by Joel Babbitt
As they had been surveying the extent of the damage, they discovered the bodies of Lord Sennak the Younger, the other two warrior group leaders, and all five of the veteran warriors who had served the warrior group leaders as their seconds. With bitter realization, the pair of friends realized that they were now the de facto leaders of the shattered remnants of the Deep Gen.
“Hemmet,” Mirrik said, looking at his friend who was leaning on a tall orc sword he had used to slay his last couple of orcs. “I think we need to make Kale the leader of what’s left of our people.”
Hemmet was silent as he looked about at the sheer destruction.
“I don’t think either of us are cut out to be lord of a gen,” Mirrik continued.
The pair stood in silence for a few moments.
“I don’t suppose Lord Karthan would approve of that, do you?” Hemmet finally asked.
Mirrik thought for a moment. “I don’t think it matters much.”
After a few moments, Hemmet nodded. “So be it. Let’s go tell him.”
The pair of warriors slowly walked down the slope, each of them nursing various wounds, bruises, and aches from the afternoon’s battle.
As Hemmet and Mirrik approached Kale, the paladin came riding up in his now mud-splattered armor on his exhausted mount. The pair of warrior leaders stopped and waited, though for what they didn’t know.
With a clear look in his eyes, as one who had finally found the answer to a long-standing problem, Durik dismounted and walked up to Kale. In his left hand he held the Kale Stone, which glowed with a soft, almost comforting light.
“Sire,” Durik said as placed the Kale Stone in Kale’s outstretched hands, his other hand on Kale’s arm as he looked him in the eyes. “I know that events are not yet such that everyone feels this is the right thing to do, but I have been commanded to give you the Kale Stone, and I must obey.”
Kale nodded and smiled humbly at Morgra’s chosen paladin as he held the powerful gift in his hands. “I know, faithful servant of Morgra,” he said, “but circumstances will soon be different.” In his hands the Kale Stone shone with an immediate, brilliant luster.
Around The Sorcerer’s two servants a brilliant light began to grow, starting subtly and growing until under the canopy of the trees it was as bright as the fields at noon-day. All around the battlefield the delirious wounded were comforted, the spirits of the dead passed to the place of the ancestors in greater peace, and all who were still firmly in the realm of the living were drawn to look at them.
Next to the pair of leaders, Mirrik and Hemmet knelt. Following their lead, Kale’s brother knelt, and soon all who were left of the former Deep Gen, all the former outcasts, and the half of the Wolf Riders who were with Durik were all on their knees in reverence and awe.
Looking about at his many fellow kobolds on their knees, Kale held up the stone of their heritage, the stone which assured his right to rule over the gen whose name he bore.
Jominai looked off to the right. Behind him the four hundred levies marched, while Marbo rode along at the rear of the formation. Behind his four blocks of one hundred spear-holding frightened young recruits, the hundred wolf riders under Krulak, the son of the lord of their gen, rode along ready for action. Next to them were nearly fifty orc archers, and spread around the various kobold formations were various hobgoblins. Off to the right, however, were the orc scouts in the wood line.
Ahn-Ki, Voice for Chieftain as he liked to be called, had told Jominai to only advance as fast as the little group of orc scouts advanced. From what Jominai could understand from the gravelly-voiced hobgoblin’s instructions, Drakebane had told the little group to pace his half of the horde, so apparently they were all moving forward on line.
What caught his attention, however, was the fact that the little group of orc scouts had begun running back down the hill. He’d heard a pair of ram’s horns being blown in the woods off to their right, and then more sounds of battle like they’d been hearing all along, but this time things were different. This time the sounds of ogres and orcs yelling ended and the sound of many kobolds rejoicing could be heard on the thick afternoon air.
Then, with the sky darkening from the smoke and falling ashes of the still distant conflagration, Jominai heard the ram’s horn again. He looked up the slope at the line of a few hundred Kale warriors that were still several bowshots away, but saw no ram’s horn there. Looking over to the right again, he saw the lead companies of what had to be Kale or Krall warriors breaking through the underbrush and marching in line out into the meadow not a bowshot’s distance off to the right.
Wheeling his wolf around, Jominai drew his sword. “Kill the hobgoblins and orcs!” he yelled. Kicking his wolf in the ribs, he charged forward toward the hobgoblin closest to him, a particularly ugly hobgoblin who was marching along with the Five Gens contingent.
Jominai’s command had not only caught the hobgoblins off guard, most of whom didn’t speak The Sorcerer’s tongue, but he also caught his own troops off guard. However, in a matter of a few moments all five hundred kobolds were attacking their hobgoblin guards. Then, with a command from Krulak, the hundred Kobold Cavalry wheeled about and charged into the fifty orcs of the archer contingent. Between the sharp spears of the cavalry, and the fiery missiles of the five covenant mages among the cavalry, the entire contingent of orc archers were soon put to flight.
By the time Lord Karthan arrived, the Kobold Gen Cavalry had ridden down the last few orcs, and Krulak and Jominai had walked out in front of their contingents to offer their spears in support of their Kale cousins. With hands tied in front of him, the leader of the hobgoblin mercenaries, Ahn-Ki, was presented as a gift to the Lord of the Kale Gen.
Chapter 16 – A Common Foe
Goryon and Gorgon both slapped each other on the back and yelled excitedly as the center of the orc horde collapsed into chaos… just as they had been preparing to fire the first spears from their Great Bows. The best part about it was seeing Lord Karthan’s bronze crown shining in the gray light as he led the Kale companies out of the tree line from the left.
“Victory!” Gorgon yelled, turning to look excitedly at Jerrig, Arbelk, and Troka.
“Aye, lad,” Goryon beamed in pride. “Though there is still another flank to be secured, you know.”
“Yes, but that won’t take long, not now that our warriors were victorious on the left flank!” Gorgon replied excitedly. “I’m going to take my team down there! I don’t want to miss this!”
Goryon looked at his son, startled and disapproving. Then, reminding himself that his son was a warrior, and an accomplished one at that by the stories he’d told him on the way here, he nodded. “Go, son! Drive the rest of the orcs from here!”
Grabbing their weapons, Gorgon and the rest of his team were preparing to climb down the ladder when suddenly they saw something that stopped them cold. Before long, the two teams of warriors were gathering rocks and preparing to defend their sheer-sided stone tower.
As Lord Karthan was accepting the spears of the Kobold Gen-led contingent, a dog-rider with another dog in tow appeared at the bottom of the long slope. While the leaders from the two gens talked, Krulak of the Kobold Gen making it clear they did not want to fight their Kale cousins and Lord Karthan of the Kale Gen making it clear he didn’t want to fight them either, the dog-rider got closer.
As the leaders were talking about the forest fire and the ants, both of which were out there in the woods, and both of which were likely closer than they felt comfortable with, the dog-rider got close enough for everyone to see that what he carried on the dog that was trailing him was another kobold, unconscious and strapped over the second dog’s back. The pair of dogs were worn almost to utter exhaustion, and all four of them were covered in ash.
Finally, as the two leaders were coming to an agreement that would allow the warriors of the Kobold Gen and the northern gens’ levies to take shelter in the Kale Gen’s home caverns until the fire passed, the dog-rider and his uncon
scious companion came riding up, past the warriors who had stepped out of line to help him and straight up to the huddle of leaders.
“Lord Karthan!” the rider called out.
“Aye! Krebbekar, isn’t it, of Lord Krall’s house guard?” Lord Karthan asked. “What news do you bring?”
“The same!” he replied. “I’ve urgent news for you and for all kobolds on this field of battle today!” he continued, looking over at the various leaders from the Kobold contingent. “The ants are upon us all!”
Even as he said the words, three dog-riders in shiny metal armor burst out of the forest canopy and into the open at the bottom of the slope. Seeing the mass of kobolds on the hill, the trio turned and rode for them. Immediately behind them a mass of warrior ants came tumbling out over each other in their frenzy to catch the three riders.
It was as if a bolt of lighting had shot through the group. After grasping hands and agreeing to stand together against the ants, the leaders turned away from each other, each of them yelling orders to gather their warriors to the top of the slope. Within a couple of moments both contingents were marching at a quick pace up the hill.
Trallik and Trikki ran for all they were worth. They knew that many hundreds of lives depended on their message arriving quickly, and so they were being a lot less cautious than they might otherwise have been.
To their front, on the other side of the hill they had just crested somewhere, the noise of battle marked their objective. Grabbing Trikki by the hand, Trallik helped her steady herself as she almost tripped over a root.
Down the slope the young lifemates ran, around a thicket that had grown up to choke the ground around several tree trunks, and to a natural ditch that ran through the bottom of the slight depression that followed this part of the road for a little distance.
Jumping over the ditch together, they both looked up and over the edge of the road to where well over a thousand creatures moved with determination or fury. Seeing that they were in the back of the kobold forces involved in this battle, the pair of messengers ran for all they were worth toward the closer of the two flanks of the kobold force; the left one.
“Ready… Fire!” a kobold was yelling as they ran up the left side of what had to be the largest block of archers the southern valley had ever seen. As one, hundreds of arrows, some rather long and some of normal length, flew through the air, raining down on the orc forces on the far side of the front of the kobold line.
From where they were at, Trallik and Trikki could not see the effect of the massive volley, but they could see the kobold that had commanded it. Tall for a kobold, muscular but not overly much, wearing leather armor with a silver tree embossed on the breastplate, and holding a sword with a golden hilt, this kobold had to be a leader caste from the Krall Gen.
“Sire!” Trallik called out, almost out of breath as they ran up and stopped in front of the noble kobold.
“What’s this? Speak!” the kobold leader said.
“Sire! We seek Lord Krall,” Trallik huffed as he bent over, out of breath. “Where is he?”
“Reload!” The kobold called out as he considered the pair carefully. “He’s a bit busy right now, as am I. Do you carry a message?”
“Aye, sire,” Trallik nodded as he stood up.
The kobold leader looked away for a moment, then looked back at the massive contingent of archers. “Fire!” With the sound of a swift wind, hundreds of arrows arched up into the sky to rain death on the orcs.
“If you’ve a message, I am Krall, son and heir of Lord Krall. You can tell me!”
Trallik looked surprised and stood up straighter. “Sire, Lord Karthan sent me to tell you that the ants have arrived! He requests that you move your forces to the crest of the hill, that our gens may stand together!”
Krall looked as if Trallik had just hit him in the face. After a moment or two of thought, he slowly nodded. “Very well, tell Lord Karthan that we’re on our way, if we can make it.”
With that, Trallik and Trikki took off running back the way they had come.
Behind them now, Krall ordered his troops to reform into their smaller groups and to move at the double to the south side of the hill, where they could easily climb up to join their brethren of the Kale Gen on the crest of the hill.
Having organized his Archer Guard and Border Guard, Krall joined his father at the front of the Heavy Guard. The orcs had been fought to a standstill and the two forces had separated, standing not a dozen steps from each other as they rested and glared at each other.
Krall could see that the orcs were clearly on the verge of defeat. The handful of ogres they’d had with them had all succumbed to the volleys of arrows, and the dead and wounded orcs lay in heaps where arrows and the heavy, chopping swords of the Heavy Guard had put them. They had arrived almost four hundred strong, but now the orcs were a mere fraction of that, barely over a hundred effectives by Krall’s estimate.
The Krall Gen had faired much better than their opponents. Volley after volley of arrows, and the curved two-handed swords of their Heavy Guard, had both been exceptionally effective. Discipline was the mantra of their gen’s forces, and skill at arms was its greatest manifestation. This day, at least, as they left less than fifty dead on the field, they knew it had served them well.
Shagra, who led the orcs, had been frustrated at every turn. His little flanking force he’d sent around them had been shot down without doing any damage as they emerged from the trees. His forces had been cut by a third by arrow-fire as they were approaching. Now, the cantankerous old kobold who led the Krall Gen’s forces had ordered his forces to back up, only to rain two more volleys of arrows down on them!
Shagra was about to call for what was left of his forces to make one last charge when the old kobold held up his hands and, in the company of his guards, walked out in front of his line of warriors. It looked like he wanted to talk! Shagra was suspicious, but what choice did he have? Now that they’d had a moment to think, he could see that most of his warriors were thinking about running. All around his meager force heads turned toward to look at the forest or the road behind them, and here and there an orc warrior or two took off running into the trees.
“You! Foul orc!” the old kobold spoke in orcish. “Big enemy come!”
Shagra looked at the kobold, trying to guess what it was saying. Suddenly, he realized they must be talking about the dragon. Would they be surrendering to him now?
“Dragon come? You surrender?” Shagra asked, a cruel smile coming to his face.
“No!” the old kobold yelled. He used his hands to make a walking motion then he put them up next to his horns and wiggled them… like antennae. The scowl on his face told Shagra exactly what the kobold thought of him.
Suddenly, Shagra’s blood ran cold. “Ants?” he asked. Then, seeing that the kobold didn’t understand, he asked again. “Big bugs, big teeths?”
The old kobold nodded once, grimly, then turned around and shouted something to his warriors. The rearmost part of the kobold sword-wielders broke off and began marching quickly for the hill. The rest of the kobold warriors began moving backward and away from the orcs. He went with them.
Shagra turned around as well. Suddenly, far behind his forces, back where the road turned left around the bottom of the slope they fought next to, a small group of ant warriors appeared.
“Turn!” Shagra yelled. His entire force turned about as one. Though none of his warriors could have known how much of an overwhelming force of ants were on their way, still they panicked because their escape was cut off.
“Orcs!” Shagra yelled. “With kobolds! We go with kobolds!” With that, Shagra ran and plunged into the woods next to the long slope, the last hundred unscathed orc warriors of the Bloodhand Orc Tribe following after him. As the many wounded orcs realized they were being left behind, all who were able got up and began to shamble, run, or limp after their companions.
Behind them on the road and in the meadow where the two forces had met, wel
l over a hundred orcs who were too wounded to move, many of them on death’s doorstep, lay wailing and moaning like little children as a slow, horrible death approached them… with antennae twitching and mandibles clicking.
Soon, the feast of the ants began.
“Sire!” Khazak Mail Fist called to Lord Karthan as he arrived at the top of the slope ahead of the trail of wounded kobolds and the helpers he had taken to them. All about the top of the slope kobolds from three gens milled about, and off to the front a group of about a hundred orcs stood unmolested, watching nervously the ants at the bottom of the slope and the kobolds just above them on the slope. Streaming in behind the orcs were many wounded orcs, though unlike the kobolds not one of their own moved to help them.
Lord Karthan turned about. He had been talking with Lord Krall, who sat stiffly in his saddle, and with the two foreign kobolds who were leaders of the Kobold Gen’s forces; Krulak and Jominai by name, as Khazak remembered them.
“What news, Khazak?” Lord Karthan asked.
“Sire! The ant front is much larger than we thought!” Khazak replied. “They are coming up our left flank as we speak! Manebrow reports that they have massed beyond our left flank as well, with mostly worker ants coming around to the north of us.”
“And they’re coming around our right flank as well,” Lord Krall said from the back of his muscular riding dog.
“Lord Karthan,” the older of the two Kobold leader caste spoke, “I know we are but a small part in this whole battle, but I would suggest that we cannot form a line against these ants. We must move to secure our flanks.”