The Game of Fates (75 page)

“It
appears they intend to capture us,” Lord Karthan replied.

Lord
Krall just shook his head in disgust.  “Yes, and I think our plan just
changed.  If it’s all the same to you, I think its time I took my warriors and
set up a defensive perimeter on our right flank, probably near the crest of the
hill.”

“I’ll
lead the house guard on their dogs, father,” the younger Krall spoke.  “We’ll
shadow the orcs as they approach.”

Suddenly,
the dragon, which had been making lazy circles through the huge cloud of ash
and smoke that was beginning to cover the entire valley, dipped down and landed
off in the forest ahead of the flames, but still about an hour’s walk for a
kobold away.  All of the kobolds sighed in relief at his, likely temporary,
disappearance.

“Very
well Krall, and Krall,” Lord Karthan said.  “I think it’s clear that the real
battles will be on our flanks for now.  This little force from the Kobold Gen
in the middle is likely just a distraction.  As such, I will leave this force
here under Khazak Mail Fist to serve as a reserve, and I will take our other
twenty companies down the left side to help the Deep Gen and outcasts fight
that thrust.

“Lord
Krall,” Lord Karthan continued.  “Do you need my wolf riders, or shall I use
them on my flank?”

Lord
Krall shook his head.  “They’d just get in the way, Karthan,” the grumpy old
kobold said.

“Very
well, then,” Lord Karthan nodded.  “Khazak, send Durik and his riders to help
the Deep Gen once they’ve had a moment or two to catch their breath.”

“So
be it, then!” Lord Krall said as he turned his riding dog to the right.  “May
the Fates smile upon us all!”

Kale
stood at the edge of the tree line looking out into the large, grassy plain as
Durik and his wolf riders passed from left to right up the slope in front of
his little contingent of skirmishers.  His younger brother stood at his left
shoulder looking down the slope at the retreating ogres, and at the gathering
orc horde beyond.

“Kale,
I do not think that they are coming straight up the slope at us.  Look,” his
brother said.  “See, the orcs and ogres are dividing into two large groups.”

“Brother,
go to Lord Sennak,” Kale said.  “Tell him we should reform the line to face
downhill, rather than face the meadow.”

Kale’s
brother nodded and immediately headed off into the woods to find Lord Sennak.

Not
long after, the orcs had completed the split and each of the two broad arms
headed off in opposite directions.  Kale called out to his outcasts to begin
gathering up, which they did with unaccustomed speed.

Not
long after they had gathered, Kale’s brother returned with word that Lord
Sennak was not going to change his position, but rather thought that the orcs
were going to come around behind them to the hill, not up the berm-like hill
they were on.

Kale
just shook his head in disbelief.  Finally, he called out to his warriors, and
the entire group of outcasts moved down the hill to the end of the Deep Gen’s
line and prepared to skirmish with the orcs when they came up the hill through
the woods.

Lord
Karthan was in a particularly somber mood at the moment.  For all the glory
that those who had not seen it thought war was, he had found that, in fact,
there was nothing glorious about war.  When he was but a whelp, his father had
said the same thing to him.  But being young, and full of the juices of life,
he had not believed his father.  But that was before he had been wounded the
first time, before he had gone on any quests or seen death come so swiftly to
so many who had been so vibrant just moments before.  That was before he knew
the pain of loss, and the meaning of true brothers; ones who would give their
lives for you, like Khazak Mail Fist… ones who already had, like the chief of
his personal guard.  What was his name again?

He
shook his head and tried to clear it, though the deep sense of guilt for not
remembering that warrior’s name lingered, yet at times it was too much to carry
the weight of the dead.  Death was all around him, and had been for too long. 
His life so far could be characterized as a long, sometimes difficult, but
generally boring story, punctuated by random moments of sheer terror.  At times
he wondered if it would ever be any other way. 

He
shook his head again and breathed deeply in the hot air to try and clear his
thoughts so he could focus on the task at hand.  Here he was, marching through
the woods at the head of about seven hundred of his warriors, in twenty
companies, and he was reminiscing about his loss of innocence.  The thought of
it almost made him laugh… or cry.

“Sire,”
the scout which had just approached through the woods called to him.  Lord
Karthan looked at the scout strangely, was it… yes, it was Trallik, the traitor
he had recently pardoned.  “There is a path down off the berm-hill.  Come,”
Trallik motioned, “I will lead you to it.”

Lord
Karthan nodded.  He very much hoped that Trallik’s word was good.  If this
gamble worked out correctly, and if Lord Sennak held the line like he’d sent a
messenger to tell him to do, he and his warriors would catch the orcs in a nice
trap.  Then it would be a matter of ensuring the trap sprung hard enough to
break the orc column.  Looking back at his column of warriors, however, he
could see the determination and fire in their eyes.  Yes, they were up to the
task.

Lord
Sennak of the Deep Gen stood looking out over the open battlefield, in wonder
at the particles of ash that had begun to fall from the sky, from the dragon’s
conflagration in the middle of the valley.  This entire environment was alien
to him.  Yes, he’d been above ground before, and yes, he had been above ground
for the entire day so far, but for one who had lived underground all of his
life, it was so full of change and chaos.

It
had been a while since the orcs had disappeared into the woods, but they were
no concern of his.  He was sure they would go around behind them and strike the
Krall Gen warriors in the clearing on the hill.  He, on the other hand, was
waiting for those traitorous kobolds from the northern gens to come up the hill
so he could spring his part of the trap.

Hammer
and anvil Lord Karthan had called it.  Though he liked the name, he hadn’t said
anything at the time.  After all, he wasn’t Karthan’s lackey.

The
arrival of a messenger from Kale had been annoying.  He had sent Kale’s brother
back with the firm word that they weren’t moving.  After all, the kobolds from
the northern gens were marching straight up the hill, just like he had thought
they would.

Then
a messenger arrived from Lord Karthan, telling him to move to hold the hill
against the orcs.  Confused, he sent the messenger back to Lord Karthan to tell
him that they would hold it.  Instead of moving his formations to face down the
hill, however, he sent scouts out to watch the orcs as they passed by on the
other side of the hill.

Now,
as he looked out into the long, flat slope again, he smiled within himself. 
Today would be a day to remember.  Today would be a day of victory.

The
outcasts spread through the trees on the berm-like hill began to look at each
other nervously.  Not far below them the sound of hard boots coming through
rocks and trees could just barely be heard.  Those who had sat down now stood,
and those who had been talking now watched in silence down the hill.  All of them
had picked up their shields and the two javelins they had brought down the hill
with them.

Standing
in the front of them, Kale immediately sent his brother to find Lord Sennak. 
The fool had not turned his formations to face the orcs, so the Deep Gen warrior
groups were about to get hit in the flank.

“Tell
the warrior group leaders along the way!” he said as his brother nodded then
ran off up the hill.  “Steady, warriors of the underdeep!” he called. 
“Remember; careful aim, strong throws!  Make each javelin count!  Throw number
one, then run back.  Throw number two, then run to the base of Great Bow Hill!”

All
about him, the outcasts were bracing themselves to stand in the face of
whatever was coming up that hill.  Some, however, couldn’t take the stress of
it.  Here and there among the ranks of the outcasts a warrior fled.

“Stand
your ground!” Kale called.

At
that moment, the first of the orcs came into view.  They were large, muscular
warriors with dreadlocks and matted hair swinging wildly about them.  Down the
slope from the kobolds they didn’t look too much taller than them, but their
wicked looking axes and curved swords were adorned with spikes and barbs to
rend any flesh they met.  The wild fangs of the orcs only enhanced their
fearsome look as they roared out a battle cry upon spotting the outcast
skirmish line.  Suddenly, all around Kale, many of the outcasts threw their
javelins and began to run back, even though the orcs weren’t even close to
being in range.  More than half of them stayed, however, and those who did stay
looked to Kale to give the command to throw.

“Ready!”
Kale called.  All around him warriors raised javelins.  Measuring from a
javelin that had been thrown early, Kale waited until the lead orc was in line
with it.

“Throw!”
he yelled, and as one nearly seventy javelins scythed through the air, striking
many orcs and driving many to the ground.

“Fall
back!” Kale yelled, then turned and ran up the hill while behind them the
survivors of the lead wave of orcs were stalled by all the casualties in their
ranks.  Having run back to the deer trail that he had designated as the next
throwing position, Kale joined the rest of the warriors who had fallen back to
this position.

Panting,
Kale looked up and down the line.  All around him the bright eyes of his many
fellow outcasts looked down the slope in excitement.  Some who had thrown early
had felt bad and had stopped here, and even a couple who had run before the
orcs came in sight had stopped here.  Overall, almost ninety of his hundred skirmishers
now stood on the deer trail with him.