Into the Heart of Evil Page 2

  That was not the only thing in his heart, however, as he and his contingent of guards made their way from the arena, past the great common chamber of the Trade Warrior Group, all lit up and buzzing with noise, toward the festivities that certainly were underway in the chambers of the Honor Guard Warrior Group. Doubt was in his heart also, and with good reason.

  He had changed many things in the decade and a half that marked his reign, and not all of those changes had been well received. Laws of wealth, where the elite warriors of the gen had lived off the efforts of the warriors who served them, had been replaced, causing elite warriors to have to work for their own support. This and other similar changes meant to put his people on a more equal footing with each other had caused no end of insurrections… the last of which had just been put down that very day at the end of the Trials of Caste!

  This latest insurrection had been sparked over what he considered to be the most trivial of decisions; he had made Durik, the winner of the Trials of Caste, a leader caste, exalting him above the common castes of the gen. Durik was keen of mind, clear-eyed with a knack for knowing what to do in any given situation. These qualities plus his agility and undeniable skill with weapons had won him the trials.

  These same traits had also put Durik in the right place at the right time; his leadership among his fellow yearlings during the insurrection at the Trials of Caste had turned the tide and saved Lord Karthan’s life. And so Lord Karthan was reluctant to send Durik and his new warrior companions away. But such was tradition…

  Each year, at the conclusion of the Trials of Caste, the lord of the gen gave the new warriors a quest, called the Proofing of the Trials. They were not to return until they achieved the objectives given them. But this year’s quest was unlike any given to a yearling group before, for this year the quest was to find a relic, a stone of power, a heritage of their gen lost two generations before, likely in an ancient ruin called Palacid. This relic was a gift from The Sorcerer Himself; a seer stone called the Kale Stone. He who held that stone held the rightful rule of the children of Kale in his hands.

  The prevailing wisdom in the gen was that Palacid was nothing more than an ancient ruin, long deserted and forgotten, that the Hall of the Mountain King where lore of Palacid was to be found was but a haunted place full of orcs and possibly nastier creatures, and that the Kale Stone was long lost to history, never to be found again; a relic of a different time.

  In the back of his mind Lord Karthan had the same nagging doubts that many of the gen’s council had expressed, some of them vehemently. Was the Kale Stone recoverable? Was he reading the prophecy right, that the stone was to be found at Palacid, or was that a prophecy of some event yet further in the future? Was he misguided in following his feelings?

  He had certainly been misguided in the past.

  Lord Karthan looked about as he walked through the smooth stone, sand-floored passages of the more settled parts of their home caverns. The Honor Guard warriors who followed him were a clear reminder of the trust put in him. But in everyone’s past there are things they think best left unknown to others, things that might call into question the choices they make, and Lord Karthan’s past was no different.

  What he had not shared with anyone still living in this gen were his memories of a quest for the Kale Stone that he had nominally led many years ago now, just after completing the two years of training his father had mandated for his son and heir. The quest had been an absolute secret, staged from the home of the Krall Gen not far to the east. It had all started with talk among the leader caste of finding the body of the last Lord Kale and his stone of power, lost two generations before a much younger Karthan had come of age.

  Though the failure of his own quest was mostly lost in the sudden violence of the orc ambush that had ended it all and claimed the lives of some of the gen’s finest warriors, the nagging doubts that their seemingly pointless wandering had brought remained in Lord Karthan’s heart. The much younger and very scared Karthan was now in his thirty-fifth year, well into middle age by anyone’s standard, and twenty years later was now the only one still alive who had gone on that quest.

  He dearly hoped he was doing the right thing by sending the yearlings to do what he and several of the gen’s finest warriors had failed to achieve in the past. Not long ago he had felt a burning confirmation, as if from the ancestors, a surety that this was the right course. But now there was only confusion in his heart; for him there was no comfort, no clarity.

  In the common chamber of the Wolf Riders, the celebration had already been going on for some time. After all, Durik was the orphaned son of one of their own wolf trainers, and as a whelp he had served as an apprentice wolf trainer in their kennels. So when Durik had been made a leader caste, the Wolf Riders were not about to let it be said that they didn’t know how to properly celebrate that! Carrying Durik and his best friend Keryak on their shoulders, the entire Wolf Riders Warrior Group had marched as one. All along the way, hornless whelps, the children of the gen, swarmed about Durik with wooden play swords fighting their own mock battles inspired by their champion. In front of the procession a handful of warriors gently but expeditiously cleared the way back to their common chamber before setting Durik on a makeshift throne of great elk hide and antlers, with Keryak, as well as a female called Carma who had come of age, in places of honor beside him.

  To Durik, this was a time of final acceptance. In a gen where everyone had rust-red scales, or often bronze-tipped with advanced age, the solid bronze scales he had been born with had always been a point of curiosity… and often of ridicule. He had often wished that he were just like everyone else, that he had never inherited such a mark from his father, and from his father’s father before; may they both rest with the ancestors. But tonight, in the afterglow of his victory in the Trials of Caste, Durik knew that this difference would now be a point of distinction, instead of a mark of ridicule; victory changes things.

  From the time they sat down until the warriors brought in the centerpiece of the feast, it was all the three young kobolds could do to keep up with the plates of food and mugs of drink brought to them. Soon, the table in front of them was full of crockery, and kobolds were beginning to stack the dishes one on top of another as the more incorrigible whelps still ran around hitting each other with their sticks.

  On the other side of Durik from Keryak sat Raoros Fang, leader of the Wolf Riders Warrior Group and now a fellow leader caste, though that fact had yet to sink in. Holding a bowl of boar’s tongue stew with one brawny arm, Raoros Fang talked freely of the council the night before between noisy slurps, leaving out the details of the contention about the quest. He greeted each of the females of his warrior group as they brought the plates of food and mugs of drink to the three newest adult members of the gen. “You’ve outdone yourself, this time, Diru!” “That smells wonderful, Raba!” And to Durik’s aunt as she approached, trailed closely by Durik’s younger sister, “Karial, you must be the proudest of all here today… except for perhaps this one.” He pinched Darya’s cheek. She blushed under bronze-tipped scales from the burly warrior’s attentions and quickly moved to Durik’s side.

  “You are most gracious, sire,” Karial said as she stepped back.

  Leaning over, Darya hugged Durik. “I am so happy for you. You’ll not forget about us lowly folk down here in the warrior groups now that you’re a leader caste, will you?”

  “Of course not, sister,” Durik answered, grabbing her by the waist and turning to Keryak “Why, my family… and Keryak, are invited to come see me in whatever splendid new quarters they give me anytime.”

  Keryak smiled wistfully and rolled his eyes, “Ever the gracious one, aren’t we, Durik? Ah… you’ll excuse me if I’m just a bit jealous. But no one could deny you won the trials fairly.”

  Letting Darya go and feeling that perhaps his friend was not over the sting of losing the trials yet, Durik tried to console him. “Ah, Keryak, you know I wanted nothing but victory for you. I would gladly have given you my place as victor.”

  “Aye, but from the beginning of the scouting trial I was marked for misfortune, it seems. I’m glad you won it,” Keryak replied flatly, turning toward Durik and Darya. After a moment the winsome look on his face passed like a cloud from the face of the moon. “Perhaps, though, with the proofing of the trials starting tomorrow, I’m even gladder that Trallik didn’t win it,” Keryak finished with a smile.

  Mention of their fellow yearling, who had cheated and taken advantage of them all during the trials, brought a grimace to Durik’s face. “I agree with you there,” Durik stated rather undiplomatically, remembering the few times Manebrow had chosen Trallik to lead and the frustration and failure he’d caused.

  “As for me, I’m hoping we find the stone quickly and that this Palacid place is just an old ruin,” Keryak said. “Who knows, maybe there’s a kobold gen still there… with some really cute females in it!”

  For his efforts at comedy, Keryak received a solid slap to the back of the head. “You!” Darya cried in only somewhat mock annoyance. It was well known that the two of them were as good as promised to each other, even though Darya wouldn’t come of age for two more years.

  Durik grunted his agreement. “I guess we’ll see where the stone truly lies… and who guards it. Wherever it may be, I’m certain we’ll not just walk up to it and take it.”

  With that, Durik lapsed into silence. As he thought about the quest ahead, doubt began to creep into his mind. In his heart, he wondered if he was ready to lead such a group. He pondered on the quest that would come as certain as the morning on the morrow.

  Could one stone, lost so long ago now, even be found, and if it was found, would they even recognize it? But in his heart, he felt something different that
he could not explain, a certainty, perhaps, akin to the visions he had had before. It was a certainty he knew to be quickly perishable, yet undeniable in its power and influence when present.

  After a moment this… influence… began to take shape again, in a way that was becoming familiar. Suddenly a flood of light and power overtook him as an image formed. Durik was transfixed. Caught by this sudden burst of light, he was reluctant to go into it, but there was nothing he could do to resist it. He was unable to escape its stark yet soothing embrace. Suddenly, as had happened twice before the Trials of Caste, he felt as if somehow he had been spirited away to another place.

  He found himself standing, though his feet did not touch the ground just below him, looking out across a long stone bridge of ancient construction in the brilliant light of day in the outer world, which spanned a chasm that dropped off into a mist. The light that surrounded the place was dazzling, penetrating and almost un-endurable, yet somehow familiar now, carrying in its undertones a calming and ennobling power that had lingered with Durik before, as he was sure it would again.

  On the far side of the bridge, almost at the edge of the brilliant light that bounded the vision, Durik could see a small building carved out of the stone of the mountainside. As Durik wondered on the scene of what was before him, he felt as if something was calling to him… ever so faintly, from within the small stone building. Slowly, and without any conscious thought, he began to glide effortlessly across the bridge toward the opening in the small stone building. Deep within him, Durik felt that he was meant to go through that opening into the darkness beyond. As this vision occurred, his heart burned within his chest, and a deep sense of power came over him.

  Then, almost as quickly as it had come, Durik’s head snapped back as though waking with a start from a vivid dream. The vision disappeared from before his eyes, leaving him alone and small again, back with his friends in the caves of his heritage. In his heart, there lingered a burning sense of destiny, as if the Fates had released their hold on him, as if the ancestors had turned the Winds of Fate and opened an effectual door to him… though what that door was, he did not know.

  Durik’s eyes refocused and he looked about. Raoros Fang was noisily laughing and slapping the table at something a warrior leaning over the table had said. Keryak and Darya were in quiet conversation, an island of silence in the middle of the noise. Somehow no one was looking at him.

  Durik shook his head as the feeling of power began to fade. This was the third such vision, each of which had brought knowledge, but none of which made sense in the moment. And now, as he thought about the quest ahead, he couldn’t see how this fit in either. There was so much he just didn’t know, and that ignorance let doubt creep in where power and surety had recently ebbed away.

  He thought he could lead this group he’d been made leader of, but he didn’t know where. He didn’t even know if the location of Palacid was known to the gen. He was almost certain no one in the last few generations of the gen had been back to Palacid, which legend stated was their place of beginnings. He had heard several stories over his lifetime about Palacid, from legends about stones of power to nighttime stories about phantoms that mothers used to get their whelps to stay in bed. He was equally as certain that no one he knew had any idea about how to go about getting to Palacid, much less what they would face when, or if, they arrived.

  The crowd of kobolds now gathering to the tables raised a shout of joy, shattering his thoughts. From the quartermaster’s cave entrance, a small group of warriors were leading a large boar, easily a head taller at the shoulder than any of the warriors. They led it slowly toward the center of the cavern, where a large pit, lined with large leaves, had been dug and filled with hot coals. Behind the rope harness, the boar’s eyes were wild with the fear of smelling so many other creatures in such close proximity. It squealed and grunted as it was pushed, pulled, and prodded with sharp stakes toward the center of the pit. As it was led in, Raoros Fang stood up and, reaching back over one brawny shoulder to make sure his sword was still with him, he stretched his arms a bit and walked commandingly toward the pit.

  Arriving at the center of the clearing, the warriors who were leading the great boar forward moved from the front of the boar more toward the back, except for two who pulled up on the harness, causing the boar to lift its head and expose its neck. Raoros Fang approached the beast and drew the broadsword from his back, eyeing the massive creature as it squealed and thrashed against the bindings.

  Touching it on the nose, he cried, “Noble boar, thank you for giving us your flesh. May your spirit now go back to the Creator in peace!” With that, he grasped his sword with both hands and, backing up a step, swung the heavy blade downward, tearing open the boar’s neck. The head of the mighty beast sagged, and the boar’s eyes rolled in its head as a great splash of blood splattered the area at the edge of the pit. With great effort, the warriors who had brought the boar pushed its collapsing form the rest of the way into the pit.

  Within moments, the pungent smells of boiling blood, singed hair, and burning flesh permeated the room. Moving quickly, the warriors took a small pile of rocks made hot in the coals of a fire and piled them on top of the now-still body of the boar, finishing the project by covering the whole mess with great leaves from the pile next to the pit. It was not long before the entire cave was filled with the steam of boar fat and the sweet smell of roasting meat.

  As the evening passed, Darya seemed to be ever at Keryak’s side. They talked in low voices and held each other, tails intertwined behind their chairs. Carma looked on in longing with an empty heart. She had not yet found her love, and longed for it with all the tender feelings of youth.

  Durik also was painfully aware of the happiness that his younger sister… and his best friend… had found together. He thought of Kiria, the Lord of the Gen’s daughter. They had only met once, and yet in that meeting there had been some deeper connection. Counterintuitively to the young kobold, now that he was leader caste and she wasn’t completely out of reach, the infatuation he had felt the last couple of days began to temper itself.

  He would have to get to know this Kiria; he didn’t know anything about her, really, but tradition and nature had their influence, and as he sat watching Keryak and Darya, his heart did indeed want to know more. Though he didn’t know what the future held, he hoped that the promise and love he saw shining brightly in his sister’s eyes would be part of it.

  Chapter 2 – Brothers in Arms

  Manebrow had lingered longer than he should have in the arena with his lifemate Ki and their three sons. Mercifully, the leader of his warrior group, a stout warrior called Khazak Mail Fist, had given him a little time with his family before he was to report to the leader’s grotto to receive the list of five warriors who would be added to the quest group. Ki had been brave; she had not cried at the announcement of the quest and his selection to go on it. Their three sons had been so excited; the exuberance and naïveté of youth breaking through the layers of protection Manebrow had built around his heart.

  For some time he sat with Ki in the arena, their tails intertwining. Once the crowds had gone, they walked around talking of younger days, of times long gone and only lightly touching on the topic of times yet to come. As their sons ran ahead of them, hornless heads bobbing, tails twitching, and eyes bright as they played with their wooden swords, Ki stopped him and wrapped her arms around his waist, looking up into his eyes with the slightest hint of tears in hers. Ki obviously needed to feel that he was sure he would come back to her and their sons when this quest was done. With all of his heart he wished he knew and could give her a firm assurance.

  Finally, after several moments of silence, Manebrow held her close and, bending down slightly, he whispered into her ear the words she needed to hear. “Ki, my dearest, I want you to know that I will come back to you.”

  She pressed herself deep into his embrace, needing to feel that what he said was true, or perhaps to feel that their love would see them through. The embrace lingered, but soon enough Manebrow had to go.