by Joel Babbitt
He had not expected to encounter such a powerful magic user, elsewise he’d not have sent his bumbling guards to their doom. This little kobold’s magic was strange, though. It burned with a holy fire that assaulted his dark venal heart. The purity of it burned his consciousness, seeming to melt his unholy soul like the fragile frost of morning before the rising sun. Manechar’s sole thought turned quickly from destroying the little kobold to fleeing from the overwhelming power of this being of light.
As if the power of the little kobold weren’t enough, suddenly the stone he’d taken from the idiot Skunk earlier, the Kale Stone, assaulted his consciousness as well. The overwhelming power that emanated from the little kobold, mixed with the vengeful power of the Kale Stone flanking him, drove Manechar to despair.
With a wild roar Manechar grabbed his belt and ripped it off of himself, pouches and all, throwing it to the side in the hopes that it would blunt the assault of the Kale Stone that sat in one of the pouches. Turning around, the orc shaman ran wildly with dazzled eyes toward the exit not far behind him. Knocking chairs and a table to one side, Manechar grasped desperately for the handle of the cool stone door. Finally finding the handle, he pulled with all his might.
The door didn’t budge. It seemed as sealed as was his own doom.
Turning with sightless eyes, Manechar sensed the presence of the little kobold coming up behind him. Burning through the mist that clouded his eyes, the light that emanated from the little kobold outlined his form… and that of his sword.
>> <<
With fire in his own eyes, Durik stopped just in front of a shield of fire the shaman had quickly erected. Holding out his sword, the wall of fire that raged in front of him began to split. As Durik cut along the base of the wall with his sword, the strength of the wall failed and the fire died.
Durik followed the shaman to the far door. Almost as if he had done it all his life, Durik willed the far door to be sealed. Then, bending down, he opened the pouch that the orc had dropped. The Kale Stone rolled out and Durik took it in his left hand. The power of it was almost mute next to the power of Morgra which filled the room.
Raising his sword, Durik stepped toward the tall, cowering orc. He knew what he must do, but… he hesitated. Was this orc not defenseless now, in the face of Morgra’s power?
Kill him, the voice came into Durik’s mind. In his mind’s eye, however, he could still see the blood of the first orc he’d killed. The image of trying to wash it off his hand afterward was permanently etched in his mind.
But I’ve killed so much, Durik thought, and he hesitated longer.
Kill him, the voice came again into his mind. In front of Durik, the orc shaman sat with arms in front of him, his back against the door, wailing and crying, pleading for his life. Durik couldn’t help but feel pity for the creature, even though it had tried to kill him.
He hesitated, and the orc began to feel that perhaps he might live.
Kill him, the voice came a third time into his mind. Durik closed his eyes, feeling in his heart for what he should do.
It was at that exact moment that the orc shaman lunged at Durik, a hidden dagger now revealed in his right hand.
Caught slightly off guard, Durik stepped back from the much taller orc, but the length of the orc shaman’s reach was much greater than Durik’s pace, and in a split second the orc had lunged forward, reaching Durik in a single step and grabbing him by a shoulder belt.
Suddenly a flash of light from Jerrig sped past Durik, striking the shaman with a fiery crack as he lunged forward, stopping his advance and throwing him back a step. A moment later Keryak’s spear flew past Durik’s head, followed for good measure by Ardan’s arrow. The arrow was totally unnecessary, however, as the spear struck the shaman in the heart, throwing his lifeless body back against the far door, where it came to rest in a puddle of its own blood.
Durik looked back with thanks into the eyes of his faithful warriors… and friends, who had saved him from the shaman’s dagger. The brilliant light that had surrounded him quickly faded and soon the four kobolds were left in utter darkness, their eyes having been temporarily overcome by the power of fire and holy light.
Section II – Traitors Must Die
Chapter 1 – Return to the Kale Gen
The ride back home to the Kale Gen from Lord Krall’s forest had been strangely uneventful. Khazak Mail Fist, accompanied by a healer and a handful of dog riding warriors from Lord Krall’s house guard, had expected to meet the wolf riders that Lady Karaba had seen on the trail traveling toward the First Night’s Resting Place, but when he arrived there he found no one. That someone had been there was obvious, as his dead companions and the slaughtered dogs from the battle with the conspirators a few nights before were gone. After looking around the area a bit it was obvious, however, that the ants had gotten to them and hauled the bodies off. There was nothing left of the bodies except bloodstains and bits of torn equipment strewn here and there throughout the clearing.
Khazak was no tracker, but one of the house guard warriors who had accompanied him said it appeared to him that after searching the immediate area the wolf riders had taken a path that led off toward the north and west. Khazak didn’t know of any reason why they would have gone that way, as it only led off into untamed wilderness.
Not wanting to delay his return to the Kale Gen and Lord Karthan any more than necessary, Khazak drove his little party onward without any further delay. The rest of the trip passed uneventfully, and late that evening the wooden guard tower that sat beside the trail which marked the outer perimeter of the Kale Gen’s territory loomed large through the evening mist from the nearby lake which had begun to settle around them.
“Wait here,” Khazak Mail Fist said, holding out one metal-clad hand to his fellow riders from the Krall Gen. Dismounting, he passed the reins of the riding dog Lord Krall had lent him to the leader of the house guard warriors. “I’ll be back in a little bit. It’s better that I approach the post first. They may be a bit jumpy if the conspiracy here in the Kale Gen is still being rooted out.”
The leader of the house guard warriors, a rather grim faced kobold who wore an eye-patch and had several scars, nodded his understanding. “We will wait, sire.”
Behind the house guard leader sat Norgor the Healer, a middle-aged kobold who had never traveled outside the Krall Gen. He sat fidgeting nervously, fretting to himself about the mist as his mind conjured up images of monsters lurking therein. As Norgor sat twisting the hem of his earthen-colored robe, he could almost see shapes in the mist to either side of the company. It’s just trees and mist from the lake, he kept telling himself. The shapes almost seemed to be moving closer, however, and Norgor began to whimper ever so softly to himself, wishing he were anywhere but there at the moment.
“Um… I think…” Norgor started to mumble to the leader of the house guard, but the veteran warrior was too fixed on watching Khazak’s progress to the front of them to pay Norgor any attention.
“Um…” Norgor’s voice got a bit more urgent as distinct shapes began to form in the mist. “I think…” All of a sudden Norgor felt a sharp pain in his neck, next to his throat where the scales were small and thinner than most other places. Slapping at whatever had bit him, his hand came away holding a small dart. He looked at it quizzically, then all of a sudden his hand seemed to lose its grip and the dart dropped to the ground. Norgor tried to speak, but he just couldn’t force his throat to make any sounds. He began to feel dizzy, then suddenly he lost his grip on his riding dog and he fell heavily on his head, his eyes open in wonder, his body gone completely limp.
Norgor’s mind was reeling. His knowledge of drugs and poisons told him that the dart had to have been laced with giant centipede poison. After all, nothing else he knew of left one fully alert and aware, yet completely unable to move or act. From his new vantage point on the ground, Norgor the Healer’s rapidly unfocusing eyes watched as the leader of the house guard also dropped to the ground without so much
as a warning. Around him, he heard the rest of the house guard fall to the ground in rapid succession.
Suddenly, from the direction of the wooden tower, a blur of motion crossed Norgor’s field of vision. A battle cry was heard and the sound of metal connecting heavily with bone would have made Norgor wince, had he been able. A drama ensued which had all the traits of a powerful creature being brought slowly to its knees, going through death throw after successively weaker death throw until finally the main player fell and failed to rise again.
By the time the six darts of centipede poison had worked their collective will on Khazak Mail Fist, the elite warrior and three of his seven warriors that Khee-lar Shadow Hand had placed there specifically to bring down Khazak Mail Fist lay moaning or screaming, each with various broken bones, complements of Khazak’s rumbling skills and the new gauntlets Lord Krall had given him. Having been given strict orders to not harm anyone from the Krall Gen in their ambush, the four remaining able-bodied Kale Gen warriors drug the helpless Krall Gen warriors and healer into the wooden tower which had been unmanned since Lord Karthan’s overthrow a few sleepless days before that.
The most assertive of the four remaining warriors held the Krall Gen leader’s head up and pointed his unfocused eyes toward his own before speaking slowly and clearly to him. “Hey. Listen to me now. Lord Khee-lar is the new lord of our gen. He put us here to ensure no one came looking to change that; not Khazak, not any Krall Gen warriors. So we’re taking Khazak here back with us, and in a day or so when you’re able to, you and your riders go back and tell Lord Krall that we’ll not have any meddling in our internal affairs.”
Dropping the Krall Gen warrior’s head on the wood floor of the guard tower, the Kale Gen warrior joined his three compatriots in strapping Khazak over the back of the largest riding dog. Soon they had positioned their own four wounded compatriots on the backs of most of the remaining riding dogs. After making a cursory examination of the area to ensure they hadn’t forgotten anything, the small group of warriors began their trek back to the warm caves of their Kale Gen home.
Khee-lar Shadow Hand, self proclaimed Lord of the Kale Gen, sat on the high throne in the gen’s council chamber. Around him were arrayed the various functional and warrior leaders of the gen, functional leaders all seated at the curved table to his right and warrior group leaders seated at the curved table to his left. Many were the new faces he had installed over the past handful of days since he’d taken over the gen, mostly due to promises he’d made… though he certainly didn’t feel constrained to honor them all, and indeed there were several promises he did not honor. One of those was the topic of discussion at that very moment.
“But my lord, you promised us that you would repeal the laws of wealth and place all wealth in the hands of the elite warriors!” Yamok, the leader of the Patrol Guard Warrior Group, one of Lord Karthan’s original sub-leaders, was on his feet. He was not a necessarily evil kobold, but when several of his original elite warriors had cornered him on the night of the overthrow, he’d gone over to Khee-lar’s side. And it was this issue in particular that was the reason why so many of his elite warriors had decided to throw their support behind Khee-lar.
Lord Khee-lar now sat forward on the throne, the highly polished bronze crown of his assumed office glinting in the torchlight. “I did repeal the laws of wealth, dear Yamok… but I chose instead to gather all wealth to myself. Don’t worry. Those that serve me well shall be well rewarded. Now, please tell me you’re not questioning my judgment, are you?” he asked, an almost sadistic tone creeping into his voice.
Yamok didn’t recognize the danger immediately, and instead carried on venting his frustrations. “Sire, also, about the matter of taking concubines. The Scrolls of Heritage specifically state that the powers of child-bringing are only for lifemates, of which The Sorcerer himself said we are only to have one. You promised us you would follow the Scrolls of Heritage, yet you’re leading us away from them!” he pleaded.
Khee-lar Shadow Hand leaned forward. “How dare you question my judgment!”
Yamok finally recognized the danger in Khee-lar’s tone and, licking his lips as he looked around the council chamber, he noticed that everyone else there either would not meet his gaze, or their gaze was full of malice. It was almost as if they all knew a secret and he’d been deliberately left out.
“My lord,” he began in a much more meek and conciliatory tone, “I’m just saying that you promised us you’d follow the Scrolls, and that you’d change back the laws that Lord Karthan chang…”
Khee-lar stood up immediately. “I told you never to mention that name in my presence!” he screamed. “First you question my judgment, then you mention the name of the usurper? How dare you insult me so! I am the legitimate Lord of the Kale Gen! Karthan and his line had no claim!”
“But my lord, I… I…” Yamok stuttered, his face blanching with fear beneath translucent scales.
“Guards!” Khee-lar screamed, and six of his new elite warriors emerged from the shadows of the side entrance with blades drawn. With ruthless precision, the six of them sealed off the main entrance and surrounded the condemned warrior leader.
Knowing his time was short, Yamok stepped back from the table, those around him scrambling to get away from the condemned warrior as the circle of warriors closed around him. “Ham, Gibbid, I’ve known you for many years,” he pleaded with the two guards who were closest to him. “I’ve been your warrior group leader since you were just whelps! Please, you can’t do this!”
His pleas fell on deaf ears, however. The last several days of executing kobolds they had known all their lives, all to satiate the bloodlust of their new lord, had left the ‘Untouchables’ hardened and completely devoid of emotion. The fact that Lord Khee-lar had decreed that these six and four more warriors who carried the same title were above the laws meant that he had used them to do all the horrible things that any despot must do to eliminate challenges to his power in the first few days of his reign.
“Bring him forward,” Khee-lar commanded.
Unlike many that Lord Khee-lar had thus commanded to be brought to him for judgment, Yamok was no fat sub-minister or helpless female. Drawing his sword, Yamok swung it menacingly. The Untouchables had planned for this, however, and as Yamok held his blade out to keep the four of them out of striking range, the two Untouchables at the door threw spears at his exposed back. With a scream Yamok was driven to the ground.
Taking him by either arm, the Untouchables recovered their spears and brought the writhing, bleeding warrior group leader to the center of the council chamber to set him on the low, bloodstained bench that had seen much use in the past few days. Not wanting to miss the sport of the moment, Lord Khee-lar descended from his throne and walked to where the Untouchables were strapping down the whimpering, stunned form.
“My dear Yamok,” he almost smiled. “I’m sure you’re surprised by this whole chain of events.” Khee-lar paused as he lifted his gaze to the rest of the council, many of whose sadistic smiles mirrored his own. “Perhaps you’re as surprised as I was when I learned you were preparing to leave the gen with many from your warrior group.” He stopped and looked down at the dying warrior leader with mock sympathy. “But you wouldn’t have betrayed me, would you? No, not my loyal Yamok.”
At that moment the other four Untouchables arrived at the front entrance of the council chamber dragging a female kobold and two male whelps between them. Upon seeing Yamok stretched out on the execution bench, his lifemate began to wail and plead with her captors.
“Aha! Come, bring them in now,” Lord Khee-lar said as he waived the new arrivals in. “Well now, it wouldn’t be a proper gathering without the entire family, would it? Let’s see. What shall we do with the family of this soon-to-be-deceased traitor?” he asked flippantly as several around the table snickered at the hapless victims of Khee-lar’s cruelty. By this time, the female and her two whelps were crying hysterically.
“The Deep Guard could
use some more slaves to work fungus farms in the northern passages,” spoke a kobold with a rather smooth voice.
“Ah, yes, good thinking Kort. That’s why I put you in charge of the Deep Guard,” Khee-lar smiled. “And you’ll have both of the whelps for that very purpose. But surely this…” he said as he ripped Yamok’s lifemate’s simple robe off, “shouldn’t go to waste in the fungus farms!” There were several hoots, jeers, and lewd comments from most of the assembled council members.
“Aye, lord. But we’d make sure she got put to good use down there!” Kort replied. “We know what to do with the females of traitors in the Deep Guard!”
Lord Khee-lar eyed Yamok’s whimpering lifemate up and down with a lustful eye. She was much younger than Yamok, and the effort of bearing him two sons had done nothing to mar her shapeliness. “I’m sure you do,” he said almost absently. “For now, however, I’ll add her to my growing entourage of adoring concubines. Now that I’m lord of the gen, I seem to be very popular with the females,” Khee-lar said through a toothy grin as the rest of the council chuckled.
Looking down, he saw Yamok’s eyes roll back into his head as a last gasp of air left his lungs. “Ah! Incompetent fool! He couldn’t even stay alive long enough for us to execute him!” Yamok’s family’s wails increased as they realized their lifemate and father was no more. “So be it then. Take them away, then, and clean up this mess,” he said as he waved his hand at the still form of Yamok and his wailing family.
Even as Lord Khee-lar was gathering power to himself, and using that power to build a government whose purposes were bent to the overriding purposes of satiating every appetite or suppressed desire he had ever had, Lord Karthan and the many who had fled their gen’s home to support him were hard at work, sacrificing all they had to the purpose of preparing to confront Khee-lar and his minions, for word of the many injustices Khee-lar had wrought upon those that had stayed behind had reached them. The thought that many of their families were within his grasp drove many of them to despair, several of them attempting to return alone to the gen to save their families. Finally, Lord Karthan had commanded that none should return alone, but that they should march on the gen and take it back within a few short days.
