The Game of Fates (33 page)

Riding
at their head, Krulak, son of the Lord of the Kobold Gen, wore the traditional
breastplate of the leader caste.  The chest piece, helmet and the plates
covering his legs and arms were shined to such a luster that the steel of them
looked almost mercurial.  The new bronze casting of the traditional tower and
eye of the leader caste shone brilliantly on his shield as well.

With
an impressive precision, especially considering they were riding wolves, not
dogs, the Kobold Gen contingent rode into the small training meadow, circling
around it completely before coming to a halt at the eastern end of it.  Clearly
enjoying himself, a very animated Krulak gave the order to dismount as he
hopped off his wolf’s back, giving the fearsome beast a rub behind the ears
before striding forward toward Jominai with open arms.

“Brother
kobold!” he exclaimed as he embraced a rather subdued Jominai.  Seeing his less
than enthusiastic reaction, Krulak grabbed him by one shoulder.  “Have you ever
felt more alive?  Ah, how good it feels to ride at the head of warriors
again!”  His sweeping gesture encompassed both his company and Jominai’s
Company.  Seeing Jominai starting to warm up a bit to him, he gave him a
conspiratorial wink.  “Much better than hanging around in the gen reading
reports and doing paperwork, wouldn’t you say?”

Jominai
nodded, a half-smirk, half-smile creasing his features.

Seeing
his leader a little uncomfortable, Marbo decided that the sodden group of
misfits from the four degenerate gens might actually be able to march together
in some semblance of order, without completely embarrassing themselves in front
of the Kobold Gen’s contingent and, as such, it was finally ready to present to
his leader.

“Listen
up, warriors!” he called out.  All eyes looked his way.  Those who were seated
immediately came to their feet.  Seeing they were reacting, Marbo called them
to attention.

“Um…
I have to go,” Jominai said meekly, quickly walking over to take his place
behind his chief elite warrior.  Remembering suddenly that Krulak was the
overall commander, Jominai turned briefly and called softly to him.  “We’ll
follow your lead, Krulak,” he said before turning back around, silently pleased
with himself for figuring his way out of an awkward circumstance.

Having
called the entire contingent from the degenerate gens to attention, Marbo did
an about face and looked his young leader in the eyes.  Pounding one fist to
his chest in the traditional salute handed down through the generations from
the time of The Sorcerer, Marbo gave his report.

“Sire,
Jominai’s Company stands formed!”

“You
seem to have worked something of a miracle here, Marbo,” Jominai complemented
his chief elite warrior in a much lower voice.

“Just
doing my job, sire,” Marbo replied in the same low voice.

Jominai
returned the salute and both of them dropped their hands to their sides at the
same instant.  With that Marbo did an about face and moved out smartly toward
the rear of the formation.

Taking
one step forward, Jominai did his best to affect the image of a warrior leader,
a role he was still very much trying to fully assume.  The presence of Krulak,
who was a much older and more seasoned leader than Jominai, as well as the
presence of almost a hundred of his fellow Kobold Gen warriors, not to mention
the oracles and covenant mages, only enhanced the stress he’d already felt in
anticipation of this moment.  He cleared his voice once more, just to ensure
that his voice didn’t crack.  He certainly didn’t need to further emphasize his
youth with these warriors.

“Warriors
of the Valley of the Mountain King,” he began, his voice staying mercifully
clear and solid.  Feeling good about his initial address, he pressed on. 

“You
have been chosen by your gens’ leaders to march in this levy.”  He looked about
the formation, proud to see that they were still all facing forward.  Marbo’s
disciplining had certainly served to help them act like warriors should. 

“Today
we go to serve in the army of Drakebane, chieftain of the Bloodhand Orc Tribe. 
It is not a duty that any of us here relishes, but it is our duty nonetheless,
and therefore we will do it.”  He paused a moment before continuing.

“My
chief elite warrior has spent the last several hours hardening you up, getting
you ready to face the orcs.  Remember this!  We’re only half the height of
these orcs, so they will naturally think of you as something for them to beat
upon.  Do not give them that pleasure!  Stick together in your teams wherever
you go.  Don’t kill or wound any of them, it will only anger the rest.  We will
build a palisade each night when we stop to help maintain the separation
between our forces and the orcs.  You will not leave the palisade for any
reason.  Am I clear?”

With
one voice, the entire formation yelled out “Yes, sire!”

Jominai
was suitably impressed.  “Finally, before we move out, I will introduce you to
your new chief elite warriors.  One will be assigned to each of your gens’
leaders to help carry out the drills and training you will need if you’re going
to survive this campaign.”

Turning
to his right, where the line of four Kobold Gen elite warriors stood rigidly,
Jominai gave the command for them to take their positions.  Turning as one to
the right, the line of veteran warriors jogged slowly around the front of the
four blocks of warriors, one peeling off at each formation to stand just behind
and to the left of the leader caste that had been sent by each gen to lead
their warriors.

“Chief!”
Jominai called.  Hearing his title, Marbo ran to the front of the formation.

“Yes,
sire!”

“Prepare
the contingents to march.”

Salutes
were exchanged.

Within
a matter of minutes all the equipment and supplies the various gens had brought
with them were gathered and Marbo was in the process of getting the four gens’
warriors lined up and ready to go. 

Standing
ready next to their wolves, the company’s own blessed oracle, a rather youthful
one by the name of Demo who wore his armor as comfortably as any other warrior,
stood talking with the company’s only covenant mage, a rather staunch looking
older kobold with an exceptionally penetrating gaze whose name he hadn’t
asked.  Just looking at the mage made Jominai nervous.

As
the contingents were forming, Jominai took the opportunity to talk with the
five warriors who served as his company staff.  While Marbo had been instilling
discipline in the troops, they had been busily inventorying the equipment
brought by the different gens to see if Lord Krulak’s requests of them had been
followed and checking rations to assess how many days each gen’s contingent
would be able to go without resupply.  Their assessment didn’t bring the best
of news, but Jominai was pleasantly surprised by how prepared they actually
were.  His expectations had been low, and the degenerate gens had exceeded
them, though not by much.

Krulak
looked on with interest at the young leader.  Soon, seeing Jominai’s four
hundred levies almost ready to march, he gave the command to form up and
march.  Leading their wolves by the reins, Krulak’s hundred Kobold Gen warriors
began marching to the east.

Jominai
had been watching the progress of his four contingents, and now as the last of
the gens’ contingents began to swing into line, he dismissed his staff to take
their places in front of the messengers who were holding the pack dogs.

“Mount
up, warriors of the Kobold Gen,” he said, mounting his own mottled gray riding
wolf in turn.  “Time to look sharp!”

Walking
up to his leader, Marbo turned down the offer of his own riding wolf.  “No
thank you, sire.  I’m no leader caste.  You ride your wolf.  I’ll walk with the
rest of the troops.”

“Well,
then,” Jominai looked confused for half a moment before his face hardened with
resolve.  “Then we shall all walk together,” he said as he dismounted, his
staff following suit.

“Well,
so be it then, sire,” Marbo said.  “The contingents are formed and ready to
march,” he said, snapping off a sharp salute.

“Very
well.” 

Turning,
Jominai called out in his loudest command voice.  “Forward March!”  Much to his
chagrin, his voice cracked halfway through the word ‘march’.  Only a couple of
the kobolds in his staff laughed, however, and even then they were discreet
about it.  The command was echoed by the degenerate gens’ leaders, but without
the embarrassing squeak that hinted at a somewhat recent bout with puberty.

Like
a massive centipede, Jominai’s Company began to march east toward the small
mountain in the distance that rose out of the floor of the valley in the shape
of a massive bird’s head.

D
espite being robbed of a fur
blanket and a bag of dried meat, the orcs didn’t pursue the two young lifemates
Trallik and Trikki and their guide Kale, giving Trikki time to rest and attempt
to recover.  Trallik thought they might not have seen them running, or perhaps
they had lost them.  Whatever it was, Trallik was glad to keep the blanket and
meat, and to be rid of the orcs. 

Kale
explained to them that all the entrances up to the surface other than the area
they were in, called the Doorstep by the outcasts, were only accessible from
the underdark, so they accepted his offer to lead them down into the massive
complex of caves and passageways that lay underneath the kobold-inhabited
valleys. 

A
couple of caverns later the three kobolds saw a weak light shining in a small
hollow that Kale approached without caution.  Following their guide, the pair
of young kobolds saw a rather sturdy-looking white goat lying next to a wooden
frame fitted with several bags.  The goat stood as Kale approached it, bleating
out a greeting and nuzzling Kale’s hand as he stretched it out, full of grass
he’d collected on his recent trip to the surface.

“There,
there, Sable.  I’m back,” he whispered to the animal as he rubbed the base of
its skull, just behind its curved horns.  Taking the frame from the ground, he
fitted it to the goat’s back and fastened the straps.

While
Trikki was watching the goat, Trallik was fascinated by the source of light. 
There, sitting on a shelf of rock, was an absolutely brilliant rock that glowed
with an intense, white light.  Reaching out to take it in hand, he was
surprised to find it cool to the touch, the same as the rest of the rocks around
it.

“I’ll
take that,” Kale said as he palmed the glowing rock out of Trallik’s hand.  “A
little heirloom from my grandfather’s lore master, back when we still had
magic.”

Trallik’s
curiosity was piqued.  “What is it for, and how was it made?”

Kale
raised a brow at the question.  “Simple enough, really.  It’s so that Sable
here can see, since she doesn’t have the gift of seeing heat like us.  As for
how it was made, I think that explanation will have to wait.  Come, we must be
going,” he said as he placed the last of the bags on the goat’s packsaddle and
turned to go, the goat following him without so much as a rope to persuade her
to move.

They
hadn’t travelled far before Trikki started stumbling along.  Seeing her
suffering, Kale had stopped the small party to let her rest for a while. 
Several hours had passed since then, and eventually Trallik and Kale had both
taken the opportunity to get some sleep as well, though Kale seemed to be
always only half-asleep, the slightest disturbance causing him to come to a
state of full alertness.  Eventually, as Trikki’s cheeks began to get their
color back and she began to feel up to traveling, the time came to move on.

As
they travelled, Kale explained to them the history of the area.  According to
his ancestors, the Doorstep was a cavern complex that the Kale Gen had once
held, which had served as a critical junction between the northern valley, the
southern valley, and the underdark.  Before the Kobold Gen had splintered,
trade caravans had traveled through the Doorstep on an almost daily basis, but
that was a hundred years or more in the past.  The entrances from the Doorstep
into the two valleys had only very recently been reopened, the landslides
hiding their entrances being removed by the orcs who had converged on the area.

Trallik
listened with interest to their guide, though he wondered how any of it might
matter to him.  He was much more curious about the outcasts and the Deep Gen,
and the power that had created the strange, glowing stone that Kale used to
light their way.  Holding onto Trikki, who was still weak from having almost
drown in the water chute that had deposited them on the Doorstep, Trallik
helped her slide down a tall boulder to Kale’s outstretched arms below.

“Well,”
Kale replied in response to Trallik’s questions, “the Outcasts, like I said,
are a loose affiliation of ‘families,’ with each family being a handful, or
perhaps even a large group of kobolds from any gen who have banded together for
mutual protection and to trade with one another.  Each family has someone at
least nominally in charge of it.  Our family’s elder is my grandfather, Kale. 
Leadership of a family is provided by whoever is most suited to it.  There are
many families, and the way each one is ruled and the personality of each one is
as varied as the personalities of those who lead them.”

“It
sounds rather chaotic,” Trallik observed as he dodged a series of goat pellets
recently laid in the path.

“That’s
probably a good word for it.  However, there is an equilibrium among the
outcast families.  It seems whenever one gets too powerful and begins to
threaten the others, the rest of the families unite for long enough to put down
the threat.  Though we’re without a central leader, we’re not without a
society, nor are we without means to defend ourselves.

“My
father, who is with the ancestors,” Kale explained, meaning that he was dead,
“was one who tried to organize the outcasts, to build them into a gen, wishing
to rebuild what was taken from our family generations ago by the chamberlain of
my great-grandfather’s father.  I myself have led various groups of families
from time to time, but they’re a bit of a chaotic lot.  It takes a drastic
emergency to serve as a hammer to forge them into anything but what they are.”

Trallik
looked at him strangely.  “Are you telling me that you and your line are direct
descendants of the last Lord Kale?”

Kale
simply nodded.

“I
thought the last Lord Kale had no children?” Trallik pressed.

Kale
smiled gently as he urged Sable to jump down to the ledge he was on.  “He had
no children from his lifemate… but the last Lord Kale was… how shall I say it? 
He was less responsible in his youth than perhaps he should have been.”

Trallik
wasn’t sure how to take that.

“Perhaps
to state it more clearly, my great-grandfather was the first son of the last
Lord Kale by a young female whom he loved and had a child with, but their
affair was kept secret and eventually swept under the rug by the young Kale’s
parents.  As it turns out, this was not made known among the Kale Gen, perhaps
for obvious reasons, until after that Kale had become Lord of the Kale Gen and
had failed to return from his quest.  The chamberlain disavowed the truth of my
ancestor’s claims, stating that there were no heirs to take Lord Kale’s place, and
therefore took the throne for himself.”

Trikki,
who had been silent until now, spoke up.  “Well, I don’t know if you care or
not, but the Lord of the Kale Gen was just overthrown.  There’s someone new on
the throne now.  Trallik here thinks that the new lord won’t treat him as an
exile.  Since I’m his lifemate, I should be fine too.  Perhaps you and the
other Kale Gen outcasts can talk to this new lord.  Perhaps he’ll let you
rejoin the gen.”

“Who
is this new lord?” Kale asked with some interest.

“Lord
Karthan, grandson of the chamberlain you speak of, was lord when I left the gen
not a week ago.  Khee-lar Shadow Hand, who claims to be a descendant of a
nephew of the last Lord Kale, was attempting an overthrow of the gen.  I would
imagine that Khee-lar is the new Lord of the Kale Gen.”

Kale
was completely calm at the revelation that the line of kobolds who had kept his
line from power so long ago had been removed from power.  “That’s all well and
good, my friends, but the memory of my ancestor’s claim to power likely died
with that same chamberlain who exiled him.  I would imagine that there are none
left now who remember, nor any record other than that kept by my line, which I
doubt this Lord Khee-lar would accept as justification for giving up his throne.

“As
for returning to the Kale Gen, I can only imagine what this Lord Khee-lar would
think about having a direct descendant of the last Lord Kale in his gen.  If
he’s anything like the other power-hungry lords that rule the rest of the gens
of these two valleys, I and my line would be dead within a week of our return. 
No, lords do not suffer having a challenge to their right to rule within their
gen.  That’s why my line was exiled in the first place so many years ago.”

Trikki
said nothing, and soon the three kobolds and the goat were traveling in silence
over boulders, around muddy sinkholes, and in general through the massively
uneven terrain of the underdark.

It
seemed to Trikki and Trallik that they must have been traveling for about half
a day and the pair were tired.  Though they wished that their guide would stop
for a rest, he kept pushing on, his goat following tirelessly behind him,
despite its load.  Kale wasn’t the youngest of kobolds, being probably in his
mid-twenties, but obviously he and his goat had spent quite a number of those
years pressing through the terrain of the underdark, for they moved through
even the roughest terrain with a practiced ease, one moment climbing ledge to
ledge up an almost sheer rock wall, the next moment hopping across a narrow
chasm, just to find themselves fording a stream or skirting a mud sinkhole
immediately after.  Trallik was impressed with Kale’s natural dexterity, as
well as with the skills he’d obviously developed over the years.

Finally,
as the small group arrived at a rather large, sandy-floored cavern whose walls
were lined with the same phosphorescent green colors of the grotto where
Trallik and Trikki had been mated, Kale stopped them.  Holding his hands to his
mouth, he called across the cavern.

“He
who stands watch!  I’ve returned!”

Trallik
looked around at the cavern.  Several large passageways led outward on both
sides of it, each one with an entranceway carved with some skill.

After
several moments, a voice was heard calling out in reply.  It was the voice of
an old male kobold by its timbre and weakness.  “Who’s there with you?”

“They
are friends of ours.  Trikki from the Shallat Family, recently returned from
slavery with the orcs, and Trallik, her new lifemate.”

A
rather stooped, older kobold shuffled from behind a pillar of rock on a balcony
at the far end of the cavern.  “Oh,” his wispy voice echoed, “well now, isn’t
this a treat.”

Kale
motioned to the others.  They followed him across the sandy floor to the far
end.

“Grandfather,
you know you’re not supposed to be on watch,” Kale said to the old one as they
climbed the steps carved into one side of the balcony.

“Well,
now, have to set a good example, you know.  Can’t let the young ones think they
can slack when they get to be my age!”

Kale
smiled.  “I very much doubt that anyone thinks you’re slacking, grandfather.”

“Still,
a leader must do what a leader must do.”

“But
a leader only stands watch if he has good eyes, grandfather,” Kale pointed out,
his hand on his grandfather’s arm.  “And you do not.”

“Details,
details!  I’m still a good shot with the bow anyway.”

Soon,
the four kobolds and the goat were headed through the passageway that was cut
into the rear of the balcony, the soft light of the stone creating bouncing
shadows as they went.  The construction of the place showed a definite quality
to it, though it didn’t look dwarven.  In Trallik’s mind the place appeared to
have been made by the same artisans that carved the council chamber of the Kale
Gen out of the rock of their caverns.  The simple roundness of the top of the
passageway, the square jointing of the walls, the small alcoves that appeared
to be for the placing of flowers, vases, pots, or other ornaments; it all had
the feel of the Kale Gen about it.

“Built
by the old lore-master and the stoneworkers of the Deep Gen, back when the
leadership of that gen belonged to my great-grandfather,” Kale mentioned as he
noticed Trallik’s interest in the stonework.  “One could say that the Deep Gen
moved away from us, not us away from them.  In fact, though they abandoned the
leaders’ caverns to my grandfather here, they still hold the majority of the
caves the gen originally occupied, though they have grown well beyond those as
well, digging ever deeper, even reaching the inner sea.”

“The
inner sea?” Trallik asked.  “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Ah,
down below the great mass of land that forms the face of this world, far below
where the orcs and even the dwarves have delved, lies another world, my
friend.  It is a place of darkness, where horrible creatures dwell, the fire of
their magic being bent to continual destruction and the power of their minds
drawing the strength out of one violently, like marrow being slurped from your
broken bones.  There lies the inner sea, the massive body of water that lies
under the surface of this world and which spawns such horrors.  It is a place I
have visited but once, and I have no wish to go back there.”