by Joel Babbitt
It was obvious to all present that the real intent Lord Krall had in naming those three was that they would accomplish the mission and bring his son back to him, no matter what his son’s actions were. At the end of Morigar’s turn he sat down, trying to keep some of his composure after such a railing. It was equally obvious by the look on Morigar’s face that he had not fully realized before this point exactly how little credibility he had left with the other leaders of the Krall Gen.
Durik looked on with an ache in his heart for the younger son of Lord Krall. He did not know what Morigar had done… or not done, to break the trust of the leadership of his gen, but whatever it was, it was obvious to Durik that Morigar had not realized before now how heavy the price would be.
Durik was not the greatest judge of character, but to him Morigar had the look of someone that had spent his credibility on frivolous things. And now, after stepping forward to take a place he thought rightfully his, he seemed shocked to find his credibility gone, and the trust of all withdrawn.
The rest of the feast passed mostly uneventfully. It was not long after the speeches that Lord Krall, seeing most of Durik’s company slumping in their seats, still hung over from the extreme effort of the day before, spared them any further pain and stood up to leave the hall. Everyone else got the cue and stood shortly after him as he addressed the group. “Again, Durik’s Company and my old friend Khazak Mail Fist, welcome to our gen. Please feel free to use the resources of our gen. May your quest be successful.”
With that, Lord Krall turned and walked through the door in the rear of the great hall and was gone. Not long after, almost the entire company was back in the quarters and most were sound asleep. The worries of the past few days set aside for a time with the hope of a new day ahead of them and the security of a community of warriors to rely on.
Chapter 6 – Dreams in the Night
Kiria knocked lightly on the inner door of her aunt’s residence. The guards, knowing her well from her many visits to their gen over the years, had let her through without more than a ‘good evening, Kiria.’ Now, as she stood in the conference room waiting for the servant to answer the knock, she wondered if she should have come.
Magic was a topic that Kiria had never discussed with anyone but her parents before this quest. It had always been something hidden, something not shared, a family secret she decided. This thought brightened her up somewhat. She is my father’s sister, after all, if I’m ever going to take my knowledge further, I have to talk to someone, and she’s family.
She heard footsteps coming from the other side of the door, and the familiar face of Lady Karaba’s footman appeared as he opened the door.
“My little lady,” he intoned with a particular fondness, the type that only old kobolds who knew her since birth would have used. His squinty eyes and heavy brows, mixed with his lack of teeth and wrinkled gums gave him the look of one whose face needed a bit of stretching out.
“Hi, Jartor, it’s good to see you again,” she answered.
“And it’s good to see you, as well. Quite the excitement yesterday, wasn’t it? I’m sorry I missed it,” the old kobold lied demurely. Changing to a more sincere tone, he continued. “But I’m very glad you made it through none the worse for wear. And with a shiny new trinket to show for it as well,” he said, tapping her shiny gold belt buckle, a gift from Lord Krall given to the members of Durik’s Company as a thanks for saving his life and the lives of his family members.
Kiria smiled. “Yes, I am well. Jartor, is my aunt in?”
Jartor’s squinty eyes opened up a bit wider, “Oh, well, come to stay with us for a bit, then? I was hoping you would. It’s been so long since we’ve had whelps in the house.”
Kiria smiled at the old kobold, feeling no slight at his words. “No, Jartor. I’m staying with my warrior group, I’m not a whelp anymore, you know.”
“Oh!” Jartor exclaimed again, “well, how many summers have you now? Is it fifteen already?”
Kiria smiled and shook her head, “You old joker! You know it is! I’m an adult already!”
Jartor smiled and nodded his head, a twinkle in his aged eye. “Aye, and a fine lady you’ve grown up to be. I’d imagine you’ll be chasing after one of those young strapping warriors you’re traveling with. Every young lady dreams of a noble lifemate; their leader caste perhaps? What was his name? Durik, I think.”
Kiria’s face flushed with barely concealed embarrassment. Her patience with the old kobold was running thin. “Jartor! Will you please just get my aunt?”
From behind Jartor on the steps up to their personal chambers Lady Karaba arrived in time to hear his needling.
“That’s quite enough, Jartor. Come now. Go pick on someone your own age,” Lady Karaba gently chided the old servant.
Turning stiffly, Jartor threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Ah, you’ve caught me, my lady. Though I dare say there aren’t many kobolds my age to choose from, and all of them are likely in bed already.”
“The minister is almost your age. Perhaps you can see to his needs for a time,” she commanded.
“Yes, my lady,” Jartor said, adjusting various items on his way out of the room, a life-habit of cleanliness that his lady’s dismissal certainly wouldn’t break.
When the two of them were finally alone, Kiria sat in front of her aunt almost unwilling to talk at first.
“What is it my dear?” Lady Karaba asked her niece.
“Well, Aba,” she paused, trying to think of how to broach the subject. “Was there a library and workshop in the lady’s quarters when you lived in the gen?”
Lady Karaba looked at Kiria as if she were seeing her for the first time.
“Your father has shared with you your heritage, then, I see,” Lady Karaba stated simply.
Kiria nodded.
“And what have you learned?” she probed.
“When I was much younger, before my mother died, she taught me a few simple spells. She taught me perhaps only the most basic bits of magic, which were not much less than she knew. Apparently your mother didn’t teach her much.”
Lady Karaba smiled. It was interesting to her to see how history changed depending on who was doing the telling.
“Well, it’s not that my mother didn’t teach your mother much. It’s more that she never had much of an interest in it,” Lady Karaba corrected her. “Your mother was always more interested in the goings on of the gen than in the greater powers of her station.”
Kiria was a bit taken aback. In her mind her mother was perfect, frozen in time to when Kiria was nine. Though she’d imagined that her mother had faults, still it was a bit of a shock to hear someone talk about them. She promptly decided to get the conversation back on track.
“What she did teach me I’ve used. But I am finding that the little powers that I have aren’t much help, except through the odd twist of the Fates.”
“Ah,” Lady Karaba’s eyes lit up a bit, “you’ve come seeking greater powers?”
“Yes, Aba. Do you have more that you could share with me?”
Lady Karaba nodded her head. “Your mother gave me her mother’s book of spells shortly after her mother’s death. She said she thought she’d never have a use for it.” Lady Karaba shook her head as she stood and walked over to the bookshelf. “I always thought you would eventually come looking for it.”
Grabbing a large book, one with a cover of formed leather, died blue and edged in golden relief, she thumbed through it, a thin smile on her face. After a few moments, she brought the book over to her young niece.
“This is the spell book your mother gave me. It belonged to the lady of the gen before her, and it is your duty to pass it on to whomever becomes Karto’s lifemate,” she said, referring to the older of Kiria’s little brothers.
Kiria stood and took the tome from her aunt. “Oh thank you, Aba,” she said, giving her a hug. “Thank you for this piece of my heritage! I will study it thoroughly!”
“And?” Lady Kara
ba prompted her.
“And I will pass it on to whomever becomes lady of the gen,” she said dutifully.
The wistful look in Lady Karaba’s eyes passed unseen before the excited young female.
As Kiria left the chambers of her aunt and uncle, dreams of the magic that she would uncover within the pages of her grandmother’s spell book swept her back to her room in the caravan drivers quarters. Though it was difficult, she did eventually get to sleep that night.
That night the dreams of the members of Durik’s Company were not as peaceful as they might have wished. Though the caravan drivers quarters were mostly peaceful, the noise of tossing and turning warriors could be heard throughout the night, punctuated by the occasional cry of imagined alarm or remembered strife.
At one point Jerrig Queen Slayer sat up with a defiant scream, the events in the ant queen’s chambers replaying in his head. His hands were focused in front of him in the shape of a triangle and a searing point of light filled the room as a bolt of intense fire formed between his upheld hands and shot across the room, cracking the log of the outer wall of their quarters.
As his mind stopped wondering where the ant queen had gone, and the realization of where he was slowly dawned on his awakening mind, he stopped looking around desperately and instead got very quiet. The log he had cracked was directly above Arbelk’s still sleeping form. On the pile of furs across the room Keryak lay rubbing his eyes. Jerrig lay back down hurriedly, in case by some strange chance Keryak hadn’t noticed the whole episode.
Seemingly in answer to Jerrig’s whispered prayers to the Creator, Keryak didn’t notice the warm spot on the logs above Arbelk, and after a couple of moments he laid back down and rolled over. The utter exhaustion of the last several days had saved Jerrig the embarrassment. He very much hoped that no one would notice the new charred spot the next day on the blackened log wall.
No one did.
The next day would reveal on their faces the extent of their suffering that night, but for now the anonymous mask of darkness hid their collective nightmares.
Ardan, formerly a weapon smith, bowyer and fletcher, caravan guide and now a scout for Durik’s Company, was by no means the oldest member of the company; Manebrow claimed that title by a handful of years. He was, however, an experienced and skilled warrior in his own right. After so many years on the trail escorting the trade caravans he had learned well the lay of the land and had come to know the Krall Gen as well as he knew his own gen. One of their number, in particular, he had come to know much better than the rest.
Her name was Miratha and, like Ardan, she had been left behind in the rush of life, not having found a lifemate in the furtive days of youth. Now in his twenty-fifth year, Ardan was established among the warriors of the gen, and had begun to think more and more about his future. Despite how miserable his own childhood had been, he now felt that he had overcome such things and was finally warming up to the idea of having children of his own.
This love he had found with Miratha, and the realization that he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life alone, had eventually brought Ardan to reluctantly begin to trust Miratha with his heart. It had been a long process so far, and was by no means complete, but over the course of the last twenty or so visits he’d made to the Krall Gen, he’d grown comfortable with her, to the point where he was now looking forward to seeing her again.
Miratha, on the other hand, was more than willing, in fact it could be said she was eager to bond with Ardan. Slightly less than a year younger than Ardan, she had begun to feel the toll of the years on her body, and wanted to enjoy the fruits of love, children to be precise, in her old age. When Ardan had begun to pay her more attention than the other workers at the Hall of Commerce, her heart had quickly opened to him. All this time it was mostly her driving the relationship, which was fine with Ardan. He was more than happy to sit back and let her lead such things. In matters of the heart he was no master. After so many years on the trail focusing on his duties, love and relationships were foreign to him.
Now as he sat in the very heart of the Krall Gen, Ardan could almost smell the sweet scent of her. Knowing he was only a bowshot from where she made her home on the southern shores of the lake, Ardan’s spirits lifted in anticipation of seeing her.
Jerrig was not the only one to awaken in the night. Somewhere in the dark of night Durik woke, his blanket and furs soaked in a cold sweat. Visions of a wild boar, of orcs and of the ant queen’s royal guards all swirled about in his head, all threatening to exact the price for their revenge in the only currency that nightmares know; that of terror. Desperately his sleeping form tossed and turned as his imagined self tried everything to keep his company safe, and yet for all his efforts they wandered off one by one, or even in pairs, to their doom. His hands reached out to them, his voice becoming almost shrill as he called out to them, warning them of the danger, but in his dreams they would not listen, and Durik was left desolate and alone.
Then, almost as a lullaby to a child, Durik’s dreams were wrapped in the warm embrace of an unseen being. Like a baby, he felt himself being held in the arms of its love as he rocked gently to and fro. After a time the hardened exterior he had of necessity affected began to soften, and with it his heart softened as well. In a short period of time the memories of the horrors of the last few days began to lose their sharpness and a soft, reassuring maternal voice seemed to breathe peace into his heart and mind.
“I am with you, son of Kobold. Be not afraid,” the voice whispered on the edge of his consciousness.
“But I am scared, mother,” his mind whispered back, telling the presence what he could tell no one else, what he could not even admit to himself.
“My son, I am with you, and I will stand with you in your times of greatest need. Know that I will watch over and guide you. Your days shall not be less than those appointed to you.”
Durik’s heart was open, and with it his awareness was caught away into a high mountain. Upon the top of it sat a mighty citadel, its granite walls ancient, yet as mighty as the day they were formed. Many figures stood watch upon the walls, though the vision was too clouded to make out who they were. In a moment Durik found himself in a great chamber, floating as it were, weightlessly over the marbled floors, veins of gold and silver standing out in bright relief against the black of the stone through which they ran.
Standing in front of him was a being that radiated a power that was almost overwhelming in its intensity and purity, and yet—she felt somehow deeply familiar. Indeed, as the dross of his immaturity and flaws began to melt away in the presence of this utterly pure being, Durik began to feel the ennobling effect her power had upon him. His mind was alive and many things he had not understood before began to make themselves clear. With this greater understanding all the doubts of years past began to resolve themselves. Gradually his life to this point became utterly clear, as if all these years he had been struggling in the cold darkness, and now he had broken through into the brilliant light of day and, looking back, the ties that had held him in the darkness were laid bare for his inspection.
Standing now confidently before the presence of this being, Durik’s heart was on fire within him and his face shone with a brilliant luster. With eyes now purified, Durik looked at the being in front of him. She was tall, nearly twice Durik’s height, slender of stature, and light of skin. Her face was flat with but a small nose and ears that were small and rounded. Though the aura of strength that emanated from her was overwhelming, the appearance of her was one of gentle grace and loving kindness.
She appeared to be a human, to the best of Durik’s knowledge, though he knew instinctively that this was only one of her forms.
“Durik,” her consciousness swept across his like the tendrils of a wafting breeze. “Son of Kobold, will you serve me?”
Durik’s heart burned within him still, and his desire to please her was intense. “I will do whatever you ask of me, my lady.”
“That is well,” she
gave him to feel, and his heart was gladdened at her pronouncement. “The stone of your brothers of the Kale Gen must be returned to them. When the time comes, you will know to whom it is to be given.”
Though there was no negative reaction from Durik, he did wonder about Lady Karaba’s pronouncement that he was the Oracle of the Kale Gen.
“You are not to be the oracle of your brother’s gen for long, my dear one,” her presence tenderly assuaged his heart. “As it was in times of old, so shall it be in times to come. You are my paladin. It is I who guide you, and through you I will save my children.”
His heart absolutely willing, and his soul yearning to obey, Durik looked up into her eyes. “What may I call you, my lady?” he voiced, his words seeming so clumsy in his own ears.
All of a sudden Durik began to feel himself being lifted away from her presence. As he went, he could feel the strength of her presence diminishing, though the utter clarity of her care for him and of her power Durik felt could never diminish in him. Seeing nothing but blackness now, Durik could feel power coursing through him and knew that some portion of that power would remain with him from that point onward.
As the vision began to fade, Durik could feel the last tendrils of her hold on him release. As they did so, he heard three words that resonated through his dreams for the rest of the night.
“I am Morgra.”
Chapter 7 – An Arrogant Proposal
Durik awoke shortly after dawn the following day. Manebrow had entered his room and woken him with the good news that, for the second night in a row, the Border Guards had seen no sign of the ant colony’s forces. As Durik sat up and shook the sleep from his brain, Manebrow mentioned that he was about to go through the quarters and wake the troops. They had not done morning drills their first morning here to allow the troops some rest, but Manebrow had no intentions of letting the morning drills slip again.