The Game of Fates (73 page)

“Liar!”
the dragon roared.  From its mouth came a ball of fire that flew toward
Krebbekar, impacting the ground and exploding with such great force that Ardan
was thrown back several steps.  At the same moment, Krebbekar fell backward
down the slope and was lost in the explosion.

With
a mighty flap of its wings, the massive beast threw itself into the air and
began pounding it into submission as he rose ever higher into the air.  Behind
him, only the sound of crackling embers broke the stunned silence of the
meadow.

Goryon
and his son Gorgon pulled furiously on the rope while at the base of the sharp
hill Goryon’s warriors prepared another load of cut branches and stones. 
Behind the pair of muscular warriors, Jerrig and Arbelk were attempting to
build something of a shelter out of the logs and stones they’d brought up in
the first couple of loads, while Troka set about hiding the Great Bows under a
light covering of cut branches, mingled with uprooted bushes to give a more
natural structure to the camouflaging attempt.

Around
the entire area where the gens had arrayed their forces not a kobold could be
seen in the open.  After the dragon had been sighted, the various leaders of
the various forces had gone about hiding them.  To the credit of all the
kobolds that had gathered here this day, none of them had run, not even the
outcasts, who were clearly the least disciplined of them all.

Now,
as the dragon dipped down into the forest, then back up and off toward the
pillar of smoke at the loyalist enclosure, kobolds all throughout the area that
had been looking out from under the boughs of trees or the branches of bushes
scurried back under cover at the first sight of the monster.

Gorgon
and Goryon immediately threw the branches about themselves, while the rest of
Gorgon’s team tried to build the shelter as best they could under the cover of
some hastily cut branches.  The dragon did not fly straight toward the
enclosure, however, instead flying broad circles over the area of the Doorstep,
as if surveying the area.  As the dragon looked about the valley, the little
team of Great Bow crew stopped their efforts and prepared to flee their perch
if necessary.

Not
long after, the dragon stopped its observing and flew to the loyalist enclosure
on the northern side of the valley, dipping down among the columns of smoke
there.  Like weeds springing up from the ground, the peak of the sharp hill
came alive as Goryon, Gorgon, and his team sprang back into action, building
the shelter for all they were worth and trying to camouflage things.  Soon they
had set to action on a quick ladder made up of a long, skinny tree trunk with
steps cut into it.

The
appearance of the dragon had changed many things, not the least of which was
the confidence of all the kobolds gathered on the field of battle this day.

N
ow was not a time of hesitation,
but rather a time of action, and Durik could feel it.  The buzz of nervousness,
bordering on fear, was reflected in every move of the riders about him.  The
arrival of the dragon had changed everything.  Before they had been leading the
orcs on a merry chase.  Now their only plan was to not be found, at least until
after the dragon left, if it ever did.

Seeing
Kiria, Myaliae, and their warrior-guard Terrim mounted but waiting in the
middle of a little clearing as the line of wolf riders beat a path past them,
Durik reined in next to them, pulling Firepaw out of the line of wolves and
riders with some difficulty.

“Why
have you stopped?” he called over the din of his passing warrior group as he
came to a stop.  Kiria’s face had a strange look of determination on it that
took Durik a bit by surprise.

“Sire,”
Kiria said, “why are we running from the dragon?”

Durik
just stared at her in wonderment.  “What do you mean?  It’s a dragon!”

The
look on Kiria’s face was one of pain or disappointment, Durik hadn’t seen it
before.

“Durik,
if we don’t fight this dragon, who will?” she asked, her eyes suddenly
pleading.

“I…
um…” Durik shook his head.  “Fight the dragon?  Are you crazy?  How are we
going to do that?” 

From
the rear of the column of wolf riders, Manebrow came riding up and halted next
to his leader.  “Sire!  Come!  We need to regroup at the next ambush point!” he
called out.

“Manebrow,”
Kiria shouted over the din, “we have to fight this dragon!  We can’t let it go
after our gen!”

Manebrow
looked at Durik.  By the look on his face, Durik was as skeptical as he was. 
“What makes you think we can take on a dragon?” he said, the noise of the
passing riders fading as the last of them plunged into the wood line on the far
side of the clearing.  Manebrow, irritated by talk, when he was expecting
action, watched them go.

“I
don’t know if we can,” she said, almost pleading, “but we have the Kale Stone! 
My father, and the rest of the warriors of our gen, have only spears and
arrows.  Surely they won’t be able to take on the dragon!”

Durik’s
head was spinning.  She actually wanted them to go after… the dragon.  In a
moment, he thought back to the battle with the orc shaman in the Dwarven
Outpost, and how he had been protected from the magical fire that the shaman
had put up to block him.  He wondered if, indeed, that would happen again if
they fought the dragon.

Manebrow
had noticed his leader’s silence, and grabbed him by the arm.  “Sire!  You’re
not indestructible!  Just because you carry the stone of the last Lord Kale
doesn’t mean you can take on a dragon.  After all, it obviously didn’t keep the
last Lord Kale from getting killed.”

Durik
shook his head.  “Yes, I was thinking about it, and yes, I think Kiria may be
right.  Who else has any chance against the dragon?”

“Sire!”
Manebrow said emphatically.  “No one can stand alone against a dragon!  Come,
we will meet our army at the low hill soon enough.  Then, if you’re still of a
mind to face the dragon, at least we can do it with a host of archers at our
back.”

“But
what if the dragon goes there now?” Kiria asked.

“Then
there’s nothing we can do about it,” Manebrow said.  “It flies, we run.  It’s
much faster than us.  We’ll be there soon enough.  In the meantime, I doubt the
dragon will lead the orcs to our army, so let’s get back to doing that, shall
we?”

Durik
nodded.  “I can’t argue with that.”

“That’s
right,” Manebrow said emphatically, glaring at Kiria as he slapped her riding
dog’s flank.  Soon, all five of the companions were riding quickly toward the
next meadow where Drok and his team of riders were already setting up their
next ambush point.  Back in the woods overlooking the loyalist enclosure,
Pintor and his team waited for the dragon to pass, and prepared to lead the
orcs along nicely into their next trap.

Drakebane
the Mighty was used to being the master of his domain.  He had stood up to
every challenger over the years, most of them his own sons.  He had even stood
up to ogres, and the occasional cave troll that wandered into their lair as
well.  When it came to dragons, however, even though his name meant ‘Bane of
Dragons,’ the orc chieftain was as humble as a mud-rat.

“Yes,
my lord,” the mighty chieftain spoke loudly, his head bowed as he knelt before
the mighty beast, Ahn-Ki the hobgoblin mercenary kneeling on one side of him
while Shagra, now his most powerful son, kneeling on the other.  All around him
orcs and ogres had either fallen to the ground in fear, or were on their knees
in awe.  Those who were too weak to resist the dragonfear had fled into the
palisade of sharpened tree trunks behind them, while off in the woods the
entire contingent of kobolds from the northern gens tried to remain unnoticed
while corralling up those levies who tried to flee.

“Then
why do I see many dead orcs and ogres along the path?” the massive beast asked
in the feral tongue of these lesser creatures.

“My
lord,” Drakebane whined, “Kale Gen wolf riders very smart!  They run fast. 
They fire arrows and run.  They be cowards running much!”

“Enough!”
the dragon roared.  “Hear my words!  You and your little tribe will move to
capture the kobolds now, before the ant horde arrives.  They have thousands of
warrior ants, and many hunters as well.  They cannot be allowed to eat my
prize.”

Drakebane
looked to either side of him in surprise.  This was the first he’d heard of an
ant horde.  Yes, the few scouts that had returned had reported finding some
ants, but nothing that could be called a horde, and no report of warrior ants
at all.  Ahn-Ki the hobgoblin mercenary’s eye patch was turned to him and his
son Shagra just shrugged his shoulders.

“Lord
Manateel,” Drakebane mispronounced.  He was nervous and afraid, but he knew
better than to ask questions of a dragon.  “We go get kobolds now!  Ants will
no get them.  We hide them in caves until ants go away.”

“Fine,”
Mananthiél’s fierce look met his.  “You are chieftain of this pathetic tribe
for now, whatever it’s called.  Do not fail me!  Either you capture me the
kobold gens intact, or your tribe will work my mines instead!”

Drakebane
nodded his understanding.  “Yes, Lord Dragon!” he answered.  “We go and do
right now!”

“Yes,
you shall,” Mananthiél’s voiced boomed in the silence of the low-walled
canyon.  “Or I’ll kill you myself!” he said as he looked about the canyon at
the host of fearful warriors.  Seeing that they were sufficiently cowed, Mananthiél
again took to flight, this time to see what he himself could do about the ants
that had surprisingly showed up on his very Doorstep.

Fire
would be part of the answer, of that he was certain.

“Where
are ants?  What ants?  Scouts say only little ants, not manies and not
warriors!” Drakebane was ranting.  All about him orcs and ogres were scurrying
about, gathering back into their groups with their own leaders and
sub-leaders.  The dragon had commanded, and they were moving to obey.

“Father,”
Shagra said, “we saw no more ants than what our scouts reported.  This must be
a new ant horde.”

“Ahn-Ki!”
Shagra was still furious.  “Where is Karthan?  Why he no at this place?  You
say he be here and we kill him and kobolds listen to us, because we kill Karthan!”

Ahn-Ki’s
look suggested one who was growing impatient.  “Lord Drakebane.  Yes, we
expected to find the old lord of the Kale Gen here, but instead we find the
place empty.  I say that perhaps they took back their gen.  I don’t think it
matters now.  Right now, we should just do what the dragon commanded and go
directly to the home of the Kale Gen.”

Shagra
nodded his head.  “Yes, lord.  We go get Kales now.  We fight ants later, when
they come.”

Drakebane’s
scowl was likely going to stay for the rest of the day.  Grabbing his axe up
off the ground, he snorted and turned to yell at the chief of the ogre
mercenaries.  Within several moments the entire horde had begun movement.

Not
knowing where exactly the Kale Gen’s home caverns were, as it had been six years
since they had actually seen the place, they did the only thing they could do. 
They followed the trail of the wolf riders who had pestered them so far, moving
out at a slow run.

Ardan
slowly became aware of his surroundings as first one, then another cinder fell
on his outstretched hand.  The fact that his hands had only tiny, thin scales
on the palms of them meant he could feel both of them burn out as they landed
on him.

Curling
up his hand, he struggled to open one blurry eye, then the other.  He could
sense that he was lying in shallow water and that his back was numb from the
cold spring run-off.  Trying to sit up, he discovered that at least one of his
ribs was broken.  Looking down, he could see his tail, but couldn’t feel it. 
Finally, as he rolled over and pushed his way up to his knees, he rubbed his
eyes and looked around himself.

The
little stream where I was hiding from the dragon.  That’s where I am!

Struggling
for a moment, he eventually made it to his feet. 
Krebbekar!  Where is Krebbekar?

Turning
about, Ardan stumbled stiffly toward the blasted divot in the shoreline that
was the embankment.  After several moments of looking dumbly at the blasted
bits of a tree and smoking embers of what had been its branches, his eyes
narrowed.

Was
that?  Could it be?  Stumbling over to the collapsed shoreline, he thought he
saw an arm sticking out of the pile of dirt its collapse had made.  He fell to
his knees next to it then he realized he was kneeling on something soft.

Falling
back onto his still numb tail, Ardan saw the pile of dirt he’d knelt on move
slightly, and suddenly a pair of eyes opened in the midst of it as dirt was
blown outward in a cough.

“Ah! 
Is the beast gone?” the moving mound of dirt said.  In a moment it partially
sat up and dirt began to fall from Krebbekar, making his outlines visible,
though still caked with a thick layer of dirt.  Standing gingerly on one foot,
the old warrior began spitting, blowing dirt out of his nose, and shaking off
the caked-on dust.  After a moment, he turned and looked at Ardan.

“Oh! 
You’ve lost a horn, there!” he said.  “That had to hurt!  And that’s quite a
crack you’ve got to go along with it.  Come here, let me see what I can do for
it.” 

Krebbekar
moved forward and put a hand on Ardan’s head.  The instant he touched it a
bright, searing pain shot through Ardan’s body, and the veteran warrior fell
backward into the stream, unconscious yet again.