The Game of Fates (10 page)

For
much of the afternoon Durik had been with Krall and the three Krall Gen warrior
contingent leaders, relating every piece of knowledge, every tactic learned,
and everything that had happened in his company’s encounters with the ants, and
contributing to their battle plans.  Durik found Krall the younger to be a
thorough listener, inquisitive and knowledgeable in his own right.  After some
time with the older heir to the throne and his council, Durik had discussed
with them every aspect of their coming campaign and had learned perhaps more
than he had ever known before about supplying, forming, and sustaining a large
force.

Finally,
toward the end, the biggest question of all was asked.  Did he think one
hundred and fifty troops would be enough?  Durik hesitated.  He thought about
the swarms of hunter ants, the host of workers with their ant commanders, and
the queen’s own warriors.  In his estimation, the workers could be easily dealt
with by killing their commanders from a distance.  The warriors and the
hunters, on the other hand, were independent and therefore more dangerous.  He
also didn’t know if what had come after their little company was the bulk of
their hunters, or if there were many more that had been held back.  When he
answered, it was deliberately cautious. 

Durik
did think that, if they used their melee troops on the hunters, and kept the
workers disorganized with their archers, that they would fair well.  However,
he stressed one last time, the key they had found was to get the troops into a
confined space where the ants could not surround them.  Krall and his
contingent leaders all nodded their agreement, and with that the meeting was
over.

As
Durik left the council chambers, he felt stronger somehow, and yet saddened;
stronger, because he’d proven himself in the eyes of the Krall Gen leaders, and
saddened, because he felt in his heart that there was some chance that many of
his fellow kobolds may die in the Krall Gen campaign against the giant ants. 
He pondered on these things as he made his way back to his company’s quarters.

When
evening came and third meal was over Manebrow gathered the company on the porch
of the caravan drivers’ quarters.  For the remaining time before third meal
Durik, with the advice of his three elite warriors from time to time, had been
working on the company rules.  He’d even begun to get some understanding of how
armor changed things from Krebbekar, and had included this knowledge.  With the
added planning that Durik, Manebrow, and the team leaders had done, Durik was
now ready to bring everyone together, reorganize the company, and establish the
standing orders for Durik’s Company. 

As
the warriors gathered, Krebbekar and the two Border Guard scouts arrived,
though Morigar was nowhere to be seen.  Grabbing stools from just inside the
doorway, the Krall Gen warrior team sat off to one side.  This was not their
meeting, politics being what they were, but Manebrow had invited them so that
they could get a better understanding of the warriors they would accompany.

“Good
evening, fellow warriors,” Durik started.  “We all know that we barely had
enough time to inventory our equipment and say goodbye after the Trials of
Caste three days ago.  Because of the lack of time we didn’t get the
opportunity to establish rules for the company.  Also, after a couple of days
on the trail, we’ve found it necessary to make some changes in the organization
of the company.”  Durik looked at Manebrow.  “Manebrow, are you ready to form
the teams?” he asked.

“I
am sire,” he said as he walked up in front of the company from his place next
to the porch.  Durik withdrew a couple of paces, but stayed around so that
everyone could see that they were united in this.  “I’m sure that, by now,
everyone has heard about Trallik’s exile for his treachery, as well as Arloch’s
traitorous death as he attempted to kill Kiria.  Well, because of their loss,
we’ve had to do some switching around, and we’re also taking this opportunity
to reorganize things in a bit more efficient manner.”  Manebrow could see that
Trallik’s exile and Arloch’s death were news to Kabbak, and Kiria and Terrim
both looked surprised by part of the news.  Noting this, he decided he needed
to keep the leaders group better informed.

“As
such, the following changes apply immediately.  First, the company is now
composed of three teams; Gorgon’s team, Ardan’s team, and the leaders’ team. 
Second, in accordance with rule one of the Standing Orders which Durik will
read shortly, everyone shall be part of a pair so that no one will ever be left
on their own.  Both incidents of treachery happened when members of this
company were allowed to wander off by themselves.” 

Manebrow
could see that Jerrig still felt guilty for having let Trallik go into the
queen’s lair alone, but he didn’t have the time to deal with that right now. 

“Therefore
the composition of the teams is as follows:  Gorgon’s team consists of two pairs;
Gorgon and Jerrig, Arbelk and Troka.  Ardan’s team consists of two pairs; Ardan
and Keryak, Tohr and Kahn.  The leaders’ team will be led by Terrim, who will
be paired with both Kiria and Kabbak.  Durik and I will be nominally part of
that team as well.

“Now,
the team leaders, except for Terrim, know how they’re going to break down their
responsibilities within the teams.  Each of the two warrior team leaders will
give responsibility for scouting, healing, dealing with obstacles, and climbing
to pairs within their teams.  You’ll have time after this to do that, and then
we’ll divvy out equipment as we agreed upon earlier today.  Terrim’s team,
however, will have a different mission than the rest of the company.  Other
than leadership tasks, which is what Durik and I will be doing, Terrim and his
two companions will have responsibility for our four packdogs.  Additionally,
they’ve got the responsibility for carrying any casualties we might take along
the way.  To carry that out, they have Kiria’s riding dog and will be given
others as the situation warrants.

“All
right, then.  I think that about does it for forging this company into a
cohesive unit.  Are there any questions?” Manebrow asked.  There was much
whispering and low discussion, but no questions anyone wanted to bring out
before the group. 

“My
warriors,” Durik stepped forward.  “We all have talked about some of the ways
that we need to change how we operate as a company.  So, taking a cue from the
rules written on the walls in Manebrow’s old caverns of training, we’ve come up
with our own set of company rules.”  With a flourish, Durik unrolled the
parchment he’d brought with him.

“First
rule is that no one is to ever be alone.  We’ve codified this in how we’re
organized.

“Second
rule is to take care of yourselves.  Watch your feet for blisters.  Drink lots
of water.  Sleep when we let you.  Keep wounds clean and bandaged so they don’t
fester.  Make sure your teammates are taking care of themselves as well.

“Third
rule is, when we’re on the march, we move stealthily.  See the enemy first.”

These
were rules based on what they had been taught in the caverns of training under
Manebrow’s careful tutelage, yet they were adapted to an adventuring company. 
As Durik read these three rules and the rest of them as well, nineteen in all,
most of them practical guidelines for dealing with how they would maneuver in
the wilds, he could feel the resolve of his company growing.  As he looked up
from reading the last standing order, in the eyes of his company he could see
that he’d ignited a fire.  “Are we agreed?” Durik called out.

He
was met with a resounding chorus of positive answers.  The Standing Orders were
a success and, in the days to come, would prove to be quite a topic of
discussion among the members of the company.  Seated off to one side, Krebbekar
and his two warriors had also listened intently as each one was read.

“Kiria
will make a copy of the Standing Orders for each of the leaders.  These are to
be read every night by each member of the company.”

“Well
then,” Durik said as he turned to Manebrow, “if you’ve nothing further, second,
then I’d say it’s time for the team leaders to organize their teams, then get
to divvying out the company’s equipment, and then get to bed.”

Manebrow
nodded and dismissed the company to their respective team leaders.  Though
there were many details not yet answered, the company had a plan and was
organized.  Because of that, most doubts and issues with the organization
either resolved themselves or were easily resolved shortly thereafter.  By the
end of the evening, the entire company knew their place, knew what was expected
of them, and had the equipment to carry out those responsibilities.

Durik,
already knowing what had been decided and having pulled back to let his leaders
do it, spent most of the evening writing in the Journal of the Quest for the
Kale Stone, as the blank book the ancient Lore Master of the gen had given him
was named.  It was not a task he enjoyed, but the fact that he’d not yet even
so much as opened the book had been nagging on his conscience all day.  He was
not one to rest well when there was still work to be done.  Taking a break from
his efforts, Durik took a while to read Kiria’s treatise on the Hall of the
Mountain King which the Lore Master had placed in the front of the journal.  It
was detailed and contained a rough sketch of the innards of the place.  It was
obvious to Durik that there was much more knowledge to be had than the brief
bit written there.  He resolved to talk this over in more length with Kiria on
the morrow and got back to recording the events of the past few days.  As the
night wore on and the candle burned low, Durik found a logical stopping place
and closed the book, feeling good about how far he’d gotten to this point.

Durik
was not the only one writing that night, however.  Kiria too burned a candle
low making four copies of the Standing Orders of Durik’s Company, one for each
team, as well as one for Krebbekar who had asked her for a copy.  As she traced
each word, she began to get the mentality that went into forming them.  Though
she may never be a full warrior like her companions, she was beginning to
understand, appreciate, and take on some of the qualities of these warriors. 
Perhaps most key, discipline was becoming an important part of her life. 
Having finally finished the last copy, she blew out the remaining stub of her
candle and fell into a deep, well deserved slumber.

That
night, in the safety of the quarters, the entire company slept better than they
had for a number of days.  Somehow the confidence of having a plan, and having
confidence in that plan, seemed to wash away much of their fears, though the
night was not without its nightmares, however diminished they were.

T
rallik and the tall elf, Arren
e-Arnor, had walked far that morning under the late spring sun.  They had
passed a somewhat large lake that sat squarely at the base of the northern
foothills before beginning the gradual climb toward the canyons that were formed
by the folds in the base of the mountains.

Arren
had discovered early in their march that Trallik could track by scent, and from
that point onward he had encouraged Trallik to use his talent, not to smell for
orc, for their scent was all over the trail, but rather to smell for anything
else that might be of danger.

As
time passed and the pair encountered nothing more than squirrels and an
occasional deer, Trallik began to feel less tense about their surroundings. 
With this confidence came a curiosity about the elf’s quest.

“What
are you doing here in the southern valleys?” Trallik asked the much taller
Arren.

“As
I said already, I’m on a quest to find something that was lost,” he replied.

“Yes,
I know that.  What I mean is who sent you, and what is it that you’re searching
for?”

Arren
took his eyes from the forest around them for a moment as they walked along
under the newly budding boughs of the great oak trees that inhabited this part
of the southern valley.  “How old are you, young one?” Arren asked.

Trallik
was taken aback by the question.  “I am recently fifteen years of age, and have
just passed my trial of adulthood.  Why do you ask?”

“And
how old are the leaders of your gen?” Arren asked without answering Trallik’s
question.

“Lord
Karthan is in his thirties, I believe.  Some of the council members are
younger, but there are some that are ancient, perhaps almost three-quarters of
a century old or more,” Trallik answered.

Arren
nodded understandingly.  “Seventy-five years ago I was a leader among my people’s
war bands.  My war band was called the Sword of King and Country, which is what
my name translates to in The Sorcerer’s Tongue.  I had already been in command
of that war band for over a century, and that was after a century of serving in
staff and lesser command positions.”

Trallik
looked at the elf with mouth agape.  “How old are you?”

Arren
looked down at the young kobold.  “I am recently five hundred years of age, a
few seasons ago already to be more precise.  Among my people, if a person
aspires to one of the higher positions in our society, then one must perform
what is called a life quest.  But one may not simply decide to do such a thing,
rather it must be declared much in advance, researched thoroughly, and
presented to our councils.  Additionally, it must be started during one’s five
hundredth year.”

Trallik
nodded his understanding.  He was beginning to understand that there was much
to this world that he not only did not know about, but had never thought
possible.

“To
answer your question of who sent me, let me say simply that the council
recommended approval to my father, the prince of our nation, and that he
approved.  So, one could say that many people sent me, or that I sent myself,
for isn’t that also true?”

Though
somewhat confused, Trallik nodded as though he understood.  After several
moments of walking along in silence, he looked up at the elf again.  “But you
did not tell me what you seek?”

Arren
laughed.  It was a clear, gentle laugh, one well practiced over his long life
span.  “You are right, my young kobold.  I seek something that was lost when I
had walked the face of Dharma Kor for several fewer years.”  He looked down at
Trallik before continuing.  “I seek a key to a set of gates; a key which should
never have been lost.  My people keep many prophecies, and fortuitously enough
for the purpose of deciding which quest I would fulfill, we appear to be
approaching the time when several of them are supposed to be fulfilled. 

“Many
take a fatalistic view to prophecy, stating that all prophecy must be
fulfilled.  I, however, do not adhere to that way of thinking, and I intend to
do my part to prevent them from occurring.”

Trallik
was intrigued.  Though Arren had not answered his question completely, his
answer had sparked several questions.  “What gates does this key open and what
does it look like?” he asked.

“I
will recognize it when I see it,” Arren put off Trallik’s question.  “However,
let me say that it does not actually open the gates that I want to keep sealed,
at least not without some other keys that are not all accounted for either. 
And that, I think, is enough of an explanation for my young guide.”

As
they walked along for a bit more, Trallik could see that he was not going to
get anything further from Arren, and was still a bit stuck on how old he was. 
“You’re really five hundred years old?” he asked.  The elf’s youthful
appearance and vigor seemed to go completely against the statement.

Arren
smiled a knowing smile.  “Long ago, before my race came to this world of Dharma
Kor, my people strained all the impurities out of our bodies.  We researched
the deepest of secrets and discovered things which have been lost to history
now for many lives of elves.  Because of this, the lifespan of an elf is
usually a thousand years.”  Arren looked down at the young kobold and watched
as his imagination tried to grasp ;the concept of living for what to him must
seem like such a long time.  “I am middle-aged, though of course I will not
begin to show any signs of age for at least another three or four centuries.”

Trallik
did not seem to be able to fully grasp the concept.  ‘A long time ago’ to him
meant twenty to fifty years.  ‘Ancient history’ to him was a term that meant
more than a century ago.  ‘The dawn of time’ to him usually meant some time
around a thousand years ago, back when his race was created.

“So
if you’re five hundred years old, you were around long before the northern gens
fell,” Trallik stated.

Arren
nodded his head.  “I was a young warrior at that time, striving to master my
style of fighting, though I had already stood the line against several an orc
horde mind you.  Now this event you speak of, the fall of the northern gens, I
would not have known about, except that this key I search for was lost at that
time.”

Trallik
stubbed his toe on a root and stopped to rub it before continuing, his tail
waving about calmly behind him.  “What happened to cause the northern gens to
fall?” he asked.

“I
do not know much about the kobold invasion of the Great Forest, nor of the
kobold lord who led it.  What I do know, however, is that the key he lost to
the orcs and a stone of power had among the orcs were used to open a great
portal to the world my people fled from long ago.”

“Another
world?” Trallik asked in astonishment.

“Why
yes, little kobold,” Arren answered.  “Does this expand your knowledge of the
multiverse?” he asked, using a term unfamiliar to Trallik.

“Yes! 
Where could this other world be?” he asked.

Arren
pointed upwards.  “It is far from here, among the most distant stars.  Long
before your race was created my race came from a group of worlds actually,
called the Celestial Realms by my people.  The other races came from there
also, though long after our race had already fled.”

“What
was your race fleeing from?” Trallik asked, intrigued by this knowledge.

“In
the Celestial Realms we were led by rulers who were as just as they were wise. 
However, as we reached the pinnacle of our development, and for some the
pinnacle of our pride, the son of our greatest ruler sought his father’s
throne.  He did not succeed, however, and was cast out.  Taking with him the
secrets of our great power, he twisted the most militant of the elves to make
hobgoblins.  From humans he made orcs, and from dwarves he formed goblins.  By
deception he enslaved the other races.  Our rulers, seeing that our cause was
lost, formed eight great gates, through which we, the descendants of those
rulers, escaped to this world of Dharma Kor.  This fallen prince’s name is not
spoken, but our race calls him what he is; the Fallen Prince.  However, the
brutal races revere him as the Dark Prince.  He found strange and unnatural
ways to prolong his life, and as such he is still in charge of his forces after
these tens of thousands of years.”

“Do
these gates have anything to do with the eight stones of power The Sorcerer
gave to the eight races?” Trallik asked.

Arren
laughed.  “Well, without meaning to, I seem to have revealed more than I
thought I would.  You seem to have more knowledge of these things than the
kobolds I have met as well.  How strange that I should find a kobold both with
a knowledge of this lore and who speaks The Sorcerer’s tongue as well,” he
mused.  “If only there were such as you wherever I went, but alas, there are
many servants of the Fallen Prince on this side of the gates that seek to open
them to him; the hobgoblin empire and a cabal of red dragons seem to top that
list lately.”  Arren seemed to ponder on that last statement for a moment or
two.

“You
have guessed right, little one,” he continued as he looked down at Trallik. 
“When the power of the elves began to wane before the hordes of the brutal
races almost a thousand years ago now in the past, threatening to leave the
gates unprotected, The Sorcerer created the eight stones to seal those same eight
gates I mentioned.  These eight stones were not given power to open their gates
alone, however.  No, they all require the
ninth
stone to open.”

Trallik
walked along in silence for several moments.  This lore was much beyond what he
had ever heard in the past.  His world had grown almost unfathomably larger,
and he was sifting through it all in his mind.  “This ninth stone, then, is the
key you… and these dragons seek,” he said.  Fear was audible in his voice at
the mere mention of dragons.

Arren
nodded and spoke soothing words.  “Do not fear, though, little one.  None know
its location.  I and those who work with me will find it before any hobgoblin
or red dragon has a chance to get their hands on it.”

“So
you know where it is, then?” Trallik pressed.

“Not
exactly,” Arren answered him.  “Mostly I have histories, bits of knowledge
passed down through the centuries, and prophecies to follow.  What I do know is
that it was last used by a great orc chieftain in conjunction with the orc
stone to open the orc race’s gate at the bottom of the great canyon far to the
north of here known as the Abyss, which lies in the very heart of the Great
Forest.  Many were the demons that came through it, from the shattered worlds
that once were my people’s home. 

“As
I said, I was a much younger elf at the time, and my people lost much of their
strength in the great battles that it took to fight back the vanguard of that
evil horde.  But fight them back we did, and Tilward, a human paladin, summoned
forth great powers from the ancestors to seal the gate before the Fallen Prince
could fully muster his forces.”  Arren looked off into the distance as the
memories came back to him.  “I lost many a friend in that struggle.” 

He
sighed and looked back down at the young kobold.  “It is mostly to prevent
further death and destruction that I quest, for I seek to keep the Fallen
Prince’s hordes from entering our world again.”

Trallik
had gotten his answer and pondered silently on all the elf had told him for
some time as the pair walked along the winding trail up through the foothills
under the cover of the oaks.  His mind had been opened to much that lay beyond
the lore of his people and he doubted his outlook on the world would ever be
the same again.

Not
much farther up the trail, Arren stopped suddenly and, reaching down, grabbed
Trallik by the shoulder.  Placing his long pole weapon in its sheath on his
back, Arren drew his bow and a broad tipped arrow.  Quietly, the pair stepped
off the path and into the forest.  After several moments of trying to get a
better view of whatever he had seen on the path ahead, Arren stepped out from
behind the tree and began to walk quietly up the trail.  Trallik picked up a
flat rock nearby and followed behind him.