The Game of Fates (43 page)

Durik
had wasted no time in deciding what to do.  He knew that the route ahead had
been compromised, so they would avoid it completely.  After all, no one put up
a watch unless they had troops readily available to reinforce that watch. 
Seeing how alert the watch had been, Durik didn’t want to test the rest of the
defenses that this group of kobolds had set up.

Before
they took off, however, they decided to interrogate the one watcher who had
been too slow to escape Gorgon.  After tying his hands behind his back, to make
sure they got answers he let Manebrow do the interrogating, with Gorgon
standing just off to the side looking very intimidating.  Durik knelt off to
the other side, observing the youth.

“Do
you understand me?” Manebrow started out.

“Yes,
I speak Sorcerer’s Tongue,” the young kobold started.  He was close to Durik’s
age, barely out of his whelping.

“What’s
your name, son?”

“My
name is Tammik, what’s yours?”

Manebrow
smiled his best disarming smile at the youth.  “My name is Kormach, and my
honor name is Manebrow,” he said, wiggling his thick, hairy unibrow for
emphasis.

Tammik
almost smiled, and the tension in the passageway began to ease a bit.

“Gorgon,
put away that hammer, will you?” Manebrow ordered, seeing that his easy going
manner was working with the youth.  “Now, tell me, I see that you have an
iron-tipped spear and an iron rimmed shield.  It looks to me like you and your
companion were no outcasts.  What gen are you from, and what are you doing down
here?”

Tammik
looked quizzically at Manebrow.  “I’m from the only gen down here; the Deep
Gen.  What gen are you from, stranger, and how do you speak the Sorcerer’s
Tongue?”

Manebrow
looked over at Durik who nodded his approval, then back at Tammik.  “We are
from the Kale Gen.  We live in caves just below the surface of this great
southern valley.  Tell me, Tammik, how big is this gen of yours?”

Tammik
looked at Manebrow with the beginnings of understanding.  “You mean you’ve
never heard of my gen?”

Manebrow
shook his head.  “No, we’ve not heard of your gen.  We know that there are many
outcasts down here from our gen, as well as from the Krall Gen and some of the
gens in the northern valley, but we’ve never heard of your gen.”

Tammik
shook his head.  “You are very sheltered up there, aren’t you?”

Manebrow
looked annoyed at the boy’s impetuousness.  “Well then, why don’t you tell us
about your gen?”

“We
are strong.  We have a thousand warriors.  We rule the underdark from these
upper reaches to the shores of the inner sea.  We came from you generations
ago, when the chamberlain of Lord Kale seized power from the ruling line of the
Kale Family.”

Manebrow
was genuinely surprised… and skeptical.  After all, the total count of warriors
in the Kale Gen couldn’t be more than five or six hundred, maybe as many as
seven hundred.  The total count of able-bodied males in the Kale Gen, including
servant caste, couldn’t be more than probably a thousand, maybe twelve hundred
at very most.  How could there possibly be more outcasts from the gen than
there were members of the gen? 

“A
gen a thousand warriors strong who came from my gen?  I doubt it.  I would have
heard about that by now, I think,” Manebrow replied.

“Believe
it, furry brow.  But do not worry.  You and your people hold nothing more for
us.  Our lord, Lord Sennak the Just, leads us in the paths of prosperity and
peace.  We avoid you and your valley by choice.  We have set our people’s home
in the underdark far away from where your warriors patrol.  The chamberlain of
our ancestor Kale may have cast us out, but our lord retains the right to rule
as a direct descendant of the Kale line.”

“Well,
alright, let’s say you’re telling the truth,” Manebrow cut short the soliloquy,
“what lies ahead?  Is there an outpost, a stationing of warriors, or something
of that nature?”

“Ahead
is a place we call the Fortress.  It is a place for repelling invaders from the
upper deeps and surface, like you.  We have some warriors there, probably
thirty or so and their families.”

Manebrow
looked over at Durik with frustration on his face.  No one he knew was that
good at making up stories like this.  Whether it was all the way true, or not,
he didn’t want to have to fight through to the Cross Way.  He also had avoided
asking any questions that might let the youth know where they were going, as
they’d have to take him along just to keep pursuit off their tale if they let
him know their route or purpose for being here.

Durik
could see the frustration on Manebrow’s face and moved forward.  “Tammik, we
don’t want problems with your people.  We’re down here fleeing from an army of
orcs and ogres.  If you will act as our guide, we will let you go when we get
to where we’re going.”

From
down the passageway, the sound of running feet and scabbards slapping on thighs
began to be heard, faintly at first, but growing louder very quickly.

“We’ve
tarried too long!” Durik voiced what they all now realized.

Manebrow
motioned for everyone to fall back.  As one, the little party fled down the
passageway, leaving Tammik tied up behind them.

“Go
ahead, you Kale Gen cowards!  Run!  We’ll find you!” Tammik yelled as the party
retreated down the hallway.

I
t had been a full day since the
company had climbed the Chop, and Durik’s little party was not even a third the
size of the company he had led up that mountain.  Had he had all of his
warriors with him they might have stood against the onslaught.  As it was, with
only six of them plus Mahtu, he knew their only option was to run. 

And
run they did. 

At
first it was a disciplined retreat.  As soon as they reached the steep,
boulder-strewn slope where they’d first sighted the watchers, however, those
who were moving slower because of their armor and shields soon began to fall
behind.  It was at about that moment that Durik could see that there was no way
they would escape their pursuers, not with all this armor, shields, weapons and
packs.  Even without all of their equipment he was quite sure that they’d probably
get lost rather than lose their pursuers.  They just weren’t familiar enough
with the terrain, but he was sure their pursuers were.

Seeing
order disintegrating, Durik looked over at Manebrow, who was prodding Mahtu
along.  The look in Manebrow’s eyes matched his own.

“Gorgon!”
Durik called ahead.  “Hold the top of the slope!  We’ll make our stand there!”

Gorgon,
breathing deeply from his piston-like ascent, turned and dropped his pack to
the floor so he could loose his shield from his back.  With hammer in hand he
grabbed the members of his team as they reached the top of the slope and formed
them into a rough line, sending Arbelk back to the rear to don his armor and
watch out behind them.  Durik and Manebrow were last up the slope and placed
themselves in the middle of the line of shields, the five Kale Gen warriors
standing with shields overlapping, filling the opening at the top of the slope
while Mahtu stood nervously fidgeting between the line and Arbelk, wanting to
run but being hemmed in by Kale Gen warriors.

As
Manebrow held his axe and placed himself in line with Durik, Gorgon, Jerrig,
and Troka, the first of the Deep Gen warriors arrived at the bottom of the
slope.  Their equipment was identical to what the party had seen before;
iron-rimmed round shields, iron-tipped spears, swords still in the scabbards
hanging on one side.  Upon seeing the Kale Gen warriors lined up and ready for
battle, the group of Deep Gen warriors stopped their charge, some of them
taking cover behind the boulders while a particularly steely-eyed warrior
wearing a shirt of wide chainmail links and carrying a large axe stopped square
in the middle of the path looking up at the Kale Gen warriors with a fierce
gaze.

“Jerrig,
pass a javelin over to Troka.  This is too narrow of a passageway for him to be
swinging his two-handed sword,” Durik commanded.

“Jerrig,”
Durik continued as more and more warriors appeared, “if it comes to it, can you
blast their leader with your magic arrow spell?”

“I’ll
have to put my shield down to do it, I think.  I’ve only done it a few times,
though.  I can’t always do it on command.”

“Alright. 
I’m willing to see if you can,” Durik said.  “Step back out of line and get
ready.”

“Alright
everyone,” Manebrow broke in as Jerrig stepped back out of line.  “Everyone
spread out.  One arm’s length between you and the person to your right.”  The
line of Kale Gen warriors reshuffled itself nervously as they saw the press of
Deep Gen warriors begin to form up into three distinct groups on the command of
their leader.  Even more disconcerting was watching as one of the groups passed
their spears to a group who spread themselves among the boulders.  They then
drew swords and interlocked shields in a narrow column, obviously preparing to
assault the small line of Kale Gen warriors.

“There
must be at least thirty of them,” Troka said, fear creeping into his voice.

“I’ve
counted forty-three so far,” Gorgon said in a flat tone.  “It’s been good
knowing all of you.”

The
looks on the faces of the Kale Gen warriors were a mix of despair and resolve. 
In the center, Manebrow could see that Troka was on the verge of running. 
Behind the line, Jerrig seemed to be edging backwards.  Turning his helmeted
head, he gave Jerrig a fierce look that stopped his involuntary backward
motion.

At
the bottom of the slope the young watcher they had captured now arrived, his
hands free and gesturing up at the Kale warriors as he screamed threats at
them, in revenge for abuses he was lying to his companions about.

“Steady,
boys,” Manebrow called in a low, determined voice.  He could see the
determination hardening in the faces of the Deep Gen warriors as their leader
hefted his own shield, slapped a helmet of iron over his head, and walked up
the slope to take his place at the head of the assault column.  “Remember the
rule; the side that breaks first dies.  We don’t break! We’ve got steel
weapons, steel armor, and larger shields.  You’ve also had a year of the best
training any warrior could hope for!  Our quality can make up for their quantity
if we just hold for everything we’ve got.”

Gorgon
smiled an intense, feral smile.  “Aye, lads, make them wrest every step from
you.  Don’t give even a foot of ground without much blood on their parts.”

“Jerrig,”
Manebrow locked eyes with the young spell caster, “get ready to blast that big
lout leading them.  He’s right out there in the front, making himself a nice
target for you.”

Down
the slope from the small line of shields, the leader of the Deep Gen warriors
was turned about and shouting last minute instructions to his groups.  ‘Just
like we practiced lads.  Spear throwers make sure you watch for the signal on
the second volley.  Reserve group, if I go down, don’t let the pressure up.’ 
The Kale Gen warriors knew they were for it and prepared to receive the rush
that was now imminent.

It
was at that exact moment that Durik stepped forward and slung his shield over
his back.

“Deep
Gen warriors, I am Durik of the Kale Gen.”

The
Deep Gen warrior leader turned to face Durik as he and his warriors fell silent.

“We
have come by accident into your domain,” Durik continued.  “We wish nothing
more than to return to our own gen, unmolested.”

The
Deep Gen warrior leader frowned deeply.  “You should have thought of that
before you assaulted our guards!” he bellowed.  Many voices joined his in
agreement.

Durik
shook his head.  “We did nothing more than tie his hands and take his weapon
away.”

“That’s
not what he says!  He says you beat him and were about to kill him when we
chased you off!”

Durik
looked at the young watcher Tammik, who looked up at him defiantly.

“He
lies!” Durik replied.  “Look at him, where are the bruises?  We hardly touched
him.”

Tammik
got all excited at that accusation, yelling and screaming and putting on quite
a show for his fellow warriors.  Durik cursed his luck at having captured such
a dramatist.

The
Deep Gen warrior leader took a step forward.  “I say you did.”

Durik
paused a moment, letting the mood of the Deep Gen contingent settle a bit
before speaking again.

“That
we could have killed him at any time is true,” he started.

Mutterings
of ‘proof’ could be heard from the Deep Gen warriors.

“But
the fact that we did not only proves our good intentions.  We came to the
underdark to find another way to our home in the Kale Gen’s caverns.  We did
not come here to fight you, nor do we want to fight you.  We are all kobolds
here.  You are not our enemy.  The enemy we fight is in the valley above us.”

The
Deep Gen warriors were silent as Durik spoke.

“Even
now, in the valley above us there is a great horde who is intent on raiding the
home caverns of my gen and dragging my people off into slavery.  They are the
Bloodhand Orc Tribe, with their ogre mercenaries.  Even now I go to warn my
people of their approach!”

The
Deep Gen warrior leader was clearly considering what Durik had to say—he was
thankful for that at least.  When he had spent several more moments lost in
thought, however, Durik began to worry.

“I
cannot let you go,” the warrior leader said.  “My lord forbids it.  You have a
choice.  You can either be disarmed and come with us to explain your case to
our lord, or we will run right over you and drag any who survive back in
chains.”

Durik
turned to look back at his companions.  Other than Gorgon, whose eyes clearly
showed his desire to fight these Deep Gen warriors to the death, the rest of
his party showed their determination to do their duty, but desperately wanted
to avoid this fight.  Manebrow’s eyes, however, were devoid of any emotion.

“What
shall we do, warriors?” Durik asked his party.

“Sire,”
Manebrow cut in before any of the others could respond.  “The choice is yours. 
We will do whatever you command.”

After
a moment of silence, Durik turned back around to face the Deep Gen warriors,
his shoulders heavy with the weight of his responsibility, though in his heart
he could feel the now familiar promptings letting him know that he had made the
right decision.  He twisted his spear around in his hand as if to throw it. 
Several spears were lifted in response.  He then stuck it carefully, but
firmly, in the ground.

The
journey from the upper underdark down the massive open staircase into the
middle deeps where the Lord of the Deep Gen held his court was a long and
arduous affair.  The members of Durik’s party had been stripped down to their
loin cloths.  Their Deep Gen escort carried all of their weapons, shields,
armor, and equipment, a fact that none of the Kale Gen warriors was comfortable
with, especially Durik who knew that the Kale Stone was in his belt pouches.

All
of them had allowed themselves to be taken prisoner, though it was all that
Durik could do to convince Gorgon Hammer that this was the right thing to do. 
In the end, Gorgon’s arrogance from before the brandings of caste began to
show.  Manebrow had had to order him to stand down and put down his warhammer.

Now,
as the party was rushed along in the middle of the mass of Deep Gen warriors,
they left the broad staircase with its cold, hard steps and were rushed into a
sandy-floored cavern, the feel of the sand comforting on their sore feet.  On
either side of them again were the mud-brick huts, the smaller ones with their
giant mushroom roofs, the larger ones with roofs of mud stucco supported by the
stalks of giant mushrooms laid horizontally over them. 

Throughout
the chamber kobolds came out of their houses to see what all the commotion was
about.  Wide-eyed whelps were pulled from the path by their mothers, older
warriors who were no longer capable of standing in the ranks stood a little
taller, as if feeling the scrutiny of the younger warriors, and youths who were
not yet of age brought their toy spears out with them to cheer the passage of
the war party and their captives.

The
Kale Gen warriors were prodded through a few more natural sandy caverns with
their various inhabitants, passed through a cold natural stone ante-chamber,
and suddenly found themselves in a wide, square, cut-stone chamber whose roof
was supported by a row of thick stone columns on either side of the party, all
of which proceeded in a line down to the other end of the chamber where a
massive throne was set on a dais against the far wall.

As
the mass of Deep Gen warriors parted, Durik and his party could see a very old
kobold seated on the throne at the far end.

“All
bow before Lord Sennak the Just!” one of the throne room guards bellowed out. 
The Kale Gen warriors, even those who were in the process of kneeling, were
thrown to the ground as all the Deep Gen warriors took a knee.

“What
is the meaning of this?” the old kobold on the throne stood and demanded.  “Why
do you barge in here so, Mirrik, and who are these foreigners you’ve brought
into the very heart of our gen?”

“My
beloved Lord Sennak the Just, I beg your forgiveness,” the warrior leader
Mirrik bowed very low before his lord.  “We captured these warriors from the
Kale Gen trying to infiltrate our upper defenses.  They have news that we felt
might be of interest to you.  Because of that we did not kill them outright,
but thought it best to bring them to you.”

“Very
well, my faithful servant, bring them forward that I may see them and hear
their news.”

The
Kale Gen warriors were all brought to their feet and unceremoniously carried
forward and thrown at the foot of the dais.

“Rise,
prisoners, our lord would address you!” the guard commanded.

Durik
and his companions, with bruised knees and faces, stumbled to their feet to
face Lord Sennak.  Concerned about them still, Durik looked from left to right
to see how his companions fared.