The Game of Fates (29 page)

With
a wild roar Manechar grabbed his belt and ripped it off of himself, pouches and
all, throwing it to the side in the hopes that it would blunt the assault of the
Kale Stone that sat in one of the pouches.  Turning around, the orc shaman ran
wildly with dazzled eyes toward the exit not far behind him.  Knocking chairs
and a table to one side, Manechar grasped desperately for the handle of the
cool stone door.  Finally finding the handle, he pulled with all his might.

The
door didn’t budge.  It seemed as sealed as was his own doom.

Turning
with sightless eyes, Manechar sensed the presence of the little kobold coming
up behind him.  Burning through the mist that clouded his eyes, the light that
emanated from the little kobold outlined his form… and that of his sword.

>> <<

With
fire in his own eyes, Durik stopped just in front of a shield of fire the
shaman had quickly erected.  Holding out his sword, the wall of fire that raged
in front of him began to split.  As Durik cut along the base of the wall with
his sword, the strength of the wall failed and the fire died.

Durik
followed the shaman to the far door.  Almost as if he had done it all his life,
Durik willed the far door to be sealed.  Then, bending down, he opened the
pouch that the orc had dropped.  The Kale Stone rolled out and Durik took it in
his left hand.  The power of it was almost mute next to the power of Morgra
which filled the room.

Raising
his sword, Durik stepped toward the tall, cowering orc.  He knew what he must
do, but… he hesitated.  Was this orc not defenseless now, in the face of
Morgra’s power?

Kill
him
, the voice
came into Durik’s mind.  In his mind’s eye, however, he could still see the blood
of the first orc he’d killed.  The image of trying to wash it off his hand
afterward was permanently etched in his mind.

But
I’ve killed so much,
Durik thought, and he hesitated longer.

Kill
him
, the voice
came again into his mind.  In front of Durik, the orc shaman sat with arms in
front of him, his back against the door, wailing and crying, pleading for his
life.  Durik couldn’t help but feel pity for the creature, even though it had
tried to kill him.

He
hesitated, and the orc began to feel that perhaps he might live.

Kill
him
, the voice
came a third time into his mind.  Durik closed his eyes, feeling in his heart
for what he should do.

It
was at that exact moment that the orc shaman lunged at Durik, a hidden dagger
now revealed in his right hand.

Caught
slightly off guard, Durik stepped back from the much taller orc, but the length
of the orc shaman’s reach was much greater than Durik’s pace, and in a split
second the orc had lunged forward, reaching Durik in a single step and grabbing
him by a shoulder belt.

Suddenly
a flash of light from Jerrig sped past Durik, striking the shaman with a fiery
crack as he lunged forward, stopping his advance and throwing him back a step. 
A moment later Keryak’s spear flew past Durik’s head, followed for good measure
by Ardan’s arrow.  The arrow was totally unnecessary, however, as the spear
struck the shaman in the heart, throwing his lifeless body back against the far
door, where it came to rest in a puddle of its own blood.

Durik
looked back with thanks into the eyes of his faithful warriors… and friends,
who had saved him from the shaman’s dagger.  The brilliant light that had
surrounded him quickly faded and soon the four kobolds were left in utter
darkness, their eyes having been temporarily overcome by the power of fire and
holy light.

T
he ride back home to the Kale Gen
from Lord Krall’s forest had been strangely uneventful.  Khazak Mail Fist,
accompanied by a healer and a handful of dog riding warriors from Lord Krall’s
house guard, had expected to meet the wolf riders that Lady Karaba had seen on
the trail traveling toward the First Night’s Resting Place, but when he arrived
there he found no one.  That someone had been there was obvious, as his dead
companions and the slaughtered dogs from the battle with the conspirators a few
nights before were gone.  After looking around the area a bit it was obvious,
however, that the ants had gotten to them and hauled the bodies off.  There was
nothing left of the bodies except bloodstains and bits of torn equipment strewn
here and there throughout the clearing.

Khazak
was no tracker, but one of the house guard warriors who had accompanied him
said it appeared to him that after searching the immediate area the wolf riders
had taken a path that led off toward the north and west.  Khazak didn’t know of
any reason why they would have gone that way, as it only led off into untamed
wilderness. 

Not
wanting to delay his return to the Kale Gen and Lord Karthan any more than
necessary, Khazak drove his little party onward without any further delay.  The
rest of the trip passed uneventfully, and late that evening the wooden guard
tower that sat beside the trail which marked the outer perimeter of the Kale
Gen’s territory loomed large through the evening mist from the nearby lake
which had begun to settle around them.

“Wait
here,” Khazak Mail Fist said, holding out one metal-clad hand to his fellow
riders from the Krall Gen.  Dismounting, he passed the reins of the riding dog
Lord Krall had lent him to the leader of the house guard warriors.  “I’ll be
back in a little bit.  It’s better that I approach the post first.  They may be
a bit jumpy if the conspiracy here in the Kale Gen is still being rooted out.”

The
leader of the house guard warriors, a rather grim faced kobold who wore an
eye-patch and had several scars, nodded his understanding.  “We will wait,
sire.” 

Behind
the house guard leader sat Norgor the Healer, a middle-aged kobold who had
never traveled outside the Krall Gen.  He sat fidgeting nervously, fretting to
himself about the mist as his mind conjured up images of monsters lurking
therein.  As Norgor sat twisting the hem of his earthen-colored robe, he could
almost see shapes in the mist to either side of the company. 
It’s just
trees and mist from the lake
, he kept telling himself.  The shapes almost
seemed to be moving closer, however, and Norgor began to whimper ever so softly
to himself, wishing he were anywhere but there at the moment.

“Um…
I think…” Norgor started to mumble to the leader of the house guard, but the
veteran warrior was too fixed on watching Khazak’s progress to the front of
them to pay Norgor any attention.

“Um…”
Norgor’s voice got a bit more urgent as distinct shapes began to form in the
mist.  “I think…”  All of a sudden Norgor felt a sharp pain in his neck, next
to his throat where the scales were small and thinner than most other places. 
Slapping at whatever had bit him, his hand came away holding a small dart.  He
looked at it quizzically, then all of a sudden his hand seemed to lose its grip
and the dart dropped to the ground.  Norgor tried to speak, but he just
couldn’t force his throat to make any sounds.  He began to feel dizzy, then
suddenly he lost his grip on his riding dog and he fell heavily on his head,
his eyes open in wonder, his body gone completely limp.

Norgor’s
mind was reeling.  His knowledge of drugs and poisons told him that the dart
had to have been laced with giant centipede poison.  After all, nothing else he
knew of left one fully alert and aware, yet completely unable to move or act. 
From his new vantage point on the ground, Norgor the Healer’s rapidly
unfocusing eyes watched as the leader of the house guard also dropped to the
ground without so much as a warning.  Around him, he heard the rest of the
house guard fall to the ground in rapid succession.

Suddenly,
from the direction of the wooden tower, a blur of motion crossed Norgor’s field
of vision.  A battle cry was heard and the sound of metal connecting heavily
with bone would have made Norgor wince, had he been able.  A drama ensued which
had all the traits of a powerful creature being brought slowly to its knees,
going through death throw after successively weaker death throw until finally the
main player fell and failed to rise again.

By
the time the six darts of centipede poison had worked their collective will on
Khazak Mail Fist, the elite warrior and three of his seven warriors that
Khee-lar Shadow Hand had placed there specifically to bring down Khazak Mail
Fist lay moaning or screaming, each with various broken bones, complements of
Khazak’s rumbling skills and the new gauntlets Lord Krall had given him. 
Having been given strict orders to not harm anyone from the Krall Gen in their
ambush, the four remaining able-bodied Kale Gen warriors drug the helpless
Krall Gen warriors and healer into the wooden tower which had been unmanned
since Lord Karthan’s overthrow a few sleepless days before that.

The
most assertive of the four remaining warriors held the Krall Gen leader’s head
up and pointed his unfocused eyes toward his own before speaking slowly and
clearly to him.  “Hey.  Listen to me now.  Lord Khee-lar is the new lord of our
gen.  He put us here to ensure no one came looking to change that; not Khazak,
not any Krall Gen warriors.  So we’re taking Khazak here back with us, and in a
day or so when you’re able to, you and your riders go back and tell Lord Krall
that we’ll not have any meddling in our internal affairs.”

Dropping
the Krall Gen warrior’s head on the wood floor of the guard tower, the Kale Gen
warrior joined his three compatriots in strapping Khazak over the back of the
largest riding dog.  Soon they had positioned their own four wounded
compatriots on the backs of most of the remaining riding dogs.  After making a
cursory examination of the area to ensure they hadn’t forgotten anything, the
small group of warriors began their trek back to the warm caves of their Kale
Gen home.

Khee-lar
Shadow Hand, self proclaimed Lord of the Kale Gen, sat on the high throne in
the gen’s council chamber.  Around him were arrayed the various functional and
warrior leaders of the gen, functional leaders all seated at the curved table
to his right and warrior group leaders seated at the curved table to his left. 
Many were the new faces he had installed over the past handful of days since
he’d taken over the gen, mostly due to promises he’d made… though he certainly
didn’t feel constrained to honor them all, and indeed there were several promises
he did not honor.  One of those was the topic of discussion at that very
moment.

“But
my lord, you promised us that you would repeal the laws of wealth and place all
wealth in the hands of the elite warriors!” Yamok, the leader of the Patrol
Guard Warrior Group, one of Lord Karthan’s original sub-leaders, was on his
feet.  He was not a necessarily evil kobold, but when several of his original
elite warriors had cornered him on the night of the overthrow, he’d gone over
to Khee-lar’s side.  And it was this issue in particular that was the reason
why so many of his elite warriors had decided to throw their support behind
Khee-lar.

Lord
Khee-lar now sat forward on the throne, the highly polished bronze crown of his
assumed office glinting in the torchlight.  “I did repeal the laws of wealth,
dear Yamok… but I chose instead to gather all wealth to myself.  Don’t worry. 
Those that serve me well shall be well rewarded.  Now, please tell me you’re
not questioning my judgment, are you?” he asked, an almost sadistic tone
creeping into his voice.

Yamok
didn’t recognize the danger immediately, and instead carried on venting his
frustrations.  “Sire, also, about the matter of taking concubines.  The Scrolls
of Heritage specifically state that the powers of child-bringing are only for
lifemates, of which The Sorcerer himself said we are only to have one.  You
promised us you would follow the Scrolls of Heritage, yet you’re leading us
away from them!” he pleaded.

Khee-lar
Shadow Hand leaned forward.  “How dare you question my judgment!”

Yamok
finally recognized the danger in Khee-lar’s tone and, licking his lips as he
looked around the council chamber, he noticed that everyone else there either
would not meet his gaze, or their gaze was full of malice.  It was almost as if
they all knew a secret and he’d been deliberately left out.

“My
lord,” he began in a much more meek and conciliatory tone, “I’m just saying
that you promised us you’d follow the Scrolls, and that you’d change back the
laws that Lord Karthan chang…”

Khee-lar
stood up immediately.  “I told you never to mention that name in my presence!”
he screamed.  “First you question my judgment, then you mention the name of the
usurper?  How
dare
you insult me so! 
I
am the legitimate Lord of
the Kale Gen!  Karthan and his line had no claim!”

“But
my lord, I… I…” Yamok stuttered, his face blanching with fear beneath
translucent scales.

“Guards!”
Khee-lar screamed, and six of his new elite warriors emerged from the shadows
of the side entrance with blades drawn.  With ruthless precision, the six of
them sealed off the main entrance and surrounded the condemned warrior leader.

Knowing
his time was short, Yamok stepped back from the table, those around him
scrambling to get away from the condemned warrior as the circle of warriors
closed around him.  “Ham, Gibbid, I’ve known you for many years,” he pleaded
with the two guards who were closest to him.  “I’ve been your warrior group
leader since you were just whelps!  Please, you can’t do this!”

His
pleas fell on deaf ears, however.  The last several days of executing kobolds
they had known all their lives, all to satiate the bloodlust of their new lord,
had left the ‘Untouchables’ hardened and completely devoid of emotion.  The
fact that Lord Khee-lar had decreed that these six and four more warriors who
carried the same title were above the laws meant that he had used them to do
all the horrible things that any despot must do to eliminate challenges to his
power in the first few days of his reign.

“Bring
him forward,” Khee-lar commanded.

Unlike
many that Lord Khee-lar had thus commanded to be brought to him for judgment,
Yamok was no fat sub-minister or helpless female.  Drawing his sword, Yamok
swung it menacingly.  The Untouchables had planned for this, however, and as
Yamok held his blade out to keep the four of them out of striking range, the
two Untouchables at the door threw spears at his exposed back.  With a scream
Yamok was driven to the ground.

Taking
him by either arm, the Untouchables recovered their spears and brought the
writhing, bleeding warrior group leader to the center of the council chamber to
set him on the low, bloodstained bench that had seen much use in the past few
days.  Not wanting to miss the sport of the moment, Lord Khee-lar descended
from his throne and walked to where the Untouchables were strapping down the
whimpering, stunned form.

“My
dear Yamok,” he almost smiled.  “I’m sure you’re surprised by this whole chain
of events.”  Khee-lar paused as he lifted his gaze to the rest of the council,
many of whose sadistic smiles mirrored his own.  “Perhaps you’re as surprised
as I was when I learned you were preparing to leave the gen with many from your
warrior group.”  He stopped and looked down at the dying warrior leader with
mock sympathy.  “But you wouldn’t have betrayed me, would you?  No, not my
loyal Yamok.”

At
that moment the other four Untouchables arrived at the front entrance of the
council chamber dragging a female kobold and two male whelps between them. 
Upon seeing Yamok stretched out on the execution bench, his lifemate began to
wail and plead with her captors.