by Joel Babbitt
Lord Karthan was elated to see his daughter alive and well. The news of the orc horde, while it brought a palpable fear to the group of kobolds Lord Karthan had gathered about himself to hear the report, Lord Karthan’s face showed nothing but a smile.
No news could be so bad, not even news of an approaching orc horde, that it could wipe out the joy of the good news that his precious daughter and his two innocent sons were alive and well.
“My lord, we must move now to take back the gen, if we’re to have any time to prepare defenses for the gen before the orc horde arrives,” Drok, Durik’s uncle and the leader of the small contingent of wolf riders who were loyal to Lord Karthan, was saying.
“Hm?” Lord Karthan’s eyes reluctantly pulled away from his daughter, the joy of her safe return to him overwhelming his emotions. “Ah, yes. I agree. We cannot wait until tonight. Go, all of you. Gather the strength we have. Ensure they eat well, and have them ready to march before the sun has fully risen above the eastern mountains!”
Standing, Lord Karthan hugged his daughter one more time. “I am so proud of you, Kiria. You have been through so much, yet showed character greater than I have seen in you before. If that Durik and his second Manebrow ever make it back to the gen, I will have to thank them properly for bringing out the strength in my beloved daughter.”
Kiria beamed with her father’s praise.
“Now go get some rest, my precious one, you and your team. I wish we had more time for you to rest, but we must go very soon. I will wake you shortly.”
“What! My son is going to do what?!” Lord Krall screamed. His eyes were bulging out of his skull and a vein running down the middle of his forehead seemed almost ready to burst. “Why didn’t you stop him?!”
“Sire, we tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn’t listen to us. He already had a band of mercenaries and he dismissed us,” Gormanor was explaining, almost apologetically.
“You’re lying. You have to be lying!” his voice was almost pleading. “My son is off to hire a dragon! What is he thinking?!” He sat down in his chair, stunned by the stupidity of Morigar’s move.
“Wait! Where’s Krebbekar? Wasn’t he there to dissuade him?” Lord Krall was grasping at straws, but any hope was better than no hope.
Gormanor shook his head. “Sire, he had sent Krebbekar to warn you. When we caught up with him, Krebbekar immediately turned back and went in pursuit of Morigar.”
Lord Krall just shook his head slowly in disbelief. That his son was notorious for his lapses in judgment he well understood. This, however, was more than even Lord Krall had imagined his son was capable of doing.
“Doesn’t he know anything about chromatic dragons?” Lord Krall said to Gormanor, though it was more a statement than a question. Gormanor merely nodded his agreement at Lord Krall’s assessment of his son’s decision. “Doesn’t he know they’re greedy, foul-tempered beasts who call no one master? What arrogance, to think… argh!” Lord Krall was at a loss for words and merely shook his head in frustration with his youngest son.
The past day had seen quite a transformation in Kale’s faith in himself and the powers that seemed bent toward the task of gathering all the descendants of Kale together. He realized that the same feelings of confidence and faith in unseen powers had been with him since a very early age, and had grown over time, but this past day had seen a fullness of his faith, a complete confidence arising from it as he worked faithfully to fulfill what Kamuril had commanded him to do.
He had gone from one outcast family to another, eventually gathering five families himself, in addition to those families that were gathered by members of his family he had sent to the gathering. In the end only the most primitive, degenerate outcast families had refused his message, and then only a few of them. The rest had responded and even now hundreds of kobolds were gathering to the amphitheater, all preparing for the journey through the underdark to their ancestral home.
At each family’s home cave or caves it had been much the same. Kale or one of his warriors had shown up to tell them that a great unknown danger was coming, and that the Kale Family was going to lead them all back to their ancestral home. In each family the experience was the same. At first there was skepticism, but after a few moments the leader of each family felt an overpowering confirmation of the truth of it all, after which they began to gather and flee to the home of the Kale family.
Kale was amazed at this confirming feeling that had descended on each of the families, this feeling that had brought each of them now to gather in the amphitheater of the halls he called home. The uplifting power it held, the converting power it brought, the power to change hearts and minds changed everything. It seemed as if only those whose hearts were hardened against him already would not heed its call, though by the look on their faces they felt it as well.
Now, as the outcast families came trickling into the amphitheater, he moved among them with a smile for the whelps, a helping hand for the aged, and a firm grip and keen look of acceptance and respect for the warriors of each house. They came to the home of the Kale Family in their fives, in their tens, and in their twenties. None of them were especially rich, nor were most of them extremely poor. They had brought with them their meager possessions, prized as they were.
Here a warrior had strapped his shield over his back and carried an old sword in a battered scabbard hanging from a strap on one hip, while on his shoulders he carried a small whelp. Behind him came straggling along a few other whelps, one taller than the next until finally the warrior’s lifemate came last with a babe in arms contentedly sucking under a woven wrap made from the fibers of a supple young giant mushrooms of the kind that gave them all most of their sustenance.
Staggering in from somewhere in a remote cave came an old kobold with horns already bent far forward with age. The flaking of his scales showed he was well past half a century old, more likely three quarters of a century. Kale welcomed the old hermit, even as he wondered how such an old kobold had survived all alone in the underdark for so long, and how he had gotten word of the gathering.
Behind him came a small band of Krall Gen outcasts; the different look of their features marked their heritage. What had probably been young warriors when they were first exiled now had the longer horns of middle age, having taken lifemates from among the Kale Gen and northern gen outcasts. Their children were a mix of their heritages, but to Kale it didn’t matter; they were all kobolds, and therefore they were his brothers and sisters.
They came with their pride, and with their weaknesses in addition to their strengths. Here and there Kale had to break up fights and challenges between families that had long standing grudges. The last couple of years in the underdark had been a time of relative calm and peace. If it had not been, it would have been near impossible to establish any sort of peace and order among kobolds who were not used to living in close proximity to anyone else. The call of the Kale Stone had made a change among them, however, and Kale found them more pliable and more willing than he had in the past. Though it wasn’t easy establishing some semblance of co-existence among them, the common call of a higher power and purpose made it easier.
Soon latrines were being dug, cooking pits were established, and sleeping areas were partitioned for the short period of gathering prior to their departure. They would not stay here long, and they would gather a few more families who were waiting for them along the Cross Way, which was the long passage to the Kale Gen that they would travel.
Kale saw order beginning to be established. His adult cousins had left off the preparations for their own families, leaving it to their lifemates, and had taken up the role of hosts for the gathering of outcasts, using their position as Kale’s cousins to sort out the problems as they arose and organize people to accomplish necessary tasks.
Kale made a quick stop to the storerooms of his family where his lifemate was working along with the other females, sorting through the equipment and supplies stored there and preparing it for loading on
their small herd of packgoats or packing it in bags that they themselves would carry. The look in her eye, the energy he saw there and the excitement of the gathering that animated her made him want to linger past a short discussion. However, seeing that his younger brother had the preparations for their family well underway, Kale knew that the gathering was not complete and soon took leave of his family and headed off toward the caverns of the Deep Gen.
“My lord,” the wolf-riding scout stopped in front of Lord Karthan and dismounted.
“Yes, scout? What news?” Lord Karthan replied. Behind him a small party of honor guard warriors who served as his personal guard stood with him. They waited patiently as the scout, one of the thirty loyal wolf riders who served Karthan, dismounted and gathered his breath. An hundred and twenty-some warriors who were the remainder of those who had fled with Lord Karthan were marching by the small party even now in four groups of thirty, led by elite warriors from the old Honor Guard Warrior Group. Their straggling lines snaked around the low hill that Lord Karthan and his personal guards had climbed. One hundred and fifty-five total warriors plus his daughter’s small, nearly exhausted team of four. That was all the strength Lord Karthan had.
“Sire, Drok would like to report that the way is unhindered and unobserved all the way to the entrance of our home caverns,” the scout reported.
Around Lord Karthan were astonished gasps at their amazing luck.
Lord Karthan grinned. “Tell Drok ‘well done,’ and let him know that we will be there by second meal. Please remind him to ensure he and his warriors keep out of sight. It would not do to give Khee-lar and his lackeys any warning.”
Goryon, who Lord Karthan had chosen to lead his personal entourage, laughed as the scout rode quickly down the low hill and into the woods.
“What do you find so funny, Goryon?” Lord Karthan asked.
“Why, Khee-lar, of course, sire!” Goryon answered. “First we get reports that the Deep Guard Warrior Group has replaced your Honor Guard Warrior Group as the keepers of peace in the gen, now by the sound of it, they’re the only warrior group that’s employed in securing the gen. It appears that they’re the only thing propping up Khee-lar’s rule.”
“Why do you say that, Goryon?” Lord Karthan’s curiosity was piqued.
“Well, the Patrol Guard aren’t out securing the Picket Line. We’ve not seen even one of the Wolf Riders other than the thirty that Drok brought out with him. The Trade Warrior Group hasn’t sent out any caravans since Khee-lar took the gen. And from the latest refugees’ reports, the Metalsmithies Warrior Group’s forges and smelters are starved for ore! What is he doing down there? He’s certainly not trying to run a gen, unless he’s trying to run it into the ground!”
“Aye, lord,” another of his personal guards joined in. “Perhaps these stories of wild parties and gathering all the wealth to himself are more true than we had dared to hoped.”
“Well, if it is all true, it will likely take quite some time to sort it all out,” Lord Karthan shook his head in disgust as he began to believe more fully the reports the last few refugees had given.
They marched in silence for a while, the atrocities that they’d heard whispers of weighing heavier on their hearts the closer they came to their beloved home.
“Sire,” Krall rode up to his father. “The orcs are taking second meal. Though they’ve sighted our scouts, so far we’ve not fallen for any of their traps. Our scouting elements have not engaged any of their hunting parties either. Still the main body of orcs do not move. If they continue to delay their advance, we shall surely arrive at the Kale Gen ahead of them.”
“Good,” Lord Krall nodded his head in satisfaction as he rode along. “Tell me, what of the ants? Are they following yet?”
Krall nodded his head. “Yes, father. They have discovered our absence in the fort and are moving cautiously after us. It is strange how they seem to linger behind, almost as if they were waiting for something.”
“Or someone,” Lord Krall spoke. His son didn’t reply, so after a few moments he continued. “This morning as I was riding along, I thought I heard your mother’s voice calling out to me. It felt like whispers in the sands of my consciousness. I couldn’t understand much of it, but it seemed that she was sending us a warning through the Krall Stone.”
“Perhaps it was about the orcs, for she did not know they were coming when we left her at the gen,” Krall answered.
Lord Krall shook his head. “No, I wondered that myself, but the message was clearly about ants. I fear that there may be more ants than just those we are aware of. Perhaps these ants await their arrival before taking on our force.”
Krall pursed his lips in thought. In front of and behind his father’s entourage of House Guard and staff marched the strength of the Krall Gen. It was an impressive sight to see, and it thrilled him to be here for what was the greatest event of his life thus far. “Well, if that’s so, there are well over a thousand of us here. We were more than a match for them last time. Unless they bring a much greater force, we should be able to beat them handily, as long as we’ve got some time to prepare defenses. Our scouts will see to that, however.”
Father and son rode along in silence for a while. Finally, Krall decided to ask his father a question that had been on his mind for some time. “Father, why does the Kale Gen seek after their stone so fervently? From what I have seen, the only power our stone has given our family is the ability to scry, and now this whispered message you’ve received. Surely that can’t be worth the lives of an entire company of warriors?”
Lord Krall wasn’t one to spend too much time thinking. He’d always been one to take action quickly. This time, however, he didn’t answer his son immediately. The silence drug on for quite some time. Lord Krall hoped his son would just forget the question, but seeing his son look over at him several times as though he were expecting an answer, Lord Krall finally relented.
“There are those who say our stone did much more in days past,” he answered tersely.
Krall’s interest was piqued. “I’ve heard that my great-grandsire used the stone to build the great hall on the lake. I’ve heard other stories too, over time. There was a story about one of our sires using the stone to turn back a raiding tribe of minotaurs. Why didn’t we bring the stone with us, father? We could have used its power against these orcs, I would think.”
Krall looked over and could see that his father was clearly very irritated. He hadn’t realized he had found such a sore spot until that moment, but he was determined to press on. It was a subject that he’d wondered about for several years and about which he had never seemed to be able to get answers.
“It chose your mother, not me,” Lord Krall said in a flat, frustrated tone.
“What?” Krall didn’t understand.
“Just that!” Lord Krall snapped. “The stone needed an oracle, and it chose your mother over me. If it had chosen me, the Lord of the Gen, I would have had power to build and defend. Since it chose the Lady of the Gen, the only power it seems to be able to produce is to let her scry and send whispered messages.” Lord Krall’s tone was that of a teacher explaining something to an especially dense pupil.
Krall knew he would infuriate his father further, but there were things he had to know if he was ever going to take his father’s place as Lord of the Krall Gen and have the power his forefathers had had, so he asked the final question.
“Why didn’t it choose you, father?” Krall asked.
Lord Krall stopped his mount and looked over at his son. The anger in his eyes burned like embers. “I don’t know,” he said with a slow, menacing deliberateness. He then nudged his mount and turned it back to the path.
They rode along in silence for several moments, but Krall’s occasional glances and close presence eventually caused his father’s temper to fester again.
“I don’t know,” he said in frustration. “Maybe it was some of the things I did in my youth,” he postulated. “I’ve done well for my p
eople, but I can’t say I’ve always followed all the things The Sorcerer commanded each kobold to do in the Scrolls of Heritage.”
Krall began to look back over his own life, wondering if he were worthy of being gifted the use of the stone when his turn came. “What have you done, father?” he asked, almost flinching even as he asked the question.
“I will not share with you what things I have done, but if that’s why the Krall Stone won’t give its power to me, then that’s something I can’t change.” Lord Krall was strangely resigned, almost fatalistic as he spoke. He seemed to have decided that he must entertain his son’s questions. Perhaps it was the fact that they were marching to what would likely be a pitched battle that loosened his tongue. “If you’d seen me in my younger days, it would be clear to you that Morigar doesn’t get his impertinence and poor judgment from his mother. You and your middle brother Hemmekar, may his soul rest with the ancestors, were always the nobler sons, Krall… but that is because you take after your mother.”
Lord Krall sighed. “Perhaps if I had not done the things I did as a youth, the power of the Krall Stone would have been mine, and would have been as great in my hands now as it was in the days of my grandfather, who built the mighty hall on the lake and who ended the minotaur tribe’s raid like you mentioned. But as it is, the considerable strength and skill of our warriors has been enough to see us through the challenges of my day.”
When Krall finally spoke, it was in low tones as he pondered on what his father had revealed to him. “Then let us hope that our warriors’ strength and skill can carry the day once more.”
