The Game of Fates

by Joel Babbitt

  As they finished with each warrior group, assigning temporary leaders to replace those who had fallen to Khee-lar’s blades, Lord Karthan gave them a string of orders to position each warrior group to be ready for the imminent war. There was an orc horde coming, orcs with ogres and kobold mercenaries in tow. Now was the time to prepare their arms, for the time of blood had only just begun.

  The gruesome scene that welcomed Kale and the leaders of the outcasts at the bottom of Sheerface quickly put everyone in a somber mood.

  “Kale,” his younger brother said next to him. “What do you suppose happened here?”

  “I don’t know,” Kale answered. “But whatever it is, I suspect that we’ll not receive a warm welcome here.” The rest of the leaders of the outcasts were looking at Kale expectantly, the look in several of their eyes betraying their lack of faith in him.

  “And how do you think we should climb that?” one of the outcast family leaders asked, pointing up the huge, vertical hole that was Sheerface. Several of the outcast leaders murmured their agreement that this was surely an impossible obstacle to overcome.

  Kale looked around at the fickle lot that were the leaders of the various outcast families, then he turned himself about, bringing his brother with him. The sight had become more than he wanted to look at, and he could see that it had deeply impacted the outcast leaders as well. “Brother, settle our people in the caverns where they are currently waiting for us. Tell them that we will find a way up the cliff.”

  “What way, brother?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Kale whispered his reply. “Let me think on it for a while.”

  Kale’s younger brother called for everyone to follow him. “Let’s give Kale some time to think on this one. Don’t lose faith, now. We all felt to come here. It will work out. You’ll see.” The leaders of the outcast families left with Kale’s younger brother, though several of them were not convinced by his words.

  Soon, Kale was left alone.

  “My lord,” Trallik prostrated himself before Lord Karthan on his throne.

  It had been a long day of heartbreak already, and Lord Karthan was in no mood for any personal pleading, but he was determined to root out all the conspirators, before any of them could escape. He wore none of the trappings of his office. After all, they had gone down Sheerface and were likely in the hands of the outcasts by now.

  “Tell me why I shouldn’t have you killed outright, since your name appears on this scroll,” Lord Karthan held up the sheepskin that listed the members of Khee-lar’s Covenant of Loyalty, the organization that he had used to overthrow the gen.

  Trallik blanched with fear. It was a sheepskin that Trallik recognized well. He had signed his name to it not much more than a week before. It seemed like a whole lifetime ago.

  “Sire, oh merciful Lord Karthan,” he bowed his head in shame. “I did sign my name to it. I was upset at having not won the Trials of Caste, sire. But I did not follow through with the covenant. I shouldn’t have signed it, but I did nothing, sire. I did no wrong.”

  Lord Karthan’s face was a mask of disappointment. “Yes, I know. You and everyone else in this gen. You did nothing. You did nothing to stop his evil.” Lord Karthan turned to the guard that stood behind Trallik. “Take him away. Put him in prison with the others.”

  “But sire!” Trallik called out to deaf ears.

  At that moment, Khazak Mail Fist walked into the council chamber and saw what was happening.

  “Sire, if I may,” Khazak interrupted. The guard saw his hand motion and stopped as well.

  “What is it, Khazak?” Lord Karthan rubbed his temples. The stress of the day had already been more than any other day of his life, almost more than he could bear. And knowing there was much to be done to prepare for the coming orc invasion, the day was only half over.

  “Sire, by your leave, I would ask that Trallik be pardoned,” Khazak asked.

  Lord Karthan looked up questioningly. “What?”

  “Sire, Trallik is the one responsible for freeing me. Not only that, he and his lifemate Trikki joined in the battle against the conspirators who fled to the Deep Guard’s caverns. In fact, it was by Trallik’s hand that Khee-lar was slain.”

  Trallik knew differently, but he wasn’t about to argue at the moment.

  Lord Karthan looked at Trallik for a long moment before he spoke. “Why did Khee-lar ask you to join his secret band? What did he want from you?”

  Trallik bowed his head, the roller coaster of hope and despair was more than he felt he could handle, and he certainly couldn’t tell Lord Karthan the truth while looking him in the eye.

  “Sire, I was to kill your daughter. But sire, I couldn’t…”

  “What!” Lord Karthan almost jumped off his throne and throttled Trallik right there. “You try to kill my daughter, and expect me to pardon you?!”

  “Sire,” Khazak held out a calming hand. “He decided on his own to not go through with it. He did not obey that evil Covenant. Instead, he turned against it and fought for us.”

  Khazak had seen more than enough blood today, and he had no desire to see more.

  Lord Karthan looked at the miserable wretch who had fallen to the floor before him with his head bowed. His decision stood on a razor’s edge, ready to fall either way.

  Finally, he decided to accept Khazak’s reasoning.

  “So be it. I pardon you, Trallik. Not by your own merits, but for the sake of my trusted chamberlain, I pardon you. Khazak,” he said, turning to his chamberlain. “Since you seem fond of him, he’s your charge now, though I don’t think he deserves that rank he’s got,” he said, indicating Trallik’s new elite warrior status. “Make him a warrior in your reconstituted Honor Guard Warrior Group. He owes you his life, let him pay it back through faithful service, and let him eventually earn his elite warrior marking someday.”

  Khazak nodded and motioned for the guard to untie Trallik, and to send him out of the council chamber. In a couple of long moments, the bands were loosed and the guard motioned for Trallik to depart.

  A much relieved Trallik left the council chamber free. He was not only freed from the charges against him, he was free from the fear and guilt that had spun his world out of control since he had signed that sheepskin. He felt free from the overflowing ambition that had driven him to sign it in the first place. He was free from the stain of being exiled for his almost-actions. He was free.

  Yes, he was free.

  When he emerged without bonds, Trikki ran to him, wrapping her arms around him with all the strength she had left in her, her tears streaming down his chest. The relief in her sobs of joy as he told her that he had been pardoned was more than he could bear, and the two of them stood holding each other and crying together for some time until there were no more tears to cry, until the tears had washed away his past.

  In that moment, Trallik came to understand that he had been given a new life.

  Kale stood contemplating the scene, picking through the possessions of the broken bodies that lay there at the bottom of Sheerface, trying to figure out who these kobolds were who had obviously died not long before.

  The rich clothes and masterfully crafted weapons showed them to be kobolds of some importance.

  It wasn’t long before he came to the body of the Untouchable that Khee-lar had used as a decoy, and the bronze crown that still sat about his horns, though it had been steeped in blood.

  Perhaps this is the old lord of the gen. Perhaps this is who I am to replace, he thought with tenderness as he looked on the still features of the dead Untouchable. Bending down, he pulled the crown from the corpse’s head. It didn’t feel right to put it on his head, so he held it in his hand instead.

  “Hello, what are you doing here, outcast?” a voice came from above Kale.

  Kale looked up, startled by the pair of warriors who were not thirty steps above him, coming down on a wooden platform.

  “Well, hello to you too, warriors of the Kale Gen,” Kale replied to them.


  “I hope you’re not planning on keeping that crown,” one of the warriors finally said as they got close enough to where they could jump off and run after Kale if he decided to flee.

  “Why? Whose is it, and how did it end up down here? And who are these dead ones?” Kale asked.

  The two warriors hopped off the platform and drew swords. “Just put the crown down and stand back.”

  Kale did as he was told.

  The two warriors sheathed their swords once they had the crown in hand. They then went about gathering the rope from the shattered platforms that lay beneath the bodies. After collecting up the weapons, they stopped and wiped sweat from their brows.

  “My fellow Kales,” Kale began, “Who is in charge of the Kale Gen now, and who are these people?”

  “Lord Karthan is back in charge of the Kale Gen,” one of the warriors said. “These usurpers,” he said pointing at the twisted forms, “tried to take it from him. Their master succeeded too, but not for long. Now that Lord Karthan is back in charge, he’ll set things right in our gen again, so tell your outcast friends that Lord Karthan’s rule is restored, and to not be expecting anything from him. He never was a friend to you outcast types.”

  Kale pursed his lips, his tail swung slowly behind him as he folded his arms. “My fellow Kales, I must tell you that there are events in motion which are beyond you. I have a message for Lord Karthan. Tell him that the Kale Stone is about to return, and the outcasts with it. Tell him I will meet him here, at Sheerface.”

  The two Kale Gen warriors looked at each other in surprise and curiosity. One of them was quicker than the other.

  “Why don’t you give us the stone, and we’ll take it to our lord?”

  Kale smiled and shook his head. “You know I will not agree to that. Now go and fetch your lord. Tell him Kale of the outcasts wishes to speak with him, in the name of the Kale Stone.”

  Preparations were going slowly, too slowly for Mirrik’s liking. He knew only too well the paladin’s prophecy; that the ants would be on them before the next dawn. Their markers of time had read the flow of the stream and told him and the other five warrior leaders of the former Deep Gen that day had ended, and therefore that dawn was not more than three watches away. He knew it would likely take far longer than that to get everyone to Sheerface.

  Three watches, three torches’ burning. Mirrik stood and walked out of his empty house into the light of the common chamber’s ever-burning globe. There was no more time, they must move now.

  Outside all was chaos as kobolds ran about packing as quickly as they could, their packgoats bleating and milling about after them, some already saddled, some with saddles already loaded. Mirrik had commanded his warrior group to gather in the common area as soon as they were ready. He’d wanted to wait until half of his number were ready before sending them ahead, but even now there were no more than sixty warriors present, with their families and the few packgoats the wealthier members of his warrior group owned. Not quite half, but it would have to do.

  As Mirrik stood assessing the situation, a messenger that Mirrik recognized as one of Hemmet’s younger warriors emerged from the passage that would lead them to the Cross Way. Spotting Mirrik, he moved quickly through the crowd toward him.

  His warrior group was fortunate, whereas the rest of the warrior groups had to come from much further down in the underdark, his was the closest to the surface. His charge had always been to keep prying eyes out of their gen, something he had done with merciless efficiency. But now all that was changing, and the strain of great change was on everyone’s faces, including that of the messenger as he approached Mirrik.

  “Sire,” the messenger bowed in front of him, “Hemmet sent me to tell you that the paladin from the Kale Gen has gone on ahead to parley with the leadership of the Kale Gen, and that the paladin told him that he will send help for our people to scale Sheerface. Furthermore, the paladin has left behind the large one with the hammer and his team to help in the preparations. Even now they are with Hemmet in his caves.”

  Mirrik nodded. “Very well, then. And what of the other warrior leaders? How go their preparations?”

  The messenger shook his head. “Sire, none of the other warrior groups are preparing to depart, save that of Hemmet.”

  Mirrik looked at the messenger doubtfully. “None of the other warrior groups save Hemmet’s?”

  The messenger nodded his head. “Yes, sire. As soon as the paladin left, I saw Sennak dispatching several of his father’s most loyal guards to all the warrior groups. Apparently they had carried a message from Lord Sennak the Just, who still lives, ordering them to not depart.”

  “You’re telling me they all turned away from the prophecy?”

  The messenger nodded. “Yes, sire. They continue to follow the commands of Lord Sennak the Just.”

  Mirrik thought for a moment. The certainty of the paladin’s prophecy had driven him this far, and he wondered at how Sennak and the other three warrior leaders could ignore it and continue to follow their old lord. Despite the paladin’s pronouncement that the Deep Gen was disbanded, the reality was that these were still Mirrik’s people, and the bitter realization that two thirds of his gen would die with Lord Sennak the Just was more than Mirrik could bear.

  “Messenger.”

  “Yes, sire?”

  “How fares Hemmet? Has he begun his journey yet?”

  The messenger shook his head. “No, sire. He has sent half of his warrior group ahead as agreed upon. Already they ascend the great staircase and should reach the Cross Way shortly. Hemmet, however sire, has stayed behind to lead the rest of his warrior group.”

  “Then I will go to him. Perhaps the two of us can talk some sense into Lord Sennak’s son and the rest of the warrior group leaders,” Mirrik said. “The first watch of the night is already upon us and we’ve quite a journey to make if we’re going to escape the oncoming ant horde.”

  The messenger nodded, turned, and left back the way he had come.

  Walking to the pool in the center of the cavern, Mirrik walked out onto the bridge that spanned their source of fresh water. As he raised his arms, the assembled warriors and their families quieted.

  “My brethren,” he called out to his warriors who were ready, each of which had their lifemates and whelps with them, with a scattering of packgoats among them. “We cannot delay any longer. I had hoped to have a full count of eighty to send ahead, but I must send now what I have. Shoulder your burdens, and follow my second to Sheerface.”

  As one the group of refugees reached down and began piling burdens on themselves and each other. In several moments they had gathered their burdens, Mirrik’s lifemate and seven whelps among them.

  “Take good care of my family, will you?” Mirrik grabbed his second’s shoulder and looked pleadingly into his eyes.

  “Of course, sire,” he answered. “I heard you talking to that messenger, sire. Do not delay for long. If Sennak and the others won’t come, you leave them, sire. Your place is with your warrior group. They need you, you know. You’re the one that saw the miracles, after all. They’ll follow me out of course, but they look to you like a father.”

  Mirrik bowed his head and nodded, the emotion of the moment silencing him.

  “Soon, then, sire. We will await your orders at Sheerface.”

  With a few short, barked orders, Mirrik’s second prodded the group into action. Mirrik hugged each of his whelps as they tried to look brave for their father. Last of all he held his lifemate close, the emotion of the moment being expressed in the intensity of their embrace. As he let her go and she turned to leave, he looked over these kobolds he had known all his life. With his second leading them, they began to stream out of the chamber and into the hallway that would lead them, eventually, to the Cross Way, and from there to the area of the upper underdark where Sheerface and their cousins in the Kale Gen would be found.

  Chapter 17 – Enter the Dragon

  Arren e-Arnor, prince of h
is elven nation and veteran mystic warrior, was not one to make rash moves, especially where dragons were involved. For days now he had carefully watched the small, hollow mountain wherein lay the Hall of the Mountain King… and the pair of red dragons that had claimed it as their lair.

  To be fair, the larger of the big reds had departed a couple of weeks before. Arren had seen the ancient wyrm, and felt her, flying north as he had been traveling south on this quest, along the spine of the Great Western Mountains. Though only the smaller of the two reds, a male, was at home, Arren kept a constant watch out for the much more dangerous female. After all, the older a dragon was, the greater its ability to wield the power of Dharma Kor for its own benefit, something he was sure the ancient red female had spent much time mastering. He’d hate to find out by surprise that she had been scrying on her home. As it was, he had been focusing his own connection to the power of Dharma Kor to eliminate the disturbances he made to the fabric of magic that surrounded him, and to cause a shifting and a blurring that he hoped would be enough to shield his presence from scrying eyes.

  The journey across the northern valley had been interesting enough, considering the presence of the orc horde and a near-encounter with some ogre mercenaries as they were foraging; chasing one of the large, flightless birds while throwing javelins at it to be precise.

  Other than almost getting a close-up look at the male dragon as it pounced on a mountain goat near his cave low on the mountainside behind the place, Arren’s watch on the Hall of the Mountain King had been boring, though fruitful.

  The first night on watch had brought the most interesting thing so far. He’d seen the orc horde, and he knew that chromatic dragons had very little respect for such rabble, usually swooping in on the fringes of a horde like this to pick out some choice meat from their animals or slaves (as dragons are no fan of orc meat), knowing that the fear they emanated usually caused all but the most foolhardy of ogres and orc warriors to turn and flee at their arrival. Contrary to this knowledge, however, it seemed that the now-lone male had decided to not partake. This was despite the presence of several ogres, whom red dragons seemed to find tasty enough.