Into the Heart of Evil (28 page)

As they ran, the unarmored kobolds constantly to
their front, from time to time the orcs turned and would take down another ant
hunter who had gotten close enough.  As they were getting close to the river,
however, an ant got too close to the veteran warrior and grabbed his ankle,
tripping him to his knees.  For its efforts, the veteran warrior took the ant’s
head off, but the damage had already been done.  The veteran warrior was now
limping.  Behind them, a large group of ants was now approaching, probably a
hundred or more of them, and not more than forty paces behind Shagra and his
companion. 

Shagra, seeing that his companion wouldn’t be able
to make it fast enough on his own, decided to leave the wounded veteran
warrior.  After all, there would be more veteran warriors and the sacrifice of
this one would ensure that he would escape.  Turning back to the path, Shagra
ignored the screams for help from his companion and ran on.  His companion,
seeing Shagra’s treachery, turned with horror in his eyes to face the onrushing
wave of ants.

As Shagra reached the crest in front of him, he
could see four kobolds now running through the flatland just before the banks
of the river a couple of hundred steps in front of him.  To his rear, his
veteran companion was now on one knee, covered with the swarming ants while
several more had already begun to pour in Shagra’s direction.  Turning back to
the trail, Shagra didn’t look back as he sprinted through the flatland.

T
he
great orc champion ran toward the river for all he was worth.  His spear long
since gone, he now swung his sword wildly behind his heels, hoping to keep away
any potential attackers.  Behind him the swarm of ants was quickly
approaching.  Having just crossed the river, Durik, Manebrow, Gorgon, and Ardan
stopped on the far bank and scrambled around to find good places to fire from. 
As the orc warrior came down the path, the four kobolds loosed arrow after
arrow, striking several ants in the oncoming wave.  The orc, seeing their help,
turned momentarily and struck three ants that had been trying to get bites on
him, cutting them in half as quickly as he could.  Then, seeing that there was
a brief lull in the oncoming swarm, he turned again and ran the remaining
distance to the river, jumping with a roar as far out into the icy river as his
legs could throw him.  Behind him the swarming ants, infuriated to a point of
madness, let their momentum carry them into the river.

Tens of the hunter ants died this way, choked in
the icy cold water of the spring runoff.  Despite seeing the fate of the first
several, many more ants poured into the water like lemmings.  The kobold
company stood there watching in absolute amazement and disbelief as at least a
hundred ants tried to get at them by braving the water, thrashing about with
all their limbs in an attempt to swim across the swollen flow, several of them
making it quite a distance into the river on the backs of their fellow ants
before plunging into the water themselves and drowning.

The orc champion, soaked and choking on the water
he’d taken in, drug himself up the far shore and rolled over, dropping his
tired body to the ground as he raised his eyes to the sun.  He was alternately
breathing heavily and spitting out the water he’d inhaled when he first fell
into the water.  He had a death grip on his sword, which was still in one
hand.  With the other hand, he eventually propped himself up on one arm, lifted
his head up off the ground and watched as the mass of giant ants who had not
stopped was swept downstream to their doom.  After several moments of watching
this way, he sat up.

On the far side of the river still crawled several
tens of ants.  Then, from over the rise came yet another mass of ants, several
hundred strong, chittering as they went.  These ants appeared to be a bit
smaller than the hunter ants and they came in a more orderly fashion, not
crazed with the bloodlust of the first group.  Among the mass of ants came
another of the commander ants that the group had seen directing the smaller
ants before.  As it approached the shore, the four kobolds launched a volley of
arrows in its direction.  Two of the arrows struck true and the ant commander,
wounded and chittering loudly, retreated.  The kobolds drew arrows as fast as
they could and fired again.  With two more arrows in its back, the retreating
ant commander fell dead in a pool of its own blood. 

With the death of the ant commander, the majority
of the ants on the far side of the shore milled around now, lost without the
direction and thoughts of their leader.  The hunter ants, however, which looked
almost identical to the other ants, were still determined in their purpose. 
While the majority of the rank and file ants milled about, the hunter ants
stood by the shore, smelling with their mandibles in the air and probing the
water to see if there was any firm footing under it they could use to get
across.

Several of the kobolds, who had initially
retreated from the bank of the river in case the ants somehow were able to
cross, now returned from the crest of the hill beyond the bank.  They watched
dumbfounded for several moments before Manebrow approached Durik.  “Sire, it’s
only a matter of time before the smarter ants figure a way across the river. 
Then we’re done for if we’re not already well on our way.” 

Durik snapped his view toward Manebrow as if
coming out of a deep hypnosis.  “Why, yes, of course.  Let’s get everyone
going.”  Durik called, “Gorgon, get your team going.”  Then he grabbed Manebrow
by the shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Bring the orc warrior, but be
careful.  I want him to think that we’re friends of his for as long as
possible.  Let’s see what we can learn from him before we part ways.”

Manebrow nodded his agreement and, as Ardan was
getting the rest of his team ready, he walked up to the hulking brute and began
to try to talk to him.  Manebrow knew a little bit more orcish, though most of
what he knew was taunts and commands.  Little of it was of use here. 
Fortunately the tall orc warrior, who now stood to his full height and sheathed
his sword, knew much more kobold, though he pronounced his words in a guttural,
hard-to-understand fashion.  Manebrow had heard this strange manner of speaking
before, however, among the more primitive northern gens.  He guessed that the
little bits of The Sorcerer’s Tongue that the orc did speak he must have
learned somehow from them.

For several moments, as the company tied down
loose equipment and examined the feet of the packdogs and wolves, Manebrow and
the orc champion talked in broken kobold.  The only thing he was able to learn
was that the orc was returning to his ‘fort in mountain’ and that the ‘treaty’
was safe with him.  The orc champion pulled out a piece of parchment and
unfolded it.  It was wet around the edges, but it had been mostly preserved by
the tight belt that held it against the orc’s armor.  Thinking quickly,
Manebrow pulled out a dry bandage from his shoulder belts and offered to dry
the parchment.  The orc handed it to him.

Placing the parchment against the ground, Manebrow
pressed the bandage around the wet edges and read the parchment as quickly as
possible.  It had obviously been written by a member of either their gen or the
Krall Gen, both in their language as well as in picture-talk orcish.  The
lettering was clear and the strokes were bold.  As he read, Manebrow grew more
and more amazed.  Finally, after several moments of ‘drying it out,’ Manebrow
looked up quickly and said, “Wait a moment,” then walked quickly toward Durik,
holding up the somewhat damp bandage as if querying Durik for another.

“Sire,” Manebrow said in a low voice as he
approached, “he had this treaty from Khee-lar Shadow Hand, who calls himself
the Lord of the Kale Gen, and underneath his name it says ‘Covenant of
Loyalty’.”  Manebrow paused as he looked Durik in the eye. “And there is a
second name on it, one that seems familiar, but I don’t remember from where.”

“What is the second name?” Durik asked.

“It’s signed ‘Mynar the Sorcerer,’ who calls
himself the Lord of the Krall Gen, and under that is written ‘Covenant of Royal
Blood’,” Manebrow answered.  “I’d imagine Lord Krall would disagree with that.  I
can’t remember where I’ve heard the name Mynar.”

Durik’s eyes got wide.  Mynar’s involvement in the
recent insurrection had been kept from him and all the rest in the company, but
he was very familiar with his past work.  In disbelief, he took the parchment
from Manebrow.  “This Mynar… he’s the one who they say brought the orcs against
our gen six years ago.  Manebrow, Mynar the Sorcerer is who’s responsible for
my parents’ death, and the death of so many others in our gen.”

At that moment, Gorgon walked up to them.  He
could see the surprise on Durik’s face and the concern in Manebrow’s eyes. 
Having heard a little bit of the conversion, he jumped in horns first.  “Well,
if he’s calling himself Lord of the Krall Gen, perhaps Lord Krall will have
knowledge of where he is.  Certainly, we will have to go after this Mynar, as
there is much blood he has yet to answer for, but I think we need to get this
treaty back to Lord Karthan for now so he and whatever loyal warriors he can
muster can stop Khee-lar and whoever is in league with him before they can
overthrow our gen.”

Durik nodded. “Agreed, but we’re in no shape to
make that trip right now as a group, and I don’t want to risk sending two or
three back on wolfback.”

“Aye, sire.  I agree, we need the wolves right now
to get the wounded to the Krall Gen,” Manebrow added.

After a moment, Durik spoke again, “Perhaps Lord
Krall can be of assistance to us.  His gen has always been friendly toward
ours, and I’m sure he’d not want our gen taken over by one who would make
alliances with the orcs.”

The three leaders stood in thought for a moment. 

Gorgon broke the silence as he saw the orc
champion standing as if to come toward them.  “Sire, what do you want to do
with this orc?”

Durik bowed his head for a moment and thought. “I
can’t see us keeping the deception going.  We’ve got this treaty paper.  That’s
more than we expected to get from him.”

“Aye, let’s get rid of him,” Gorgon said, patting
the head of his hammer.

“No, Gorgon,” Durik said, then paused a moment in
thought as the orc began to approach them. “We need to send a message to the
orc tribe, and I think he needs to play messenger to his tribe that there will
be no treaty.”

The three kobolds turned to face the orc as he
approached.

“Stop there,” Durik commanded, holding up his hand
to the much more massive and taller orc.  “Come no closer, orc.”  The deception
was now dropped and the three leaders stood with their hands on their weapons,
ready to draw if necessary.

Shagra stopped, raised an eyebrow and looked about
himself alertly.  This sudden change in the way the kobolds regarded him wasn’t
what he had been expecting.  Though he certainly was no stranger to deception
and treachery, he’d expected the treaty to be worth something.  The other
kobolds were obviously nervous about his presence, and the way this kobold was
talking to him seemed to be putting them all on their guard.  Counting quickly
in his head, he figured he was well outnumbered.  Like the ants he’d just been
forced to run from, enough of these little kobolds working together and he’d be
dead if they decided to take him on.

“We have treaty, Shadow Hand minions!” Shagra
exclaimed in his gruff, gravel-like voice.

“We are not minions of Khee-lar Shadow Hand,”
Durik declared.  “My apologies for deceiving you, but it was necessary to find
out what evil you and he were up to.”

Shagra was looking straight ahead at the three
kobolds, but his mind was focusing on the kobolds immediately around him. 

Durik continued, “Tell your chief that Lord
Karthan still has many loyal servants, and we do not make deals with the
Bloodhand Orc Tribe… and as for Khee-lar Shadow Hand and his minions, you’ll
not be hearing from them again.”  Durik paused. “Go now,” he commanded,
pointing toward the forest.

Shagra was surprised… and skeptical, at what he
had heard.  These treacherous kobolds were letting him go?!  He almost couldn’t
believe they were that stupid, but looking into their leader’s eyes, something
down deep inside him made him think that, just perhaps, they were telling the
truth.  Then his heart hardened, and he began to look for ulterior motives. 

Shagra’s battle-hardened mind quickly analyzed the
situation.  This group of kobolds was exhausted, carrying wounded, and most of
their warriors were wearing several blood-soaked bandages.  They did not look
ready to take him on.  He imagined that, if they were to rush him, he could
take out a few of them before they took him down.  He had looked around himself
for some sort of ‘insurance’ to make sure he got out of here alive and had seen
the only female in the group. 

As Shagra watched, the female kobold who had been
only a couple of steps from him began to move toward the leaders.  Shagra knew
the three kobold leaders could see that he was stalling, and he had to move
now.  While he delayed, the oldest of the three kobolds began to draw his bow.

Moving quickly, Shagra pounced on the small female
kobold.  Grabbing her by the waist, he lifted her up off the ground and held
her to his chest as he would a young child.  With his other hand, he pulled a
knife from under his armor.  As he lifted the knife toward the female’s throat,
she grabbed something around her neck with one hand and raised the other hand
while shouting a command in a language he didn’t understand.  Suddenly a bright
light filled his eyes, blinding him with its intensity.  As he reflexively
lifted his hand to his eyes, a sharp pain shot through his arm then deep into
his side.  Shagra screamed in pain and rage as he blindly stumbled back a
couple of paces.  He could feel the tip of the arrow which had struck between
the shoulder plate and metal scales under his arm moving in his lung as he moved
his arm.  His knife and the female kobold both dropped from his stunned hands
as he stumbled backwards into a tree trunk.