by Joel Babbitt
Hemmet looked at Mirrik. The two of them had come this far, and now this Kale Gen paladin was asking them to take a step beyond that which Lord Sennak would even think of forgiving.
“Before we do that, paladin” Hemmet asked, “what shall we do to convince our people and our lord that we must flee our homes? Surely they will not listen to us, for they have not felt of this power and were not there to understand its convincing power.”
Durik smiled. “My friends, there is power in Morgra to convince. She will manifest her power to accomplish her ends. And if she commands your gen to leave its home and travel to the home of my gen, then she will prepare the way for it to happen. I believe that Morgra will show us the way if we go back to Lord Sennak and face him together.”
Mirrik slowly nodded his agreement. “Yes, this is true. Though I don’t know how it will be, I know it is the right thing to do.” Beside him, Hemmet’s eyes showed the worry of what was to come.
The jailer who had let the two warrior guard leaders pass was no fool. He knew that the excuse Mirrik and Hemmet had made for getting to the Kale Gen warriors was false. ‘Doing a check of the prison facilities.’ Hardly. The two had never cared about the place before, and besides, they weren’t his warrior leaders. He was part of Lord Sennak’s personal guard, those whose purpose was to run the government of the gen and to execute Lord Sennak’s will. Therefore, he had no warrior leader. But out of respect for their high positions, he had let the pair pass… then he had followed at a distance until he had discovered their true destination.
Now, even as the pair were probably still in the cell with the Kale Gen warriors, this loyal warrior of Lord Sennak’s personal guard had run to the chamber of Lord Sennak to report to him the activities of his warrior leaders. Finding his pillared throne room empty, he went to his personal chambers. There he was greeted by a pair of his fellow personal guards, who blocked his way.
“But I have news for Lord Sennak the Just about what two of his warrior leaders are doing behind his back,” the jailer hissed at them urgently.
“Go away. He’s meeting with them now, and said he didn’t want to be disturbed.”
The jailer paused. “He’s meeting with all six of them?”
The pair of guards looked at each other. “No, I suppose he only has four of them with him.”
“Precisely, and it’s what the other two are doing that will be of great interest to him,” the jailer smiled.
As Durik strapped on his belts, he felt the pouch where he had put the Kale Stone and was relieved to feel its weight and form still there. Turning himself about to face the wall, he opened the pouch and unwrapped the Kale Stone from its covering, just to make sure it had not been replaced with something else. The clear rock with its bronze flecks lie still and motionless in his hands, its power dormant, its consciousness passively aware. Durik put it back in his pouch.
He took the sword that Lord Krall had given him from its place with the other weapons as the warriors of his party took their weapons from the same pile in silence, checking them for soundness and either strapping them on or leaning them against the wall as they hoisted packs and sat them heavily on their armored backs.
“Hurry up, now,” Hemmet spoke in a low voice. He’d not seen the jailer at his station, and he and Mirrik were very worried by that. Mahtu stood dispassionately observing the Kale Gen warriors put on their armor and gather their equipment. Finally, they had finished and Manebrow gave Durik the nod.
With a nod to the warrior leaders, the party was off.
They were surprised to see the area of government empty. The halls from which Lord Sennak’s personal guard administered the gen were never empty, it seemed, yet today fortune seemed to have smiled on them.
When they arrived at the throne room, however, they knew why.
Lining all the walls behind each row of pillars the personal guard of Lord Sennak stood in ranks with weapons ready. They looked as if they were awaiting the arrival of some host through the main doors of the throne room. Seated on his throne, Lord Sennak was surrounded by his largest, most skilled warriors. Standing off to one side were his four remaining warrior group leaders.
Hemmet stopped cold at the entranceway that led from the area of government into the side of the pillared hall. Behind him Mirrik came up short, followed in close order by Durik’s party.
“Oh no, they’re waiting for us,” he hissed back to Mirrik who now saw the danger.
Not a heartbeat passed before Lord Sennak’s old, but firm voice sounded from the dais off to their right.
“Don’t keep us waiting, now. Come! Let’s see what you’ve done!”
Like two wayward children, Hemmet and Mirrik stepped forward into the throne room, the darkness of it made bright by the heat of so many warriors. Behind them, Durik, Manebrow, Gorgon, Jerrig, Arbelk, and Troka walked with varying degrees of confidence into the chamber full of warriors. Buoyed by the confidence of the others, even Mahtu seemed less cowed than he had the first time they’d been brought into Lord Sennak’s presence.
“Well, then, what have we hear?” Lord Sennak’s voice carried through the chamber as the group approached his throne. “The Kale Gen warriors and a pair of traitors, it would appear.”
Hemmet and Mirrik came and bowed their muscled frames before their lord. Behind them, Durik and his party stood conspicuously straight.
“Well, what have you to say for yourselves?” Lord Sennak’s bitter voice cut through the two warrior leaders, causing them to wince as surely as if they’d been whipped.
“My lord,” Mirrik began, his eyes to the floor.
Hemmet shook his head and, grabbing Mirrik by the arm, he stood up in front of Lord Sennak. “My lord,” Hemmet spoke with confidence and the beginnings of conviction.
Their impertinence in his presence did not go unnoticed by Lord Sennak.
“Bow yourselves before me, you fools!” Lord Sennak screamed at them.
Hemmet did not flinch. Seeing his example, and the example of the Kale Gen warriors behind him, Mirrik stood a little straighter as well.
“My lord, this day two warnings of what is to befall our gen were brought before you. We all felt the power of the words spoken by these, our brethren from the Kale Gen,” Hemmet said, indicating Durik and his party, “as well as the power of the words spoken by the outcast Kale.”
“How dare you address me, you… you fool!” Lord Sennak’s patience was gone. “Guards! Seize this group, traitors all! Bow them before me and take their heads off right now!”
Durik stepped forward, in his hands was the Kale Stone, and it shone suddenly with a brilliant light that instantly took the chamber from the pitch darkness of the underdark to the brilliant light of noon day.
Once his eyes adjusted, Hemmet could see that the sudden brilliance had stunned the crowd of guards into inaction.
“My lord,” Hemmet continued, unperturbed. “Today these two warnings were brought to you, that our gen might be saved from what is surely to come. Will you not heed the warnings that were brought to you, that you might save our gen?”
Lord Sennak screeched in anger. “How dare you bring this sorcerer before me!”
“Sire,” Hemmet pleaded with his lord, “this is Durik, Paladin of Morgra. In his hand he holds the stone of our heritage; the Kale Stone.” Even as he spoke the words, all the kobolds in the chamber could feel the power of the stone and all of them except Lord Sennak and his four remaining warrior leaders had begun to kneel, feeling the overwhelming, yet unspoken power of the stone.
“Tricks! A trap to try to take my throne from me! Usurpers all! You will die for your impertinence this day!” Lord Sennak screamed. With that, he stood up from his throne, drew his sword and came at Hemmet who was looking around the room, amazed at the effect the stone was having on those gathered in the throne room.
As Lord Sennak approached Hemmet, Durik stepped forward and held up his hand. “By Morgra’s holy might, I rebuke you!” he commanded the crazed lo
rd of the Deep Gen.
It was as if a wave of power flew from Durik’s outstretched hand as all sound in the room ceased. The wave of force slammed into Lord Sennak, stopping him short of Hemmet and knocking the drawn sword from his nerveless grasp. Like a tapestry that’s suddenly been cut loose from the wall, Lord Sennak crumpled to the ground and all strength left him.
It seemed as if the spell had been broken with that action, and suddenly all eyes in the room were on Durik.
Durik brought the Kale Stone down to chest level and looked at the four remaining warrior leaders who stood looking in horror at what had just occurred.
“My brothers,” he said to them. “The giant ants are approaching these halls even now. They will overrun you and they will tear the flesh from your bones even as you fall screaming in their midst. They will show you no mercy, only pain and death. They will do the same to your females and your whelps. They will spare no one. This is the warning I was sent to give you. Whether you choose to believe it or not is your choice.
“But now you have a choice to make. By the command of The Sorcerer through the Kale Stone, the Deep Gen is no more. Will you take your warriors and their families back to our ancestral home and reunite yourselves with the Kale Gen, or will you deny the power of The Sorcerer and His right to guide our race? The choice is yours. But remember that the fate of many lies in your hands.”
Hemmet and Mirrik stood forward.
“I will lead my warrior group to our ancestral home,” Hemmet said.
“As will I,” Mirrik pledged.
Lord Sennak’s son gathered his unconscious father into his arms, then stood and carried him away into the side chambers. There was no expression at all on his face.
Slowly, one by one, the remaining three warrior leaders each half-heartedly agreed to lead their warrior groups to the Kale Gen’s home caverns. It was obvious that this was too much for each of them to accept so quickly.
In his heart, Durik hoped that the truth of their situation would quickly settle in their hearts and that they would respond… before it was too late.
Chapter 14 – Insurrection
Trallik’s hands were trembling as he fumbled with the keys. It seemed as if every clink or clank resounded through the prison area down the hall and straight into the ears of the watch two rooms beyond the row of prison cells. His nerves were at the point of busting, and it was all he could do to not scream out with all the tension.
“Who’s there?” Khazak Mail Fist asked from inside the cell. The sound was weak compared to his normal, booming, jovial self, and Trallik wondered if he wasn’t weakened beyond usefulness for this task.
“Sire, please be quiet,” Trallik whispered. “I’ll have you out of there in just a moment.” He continued fumbling with keys until eventually one fit. The tumblers took some time to turn, however, as the lock was rusty, and it screeched as the key slowly turned in it. Trallik almost wetted his loin cloth at the tension of it all.
Finally, with a click, the door started. Trallik opened it up slowly on its rusty hinges until, with a strong waft of sewage smell, he was standing face to face with Khazak.
“Why have you freed me, Trallik?” Khazak asked the much younger kobold.
Trallik hadn’t really thought about what he was going to say. Really, he wanted Trikki back, and that was about the extent of why he’d done it. But yet he had seen the evil that had seized his gen in the past couple of weeks, and in his heart he knew that a gen with Khee-lar Shadow Hand at its head was probably not a place he wanted to live.
“Sire…” Trallik hesitated. “Sire, I cannot faithfully serve Khee-lar. I know that I was exiled by Durik for trying to kill you and Lord Karthan’s sons, but even then I could not do Khee-lar’s will. I know that now. I have seen his evil reflected in the eyes of those who serve him, and finally in his latest act.”
“What has he done now, son?” Khazak Mail Fist asked in something of a detached tone.
Trallik swallowed and continued. “Sire, he has taken my lifemate to be his concubine. Her name is Trikki, and she came from the outcasts that live below us, though her mother is a descendant of our gen.”
Khazak considered the miserable young warrior while he spoke.
“Sire,” Trallik continued, “I thought if I freed you that, perhaps, we can free her and together we can escape this gen and Khee-lar Shadow Hand’s evil. I have enough wealth from our adventures that all of us can live comfortably among the northern gens, or among the Kralls,” he offered.
Khazak held up his hand to stop the young warrior. He could see tears forming in Trallik’s eyes, and he didn’t want the young warrior to start babbling and blubbering at him.
“You have done well to set me free, young Trallik,” Khazak reassured him. “And we will find your lifemate. But we are not going to escape to any other place. No, we will not leave the kobolds of this gen in the hands of one who would destroy the justice and the rights that the Karthan line has spent generations building. You, Trallik, are going to help me to overthrow Khee-lar Shadow Hand’s rule.”
Trallik’s eyes got wide with fear. “How do you think we could do that?”
Khazak shook his head. “You do not yet understand our people, do you Trallik? There are many good kobolds here in this gen. Most of them would not stand up against Khee-lar and his lackeys on their own, but they’ll follow one who stands against him and will be glad to be led against him and his followers.”
Trallik was stunned. He’d certainly let the genie out of the bottle, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Tell me, what news of Lord Karthan and those loyal to him? Is he dead or has he fled?”
Trallik didn’t know how to answer. “I’ve no news, sire. I only returned late last night.”
Khazak thought for a second. “Well, then, let’s get weapons and free the prisoners in the rest of these cells. I’m sure they will be happy to join our cause.”
Lord Karthan stood looking down into the sunken meadow that served as the entranceway to his gen’s home caverns. Directly below him two guards from the Deep Guard Warrior Group sat against one wall of the sunken meadow, warming themselves in the light of the noon sun. It had been a cool morning, overcast with clouds, and the cold seemed to cling especially long in the entrance area.
Looking across the meadow at Drok, who held a bow ready to fire, he held up a hand to hold off the shot he and five of his warriors were about to take.
“My fellow Kale Gen warriors,” Lord Karthan called down to them. The two guards stood up, grabbed their spears, and whirled around, surprised to see Lord Karthan standing directly above them.
“What do you want? Why are you here?” the elite warrior of the two asked.
“I’ve come to reclaim the gen. Now, tell me, are you loyal to Khee-lar Shadow Hand, or are you still loyal to me? Be careful how you answer, I am not alone.”
The elite warrior, new to his position by the freshness of the brand, sneered up at Lord Karthan. “You are not our lord any longer. Lord Khee-lar is lord of this gen. Be gone with you and your rabble of outcasts!”
“Do you feel the same way?” Lord Karthan asked the other warrior.
“Aye, that I do. Lord Khee-lar treats us right. He’s made us important in this gen, something you and yours never did,” the other warrior answered.
“So be it, then,” Lord Karthan nodded grimly as he dropped his hand. From the far wall of the sunken meadow six bows sang as one, and the two guards were soon lying lifeless on the ground of the sunken meadow.
“Drok, leave only a small handful of warriors behind with the wolves and my daughter’s team. Gather the rest of your warriors,” Lord Karthan commanded then turned to Goryon. “Goryon, send for the leaders of the four companies of thirty to move the warriors up. It is time to reclaim what is ours.”
Khazak Mail Fist strode forward alone, spear in hand. The rest of the freed prisoners, some fifteen warriors who were awaiting execution due to their continued loyalty to Lo
rd Karthan or due to some crossing of Khee-lar’s will, all stood anxiously rubbing limbs and stretching muscles. They knew the next short while would see either their salvation or their death. All of them wanted to be ready for this one chance to avoid execution at the hands of Khee-lar’s Untouchables.
“Do not call out, guard,” Khazak said in a low tone as he stood in the doorway of the watch station looking at the lone elite warrior who manned the station.
“What are you doing free?!” the guard gasped in surprise.
“Tell me, will you join us in this insurrection, or do I kill you now?” Khazak threatened.
The guard moved to grab his spear from the wall, which was all Khazak needed to see. With one fluid motion he hefted the spear and threw it, skewering the guard and dropping him to the ground. He took a few steps forward, pulled the spear from the guard’s lifeless form, and before heading back to bring the rest of the prisoners forward, he grabbed the lunch that the guard had been eating and downed it all in a few quick gulps.
“Come, let us do this thing,” Khazak said as he walked back into the prison guard station where the fifteen former prisoners and Trallik stood waiting. He threw the guard’s spear to one of the warriors and the guard’s still sheathed sword to another.
The grins on the faces of the former prisoners were grim yet hopeful, broad yet focused. Soon, the group began the walk toward the council chamber and the two sunken grottos where Khee-lar and the new leaders that he had put in place had taken up residence.
“As we planned, Goryon,” Lord Krall was briefing the four leaders of thirty, Drok who led the dismounted wolf riders, and Goryon who was lead of his personal guard. “You lead the entire contingent and head straight for my home’s grotto. Remember, don’t stop for anything until you’re past the outer gate. And if by any chance they’ve left the doors open to my house, take them before they can bar them.”
