The Game of Fates (63 page)

Tearing
another limb off of the noisy food as its face contorted in such an alien way,
she looked at how weak it was.  It had no hard carapace, only dainty little
scales, weaker than the skin of a new hatchling.  It had no mandibles, only
little teeth like furry food had.  Its four limbs had no spikes, and its tail
had no stinger.  When they were found in groups they made noise at each other
instead of using scents.  And they were never of one mind.  One would run,
while another would stand and fight.  How disordered!  How alien!  How… food-like.

Yet,
this little food picked up sticks and used metal like the two-legged horned
food of the great flat earth that was her home.  They had bones as well, which
were hard for her little children to break, though the marrow of them was sweet
and particularly delicious.  Strangest of all, though, was that they seemed to
be able to think like her.  They seemed to not be controlled by anything but
themselves.  Each of them seemed to be its own queen, choosing its own actions.

For
that reason, the queen studied the little food, with its silly little horns and
its red scales.  For the four-legged food of her home acted mostly like a
group, and the two-legged horned food of her home were not much above the
four-legged food in intelligence, but this little food… it was like fighting
many, many little invader queens all at the same time, with no minions to do
their will.  It was chaos, and chaos was something she was not used to.

As
she saw the little food’s eyes fall back into its head, she realized this food
was spent.  Throwing the useless thing to her warrior attendants, the queen
stood up and grabbed the edge of the great hole above her and began to climb up
the massive shaft after her children.  The scent that matched the food that had
killed her daughter was pervasive here.  She and her hosts would destroy those
who had killed her daughter, lest their impetuousness spread.  Then they would
destroy the rest of the little food on the other side of this valley.

They
may be like queens in their thinking, but even their intelligence would not
save them from the landslide of strength and power that were the hosts of her
children.  And to recapture the drones of her daughter, who had gone about
directionless without her daughter’s mind to guide them, she had sent some of
her most mature warriors to gather them and to bring them against the ones who
had destroyed her daughter.  Together, acting as one, her many, many children
would bring order to this valley.  It was inevitable.

Food
would be food, and the ant queen’s hosts would feast on them for the coming
season of warm sun, and lay aside this meat for the season of white ice,
leaving the four-legged food of their home place on the great flat earth to
grow in numbers for her host’s return in the season of water from above.

Ahn-Ki
looked down at the sniveling orcling that knelt before him.  The scowl on his
face and his crossed arms were enough to make the young orc whine and squirm,
never mind the eye patch and masterfully crafted armor and swords.  Was this
scout telling the truth?  Had he actually gone to the kobold palisade that sat
against the southern slopes of the northern mountains, or had he decided to
sleep all day and come back with a tale of what Ahn-Ki wanted to hear?

Shagra,
Drakebane the Mighty’s son who had failed to bring back a treaty from the two
kobold gens here in the southern valley, stood off to one side.  Ahn-Ki had no
respect for Drakebane’s intelligence, nor for that of his current favored son
Grimbane, who was an unqualified idiot if ever he’d seen one.  Shagra, on the
other hand, spoke very little, but when he did he showed a cunning and an
intellect that would serve a hobgoblin well.

He
would certainly have to watch that one.

“Shagra,
you have been in this valley recently, what do you think about this orcling’s
report?  Have you heard anything about this little fortress north of the Kale
Gen’s home?” Ahn-Ki asked the wily-eyed orc champion.

Shagra
stood absent-mindedly rubbing the spot on his side where the arrow had
entered.  The shaman had healed that wound days ago, but the memory of it was
still with him.  After a moment, he spoke in his own low, gravelly tongue. 
“Shadow Hand, kobold of Kale Gen in west, wants chieftain honor.  He try kill
chieftain called Karthan.  Maybe Karthan not killed and he run?  Maybe Karthan
and warriors go build fort.  Or maybe Shadow Hand fail and need fort so they
not kill him.”

Ahn-Ki
did not react.  The brute was probably right.  With civil strife there’s always
a winner and a loser.  Now the question was, what had the winner kept in the
tunnels of the Kale Gen, and what had the loser taken with him to the fort
north of the gen?  More importantly, which piece of the gen was larger, and
which piece had their stone of power?

The
dragon was a harsh partner.  No matter what lie they told the orcs to get them
to fight, in the end the only thing that mattered was getting the Kale Stone
and capturing enough kobolds to please the dragon.

But
what of this Krall Gen in the home amongst the tall trees on the eastern side
of this little valley?  Would they come out against the orcs?  He knew that the
dragon wanted that stone eventually as well.  Perhaps getting them involved now
would be best.  Why had none of the scouts that he had sent to spy on the Krall
Gen returned?  That was an area of blindness, and Ahn-Ki was uncomfortable with
that.

“Shagra,”
he turned to the muscle-bound champion, “where were these ants you say you
saw?  Were they near the home of this Krall Gen in the east?”

Shagra
nodded, a strange shadow of fear dancing across his flattened, almost feral
features. 

Ahn-Ki
took note of that and decided to pay more attention to these ants than he had
so far.  “None of the scouts we sent to the Krall Gen have returned.  I wonder
if the ants are to blame, or if the Kralls killed our scouts.”

Shagra
looked away, as if he didn’t want to talk about it, just in case Ahn-Ki was
planning on sending him out against the ants.

Ahn-Ki,
however, was looking to find something to motivate the orc horde to go and
fight the Krall Gen next.  Shagra was out of favor with his father and,
therefore, the rest of the horde right now… but Grimbane’s political star was
rising.

Ahn-Ki
almost snorted at such words being applied to orcs.  Either way, Grimbane was
probably the right choice to sacrifice in a futile probe against the Krall
Gen.  With any luck, he could get both gens to come out to battle while this
orc horde was in the valley.  Something of a ‘two birds with one stone’
strategy.

Well,
one thing was sure, the orcs were certainly not much smarter than stones, and
throwing away Grimbane to bring both gens out to battle would be easy enough. 
Turning back to Shagra, he gave the order.

“Tell
Grimbane to gather his little group of warriors and come to me.  I have a task
for him.”

K
ormach Manebrow’s heart longed to
make the turn down the side hallway that led down into the home caverns of the
Honor Guard Warrior Group.  Yes, he was now the chief elite warrior of the Wolf
Riders Warrior Group, but most of his fifteen years as a warrior of the Kale
Gen had been spent with the Honor Guard.  It was a place of safety for him, a
place of peace.  And until his lifemate and three sons were moved down to his
new warrior group, his heart would always be there with them.

Sighing
with the recent memory of his return home, and the joy his safe return had
brought, yet the continued tension his new mission had brought his already
distraught lifemate, Manebrow continued past the passageway and on toward the
council chamber of the Kale Gen, where he knew Durik and Lord Karthan would be
discussing the night’s mission, likely the first strike against the approaching
orc horde.

“Yes,
sire,” Durik’s voice sounded from the chamber ahead.  “But despite what I’ve
seen of the ants in the visions, and despite our discussion here this day about
their tactics and their organization, I cannot say for sure when they will
attack our gen, nor where they will come from, though I certainly agree that it
would be prudent to prepare to collapse the chamber at the top of Sheerface. 
If nothing else, it will secure our backdoor while our forces are fighting the
orc horde.  And, Fates forbid it, if we have to retreat back here to the caves,
they’ll only have one way to get at us.”

“Lord
Karthan,” a voice Manebrow didn’t immediately recognize spoke up.  “If they are
coming at us at the same time the orc horde is coming, then I believe the only
course of action is to pick a position that is both high ground and clear. 
That choice would work best against both the orc horde and the ant horde.”

Manebrow
arrived at the door to the council chamber and looked about.  Seated on his
throne, Lord Karthan was flanked by a pensive Khazak Mail Fist and an equally
pensive, if not perplexed, Loremaster.  The ancient kobold was clearly not
comfortable with what would have to be his advisory role as historian of the
gen, but Manebrow could think of no one who knew their history better.  Lord
Karthan’s daughter Kiria and the healer Myaliae from the Krall Gen were seated
together off to one side of the Loremaster.  Manebrow would have thought them
out of place just a couple of weeks ago, but since then they had proved
themselves capable in a fight.

“Aye,”
one of the probably thirty elite warriors seated around the perimeter of the
council chamber spoke up.  “I agree.  If we arm all of our warriors with bows,
as you say, sire, then we shall both have the advantage on the unshielded orc
horde
and
be able to slay the ant horde’s captains from a distance, and
thereby scatter their drones.”

“Let
us remember,” Durik interjected, “that the greater horde of ants that is
approaching from below has almost no drones.  Their members are more mature and
have almost all changed into their warrior form.”

“Yes,
and because of that, we should collapse Sheerface now!” one of the elite
warriors spoke up.

“No,”
Lord Karthan answered.  “We will wait for these kobolds who call themselves the
Deep Gen to arrive.  They are, after all, cousins of ours.  Remember, my Kale
brothers, they are Kale like us.  I will help them if I can.  Their strength
may be the difference between our survival and our destruction in the days
ahead.”

Manebrow
noticed that the elite warriors that were here were only a fraction of the
probably two hundred or so elite warriors in the gen, and they were right now
seated together by warrior group.  Durik was seated alone not far from the
door, so Manebrow skirted the large terrain model which was the center of the
council chamber and seated himself next to his leader.

“So,”
he whispered to Durik, “last council only the more senior elite warriors were
invited, and this council there was another cut, I see.”

Durik
nodded and turned to answer his second.  “Lord Karthan has decided to make a
few changes to things.  He’s picked one elite warrior for every forty or fifty
warriors or elite warriors in our gen, and put them over the rest of the
fifty.  He’s called them sub-leaders.”

Manebrow
looked quizzically at Durik.  “So, they’re leader caste then?  And these thirty
are them?”

Durik
shook his head.  “No, they’re more like ‘sub-chief elite warriors,’ you could
say.  He says he’ll pick leader caste and chief elite warriors later.  Right
now, the rest of the gen is going to learn to fight in one big formation, but a
formation made up of companies of not more than fifty, led by these thirty
elite warriors.”

Manebrow
thought about that for a moment.  It made sense, what with the deaths of most
of the warrior group leaders in the recent overthrow.  He certainly didn’t
think that making a bunch of leader caste would be best, not with all the
competing interests and politicking that always accompanied a kobold’s rise to
the ranks of leader caste.  No, best to just organize for the fight and worry
about honors and such when their lives weren’t on the line.

“Then
it is agreed,” Lord Karthan’s pronouncement broke through Manebrow’s thoughts. 
“Now, Khazak Mail Fist here will go with the Patrol Guard and divide up the
elite warriors and their warriors between you sub-leaders from that warrior group. 
I, in the meantime, will go through the other warrior groups and decide the
same with you chosen sub-leaders.

“Once
we’ve finished, I want all elite warriors in the gen to assemble in the large
open field between the limestone quarry and the sunken meadow.  You will leave
your warriors to the work of gathering or making bows, arrows, spears and
shields enough for everyone in our gen.  Tonight,” Lord Karthan looked about
the room at the earnest faces of these grizzled, veteran warriors, “tonight we
leaders of the Kale Gen will come together and learn to work as one.  Tonight
we organize for tomorrow’s battle.  May the Fates smile upon us, and may the
Creator bless our efforts!”

“Yes,”
Lord Karthan answered, nodding at the suggestion.  “I agree.  Absolutely every
effort must be made to engage these orcs before they arrive here, and I am not
above using whatever means we have at our disposal to kill them, either.”

“Then,
sire,” Durik pressed, “you’ll set up the trap for them at the loyalist
enclosure?”

“The
‘loyalist enclosure’ is it, then?” Lord Karthan was surprised by the comment. 
“I guess you’re right, it was where I and those who remained loyal to me fled.”

“Sire?”
Durik pressed.  His warrior group was lined up already outside, and every
moment he delayed put him and his warrior group one more moment closer to dawn
and the inevitable mobilization of the orc horde for the next day’s battle.

“Yes,
Durik,” Lord Karthan nodded.  “I will have the Patrol Guard begin gathering the
weed to lace with that rot you speak of immediately.  It will be there when the
orcs arrive, and all will be done as you’ve requested.”

“Very
well, sire, then, if there is nothing further, I take my leave.”

Lord
Karthan held up a finger.  “There are two more things, young Durik.”

“Sire?”

“Tomorrow,
halfway between here and the picket line, here at the long meadow that slopes
down from this broad, gentle hill,” he said as he stepped carefully through the
terrain model that covered the floor and pointed at a bare mound of dirt, “our forces
will be set up and ready to receive the orcs.  Now, the only thing that would
likely bring them to that hill is if they were chasing you and your wolf riders
down this road from the picket line toward our gen’s home caverns,” he said as
he pointed out the relevant features.  “Do you think the Wolf Riders can handle
that mission?”

Durik
looked over at Manebrow, who stood nodding slightly, a pensive look on his
face.

“Aye,
sire.  We will be the bait to lead them into your trap,” Durik answered as he
turned to go.

“Wait,
Durik,” Lord Karthan said.  “There were two things.  The Krall healer Myaliae,
she was part of your company, as was my daughter and the warrior Terrim.”

Durik
nodded.  “Yes, sire.”

“They
have expressed a desire to join your new warrior group.”

Durik
looked puzzled.  “I’m flattered, sire, but I don’t understand.  Wouldn’t Kiria
and Myaliae serve the gen better under the Loremaster or in the Halls of
Healing?”

Lord
Karthan looked deeply into Durik’s eyes, as if to see into his heart.  After a
moment, he smiled.  “Durik, none of us knows what tomorrow may bring.”

“My
lord?” Durik asked, confused at the change of sentiment.

“Durik,
I am not a young kobold anymore, and I must look to my whelps.  Karto and Lat
are safe with my sister in the home of the Krall Gen.  There are many forces
that threaten to destroy us, and I don’t know if we’ll survive tomorrow’s
battle.”

“My
lord, surely the Creator will not allow us…” Durik protested.

Lord
Karthan shook his head.  “Durik, I’ve seen too much in my life to think that I
know the Creator’s plans.  Let me just speak for a moment.

“Durik,
there are only a few kobolds I would trust with my life; Khazak here, Manebrow,
and you, Durik.  As such, there are only a few I would trust with my daughter’s
life.  Now, she has expressed interest in you, and seems to think that you
might like her as well.”

Durik
blushed under his otherwise bronze scales.

“You
do not deny it, then?” Lord Karthan asked.  Taking Durik’s reaction as an
answer, he pressed forward.  “Durik, I’ll not ask you to be joined to my
daughter, though I would certainly give my blessing to such a decision by the
two of you.  But I place her, Myaliae and Terrim under your care until the
current danger passes.  I think you will find that the three of them, with
riding dogs, are already in the sunken meadow with the rest of your warrior
group.”

Durik’s
face was serious, yet clear of fear or angst.  “Sire, I will guard your
daughter with my life, and I will think on your words.”

“Very
well, then, my fellow warriors,” Lord Karthan took the two of them by the
shoulder.  “Remember.  You are leaders of the only mobile force our gen has. 
Please be careful out there.  If we should lose most of you, we would be blind
as a gen.  But above all,” Lord Karthan said, pointing down at the Kale Stone
in Durik’s pouch, “don’t lose the stone.  Though I don’t know what part this
reluctant stone has yet to play in our collective destiny, I would imagine it
will have some influence on the events that lie ahead.”

Durik’s
face was one of mixed emotions as he exited the home caverns of the Kale Gen
out into the cool night air of the sunken meadow.  Not two weeks before, he and
his little company had left from this very spot on a quest to find the Kale
Stone, with Kiria being one of their number.  She had been both a burden and a
blessing, but had proven herself over time.  He couldn’t deny that he had
feelings for her.  After all, the couple of times that she had been thrust into
his arms had left him longing for her for days.  The smell of her, the touch of
her, her subtle shapeliness, her quick wit and willing look, her determination
and fierce loyalty…

Durik
shook his head to try and break the spell she was beginning to have on him. 
Tonight was not the time to think on such things!

Unbeknownst
to them when they had formed their little company and marched off to find the
Kale Stone, the Bloodhand Orc Tribe and its ogre mercenaries were already
gathering to conquer their gen.  And not more than a few days after that, the
great ant horde that he had seen in vision had left its home far away in the
east, on the great plains where the caribou and minotaurs roamed in a vast sea
of winter ice melting to summer grass.