by Joel Babbitt
Keryak was bent over, breathing hard with his hands on his knees. “Where do you think she lives?” he asked.
Durik shook his head. “Could be anywhere, but by her dress I would guess in one of the tents in the lower part of the cavern. Probably not in one of the larger tents up in the higher end, unless she’s a servant there.”
Keryak chewed on his lip for a moment as he stood erect and looked about. “How about we hide over there?” he said, pointing to a set of stalls, a local market that sold the common necessities to the families of the Deep Guard that lived here. “There’s no light, so you won’t stand out. Come, we can blend in there.”
Durik nodded and the pair walked quickly toward the sleepy little cluster of stalls, rousing a local vendor of fungus with their inordinate interest in his stock.
Not long after, Jezmya emerged from the large passageway with her head down. Having traveled this route too many times, she didn’t even look about as she immediately turned and walked along the row of shanties, turning aside the cloth that served as her front door when she arrived.
Durik and Keryak quickly ran past the well that served the entire chamber, slowing to a trot as they approached the narrow space between Jezmya’s house and the shanty next to it. In a moment they were listening carefully, trying to detect what was going on inside through the thick woolen wall.
Inside, Jezmya was fretting. She pulled at wool that she was working on, but that didn’t help. After a short bit, she got up and walked out, intent on boiling some wallaya root to calm her nerves before taking Krobo’s bag to his private chambers.
The moment she left her house Durik lifted the woolen wall and Keryak rolled under. Looking about, he saw the bag sitting next to the wool he had heard her pulling. Grabbing it quickly, he looked about for a suitable replacement. There, on the table, was a small pile of leather bags of the same size and shape as this one. Jezmya apparently crafted them. Quickly, Keryak grabbed one of the bags and scooped up some ash from the small cooking fire to give it the same light weight and feel. In a few short moments all seemed as it was before he had entered, and Keryak had rejoined Durik in the narrow alley.
Eagerly opening the bag in anticipation of taking the evidence to Raoros Fang, the pair of yearlings gasped. Taking a large pinch of the substance out, the stunned look on Durik’s face said it all as he opened his hand and watched ground up bits of spiced shelf fungus, not poison spores, spill out of his palm and onto the ground.
Chapter 8 – The Evening Before the Trials
It had become something of a ritual to Keryak before the two moons of scouting, one that he had eagerly renewed these past two nights. With the events of the day, he was yearning to clear his mind and prepare for the trials on the morrow, and so he would go outside of the gen’s caverns.
The world above, or the great outside, was a land of mystery to most of the females and whelps of the gen, some were even afraid to go to the surface, the lack of a ceiling and walls causing them great unease. For Keryak, however, evening in the outer world was a time of mystery and great wonder. On nights when the moon was new, the way the warmth of the sun emanated from rocks and fought the cool dew from the trees and plants was played out so clearly in his heat vision as the last light of the setting sun gave way to the darkness of night.
Keryak walked softly into the sunken meadow that served as the entrance to the home of their gen toward the stand of trees that was so familiar to him. The soft clover of spring on his feet felt cold, and Keryak could see the sun had been down for some time; the warmth of an early spring day had long since yielded to the cold of night. Keryak could see his breath in the air and he shivered as he walked toward a small figure wrapped in a fur blanket. By the lack of horns the figure was a female, though Keryak knew this already. For it was her that he had come to see, seated here on the side of the small hillock, the trees behind her providing meager company for her lonely vigil.
“I almost thought you wouldn’t come tonight,” a soft, feminine voice said from within the cover of the blanket.
Keryak smiled and opened up the blanket, revealing a young female kobold. Quickly he sat down against her side and wrapped the blanket around the both of them, and they both shivered briefly in each other’s arms. “Darya, you know I wouldn’t miss our time for anything, especially after two moons without you in the underdark.”
Darya snuggled up against Keryak’s chest, poking her head out of the blanket just below his. “I know,” she stated, and meant it.
“How are the stars tonight?” Keryak asked.
“Lonely without you,” she replied, then squeezing him she continued “but not anymore. Now they’re beautiful again.”
Keryak sat thinking about the events of the day. He’d run through the whole scenario and couldn’t think of where the bag of poison could have gone. Now, however, with Darya snuggled up against him, his worry and frustration melted away. Soon his thoughts turned away from the events of the day and to the events of the morrow.
“You seem awfully quiet tonight,” Darya remarked after a while.
“Ah Darya, I will miss you,” Keryak replied.
“Oh, don’t think of going away.” She buried her head in his chest.
“It is for the best, you know. When I return, I will be a warrior in the gen, maybe even elite warrior if I win tomorrow’s competition, and then I will have the right to establish my own home.”
“Lot of good it will do you. I’m only thirteen now, and have several moons… more than a year until I reach fifteen,” Darya said.
“Well, I didn’t say I had to make it with you,” Keryak countered, jokingly. For his joke he received a sharp elbow in the stomach. “Oomph. I give! Just joking.”
Darya looked up at him with pouting lips, “You’d better be.” Then turning back to the stars, she continued, “I’d hate to have to find someone else to watch the stars with on these cold spring nights.”
For quite some time they sat alternately in silence or chatting of life, the stars, their dreams, hopes and aspirations, all the while skirting the topic of the quest that would come after the trials, which would take him away from her again. Finally, they sat watching their breath as it formed clouds and gazed at the stars together in silence. After a few more moments, Keryak was beginning to fall asleep. “My love, I wish we could stay out here all night, but I think I’d better get some sleep before the trials tomorrow. Besides, if I keep you out much later your uncle Drok will come looking for you.”
Darya nodded sleepily, patting him on the chest. Taking the blanket with them, the two young kobolds walked past the guards at the entrance, down toward the caves of the Wolf Riders that they both called home, and eventually came to Darya’s house. As they reluctantly parted, they spoke again of their love for one another.
As he went to his own house and got into bed, Keryak knew that he would give it his all the next day, for their future.
“Sire, I had the bag in my hand. Somehow, however, it wasn’t the bag with the poison spores in it,” Durik was explaining. “I saw him scraping the spores from the mushrooms, but somehow we must have gotten the wrong bag.”
Raoros sat up in his oversized wooden chair, the boarskin draped over it falling off the back with the motion. He was in a sullen mood, which was unusual for the burly warrior. “And what proof do you have?” he asked. “How do I know that you didn’t just go running about the halls of our gen all day and never actually get to the task I gave you?”
Durik was taken aback. He was used to being trusted, not doubted. Grabbing another bag from his waist, he put it on the little table that sat between them. “Sire, we… I mean I harvested the mushrooms he scraped, and others besides. Look, here they are!” he said as he handed him the bag.
Raoros’ snout wrinkled as he opened the bag and smiled, then tightened it again. His face reverted to a scowl as he looked at Durik again. “What do you mean we?” he asked coolly. “I thought I told you not to share this with anyone.”
> Durik squirmed a bit in his seat. “Sire,” he began hesitantly. “Keryak and I… well, sire, I didn’t know if I could find the cavern with the mushrooms without Keryak.”
Raoros shook his head and sat back in his chair. “You have a hard time following instructions, don’t you, Durik?” he asked rhetorically. “You’d better fix that. You’ll be a warrior in my warrior group soon, and I don’t stand for such… unreliability.”
Durik bowed his head. “Sire, it was not my intention to…”
Raoros held up a hand and silenced the repentant yearling. “It never is, is it?” he said.
Durik had no response.
“Well, why are you still here?”
“Sire,” Durik began, crestfallen, “It may not be Khazak Mail Fist. It may be Trelkar that is trying to poison Lord Karthan.”
Raoros’ eyes narrowed. “Where did you hear this?”
“Sire,” Durik began, “Spider gave the poison to an older kobold. Trelkar was there as well and was a part of it. They all three scattered when Khazak Mail Fist and some of Lord Karthan’s Honor Guard warriors showed up. They chased after Trelkar and I think they confronted him.”
“Did you hear what they asked Trelkar?” Raoros asked guardedly.
Durik shook his head. “No, sire. We were too far away.”
Raoros’ countenance sharpened again. “Enough of this!” he growled. “You’ve already seen enough. I will take care of it from here. I don’t want you getting involved in this anymore. Speak no more of this to anyone! Do you understand me? No one!”
Durik nodded.
“Be gone with you!”
Durik bowed his head and turned away, shuffling off as fast as was respectful.
Spider stood up from the table. His normal sullen look had undergone quite a transformation. He stood erect and arrogant. Trelkar of the Deep Guard was playing the young kobold, as was his master Khee-lar Shadow Hand. He was their pawn, and ultimately their fall guy. But standing there at that moment, he appeared to be none of those things. “They use Spider so lightly,” he muttered to himself. “But that’s how life is for the weak.”
Taking the bag of poison spores from the table, he stood up straight as he heard the approaching footsteps. Soon, Lord Karthan’s muscle-bound chamberlain walked into the room, flanked by Lord Karthan’s chief bodyguard and his chief elite warrior.
“Spider, I presume?” Khazak Mail Fist asked unceremoniously.
Spider nodded.
“Do you have the bag of poison spores?” Khazak asked.
Spider passed the bag over to Khazak’s waiting hands, who opened it, quickly pulling the strings tight again as soon as he recognized the poison.
“Very well,” Khazak said, his tone curt and all business. “This plus what we saw in the market today will help.”
“Aye, sire,” the chief bodyguard agreed. “I told you my source was reliable.”
“Hmm, reliable, yes,” Khazak acknowledged, “but we didn’t catch Trelkar with the poison. That would have been best. And we can’t prove that the bag Krobo had was this bag.”
Spider scowled without thinking. After all, it was Khazak and his warriors who had come too early. He’d told them to wait until Trelkar had the bag, and they should have nabbed Krobo right then.
“If you’d not have come up so soon,” Spider quipped, “Trelkar wouldn’t have run.”
Khazak looked with annoyance at this young kobold who stood judging him.
Spider shook his head. To the others it was clear he didn’t have the self-discipline to stop talking. “You should have waited until Trelkar took the poison from Krobo, or at least grabbed Krobo,” he quipped.
Khazak regarded the lame former yearling with a stern glance. After a moment, he passed the bag over to the chief elite warrior.
“Go, Chief. Watch Krobo. If he’s stupid enough to pour the decoy bag into the stew, or if he somehow gets his hands on another bag of poison, then take him and throw him into prison immediately. If he doesn’t try anything stupid, then when Lord Karthan leaves for the council, escort our would-be-traitor to the prison and interrogate him. Try not to disturb Lord Karthan and his house.”
“Sire,” Spider said, “He has some things that my mother gave him. She would want them back.”
Khazak regarded the servant caste with the slightest hint of pity, not sensing any ulterior motives and thinking instead that he genuinely wanted to help his mother. Turning back to the chief bodyguard and Spider, Khazak Mail Fist nodded. “Yes. After all, Krobo will have no use for it shortly. But not until after Krobo is at the prison. Now,” he continued, looking at the chief bodyguard, “escort young Spider here out of the Leaders’ Grotto. After Krobo is at the prison getting interrogated let him gather what he will of his mother’s belongings from Krobo’s quarters.”
The chief bodyguard nodded and began walking away. Spider hurried after him.
Khazak turned to the chief elite warrior. The steely eyed veteran was watching as Spider walked away.
“We’re done here,” Khazak said. “We have the poison, but we don’t have Trelkar or any real link to Shadow Hand yet. Stay vigilant. I don’t think this is their last attempt to kill Lord Karthan.”
His companion was chewing on his lip in thought. “Sire, isn’t Spider lame? I thought that’s why they didn’t let him back into the year of training.”
Khazak glanced back toward the retreating form of Spider and the chief bodyguard. To his surprise, Spider was walking like any other kobold. “Maybe he’s healed.”
The chief elite warrior was silent for a few moments, then turned and looked at Khazak. “Maybe so. Well, I’m off to the Lord’s house, then. Double guard still in effect, there.”
“Aye.” Khazak nodded absently, still thinking about Spider’s apparent recovery.
Chapter 9 – Involved
The first torch had not been burning long, marking the beginning of the first watch of the night to those charged with the safety of the gen, when Durik emerged from Raoros Fang’s opulent quarters in the Leaders’ Grotto. Looking longingly at the slender waterfall pouring sparse streamlets into the pool that was the most distinct feature of the grotto, he breathed deeply of the cool night air that wafted down from the large opening a bowshot above the sandy floor where he stood.
This was a peaceful place, a place of privilege and prestige. The very vines that trestled down from the opening above gave the place a subtle vibrancy, while the cool moisture from the waterfall and pool sharpened the senses. The heavy wooden doors of the various leader caste with their bold carvings and shaped stone arches lent a certain air of respectability, in addition to serving as tangible symbols of power.
For several moments Durik stood looking about at this place he had only ever heard of, having never been allowed past the guards that stood watch here before. Eventually, however, the sound of the guard at the entrance gate clearing his throat caught his attention. With a motion, the guard made it clear that Durik’s welcome was past. It was time for him to go.
Sighing, Durik lowered his head and began walking toward the exit, but stopped short as he heard the gravelly voice of Troll, the chief elite warrior from his warrior group. He talked briefly with the guard, who nodded in obedience and stood aside as Troll walked toward the yearling.
“Durik,” he said flatly, his lack of any sort of charisma permeating even the simplest of interactions.
Durik stopped and nodded, looking up at the hulking warrior as respectfully as he could. “Yes, chief. How may I serve?”
Troll pursed his lips and looked about. Seeing the guard within easy listening distance, he motioned for Durik to follow him as he walked toward something of a gazebo set up at the edge of the pond, its stone pillars and hewn shingle roof providing some shelter from stray droplets and the rain which periodically poured down from above.
The yearling respectfully waited as Troll seated himself on one of the stone benches and motioned bluntly for Durik to do the same. As Durik sat, he
could see that Troll was in a foul mood, but was trying to appear cordial. The scowl on his face, and the cruel scar across his forehead that turned red when he angered betrayed his unskilled efforts and left Durik intimidated instead. The effect was only made more intense by Durik’s vision the night before, and the very public knowledge that Troll’s lifemate had indeed disappeared under mysterious circumstances not a day before that vision. Rumors had run rampant, but all of them pointed to Troll.
“Durik,” Troll muttered, his teeth showing as his tongue spat out the yearling’s name. “I have need of some help.”
Durik looked somewhat surprised. “Yes, chief. How can I be of service to you?”
Troll nodded. “That’s right. It’s how you can be of service to me. You just keep that in your head.”
Durik was getting more uncomfortable.
“But it’s also how I can be of service to you,” Troll said, shrugging his shoulders and sighing raggedly. “You see,” he said, looking about to ensure they were alone. “I’ve done a very bad thing.”
Durik’s eyes opened wide. Was Troll about to confess his murder to him?
“You see,” Troll continued. “I put my trust in someone I shouldn’t have, and that kobold isn’t making it happen.”
Durik looked confused.
“Durik, when I ask someone to do something for me, I expect it to get done!” he said, the frustration in his voice very evident. “Turns out I trusted in the wrong kobold.” Troll shook his head. “He’s weak!” he muttered and spat.
“Anyway,” Troll continued, looking up at Durik, “There is one in the Deep Guard who is trying to take over the gen.”
“How do you know that?” Durik asked, startled by the sudden trust Troll placed in him, but wary of it as well. The shell game earlier that day had clearly pointed to Trelkar, so it was no surprise to the yearling.