The Game of Fates (31 page)

Kodar,
who had watched the unfolding drama, could no longer be restrained.  “Drok, was
there any sign of Durik’s Company?  What of them?  Were they taken by the ants
as well?”

Looking
away from Lord Karthan guiltily, who was dealing with his own waves of guilt
and despair, Drok nodded his head.  “There were wolf skins there, and more
weapons and gear than could have belonged to just the honor guard.”

Walking
quietly up behind Drok, one of the other wolf guard riders passed him a
boar-skin bag.  Drok took it and quietly passed it to Lord Karthan, who opened
it and began to pull out the pieces one by one.

“This
is the silver bracer, mark of the office of chief of my personal guard.  This
is the golden torc of the chief elite warrior of the Honor Guard Warrior
Group.”  The despair in Lord Karthan’s voice was evident, but still he
continued.  “And here are the mail gauntlets that belonged to Khazak, my chamberlain.” 
He said with a note of finality.  Lord Karthan dug around more in the bag,
dragging out several smaller items and a wolfskin cloak.

“This
is not one of the wolf skins that we gave to the yearlings,” he said as he
looked into Drok’s eyes.  “And here,” he said dragging out a bronze torc, “this
is the bronze torc of the chief elite warrior of the Deep Guard Warrior Group.”

Drok
began to stutter, “I… I… I guess… Well, if that’s not one of their wolfskin
cloaks, then perhaps it belongs to someone sent to kill the honor guard.”

“Some
of Khee-lar Shadow Hand’s lackeys, no doubt.  The wolfskin outfits we gave to
Durik’s Company had cotton lining in their innards.  This is not one of them.” 
A glimmer of hope began to shine in the darkness that had enveloped Lord
Karthan’s soul.  “I see nothing here that leads me to believe that Durik’s
Company, and my daughter with them, was part of this disaster.”

Turning
to his entourage, he grabbed his nearest personal guard by his crossed shoulder
belts.  “Find one of the messengers.  Send them directly to the home of Lord
Krall.  I must know if Durik’s Company made it there, and if my daughter was
with them.  Also,” he began almost hesitantly, as if he didn’t want to know
more “find out if there were any details from Durik’s Company about the fate of
my two sons and their guardians.”

D
rakebane the Mighty, Chieftain of
the Bloodhand Orc Tribe, was no one to be trifled with.  His axe had fifty-two
marks on it; a heroic sum by itself, even without adding in the many uncounted
kobolds and goblins that he had taken in his almost forty summers of life.  The
minotaur’s skull that he used as a helmet only made his appearance more
fearsome as he sat on his throne of bone and hide under the shade of the
massive rock that was shaped like the head of a bird.

For
an orc chieftain of the Great Forest, he was an unusually cunning leader. 
Unlike the many war leaders and petty chieftains who had dominated all around
them only long enough to cause mayhem and destruction, Drakebane had ruled for
the half of his life since he had killed his father and claimed leadership of
the tribe, almost twenty summers now in the past.  That this was an
unprecedented rule in the spoken memories of his shamans was a point of
particular pride for the wily old warrior.

The
first ten years had been chaotic, that was certain, but with his father’s many
concubines he had immediately raised up many strong sons, the first of them
beginning to raise sons of their own at ten summers of age; the age at which a
youngling became an orc and was allowed to challenge other orcs to take their
first concubines.  Now, with well over a hundred sons all striving to assert
their dominance over each other, Drakebane had been able to harness their
energies to dominate many lesser tribes and family groups, allowing him to
count almost a thousand warriors in his tribe. 

The
concubines they had taken and the young they had given to his tribe were almost
innumerable as well, his fifty-some concubines and almost three hundred young
being a particular point of pride to him.  As if that were not enough, the
number of goblin and kobold slaves he owned was nearly twice as many as his
number of concubines, which allowed his concubines to focus their efforts on
birthing and breeding.  Drakebane was powerful not only because of his much
muscle, but also because he knew how to organize his tribe.  Truly, his many
sons could learn much from his ways.

Now,
as Drakebane sat on his throne and surveyed the scene in front of him, there
was nothing but arrogance in his heart.  Before him knelt ambassadors from the
Kobold, Five, Nipjik, Picor, and Kijik Gens which were the five largest kobold
gens in the Valley of the Mountain King.  The bleating of the dozens of sheep
the ambassadors had brought as tribute for his tribe could be heard in the
background as they were led off to the stew pots.  With a nod of approval to
his son Grimbane who had brought these ambassadors here, he looked around the
ring of orc warriors, the occasional ogre towering above them like mountains of
ruddy flesh poking out of a sea of green hides.  Yes, the kobolds would be
suitably impressed with this display of power, and they would certainly submit.

Leaning
back and motioning to the grizzled hobgoblin who stood just behind his right
shoulder, Drakebane gave him the authority to speak the dog-like tongue of
these kobolds for him.

“Ambassadors
of the five gens of this valley,” Ahn-Ki, Voice for Chieftain began in The
Sorcerer’s Tongue, the gravelly effect of his coarse voice only enhancing
Ahn-Ki’s aura of authority.  That only the Kobold Gen spoke The Sorcerer’s
Tongue in this valley didn’t matter.  All of their tongues had devolved from
that language, and it was still the language of trade and alliances among the
little reptilian folk of these cold southern valleys.

 “High
Chieftain Drakebane of the mighty Bloodhand Orc Tribe has summoned you here to
demand a tribute of you.”

Ahn-Ki’s
image was an ensemble; finely crafted armor, pair of swords crossed over his
back, eye patch over one eye, and many scars all giving the collective
impression of one who was to be feared and respected.  Indeed, for all that
Drakebane paid the mercenary commander, he better be an impressive spokesman.

In
the center of the ring the five kobolds all looked certain that they would be
killed at any moment.  Their fear was not entirely unfounded, of course, as
orcs were known for their lack of self-control.  Perhaps the fact that orcs’
lifespans were barely a third of his own wasn’t such a bad thing in Ahn-Ki’s
mind.  Despite the danger of working with such chaotic half-beasts as orcs and
ogres, the challenge of bending them to his purposes made him feel more alive
than he had ever felt in the Emperor’s service, His Name Be Eternally Revered.

“High
Chieftain Drakebane has decided to be most generous to you, in light of your
willing submission to his power.  It is well that you have brought a tribute of
meat.  He further demands…” Ahn-Ki decided to up the ante a bit, though he
wouldn’t bother his employer with such trivial details as where the extra
thirty gold pieces each went to… “eighty gold coins from each of your tribes as
tribute to his mighty power, and one hundred warriors each to serve in his
mighty army.”

The
five kobold ambassadors all took the news badly, but seeing their circumstances
they bowed emphatically many times to the orc who sat on the great throne,
flanked on one side by a mighty black warg whose eyes and teeth showed no mercy
and on the other by this tall hobgoblin whose demands were just as merciless. 
The orc on the throne began fingering the blade of his massive axe.  The effect
was not lost on the kobold ambassadors.

“Now,
go back to the leaders of your gens,” Ahn-Ki commanded after a brief, dramatic
pause, “tell them we await their tribute here at Birdstone.  You have until the
setting of tomorrow’s sun.”

The
kobold ambassadors all bowed repeatedly as they backed up.  At Ahn-Ki’s
command, two of his hobgoblin mercenaries directed a path be made through the
assembled orcs and ogres and the five kobolds scurried away, breaking into a
run as soon as they cleared the circle.

It
was all Drakebane could do to hold his warg in check as the kobolds showed
their backs to him. 

Seated
on his throne, Drakebane surveyed the gathering of his warriors and the ogre
mercenaries with a scowl.  “Go now!” he thundered in his own, feral tongue.  In
moments the gathering had dispersed and Drakebane was left alone with his
hobgoblin advisor and his son Grimbane.  “What you think, Ahn-Ki?  This
five-hundred good for dragon, or no good and we go get tribes in south?”

Ahn-Ki
grimaced.  He always tried to avoid calling Drakebane stupid, but sometimes it
was hard to not call him what he was.  He’d taken one too many blows to the
head, apparently, and his speech wasn’t the only symptom of that.  “Drakebane,
mighty lord, we must be patient.  The dragon wants more than just warriors to
dig the metals out of his mines.  He wants their whole tribes.  That way he
won’t have to feed the warriors.  They can feed themselves while they dig the
metals for him.”

Drakebane
nodded, scolding himself with his mind-voice for not having thought of that. 
But that was why he had Ahn-Ki. 

“Besides,
my lord, the mercenaries say that the Kale leader known as Khee-lar Shadow Hand
has indeed overthrown the strong Lord Karthan.  We know that Khee-lar Shadow
Hand thinks of us as friends, so he will not expect it when we decide to
enslave him and his gen instead.”

“But
what about Karthan?” Drakebane asked.  “He dead or no?  I no want Karthan to
come back.  Kales be hard to control if Karthan alive.”

Ahn-Ki
shook his head.  “That’s what makes it so perfect, my lord.  Lord Karthan and
those loyal to him have built a little fort on the north side of the valley. 
All we have to do is go there, kill Lord Karthan and his few warriors, then we
go and take over the Kale Gen from Khee-lar Shadow Hand.”

“But
if Khee-lar take over gen, then he be lord, so we just kill him,” Drakebane
said, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

“We
could, my lord.  However, since he failed to kill Lord Karthan, by law of your
tribe, he is not fit to rule in Karthan’s place.  You, however, having just
killed Lord Karthan, would have the right to rule that gen, and you could keep
Khee-lar as a minister, to help run things in the gen so you don’t have to.”

Drakebane
nodded in agreement.  That was the tradition passed down through many
generations of his fathers to him.  It was how leadership among the orcs always
seemed to work.  He who killed the orc chieftain was always entitled to lead
the tribe… if he were strong enough to hold onto it.

At
the foot of his throne, his son Grimbane nodded sagely, as if he understood. 
Drakebane scowled to himself.  Grimbane was strong, but he understood nothing. 
That made him no challenge to Drakebane.  He thought for a moment then smiled.

Yes,
Grimbane would lead the first charge.  He had other sons to take his place.

As
Ahn-Ki walked away from his employer, he was amazed at how simple it was to
guide the mostly mentally defenseless orc leader.  He imagined it would be just
as easy to control the kobolds through the dragon’s power, and cut the orcs out
of the picture entirely.  And once he controlled the kobolds, well, that’s when
the money would really begin to flow…

Jominai
the new adventurer class from this year’s trials of caste stood before Lord
Krulak, Lord of the Kobold Gen.  His new solid steel breastplate and helmet
shone with a highly polished luster.  Beside him, dressed in the traditional
chain mail of an elite warrior, stood Marbo, as a house guard warrior he had
served in every warrior group and had led warriors in combat in every one of
them before being assigned to Lord Krulak’s personal guard.  It was because of
his vast experience that Marbo had now been assigned to be Jominai’s chief
elite warrior. 

The
fact that the new leader caste didn’t have a warrior group assigned to him yet
didn’t bother Marbo.  After all, leaders from the Kobold Gen typically saw
their first action while leading warriors from other gens.  This time would be
no different, he imagined.  The Bloodhand Orc Tribe had stormed into the valley
again, this time demanding warriors for some unstated purpose (though their
spies among Shagra’s Kijik mercenaries had already told them that it was for a
raid against the Kale Gen).  Marbo didn’t particularly relish the thought of
raiding another gen’s halls, but if it was that or have his own gen’s halls
raided… well, too bad for the Kales.

To
lead warriors from the degenerate gens would be why Lord Krulak had called them
here today; to tell them about the ambassadors their gen had sent to the
degenerate Nipjik, Five, Kijik, and Picor Gens telling them to assemble their
warriors at the northern end of the Border Hills.  Of course the other gens
would grumble; they would complain that ‘the Kobold Gen won’t leave us alone,’
but they would come.  They would come because the Kobold Gen had what none of
the other gens of this valley had.  They had magic; magic to heal and magic to harm
as well.  These powers were gifts from the ancestors and The Sorcerer, gifted
to the Kobold Gen, who, as sons of the First Sire, were inheritors of his
powers, as well as his responsibilities. 

Why
did the leaders of the Kobold Gen bother?  Apart from their mandate to lead, as
recorded in the Scrolls of Heritage, they knew that if their gen didn’t do the
organizing, none of these gens which had splintered from them in ages past
would step forward and provide the necessary leadership, and the world was too
dangerous of a place to risk standing divided.

Being
barely fifteen years of age, and having just been elevated to the leader caste
from yearling status not even a week before, Jominai knew nothing of politics
or what was going on in the world outside their halls, and only generalities
about the heritage of his own gen.  In fact, if it hadn’t been for Marbo
telling him, he’d not even have known that the Bloodhand Orcs were in the
valley.  He had enough sense, however, to keep his mouth shut and not let on
that he hadn’t known they were here until just a few moments before this
meeting.  Now, as the young bronze-scaled leader caste cleared his voice, he
wished he’d studied orc more thoroughly in their gen’s halls of learning.