The Game of Fates Read online

  “How did you slaughter those orcs like that?” he asked as he stood watching Arren search through the orcs’ belongings.

  “Perfection,” Arren said without looking up from what he was doing.

  Trallik waited for Arren to explain. He waited for several moments, but the elf said nothing further. Trallik prodded his companion. “What do you mean ‘perfection’?”

  Arren, who had moved to the second orc’s body, looked up at him with a piercing gaze. “Do you remember how I told you I was still mastering my fighting style when the orc gate was opened some four hundred and twenty years ago?” Trallik nodded and Arren continued. “I did, to a point of perfection.”

  Trallik could not grasp the concept of perfecting one’s mastery of a fighting style and voiced his confusion.

  Arren, who had found nothing of significance in the orcs’ pouches, stood and looked down at the young kobold. “I see that you are full of the curiosity of youth, my little guide.” He brought his weapon up from under his arm and rested it on his shoulder. “Come, let us continue our journey. I have heard nothing from the passageway. I believe we have routed them. Let us talk as we go.”

  Trallik nodded his agreement as Arren walked past. Looking down at the contents of the orcs’ slit pouches spilt on the ground, he noticed a few shining coins. Remembering that the northern gens used coins, he quickly collected them before catching up to the elf.

  “What is your concept of life, little one?” Arren asked.

  “Umm… what do you mean?” Trallik replied as he half-walked and half-jogged beside the long-legged elf.

  “What is your plan in life? What do you plan to do with your life?” he asked.

  “I… uh… I planned to be an elite warrior in my gen, but I don’t think that is going to happen anymore,” Trallik answered.

  “How did you plan on building this life?” Arren asked.

  “Um… I guess I thought it would just happen. After all, I was the smartest of my year-group and the best with locks, traps, scouting, and such,” Trallik answered.

  Arren nodded and waited a moment before continuing. “Like most of the members of the short-lived races, you assume that your goals will be met without a clear understanding of the entire process of attaining them.”

  Trallik muttered something unintelligible as he began to squirm a bit inside.

  “Elves, however, live a long time. Because of that, we tend to be very careful about our planning and our choices. After all, the longest you may have to live with a mistake is some seventy five years or so. In contrast, I have to live with the consequences of my daily actions for what’s left of my thousand years of life.”

  Trallik nodded his meager understanding. For him, the elf’s entire point of view was a complete paradigm shift. He was beginning to gain a greater understanding of the elf, but he could tell that, perhaps, he could never fully understand what he understood.

  “As such, most elves spend the first fifty years of their lives discovering, playing, making friendships, building a sense of allegiance… and planning,” Arren said as he raised one black eyebrow. “I knew, before I entered my nation’s obligatory military service at age fifty, that I wanted to be the leader of my nation’s warriors. As such, I planned out a path that I felt would lead me to gain my nation’s trust and my eventual appointment as commander of all our war bands.

  “The first step was, of course, a decade of honorable service as a recruit, after which I was in the process of spending the next forty years, until my one hundredth year, cloistered away doing nothing but studying the art and sciences of war and perfecting my skills with weapons. However, when the kobold stone was lost to the orcs, my studies were interrupted for a few years to fight the Fallen Prince’s minions, though I was able to finish them later.”

  The pair of companions were now at the main passageway, and Arren paused for a few moments to listen before entering the passage and continuing their journey up toward the far side of the mountain.

  “I was in my twentieth year of studies at that time, and had completely mastered my thoughts; every stray desire, every daydream, every self-defeating attitude. I was at one with my mission and completely focused in thought and word.”

  Trallik had many questions. “But how could you do that, and why would you even want to?”

  “It is a simple progression. As thoughts are the basis of action, and repeated action becomes habit, and habits form one’s character, it is first and foremost necessary to absolutely dedicate one’s self in thought and word to whatever is to be accomplished. Once thoughts are mastered, then actions, habits, and character naturally follow.

  “The pain of physical exertion and suffering is the surest crucible to drive the dross of frivolity from one’s life. Extreme effort, extreme trials and challenges, and the desire to become more than you are can lead one to absolute dedication. This absolute dedication, or giving of one’s self entirely to a chosen path, brings with it the reward of absolute control over one’s thoughts. Therefore, I spent every day for forty years learning to endure extreme hardships and learning to push myself beyond what I thought possible.”

  “But why would you want to? Isn’t it better to laugh, love, and live?” Trallik asked.

  “It is,” Arren answered, “but each thing in its own time. He who completely focuses his mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical energies on a task until he masters that task will keep the proficiency he gains for the rest of his life, for it becomes a true and living part of him. He then reaps the benefit of that dedication from that point onward. While others who did not so dedicate themselves find themselves constantly having to revisit and relearn the same task.”

  Trallik was beginning to understand the elf’s perspective, and it shook his concept of how to live a successful life to the core. It was hard doctrine, and he was not so sure he wanted to know more. But if there was one thing Trallik was, it was curious. “What types of things did you go through in this training and what did you learn?” he asked.

  “Well, there were several core things I did, as well as several separate events. I wore a heavier version of this same armor I wear now for twenty years straight without removing it except to bathe. Everywhere I went I carried a backpack that I always kept something of a load in, and that I frequently filled with rocks when climbing the highest peaks on the borders of our lands, or when executing my hundred-mile marches. At all times I carried my weapons.

  “By traveling so, I purified and strengthened body, mind, and spirit. In fact, before coming on this quest, I spent another year well burdened with heavy gear. Once one masters moving, fighting, and conducting life’s chores in such a kit, doing so in a lighter kit gives one a significant advantage over others who are not well accustomed to the weight of the trappings and tools of war.

  “Every day, and sometimes long into the night, the many students of our grand master conducted intense exercises. It could be said that these exercises were bloodless battles, so intense in their design and competition that our wars against the orcs felt more like simplistic, but bloody exercises. They were the true tests of how far we had each progressed.

  “To prepare for these battles, as well as for the other challenges I faced, my master and I exercised for hours every day with my weapons, until they became as familiar to me as my own limbs. I learned to counter every strike and break every defense. I perfected my fighting style… that is, I became capable of executing every move, every maneuver, indeed every aspect of my fighting style as well as the greatest of grand masters of my fighting style.” Arren ran his hand lovingly along the length of his weapon’s handle. “After these few centuries, this naginata I bear,” he said, indicating the short-poled weapon with the long blade that he carried, “is no longer a tool to me, but rather it is an extension of my will. I know its weight and feel as well as I know that of my own hands.”

  “What a strange name,” Trallik said.

  “What? Oh, naginata. Yes, well that too has quite a
history as well, though I can see by the look on your face that I should not weary you further with the long version of it,” he said. “You see, in the dragon wars when the other pilgrim races came to Dharma Kor, the elf nation who was most successful against the dragons, and who therefore came to dominate our collective military affairs, had very different weapons from many of the rest of our nations. As they were given charge of our military training and leadership for a season, their tactics, weapons, and training became the standard. As you can see, a naginata is a short pole arm with a long, heavy blade. We who hold the line against the armored troops that form the veteran core of an orc horde’s assault use the naginata, as it is particularly well suited to fighting both heavily armored opponents as well as mounted opponents.”

  “How can your weapon be so old?” Trallik asked, incredulous at the elf’s stated timeline.

  “Well, young one,” Arren started, “I spent the better part of a year forging this particular weapon. I completed it in time to start my training, and the magic wards that my grand master placed on it strengthen it, preserve it, and give it an exceptionally keen edge.

  “It, like my armor and the tips of my arrows,” Arren continued, “was forged with a metal called bilandrium, in The Sorcerer’s Tongue that is. It requires the greatest of forges and the hottest of fires to be worked, but when it is folded and tempered repeatedly, it can shatter lesser metals.”

  Trallik was impressed, and he was glad he was on the elf’s side, though with every word Arren spoke, he became more and more aware of the great gulf of differences that separated the two of them. After seeing the elf in action against the generally untrained orcs, and now having heard his explanation of his performance, Trallik began to understand his mysterious companion. In his heart his respect for the almost untouchable elf had grown tremendously.

  The two companions sat silently in the small antechamber near the northern exit to the passage complex that they had been in for some time. In a sign of the elf’s growing trust for him, Trallik sat watch near the entrance as the elf sat cross-legged, transfixed by some vision that Trallik was not privy to.

  Trallik was amazed at what he saw. It was almost as if Arren’s face was slightly translucent, and it glowed with an ever so subtle light that would not have been visible except for the contrast of the pitch darkness that otherwise surrounded the pair. After the initial few moments when the vision had opened, the elf spoke, the words themselves seeming almost musical yet firm and strong at the same time. Trallik didn’t recognize any of the words, and guessed it was Elvish. He knew it certainly wasn’t anything spoken by kobolds or orcs.

  After a time of the communing, the amazement of it began to wear off, and Trallik began to tire of keeping watch over the glowing elf. Then, as suddenly as the vision had been opened, the light disappeared and Arren stood, passing his hand over the crystal in the handle of his naginata and speaking the command word to cause it to give its light. Knowing that Arren was back with him, Trallik sat patiently waiting for an explanation. He did not have to wait long.

  “My little friend,” Arren said as he hoisted his pack over his shoulder, “you are of the Kale Gen, the tribe of Kobold’s second son, are you not?”

  Trallik nodded his head in confusion. He was pretty sure he hadn’t told Arren that.

  Arren looked Trallik squarely in the eyes. “I must let you go, little one. Your people will need you shortly. Return to them.”

  Arren’s words struck Trallik like a blast of cold water.

  “But I have been exiled from them. I can’t go back,” Trallik protested.

  Arren stepped forward and put a hand on Trallik’s bare, scaly shoulder. “Little one, the key I seek is not with your gen, but I believe you’ll find that your return will be key to your gen’s survival. Forget yourself, little one. Go. Return to them.”

  Trallik looked up at the tall elf without any real understanding.

  Arren turned, walked to the entrance of the antechamber and looked up the short distance of the tunnel to the northern exit and daylight beyond it. After a moment of pondering, he turned back to Trallik who was waiting expectantly. “I must continue my journey,” he spoke, “and you must also continue yours.”

  Trallik was crestfallen.

  “The Bloodhand Orc Tribe has decided to move south earlier than I expected. You will want to go back through this passageway to your southern valley before they arrive. Hurry now. Goodbye Trallik of the Kale Gen. May our paths cross again when the Creator wills it.”

  With that, Arren walked the remaining distance up into the daylight and disappeared into the brilliant light, leaving Trallik staring wordlessly after him.

  Chapter 16 – Bad Company

  “Eh! Hoo ye? Eh!” The noise came from somewhere far outside Trallik’s dream, interrupting the world he was in. He’d not eaten since the day before when he’d parted ways with Arren, the elf prince, so his groggy mind had conjured up quite a feast of roast boar, fish from the deep streams far under their gen’s home, and stewed roots, which he had just begun to feast on. Though the taste of it all was marvelous, even his dream couldn’t cover up how empty he felt inside.

  “Eh!! Hoo ye?!” the noise came again, this time much louder and more insistent than before, and this time it was accompanied by a pain in Trallik’s side.

  Slowly, groggily, Trallik’s weary mind made the journey to semi-wakefulness. Turning over and looking up from the little hollow he’d found between a tree root and a rather large bush, Trallik’s bleary eyes blinked in the sunlight.

  “Eh! Waken Ow!” the persistent voice said again.

  Suddenly remembering where he was, Trallik sat up with a start and looked toward the voice, tangling his horns in the branches of the bush. Standing on the root he had been sleeping against was a dark-scaled kobold holding a spear. As Trallik blinked, pulled the wolfskin hood back and tried to rouse himself fully, the dark-scaled kobold moved to prod him again with the butt of his spear. Trallik caught the spear shaft and pushed it back toward the dark-scaled kobold. This whole being-woken-up-by-strangers thing was getting irritating.

  “I’m awake!” he groaned. “Who are you, and what funny language do you speak?” he asked. Now sitting up and much more fully awake, Trallik could see that the kobold’s horns were thinner than his, and the very tips of his dark red scales seemed to have a light hue to them. His gear was rather primitive, consisting of fur pouches tied to a rope that hung over one shoulder, though his spear was obviously of excellent make. The steel tip of it shone brightly in the morning sun.

  “Aha! Ye spik Sorcer Tong!” the kobold warrior exclaimed. “Yoo Krall Gen, or may be Kale Gen!”

  Trallik nodded his head.

  The kobold warrior reached out a hand, which Trallik reluctantly grasped. “I be Mahtu” he said as he lifted Trallik to his feet.

  “I am Trallik.”

  Mahtu stood looking at his new acquaintance as Trallik brushed the leaves from his wolf-skin outfit. “Yoo Kale Gen, Trah Leek?” he asked, trying too hard to pronounce Trallik’s name right.

  Trallik grimaced. It wasn’t a discussion he wanted to have with this stranger, at least not yet. “I am not Krall Gen,” he answered elusively.

  “Ah, yoo Kale Gen. I see belts. Belts tell me yoo Kale Gen.”

  Trallik pursed his lips as he stepped out of the small hollow he’d found the night before after chasing a particularly frisky rabbit unsuccessfully for some distance. “I come from the Kale Gen.”

  Mahtu looked surprised. “Why yoo not with others? Yoo…” he thought for a minute until he finally came up with the word. “Yoo alone?”

  Trallik nodded his head and tried to change the subject. “And what about you? Are you alone?”

  Mahtu shook his head from side to side. “No. I warrior for money. I guard bridge for boss warrior.” Seeing that Trallik was intrigued by what he was saying, Mahtu continued. “Many friends. Much money.” By the look on Trallik’s face, Mahtu could see that Trallik’s int
erest was more than just conversational. After a few moments of Trallik staring at Mahtu in wonder, Mahtu spoke. “Um… yoo like join us?” he asked Trallik tentatively.

  Trallik’s mind had begun to race with the possibilities. Friends were something he was rather short of again, and he’d heard how the northern gens used money to trade for other forms of wealth, such as furs, crafted goods, and food stuffs. Trallik’s spirit began to be lifted by the thought of having friends again and his mind was transfixed by the promises that money might hold.

  After following Arren the elf prince for the better part of a day, and hearing him speak of setting goals and building his life, foremost in Trallik’s mind was the thought that perhaps loosing all his friends and being exiled from his gen wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Perhaps it was just the beginning of his opportunities. Perhaps money was the way to gain wealth and build one’s life in the northern gens? If so, Trallik was determined that he would gain as much of it as he could. Trallik couldn’t help but think that Arren would be proud of him… if he ever saw the elf warrior again.

  Though the recent deep remorse had brought some changes to Trallik’s soul, his character would clearly take many more defining moments to grow. And Arren’s last injunction to him; to return to the Kale Gen for the sake of his people, didn’t even come to mind. Trallik nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll join you!”

  “Yep, then. We go!” Mahtu said then turned to go.

  Trallik had not realized how far he had gone the night before. Now, as he strapped on his backpack and stretched a bit prior to following behind Mahtu, he found himself a stand or two of trees away from the base of the mountain known as the Chop. Mahtu was heading directly for the path that led in a somewhat direct fashion up the uniformly wall-like southern face of the steep mountain.

  Trallik took a deep breath and shook his head. He was not looking forward to that climb. Finishing up adjusting his pack, Trallik ran to catch up with Mahtu, peppering him with questions about what money could be used for prior to their breathless ascent up the mountain’s face.