Into the Heart of Evil (41 page)

“Then we move against Lord Karthan now?”

Khee-lar Shadow Hand thought for a second then
nodded slowly.  “Yes.  All else is finally in place.  Go and gather your
warrior group and give them the oath.  Have your elite warriors slay those
warriors who will not swear.  I leave now for my warrior group.  At the
sounding of the final gong, we move.  Tonight, I shall take my place as Lord of
the Gen.  And if you do not fail me, you shall not be chief elite warrior, but
will be leader caste over your own warrior group as well.”

“Fine, but first you’ll make sure the blame for
this is taken care of, right?” Abetor asked, pointing at the still warm corpse
of Raoros Fang lying in his gore.

“Yes, yes.  I have it all under control,” Khee-lar
reassured him, somewhat annoyed at the other’s persistence in such a trivial
matter as looking after his reputation.  After all, it would all soon be
irrelevant, once Khee-lar’s word was law.

Outside the great hall on the lake in the heart of
the Krall Gen, the steward who had been tasked to escort Khazak Mail Fist to
the guest quarters stood waiting patiently as his charge stood talking to three
other kobold warriors, all from the neighboring Kale Gen.  Though he wasn’t a
terribly curious kobold, the steward couldn’t help but listen in due to his
proximity. 

The news that there was an ongoing attempt to
overthrow the Lord of the Kale Gen as well was a tasty tidbit.  Now, however,
the tone of the conversation had changed.  The three Kale Gen warriors were
apparently trying to convince the Kale Gen’s chamberlain that the Lord of the
Kale Gen would want them to continue the quest for the Kale Stone, especially
in light of the fact that Khee-lar Shadow Hand was looking for it.

The steward knew nothing of a Kale Stone.  But it
seemed obvious enough that it was the sister stone of their own gen’s Krall
Stone.  News in the lord’s household was that the Krall Stone had just been
recovered this very day from the body of one of the conspirators.

“Steward,” the Kale Gen’s chamberlain called to
him, starting him out of his pondering.  “I can see myself to the quarters.”

The steward got the hint.  “Yes, sire,” he said as
he stepped forward and handed him the key.  “I’ll be on my way, then, sire.”

Khazak nodded curtly to the steward, then waited
for the slight servant to disappear inside the great hall yet again.  Turning,
he addressed Durik.  “Durik, I tend to agree with Lord Krall.  Despite what I
hope, it may be that there’s much fighting left to be done.”

Durik nodded. “I agree, but you must know how hard
it is for a yearling group to come back not having achieved their quest!  Not
in my lifetime have I heard of such a thing.  It would be a disgrace to us all,
and you know that.”

Khazak shook his head.  His look was stern and
unyielding.  “Our first duty is to protect Lord Karthan’s rule.  Let us not
forget that.”

Durik pressed on.  “I agree.  In fact I think we
both very much agree.  Let me explain my reasoning.” 

Khazak looked at Durik, his pursed lips showed he
was still somewhat open to what the young warrior leader had to say.

“Khazak,” Durik began, “our principle loyalty is
to Lord Karthan and our gen.  Mynar had in his possession the Krall Stone.  He
was looking for the Kale Stone.  You heard it in there.  Raoros Fang removed
his support from Khee-lar only because he thought we would get the stone
first!  How many other leaders in the gen waiver in their loyalty?  If for no
other reason than to keep war from breaking out among the members of my old
warrior group, Khazak, chamberlain, I ask to be allowed to continue my quest!”

Khazak rubbed his chin, but the look on his face
showed that he still wasn’t convinced.

“Sire,” Manebrow broke in, “there are many in the
Patrol Guard who are loyal to Lord Karthan.  And those who are not, I believe
you could easily convince of Khee-lar Shadow Hand’s bad intentions by showing
them the treaty he signed with the Bloodhand Orcs.  We all know that there are
no friends of orcs among those who defend the borders of our gen.  As
chamberlain, you could gather the Patrol Guard in from the picket line and
march into the gen in strength.”

Khazak neither concurred nor disagreed.  Looking
at the three of them, he chewed his lip for a moment.  “We’ll talk about it
tomorrow morning.”  With much on his mind, Khazak walked past Durik, Manebrow,
and Gorgon and headed off toward the guest quarters, his tail swishing pensively
behind him.

In the kennels, Firepaw sat on his haunches. 
Behind him, as he looked out the cage door, lay the other two wolves, strangers
to him a couple of days before, but now part of his same pack.  In his heart
was a longing that would not be filled.  Starshine, his companion of many
moons, had been lost, killed by one of the sticks that the masters used.  His
heart was heavy and the others were too tired to comfort him.

Turning from the door, Firepaw circled around the
cage restlessly.  His loss was great and would not let him sleep.  Standing on
his hind legs with his nose pointed out the window in the rear of the
enclosure, Firepaw let out a long, lonely wail.  Waiting to hear a response,
perhaps some touch of wolf voices to comfort him, he passed several moments. 
He waited in vain, however.  Both of his wolf companions were sound asleep
after such a journey, and the barking of the dogs in the next kennel over in
response to his howl did nothing to comfort him.  Not only was it a time of
transition for the masters, but also for him.

Not long after his howl, another of the masters,
the oldest one of the group by his scent, appeared with food for him and his
companions.  Seeing the look in Firepaw’s eyes, he opened the kennel and came
in for a moment.  He rubbed the fur behind Firepaw’s ears and spoke gently to
him as Firepaw laid his head in the master’s lap.  As he drifted off to sleep,
Firepaw was grateful for a little bit of kindness amongst so much pain.

Durik sat on the edge of his bed in the leader’s
room of the caravan drivers’ quarters.  He had taken his equipment off and was
thinking about laying down when he heard a knock on his door.  At the door were
Gorgon and Manebrow.  It was obvious from the look on Gorgon’s face that he was
upset.  Durik had expected this and had already thought through what he was
going to say.  He was about to see whether his reasoning would diffuse Gorgon’s
stubbornness.

“What did you do with Trallik?” Gorgon said
flatly.

Manebrow snapped,  “Put some respect in that
question!”

Durik waved the both of them in as Gorgon muttered
a completely insincere apology.  Motioning to a trio of chairs around the small
table in his room, Durik sat down and waited as the others took the other
chairs.

“Gorgon, I know that you’re upset.  After all,
Trallik was a warrior in your team.  It wasn’t my intention for it all to work
out this way.”  Durik could see that Gorgon was skeptical, but whether it was
out of fatigue or respect, at least he was listening.  “I had two options as I
saw it.  The first one was to make a trial, tomorrow, and to hear his
explanations and decide whether he should be executed for treason.”  Durik
grimaced as he shook his head.  “But you and I both know that, no matter what
happened here, Lord Karthan would force my hand once we returned to our gen and
would include Trallik in the group execution I’m sure he’s going to be holding
for Khee-lar Shadow Hand and his supporters.  I also think it goes without
saying that Khazak Mail Fist would not let it go.”

Gorgon sat back, holding his head in his hands. 
“Argh!  But he’s not a threat to anybody!  He might have agreed to help these
traitors, but even Khazak Mail Fist himself said that he couldn’t carry it
out.  Isn’t there a simple solution to this?”

Durik nodded his head as he looked Gorgon in the
eyes.  “My intent was to find that solution.  That second option was to let
Trallik determine his own fate.  Neither Manebrow nor I believed that Trallik
was fully unconscious for the entire trip from the colony to here.  We were
pretty sure he was playing possum with us, so we decided to let him make his
move.”

Manebrow, silent until now, cut in,  “I waited
outside his window after everyone else had bedded down.  A very short time
later, in typical Trallik style, he came out his window where I was waiting for
him.  It was a short conversation.  He knew that we knew what he’d attempted,
and he was fleeing.”

Durik cut back in, “I told Manebrow to let him go,
making sure Trallik understood he was no longer welcome among the gens. 
Effectively, I’ve exiled him.”

The three warriors sat in silence as Gorgon took
in what he’d been told, and decided what to say.  After a few moments, Gorgon
shook his head and stood up.  He looked frustrated and felt powerless, but
after his frustration passed he would eventually feel some sense of relief, if
not closure.  He was certain this would be something he would wonder about for
the rest of his life.  Looking at the others, he muttered, “Well, so be it
then.  I’m going to get some sleep.”

Durik saw Gorgon and Manebrow to the door.  There
was no energy left to chat about things, and there was no reason to.  Both of
the elite warriors found their respective beds and soon put their cares aside
long enough to find sleep.  For Durik, it was not as easy, but before the
beginning of the first watch of the night he too fell into a deep,
well-deserved slumber.

L
ord
Krall’s messenger arrived early the next morning.  It was Keryak’s turn to
stand watch, and standing was precisely what he was doing, to avoid falling
asleep.  The weariness of the last couple of days was going to take some time
to wear off.

“Hail, caravan drivers’ quarters!” the messenger
called out as he made his way up the path toward the steps of the building.

“Aye,” Keryak responded. “And who are you?”

“I bring tidings from Lord Krall,” the messenger
stated.  “This morning there is to be an execution; several of them actually. 
Lord Krall requests that your company attend.”

Keryak nodded.  “When will it be held and where?”

The messenger pointed to an open field next to
several long log buildings on the north side of the lake.  “It will be there in
the drill field next to Lord Krall’s house guards’ barracks.  The first head
will be taken when the light of the rising sun strikes Lord Krall’s Great Hall
on the lake.”

Keryak looked up at the light growing in the
eastern sky behind the mountains.  It wouldn’t be long before the sun finally
appeared.  “Right, we’ll be there shortly,” he answered.  With that, the
messenger departed and Keryak went into the quarters to wake up Manebrow.

The count of dead conspirators had grown during
the night.  One who was wounded in the leg and had lost much blood finally
expired.  The other four, however, were paraded out in manacles before the
large crowd that had gathered on the drill field.

They were a motley crew.  Two of them were
unwounded, one had a bloody mess on his shoulder where an arrow had been
lodged, and the fourth was Redar, who during the night had gone almost
delirious with the pain of his two broken arms.  In addition to the wounds that
two of them had sustained, however, all four of them had clearly been beaten to
the point where their wills had been broken, and they had told all that they
knew and then some.

In the center of the field, Krebbekar stood next
to a small tree stump, just tall enough for a kobold to kneel down and lay his
head on.  Next to him stood a tall, rather muscular kobold from the house guard
leaning on a large, heavy broadsword.

As the four remaining conspirators were prodded
along toward their date with destiny, Lord Krall, flanked by his two sons, both
of whom seemed to have mostly recovered from their wounds, thanks to the
magical elixirs of the gen’s Master Healer, chatted lightly with Khazak Mail
Fist.

“We will discuss it tonight in council, my dear
friend,” Lord Krall was saying.  “The elixirs may have taken away the wounds,
but you must give time for the potions to restore you to your full capacity. 
That will also give Durik’s Company time to be ready to leave with you first
thing tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Lord.” Khazak nodded in agreement.  “Though
my heart says otherwise, my body is very much in agreement with delaying my
departure until tomorrow.”  Khazak watched as the prisoners arrived at the
stump.  The first of the conspirators was separated from the other three and
forced to his knees.  One of the guards grabbed his thin horns as the large
kobold with the two-handed broadsword stepped forward.  Lifting the broadsword
above his head, the executioner brought it down in one swift chop.

“I don’t know if I will take Durik’s Company back
with me or not, though,” Khazak said, wincing and turning away as the
executioner and guard struggled to pull the last bit of flesh apart.  After a
moment’s pulling, the guard who was holding the head by the horns lifted it for
all to see.

As they were bringing the second conspirator
forward to meet his fate, Lord Krall spoke again.  “I don’t see why you
wouldn’t take Durik’s Company back with you.  Seems like the only reasonable
thing to do with them.”

“Well, sire,” Khazak began, obviously still
struggling with the decision he had yet to make, “I have yet to decide whether
they will go back with me or not.  It was Lord Karthan’s will that they go on
this quest, even knowing what was coming, but having said that, I would rather
march back to the gen in strength than rely on the loyalty of those who are at
our picket line.”

The second conspirator had put up quite a fight,
but finally, with a distinct ‘chop’ his head was severed and held up for the
crowd to see.

“Does this have something to do with that bit
about how a yearling group is not to return until they’ve fulfilled their
quest?  It seems strange to me that you would follow the Scrolls of Heritage so
closely.  Here in my gen, we see them more as guidelines, traditions to help
build somewhat of a consensus, as it were.”

“Aye, lord.  Our gens are different that way,”
Khazak answered, not taking his eyes from the spectacle in the center of the field. 
“I released them from the Proofing of the Trials last night.  However, they now
wish to quest because they feel that completing the object of their quest would
go a long way toward securing the loyalty of all the members of the gen.  I,
however, am not convinced that their swords would not be of better use securing
the loyalty of the gen directly rather than on this quest.”

“Hmm,” Lord Krall mused, “I’m sure when we talk of
whatever this quest is tonight that it will all make more sense.”

Knowing Lord Krall’s temperament, Khazak had been
deliberately avoiding revealing the object of Durik’s Company’s quest.  He was
sure Lord Krall would see it as speculative at best, and at worst an attempt to
enhance their gen’s standing, and thereby enhance their position relative to
Lord Krall’s gen.  Either way, Khazak had delayed Lord Krall’s questions until
the council that evening.

After a few moments, the third conspirator’s head
was taken off.  The guard held it up for all to see as the body was moved off
to the side and Redar was brought forward.

“Well,” Lord Krall said, looking around at the
fascinated faces in the crowd, which included the members of Durik’s Company. 
“At least one thing both of our gens have in common; both our peoples like a
good execution.”

Khazak Mail Fist shook his head in disgust and
laughed morbidly.  “Aye, lord.  Aye.”  The distinct sound of metal severing
bone sounded throughout the field and the guard held Redar’s head up by the
horns for all to see.

Lady Karaba arrived just as the crowd who had
gathered for the execution was beginning to disperse.  Lord Krall, his two
sons, and Khazak Mail Fist had just begun to walk back toward the great hall on
the lake, and Durik’s Company had just begun to move out toward the caravan
drivers’ quarters.  Seeing her arrive, however, Lord Krall stopped to see why
she had come to this event, which she had sworn she had no interest in
attending, and late at that.  She looked as though she had news, but it was for
Khazak, not Lord Krall.  With interest, Durik halted his company and they
gathered around as well, all of them eager for more news of the situation at
home.

“Khazak,” she began, “I have seen a contingent of
your gen’s wolf riders passing your gen’s picket line.  They appear to be on
the path to the resting place between our two gens as we speak.  Furthermore,
they are led by an elite warrior, and they are being guided in their path by a
pair of trackers.”  She paused and looked about her at the many warriors from
her brother’s gen staring intently at her.  “I believe them to be loyalists in
search of Lord Karthan’s progeny, based on snippets of conversation I
overheard.” 

“Well, that
is
good news indeed!” Khazak
answered.  “If my lord is confident enough in the situation to send out a
contingent of his riders, then truly the situation must be better than we
thought last night!”

Lord Krall raised one brow.  “Perhaps so.  Perhaps
so.”

Turning to Lord Krall, Lady Karaba continued, “I
also wanted to remind my lord of the ‘presentations’,” she said, obviously
hinting about something she couldn’t talk more clearly about in this company.

“Well, then,” Lord Krall said, looking around.
“Shall we retire to the great hall, then?”

“I wonder what these tokens are they’re talking
about,” Keryak said in low tones to Gorgon as they walked along.

“I’m not sure,” Gorgon replied, “but it appears
that several of their warrior leaders and council members are going that way as
well.”  Keryak looked around, noticing for the first time that a significant
number of those who had been at the execution were not heading toward their
homes, but rather were headed toward the great hall on the lake.

Catching up with Durik, Keryak gestured toward the
well-dressed kobolds that were heading in the same direction as the company. 
“What do you make of all these others going to the great hall with us?”

“Looks like these presentations are going to be a
formal affair,” Durik replied.  His thoughts turned to how disheveled he still
looked, with belts and pouches that were ripped and scored, and several scales
missing after his battles with the ants.

In front of Durik and Keryak, Lady Karaba stopped
and waited for Durik to catch up.  Keryak, feeling outclassed, slipped back to
join Gorgon and Troka.

“Good Durik of my brother’s gen,” Lady Karaba
greeted him. 

Durik felt crude next to the Lady of the Krall
Gen.  He’d not had the opportunity to bathe since the day before the Trials of
Caste, and try as he might, every time he thought he’d wiped off the last of
the dried blood, he found another spot or two.  In contrast, Lady Karaba wore a
perfume of jasmine, and her flowing robes of green were spotless and well
ordered.  Not only that, her speech was more formal and less tuned toward the
tasks of warriors, a difference that made Durik feel even less worthy of being
in her presence.

“My lady, how may I be of service to you?” Durik
replied meekly.

“Lord Krall and I wanted you to know that you and
your warriors have our utmost thanks for saving our lives, as well as our
nephews’ lives,” Lady Karaba was saying.  “And, I’m sure my brother, Lord
Karthan, will hear of this as well.”

Durik smiled and looked at the Lady of the Krall
Gen.  “Thank you for your kind words, my lady, but knowing that they, and you,
are safe in the house of Lord Krall is reward enough for my warriors and me.”

“Then again, I thank you.  Know that you and your
company are always welcome here.  You have earned our trust and have helped
keep our gen from falling into chaos.  We do have some tokens of our gratitude
to present to you and your company in the great hall once we arrive, in
addition to our thanks.” 

“My lady, I do thank you.  Might I ask you a
question?” he asked.

“But of course, young Durik.  What is it that you
would ask?”

“My lady,” Durik started haltingly, not quite sure
of how to proceed.  “Mynar, when I fought him, said several things that have
troubled me.  He talked of our mutual heritage, with both of us being descendants
of refugees from the northern gens.  He said that because we’re from the
northern gens, we’re supposed to rule our gens.”

Lady Karaba smiled knowingly.  “Mynar said many
things to many people, all in an attempt to sway them to his cause and further
his purposes.  He had access to much truth and lore by virtue of the fact that
he grew up in the inner circles of this gen, being a close blood relative of my
life-mate Lord Krall.  He interpreted much of what he read and heard from our
lore master to suit his purposes.  Indeed, you could say that in building his
lies to deceive others, Mynar himself was in turn deceived.”

Durik pondered as he walked, his brow furrowed in
thought.  After a moment he spoke.  “I certainly have no plans or desire to
claim some right to rulership.  Lord Karthan can certainly keep that job, even
if I was some rightful heir like he said.”

“You are a loyal servant of my brother, warrior
leader,” Lady Karaba complimented Durik.  “I can see that lies have no place in
you.”