The Game of Fates (30 page)

“Aha! 
Come, bring them in now,” Lord Khee-lar said as he waived the new arrivals in. 
“Well now, it wouldn’t be a proper gathering without the entire family, would
it?  Let’s see.  What shall we do with the family of this soon-to-be-deceased
traitor?” he asked flippantly as several around the table snickered at the
hapless victims of Khee-lar’s cruelty.  By this time, the female and her two
whelps were crying hysterically.

“The
Deep Guard could use some more slaves to work fungus farms in the northern
passages,” spoke a kobold with a rather smooth voice.

“Ah,
yes, good thinking Kort.  That’s why I put you in charge of the Deep Guard,”
Khee-lar smiled.  “And you’ll have both of the whelps for that very purpose. 
But surely this…” he said as he ripped Yamok’s lifemate’s simple robe off,
“shouldn’t go to waste in the fungus farms!”  There were several hoots, jeers,
and lewd comments from most of the assembled council members.

“Aye,
lord.  But we’d make sure she got put to good use down there!” Kort replied. 
“We know what to do with the females of traitors in the Deep Guard!”

Lord
Khee-lar eyed Yamok’s whimpering lifemate up and down with a lustful eye.  She
was much younger than Yamok, and the effort of bearing him two sons had done
nothing to mar her shapeliness.  “I’m sure you do,” he said almost absently. 
“For now, however, I’ll add her to my growing entourage of adoring concubines. 
Now that I’m lord of the gen, I seem to be very popular with the females,”
Khee-lar said through a toothy grin as the rest of the council chuckled. 

Looking
down, he saw Yamok’s eyes roll back into his head as a last gasp of air left
his lungs.  “Ah!  Incompetent fool!  He couldn’t even stay alive long enough
for us to execute him!”  Yamok’s family’s wails increased as they realized
their lifemate and father was no more.  “So be it then.  Take them away, then,
and clean up this mess,” he said as he waved his hand at the still form of
Yamok and his wailing family.

Even
as Lord Khee-lar was gathering power to himself, and using that power to build
a government whose purposes were bent to the overriding purposes of satiating
every appetite or suppressed desire he had ever had, Lord Karthan and the many
who had fled their gen’s home to support him were hard at work, sacrificing all
they had to the purpose of preparing to confront Khee-lar and his minions, for
word of the many injustices Khee-lar had wrought upon those that had stayed
behind had reached them.  The thought that many of their families were within
his grasp drove many of them to despair, several of them attempting to return
alone to the gen to save their families.  Finally, Lord Karthan had commanded
that none should return alone, but that they should march on the gen and take
it back within a few short days.

As
refugees arrived, alone or in small groups, the tales they brought with them of
the atrocities Khee-lar and his supporters were wreaking upon their friends and
relatives brought great sorrow to Lord Karthan and his loyalists, and a grim
determination to confront and destroy the evil of Khee-lar Shadow Hand and his
followers.

Just
outside the picket line to the north and west of the Kale Gen’s home caverns
the northern mountains rose abruptly from the gently rolling foothills that
bubbled up at their feet.  It was here, on a small ring of hills that
surrounded a lake of crystal blue, that Lord Karthan and several hundred loyal
refugees from the Kale Gen had begun to build a palisade of tree trunks,
sharpened at the top, with a walkway from which they could repulse any attack. 
It was from this position of strength that they would strike back at Khee-lar
and his treacherous forces. 

As
Lord Karthan looked about the valley at the palisade, the towers being
constructed on each of the many hilltops, the ditch being dug in front of the
palisade, the various huts for the blacksmithies and such, and the small tent
city that had begun to spring up around the edges of the lake, he felt pride
swell within him.

“Goryon,”
Lord Karthan called down to the stocky blacksmith who was collecting firewood
to fuel his new forge.  “How goes it?”

Goryon
looked up at his lord, a bitter, determined look on his face.  “Well, sire. 
It’s a good thing that we intercepted that caravan of ore before Khee-lar got a
hold of it.  Too bad for him he’s not seen fit to patrol the caravan routes. 
Soon I should be able to begin turning out the metal fittings for the Great Bow
we talked about.”

“Aye! 
And I should have the wood for the first one ready by tomorrow as well!”
another warrior’s voice joined in.

“That
should add nicely to our list of surprises for Khee-lar and his traitors!” Lord
Karthan smiled in grim satisfaction.

“Aye,
lord.  We’ll have them on the run in short order.”  The look of grim
determination on Goryon’s face was mirrored on the faces of many of those who
had fled their homes with Lord Karthan.  From around the area many voices
raised in agreement.

“Then
we’ll get back our families!” cried another.  An even louder chorus of support
sounded throughout the compound.

Caught
by surprise and unable to get organized, they had lost the first battle in
their home caverns, but he could see by the looks on the faces of his warriors
that they would do everything in their power to not lose the war.

Khazak
Mail Fist’s vision had begun dropping in and out of focus several hours after
his capture to the point where, shortly after his arrival in his home gen’s
caverns, he could recognize the part of the prison where his captors were
dragging him.  His vision lost focus again, however, before he could read the
numbers on the cell door when they carted him through the door and dumped him
like a load of so much dirt onto the cool stone floor.

Not
long after that, just as Khazak was beginning to get feeling back in his neck
and face, the heavy iron door of the cell he found himself in swung open with a
metallic screech.  Trying with all his might to focus his mostly listless eyes,
Khazak was able to catch a glimpse of a bronze crown on a kobold’s head and a
purple robe of fine cloth.  Making a supreme effort, Khazak narrowed his
eyelids in an attempt to focus on the fuzzy figure standing above him.

“Well
met, Karthan’s chamberlain,” Khee-lar Shadow Hand’s distinctive voice came from
the kobold who was sporting the crown.  “Don’t bother getting up on my account,
Khazak.  I can see that you’re somewhat… shall we say, indisposed.”

Khazak
was beginning to be able to sense the metal gauntlets still on his hands and
longed to swing them in the direction of the voice. 

Khee-lar
noted the ever so slight movement of the gauntlets.  Turning to one of his
attendants, Khee-lar pointed out the gauntlets.  The attendant quickly relieved
Khazak Mail Fist of his mailed fists.

“Now,
we can’t be giving you any help in trying to escape, can we?  After all, we’ll
be having executions over the next few days, and you’ll be a key participant in
those.  We wouldn’t want to do anything to hamper the festivities, now would we
my old friend?” Khee-lar asked rhetorically.

Turning
to his attendants, Khee-lar motioned for them to clear the way.  “Hm, he’s no
fun just lying there like that.  No reaction at all.  Too bad.  I guess we’ll
just have to come back later when he’s more up to having visitors,” he said as
he walked away.  Stopping and turning around suddenly, as if he’d forgotten
something, he called out to the jailer who stood by the open door to Khazak’s
cell.  “Jailer, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to tie him up properly. 
After all, I believe his reputation precedes him.”  With that final comment,
Khee-lar and his retinue continued on their way.

Night
had fallen on Lord Karthan’s loyalist encampment by the time the wolf rider
detachment had returned from their journey to the First Night’s Resting Place, a small stockade used by the trade caravans that used the main trail between
the Kale and Krall Gens.  Arriving at the tall front gate of the new stockade,
Drok the wolf rider was amazed to see the progress that had been made by his
fellow loyalists.

“Hold,
warriors,” he called back to the thirty-some Karthan loyalists that rode with
him.

“Who
goes there!” a voice came from one of the towers that formed a makeshift
gatehouse.

“Kodar? 
Is that you?  It’s Drok and the loyal remnant of the Wolf Riders, back from our
patrol!” Drok called up to the bright grey figure who leaned out of the tower.

“Ah! 
Yes, yes, it’s me.  Tell me now, was there any sign of our boys?” Kodar,
Keryak’s father asked, referring both to his son and to Drok’s nephew Durik
whom Drok had raised as his own son, both of whom had left the gen the morning
of the same day that the overthrow had occurred.

“Let
me in and I’ll make a full report to you and Lord Karthan!” Drok called out.

Kodar
nodded and his head disappeared into the tower.  Several moments later the
scraping sound of a heavy bar being moved aside could be heard, followed
shortly after by the gate slowly being drug aside on braided leather hinges. 
Nudging their wolves forward Drok and his contingent entered the loyalists’ fortress.

“My
good friend, Drok,” Kodar spoke as he came forward and grasped hands with the
tall warrior.

Drok
swung a stiff leg over his wolf’s back and stumbled onto the ground, passing
the reins to Kodar so he could rub some blood back into his legs.  “Where might
I find Lord Karthan, Kodar?” he asked as he popped the aching joints in his
tail.

“No
need to find him.  He’s coming to find you now, it would appear,” Kodar pointed
to the approaching entourage.  After several moments the entourage was close
enough for even their heat vision to reveal Lord Karthan’s presence among them.

“What
news from your patrol?” Lord Karthan asked as he approached, the hint of worry
in his voice scarcely masked.

“My
lord,” Drok said as he bowed to Lord Karthan.  “We found no sign of Durik’s
Company, your sons and Khazak Mail Fist, nor the honor guard you sent to
accompany them… that is until we arrived at the First Night’s Resting Place.”

“Yes,”
Lord Karthan pressed impatiently.  “And what did you find there?”

Drok
had known this moment was coming for some time, but still he hesitated.

“Well! 
And what did you find there?” Lord Karthan almost yelled as he grabbed Drok by
the shoulders.

“Lord,”
Drok began, shaking his head slowly, “There was a battle… There was blood
everywhere… There were no bodies left, but by the gear we found…” Drok couldn’t
continue, he simply bowed his head.

Lord
Karthan fought desperately to keep his composure.  “What did you find?” he
asked again, almost pleading.  “Please, I must know.”

Drok
pulled something out of a belt pouch and looked up at his lord again, tears
streaming down his face.  “Here, lord,” he said as he handed Lord Karthan two
patches of cloth, one embroidered with a ‘K’ for Karto and the other with an
‘L’ for Lat, Lord Karthan’s two young sons.  “We found no trace of any
survivors.  It appears that the great ants to the south of there took them
all.”