his dark skin melt into the fair skin of a high elf. His long blond hair draped over his shoulders, and his perfectly white smile reached from ear to pointy ear.

  “I’m Adamor!” The high elf said, sticking out his hand.

  Zoil dwarfed Adamor’s in his and shook it, narrowing his eyes. “You’re from Sunspire.” With a hard yank, he pulled him close and sniffed his hair. “Spy?”

  “Nope,” Adamor said, unbothered by being yanked. “I wanted to get away from my family, so I set off on an adventure. That and to look for my brother, Bythorin. Do you know him?” Adamor took a breath. “Nah, probably not; you look like you just got here from Sunspire, too, huh?” Before Zoil could even nod, he continued. “Bythorin is a bit of a screw-up, but he took my spell book, and I need it back.” He shook his head and pulled his hand out of Zoil’s grip. “Anyway, that’s me! What about you? What’s your name?”

  With a considerate nod, Zoil squinted an eye and leaned into Adamor to see if that was all he had to say. “Zoil. My brother sent me,” Walking past Adamor, he looked around the room with wide eyes. Casting his gaze skyward made him do a double take. There was a bright blue sky above him with dainty white clouds listlessly floating into walls where they bounced back to continue sailing through the air. In the distance, a group of birds squawked as they flew by.

  “What is this?” Zoil found himself asking.

  Adamor laughed and jumped next to him. “Not bad, eh? Not good. But not the worst thing I’ve done. Since my brother took my book, this is only a temporary home; once I get that bad boy back, I can open up my pocket dimension again.” He rubbed Zoil’s back and sighed. “Yuuup, I tracked him here about two months ago but can’t find him. I thought he’d be with the 7th, but there aren’t any high elves here, except for me, of course.”

  Zoil nodded, ignoring the elf and walking deeper into the long room. Again he felt the room spin, and the sky swiveled under his feet. Squishy pillows broke his fall as he lay there, his stomach threatening to empty again.

  Adamor sauntered over to him, staring down with a cocked head and raised eyebrows. “You lost a lot of blood, my man. Hang tight; I’ll get you right as rain.” He cracked several of his bones in a strange stretch. “Oh! Then we can go to Jrekil Tree Plaza; that place has everything!” He smiled, but Zoil’s vision darkened. “Whoops, you’re passing out. Lay still.”

  Not offering an argument, Zoil lay on the pillows with the sky righting itself overhead and the room’s spinning coming to a stop. A thought occurred to him as he sunk into the soft cushions, basking in the afternoon sky. How had the firbolgs found him? What were the chances of them being in that exact alley at that very moment? As the thoughts ran through his mind, exhaustion overtook him, lulling him to a dark fitful sleep.