by Joel Babbitt
The mismatched pair reached the large weapons rack that held the bows, quivers, and javelins for the ranged weapons trial. Grabbing a javelin, Manebrow offered it to the young female. By the look in her eye, he thought perhaps she would accept a challenge.
“What? Me throw that?” she complained. After a moment of looking into his unwavering gaze, Kiria took the javelin and with a huff turned to face the large bags that served as targets spaced evenly for some distance in front of the weapons rack. Screwing up her courage and hoping she wouldn’t look like too much of a fool, Kiria threw at the closest target. The javelin wobbled through the air for several paces, then landed in the dirt, skittering then rolling sideways to a stop many paces in front of the closest of the targets.
“Not bad,” Manebrow said offhandedly.
Kiria scowled. “Whatever happened to all that talk of standards?” she said, almost jokingly.
“Very well, my lady. Not bad for one who has not undergone the year of training,” Manebrow said.
Kiria picked up a bow and pulled an arrow out of one of the quivers. Pulling the string with all her might she was finally able to get the string back almost to her breast before finally releasing it with a strained grunt. The arrow flew downward much quicker than she had anticipated, almost sticking in the ground some twenty paces in front of her.
“Still,” she said, “I do wish I had some skill with weapons.”
“Your calling in life is not to bear arms in a quest to further the gen,” Manebrow answered. “You have no need of any skill with such things.”
Kiria gave him a look that he did not recognize, almost wistful and yet at the same time weighed down by the burden of things held close.
“Take me through the obstacles, Master Trainer,” she said.
As they turned to go toward the obstacles that, collectively, were the scouting trial, a voice called out from the direction of the council chambers. Norborib, one of her father’s servants, had come with a summons for Kiria. She stopped, a frustrated look on her face.
“My lady?” Manebrow asked.
“My father wants me home.” She looked longingly at the obstacles in front of them. “And the scouting part is the part I least understood. Oh well, next time perhaps,” she sighed.
“Or tomorrow, or after the trials and before they disassemble it all,” Manebrow offered matter-of-factly.
Kiria shook her head. “Not likely,” she said, a wistful look in her eyes as she turned to go.
Durik was deep in thought as he and Keryak came ambling around the corner, almost colliding with their master trainer.
“Hey, watch it now!”
The two yearlings stopped short of Manebrow who had just left the arena, the sudden appearance surprising them all and shaking Durik out of his thoughts.
“Sorry!” Keryak yelped as he stumbled back. Beside him, Durik stopped and looked about. From behind Manebrow’s protective stance, a young female kobold appeared, lithely sidestepping their brawny trainer’s outstretched arm. She was dressed in a high-collared red robe, with copper bracelets and a necklace of charms.
Durik’s eyes were drawn to hers; they were large and dark, and moist so that they shone in the dim light of the rush torches. It seemed as if she were both sad and hopeful at the same time. The paradox of the two emotions playing across her suddenly welcoming face seared the memory of that first meeting into his heart. It was all he could do to notice the others standing there with him, though Keryak’s awkward stammering brought him back to the moment.
Suddenly, Durik was very conscious of his appearance, and of how foolish Keryak’s yelp and his stammering must sound to this… to her. Grabbing Keryak by the arm, Durik breathed in and forced himself to speak.
“I am Durik,” he said shyly, keenly aware at the moment of his bronze scales. But at the name her whole countenance lit up, bringing down the young warrior’s guard and leaving him exposed and helpless. He was struck suddenly, and his mind was instantly on fire with her. Durik thought that hers was a face of the divine, a face that would bring a warrior home through many trials, and a face that he would see in his dreams.
Keryak was saying something, and Manebrow responded, then the female spoke and nodded toward Durik. Durik was certain that he had heard the name “Kiria” spoken, but he was engulfed as he never had been before by that moment; a moment he did not yet understand.
A subtle wind had begun to pulse through the passageway as those who worked the shafts and vents that regulated their caverns changed their pattern. Accepting the Winds of Fate, Kiria spoke gently, her eye-lids half lowering as she demurely followed Manebrow up the passageway, “We will meet again.” It was several moments after she had turned the next corner that the spell was broken and Durik could again speak.
“Hello!” Keryak breathed loudly for the third time, trying not to be loud enough for Manebrow and Kiria to hear up the passage from them. “Durik, are you in there?”
“Did you see how she looked at me?” he mumbled semi-coherently.
Keryak shook his head. “She compliments your bronze scales and all of a sudden you’re love-struck.”
Durik’s eyes widened. “She what?”
Keryak rolled his eyes and huffed, “She said Such an exotic color. Weren’t you listening?”
Durik’s heart soared, then he came to a sudden realization. “What if she didn’t like me? What if she meant I look strange. Ah!”
Keryak waved a hand in front of Durik’s face. “Hey, are you in there?”
Durik shook his head to clear it and, as if the magic was gone, he was suddenly standing there in the passageway watching a cloaked figure who appeared to have quietly stepped out of the large arena doors and silently closed them. For all that was going through his mind at the moment, Durik somehow noticed that something was obviously wrong here, as the guards didn’t use cloaks, and no one other than the guards was to be in the arena.
Keryak turned Durik’s head, breaking his view. “Durik, you fool! That’s the Lord of the Gen’s daughter! Don’t get any ideas!”
Durik threw Keryak’s hands off his snout and turned to look again toward the arena. No one was there. Quickly he began walking toward the arena doors.
In the meantime, the kobold had stepped off into an alcove, shed his cloak, wrapped it up and started to put it in the bag at his side.
Just as the kobold turned to head off into a side passage, he ran headlong into Durik.
“Hey, what’s that? Trallik!”
Trallik often surprised others, but he himself hated being surprised. “What are you doing!” he snapped as he bumped into Durik, the cloak falling to the ground at his feet.
“I might ask you the same,” Durik replied, looking down at the cloak. “What’s that for?” he asked.
“You’re not sneaking around the arena, are you?” Keryak accused. “You know that could get you kicked out of the trials.”
Trallik was sweating profusely. “You didn’t see anything, alright!” he said through gritted teeth.
“If we didn’t see anything, then why…” Keryak began to ask. His words were cut short when Trelkar, the chief elite warrior of the Deep Guard, came up behind them.
“Yearlings, what seems to be the problem?” the imposing, muscular warrior asked.
Durik and Keryak both looked at each other. Trallik shot them both a pleading look, he was sure they had him.
“Well, what seems to be the problem?”
Durik cleared his throat. “Chief, we just came upon Trallik here putting a cloak back in his bag. We believe he was sneaking around in the arena.”
Trelkar’s eyes narrowed as he looked sternly at the three yearlings. “No, he wasn’t.”
Durik looked at Keryak, both of them knew Trelkar couldn’t have seen what happened one way or the other. “But he was coming from the arena doors with this cloak.” Keryak pointed down to the ground.
“Trallik! Pick that cloak up! I told you to fetch the cloak for Khee-lar Shadow Han
d. Don’t keep him waiting,” Trelkar commanded.
Trallik quickly shut his mouth, picked up the cloak and hurried off down the passage.
Durik and Keryak were just as surprised when Trelkar turned on them. “If either of you doubts my judgment, then I will take you before the council for spying on the arena yourselves.”
“But we didn’t…” Keryak began. Durik just stood silently next to him, a mix of unfamiliar emotions swirling around just below his normally calm demeanor.
“Enough!” Trelkar snapped. “Be gone! Both of you!”
Confused as they both were, Durik pulled Keryak away and the two yearlings hurried off. They both were sweating, but both of them for different reasons.
Chapter 3 – A Large Family
“Please, please, please!” the young whelp yelled as he tugged at his older brother’s floor-length tail. “Please, before bedtime?”
Grumbling, though not too loudly, Arbelk finally gave in. Laying the rough piece of hemp rope he’d been twisting down on the table, he reached out his arms. “Come here, little monster!” he growled as he grabbed the whelp and hoisted him up onto his knee.
That he’d been working on knots or that he was still very sore from training in the underdark meant nothing to Arbelk’s little brother. All he knew was that he wanted a wolf-back ride. Like always, Arbelk had put aside his personal interests and obliged.
As the little kobold whelp bounced up and down on his older brother’s knee, laughing and squealing with glee, Arbelk tried to shush him. It was no use, however, and soon their mother came through the tent flap that partitioned their room off from the rest of the cloth-walled house that was their home.
“Arbelk and Haam!” she scolded them. “You two are making enough noise for the whole warrior group to hear!” She walked forward and tweaked the little one’s snout. “Haam, even with all the dwellings in here, you know how that high pitched squeal of yours carries through the cavern!”
Haam got a pouting look on his face as he got off of Arbelk’s knee and sat down on the straw mattress that was his bed. It was obvious, though, that the pouting was a shallow façade to hide his smile.
“Arbelk, it’s time for the little ones to go to sleep now. Do you have time before your meeting tonight to tell them a story?” his mother asked.
Arbelk pretended to groan then looked at his little brother who had his hands over his mouth, trying hard not to laugh. “I guess so,” he said with poorly faked despondency.
“Goody! Goody!” Haam screamed a little too loud for everyone’s comfort.
“Very well.” Their mother smiled. She turned and let the cloth door fall back into place. “Fim, Gack, Iggy, Ji and Ki, it’s bed time.” Arbelk could hear her calling his youngest siblings in the other room. There were several groans and moans until his mom added “Arbelk says he has time for another story.” With shouts of glee, Arbelk could hear his little brothers and sisters coming. Five more little kobolds came through the tent flap in a flurry, with his two-year-old twin sisters Ji and Ki trailing behind the rest. All of them landed on the bed, giggling as they wrestled around on the straw mattress for the bed sheet.
Arbelk watched them for a moment, feeling lucky at being part of such a large family. He knew only too well how most of the warrior groups in the outer caverns had lost many of their whelps in the orc raid six years ago now. But here in the caverns of the Deep Guard Warrior Group, his family had been left untouched. The orc raiders had penetrated deep into his gen’s home caverns, but not this deep.
“Now, now,” he said loud enough for his siblings to hear him over their own noise. “Time to get into bed! Come now, settle down.”
As some semblance of order began to take shape among the six little whelps, Fim, the oldest of them at eight years of age, looked him in the eyes. “We want another story, Arbelk!” he demanded.
“Yeah! Yeah!” a chorus of voices echoed in support of the request as the group of whelps sat up and stared at their oldest brother with great anticipation.
“Well, just one,” Arbelk answered. “But you must lay down and be quiet first.” So hungry were they for the new stories Arbelk had learned during his year of training that, amazingly enough, all six of them obediently laid down and pulled the covers up to their little snouts. They were so quiet that Arbelk could hear some of the older group of his younger siblings eating their evening snack in the other rooms of their dwelling. They too were strangely quiet and Arbelk suspected they might be listening as well.
“A long time ago,” Arbelk started.
“Oh, I love it when a story starts with that!” the oldest of the little ones exclaimed.
“Yes, Fim. As I was saying, a long time ago there was a person who had magical powers. He was called The Sorcerer.” Arbelk spoke in a deep voice as held up his arms in a scary fashion.
“Was he a kobold or an orc?” the oldest of the little whelps asked.
“Neither, Fim. He was a human.”
“A hooman?” Fim asked. “What’s that?”
Arbelk got that ‘thinking’ look on his face as he pondered how to explain such strange creatures to his young audience. “Well, they’re like us, but without tails or horns, or even scales.” Arbelk held up his hands as he thought about the pictures he’d been shown of human warriors. “They don’t have snouts either; their faces are flat, flatter than orc faces even” he said as he marked the differences off on his fingers. “They have skin the color of pigskin. They don’t have sharp teeth, just short ones.”
All his younger siblings looked at each other in wonder and disgust. “Wow, they sound pretty silly looking.”
“Well, I’d imagine that they don’t think so,” he reasoned. “Oh, and they’re a little taller than orcs; probably as tall as mama standing on papa’s shoulders.”
All his younger siblings giggled as they thought of mama doing something so silly as standing on papa’s shoulders.
“Well, this Sorcerer… some say it was him that made kobolds,” Arbelk explained.
Fim, who was old enough to know better, piped up. “No, that can’t be. I know how kobolds are made. They come from mama’s stomach!”
Arbelk couldn’t argue with that logic. “Well, everyone has different opinions don’t they?” he said. This seemed to placate his younger brother. “Anyway, this Sorcerer, he lived in a huge castle, which is like a cave that someone builds above ground.” His younger siblings all looked at him in utter amazement and wonder. “And do you know who lived there with him?” he asked.
“More hoomans?” Fim guessed.
“Probably,” Arbelk continued. “But a long time ago, it’s said that many kobolds lived with him. They say that these kobolds lived in this big castle. It was called Palacid.”
“Why would they want to live with such a funny looking hooman in Plashik?” Gack asked.
“Palacid, Gack,” Arbelk corrected. “It’s even said that a dragon once lived there,” Arbelk whispered hoarsely as he held his hands up like dragon’s claws and growled at his younger siblings. They all feigned being scared and ended up laughing.
“That’s why they wanted to live there!” Gack exclaimed.
“I’m scary!” Iggy, the three year old cried, meaning she was scared.
Arbelk patted her hornless head soothingly. “Not only that, it’s also said that the spirits of those who died before the kobolds came there still haunt the place.” Arbelk put his hands to his cheeks and moaned woefully. All his little siblings jumped under the covers and screamed with fear, some of it in play.
“Arbelk!” his mother called from the other room. “Please don’t scare them just before bed time. You know they won’t sleep if you do.”
“Yes, mama,” he called then turned back to the bright eyes and attentive looks of his younger siblings. “But anyway,” he continued, “if Palacid does still exist, it’s probably just an old ruin by now.” All his younger siblings moaned. Arbelk then leaned forward and whispered, “But I’d imagine it’s still ha
unted.”
All his younger siblings tried to suppress giggles as they jumped under the covers.
Arbelk stood. “It’s time for sleepy time now,” he said as he patted each one of their hornless heads and watched as they scooted down into the covers and tried to lay still. “Good night,” he called back to them as he turned and walked out of the room.
In the outer room of his family’s dwelling, Arbelk’s remaining younger siblings were finishing their snack, giving hugs and getting ready for bed. One by one they each gave Arbelk a hug, hitting each other or giggling to each other as they went into the two rooms that they all shared.
“Goodnight Begat, Chala, and Dora,” he told the three oldest ones as they shuffled off to bed, Begat calmly to his room and his two sisters giggling to each other as they went to the other room. After them came the older twins who, unlike the younger twins, were not identical at all. In fact one was male and the other female. “Goodnight Epo and Epa,” Arbelk said as they both hugged him, the two of them slapping at each other as they fought for the last hug.
“Ok, ok!” Arbelk pushed the two of them away at the same time, so neither could claim the last hug. With lips twisted in mock frustration, the twins continued slapping at each other until Arbelk shooed them to their respective rooms.
Having seen his younger siblings off to bed, Arbelk sighed and came and sat down on the sand in the middle of the great room, across the room from his father who had just sat back down after helping get the children ready for bed. On the wall hung a scrap of flaxen parchment with his drawing of a dragon on it that he had brought home, much to the delight of his younger siblings. He smiled thinking of the endless games such a simple thing had spawned.
“So many whelps,” his father exclaimed as he shook his head. “It wears a kobold out.”
“You didn’t have to carry them!” his mother called from the other room.
His father nodded his head, “True, true.” He turned his attention to Arbelk. “So, after two moons in the underdark, are you still determined to be a… um… Bridge Master?” he asked.
