The Game of Fates (3 page)

He
did, however, eventually stop plodding aimlessly through the forest like a
hunted animal, desperate to escape and always hearing the sounds of pursuit,
real or imagined.  After some time he decided he must have lost his pursuers
and he began to realize that perhaps the sounds of pursuit he had been hearing
for most of this chase had been more in his head than in the forest.

Calm,
sweaty, and completely exhausted, Trallik found a small hollow between two
rather oversized tree roots and, after wrapping himself further in his blanket
from his pack, he fell into an exhausted slumber.

I
t was late in the afternoon of
the day of execution for Mynar’s conspirators who had attempted to overthrow
the Krall Gen, long after Durik had returned from Lord Krall’s Great Hall on
the lake and rejoined his company of kobold warriors at the caravan drivers’
quarters in the heart of the Krall Gen.  As the company recovered from the past
few days word was received from the lord and master of the Krall Gen; Lord
Krall himself.  He wanted to see Durik… alone.  As Keryak stood before Durik
and Manebrow, his second in charge, relaying the summons, the pair looked at
each other questioningly.

“He
would like to see only me?” Durik asked, the tip of his tail flipping up and
down subconsciously as he wondered what the expectations of being the leader of
his company of Kale Gen warriors here in the midst of the Krall Gen would be. 
Just days before he too had been a yearling; a kobold trainee and nothing
more.  He had never put even one thought into high politics and the affairs of
the leader caste before he had suddenly become one.

“That’s
what he said.  He was very specific,” Keryak re-emphasized.  “I guess he wants
to have a little heart to heart.  You know, a little mentoring for our new
leader caste.”

Manebrow
shot Keryak a glowering look from under his signature eyebrows that would have
withered a plant, but Durik only laughed.  “Ah, Keryak, good to see that the
last few days haven’t changed you too much,” Durik said after a few moments,
wiping the tears from his eyes.

Keryak
had another smart comment on the tip of his tongue, but after seeing Manebrow’s
reaction, he decided against it.  Even here, in a place of safety and healing,
Manebrow was determined to not relax the order of things, whether Keryak had
been Durik’s best friend or not.  All about them was evidence of that
discipline.  The company had spent the entire day sharpening their weapons,
fixing their wolfskin outfits, and getting their gear ready for their eventual
departure.

Durik
stood up.  “Well, I guess I should be getting there as quickly as I can. 
Keryak, walk with me, will you,” he said.

Keryak
nodded and locked grips with Durik to help him to his feet.  As Durik stood, he
stretched and rubbed aching shoulder muscles.  Picking up his crossed shoulder
belts and sword, he strapped them on top of his uniquely bronze scales and
tightened the sheath onto his waist belt.  Not wanting to appear a complete
mess, Durik had taken extra care in cleaning the blood off his gear and
loincloth, mending rips and tears in his leather shoulder and waist belts, and
sharpening the nicks out of the blade of his sword.

Checking
himself again, Durik finally nodded.  “All right, let’s go.”  He and Keryak
made their way down the gentle slope to the bridgehead of the first floating
bridge at the edge of Lord Krall’s lake.  Durik walked mostly with his head
down and his shoulders hunched. 

As
they reached the bridgehead, Durik spoke.  “Remind me to talk to Lord Krall’s
minister, will you Keryak, about getting one of his dog masters to take a look
at the packdogs’ feet.  Perhaps they’ll have a salve for their pads.  Oh, and
I’ve got to see if we can’t get replacements for the weapons we’ve lost.” 
Durik mumbled to himself for a minute, then shook his head, “First things
first, I guess.  We really need to find out more about Demon’s Bridge and what
awaits us there.  Then we’ll know what we need to ask for.”

As
Durik ran down the list of company issues, Keryak looked at him with concern in
his eyes.  After several moments of muttering on like this while Keryak looked
on in silence, Durik eventually looked up at Keryak.

“You
know, Durik, the last couple of days have changed you,” Keryak said.

At
first Durik opened his mouth to deny it, but then just fell silent.  No matter
how he looked at it, Keryak was right.  Before he’d mostly concerned himself
with his own affairs, looking out for the needs of others as time was
available.  Now his every waking thought was bent on his company and his
mission.

“Well,
Keryak,” Durik started, “I…”

“No
need to explain, my friend,” Keryak interrupted, “you’ve taken on the harness
of leadership and are pulling the company.”  He paused for a moment, then
looked at Durik with a smile, “As for me, I’m glad it’s you up there at the
top.  I don’t think just anyone could have seen us through these past few
days.”

Durik
pursed his lips and sighed, “Will it ever be the same between us, Keryak.”

Keryak
laughed in relief, “I was just wondering the same thing.”  He paused for a
moment then continued, “Well, I guess we’ll see.  Who knows, perhaps there will
be more than one opening on the council after Lord Karthan and Khazak Mail Fist
take care of Khee-lar Shadow Hand.  Perhaps I could take Khee-lar’s place.  He
won’t be there much longer.”

Durik
laughed, “They’ll never pick you for that,” he said, then realized what he had
said.  An awkward moment of silence passed between the two of them.  “Keryak, I
didn’t mean…”

Keryak
lifted up his hand, “No, Durik.  You’re right.”

Durik
stopped and faced his long-time friend, grabbing him by both shoulders,
“Keryak, hear me now.  Just because I somehow was exalted to a high social
status doesn’t mean that we’re no longer friends.  I will always be your
friend, Keryak.  Position doesn’t change that.”

Keryak
nodded and turned back to the path, though in his heart he could see that the
changes Durik was undergoing were already creating a rift between them.  After
a few more moments of walking, he sighed, “I guess I’m just jealous.  We’re all
growing and learning, but you seem to be growing so much more than the rest of
us.”

Durik
laughed and shook his head, “At times I wish it were someone else doing the
growing.  I hope you do somehow get into the leader caste.  Misery loves
company, you know.”

The
pair arrived shortly at the large double doors that opened into the great
hall.  This was not their first time here, as only the day before Durik and his
company had helped to thwart an assassination attempt against Lord Krall and
his family here in this very hall.  Now, as the pair of warriors arrived at the
scene of the previous day’s battle, they felt a slight bit of lingering
nervousness.   It wasn’t that there were any conspirators left in Lord Krall’s
Great Hall, rather it was the memory of battle—and the blood, death, and pain
that accompanied it and that had haunted many of their dreams the night after
it had occurred—that naturally left them with a sense of unease upon returning
to the scene.

Pulling
open one of the large double doors, the two young warriors made their way into
the great room that took up half of the building.  Immediately upon entering,
the pair could smell the freshly cut wood.  They saw a handful of carpenters
finishing up their work and gathering the remnants of the wood they had brought
to effect their work.  Though much work had been done before the executions and
the giving of awards that morning, still there had been much left to do—but
from the look of things it wouldn’t be long before the work was completed.

The
great room itself was lined with tables and benches, and in the center of the
room was a great stone cooking pit with a stone-lined blackened wooden chimney
above it to direct the smoke out of the building.  The carpenters had obviously
been smoothing out the boards they had put in place earlier to replace sections
of the floor, sections that Durik recognized as being where four kobolds had
spilt their life blood the day before.  The fine work of the carpenters had eliminated
any trace of the bloodstains, which to some degree helped Durik and Keryak feel
more at ease.

At
the head of the great room was an ornately carved wooden chair on a dais—Lord
Krall’s throne.  On both sides of it were arranged four other chairs of lesser
splendor, obviously seats for Lord Krall’s lifemate and two sons, but Durik was
unsure of the reason for the fourth lesser chair.  The two kobolds passed by
the dais to the slightly larger than normal door on the far side of the room. 
The door that had been there the day before had been smashed and rendered
useless.  A new, stronger door, with presumably a new bar to reinforce it, now
stood in its place.  As they arrived, Durik recognized the grim-faced guard
from the clean up after the attack.  Durik noticed with some interest that he
was wearing the hardened leather armor that Morigar, one of Lord Krall’s sons,
had shown Durik previously.   Nodding to Durik, the guard opened the door and
allowed him to pass.

“I’m
sorry, sire, but your messenger may not pass,” the guard stated flatly as he
blocked Keryak’s passage with his spear.

Durik
nodded and turned back to Keryak, “Thanks for bringing me here, Keryak.  Go
ahead and head back to the quarters.  I’m sure you have a lot to do.  Oh, and
by the way, bring…” Durik leaned closer and whispered something the guard could
not hear in his ear.

Keryak
smiled, nodded and turned to leave.  Durik watched him go with a heavy heart. 
After a few moments, he turned back toward the door and nodded, “I’m ready.” 

The
guard opened the door and Durik walked in.

“I’m
not suggesting we send an invading army, father, of course!  But wouldn’t you
agree that we do need to send enough warriors to ensure that the conspiracy
against our neighbor Lord Karthan fails?!”  Morigar spoke from his place, two
seats down from the head of the table.  Around the table sat several
distinguished looking kobolds, obviously several of the council members of the
Krall Gen.  In the seat between Morigar and his father at the head of the table
sat another, slightly older kobold of noble bearing that Durik had only briefly
seen the day before and had not yet had the opportunity to meet; he was
Morigar’s older brother and their father’s heir, and his name was Krall, for he
bore his father’s name.

“My
son,” Lord Krall spoke, addressing his younger son Morigar from his ornately
carved chair at the head of the table.  “I don’t think it our decision to
make.”

Morigar
continued, “Surely Khazak would agree that this concerns us also.  If Khee-lar
Shadow Hand somehow succeeds, in spite of the weakness that mother saw, what
will become of our trade agreements?  How can we assure the future prosperity
of our gen?  Should we not move to ensure his defeat?”  A moment of awkward
silence passed as the kobolds seated around the table sat in stony silence. 

Though
none present knew it for certain, the great amount of emotion that Morigar put
into his argument came from both his frustration at his brother and father
surviving the coup attempt the day before as well as from the fact that the
conspirators who had tried to take his own gen had turned against him, choosing
to try to kill him also instead of put him on his father’s throne.  Now that he
had recovered from the conspirators’ treachery, he had not only enjoyed seeing
the few of them that had been captured alive executed earlier that day, but he
felt a deep desire to see the Kale Gen conspirators killed also.  Indeed, if he
was ever going to take his father’s throne, he would find a way to do it
himself, and not rely on someone else to get him there.

Lord
Krall, seated at the head of the table, shook his head and leaned forward, “My
son, while I appreciate your enthusiasm in this matter, I think it is not right
to send an army of Krall Gen warriors, unbidden by Lord Karthan, with you and
Khazak Mail Fist at its head.  I do not think anyone in the Kale Gen wants to
see Krall Gen warriors meting out justice and stamping out conspirators in
their gen, not when they themselves have the evidence they need,” he said
referring to Khee-lar Shadow Hand’s treacherous treaty with the Bloodhand
Orcs.  “And certainly not when they already have the capacity to take care of
the problem themselves.”

Turning
to Khazak Mail Fist, who was seated on the other side of the long table from
the younger Krall, Lord Krall continued, “As I’ve already stated, however, I
will certainly grant your request, chamberlain of my lifemate’s brother and one
of those who so recently saved my life.  On the morrow you and a small
contingent, accompanied by one of my healers, shall ride from here with all
haste.  May you succeed in this matter and, of course, I and my lifemate will
be glad to keep Lord Karthan’s sons here until you come back for them.”  Then,
looking pointedly at Morigar, he added, “Consider the discussion closed.”

“Well,
then it’s settled,” Khazak Mail Fist said, and stood up.

In
the mean time Durik had walked in, but was standing patiently in the entrance
to the room.  Not knowing exactly how bold he should be with this group, he had
decided to wait there until called upon.  Now, as all the kobolds seated at the
table stood up, Khazak Mail Fist noticed him.