The Game of Fates

by Joel Babbitt

  “Wooooow,” they both said, almost in unison. Gorgon looked down at the pair as they stood examining his armor. When they finally noticed he was looking at them, Gorgon growled at them. Their squeals broke the early morning calm as they ran around the table to their ‘protector.’ Kiria gave Gorgon a stern look. Gorgon ignored it and went back to eating the shank of boar meat he had in his hand.

  Though they had initially decided to make armor for the entire company, Kiria, Myaliae, and Kabbak had all tried on the first suit of armor and had decided that it was too heavy for them. For these three, Jerrig had instead designed a heavier suit of leather, with a breastplate made of multiple layers that were shaped and boiled in oil to harden them. They had made helmets, arm guards, shin guards, large metal bands to go around their waists, and shoulder guards for them anyway, just like the rest of the company. Though they were heavy, Manebrow had insisted that they wear them. ‘You’ll get used to it’ was all he’d say when they complained. None of the three liked the armor much, but they did see the utility in having something thicker than their own scales between their bodies and whatever they might encounter next.

  At this early hour of the morning, as Lady Karaba sat admiring Kiria’s new outfit and talking with Kiria about what lay ahead, Karto and Lat had already found their own use for Kiria’s helmet. After initially trying it on both of their heads, Karto immediately grabbed the helmet and, throwing it on his little head, ran over to Gorgon, the helmet bouncing up and down on his head as he went. Stopping, he peered over Gorgon’s arm. The look on his face was unmistakable. It was playtime.

  Holding up his hands like claws, Karto growled back at Gorgon when the hardened warrior finally looked his way. Grabbing the young kobold around the waist, Gorgon picked him up and Kiria’s helmet went clattering across the floor. He then proceeded to tickle Karto until the front of his loin cloth began to turn yellow. Gorgon then quickly let him go and nudged him toward his sister.

  Kiria was none too happy about what Gorgon had done, and was quick to show her displeasure. Karto was sent back to the inner chambers to change into a clean loincloth and, though Gorgon got several frowns, the rest of first meal was much quieter.

  Just as Karto left to change, Krebbekar, Gormanor, and Lemmekor all arrived through the front door. At first they didn’t recognize the members of Durik’s Company, but after they got past the initial impression the scale armor had elicited from almost all who had seen it, they noticed that the kobolds wearing it were none other than the kobolds they would be traveling with on this quest. Approaching the table where the company was seated, Krebbekar stopped next to Durik, surveying the gleaming group of metal clad warriors.

  “Good morning to you, Krebbekar,” Durik said, breaking the spell.

  “Ah, yes. Good morning to you also, Durik,” Krebbekar replied. “My, you certainly accomplished a lot in the last three days.”

  Durik nodded, “We have been hard at work. Come, will you sit with us?”

  “That you have been,” Krebbekar motioned for Gormanor and Lemmekor to sit down as the Kale Gen warriors made room for them. Seating himself next to Durik and across the end of the table from Manebrow, Krebbekar was still staring at the armor the company was wearing when a servant approached the three newcomers with a steaming platter of meat and vegetables. Though their appetite this early in the morning was light, the three Krall Gen warriors dug in with the same fervor as their Kale Gen counterparts.

  After a few moments, Keryak approached from the end of the table. He held a bag in his hand and, leaning down, he whispered in Durik’s ear as he placed it next to Durik’s seat.

  “Thank you again, Keryak,” Durik said as Keryak walked away.

  “While we were making things last night,” Durik said as he bent over an opened the sack, “we figured out how to make…” he pulled four concave steel pieces with straps attached to them out of the bag and placed them on the table “… helmets.” Durik stood up and handed one to each of the three warriors. “Here, these are yours. I do hope they fit. Consider them a small thanks for the hospitality your lord has extended to us. Oh, and this fourth one is for Morigar.”

  As if on cue, Morigar chose that moment to appear through the door to the council chambers. He looked resplendent in his well-oiled armor, with a sheathed long sword hanging over his back and a hunting bow in one hand. As he entered, the look on his face was one of pride. He walked like he’d been given command of a great host and was about to ride off at its head. Taking his seat at the head table, he surveyed the hall as servants brought him plates and cups.

  “Our thanks,” Krebbekar said as he put his horns through the holes made for them and seated the helmet on his head, buckling the strap under his chin. “Well, it fits surprisingly well. My compliments to your smithing skill.” Krebbekar turned and walked toward Morigar.

  Though he’d entered with an attitude of arrogance, Morigar had quickly taken notice of the members of Durik’s Company and his feeling of dominance immediately began to slide. He looked from his hardened leather armor with its few iron guards to their entire suits of scale mail armor and a look of jealousy immediately showed on his face.

  “Sire, Durik sends this helmet, with his complements,” Krebbekar stated in an even tone.

  Morigar snatched it away from him grudgingly. “My thanks,” he said as he contemptuously lifted a goblet to Durik’s health.

  Durik returned the gesture, though sincerely, and the rest of the meal passed quickly and in peace. As the company gathered their equipment and stood to go, Lord Krall entered the Great Hall from the rear entrance, his sword still unsheathed and in his hand. Everyone in the great hall stood as the door guard announced his arrival and the company turned to face him.

  Lord Krall stopped when he noticed the metal-clad warriors of Durik’s Company. “Well, so that’s what you were making, all cloistered in that smithy! Metal armor… and fine, strong, thin steel from the looks of it. I’m glad I got a chance to see it before you depart.”

  Durik stepped forward. “Lord Krall, we much appreciate your hospitality. By your orders, my lord, we will depart the gen shortly… as soon as we load up our dogs.”

  Lord Krall nodded and walked across the raised dais to his chair. Laying his sword on the table, he sat down. “So be it! I wish you well on your journey.”

  “As we also wish you well in your battle against the great ants,” Durik returned, bowing his helmeted head slightly.

  Morigar was beginning to stand up and it was obvious that the time for father and son to say goodbye had come. “Move out,” Manebrow said and all in the company turned as one toward the exit except for Kiria, who was obviously heading toward her brothers.

  “A quick goodbye only,” she said as she passed Durik, who only nodded.

  Krebbekar approached Durik, “Don’t wait for us, Durik,” he said. “We’ve acquired another packdog which I still need to fetch. We’ll have to meet you on the trail to the Chop.”

  Durik looked at him with tired eyes. “No hurry. My company has been up all night finishing this armor. We’re going to take most of the morning, and perhaps part of the afternoon, to get some sleep. We’ll be stopping just outside the borders of your land. We’ll have a picket near the road to the Chop, however, watching for your approach.”

  Krebbekar nodded his understanding and the two leaders parted ways.

  The pre-dawn darkness had already begun to recede as the light of the still hidden sun approached over the eastern mountain. The light, mixed with the early morning mists, gave an ethereal glow to the air as the members of Durik’s Company finished saddling their wolves and securing the loads on their retinue of pack dogs.

  “This armor is heavy,” Tohr muttered to his brother Kahn as they teamed up to lift the last pack saddle onto the last packdog.

  “That it is! I doubt we’ll be traveling quite as far or as fast as before with all this steel on us,” Kahn replied.

  Ardan overheard the conversation as he wal
ked up with a bag of small tools and repair pieces from inside the caravan drivers’ quarters to load on the packdog. “Aye, but you’ll be glad you have it the next time we meet orcs.”

  Keryak, coming up from behind with one of the climbing kits, joined in. “Just think, tonight we’ll be at the Chop,” he said, referring to the rather steep mountain that stood between the southern gens and the northern valleys where the Hall of the Mountain King lay. “That should be a real joy.”

  “Ah, you’re all needing to put a bit more muscle on your bones anyway.” Gorgon said as he loaded the last bag of rations from inside the quarters onto a packdog. “Think of this as a great opportunity to build up your leg and shoulder muscles!”

  “Always the optimist, I see,” Keryak said as he rolled his eyes. “Hey, I’ve got a great muscle-building idea; you could carry me up the Chop.”

  Gorgon didn’t respond as he walked back toward the rear of the company to join the rest of his team. In a few moments, the last packdog was loaded and Terrim gave the thumbs-up to Manebrow, indicating that the dogs were ready.

  At that moment Lady Karaba appeared next to Durik. She was dressed in a simple dark woolen robe that kept her hidden until she was upon the company, and her arrival startled Durik.

  “Young leader, I must talk with you for a moment,” she said quietly, the intensity in her voice conveying a sense of urgency.

  “But of course,” Durik said and allowed himself to be led a short distance into the wood line.

  Stopping out of easy earshot of the company, Lady Karaba turned and spoke to him in hushed tones. “Young Durik, I have several pieces of news for you.”

  Durik nodded.

  “First is that, indeed, the Kale Stone is to be found in the Dwarven Mining Outpost. I can sense its presence, and its longing to be found. There is a powerful presence there, however, that has prevented my scrying. As I was searching for the Kale Stone, however, the stone reached out to show me that it rests in a treasure chamber down an old abandoned well. I saw few orcs in the caves around the outpost, but of the outpost itself I could only see the outer chambers. There were orc guards set on the outer passageway, however. Do be careful, Durik. I believe one of great power has made his home there.”

  Durik nodded his understanding, looking keenly into Lady Karaba’s eyes to see if there was anything else she might be reluctant to share.

  “The other thing you must know is that…” she looked around to ensure no one else was listening. “The Kale Gen has been overthrown. Lord Karthan still lives, however. He and some number of his loyalists have gone north to the mountains where they are establishing a fort. There is much activity in the halls of my old gen, but I could see that Khee-lar Shadow Hand has indeed taken the throne.” Lady Karaba paused as she struggled with her emotions. “Durik, if ever you were a loyal servant to my brother, you must go to him quickly.”

  Durik was stunned with the revelation. His mind swirled with thoughts of his uncle and aunt, his little sister and his other relatives, of the many kobolds he had known all his life. Even as he thought of them, he began to wonder who of all the kobolds he had known all his life had decided to throw their lot in with Khee-lar, and who had remained loyal.

  The implications of what Lady Karaba had told him were earth shattering for the young leader. His was now a company without a home gen, for he certainly would not return to be branded a supporter of Lord Karthan and killed. Yet to never see the caves of his home again? The thought was almost unbearable to him.

  “My lady,” Durik said, struggling to contain his emotions, “I will do what I can! We shall gain the stone and take its power to Lord Karthan and his loyalists in the northern mountains. I promised my loyalty to him. I and my warriors will hold to that vow.”

  Lady Karaba grabbed his arm, seeming to draw strength from the young leader. Unable to say anything more, she simply nodded and left, walking back down the trail toward the great hall on the lake with her head down in silent contemplation.

  Durik returned to his company, determined to keep this secret to himself until they had acquired the Kale Stone. Though Manebrow would be upset with him for doing so, Durik knew that his second would get no rest until he knew the status of his lifemate and three sons. As for the rest of the company, if they were going to make it through this plunge into the underdark after the Kale Stone, they had to be at their best. A major distraction like this would only serve to get them killed. For now, Durik chose to carry the burden on his own.

  With his decision made, Durik took a deep breath and looked around, nodding at Manebrow to prepare the company to march. With Ardan’s team in the front, the leaders’ team in the middle, including the packdogs, and Gorgon’s team bringing up the rear, the company stood ready to depart.

  Manebrow had never seen such a formidable looking group of kobolds, resplendent as they were in their steel-scaled armor with weapons in hand. On their backs each kobold carried his or her own personal gear in their backpacks, along with shields that were slung loosely over the packs. Manebrow had originally considered having the company don their wolf skin outfits, but now as he looked at the steam escaping from under their helmets and suits of armor in the early morning mists, he was glad he had chosen not to.

  In the front of the company, Ardan and Keryak were already moving forward to take their places as the front pickets for the company. As they walked, Manebrow could see their breath coming out in heated gusts through the early morning air. Tohr and Kahn, the other two members of Ardan’s team, stood in silence with their bows leaning against their shoulders.

  Behind himself and Durik, Manebrow saw the packdogs, each of them loaded almost to capacity, standing with broad stances under the weight of the packs. Terrim and Kabbak stood holding the reins to the four packdogs. Kiria and Myaliae both were chatting lightly and patting the flanks of Kiria’s new riding dog as they awaited the command to move out. Next to him, Manebrow’s wolf stood with its nose in the air, trying to sense what was on the wind this morning. Now that he was out of the warmth of the kennel, water droplets had already begun to form on his fur. Durik’s mount Firepaw stood studiously observing the company, awaiting whatever was to happen next.

  Manebrow looked toward the rear of the company. Gorgon and Jerrig had already deployed about twenty paces to the rear of the company to act as rear pickets. Leaning against his two new javelins, the much slighter Jerrig was a stark contrast to the much more muscular Gorgon. While Jerrig seemed to be uncomfortable with the weight of the new steel armor, Gorgon stood steadily, as if both a night without sleep and the heavy armor had no impact on him. Troka stood in the back of the line, in front of the rear pickets, holding the reins to Gorgon’s wolf while Arbelk rubbed the wolf’s ears.

  The sense of energy and anticipation that an early morning departure always brought with it was less palpable among the members of the company after not having slept at all the night before, but the look in their eyes said they were ready to hit the trail again.

  Seeing that all was in order, Durik nodded to Manebrow to commence the march. Raising one hand above his head, Manebrow gave the silent signal and the entire company began to move out.

  Chapter 19 – In the Hands of Orcs

  The stench of orc is a potent scent, especially orc that hasn’t been thrown in clean water for several moons, and orc stench is only made exponentially worse after getting involved with a rather surly skunk at some point in the not-too-distant past. It was this combination of unique stenches that eventually penetrated Trallik’s groggy mind and began to shock his senses back into a state of semi-consciousness. Around him, deep voices rumbled in raucous laughter, which was soothing compared to the sharp, pungent scent oozing from the pores of the orc that Trallik discovered was carrying him.

  Coming to some semblance of semi-consciousness, Trallik pulled his lolling tongue back into his snout and attempted to open his eyes. One of his two eyes reluctantly obeyed. The other one felt it was too swollen to open and simply took
Trallik’s command as a suggestion that it promptly ignored.

  Bending the one eye to his will, Trallik looked down at his hands. He had been wondering why they didn’t want to move either. His wondering was soon rewarded with a realization that someone had tied his hands and his feet together, and that his body had been slung across some orc’s torso, much like a coil of rope. This gave Trallik a bit of pause, as he didn’t immediately remember how he’d gotten there.

  ‘Oh yes, that’s right, the big orc,’ he thought to himself after a few moments. His brain was pretty much intact, but the buffeting it had recently taken had paused much of its functionality, and Trallik was having a hard time getting everything started again. Looking about himself, the fact that he was seeing with heat vision registered, which meant that he was probably underground, especially since all he could see around him was cold rock and dirt. Looking around a bit more, Trallik discovered that the stinky orc that was carrying him was not the only orc there. In fact, there seemed to be at least a couple more, though still only one eye was obeying his wishes so it was difficult to tell. After a few moments of listening, he thought he heard a few distinct voices; maybe four or five.

  ‘Oh great, captured by orcs, beaten half to death, and now my finely-tuned nose is being pummeled with skunk must and orc sweat,’ Trallik thought to himself. ‘Could it get any worse? I hope they don’t eat me.’

  At that exact moment the air changed slightly and Trallik noticed that they had entered a large chamber. From the overwhelming stench of orc in the room, Trallik assumed this had to be their… barracks? The orc that was carrying Trallik stopped and began yelling in his own guttural tongue. After a couple of moments another orc answered. A moment of silence passed, then the distinct sound of coins being passed from one hand to the other occurred somewhere close to Trallik, and he was hoisted off of the skunk-stench orc’s back and onto the back of an equally repulsive, yet subtly different-smelling orc.