by Joel Babbitt
“My lord?” Durik asked, confused at the change of sentiment.
“Durik, I am not a young kobold anymore, and I must look to my whelps. Karto and Lat are safe with my sister in the home of the Krall Gen. There are many forces that threaten to destroy us, and I don’t know if we’ll survive tomorrow’s battle.”
“My lord, surely the Creator will not allow us…” Durik protested.
Lord Karthan shook his head. “Durik, I’ve seen too much in my life to think that I know the Creator’s plans. Let me just speak for a moment.
“Durik, there are only a few kobolds I would trust with my life; Khazak here, Manebrow, and you, Durik. As such, there are only a few I would trust with my daughter’s life. Now, she has expressed interest in you, and seems to think that you might like her as well.”
Durik blushed under his otherwise bronze scales.
“You do not deny it, then?” Lord Karthan asked. Taking Durik’s reaction as an answer, he pressed forward. “Durik, I’ll not ask you to be joined to my daughter, though I would certainly give my blessing to such a decision by the two of you. But I place her, Myaliae and Terrim under your care until the current danger passes. I think you will find that the three of them, with riding dogs, are already in the sunken meadow with the rest of your warrior group.”
Durik’s face was serious, yet clear of fear or angst. “Sire, I will guard your daughter with my life, and I will think on your words.”
“Very well, then, my fellow warriors,” Lord Karthan took the two of them by the shoulder. “Remember. You are leaders of the only mobile force our gen has. Please be careful out there. If we should lose most of you, we would be blind as a gen. But above all,” Lord Karthan said, pointing down at the Kale Stone in Durik’s pouch, “don’t lose the stone. Though I don’t know what part this reluctant stone has yet to play in our collective destiny, I would imagine it will have some influence on the events that lie ahead.”
Durik’s face was one of mixed emotions as he exited the home caverns of the Kale Gen out into the cool night air of the sunken meadow. Not two weeks before, he and his little company had left from this very spot on a quest to find the Kale Stone, with Kiria being one of their number. She had been both a burden and a blessing, but had proven herself over time. He couldn’t deny that he had feelings for her. After all, the couple of times that she had been thrust into his arms had left him longing for her for days. The smell of her, the touch of her, her subtle shapeliness, her quick wit and willing look, her determination and fierce loyalty…
Durik shook his head to try and break the spell she was beginning to have on him. Tonight was not the time to think on such things!
Unbeknownst to them when they had formed their little company and marched off to find the Kale Stone, the Bloodhand Orc Tribe and its ogre mercenaries were already gathering to conquer their gen. And not more than a few days after that, the great ant horde that he had seen in vision had left its home far away in the east, on the great plains where the caribou and minotaurs roamed in a vast sea of winter ice melting to summer grass.
Truly, the finding of the Kale Stone and the power that it would bring to the Kale Gen were being met with the fiercest of opposition.
Durik sighed resolutely. Such a massive challenge as the two hordes that were approaching was almost more than he could fathom. If he hadn’t seen both hordes himself, he would have been tempted to disbelieve that the Fates could bring such misfortune on his gen.
He had once heard one of the old warriors of the gen pontificating on how to every action there was an opposing action; for every good there was a bad, and for every up there was a down. He didn’t know if finding the Kale Stone was such a powerful event as to merit the reaction they were getting. Two massive, unconquerable hordes? If this was the Fates’ idea of fairness, Durik would put his faith in other things.
Steeling himself once again, Durik strode up the path out of the sunken meadow up to where his warrior group had gathered. Kobolds stood among wolves in small groups around the little clearing off to one side of the path to the picket line. At the edge of the group, Kiria and the others stood with their riding dogs looking into the night and chatting among themselves. As he and Manebrow emerged, Kiria looked up at him, then blushed and turned away.
The brightness of the moon this evening, mixed with the subtle lining of these many figures that the heat vision of his race provided, etched a permanent image of them all in his brain, one that he would likely remember forever.
Arriving at the rear of the column, Durik patted nervous warriors on the shoulder, encouraging them as he went. He spoke words of care for the small handful of warriors who had lost relatives in the recent overthrow. With fire in his eyes for the task at hand, he clapped hands with his uncle Drok, the unspoken look they gave each other in the moonlight showed their mutual determination to protect all that was precious to them.
Coming to Kiria and her little team, Durik smiled a tender smile. “I am glad to see you three with us,” he said. “It appears that tonight and tomorrow will be as eventful as these past couple of weeks have been.”
Terrim and Myaliae laughed, but Kiria just looked nervously at the ground.
“Kiria,” Durik said as he laid a tender hand on her shoulder. “Let us focus on the task at hand. Tomorrow will be a new day, and a new cause for hope.”
Surprised by his indirect comment, Kiria looked up into his eyes. The care she saw there gave her hope enough to last the night and into the battle on the morrow.
Finally, arriving at the front of the column, Durik took the reins from his servant Kabbak’s hands and mounted Firepaw. With a nod of thanks and dismissal for Kabbak, he turned Firepaw about so he could face his contingent of wolf riders.
“Warriors of the Wolf Riders Warrior Group!” he began. The little column of warriors gathered closer to him in the cool night air of spring.
“This night we strike the first blow against our foes!”
All about him, voices and weapons were raised in hearty, if somewhat nervous support.
“I would remind you, my friends and neighbors, that six years ago these same orcs came against us. Their blades took from us many whom we loved.” Durik paused slightly as his thoughts turned to his father and mother, both of whom had died in that raid. “They caught us sleeping then, but not this time!”
Again, somber yet determined voices were raised in support.
“Warriors of the Kale Gen! Let us show these orcs that we will not suffer their evil any longer! No, we will fight them! Tonight in the forests we will ambush them. We will tear their throats with our swords and place their heads on our spears, and deal nothing but death without mercy to these evil creatures!”
A chorus of adrenaline met his words.
“And tomorrow, by the Fates, our gen shall come to battle against those few we leave for them to fight! May the Bloodhand Orc Tribe never forget the death and destruction we are about to sow among them, for tonight… tonight we conquer!”
The shining eyes and raised voices of the entire warrior group met Durik’s. As one, on Manebrow’s command, the entire warrior group mounted their wolves and spurred their mounts to a slow jog. Whereas before they had been tentative, almost fearful, now the column of wolf riders moved forward as one with determination in their eyes and an eagerness to strike the first blow against the evil that had entered their valley.
Not one torch’s burning after the Wolf Riders Warrior Group left on the main path toward the foothills of the northern mountains, a small team of dog riders appeared out of the forest near the sunken meadow of the Kale Gen’s home. After a brief discussion with the sentries, the small group of riders spurred their mounts to continue moving forward, bypassing the path down to the entrance into the caverns and instead heading toward the limestone quarry.
What awaited them at the large open field between the quarry and the sunken meadow, however, was more surprising than their arrival. Spread throughout the field were elite warriors
, evenly spaced and standing rigidly straight. In the middle of the field stood Lord Karthan and a pair of warriors with ram’s horns. On his command, first one of the two warriors blew a signal, then the other echoed the exact same signal. In rhythm the various elite warriors posted around the field yelled commands over their shoulders, then one would run one way, another would run a different way, and so on and so forth, though eventually they all ended up in one line, though still spaced quite a few steps apart. Their movements were surprisingly neat, intuitive, and symmetric for a group arrayed with such space between them.
Dropping the hood of his cloak, Krall, son and heir of Lord Krall from the neighboring gen, dismounted and handed his reins to one of the other riders. After passing his reins to another rider as well, the house guard warrior stepped up next to Krall.
“What do you suppose they’re doing?” Krall asked.
The warrior shook his head. “Drill, I suppose, though this is certainly more complex of a drill than just getting in a shield wall. Perhaps this is the new drill that their Patrol Guard was trying to work out last fall before the snows arrived and kept them underground for the winter.”
Krall stepped forward. In front of the entire formation, observing the maneuvers, Khazak Mail Fist was yelling at one of the warriors who had obviously not moved according to plan. After getting his message across, Lord Karthan had given another command which was played on one ram’s horn, then echoed on the other. In slightly better precision the group of warriors moved at a measured pace back to the positions they had been in when Krall and his group of riders had originally arrived.
“Khazak, old friend,” Krall called as he walked up to Lord Karthan’s grizzled chamberlain.
“Well, now,” Khazak said in surprise, “if it isn’t Lord Krall’s oldest whelp! I do hope you brought more with you than just this handful of warriors!”
Krall nodded, “Aye, Khazak. These are just my bodyguard, though I bring news of Ardan and his team as well. They brought word of the orc horde’s pending arrival, but are currently serving with my gen’s scouts.” Pointing back the way he came, Krall continued. “Except for a small number of border guards, the entire strength of my gen marches behind me as we speak.”
Khazak strode forward and grasped Krall by both shoulders, beaming with pride. “Ah, lad, that’s wonderful to hear! We’re in sore need of every one of your warriors!”
By this time Lord Karthan had given the command for the elite warriors to rest in place and had walked up to join the small group.
“Then the Kralls march with us? That’s excellent news! How far behind would you say the strength of your gen is, then?” Lord Karthan asked.
Krall, released from Khazak’s grip, adjusted his cloak on his shoulders and answered. “Lord Karthan, may I say that it is wonderful to see you and Khazak here. We were not sure who we would find in charge of the Kale Gen, what with Khee-lar’s attempt on your life and all.”
Lord Karthan nodded, his exuberance tamped down a bit by the reminder of so recent an evil. “Aye. We took back the gen from that traitor and his lackeys only this morning. It has been a long day, that’s certain. But come now, how far behind are your warriors?”
“My father’s intent was to set up camp at your picket line,” Krall answered. “He sent me forward to ask where you plan to fight the orcs, and to discover your strength and your plans for taking on this orc horde.”
Khazak Mail Fist looked at Lord Karthan, who was obviously steeling himself to tell Krall what both of them were thinking.
“Krall, have you heard of the ants yet?” Lord Karthan asked.
“Aye,” Krall said, perplexed by the question, “we’ve been fighting them these last few days.”
Lord Karthan shook his head. “No, Krall, have you heard of the new ant horde, the one that is coming up from the underdark?”
The surprised look on Krall’s face belied a calm interior.
“Apparently there’s a much larger ant horde coming through the underdark, directly toward our gen’s home caverns.”
Krall shook his head. “Oh, no. More ants? How do you know? And how do you know they’re heading for your gen? Who’s to say they don’t just take the Crossway to the exit in the middle of the valley and head toward our gen?” Krall was beginning to fully grasp the direness of their situation.
“Now calm down, lad,” Khazak broke in. “Jerrig, one of our warriors, killed the ant queen here in this valley. According to Durik’s visions, this new ant queen is her mother, and she’s coming after the gen that killed her dear daughter.”
“Then why don’t we just seal up the entrance to the underdark near our gen?” Krall retorted.
“That’s a great idea, Krall,” Lord Karthan answered.
“But?” Krall asked, not believing it could be that simple.
Lord Karthan sighed. “But there is a third entrance now. You may have read about the ‘Doorstep’ that was sealed off generations ago.”
Krall thought for a moment. “Yes. It was a passageway through the northern mountains that… also… led to the underdark. Oh, foxdung!”
Lord Karthan just nodded.
“And the orc horde is between us and re-sealing off the Doorstep!” Krall finished.
“Aye, Krall,” Lord Karthan answered. “But even if we did seal that off, they’d find another way out of the underdark. It would only delay their arrival.”
“Then let’s delay them!” Krall protested.
“That we will do,” Lord Karthan answered. “We’re bringing up the outcasts from the underdark, after which we will seal off Sheerface, though we’ll likely wait for the ants to get there so we can kill a few of them in the process.”
“I need to send a messenger to my father! He needs to seal off the mid-valley entrance.”
“Aye, Krall,” Lord Karthan reassured him. “That would be the best course of action. Further, make sure your messenger lets your father know to stay where he is. We’ll be fighting the orc horde not far from where he’s camped.”
“Aye,” Khazak added in, “and that would also allow your forces to make a dash home if the ants don’t come this direction once they come up through the Doorstep, though we know they’re out for Kale blood.”
Krall nodded, the urgency of the moment restored after a long, peaceful ride through the night forest. “Yes, well, I believe we’ll have to have some scouts out to make sure the ants do swing this way.” Turning, he called out to one of the other riders. It was not long before a detailed message was relayed and the messenger was on his way.
The immediate trouble of the moment over now, Khazak put his arm around Krall’s shoulders and led him over to where he had been reviewing the movements. “Come, Krall,” he said. “You should see this. We’re teaching our sub-leaders some new formations.”
“It looks more complex than just a shield wall like you Kales have always done,” Krall replied.
“Ah, yes. We’re putting archers, a shield wall, skirmishers, and hopefully wolf riders all together in one formation. Hopefully these changes will deal with the orc horde well enough.”
The pair walked along in silence for a few moments, until Krall turned to Khazak.
“Hey, so what did you mean about visions?” Krall asked. “Durik’s been having more visions, you say?”
“Sire,” Manebrow called in a low tone to his leader who rode not more than a spear’s length to his front. Catching his eye, he gave the hand signal to dismount. Durik nodded his agreement and held up his hand to signal the halt. Not many paces later the lead scouts had seen the signal as well and the entire warrior group came to a halt. Signaling the dismount, Manebrow and Durik slipped out of their saddles and to the ground.
“Sire,” Manebrow spoke in a low voice as he stepped up next to his leader. “Not more than a ridge or two away is where the orcs halted.”
Durik nodded. “Let’s leave the rest of the warrior group here, and go forward to look at how we want to do this raid.”
; Manebrow nodded then turned and beckoned for Drok to come forward. After a short conversation where he put Drok in charge in their absence, then stressed keeping a watch out and ensuring that everyone got some rest, he sent Drok on his way to pass the word to the rest of the elite warriors. Shedding their armor and leaving their wolves in the care of their warriors, the pair of leaders disappeared down the forest path into the night.
While all this was happening, the rest of the warrior group had dismounted and had shifted equipment in preparation to continue the march by foot. This was not the first time they had done this this night. They had alternated between riding and walking to rest their mounts for the entire journey, usually stopping at potential ambush spots along the way to drop off an elite warrior and his team of warriors. As part of their plan, each team had been told to loosen boulders on hills, or to set spikes along the edges of the trail, or to do whatever else they could to prepare a series of nasty surprises for the orcs. There had been several pieces of ground that were uniquely suited to setting up ambushes, to include a streambed that could be easily dammed up, with the intent of breaking it at the right moment. Kiria and her team had been left at this obstacle. He hadn’t known it before, but Kiria had studied ancient dwarven engineering and had a plan the moment she saw the streambed.
The energy that all of their ideas released was contagious. Once his warriors began to see the pattern of how they would fight this night, it was all Durik could do to keep them from seizing every good spot. They simply didn’t have enough warriors for that, however.
Now, as midnight and the end of this stage of their journey approached, bright steam rose from both wolf and rider in the inky darkness under the forest’s boughs. Moving from one group to the next of the thirty or so warriors that were still with the main body of the warrior group, Drok passed the word to each elite warrior to have their warriors rest themselves and their mounts, and to eat and check equipment. It had already been a long evening, and it would certainly be a very long and sleepless night once the orcs were roused. In such conditions a warrior has to catch what rest he can, for ability to endure is often the difference between victory and death.
