The Game of Fates

by Joel Babbitt

  Not far into the second watch of the night, as the trio were just reaching Outpost Hill, a distant roaring broke the vibrant tranquility of the night. Almost as one the nocturnal creatures around them went fearfully silent. Confused, Krebbekar and Morigar both turned around. Far to the rear of them, near where the Hall of the Mountain King lay in the pitch darkness of the night, a flame burst seemingly out of the ground and shot up into the air as if it had wings. The two kobolds looked at each other in wonder.

  Arren, however, knew the sound well and immediately looked around for the nearest place to hide.

  “Kobolds!” Arren snapped at the two warriors. “The dragon seems to have discovered that we were in his lair. Come! Let us hide!”

  As if released from a spell, the two kobold warriors turned themselves about and followed Arren at a run. Though they were several bowshots away from the closest of the ruins on Outpost Hill, the dragon was still miles away, which gave them some hope of escaping his notice.

  Reaching the crest of the hill in front of the rest of them, Arren turned to look back toward the Hall of the Mountain King. In the sky far above the valley the dragon turned large, erratic circles as it searched the valley floor for signs of anything living.

  “Hurry now,” he urged the two kobolds on. “He’s not seen us yet. Perhaps we can keep it that way.”

  The trio cast about the hilltop, looking for holes among the old fortifications on the top of the hill. After scrambling along a long ditch, over a rampart, and through a number of old, ruined stone buildings, Arren spotted an old bunker entrance, half buried in dirt which had flowed down into it over the centuries with the rains and snows that fell in this part of the world.

  Morigar was first into the bunker, only to come running out again covered in spider webs. After burning them out with a torch from Arren’s pack, the elf helped Krebbekar and his dog into the bunker, followed by a more alert Morigar.

  Night had passed quickly in the cramped quarters of the somewhat collapsed bunker among the ruins on Outpost Hill. Finally, as dawn broke over the northern valley, the kobold’s heat vision, which was much the same as the dragon’s, began to fail. Crawling out of their little shelter, the trio saw no sign of the dragon which had been circling the northern valley searching for them throughout much of the night.

  “Alright, Morigar,” Krebbekar said as he settled into his saddle for another long day of riding. “Tell me. Why do you think the dragon is after us?”

  Morigar looked dumbfounded. “Why would I know?” he asked.

  “Did you take something from his lair?” Krebbekar asked directly.

  Morigar blanched and stuttered. “I… What… What makes you think that?” Suddenly, the Krech Stone seemed rather heavy on his hip.

  Arren decided to help the interrogation. “You did see how organized that dragon’s lair was, did you not?” the elf asked.

  “Yes,” Morigar agreed. “I’m sure if there was something missing, perhaps even the smallest thing, that it would not have taken him long to notice it.”

  Morigar summoned up what little courage he had recovered, trying to keep a straight face. “No,” he answered. “I had barely gotten there when you arrived right behind me. I didn’t even have time to take anything… not that I even thought about it,” he added for good measure.

  Krebbekar looked at him, completely incredulous.

  Arren didn’t know Morigar’s history, but it was obvious enough to him that Morigar was lying.

  “Empty your pouches, sire,” Krebbekar said flatly.

  “What!” Morigar looked as if he’d been splashed with cold water. “How dare you talk to me like that!”

  Krebbekar turned his dog toward Morigar. “You can either do as I ask now, or I will search your pouches myself.”

  Morigar was aghast. “You wouldn’t!”

  “I would.”

  Looking from Krebbekar to the elf, and seeing the same look in both of their eyes, Morigar looked about as if considering his chances of escaping.

  “Don’t even think about it, sire,” Krebbekar said flatly.

  Inside, Morigar was squirming. Now, he began squirming on the outside.

  “Just give it up, little one,” Arren said. “I haven’t known your protector for that long, but I very much believe that he would ride you down and search your pouches himself.”

  An idea suddenly occurred to Morigar. Reaching into a belt pouch, he pulled out some of the jewelry he had pocketed from their capture of the dwarven outpost. Looking down, he lied. “Fine! I grabbed some jewelry from the dragon’s lair. But I didn’t think he would miss it! He had so many nice things!”

  Krebbekar rode forward and grabbed the jewelry out of Morigar’s hand. “I’ll take care of that!”

  With a knowing look, Arren shook his head and began looking around. “We should leave those things in a place where the dragon can easily see them.”

  Krebbekar nodded. “Aye, that we should. Would you mind doing the honors?” he asked as he handed the small handful of glittering gold and precious stones off to the elf.

  “Yes,” Arren nodded and walked over to a large, blackened rock. “This should do. Come, let us leave this place and hope that the dragon will search for us no longer once he finds what was taken from him.”

  Krebbekar turned his riding dog toward the path that led out of the ruins and down the hill. Arren quickly followed. Last of all, with a look of hatred mixed with smug arrogance, Morigar followed them, holding onto the pouch that carried the Krech Stone all the way.

  “Hurry!” Krebbekar hissed back at Morigar. Far to the front of them Arren had found the entrance to the Doorstep; the caves and passageways that formed a junction between the two valleys and the underdark beneath the valleys.

  With tongue lolling, Morigar ran as fast as he could behind his protector. “That’s easy for you to say!” he panted. “You’re riding a dog! I’m on foot!”

  For the pair of hours the trio had been alternately running and walking toward the Doorstep, they’d not seen the dragon. Now, as the midmorning sun began to pour its heat at them, the dragon had once again appeared from its lair, flying almost directly along the path called the Winding Way.

  The massive beast had stopped at Outpost Hill only long enough to pick something up; the three warriors were sure it was the jewelry. But to their horror, instead of heading back toward its lair, it began to fly low over the main road that led south toward the Chop, and which would bring him close to the entrance to the Doorstep.

  To their further horror, the dragon appeared to have spotted them and was flying quickly in their direction.

  “Fine! Die if you must, then!” Krebbekar called back to Morigar. Though he said it to help motivate Morigar to move faster, he almost meant it literally.

  Far behind them, yet approaching at a frighteningly quick speed, the dragon was venting flame as it scythed through the air on its great, leathery wings.

  For the next several hundred steps, the pair ran along in silence, while Arren stood at the hole in the rock that was the entrance into the mountain, his bow drawn and an arrow ready to fire to distract the dragon if necessary.

  Fortunately, it wasn’t necessary. Gasping for breath, Morigar followed Krebbekar and his riding dog into the passageway while the dragon was still further out than the elf’s bow could reach. Together, the three of them headed far enough down the passageway to ensure the dragon’s fire could not reach them either.

  The dragon Mananthiél was furious. Cursing the ‘robbers, thieves, and bandits’ that had come into his lair in one breath, and muttering fearfully to himself about his much more powerful female companion Marsa’s displeasure at losing the Krech Gen’s stone of power, he flew over the northern valley for most of the night. At first he flew high above the valley near their lair, hoping to see some sign of the robbers with his heat vision, swooping in low to scare several animals… and to eat them as well. He’d always been something of a nervous eater, and tonight’s problems di
dn’t help him with that trait.

  Finding nothing but frustration, Mananthiél flew back to his lair and tried to sleep it off. It didn’t work, however, as Marsa’s furious face kept disturbing his sleep.

  Shortly after dawn, he was at the search again. This time, however, he let the cool morning air of spring clear his mind as he stood on the balcony of his lair, and he thought like a potential robber. Where would they hide?

  Furious with himself for not having thought of it earlier, he went about searching the halls of his lair. Eventually finding that little rat-kobold thing again, he cornered it and forced it to come out and sniff around for him, as a dragon’s sense of smell is rarely acute, and Mananthiél’s was no exception.

  The rat-kobold thing, Skavvin was its name, shambled about the lair for a bit, finding its rat friends and talking in their squeaky language with each in turn. Finally, after an interminably long wait of at least an hour, Skavvin came shambling back in his mottled fur coat to report that one of his rats had been killed (this wasn’t news to Mananthiél as he’d eaten the fresh kill on one of his trips along the main passageway), and another rat had seen a pair of kobolds, one with a dog, and something without scales or much fur that was taller than both of the kobolds. Apparently, they had left as quickly as they had come in.

  The tension of the wait was almost more than Mananthiél could bear. Finally, with the news the rat king brought, he stormed up and out of his lair, launching himself into the air and looking about to see if his arrival had stirred anything to movement.

  It had, but nothing of interest, other than to eat.

  After a quick second-breakfast of mountain goat, the dragon flew around thinking about where these robbers might have gone. Were they northern gen kobolds? Probably not. Were they Krech Gen adventurers come to find their gen’s stone? Perhaps. What was this tall, scaleless thing? It really couldn’t be a kobold, and therefore it was probably an orc or some more foreign race to the area.

  Wherever the three robbers came from, it was almost assured that they only came from one direction; west.

  Flying away from the rising sun, Mananthiél flew directly toward the most likely hiding place in the area; the little nest of ruins called Outpost Hill by the kobolds of the area. From far up in the air the slight twinkle of something valuable caught his eye. Flying down lower, he found a couple of necklaces and such, all piled neatly on a black rock to catch his eye.

  Were they playing with him? Were they baiting him on? Who would be so impetuous as to taunt a dragon like this?

  Launching himself into the air with a roar of rage, Mananthiél began to scan the long road that cut north to south through the valley. There, far to the south already, and almost near the orc’s entrance into the southern mountains, was a small group obviously fleeing.

  With all the speed his rage could muster, Mananthiél flew straight toward the little creatures, so far away.

  Arren returned to the little cave the pair of kobolds had been hiding in with what appeared to be one of their packdogs. He was a big brute that had somehow chewed through the strap that kept the packsaddle on his back. The look in his eye was deadpan, as if he had no emotion at all, very strange for such a young dog, especially for the normally exuberant golden furred dogs they bred.

  “Minotaur!” Krebbekar called out from his seat against the wall. “How ever did you make it!” he said as he hobbled over to the big dog.

  “You know this dog’s name?” Morigar sneered in derision. “How quaint.”

  “Aye,” Krebbekar answered excitedly, “and so should you. He’ll be carrying your sorry tail back to your father, you know.” Turning to Arren, he asked, “Where did you find him?”

  “Further down the passageway,” the elf answered. “He must have seen my light and decided to come toward it. How strange that he should seek an underground path to get home, since dogs can’t see in complete darkness.”

  Krebbekar shook his head. “No, not really. Many of our dogs are raised in the mines next to our home. They are trained to follow their noses, or rather the feel of air on their noses, to get them and the miner they’re working with back to the surface if necessary.”

  “Well,” Arren answered in surprise. “That’s useful, though with the air blowing from north to south, I’d imagine he was a bit lost.”

  “Aye, now tell me, what do you think the dragon is doing? Do you think it’s out there waiting for us to emerge or not?” Krebbekar asked the elf.

  “Hard to say,” Arren answered. “Dragons are usually rather cunning creatures, and rarely do what you would expect them to.”

  “What I can’t understand is why it’s still after us, even after finding the treasure we left for it.”

  Arren shrugged. “It may be that it’s just that vengeful. If so, we may be in here a long time. On the other hand, it may be that that’s not all that’s missing.”

  Krebbekar looked long and hard at Morigar. Finally, he spoke. “Sire, you didn’t happen to take anything else, did you?”

  Morigar blanched yet again. “What?” he sputtered, “that was all! Just the jewelry!”

  Krebbekar got a scowl on his face and, as Arren stepped aside, he hobbled up to Morigar, who by now was drawing his sword as well.

  Slamming the sword out of Morigar’s grip, Krebbekar took the princeling by the neck. “Don’t you ever draw your sword on me! You may be the son of the lord of the gen, but you have caused me nothing but problems with your constant lies and trickery. Now take off your belt and hand over your pouches!”

  Sufficiently cowed, Morigar reluctantly unbuckled his belt and handed it, pouches and all, over to Krebbekar who dug through each pouch carefully and thoroughly. Coming to the pouch that contained the Krech Stone, he carefully pulled it out.

  “And what do you suppose we have here?” he asked no one in particular.

  “That would be a stone of power, is it not?” Arren asked, his eyes lighting up.

  Morigar, sullen and dejected now as he sat in the corner, only looked away from the pair of more powerful warriors. Hobbling over to him, Krebbekar prodded him none too gently.

  “You heard me! What stone is this?”

  Morigar just turned away from Krebbekar and faced the wall.

  “You insolent whelp!” Krebbekar yelled, lifting his hand as if to backhand Morigar.

  “Krebbekar,” Arren interrupted.

  Almost mad with anger, Krebbekar turned and gazed fiercely at the elf. “What!”

  “If you pass me that stone for a few moments, I can tell you what stone it is,” Arren answered.

  Pondering the offer for a moment, Krebbekar hobbled back toward the elf and handed him the stone, then sat down heavily, glaring at the insolent young prince that was his charge.

  “You don’t have to,” Morigar finally muttered. “The pedestal it was on said ‘Krech’.”

  “Aha!” Krebbekar pronounced. “Now we’re getting somewhere! So, tell me, sire, what possessed you to take the Krech Stone from the dragons’ lair?”

  “I don’t know,” Morigar answered sullenly.

  “You do know that you can’t use it, don’t you?” Krebbekar pressed.

  “What makes you say that?” Morigar turned to look at the old warrior.

  “Because you’re not Krech, you’re Krall!”

  Morigar thought for a moment. “But my mother isn’t Krall, and she’s the oracle of the Krall Stone,” he protested.

  “Aye,” Krebbekar answered as if he were explaining something very simple to someone who just wasn’t understanding. “But she’s joined to a Krall, you know. That makes her a Krall, besides the fact that somewhere in her family tree she likely has a couple of Kralls.”

  “Well who’s to say that I don’t have some Krech in me?” Morigar protested.

  Arren, who had grabbed the stone and peered into its depths, tossed the stone to Morigar. “There’s only one way to know for sure. See what you can do with the stone,” he said.

  Taking the st
one in both hands, he looked at it, turned it around in his hands, and stared for a moment into its bronze-flecked depths.

  “What’s supposed to happen?” Morigar asked.

  Arren stepped forward, grabbed the stone and passed it back to Krebbekar. “Don’t worry, little one,” he said. “If it were to happen, it would have happened by now.”

  “Great, so what do we do now?” Krebbekar asked.

  Arren shook his head. “I don’t know. But I would imagine that walking out to the dragon and offering it the stone probably wouldn’t be the wisest thing.”

  Krebbekar nodded. “I don’t believe that holding onto the stone would be wise either, if we want to avoid the dragon’s ire.”

  “Too late for that, I’d say,” Arren said.

  “Aye,” Krebbekar agreed, shaking his head. “I just realized that him finding us trying to escape to the south pretty much tells him where we were going… and puts our families and friends in danger. He probably won’t stop unless we give him this stone back.”

  Arren shook his head. “No. I think he’ll either take vengeance on your gens or not, regardless of the stone. However, if we give him his stone back, perhaps he’ll waste some time taking it back to his lair. Perhaps that will give us enough time to escape.”

  “Aye,” Krebbekar nodded his agreement as he moved the translucent stone back and forth in his hands. “I guess one of us is going to have to place it outside the entrance, then.”

  “I will do it,” Morigar strangely volunteered.

  “NO!” both of the others said in unison. Neither of them trusted him enough to believe he would actually do it.