The Game of Fates

by Joel Babbitt

  “Do what you can do, my dear friend,” Lord Krall answered him as he walked with him toward the door. He stopped at the door and looked Krebbekar in the eyes, “Bring him back, will you? His mother would never forgive me, you know. One son is all that any mother should be asked to give.”

  “Yes, sire.” Krebbekar bowed his head and left through the open door.

  Krebbekar followed Lord Krall’s minister around the side of his spacious house on the lake. Beneath their feet the planks creaked and Krebbekar could hear the gentle lapping of the water against the foundation pylons that anchored the whole of the minister’s house in its place on the lake. As they walked, the minister, a rather tall and spindly older kobold who was the chief of all of Lord Krall’s servants, mumbled and carried on about how this invasion was going to tax the resources of the gen and how this whole ‘marching in the morning’ thing was making an absolute mess of their economy.

  The minister’s antics usually made Krebbekar laugh under his breath, but this time was different. Krebbekar was in no mood to laugh and would be hard pressed to think of anything as funny right then. His mood was somber and his attitude was somewhat soured by the tasks that had been thrust upon him. After many years of thinking of the minister as weak for all his muttering and complaining, Krebbekar now was tempted to mutter and complain also.

  Reaching the minister’s personal kennel, the minister turned to Krebbekar. “You know, this is a rather sturdy dog. This has got to be one of the better mine dogs, strong as he is. The dog keeper at the mines didn’t seem loath to give him up though, for some reason. Oh well, he’s yours now.”

  Krebbekar’s brow raised, “A dog? What do I need a dog for?” he said as he followed the minister into the kennel. Inside the kennel Krebbekar could see the bright gray figures of two dogs in separate cages. The one on the right stood and whined benignly as they entered. Krebbekar recognized him as the minister’s personal mount. The other dog lay curled up in its cage, but even curled up in the corner, Krebbekar could tell that he was much larger than a normal packdog.

  The minister turned and looked Krebbekar in the eye for a moment. Then, walking over to a large chest sitting outside the inner cages of the kennel, the minister threw open the lid revealing a chest full of cold metal coins, enough to crush an average packdog. “There’s a bit more of this stuff than you might have thought.”

  Krebbekar was quite surprised. He approached the chest and shook his head in bewilderment. “That’s a lot of metal to be carrying,” he said.

  “Hmmm… well, yes. So this dog, as I was saying, he’s a big one, black fur with a golden sheen to it. Got the black from his father, a rather large wolf as I hear it, and the golden sheen from the poor female that had to bear this brute.” The minister fidgeted with the twine that held the kennel door closed. In a few moments he had it open and he called to the large beast within. “Minotaur! Come here boy!” Without so much as a whimper Minotaur stood and, in a moment the calm, completely emotionless eyes of the large beast were staring directly into Krebbekar’s.

  “He’s a tall one isn’t he!” Krebbekar said as he reached up to rub Minotaur’s nose. Minotaur stood completely still, not moving a muscle, not reacting in any way. The calm, dispassionate look in Minotaur’s eyes was unnerving. “What’s behind your eyes, Minotaur,” Krebbekar muttered to no one in particular.

  The minister pointed to the pack saddle and four large sacks that lay against the wall next to the entrance. “That’s yours too. I hear you’re leaving before dawn tomorrow, so don’t bother waking me to tell me you’re taking him. Just load him up and go. But don’t leave the kennel door open!”

  Krebbekar nodded, still looking Minotaur in the eyes, “All right then.”

  After a couple of moments, the minister cleared his voice. “Do you mind, I do need to get up early to see Lord Krall off, you know. Don’t worry, you’ll have much time to get to know each other on the trail.”

  Krebbekar turned and looked at the minister. “Ah yes, quite sorry. Come Minotaur, back inside your cage now.” Minotaur backed into his cage without so much as a hand motion, almost as if he had understood Krebbekar. Surprised, Krebbekar fastened the twine back in place and left with the minister, shaking his head as he left. The minister stopped at the front door to his house and waited as Krebbekar approached.

  Grasping the minister’s hand, Krebbekar looked into his eyes, “My thanks for all you’ve done for the house guard over the years, friend,” he said.

  The minister’s brow raised. “You’re not thinking you’ll die out there, are you, Krebbekar?” he asked.

  “One never knows,” he said as he released the minister’s hand and adjusted the collar of his leather armor. “Either way, you’ve been a friend to me, and I do hope to see you yet again. Goodbye for now.” With that, Krebbekar turned and made his way toward the house guard’s barracks, where he was due to inspect the troops that he would be sending out to protect Lord Krall in his campaign.

  Standing at his door, Lord Krall’s minister watched the gray figure of the old warrior until it disappeared into the trees.

  Chapter 18 – The Departure

  Knowing it was their final night in the workshops of the Krall Gen, the members of Durik’s Company ran on pure adrenaline. They had a clear mission, and they were nearing completion. They had all been excited about the prospect of making such an advanced item as metal armor. The advantage they felt it would give them led them onward, past the fatigue. The fact that they were all in it together inspired them to work well beyond where any of them individually would have quit. They felt they were setting the stage for either success or failure at whatever challenges might lie ahead of them—and they were determined to succeed.

  In the metalsmithy Gorgon and Ardan worked the forges while Manebrow directed the show. The larger pieces had all been cast already and had long since been passed over to the leather working shop for assembly. Now the entire shop was focused on doing one thing; getting the metal from the smelter poured into the molds they’d made for the scales, then getting the metal cooled, extracting the scales, pounding each one thin, and filing off any rough edges, then punching the holes in them that were needed to secure them to the leather armor backing.

  As the first watch of the night passed and the group finished pouring the last batch of scales, they paused for a moment to rest and to consider their options. They still had a good amount of molten steel, and plenty more iron, limestone, and such to make more.

  Durik looked around the room at the tired, but determined faces of the warriors. “Do we have an appetite to make helmets?” he queried to no one in particular. That had been something they had tried earlier, but had not been able to do successfully. They’d ended up forming some nice bowls, but that was about it. But now that they had much more experience in working with the clay of the molds, and much more experience in pouring the steel, Durik thought that perhaps it was within their grasp.

  Ardan groaned. Tohr just looked at Durik with a blank stare. Manebrow pursed his lips, then, grabbing his aching back, stood. “Well, I’m for it. What do you say, warriors of the Kale Gen? Shall we try one more time?”

  Gorgon, still sweating from the smelter, stood. “I’ve never been one to let metal get the better of me,” he said.

  Ardan also stood, “Let’s do it, I say.”

  Manebrow clapped his hands together. “That’s the spirit. Let’s get these scales pulled, punctured, and pounded thin, then get them over to Jerrig so we can clear the shop floor. Tohr, Kahn, how about getting started on the molds?” With that, the final stage of armor making began. Long into the night, past the second watch and into the third watch, the metal shop was busy. Though fatigue was a real issue, these warriors saw it as a test of their strength, not only physical strength but strength of will as well.

  And they were all in it together.

  After the last conference that he and Morigar had both attended with Lord Krall, Morigar hadn’t wanted to talk to
Krebbekar. As such, Krebbekar had met with Gormanor and Lemmekor, the scouts assigned to him for this mission from the Border Guards, and had told them to meet him at the Great Hall halfway through the third watch. There they would fetch Minotaur and draw the other two packdogs and the two riding dogs that Lord Krall had given them for this journey from the lord’s kennels. They would then prepare their equipment for Morigar’s inspection, if Morigar would inspect them.

  Now, as Krebbekar made his way from the inspection he’d just held in the barracks of the house guard to the Great Hall to meet with Morigar, he shook his head yet again, something he’d been doing a lot of lately. He just didn’t know what to expect from the youngest son of Lord Krall. Lord Krall was a strong, determined leader who always sought the good of the gen, often working long and thankless hours to resolve issues as they arose. Because of his care the gen loved him. Karaba, Lord Krall’s much younger lifemate, was certainly not as strong of a personality, but she was no slacker either. While the minister executed the lord’s will throughout the gen and he, Krebbekar, the captain of the guard, ensured the well being of both the lord and his family, Lady Karaba ran the house and all its servants.

  It was because both of his parents were made of good material that Krebbekar wondered what had happened to Morigar. Pouting about social arguments, refusing to see him, treating all around him that were not of the same social stature as somehow less than himself, ignoring the opportunity to train, preferring to not deal with those who were not of his station, blaming others for his mistakes and refusing to take the blame for problems he caused; these were traits that would not help them on this quest, of that he was certain. They were traits that could get good warriors killed. Though this mission was Morigar’s to complete, in the end Krebbekar knew that much of the actual work of it, if not almost all of it, would fall on his shoulders.

  Krebbekar sighed. He was getting too old for this. He had a lifemate, children, and even grandchildren. In fact, he had a son who was Morigar’s age and who even now was standing in the ranks of the house guard, ready to accompany Lord Krall on his campaign. Both Morigar and Krebbekar’s son had been good friends growing up, that is until Morigar wouldn’t stop demanding that Krebbekar’s son call him ‘sire’ and that he wait on him hand and foot.

  Well, if there was anything that would serve to tear Morigar down from his lofty perch and help him put his feet on the ground, it was probably a life and death quest where everyone had to rely on each other. Unfortunately, in life and death quests, often the ones who die so that others can learn their lessons are not the ones who cause the problems in the first place. Again, Krebbekar shook his head. He was determined to not let that happen. No one would die if he could help it. Despite his resolve, however, in his heart he knew that some things can’t be helped.

  Arriving at the side door to the great hall, Krebbekar was greeted by one of his warriors. He nodded to him and passed through the door to the inner hallways of the lord’s personal chambers. Walking down the hallway past the social chambers, he parted the curtain that separated the bedchambers from the rest of the chambers. Finding Morigar’s door, he knocked lightly. In a moment, he was called in.

  Morigar was standing in front of the large steel mirror he had had mounted on the wall of his room. He was dressed in his full leather armor with all the iron guards strapped on. Over his back was a sheathed sword, so long it almost touched the ground. The hilt of it was covered with gold and the pommel of it was embossed with the symbol of the lineage of Lord Krall; a single great tree. Leaning against Morigar’s desk was one of the finest hunting bows Krebbekar had seen, and sitting next to it was a quiver of finely crafted hunting arrows.

  As Krebbekar stood staring, Morigar turned to face him. “Well, my second, I hear my father has decided to buy me an army!”

  Krebbekar nodded. “He has given us a rather large packdog and enough coins to test the dog’s strength.”

  Morigar turned back to the mirror. “Excellent! I will show him yet! I’ll bring back the head of that orc chieftain, that’s certain!”

  Krebbekar just nodded.

  “Well, Krebbekar. I’ll see you at early first meal then, at the end of third watch,” Morigar said, indicating that that was all the conversation he cared for at the moment.

  “Sire, your troops will be ready for inspection before first meal. Will you inspect them?”

  Morigar turned and looked quizzically at Krebbekar. “That’s your job, second. I’m sure everything is fine. I’ll see you at first meal.” He then turned back to the mirror as he played with the broach of his traveling cloak, attempting to get it to sit just right. “I’d like to stay to see my father lead the companies out of the gen, but that’s not to be it would seem. Well, we’ll see what he has to say when I come marching back with my own victorious army with the heads of all the Bloodhand Orcs on their spears!”

  There were no words for what Krebbekar felt at this exact moment. As such, he merely turned and closed the door, leaving Morigar to live in a world of his own imagining.

  Miratha was still groggy as she stumbled in the darkness toward the front door of her little house on the lake. Hitting her foot on a chair as she walked through the entryway, she whimpered a little and called out, “I’m coming.”

  Moving the chair back in place at the table, she walked to the door and opened it. Outside her door the bright gray figures of four kobolds stood, contrasting sharply against the inky blackness of the pre-dawn sky. They were covered from head to ankle in metal armor and looked rather imposing. The closest one smelled very familiar to her. Smiling, Miratha looked up into his eyes. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

  Ardan removed the helmet that was molded to fit his head. “Miratha, we had some ingots of iron left over, and a couple more rolls of leather than we could carry with us. So, as thanks for helping us get the limestone and extra bricks, we figured you’d want them.”

  “Um… all right. Well, let’s see.” She stepped outside where Tohr and Kahn were standing with a wooden stretcher on the ground between them loaded with several ingots and a pair of rolled skins. “Here, I have a storage locker around the side of the house, please just put it there. My clerk and I will deal with it in the morning.”

  Tohr and Kahn picked the stretcher up, struggling underneath the weight of both their new armor and the loaded stretcher. Gorgon helped them heft it, and then helped steady it as they moved around to the side of the little house.

  Ardan placed his hand on Miratha’s shoulder. “Lord Krall ordered our company to leave before his troops leave the gen this morning at dawn. We’ll be leaving after first light and before the sun’s rays strike the Great Hall on the lake.”

  Miratha, who was still wiping the sleep from her eyes, blinked twice and snuggled up to Ardan’s side, then quickly recoiled. “Ay! Your armor is cold!”

  “Yeah, early morning dew and metal don’t make for a warm reception. Here, let me wrap my cloak around you.” He took off his cloak and wrapped Miratha in it, holding her close when he finished.

  “That’s no good! Why today, and so early as well?!” Miratha complained. Ardan didn’t answer, rather he just stood there holding her. In a few moments, Miratha spoke again. “Ah, well, we didn’t have much time this time through anyway, did we?”

  Ardan’s heart ached, and he just squeezed her harder. “When this quest ends, Miratha, let’s be mated.”

  Miratha’s head shot upward and she pushed away from him. “What?!” she almost shouted, “first you wake me up in the middle of the night, then you finally propose to me?!” She turned around in place, dazed, confused, but now fully awake. Stopping, she looked Ardan in the eyes. “I accept! Of course! I will be yours!”

  Ardan stepped forward and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her close. At just that moment, Gorgon stumbled on a rock as he came around the corner followed by Tohr and Kahn. If they noticed the pair locked in a tight embrace, Ardan certainly didn’t notice and, for some stra
nge reason, Miratha didn’t seem to object now to the cold metal of Ardan’s armor either.

  The Great Hall that morning was alive with activity and conversation. The excitement among the Krall Gen warriors was almost palpable, as almost the entire house guard was deploying to protect their lord and help him prosecute total war against this great ant colony. Despite the early hour, everywhere spirits were high. The Krall Gen warriors were so confident that it almost sounded to the outside observer like they’d already won.

  Seated in the far corner of the Great Hall, the members of Durik’s Company were more subdued. They’d struck perhaps the first blows in this war, and it was their report that had launched this war. But this war had now gone beyond them. Their quest was different, the promise of action not so immediate, and a good night’s rest not so recent a memory.

  There is a saying among warriors, that food substitutes for sleep. Manebrow made sure to re-emphasize that advice with the sleep-deprived members of the company. With no sleep in the recent past, the company needed very little encouragement. The fact that they knew this would be their last cooked meal for some time also encouraged their appetites. Trail rations were not the best fare to look forward to and all of them wanted to eat their fill of the sweet meats and cooked roots that Lord Krall’s providence had provided them before leaving.

  Not long after the company sat down to eat, Kiria’s two younger brothers, Karto and Lat, both came from the inner chambers, escorted by Lord Krall’s lifemate Karaba. It was obvious to all that they had just gotten out of bed, as they were still wiping their eyes and yawning as ‘Aba’ urged them along. She didn’t have to urge them for long, however. When the two young whelps saw the company of warriors dressed in shining metal armor, they shouted with glee. Running up to Gorgon, they both stopped and looked at their reflection in his left bracer.