The Game of Fates

by Joel Babbitt

  “Ay! How will our gens stand against such a monster?!” Troka wailed.

  Gorgon, who had sat in silence this entire time, stood up. “Ants and orcs! I’ve heard enough. If this queen is coming, then so be it. That fight’s not our concern right now. Right now we need to focus on getting out of here. It’s time to take the heads off some Deep Gen warriors’ shoulders!”

  Manebrow’s anger simmered. “And how do you propose to do that, Gorgon? Can you bust those chains?”

  Gorgon Hammer, son of a blacksmith and not a bad blacksmith himself, had already looked at the chains and had tested his strength against them, but his ire was up and he didn’t feel like backing down.

  “Well, why doesn’t Durik use his powers and bust us out of here?” Gorgon sputtered.

  Durik thought for a moment. They’d taken the Bracers of Kale off of his wrists, so he was left without the great strength they afforded him. He had tried to break his chains as well, and hadn’t felt any help or promptings in trying to escape. In fact, he’d specifically felt to wait, and that he was not to kill these, his fellow kobolds of the Deep Gen.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I will wait on Morgra. She will show us the way.”

  “You put much faith in this Morgra,” Gorgon said, the doubt evident in his voice. “What if she doesn’t come through for us?”

  “I believe you, Durik,” Jerrig said as he looked up at his bronze-scaled cousin.

  “She will, my friends,” Durik reassured them. “Have faith.”

  Chapter 11 – Trallik’s Home Coming

  During his past year of training, Trallik had actually learned many things, though character had been something that had been slow in developing. One thing that came naturally to him was hiding things that others might want, so that it would be readily available later; in his warrior training they’d called it caching. As he wasn’t sure how things stood in his home gen, he and Trikki found a secluded little hollow in the woods just before the picket line. Here, between a pair of particularly gnarled roots that were bulged and deformed with a fungus that was common to the southern valley, the pair buried Trikki’s bag of treasure. They decided to keep Trallik’s treasure on them, in case they had to use it as a bargaining chip to get them out of any bad circumstances they might encounter.

  Having taken care of what they considered their best chance at a prosperous future, the pair made their way to the path Durik’s Company had trod barely a week before and started toward the picket line. A couple of twists in the trail later and the pair were looking at the two story log tower that marked the edge of Kale Gen territory. It stood with the door wide open in the fading light of the evening, looking eerily quiet.

  “Do you think anyone is here?” Trikki asked.

  “I don’t see anyone,” Trallik answered quietly. “That’s strange. Our gen’s largest warrior group, the Patrol Guard, mans the picket line at all times. If it is empty, it’s not supposed to be.”

  The pair of young kobolds took a series of tentative steps toward the gaping entrance into the log tower. As they approached they could see bloodstains in the dirt around the area of the door and broken weapons thrown in a pile off to one side of the tower.

  “Hey, you there!” the voice caused them both to jump. “Stop where you are!”

  Out of the wood line stepped a Kale Gen warrior with drawn bow. Behind him were three more warriors, all with bows.

  “Who are you?” the lead warrior, an elite warrior by the brand on his chest, looked suspiciously at the two.

  “I’m Trallik and we… we were just coming back from… from a journey to the Krall Gen,” Trallik stumbled with the words, expressing the half-truth the pair had already decided upon. Trikki clung to his arm, wide-eyed.

  One of the other warriors said something in a low tone to the elite warrior.

  “Wait, aren’t you one of the yearlings from the trials of caste last week?” the elite warrior asked.

  Trallik reluctantly nodded his head.

  “Where’s the rest of Durik’s Company, then? Are they back from the quest already?”

  Trallik reluctantly shook his head, his face an uncomfortable grimace.

  “Then what are you doing back?”

  Trallik frowned. “I was involved in trying to overthrow Lord Karthan. When Durik found out, he exiled me from the gen. But now that Khee-lar is lord of the gen, I came to bring a warning that he must hear.”

  The answer seemed to bring both relief and frustration to the warrior’s eyes. “Hmm… You’ll go back to the gen alright. But whether or not you see Lord Khee-lar is for Kort to decide. Who’s this with you?”

  Trikki tried unsuccessfully to hide from the unwanted attention behind Trallik’s shoulder. “Her name is Trikki. She is my lifemate,” he said.

  “And where are you from, Trikki?” the elite warrior asked.

  She hesitated, but seeing they wouldn’t leave her alone, she spoke. “My mother was Kale, but I grew up in the underdark,” she reluctantly admitted.

  “What? An outcast?” the elite warrior held his snout up.

  “Not an outcast!” Trallik defended her. “She was born of an outcast. She did nothing to deserve her previous status in life. But she is my lifemate now and, since I am a warrior of this gen, she now shares my caste.”

  The elite warrior held up an open hand. “Alright, alright. I meant no harm. Just surprised at your choice of lifemates is all… though I must admit she is beautiful.”

  Trikki had had enough attention from the likes of this elite warrior in the past that his complement did nothing but cause a tightening in her chest and throat. She just hoped they’d let them pass without any further trouble.

  Trallik, on the other hand, was proud of his lifemate, and the complement went straight to his ego.

  “Well, I have to send you to Kort. Two of my warriors will escort you,” he said as he pointed to two of his warriors. The pair disappeared into the tree line for a moment, but quickly returned with packs on their backs.

  “Come on,” one of the two said.

  “Who is this Kort?” Trallik asked.

  “He’s the new leader of the Deep Guard Warrior Group. He was an elite warrior in the Patrol Guard before Lord Khee-lar took over the gen. Come now, let’s be off.”

  With that, Trallik, Trikki, and the two guards began their late evening walk back to the home of the Kale Gen.

  Khazak Mail Fist had completed his plan. He’d pulled a long sliver of metal from the brim of his chamber pot. With its sharp edge he’d been able to cut his way through the bands on his wrist. He cut much of the way through the bands on his ankles and arms, but had done it in inconspicuous places that Khee-lar Shadow Hand wouldn’t see when he came to visit him—or better said when he came to taunt him—next.

  His plan had been simple and straight forward; burst the bands once Khee-lar was in the room with him, crush Khee-lar’s skull like a melon, take out all the guards, then flee to Lord Karthan, killing any of Khee-lar’s minions who got in his way.

  He was no one to be trifled with, and he was determined to show them that again.

  Of course, that was three days ago. Now, his partially cut bands had severed the rest of the way on their own, his chamber pot was overflowing and wreaked horribly, he’d only been fed once a day since he got here (and that stopped yesterday), and the incessant wailing of the prisoner across the hall from him had so grated on him that, though he’d felt guilty about it, he felt relieved when they finally took him off to execute him.

  The guards had come for him, once. But when they saw he was out of his bands, it appeared to Khazak that they had decided to just starve him rather than try to deal with him. After that visit yesterday, they’d skipped him when they served the rest of the prisoners their morning meal. They’d not answered his pleas for water or to empty his chamber pot either.

  He was getting desperate for a way out of this mess.

  The two guards had found Kort’s chief elite warrior wh
o was running the watch and handed Trallik and Trikki off to him. He was a rather sharp-eyed scrapper named Kram who had a rather ruthless reputation. He knew his leader well enough, however, to not make a decision about Trallik’s fate without Kort’s approval. Seems that, despite his strength and confidence with weapon play and prior experience as an elite warrior, Kort wasn’t taking too well to this whole ‘leader caste’ thing, and spent entirely too much time thinking about what Khee-lar would think about this or that decision. And his way of figuring it out was to make every decision himself. The sharp-eyed chief elite warrior hoped it was only a passing phase.

  So they had waited. And when Kort did arrive, he had the smell of fermented Wallaya root broth on his breath, and his body stunk of the cheap scent Khee-lar preferred on his females. He’d obviously been with Khee-lar and his concubines.

  “Who’s this?” Kort blurted out as he came staggering in. The fermented broth had put anger and aggression in his eyes, though it hid beneath a glassy covering.

  “Sire,” Trallik answered before Kram could speak, going down on one knee in a sign of respect. “I am Trallik, formerly of the Deep Guard.”

  Kort looked at the young warrior with a sneer of unconcealed contempt. “Yes, I remember you! Your father’s a fungus farmer in my warrior group! You were just a yearling last week, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, sire,” Trallik said.

  “Well, what do you want?” Kort looked at him, then, with a lecherous eye, he noticed Trikki. “And who is this, eh?”

  Trallik stood up and stepped in front of Trikki. “She is my lifemate, sire. She is of no consequence.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that! Now stand away!” the drunk leader caste commanded.

  “Sire,” Trallik interjected, trying to distract his leader caste from Trikki, “My quest has been most fruitful! I should think that you would want to show the fruits of my quest to our Lord Khee-lar.”

  “Hm? What? Successful, you say?” Kort bellowed out. “So I suppose you’re wanting release from it, then?”

  “Yes, sire. I would want to take my place among the warriors of the gen, perhaps even to become an elite warrior, sire?” this last part Trallik had meant to ask boldly, but ended up saying it meekly, his voice diminishing uncomfortably in his own ears.

  “Elite warrior? What dreams you have! And why would I want to do something like that!”

  Trallik pulled out a handful of jewelry from his pouch. “Sire, these were taken from orc warriors I slew in a battle in an old dwarven outpost under the Chop,” he lied. “A wise leader caste might choose to keep these as tokens of his right to rule his warrior group, though the offeror might be rewarded for bringing home such prizes.”

  Kort stopped for a few moments to ponder. Even in his inebriated state he remembered Lord Khee-lar had placed a collector of wealth among his warrior group. Surely this informant would tell Khee-lar about the jewelry? But, of course, he could only tell what he could find out, and the jewelry was very valuable and could be traded for many fine items or favors. Perhaps he should give Kram, his chief elite warrior, an item just to silence him?

  “Trallik! You are hereby given the rank of elite warrior.” He reached out and clumsily snatched the jewelry from Trallik’s open hand. Turning to Kram, Kort threw him a necklace with a rather pretty set of garnets on it. Instantly, he regretted having passed him such a nice piece, especially with the look of disdain Kram had on his face. “See that he gets branded at once then put him to work,” he commanded, his surly mood returning.

  Trallik was thrilled, until Kort mentioned the branding.

  As they made their way to the council chambers, Trikki was very agitated about the loss of a handful of Trallik’s jewelry, until Trallik explained that the elite warriors got a share of the wealth generated by their warriors. Trikki thought long and hard about that one.

  For the second time in two weeks Trallik’s chest was on fire. The waves of pain washed over him, sapping from him whatever strength he had displayed when the chief elite warrior had looked with contempt into his eyes and pressed the brand in the shape of a banner over his breast.

  Fortunately for Trallik’s dignity, Kram had left almost immediately, as if the disgrace of how Trallik had bought his elite warrior status was contagious. He’d certainly done it quickly enough; the new banner shaped brand was much lighter than the sword shaped brand he’d received before setting out with Durik’s Company.

  As he sat there in shock, attempting to recover from the wound, the chief elite warrior called out “Report to the prison at the end of first meal. Bring your gear and draw a spear, young one.”

  Trallik didn’t respond.

  “Are you alright, Trallik?” Trikki’s subtle voice was tinged with much concern.

  “Water,” Trallik muttered between waves of pain.

  Trikki fetched a cup of water from the barrel next to the brazier. She moved to hold it up to his lips, but Trallik immediately grabbed the cup and poured it on the burning scar on his chest. Steam rose from his chest, the burning flesh lapping the water up thirstily. After quite a while of alternately laying against the cold stone of the council chamber’s wall and the warmth of Trikki’s lap, Trallik had finally recovered enough to kneel up on his heels for a minute. Finally, with Trikki’s help, he stood.

  “Let’s go,” he said as Trikki grabbed him around the waist and helped him walk.

  After they had walked for a bit, Trikki broke the silence. “Where are we going?”

  Trallik stopped and thought for a moment. “I think it’s a little late to go to my parents’ dwelling. I think we need to go to the caravan staging area.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My company staged out of there when we were getting ready to leave. There’s soft sand. We can sleep there.”

  With what seemed like a lot of effort, the pair made their way to the outer caverns of the Trade Warrior Group’s home. In a testament to the chaos of the last many days, they passed several guards, one of whom did better for the pair than they were planning. He led them to the quarters that the messengers from the Krall Gen used, which now stood empty.

  Despite his tendencies to not appreciate the efforts of others, Trallik was thankful for a community of warriors and bed of warm furs after the strain of the last several days.

  “Trallik… Trallik, I heard a gong ringing. What does that mean?” Trikki was gently shaking Trallik’s shoulder to wake him.

  “Just a while longer, mother,” he mumbled, only half conscious.

  Trikki giggled, and Trallik bolted upright in the bed. “Ah! I was dreaming!” he said as he rubbed his eyes and blinked. The cool features of the room became clear to him with the gray of heat vision, Trikki’s warmth lighting the area around her with a subtle glow.

  She was probably the only kobold he’d ever seen who looked just as appealing with heat vision as she looked in the light. The subtle way the wisps of heat from her body played with her features and accentuated her already ample natural curves made him long for her touch.

  “You silly,” she said. “Now that you’re finally awake, tell me. I just heard a gong ringing. What does that mean?”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes. That means it’s time for first meal,” he answered through a yawn.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at the prison after first meal?” she asked.

  “Huh?” Trallik said, genuinely surprised.

  “The warrior who branded you told you to be at the prison after first meal,” she answered.

  Trallik’s eyes widened. “I’ve got to get going!” he said as he stood up. Finding his belts and knives, he strapped them to himself. “What did I do with my food pouch?!” He muttered as he looked about himself.

  Trikki lifted the corner of the blanket and picked up the missing pouch, handing it to him.

  “Thank you, love,” he said and began to walk away.

  “Wait! What will I do while you’re gone?” she asked.

  As he pushed on the wooden doo
r, he paused. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t know these caves.” He thought for a moment. “I don’t know how long I’ll be. How about just staying here, or… there’s a market not far from here. Just ask directions,” he said as he blew her a kiss goodbye.

  Trikki’s big eyes and pouty look didn’t slow him down.

  Trallik reported to the same watch room where he and Trikki had reported the night before. If there had been any other way he could have gotten to the prison, he would have taken that way, but the only way to the prison was through the watch station.

  The Deep Guard Chief Elite Warrior Kram was still there, and when Trallik showed up without a spear, he berated him for his incompetence, trying his best to make Trallik feel that he wasn’t living up to his new rank, which he made clear he thought Trallik didn’t deserve.

  Trallik took his berating in silence. Eventually, once Kram saw he was getting no response from Trallik, he was sent down the corridor beyond the watch station to the guards’ station for the prison with orders to ‘stand watch, and don’t feed or attend to the prisoners in any way!’

  Arriving at the guard station, he introduced himself to the particularly sleepy looking guard who had been posted there during third watch. The other guard wasn’t talkative at all, however, and just got up and left now that Trallik had replaced him.

  Soon, Trallik himself was feeling sleepy.

  “Hey, is that Trallik?” a familiar voice came from one of the cells. “Hey, come over here!”

  Trallik looked down one of the two hallways. Three cells down on the right a particularly strong-looking hand was waving from one of the tiny windows in the doors. His curiosity aroused, Trallik got up and walked carefully down the hallway until he was looking at Khazak Mail Fist through the tiny window.