The Game of Fates

by Joel Babbitt

  “I will not sit idle to watch this evil!” Durik continued. “Will you stand with me, my brothers?”

  Each one of the members of the company lifted their heads from their own contemplations. One by one they nodded.

  Gorgon’s passion far exceeded his grief for his people, and he leapt to his feet. “I will not rest until I have the head of that traitor!” he growled in a firm, determined tone. All around the circle, the rest of the company came to their feet.

  “Nor I!” Each member of the company echoed as swords, axes, and hammer were drawn. Even Kiria stood with arms folded across her chest and a resolute look in her eyes as she was the last to speak. “Nor shall I.”

  Myaliae stood uncomfortably off to one side. Though she was Krall Gen, she had joined the company, not expecting to join a civil war.

  “Myaliae,” Durik spoke. “It is much to ask you to join us. I will understand if you choose a different path.”

  Myaliae’s face looked pained and troubled, but she spoke without delay. “I cannot leave you now, my brothers… and sister from the Kale Gen,” she said as she shook her head. “I will go with you, for evil that is not confronted spreads, and that cannot be allowed.”

  Durik smiled at her in appreciation of her courage. “Then it is decided,” he spoke. “We march at once for the encampment of Lord Karthan and our fellow loyalists. May the Creator preserve us, and may all who support Khee-lar’s evil fall before us!”

  The cheers of the company could be heard echoing far throughout the caverns.

  Chapter 7 – Splitting the Company

  Durik’s Company did not take long in preparing to leave the Dwarven Mining Outpost. What Durik had told them about the events in their gen’s home drove them better than any words of encouragement ever could. After loading a bag for each of them to carry, full of the most valuable and most portable items from the treasury in the bottom of the outpost’s well, the company quickly departed, leaving Morigar’s team in charge of the outpost.

  There had been much talk of how best to get back to the gen. Here is where the fact that they had spared Mahtu, the northern gen mercenary sub-leader, became an especially helpful thing. The leaders of the company didn’t want to travel back up the inside of the mountain that was the Chop, just to travel down the south side of that same mountain, but they didn’t know the area of the underdark that lay between the outpost and any exits to the southern valley.

  Mahtu, however, did. So, with Mahtu acting as their guide, the fourteen members of Durik’s Company left their established base in the Dwarven Mining Outpost for the unknown of the underdark, with the stated intention of finding an exit that Mahtu called ‘the Doorstep,’ which he said brought them out about a day’s journey from their home gen’s caverns. From there they planned to skirt the northern mountains and join up with Lord Karthan and his loyalists in their encampment.

  Passing through several large chambers at the entrances to the various mines, all supported by stone beams of ancient dwarven construction, the company marveled at the large smelters they found there, at the ancient molds, rails of rusted iron with the skeletons of carts burned out or smashed upon them, and even the piles of slag and tailings of the smelting process that sat unevacuated in the dwarves haste to leave their mines a millennia or so in the past. Due to the sturdy nature of its construction, other than the ravaging of looters and vandals over the centuries, it was all eerily well preserved, almost as if the tenants of the place had messed it up and it was even now awaiting the return of a landlord to put it all back in place and make a few repairs prior to letting it out again to a new group of dwarves.

  Truly, thought Durik as they passed through yet another of these smelting chambers, dwarven construction is made to last the ages, even ages of orcs and bandits. Behind and in front of him, the rest of the company passed in silent reverence.

  Soon after the company had passed out of the area of the dwarven mines, the company passed into an area of natural caverns. Though most of the natural caverns in the underdark were massively uneven and extremely difficult to traverse, the dwarves had obviously done quite a bit of construction down here as well. There were pathways cut into slopes and cut through walls, their tunnels supported with the classic, blocky dwarven archway of two side stones and one across the top, reinforced by wedges in the upper corners to alleviate some of the pressure on the top crossbar. It was obvious to see that the dwarves had eventually planned to mine down here, as there was still dwarven writing cut into various stones where holes had been drilled. Kiria had translated the writing for Durik as they passed.

  “This one says ‘gold’ and this one says ‘iron ore, minor vein,’” she read as they went.

  No more than a couple thousand steps into their journey, however, the dwarven paths ended and the company found themselves skirting mud flats, climbing slopes, and helping the packdogs through narrow chutes in the natural terrain of the underdark. Though they’d not noticed it, the company had already turned around and was heading back toward the west, in the direction of the Doorstep and their gen’s home caverns.

  After what seemed like a lightless eternity where the only illumination was the heat given off by his companions and the dogs, Ardan, with Mahtu in tow, came back down the passageway toward Durik. Though it had been less than one watch, or the time between two meals, the treacherous terrain had made it feel like much more.

  “Sire,” Ardan whispered just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the rest of the company clanking and crunching along beyond his leader.

  “Your report, Ardan?” Durik asked, glad for the momentary pause from the arduous passage, made only more taxing by the armor they all wore.

  “Sire, Mahtu reports that the Doorstep is just ahead. However,” Ardan looked concerned, “we’re hearing the movement of several large creatures through the passage between the two valleys. We’d like to take a look and see what it is.”

  Manebrow, puffing from the exertion of helping a packdog up the loose, rocky slope they’d just been climbing, came up next to his leader. “I’d say that if we’re near the Doorstep, that that’s probably the orc horde passing, with their ogre mercenaries and the northern gen kobolds they levied to fight with them.”

  Durik nodded. “That’s very likely. I agree that we should have a look, however,” he said. “Ardan, take Keryak with you and have a closer look. But!” he brought Ardan up short as he was turning to go. “Be careful! Remember they have kobolds with them, so you’ll not be able to hide your heat from them. I don’t want you getting any closer than you absolutely must to make a good report. But, if you do get the chance, see how these orcs and ogres are armed and supplied.”

  Ardan nodded and soon he and Keryak were shedding their armor. When they were ready they left Mahtu with Tohr and Kahn. Behind the forward team Manebrow had already led the rest of the company off onto a dry shelf of rock where they could rest themselves and the packdogs for a while.

  It hadn’t taken Ardan and Keryak long to find a good vantage point from which to watch the orc horde pass. They’d passed through a chamber where a water chute came out into a deep pool. Passing through the little stream that came from it and a couple of other chambers beyond it they’d found a chamber which had recently seen orc habitation, as evidenced by the excrement at various points around the room and the body of a dead orc in the middle of the room, beheaded in one swift cut it appeared not more than a few days past now. Most importantly, however, the pair of scouts found two passageways leading to the passage beyond. They’d also found a shelf of rock overlooking this last chamber, which seemed to be a better bet. The bats which, by the guano on the floor, had once inhabited this chamber seemed to have been evicted by recent activities, or they were out hunting for insects. Either way, Ardan thought it opportune.

  Hoisting Keryak up to stand on his shoulders, the pair made their way up onto the rock shelf and into the little crawlway they could see beyond it. The crawl space ran probably thirty steps in len
gth, opening up into a small chamber barely more than a kobold’s height and width halfway down its length. The pair rested there, and, as they were waiting for their breathing to subside, they listened to the loud tramping of orc boots over the stone of the passageway. They’d been hearing it all along, but they were obviously almost on the orcs now; they could hear their muttering, their grunts of effort, even their labored breathing as they struggled with whatever burdens they were carrying.

  As they sat there waiting for their breath to still, Ardan noticed another hole near the ceiling of the little room, somewhat hidden by a jutting lip of rock. Standing, he found himself looking into yet another crawlway. With Keryak’s assistance, he hoisted himself up into the crawlspace and landed on his chest in yet another pile of bat guano. Grimacing, Ardan continued forward for several body lengths as the passage seemed to narrow slightly. Soon he was pushing himself forward on his belly rather than crawling, but he could see the steam from orc sweat rising through a hole in the floor ahead of him as he kept going.

  Arriving at the hole and a little stooped chamber that seemed to be made for watching below, Ardan looked down through the hole. Not an arm’s length in depth, the hole started small, probably no larger than a couple of handspans, and grew like a broad cone providing a panoramic view of the passage below. Here Ardan perched like a hawk, noting every detail of their future prey.

  Morigar and Krebbekar decided to climb the long, dark passageway up to the top of the Chop rather than following Durik and his company to this ‘Doorstep’ that Mahtu had convinced them to find. Morigar had preferred it, and Krebbekar had agreed, wanting to get another look at what was going on with the Krall Gen’s forces, the ants, and the orc horde from the unique vantage point of the Chop over the northern and southern valleys.

  Krebbekar had readied the muscular, yellow-furred packdog they were taking with them while Morigar had given Gormanor and Lemmekor their instructions. Minotaur, as the packdog was called, was a massive half-wolf beast, and he’d not shown the fatigue of the other packdogs, though his burden was clearly heavier. Compared to the rest of the dogs he seemed eerily quiet and unusually in control of himself. His demeanor, from the perspective of one who’d dealt with dogs for decades, was almost unsettling. Whatever that dog keeps in his head Krebbekar shook his head, I’m just glad his back is strong.

  Having finished loading up the bags and having saddled their two riding dogs, Krebbekar was about to go looking for his leader when Morigar suddenly appeared from the mining outpost entrance.

  “Ready, then?” Morigar said, his armor cleaned and his helmet under one arm, seeming almost too eager to get underway.

  “Yes, sire. I was just going to check with our two scouts to see if they need anything prior to departing.”

  “No need,” Morigar cut him off, “I left Gormanor, as the most senior of the two, in charge. He’s got his instructions, and says he has all that he needs.”

  “Well, I’d still like to check…” Krebbekar began.

  “Come now,” Morigar interrupted him, “don’t you trust me? They’ll be fine. Come,” he said as he grabbed the reins to his riding dog, “we’ve not time to lose, if we’re going to raise a force to deal with those orcs!” With that Morigar began walking up the passage toward the Chop.

  Not feeling quite right about the whole thing, but not sure how to bypass the situation gracefully, Krebbekar sighed and, after strapping his helmet on, grabbed the reins to his riding dog with one hand and the packdog with the other hand. Reluctantly, he followed Lord Krall’s youngest son up the passageway.

  The trip up the long, sloping passageway was a bit taxing, but uneventful. The effort of it all did much to lift Krebbekar’s spirits. Unlike the climb up the Chop from the outside, the spiraling passage they climbed now was much gentler. He’d never been the most skilled of warriors, nor the strongest, in fact he’d been appointed into Lord Krall’s house guard decades ago on the strength of nothing more than his loyalty and the ties of close kinship that the ending of his name revealed, but he could walk for days on end if need be. The simple, monotonous rhythm of walking was a very cathartic thing for him, cleansing him of self-doubt, worry, and in general lifting the burdens of life. That’s precisely what it did for him this time as well. By the time they reached the bridge atop the Chop, he felt more refreshed than he had in some time.

  The tall elf watched as the last of the kobold wolf riders plunged into the canyon across the valley from him. Though the distance was extreme, probably half a day’s journey, Arren’s eyes were typical of an elf’s; even from this distance he could count individuals.

  After the wolf riders, the rabble of kobold levies followed, slowly filing into the mouth of the canyon like sands through the neck of an hourglass. Finally, after that mass, a group of much larger humanoids, hobgoblins most likely by their canter, who had been seated around a small, smoky fire on a spur overlooking the mouth of the canyon, gathered their equipment and set off in a group at the tail of the orc horde.

  Ardan had stopped counting exact numbers some time ago. He had a good feel for how many there were, and he had whispered for Keryak to come up and join him to do just that anyway. Even now Keryak sat on the other side of the hole from him counting with his fingers and placing rocks in a small pile Ardan had started for every ten he counted.

  The orcs looked fearsome. They reeked of blood and were carrying meat in varying stages of decay with them. Their armor was mostly chain mail, blackened as proof against rust, the rings themselves being heavy and wide, made by hands that had more strength to bend larger, thicker rings than patience behind them to intermesh smaller, tighter rings. Their weapons were far from uniform. Most of them carried a broad, heavy bladed scimitar of one form or fashion. Many of them also had spears, though javelins and throwing axes were more common. A hodgepodge of bows were scattered here and there among the orc warriors, though Ardan could see that they left them strung, which in a matter of weeks would rob them of their strength. Indeed, he could see by the easy manner that some of them bent with the orcs’ movements that the bows lacked most of their tension already.

  On the orcs’ heads were an assortment of helmets, but among the orcs there seemed to be almost no shields. Their only other protection seemed to be their long hair, braided in thick, black dreadlocks that hung wildly about their necks, heads, and shoulders like matted ropes.

  As they walked, the hobnail boots they wore beat the stone and dirt of the passage in a constant, throbbing rhythm. Some of the savage warriors hummed or guffawed some infernal song or another in their native tongue, though the close quarters of the passageway seemed to still all but the most impetuous tongues among them.

  Finally, after a lengthy time and a count of more than five hundred and thirty orcs, there was a brief pause followed by the shuffling rumble of several large beasts coming through the passage. Within moments the first of the ogres came through the passage below the two kobolds, his back scraping the ceiling while his sloped forehead was visible underneath his tangled matte of hair. In one hand he held a great battle axe clutched close to his side while he supported himself with his other hand and both knees.

  Many other ogres passed through like this, the stench of their sweat-soaked leather armor permeating the little hole where the two kobolds sat counting and observing. They brought an assortment of weapons with them as well, but most of them had a great axe in addition to whatever great spear, great bow-sized javelin, or ball and chain they had. When they had all passed, Keryak looked up at Ardan with worry in his eyes. In his hand he held five rocks.

  While one or two ogres was a formidable factor in any skirmish, fifty ogres was quite a force to be reckoned with. Though they were cunning, they were generally devoid of intelligent thought, but in a group of fifty you really couldn’t talk to them, and it would be desperately hard to trick them or bribe them all to leave. If it came down to fighting these brutes en masse… Keryak just shook his head in despair.

  A
rdan grabbed Keryak and pulled him back from the hole. In moments the much softer patter of wolves’ paws could be heard through the hole and the smell of fellow kobolds began to permeate the lingering stench of the ogres’ passage.

  “The kobolds they had with them,” Ardan whispered breathlessly in Keryak’s ear. Keryak nodded. After a moment, and in such a manner as to be looking at the back of their targets’ heads, Ardan leaned forward and looked down at the passing host.

  They wore chain mail armor, freshly oiled and warm with the heat of the ride. Their helmets were forged, not cast, and their shields were in perfect repair and had leather coverings over them to protect from rain. Their spear tips looked razor-sharp and were mounted on solid staves of straight wood. By their sides they each carried swords in hardened-leather sheaths. On the backs of their wolves they carried bows in scabbards on one flank and quivers of uniformly fletched arrows on the other flank, saddlebags bulging with rations sitting squarely on each wolf’s hips. The uniformity of it all and the disciplined silence of the warriors was intimidating.

  In a strange departure from the uniform strength of the first ninety warriors came a group of ten more riders, five of whom were armored with shields, but carried an assortment of hand weapons only, no bows or spears. Following those first five were five more who were not armored at all, and carried only staves and long knives. While his heat vision did not reveal the details of their clothing, he could see well enough to know they wore only robes, and that two of them were female! What a strange thing indeed, he thought.

  Following this contingent of a hundred came several hundred northern gen warriors of typical quality. With their mismatched weapons, mostly short spears, and their lack of any armor and carrying wicker or leather hide shields in addition to sacks full of what had to be rations and blankets, they were by far the least imposing group that had passed yet… but there were about four hundred of them, and the numbers alone were something to be concerned about. They seemed to be led in groups of a hundred by a northern gen leader with another of these armored kobolds serving as his second, or maybe an advisor. In the front of them another small cadre of these armored kobolds riding wolves as well had been leading them.