The Game of Fates (44 page)

“Why
have you come here?” Lord Sennak queried, his voice wispy yet forceful.

“My
lord,” Durik began.  All of a sudden he stopped, and his companions turned to
look at him.  It was as if he were frozen, as if his eyes were looking far past
Lord Sennak to something none of them could see.

“My
lord,” Durik said again, his gaze still fixed well beyond their captor, “I am
sent to you in this hour of your need to warn you of the coming of a great and
overpowering danger.”

“What?! 
What’s this you speak?!  Speak clearly!” Lord Sennak commanded.

“A
great ant queen from the southern reaches of our world has sensed the death of
her daughter.  She comes now,” Durik’s eyes began to grow wide with fear.  “She
comes.  Even now she sends her minions before her.  They come!  They come like
a flood through the underdark!”

Durik’s
eyes looked straight into Lord Sennak’s.  “They will be here before the falling
of night in the world above, and all those who are found here in the underdark
will die.  My lord, when one is sent to gather your gen, you must leave at once
or you will be destroyed.”

Lord
Sennak ignored Durik and looked instead at his warrior leader with a look of
contempt and disgust.  “This is the news you thought worthy to send to me,
Mirrik; the babblings of an idiot?”

The
Deep Gen warrior leader just stammered an incomprehensible apology as he
groveled on the ground before his lord.

“Take
these Kale Gen interlopers away and their babbling idiot as well!” Lord Sennak
commanded.  “Tomorrow at dawn, is it?  Well, then tomorrow before second meal
you shall die, for trespassing in our realm!”

As
they lay strewn about the prison chamber, chained to the walls with thick
chains of hand-forged iron, Durik’s companions felt helpless, and some of them
felt hopeless.  They were condemned to die, all because they were trying to
follow the promptings and the guidance Durik had received from some unseen
being.  The manifestations of the power that Durik had received through the
Kale Stone in their presence had done much to bolster their faith, but now the
stone had been taken from their leader and instead of getting them out of their
predicament it had given Durik words that had infuriated the Lord of the Deep
Gen.  It seemed to the small group that they were all alone in their fate.

“Why
you say stupid thing like that?!” Mahtu scolded Durik from across the room. 
“You say stupid thing and now we die in no many times!”

Manebrow,
seated next to his leader, stood up.  “Quiet, you fool!  There are forces here
that you… that none of us understand!”

“What
if he’s right?” Gorgon asked quite unexpectedly from one corner of their cell,
catching Manebrow by surprise.  “What if the stone has used us to get itself to
Lord Sennak?  What if it’s done with us and has left us to die?”

“Then
we die,” Durik said despondently.

“What?”
Troka said.  “You led us down here to die?  What did that stone show you?  What
do you know that you’re not sharing?”

“Put
respect in that voice, you!” Manebrow snapped.

“It’s
alright, Manebrow,” Durik held up a hand.  Manebrow just bit his lip.  “It’s a
very valid question.  It is time that I share what I have seen.”

All
around the room the dejected group of prisoners sat up.

“My
brothers of the Kale Gen.  I have been having visions since the night before
the Trials of Caste.  That night that Gorgon, Keryak and I sat in Goryon’s smithy
I had my first vision.  I’ve had several since then.  Up until after the feast
that night in the home of Lord Krall, they had all been of Demon’s Bridge. 
Rarely were there words, though all the visions served to point us toward where
the Kale Stone could be found.”

Around
the room all the kobolds except Mahtu listened in rapt attention.  Durik knew
that it was because of the very visible power that Morgra had given him in his
battle against the orc shaman, elsewise they probably would have thought him
crazy.  But now that proof had been given, it was much easier to believe.

“But
that night of the feast there in the heart of the Krall Gen, I had a vision of
a different kind.  I was taken to a room that I felt was far away from this
valley, though I know not where it lies, and whether in the body or not I could
not tell.  It was there that I met a being named Morgra, she was in form like
the pictures of humans I’ve seen in books, only much more glorious.  The light
that came from her penetrated every part of me.  It was as if my life were laid
bare before her and I was purified in her presence.”

“What
did she want of you?” Jerrig asked tentatively.

“She
called me her paladin, and told me that I am not the Oracle of Kale, but that I
would be shown to whom I should give the stone when the time came.  Since then
she has put feelings in my heart, to guide me.”

“But
what happened in front of Lord Sennak?  It looked like you weren’t even there
with us,” Troka asked.

Durik
paused, the memory of the horror he’d seen was still fresh, and the emotional
impact of it wore on him more than the sentence of death did.

“A
vision was shown me.  In it I saw the grief of the great ant queen at the news
of the death of her daughter… and of so many of her grandchildren at the hands
of the kobolds of this valley, and us especially.”

Jerrig
Queen Slayer lowered his head.  “And at my hand especially,” he murmured.

“Do
not blame yourself, Jerrig,” Durik replied, “for in the heart of this great
queen is no mercy, only conquest.  She sent her daughter and her brood here to
our valley to hunt us down and feed upon us.  It is not in their hearts to see
us as anything more than food.”

“How
large is the force she brings with her?” Manebrow asked.  “Did you get a good
look at that as well?”

“Do
you remember the royal guards from the ant queen we slew?” Durik asked.

“Aye,
there were some fearsome warriors among them, but hemmed in like they were it
was a quick enough affair,” Manebrow replied.

“For
you, maybe,” Jerrig scoffed, the memory of his own javelin being thrust into
his thigh by one of the brutes was still fresh in his memory.

“It
was shown me that these ants go through stages in their lives.  They begin life
as the mindless ones who must be controlled by the ant commanders.  The ant hunters
or scouts are above the mindless ones.  Once they reach adulthood they are
hunter ants and they gain an independence from the mind control of the ant
commanders and become sensitive to the scent that the queen exudes, which
controls them.  I think that’s why they went crazy after Jerrig killed the
queen, because they had been enslaved by her scent and were driven crazy its
absence.

“After
a while the hunter ants enter a time of metamorphosis, when they go into a
cocoon dug into holes in the ground like what we saw in the ant queen’s lair. 
When they emerge from that they are the queen’s royal guards that we saw,
though they are known as warrior ants among themselves.  Warrior ants over time
gain the ability to control the mindless ones and thus become ant commanders
for however many mindless ones they are capable of taking control of from the
other ant commanders, like shepherds pillaging each other’s herds.

“The
ant queens, however, are different.  They do not come from these lesser orders
of ants.  This great ant queen is the mother of only a few such queens as the
one we killed.  I felt her pain at having carried the queen we killed for a
year, just to have her die in a far away valley.  It is that frustration and
anger, and the arrogance in her heart of believing that we should be subjugated
and harvested, that drives her to bring her entire horde here.”

“What
is in this horde, sire?” Manebrow pressed.  “Is it mostly the mindless ones?”

Durik
shook his head.  “This great queen’s family is mature.  They have had success
in many other places and have gorged themselves on the blood and flesh of the
great beasts that roam the steppes far to the east of here.  Also, she has
spent the last few years producing queens and not producing mindless ones.  As
such, her horde consists almost entirely of the warrior ants, the same type of
ants that served as royal guards for the queen we killed.”

The
entire group was dismayed at the news, though it took Manebrow’s tactically
focused mind to discern the real impact of the revelation.

“That
means we must kill each one individually.  We can’t just kill the ant
commanders and expect the rest of them to scatter,” Manebrow spoke solemnly. 
“And we can’t just kill the queen, or they’ll just come at us with greater fury
and strength.”

“And
this queen is nothing to be trifled with,” Durik said.  “She is immense and
amazing in her strength and ferocity.  Her armor is thick with age and each leg
is like a tree trunk.  The spikes which cover her body and limbs are like
knives.  Her mandibles are longer than spears, thicker than an orc’s scimitar,
and together they are strong enough to snap several of us in half at once.”

“Ay! 
How will our gens stand against such a monster?!” Troka wailed.

Gorgon,
who had sat in silence this entire time, stood up.  “Ants and orcs!  I’ve heard
enough.  If this queen is coming, then so be it.  That fight’s not our concern
right now.  Right now we need to focus on getting out of here.  It’s time to
take the heads off some Deep Gen warriors’ shoulders!”

Manebrow’s
anger simmered.  “And how do you propose to do that, Gorgon?  Can you bust
those chains?”

Gorgon
Hammer, son of a blacksmith and not a bad blacksmith himself, had already
looked at the chains and had tested his strength against them, but his ire was
up and he didn’t feel like backing down.

“Well,
why doesn’t Durik use his powers and bust us out of here?” Gorgon sputtered.

Durik
thought for a moment.  They’d taken the Bracers of Kale off of his wrists, so
he was left without the great strength they afforded him.  He had tried to
break his chains as well, and hadn’t felt any help or promptings in trying to
escape.  In fact, he’d specifically felt to wait, and that he was not to kill
these, his fellow kobolds of the Deep Gen.

“No,”
he said, shaking his head.  “I will wait on Morgra.  She will show us the way.”

“You
put much faith in this Morgra,” Gorgon said, the doubt evident in his voice. 
“What if she doesn’t come through for us?”

“I
believe you, Durik,” Jerrig said as he looked up at his bronze-scaled cousin.

“She
will, my friends,” Durik reassured them.  “Have faith.”

D
uring his past year of training,
Trallik had actually learned many things, though character had been something
that had been slow in developing.  One thing that came naturally to him was
hiding things that others might want, so that it would be readily available
later; in his warrior training they’d called it caching.  As he wasn’t sure how
things stood in his home gen, he and Trikki found a secluded little hollow in
the woods just before the picket line.  Here, between a pair of particularly
gnarled roots that were bulged and deformed with a fungus that was common to
the southern valley, the pair buried Trikki’s bag of treasure.  They decided to
keep Trallik’s treasure on them, in case they had to use it as a bargaining
chip to get them out of any bad circumstances they might encounter. 

Having
taken care of what they considered their best chance at a prosperous future,
the pair made their way to the path Durik’s Company had trod barely a week
before and started toward the picket line.  A couple of twists in the trail
later and the pair were looking at the two story log tower that marked the edge
of Kale Gen territory.  It stood with the door wide open in the fading light of
the evening, looking eerily quiet.

“Do
you think anyone is here?” Trikki asked.

“I
don’t see anyone,” Trallik answered quietly.  “That’s strange.  Our gen’s
largest warrior group, the Patrol Guard, mans the picket line at all times.  If
it is empty, it’s not supposed to be.”

The
pair of young kobolds took a series of tentative steps toward the gaping
entrance into the log tower.  As they approached they could see bloodstains in
the dirt around the area of the door and broken weapons thrown in a pile off to
one side of the tower.

“Hey,
you there!” the voice caused them both to jump.  “Stop where you are!”

Out
of the wood line stepped a Kale Gen warrior with drawn bow.  Behind him were
three more warriors, all with bows.

“Who
are you?” the lead warrior, an elite warrior by the brand on his chest, looked
suspiciously at the two.

“I’m
Trallik and we… we were just coming back from… from a journey to the Krall
Gen,” Trallik stumbled with the words, expressing the half-truth the pair had
already decided upon.  Trikki clung to his arm, wide-eyed.

One
of the other warriors said something in a low tone to the elite warrior.

“Wait,
aren’t you one of the yearlings from the trials of caste last week?” the elite
warrior asked.

Trallik
reluctantly nodded his head.

“Where’s
the rest of Durik’s Company, then?  Are they back from the quest already?”

Trallik
reluctantly shook his head, his face an uncomfortable grimace.

“Then
what are you doing back?”

Trallik
frowned.  “I was involved in trying to overthrow Lord Karthan.  When Durik
found out, he exiled me from the gen.  But now that Khee-lar is lord of the
gen, I came to bring a warning that he must hear.”

The
answer seemed to bring both relief and frustration to the warrior’s eyes. 
“Hmm… You’ll go back to the gen alright.  But whether or not you see Lord
Khee-lar is for Kort to decide.  Who’s this with you?”

Trikki
tried unsuccessfully to hide from the unwanted attention behind Trallik’s
shoulder.  “Her name is Trikki.  She is my lifemate,” he said.

“And
where are you from, Trikki?” the elite warrior asked.

She
hesitated, but seeing they wouldn’t leave her alone, she spoke.  “My mother was
Kale, but I grew up in the underdark,” she reluctantly admitted. 

“What? 
An outcast?” the elite warrior held his snout up.

“Not
an outcast!” Trallik defended her.  “She was born of an outcast.  She did
nothing to deserve her previous status in life.  But she is my lifemate now
and, since I am a warrior of this gen, she now shares my caste.”

The
elite warrior held up an open hand.  “Alright, alright.  I meant no harm.  Just
surprised at your choice of lifemates is all… though I must admit she is
beautiful.”

Trikki
had had enough attention from the likes of this elite warrior in the past that
his complement did nothing but cause a tightening in her chest and throat.  She
just hoped they’d let them pass without any further trouble.

Trallik,
on the other hand, was proud of his lifemate, and the complement went straight
to his ego.

“Well,
I have to send you to Kort.  Two of my warriors will escort you,” he said as he
pointed to two of his warriors.  The pair disappeared into the tree line for a
moment, but quickly returned with packs on their backs.

“Come
on,” one of the two said.

“Who
is this Kort?” Trallik asked.

“He’s
the new leader of the Deep Guard Warrior Group.  He was an elite warrior in the
Patrol Guard before Lord Khee-lar took over the gen.  Come now, let’s be off.”

With
that, Trallik, Trikki, and the two guards began their late evening walk back to
the home of the Kale Gen.

Khazak
Mail Fist had completed his plan.  He’d pulled a long sliver of metal from the
brim of his chamber pot.  With its sharp edge he’d been able to cut his way
through the bands on his wrist.  He cut much of the way through the bands on
his ankles and arms, but had done it in inconspicuous places that Khee-lar
Shadow Hand wouldn’t see when he came to visit him—or better said when he came
to taunt him—next.

His
plan had been simple and straight forward; burst the bands once Khee-lar was in
the room with him, crush Khee-lar’s skull like a melon, take out all the
guards, then flee to Lord Karthan, killing any of Khee-lar’s minions who got in
his way.

He
was no one to be trifled with, and he was determined to show them that again.

Of
course, that was three days ago.  Now, his partially cut bands had severed the
rest of the way on their own, his chamber pot was overflowing and wreaked
horribly, he’d only been fed once a day since he got here (and that stopped
yesterday), and the incessant wailing of the prisoner across the hall from him
had so grated on him that, though he’d felt guilty about it, he felt relieved
when they finally took him off to execute him.

The
guards had come for him, once.  But when they saw he was out of his bands, it appeared
to Khazak that they had decided to just starve him rather than try to deal with
him.  After that visit yesterday, they’d skipped him when they served the rest
of the prisoners their morning meal.  They’d not answered his pleas for water
or to empty his chamber pot either.

He
was getting desperate for a way out of this mess.

The
two guards had found Kort’s chief elite warrior who was running the watch and
handed Trallik and Trikki off to him.  He was a rather sharp-eyed scrapper
named Kram who had a rather ruthless reputation.  He knew his leader well
enough, however, to not make a decision about Trallik’s fate without Kort’s
approval.  Seems that, despite his strength and confidence with weapon play and
prior experience as an elite warrior, Kort wasn’t taking too well to this whole
‘leader caste’ thing, and spent entirely too much time thinking about what
Khee-lar would think about this or that decision.  And his way of figuring it
out was to make every decision himself.  The sharp-eyed chief elite warrior
hoped it was only a passing phase.

So
they had waited.  And when Kort did arrive, he had the smell of fermented Wallaya
root broth on his breath, and his body stunk of the cheap scent Khee-lar
preferred on his females.  He’d obviously been with Khee-lar and his
concubines.

“Who’s
this?” Kort blurted out as he came staggering in.  The fermented broth had put
anger and aggression in his eyes, though it hid beneath a glassy covering.

“Sire,”
Trallik answered before Kram could speak, going down on one knee in a sign of
respect.  “I am Trallik, formerly of the Deep Guard.”

Kort
looked at the young warrior with a sneer of unconcealed contempt.  “Yes, I
remember you!  Your father’s a fungus farmer in my warrior group!  You were
just a yearling last week, weren’t you?”

“Yes,
sire,” Trallik said.

“Well,
what do you want?” Kort looked at him, then, with a lecherous eye, he noticed
Trikki.  “And who is this, eh?”

Trallik
stood up and stepped in front of Trikki.  “She is my lifemate, sire.  She is of
no consequence.”

“I’ll
be the judge of that!  Now stand away!” the drunk leader caste commanded.

“Sire,”
Trallik interjected, trying to distract his leader caste from Trikki, “My quest
has been most fruitful!  I should think that you would want to show the fruits
of my quest to our Lord Khee-lar.”

“Hm? 
What?  Successful, you say?” Kort bellowed out.  “So I suppose you’re wanting
release from it, then?”

“Yes,
sire.  I would want to take my place among the warriors of the gen, perhaps
even to become an elite warrior, sire?” this last part Trallik had meant to ask
boldly, but ended up saying it meekly, his voice diminishing uncomfortably in
his own ears.

“Elite
warrior?  What dreams you have!  And why would I want to do something like
that!”

Trallik
pulled out a handful of jewelry from his pouch.  “Sire, these were taken from
orc warriors I slew in a battle in an old dwarven outpost under the Chop,” he
lied.  “A wise leader caste might choose to keep these as tokens of his right
to rule his warrior group, though the offeror might be rewarded for bringing
home such prizes.”

Kort
stopped for a few moments to ponder.  Even in his inebriated state he
remembered Lord Khee-lar had placed a collector of wealth among his warrior
group.  Surely this informant would tell Khee-lar about the jewelry?  But, of
course, he could only tell what he could find out, and the jewelry was very
valuable and could be traded for many fine items or favors.  Perhaps he should
give Kram, his chief elite warrior, an item just to silence him?

“Trallik! 
You are hereby given the rank of elite warrior.”  He reached out and clumsily
snatched the jewelry from Trallik’s open hand.  Turning to Kram, Kort threw him
a necklace with a rather pretty set of garnets on it.  Instantly, he regretted
having passed him such a nice piece, especially with the look of disdain Kram
had on his face.  “See that he gets branded at once then put him to work,” he
commanded, his surly mood returning.

Trallik
was thrilled, until Kort mentioned the branding.

As
they made their way to the council chambers, Trikki was very agitated about the
loss of a handful of Trallik’s jewelry, until Trallik explained that the elite
warriors got a share of the wealth generated by their warriors.  Trikki thought
long and hard about that one.