The Game of Fates (78 page)

Pulling
his sword out of an orc he’d stabbed as the beast was trying to push through,
Lord Karthan looked up to see Manebrow and a detachment of Wolf Riders rushing
past to chase after several orcs who had managed to get past the Kale companies
and were even now running down the hill.

A
wolf reined in next to Lord Karthan.  Looking up, he saw his daughter Kiria,
her face a mask of concern.  She was scratched, muddy, and bloody, but she was
whole and unwounded.  In spite of himself, standing there in the midst of so
much death, Lord Karthan cried with both joy and despair.

“Form
it up!  Let’s go!” Lord Karthan soon called as his daughter went about helping
Myaliae administer to the hundreds of wounded that littered the broad crest of
the berm-like hill.  Yes, this had been a great victory, but they didn’t have
time to celebrate it.  The other half of the orcs were trying to envelope them
from the other side of the battlefield, and Lord Krall had taken his forces to
stop them.  It wouldn’t do to be celebrating, until they were sure that the
other half of the orc attack was broken.

Leaving
five companies behind to help the stumbling, shocked survivors of the Deep Gen
gather their wounded to the clearing on the top of the hill, Lord Karthan led
the remaining fifteen companies in three lines down the hill and out into the
clearing.

Mirrik
and Hemmet stood looking at Kale, who was going about the heaps of bodies
picking out the wounded and helping separate them from the dead.  The pair of
life-long friends had seen the deaths of almost half of their gen’s warriors
this day, between Bantor’s warrior group that had been left in the underdark
and the hundreds of warriors whose lifeblood had been spilled freely on this
nameless hill.

As
they had been surveying the extent of the damage, they discovered the bodies of
Lord Sennak the Younger, the other two warrior group leaders, and all five of
the veteran warriors who had served the warrior group leaders as their
seconds.  With bitter realization, the pair of friends realized that they were
now the de facto leaders of the shattered remnants of the Deep Gen.

“Hemmet,”
Mirrik said, looking at his friend who was leaning on a tall orc sword he had
used to slay his last couple of orcs.  “I think we need to make Kale the leader
of what’s left of our people.”

Hemmet
was silent as he looked about at the sheer destruction.

“I
don’t think either of us are cut out to be lord of a gen,” Mirrik continued.

The
pair stood in silence for a few moments.

“I
don’t suppose Lord Karthan would approve of that, do you?” Hemmet finally
asked.

Mirrik
thought for a moment.  “I don’t think it matters much.”

After
a few moments, Hemmet nodded.  “So be it.  Let’s go tell him.”

The
pair of warriors slowly walked down the slope, each of them nursing various
wounds, bruises, and aches from the afternoon’s battle.

As
Hemmet and Mirrik approached Kale, the paladin came riding up in his now
mud-splattered armor on his exhausted mount.  The pair of warrior leaders
stopped and waited, though for what they didn’t know.

With
a clear look in his eyes, as one who had finally found the answer to a
long-standing problem, Durik dismounted and walked up to Kale.  In his left
hand he held the Kale Stone, which glowed with a soft, almost comforting light.

“Sire,”
Durik said as placed the Kale Stone in Kale’s outstretched hands, his other
hand on Kale’s arm as he looked him in the eyes.  “I know that events are not
yet such that everyone feels this is the right thing to do, but I have been
commanded to give you the Kale Stone, and I must obey.”

Kale
nodded and smiled humbly at Morgra’s chosen paladin as he held the powerful
gift in his hands.  “I know, faithful servant of Morgra,” he said, “but
circumstances will soon be different.”  In his hands the Kale Stone shone with
an immediate, brilliant luster. 

Around
The Sorcerer’s two servants a brilliant light began to grow, starting subtly
and growing until under the canopy of the trees it was as bright as the fields
at noon-day.  All around the battlefield the delirious wounded were comforted, the
spirits of the dead passed to the place of the ancestors in greater peace, and
all who were still firmly in the realm of the living were drawn to look at
them.

Next
to the pair of leaders, Mirrik and Hemmet knelt.  Following their lead, Kale’s
brother knelt, and soon all who were left of the former Deep Gen, all the
former outcasts, and the half of the Wolf Riders who were with Durik were all
on their knees in reverence and awe.

Looking
about at his many fellow kobolds on their knees, Kale held up the stone of
their heritage, the stone which assured his right to rule over the gen whose
name he bore.

Jominai
looked off to the right.  Behind him the four hundred levies marched, while
Marbo rode along at the rear of the formation.  Behind his four blocks of one
hundred spear-holding frightened young recruits, the hundred wolf riders under
Krulak, the son of the lord of their gen, rode along ready for action.  Next to
them were nearly fifty orc archers, and spread around the various kobold
formations were various hobgoblins.  Off to the right, however, were the orc
scouts in the wood line.

Ahn-Ki,
Voice for Chieftain as he liked to be called, had told Jominai to only advance
as fast as the little group of orc scouts advanced.  From what Jominai could
understand from the gravelly-voiced hobgoblin’s instructions, Drakebane had
told the little group to pace his half of the horde, so apparently they were
all moving forward on line.

What
caught his attention, however, was the fact that the little group of orc scouts
had begun running back down the hill.  He’d heard a pair of ram’s horns being
blown in the woods off to their right, and then more sounds of battle like
they’d been hearing all along, but this time things were different.  This time
the sounds of ogres and orcs yelling ended and the sound of many kobolds
rejoicing could be heard on the thick afternoon air.

Then,
with the sky darkening from the smoke and falling ashes of the still distant
conflagration, Jominai heard the ram’s horn again.  He looked up the slope at
the line of a few hundred Kale warriors that were still several bowshots away,
but saw no ram’s horn there.  Looking over to the right again, he saw the lead
companies of what had to be Kale or Krall warriors breaking through the
underbrush and marching in line out into the meadow not a bowshot’s distance
off to the right.

Wheeling
his wolf around, Jominai drew his sword.  “Kill the hobgoblins and orcs!” he
yelled.  Kicking his wolf in the ribs, he charged forward toward the hobgoblin
closest to him, a particularly ugly hobgoblin who was marching along with the
Five Gens contingent.

Jominai’s
command had not only caught the hobgoblins off guard, most of whom didn’t speak
The Sorcerer’s tongue, but he also caught his own troops off guard.  However,
in a matter of a few moments all five hundred kobolds were attacking their
hobgoblin guards.  Then, with a command from Krulak, the hundred Kobold Cavalry
wheeled about and charged into the fifty orcs of the archer contingent. 
Between the sharp spears of the cavalry, and the fiery missiles of the five
covenant mages among the cavalry, the entire contingent of orc archers were
soon put to flight.

By
the time Lord Karthan arrived, the Kobold Gen Cavalry had ridden down the last
few orcs, and Krulak and Jominai had walked out in front of their contingents
to offer their spears in support of their Kale cousins.  With hands tied in
front of him, the leader of the hobgoblin mercenaries, Ahn-Ki, was presented as
a gift to the Lord of the Kale Gen.

G
oryon and Gorgon both slapped
each other on the back and yelled excitedly as the center of the orc horde
collapsed into chaos… just as they had been preparing to fire the first spears
from their Great Bows.  The best part about it was seeing Lord Karthan’s bronze
crown shining in the gray light as he led the Kale companies out of the tree
line from the left.

“Victory!”
Gorgon yelled, turning to look excitedly at Jerrig, Arbelk, and Troka.

“Aye,
lad,” Goryon beamed in pride.  “Though there is still another flank to be
secured, you know.”

“Yes,
but that won’t take long, not now that our warriors were victorious on the left
flank!” Gorgon replied excitedly.  “I’m going to take my team down there!  I
don’t want to miss this!”

Goryon
looked at his son, startled and disapproving.  Then, reminding himself that his
son was a warrior, and an accomplished one at that by the stories he’d told him
on the way here, he nodded.  “Go, son!  Drive the rest of the orcs from here!”

Grabbing
their weapons, Gorgon and the rest of his team were preparing to climb down the
ladder when suddenly they saw something that stopped them cold.  Before long,
the two teams of warriors were gathering rocks and preparing to defend their
sheer-sided stone tower.

As
Lord Karthan was accepting the spears of the Kobold Gen-led contingent, a
dog-rider with another dog in tow appeared at the bottom of the long slope. 
While the leaders from the two gens talked, Krulak of the Kobold Gen making it
clear they did not want to fight their Kale cousins and Lord Karthan of the
Kale Gen making it clear he didn’t want to fight them either, the dog-rider got
closer.

As
the leaders were talking about the forest fire and the ants, both of which were
out there in the woods, and both of which were likely closer than they felt
comfortable with, the dog-rider got close enough for everyone to see that what
he carried on the dog that was trailing him was another kobold, unconscious and
strapped over the second dog’s back.  The pair of dogs were worn almost to
utter exhaustion, and all four of them were covered in ash.

Finally,
as the two leaders were coming to an agreement that would allow the warriors of
the Kobold Gen and the northern gens’ levies to take shelter in the Kale Gen’s
home caverns until the fire passed, the dog-rider and his unconscious companion
came riding up, past the warriors who had stepped out of line to help him and
straight up to the huddle of leaders.

“Lord
Karthan!” the rider called out.

“Aye! 
Krebbekar, isn’t it, of Lord Krall’s house guard?” Lord Karthan asked.  “What
news do you bring?”

“The
same!” he replied.  “I’ve urgent news for you and for all kobolds on this field
of battle today!” he continued, looking over at the various leaders from the
Kobold contingent.  “The ants are upon us all!”

Even
as he said the words, three dog-riders in shiny metal armor burst out of the
forest canopy and into the open at the bottom of the slope.  Seeing the mass of
kobolds on the hill, the trio turned and rode for them.  Immediately behind them
a mass of warrior ants came tumbling out over each other in their frenzy to
catch the three riders.

It
was as if a bolt of lighting had shot through the group.  After grasping hands
and agreeing to stand together against the ants, the leaders turned away from
each other, each of them yelling orders to gather their warriors to the top of
the slope.  Within a couple of moments both contingents were marching at a
quick pace up the hill.

Trallik
and Trikki ran for all they were worth.  They knew that many hundreds of lives
depended on their message arriving quickly, and so they were being a lot less
cautious than they might otherwise have been.

To
their front, on the other side of the hill they had just crested somewhere, the
noise of battle marked their objective.  Grabbing Trikki by the hand, Trallik
helped her steady herself as she almost tripped over a root.

Down
the slope the young lifemates ran, around a thicket that had grown up to choke
the ground around several tree trunks, and to a natural ditch that ran through
the bottom of the slight depression that followed this part of the road for a
little distance.

Jumping
over the ditch together, they both looked up and over the edge of the road to
where well over a thousand creatures moved with determination or fury.  Seeing
that they were in the back of the kobold forces involved in this battle, the
pair of messengers ran for all they were worth toward the closer of the two
flanks of the kobold force; the left one.

“Ready…
Fire!” a kobold was yelling as they ran up the left side of what had to be the
largest block of archers the southern valley had ever seen.  As one, hundreds
of arrows, some rather long and some of normal length, flew through the air,
raining down on the orc forces on the far side of the front of the kobold line.

From
where they were at, Trallik and Trikki could not see the effect of the massive
volley, but they could see the kobold that had commanded it.  Tall for a
kobold, muscular but not overly much, wearing leather armor with a silver tree
embossed on the breastplate, and holding a sword with a golden hilt, this
kobold had to be a leader caste from the Krall Gen.

“Sire!”
Trallik called out, almost out of breath as they ran up and stopped in front of
the noble kobold.

“What’s
this?  Speak!” the kobold leader said.

“Sire! 
We seek Lord Krall,” Trallik huffed as he bent over, out of breath.  “Where is
he?”

“Reload!”
The kobold called out as he considered the pair carefully.  “He’s a bit busy
right now, as am I.  Do you carry a message?”

“Aye,
sire,” Trallik nodded as he stood up.

The
kobold leader looked away for a moment, then looked back at the massive
contingent of archers.  “Fire!”  With the sound of a swift wind, hundreds of
arrows arched up into the sky to rain death on the orcs.

“If
you’ve a message, I am Krall, son and heir of Lord Krall.  You can tell me!”

Trallik
looked surprised and stood up straighter.  “Sire, Lord Karthan sent me to tell
you that the ants have arrived!  He requests that you move your forces to the
crest of the hill, that our gens may stand together!”

Krall
looked as if Trallik had just hit him in the face.  After a moment or two of
thought, he slowly nodded.  “Very well, tell Lord Karthan that we’re on our
way, if we can make it.”

With
that, Trallik and Trikki took off running back the way they had come.

Behind
them now, Krall ordered his troops to reform into their smaller groups and to
move at the double to the south side of the hill, where they could easily climb
up to join their brethren of the Kale Gen on the crest of the hill.

Having
organized his Archer Guard and Border Guard, Krall joined his father at the
front of the Heavy Guard.  The orcs had been fought to a standstill and the two
forces had separated, standing not a dozen steps from each other as they rested
and glared at each other.

Krall
could see that the orcs were clearly on the verge of defeat.  The handful of
ogres they’d had with them had all succumbed to the volleys of arrows, and the
dead and wounded orcs lay in heaps where arrows and the heavy, chopping swords
of the Heavy Guard had put them.  They had arrived almost four hundred strong,
but now the orcs were a mere fraction of that, barely over a hundred effectives
by Krall’s estimate.

The
Krall Gen had faired much better than their opponents.  Volley after volley of
arrows, and the curved two-handed swords of their Heavy Guard, had both been
exceptionally effective.  Discipline was the mantra of their gen’s forces, and
skill at arms was its greatest manifestation.  This day, at least, as they left
less than fifty dead on the field, they knew it had served them well.

Shagra,
who led the orcs, had been frustrated at every turn.  His little flanking force
he’d sent around them had been shot down without doing any damage as they
emerged from the trees.  His forces had been cut by a third by arrow-fire as
they were approaching.  Now, the cantankerous old kobold who led the Krall
Gen’s forces had ordered his forces to back up, only to rain two more volleys
of arrows down on them!

Shagra
was about to call for what was left of his forces to make one last charge when
the old kobold held up his hands and, in the company of his guards, walked out
in front of his line of warriors.  It looked like he wanted to talk!  Shagra
was suspicious, but what choice did he have?  Now that they’d had a moment to
think, he could see that most of his warriors were thinking about running.  All
around his meager force heads turned toward to look at the forest or the road
behind them, and here and there an orc warrior or two took off running into the
trees.

“You! 
Foul orc!” the old kobold spoke in orcish.  “Big enemy come!”

Shagra
looked at the kobold, trying to guess what it was saying.  Suddenly, he
realized they must be talking about the dragon.  Would they be surrendering to
him now?

“Dragon
come?  You surrender?” Shagra asked, a cruel smile coming to his face.

“No!”
the old kobold yelled.  He used his hands to make a walking motion then he put
them up next to his horns and wiggled them… like antennae.  The scowl on his
face told Shagra exactly what the kobold thought of him.

Suddenly,
Shagra’s blood ran cold.  “Ants?” he asked.  Then, seeing that the kobold
didn’t understand, he asked again.  “Big bugs, big teeths?”

The
old kobold nodded once, grimly, then turned around and shouted something to his
warriors.  The rearmost part of the kobold sword-wielders broke off and began
marching quickly for the hill.  The rest of the kobold warriors began moving
backward and away from the orcs.  He went with them.

Shagra
turned around as well.  Suddenly, far behind his forces, back where the road
turned left around the bottom of the slope they fought next to, a small group
of ant warriors appeared.

“Turn!”
Shagra yelled.  His entire force turned about as one.  Though none of his warriors
could have known how much of an overwhelming force of ants were on their way,
still they panicked because their escape was cut off.

“Orcs!”
Shagra yelled.  “With kobolds!  We go with kobolds!”  With that, Shagra ran and
plunged into the woods next to the long slope, the last hundred unscathed orc
warriors of the Bloodhand Orc Tribe following after him.  As the many wounded
orcs realized they were being left behind, all who were able got up and began
to shamble, run, or limp after their companions.

Behind
them on the road and in the meadow where the two forces had met, well over a
hundred orcs who were too wounded to move, many of them on death’s doorstep,
lay wailing and moaning like little children as a slow, horrible death
approached them… with antennae twitching and mandibles clicking.