The Game of Fates

by Joel Babbitt

  They had found a thicket that was hollowed in the middle and, after chasing a family of deer out of it, the pair made a bed for themselves in the leaves and snuggled together in the gathering darkness.

  Taking his mess kit out of his old Kale Gen pack, Trallik began searching around for dry sticks. After a while he had a nice, cozy fire going that lit up the thicket nicely. With a pinch of seasoning from a small pouch he’d carried with him in his backpack, soon the savory aroma of pork cooking in a tin filled the thicket.

  “Trallik,” Trikki began tentatively as she sat on a pillow of leaves next to him, “if our baby is a girl, will you love her just the same?”

  Trallik hadn’t really put much thought into the whole baby thing since she’d mentioned it, preferring to focus himself on keeping watch for the various nasty things that wandered around the valley from time to time. But even with that, he had learned enough how to hurt her.

  “Of course. Maybe even more,” he lied. If he was going to have whelps running around, he wanted to start with a son… or two or three. Perhaps he could teach them how to be adults. He certainly felt he’d learned enough from his father… of the wrong way to do it, that is… so it shouldn’t be hard to teach his own whelps what the right way was. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing his father again. He hadn’t looked up to his father for years, and he didn’t really want to hear the torrent of mediocre advice his father would have for him.

  Trikki sat silently beside him, lost in her own thoughts.

  Just then Trallik felt something he’d never felt before. All of a sudden he felt that, just maybe, he couldn’t go throwing blame at his own father or pick incessantly at his own father’s weaknesses like he had for the past couple of years before leaving the gen. Perhaps it came from the fact that he was going to be a father, then again perhaps it was this past week or so out on his own. He didn’t know. The feeling didn’t stick for long, however, and Trallik could feel himself slipping back into his old, negative mindset as he thought more and more about going home.

  Next to him, Trikki could see his face darken in the light of the fire.

  “What is it, Trallik? What are you thinking about?” she asked.

  Trallik’s brows rose. “Huh? Oh, nothing. Just thinking about my family, my father especially.”

  “Tell me about them, will you?” she asked with genuine interest.

  Trallik paused for more than a moment. Did he really want to talk about his family?

  “Well, there’s not much to tell, really. My father is a fungus farmer in the Deep Guard Warrior Group in our gen. He’s a know-it-all who’s always giving advice, especially when it’s not wanted.” Trallik knew it was a harsh and unfair thing to say, even as he said it.

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say!” Trikki called him on it.

  Trallik looked down at his feet. “Yeah, I know.”

  “You shouldn’t say things like that about your family,” she pressed.

  “I know. It’s just that… well…” he stumbled over the words.

  “Trallik, in the end all we have is family,” Trikki said, which sounded strange to Trallik, considering the only family she’d ever mentioned was her mother.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said, looking down and throwing bits of dried leaf into the fire. They sat that way for a while, until Trallik felt to speak again. “I guess it’s just that… well, it takes a while to figure out that your parents don’t know everything. I guess it’s just taken me a while to figure out that I don’t know everything either.”

  “It’s alright, love,” Trikki caressed his arm with her hand. “You’ll make a good father. Just you wait and see.”

  Trallik nodded. After a while, he stood and strapped on his belt with his two long knives on it. “I better go out and have a look around.”

  “Oh, don’t leave me alone!”

  “I won’t go far, Trikki,” he reassured her. “I just need to have a look around to make sure we’re safe here.” With that he turned to go, squeezing out through the hole the deer had made in the thicket. After letting his eyes adjust for several moments, he walked a short distance through the trees until he could no longer see the light of their fire. Having counted his paces, he knew that the light from their fire carried a good fifty paces. The heat from it, however, would show much further with the heat vision of his race, but he wasn’t worrying about what kobolds could see, since the only kobolds in the southern valley were likely to be friendly to him.

  As he walked a wide perimeter around the thicket, he came upon a small clearing. Skirting the far edge of it, he got a glimpse of the mountains that ringed the northern edge of the valley. Stopping suddenly, he peered up toward where the Chop had to be. There, climbing the Chop, was a small group of what appeared to be kobolds with packdogs. He wondered about that. Perhaps the southern gens had been alerted to the presence of the orc horde? Perhaps it was just a caravan making a run over the mountain? But then who were the kobolds up at the top of the Chop watching them? Perhaps it was his old party, Durik’s Company? He doubted that too, as there only seemed to be six of them. With the way the lead kobold seemed to be pulling the rest of them along, he wouldn’t doubt if that was Gorgon.

  Deep in his heart, Trallik longed to be with his companions yet again. And yet, even as he yearned, he thought about all that he had gained since he had left them. If he had still been with them, would he have found Trikki? If he had still been with them, would he have been able to go back to his home? Perhaps it was for the best that he had been cast out of Durik’s Company. Though the emotion of it would take some time to pass, Trallik decided that, ultimately, it probably was for the best.

  The next morning, not long before the light of dawn took away his heat vision, as Trallik made another sweep of the area he watched the rest of Durik’s Company make its way up the final switchback of the Chop. Though the light was just beginning to appear over the eastern mountains, Trallik could see them clearly enough in the pre-dawn darkness. Packdogs, riding wolves, what had to be crossed shoulder belts over their chests, and the shields that they’d all been issued that night not long ago in the council chamber of the Kale Gen.

  He was sure it was his old companions.

  Chapter 6 – Seizing the Outpost

  Durik sat cross-legged holding the Kale Stone for some time as the rest of his party searched the shaman’s quarters and filtered through the treasure trove, claiming the most valuable and portable pieces for the Kale Gen. Manebrow didn’t have that fine of an eye for such things, so Kiria helped him divine which pieces were the most valuable. The alchemical training she had received from her mother so many years ago came back readily enough. Soon she had bit enough coins, scratched enough pieces of cut glass, and seen enough corrosion to have filtered out the worthless baubles and identified the valuable pieces, enough to fill one sack for each of the seven of them to tie onto their backpacks.

  During the entire process, Durik sat still with his eyes open staring off someplace unseen by the rest of his party. The only indication that he was alive was the occasional flinch or narrowing of his eyes, as though he were focusing on some unseen object or vista.

  The rest of the scouting party had left him alone, seeing the strain that the mysterious power had wrought upon him as it left. There had been many looks of amazement and wonder from the rest of the party; amazement that, as Kiria had revealed, their leader had been chosen as some sort of paladin or receptacle of the power of a god-like being, known only by the name of Morgra, and wonder at the power that had been manifested.

  At first they had fallen on their knees in front of him, as if to worship him, but Durik had quickly raised them to their feet, telling them that ‘The Sorcerer said that the Creator is the only one we’re to revere.’ But the power that had manifested itself through Durik had filled their hearts, burning any baser feelings from those who witnessed it, and had uplifted them like nothing before had.

  Ardan, Keryak, and Jerrig had all se
en it with their own eyes, and yet as the power passed it seemed almost as if it had never been there. Keryak, in awe at what was happening to this kobold who just days before had been nothing more than his childhood friend, spent much time looking at his friend stare off into space.

  From the room that served as a treasure chamber Kiria’s voice broke through Keryak’s consciousness. She spoke words of some tongue that was unknown to Keryak, but the power of the speech felt strangely comfortable as it rose in force and heightened in intensity. As Keryak approached the door, Kiria released the charm on her necklace and splayed her hand out in a commanding gesture in a circle around the room, turning herself about in the process. In a matter of moments a number of items throughout the room began to glow, most of them faintly, though the spear that Keryak had found and now held in his hand, a book they’d found on the shaman, and a set of gem stones glowed much brighter than the rest.

  “What is this spell she’s cast?” Keryak asked Ardan who stood in the doorway, astonished at his glowing spear, but more astonished by the fact that the glow carried no heat nor caused him any pain.

  “Kiria noticed several runes inscribed on some of the items here. Some are runes of preservation, others are runes of efficacy or strengthening, and still others that she doesn’t recognize.” Ardan said, then, noticing that Keryak’s spear was glowing, his brows raised. “You should take that over to Kiria. Have her divine its strengths and purposes as well.”

  Manebrow stood to one side of Kiria, who was quickly looking over the many items that glowed with a lesser light.

  “These that glow less brightly have no greater magic than that which the runes inscribed upon them say,” Kiria was saying. “That is, they contain runes of preservation and strengthening. Though their magic has preserved them from corrosion over these thousand years or so since the dwarves fashioned them, and kept them from breaking or otherwise being ruined despite the much use they may have seen, they contain no greater magic nor any hidden functions other than that which is obvious by the item they are.”

  “Well, these runes of proof against corrosion and breaking are much in and of themselves!” Manebrow replied. “Though it doesn’t matter to me on the jewelry and other fancy items, these swords, bows, and other weapons… and maybe even those pieces of armor that have these runes of preservation and strengthening on them will certainly prove useful, though almost all of these were clearly made for bigger folk than kobolds.”

  Keryak could barely contain his enthusiasm as he stepped forward. “And what of this spear I found?” he asked.

  Kiria turned and began to examine it, reading the runes that were inscribed along its length as well as on its head. Then, grasping the spear in both hands, Keryak could see that she was struggling to understand the power of the weapon.

  “It has a greater power,” Kiria began. “It has… a name!” she was genuinely surprised. “It is called ‘The Guardian’, and it follows the will of whomever wields it. Though it is not intelligent, per se, the magic weaved into it gives it some motion of its own. Here, move back.”

  Casting the spear into the air, she spoke a command word, something dwarfish sounding. Before the spear could clatter to the ground, it stopped, poised in the air. Pointing to the corpse of one of the two orc warriors who lay stretched out in the next room, Kiria spoke another command word. Like a bolt of lightning the spear flew straight and true into the side of the orc warrior, impaling the still form of the dead orc. Then, as effortlessly as its strike, it flew back to Kiria to hover in the air in front of her as if standing guard over her.

  Keryak stood in wonder, but soon was playing with the metal spear, tentatively at first and then vigorously, causing it to dance and spin about as he willed it.

  It was not long, however, before Manebrow gathered him and Ardan to give them a task. Having found a secret staircase behind a door that was hidden behind a tapestry in the far room, Manebrow sent Ardan and Keryak back up to scout around, carrying sacks of jewelry and orders for the rest of the company, except the prisoners and a couple of guards, to come up and occupy the entrance cavern, in case the scouting party was discovered.

  The staircase ended in what seemed to be a blank wall, but after searching around for some time Keryak found a loose stone that, when pulled, caused the wall in front of them to slide noiselessly open, revealing the common chamber beyond with its two wells.

  “Wow, that’s pretty clever,” he remarked.

  “Dwarven engineering, my friend,” Ardan replied, their voices low in the darkness of the orc’s hideout.

  Keryak nodded and, following Ardan’s hand gesture, moved out stealthily back the way they had originally come. A passage later they were staring around a corner at what had been a raucous party. It still appeared to be, but only orc voices could be heard now, though none were visible at the portion of the table the pair could see. It seemed that the orc brew was a bit much for the kobold mercenaries and the female kobold slaves they had been carousing with. Every one of them that was visible lay sprawled out on the floor or slumped over the table in the light of the lone candle.

  Moving quickly past the feasting hall, the pair moved up the passages and stairs, out into the entrance cavern, and up the passage to where the rest of the company was hidden in the outer defenses, watching in careful vigilance.

  News of their success and the bags of precious items they had claimed in the name of the Kale Gen piqued everyone’s curiosity. Even Morigar, who had been sulking in the back, came forward and stared with equal wonder at the glittering jewelry in the open bag Keryak was holding, though it wasn’t long before greed began to replace the look of wonder in his eyes. In a token of good will, Ardan passed his bag of coins to Morigar’s second, Krebbekar.

  “For our brothers, the Krall Gen,” he said as he grasped hands with the older warrior.

  Turning to the rest of the company, Ardan cleared his voice, but kept it low. “We’ve found the Kale Stone, and it has truly shed its power upon our leader Durik. Even now he sits communing with the stone in the bowels of the outpost.”

  There were murmurs of approval and joy from the Kale Gen contingent.

  “Manebrow commands that we move our company up to occupy the cavern at the entrance of the outpost.”

  Within moments the entire company was ready to go. Tohr and Kahn were chosen to stay behind and watch the six kobold mercenary prisoners. The look of greed in Morigar’s eyes was explanation enough for why he and his team followed the lead of the Kale Gen warriors as they moved toward the entrance cavern.

  Durik’s eyes began to refocus as the sound of urgency in Keryak’s voice penetrated into his consciousness. Standing in front of him, Manebrow was gently shaking Durik’s leg.

  “Sire, there’s a problem. We need to get moving,” he was saying.

  Shaking his head and blinking, Durik slowly stood up and stretched. The rest of his scouting party was already on their feet and moving past him to where a tapestry had been pulled aside to reveal a door.

  “Certainly, second. What’s the problem?”

  Manebrow grimaced. “I made a mistake. I send Ardan and Keryak up to the rest of the company with news of the treasure, and to gather them to the entrance cavern.”

  Durik looked at Manebrow without understanding, though the quiet solace of communing with the Kale Stone was beginning to wear off, and his mind was refocused on command.

  “Well,” Manebrow continued, “It seems that Morigar got it into his head to take on the orcs directly. Seems to want to claim the outpost… and all its contents… for the Krall Gen.”

  Durik shook his head as the peaceful look on his face changed to one of determination.

  “I’ve already given the order to gather the company, sire. The orcs seem to be all located in the feasting hall we passed.”

  Durik nodded. Placing the Kale Stone carefully in a belt pouch, he drew his sword again, though this time the light of the candles the party had lit to sort the treasure was all tha
t reflected in its surface.

  Soon the entire party was gathered into the common chamber where they could hear the sounds of some battle down the corridor from them. Seeing the reluctance to go to the aid of Morigar in the eyes of the several kobolds gathered about him, Durik spoke quickly and firmly.

  “Morigar’s move is motivated by greed. He doesn’t see the danger in approaching these orcs before they’ve drunk themselves to unconsciousness. He only sees the gold. Either way, however, he is our ally, and we should do what we can to keep his foolish choices from bringing him irreparable harm.” He paused a moment. “Besides, this outpost is ours. We can’t let him try to take it as his own with this petty action.”

  With that, Durik jogged down the hall, followed by the rest of the party. As they turned the corner they could see Krebbekar holding up his sword, desperately trying to withstand the blows of a massive orc’s cleaver while shielding Morigar, who had fallen to the ground. Gormanor and Lemmekor, the two Krall Gen scouts, were both locked in battle with orcs of their own. Standing outside the hall, Ardan, Troka, and Arbelk were waiting anxiously for the rest of the company to arrive. As Durik swept past them, they fell in line with the rest of the company.

  Durik arrived at the room just as another orc had gotten up from his drunken stupor and had stumbled over to where Morigar lay, raising his scimitar to cut the foolish leader in half, completely oblivious of the Kale Gen warriors rushing up behind him.

  The tide of Kale Gen warriors broke over the orcs like water through wobbly pillars of wood, sweeping through them with swords, spears, and hammer administering death with deadly accuracy. One by one the towering orcs fell in ungainly heaps, their dark blood spilling throughout the large drinking chamber.