The Game of Fates

by Joel Babbitt

  “All right, then. I think that about does it for forging this company into a cohesive unit. Are there any questions?” Manebrow asked. There was much whispering and low discussion, but no questions anyone wanted to bring out before the group.

  “My warriors,” Durik stepped forward. “We all have talked about some of the ways that we need to change how we operate as a company. So, taking a cue from the rules written on the walls in Manebrow’s old caverns of training, we’ve come up with our own set of company rules.” With a flourish, Durik unrolled the parchment he’d brought with him.

  “First rule is that no one is to ever be alone. We’ve codified this in how we’re organized.

  “Second rule is to take care of yourselves. Watch your feet for blisters. Drink lots of water. Sleep when we let you. Keep wounds clean and bandaged so they don’t fester. Make sure your teammates are taking care of themselves as well.

  “Third rule is, when we’re on the march, we move stealthily. See the enemy first.”

  These were rules based on what they had been taught in the caverns of training under Manebrow’s careful tutelage, yet they were adapted to an adventuring company. As Durik read these three rules and the rest of them as well, nineteen in all, most of them practical guidelines for dealing with how they would maneuver in the wilds, he could feel the resolve of his company growing. As he looked up from reading the last standing order, in the eyes of his company he could see that he’d ignited a fire. “Are we agreed?” Durik called out.

  He was met with a resounding chorus of positive answers. The Standing Orders were a success and, in the days to come, would prove to be quite a topic of discussion among the members of the company. Seated off to one side, Krebbekar and his two warriors had also listened intently as each one was read.

  “Kiria will make a copy of the Standing Orders for each of the leaders. These are to be read every night by each member of the company.”

  “Well then,” Durik said as he turned to Manebrow, “if you’ve nothing further, second, then I’d say it’s time for the team leaders to organize their teams, then get to divvying out the company’s equipment, and then get to bed.”

  Manebrow nodded and dismissed the company to their respective team leaders. Though there were many details not yet answered, the company had a plan and was organized. Because of that, most doubts and issues with the organization either resolved themselves or were easily resolved shortly thereafter. By the end of the evening, the entire company knew their place, knew what was expected of them, and had the equipment to carry out those responsibilities.

  Durik, already knowing what had been decided and having pulled back to let his leaders do it, spent most of the evening writing in the Journal of the Quest for the Kale Stone, as the blank book the ancient Lore Master of the gen had given him was named. It was not a task he enjoyed, but the fact that he’d not yet even so much as opened the book had been nagging on his conscience all day. He was not one to rest well when there was still work to be done. Taking a break from his efforts, Durik took a while to read Kiria’s treatise on the Hall of the Mountain King which the Lore Master had placed in the front of the journal. It was detailed and contained a rough sketch of the innards of the place. It was obvious to Durik that there was much more knowledge to be had than the brief bit written there. He resolved to talk this over in more length with Kiria on the morrow and got back to recording the events of the past few days. As the night wore on and the candle burned low, Durik found a logical stopping place and closed the book, feeling good about how far he’d gotten to this point.

  Durik was not the only one writing that night, however. Kiria too burned a candle low making four copies of the Standing Orders of Durik’s Company, one for each team, as well as one for Krebbekar who had asked her for a copy. As she traced each word, she began to get the mentality that went into forming them. Though she may never be a full warrior like her companions, she was beginning to understand, appreciate, and take on some of the qualities of these warriors. Perhaps most key, discipline was becoming an important part of her life. Having finally finished the last copy, she blew out the remaining stub of her candle and fell into a deep, well deserved slumber.

  That night, in the safety of the quarters, the entire company slept better than they had for a number of days. Somehow the confidence of having a plan, and having confidence in that plan, seemed to wash away much of their fears, though the night was not without its nightmares, however diminished they were.

  Chapter 9 – Arren’s Quest

  Trallik and the tall elf, Arren e-Arnor, had walked far that morning under the late spring sun. They had passed a somewhat large lake that sat squarely at the base of the northern foothills before beginning the gradual climb toward the canyons that were formed by the folds in the base of the mountains.

  Arren had discovered early in their march that Trallik could track by scent, and from that point onward he had encouraged Trallik to use his talent, not to smell for orc, for their scent was all over the trail, but rather to smell for anything else that might be of danger.

  As time passed and the pair encountered nothing more than squirrels and an occasional deer, Trallik began to feel less tense about their surroundings. With this confidence came a curiosity about the elf’s quest.

  “What are you doing here in the southern valleys?” Trallik asked the much taller Arren.

  “As I said already, I’m on a quest to find something that was lost,” he replied.

  “Yes, I know that. What I mean is who sent you, and what is it that you’re searching for?”

  Arren took his eyes from the forest around them for a moment as they walked along under the newly budding boughs of the great oak trees that inhabited this part of the southern valley. “How old are you, young one?” Arren asked.

  Trallik was taken aback by the question. “I am recently fifteen years of age, and have just passed my trial of adulthood. Why do you ask?”

  “And how old are the leaders of your gen?” Arren asked without answering Trallik’s question.

  “Lord Karthan is in his thirties, I believe. Some of the council members are younger, but there are some that are ancient, perhaps almost three-quarters of a century old or more,” Trallik answered.

  Arren nodded understandingly. “Seventy-five years ago I was a leader among my people’s war bands. My war band was called the Sword of King and Country, which is what my name translates to in The Sorcerer’s Tongue. I had already been in command of that war band for over a century, and that was after a century of serving in staff and lesser command positions.”

  Trallik looked at the elf with mouth agape. “How old are you?”

  Arren looked down at the young kobold. “I am recently five hundred years of age, a few seasons ago already to be more precise. Among my people, if a person aspires to one of the higher positions in our society, then one must perform what is called a life quest. But one may not simply decide to do such a thing, rather it must be declared much in advance, researched thoroughly, and presented to our councils. Additionally, it must be started during one’s five hundredth year.”

  Trallik nodded his understanding. He was beginning to understand that there was much to this world that he not only did not know about, but had never thought possible.

  “To answer your question of who sent me, let me say simply that the council recommended approval to my father, the prince of our nation, and that he approved. So, one could say that many people sent me, or that I sent myself, for isn’t that also true?”

  Though somewhat confused, Trallik nodded as though he understood. After several moments of walking along in silence, he looked up at the elf again. “But you did not tell me what you seek?”

  Arren laughed. It was a clear, gentle laugh, one well practiced over his long life span. “You are right, my young kobold. I seek something that was lost when I had walked the face of Dharma Kor for several fewer years.” He looked down at Trallik before continuing. “I seek a key to a set of g
ates; a key which should never have been lost. My people keep many prophecies, and fortuitously enough for the purpose of deciding which quest I would fulfill, we appear to be approaching the time when several of them are supposed to be fulfilled.

  “Many take a fatalistic view to prophecy, stating that all prophecy must be fulfilled. I, however, do not adhere to that way of thinking, and I intend to do my part to prevent them from occurring.”

  Trallik was intrigued. Though Arren had not answered his question completely, his answer had sparked several questions. “What gates does this key open and what does it look like?” he asked.

  “I will recognize it when I see it,” Arren put off Trallik’s question. “However, let me say that it does not actually open the gates that I want to keep sealed, at least not without some other keys that are not all accounted for either. And that, I think, is enough of an explanation for my young guide.”

  As they walked along for a bit more, Trallik could see that he was not going to get anything further from Arren, and was still a bit stuck on how old he was. “You’re really five hundred years old?” he asked. The elf’s youthful appearance and vigor seemed to go completely against the statement.

  Arren smiled a knowing smile. “Long ago, before my race came to this world of Dharma Kor, my people strained all the impurities out of our bodies. We researched the deepest of secrets and discovered things which have been lost to history now for many lives of elves. Because of this, the lifespan of an elf is usually a thousand years.” Arren looked down at the young kobold and watched as his imagination tried to grasp ;the concept of living for what to him must seem like such a long time. “I am middle-aged, though of course I will not begin to show any signs of age for at least another three or four centuries.”

  Trallik did not seem to be able to fully grasp the concept. ‘A long time ago’ to him meant twenty to fifty years. ‘Ancient history’ to him was a term that meant more than a century ago. ‘The dawn of time’ to him usually meant some time around a thousand years ago, back when his race was created.

  “So if you’re five hundred years old, you were around long before the northern gens fell,” Trallik stated.

  Arren nodded his head. “I was a young warrior at that time, striving to master my style of fighting, though I had already stood the line against several an orc horde mind you. Now this event you speak of, the fall of the northern gens, I would not have known about, except that this key I search for was lost at that time.”

  Trallik stubbed his toe on a root and stopped to rub it before continuing, his tail waving about calmly behind him. “What happened to cause the northern gens to fall?” he asked.

  “I do not know much about the kobold invasion of the Great Forest, nor of the kobold lord who led it. What I do know, however, is that the key he lost to the orcs and a stone of power had among the orcs were used to open a great portal to the world my people fled from long ago.”

  “Another world?” Trallik asked in astonishment.

  “Why yes, little kobold,” Arren answered. “Does this expand your knowledge of the multiverse?” he asked, using a term unfamiliar to Trallik.

  “Yes! Where could this other world be?” he asked.

  Arren pointed upwards. “It is far from here, among the most distant stars. Long before your race was created my race came from a group of worlds actually, called the Celestial Realms by my people. The other races came from there also, though long after our race had already fled.”

  “What was your race fleeing from?” Trallik asked, intrigued by this knowledge.

  “In the Celestial Realms we were led by rulers who were as just as they were wise. However, as we reached the pinnacle of our development, and for some the pinnacle of our pride, the son of our greatest ruler sought his father’s throne. He did not succeed, however, and was cast out. Taking with him the secrets of our great power, he twisted the most militant of the elves to make hobgoblins. From humans he made orcs, and from dwarves he formed goblins. By deception he enslaved the other races. Our rulers, seeing that our cause was lost, formed eight great gates, through which we, the descendants of those rulers, escaped to this world of Dharma Kor. This fallen prince’s name is not spoken, but our race calls him what he is; the Fallen Prince. However, the brutal races revere him as the Dark Prince. He found strange and unnatural ways to prolong his life, and as such he is still in charge of his forces after these tens of thousands of years.”

  “Do these gates have anything to do with the eight stones of power The Sorcerer gave to the eight races?” Trallik asked.

  Arren laughed. “Well, without meaning to, I seem to have revealed more than I thought I would. You seem to have more knowledge of these things than the kobolds I have met as well. How strange that I should find a kobold both with a knowledge of this lore and who speaks The Sorcerer’s tongue as well,” he mused. “If only there were such as you wherever I went, but alas, there are many servants of the Fallen Prince on this side of the gates that seek to open them to him; the hobgoblin empire and a cabal of red dragons seem to top that list lately.” Arren seemed to ponder on that last statement for a moment or two.

  “You have guessed right, little one,” he continued as he looked down at Trallik. “When the power of the elves began to wane before the hordes of the brutal races almost a thousand years ago now in the past, threatening to leave the gates unprotected, The Sorcerer created the eight stones to seal those same eight gates I mentioned. These eight stones were not given power to open their gates alone, however. No, they all require the ninth stone to open.”

  Trallik walked along in silence for several moments. This lore was much beyond what he had ever heard in the past. His world had grown almost unfathomably larger, and he was sifting through it all in his mind. “This ninth stone, then, is the key you… and these dragons seek,” he said. Fear was audible in his voice at the mere mention of dragons.

  Arren nodded and spoke soothing words. “Do not fear, though, little one. None know its location. I and those who work with me will find it before any hobgoblin or red dragon has a chance to get their hands on it.”

  “So you know where it is, then?” Trallik pressed.

  “Not exactly,” Arren answered him. “Mostly I have histories, bits of knowledge passed down through the centuries, and prophecies to follow. What I do know is that it was last used by a great orc chieftain in conjunction with the orc stone to open the orc race’s gate at the bottom of the great canyon far to the north of here known as the Abyss, which lies in the very heart of the Great Forest. Many were the demons that came through it, from the shattered worlds that once were my people’s home.

  “As I said, I was a much younger elf at the time, and my people lost much of their strength in the great battles that it took to fight back the vanguard of that evil horde. But fight them back we did, and Tilward, a human paladin, summoned forth great powers from the ancestors to seal the gate before the Fallen Prince could fully muster his forces.” Arren looked off into the distance as the memories came back to him. “I lost many a friend in that struggle.”

  He sighed and looked back down at the young kobold. “It is mostly to prevent further death and destruction that I quest, for I seek to keep the Fallen Prince’s hordes from entering our world again.”

  Trallik had gotten his answer and pondered silently on all the elf had told him for some time as the pair walked along the winding trail up through the foothills under the cover of the oaks. His mind had been opened to much that lay beyond the lore of his people and he doubted his outlook on the world would ever be the same again.

  Not much farther up the trail, Arren stopped suddenly and, reaching down, grabbed Trallik by the shoulder. Placing his long pole weapon in its sheath on his back, Arren drew his bow and a broad tipped arrow. Quietly, the pair stepped off the path and into the forest. After several moments of trying to get a better view of whatever he had seen on the path ahead, Arren stepped out from behind the tree and began to walk quietly up the tra
il. Trallik picked up a flat rock nearby and followed behind him.

  In moments, the pair came up over a rise. Though Trallik was alert, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just ahead of him, Arren had lowered his bow and was pointing off the path to the right.

  Trallik walked to where the elf indicated and immediately saw what he was pointing at. Off to one side of the trail the young, spring grass was obviously depressed as though someone had sat there for some time, probably having slept against the tree that was there. Trallik did not need the elf to tell him what had slept there, however. The place reeked of orc. If the scent was not enough, the foul bloodstains on the tree and on a makeshift bandage that had been cast aside confirmed to the eye what Trallik’s nose had already made clear.

  “It would appear that we have a wounded orc in the area,” Arren observed.

  Trallik nodded his head. “We killed a small group of renegade orcs far to the west of here. Also, I saw a band of orcs probably the night before last, and I heard the others in my party speak of fighting orcs on the path to the eastern gen. That would have been yesterday morning, I believe. Perhaps this is one that got away.”

  Arren turned the foul bandage over with the tip of his arrow and knelt next to it. He studied it intensely for several moments then looked up at Trallik. “This orc will probably not last long. His lung has been pierced. The fluid from it is all over this bandage, and it is tainted slightly yellow. The infection will likely overcome him in time. I would imagine that he will not waste his effort on dallying about. I would expect he will make for his tribe’s caves with whatever haste he can muster.”