The Game of Fates Read online

  Lady Karaba could not hide the dismay on her face. Fear and the pain of previous loss resurfaced in her eyes, which quickly became moist.

  Turning to face his son, Lord Krall spoke with pent up emotion, “You’ve been asking for this for too long. Perhaps it is time you dealt with the results of your actions, without me to sweep them under the rug for you. Perhaps it is time you saw senseless death that you can’t run and hide from. Maybe that will bring you to your senses. For your sake, and your mother’s, I hope you’re ready.” Lord Krall turned back to the window, but not before he noticed the look in his lifemate’s eyes. “Go, my son. Tonight you may request whom you need from the council. May you return to me and your mother when this quest is finished.”

  Morigar stood tall in front of his father, who looked well stooped with both age and the burdens of life. “Father, I’ll not fail you, and I will return.” Lord Krall did not turn around, but rather bent even more, as a prisoner would when lashed with the whip. Feeling uncomfortable, Morigar turned, bowed his head and walked quickly out of the room.

  As the door closed behind Morigar, Lord Krall spoke again. “I’m sorry about that, my guests,” he apologized in a low voice. “Young Durik, this quest you bring, and what you have discovered on your trip here…” His head shook as he contemplated the situation out loud, his voice gradually growing more sure as he continued. “This imminent threat of the massive great ant colony you discovered, as well as the alliance between the remnants of the Bloodhand Orc Tribe and the dissenters in our gens. These have caused no small stir among the members of our gen council, and seem to have evoked much emotion about the well-being of our gen. And now, as if Lady Karaba and I did not have enough to worry about, we now must deal with our son going on some quest, possibly to face dragons, just to find what may very well end up being an ancient ruin.” He shook his head in frustration. “How shall I justify such a quest to the council?”

  After a few moments of silent thought, Lord Krall looked up at the group, though he could not meet his lifemate’s teary gaze. “To justify our participation in this quest to my gen’s council, I will give Morigar the responsibility of seeking out and gaining a knowledge of what this remnant of the Bloodhand Orcs consists of,” he said, referring to the unholy alliance that had been struck between the conspirators in the neighboring Kale Gen and their common enemy the wild orcs of the great forest.

  Staring Durik in the eyes, Lord Krall nodded. “Yes, that’s the answer. That will sidestep the dragon issue. And, after all, it is in your gen’s best interests to discover the strength of the Bloodhand Orcs as well, is it not? Besides, it would not delay your quest much anyway. Well, so be it then.”

  Durik looked uncomfortably at Khazak who was looking steadily at Lord Krall. The quest given him by Lord Karthan was not to scout out the strongholds of the Bloodhand Orcs. Would Khazak say nothing?

  “Sire,” Khazak Mail Fist broke in almost on cue, “Lord Karthan said nothing about scouting out the Bloodhand Orcs. We cannot risk doing much for Morigar if that is his quest.”

  Lord Krall nodded without looking up. “Yes, yes, I suppose you’re right. I shall have to send someone with him that will ensure his success, for alone my son has a propensity to get in the deepest of trouble and the direst of circumstances.” Lord Krall looked up at Khazak. “Something I’m sure you’ve seen him do before.”

  Khazak nodded. Yesterday was not the first time he’d saved Morigar’s life. There had been a hunting incident some years now in the past. “Aye, sire.” He paused a moment. “I’ll not speak for Durik on this, but if he does decide to provide some assistance to whomever you send to watch over Morigar, I’m sure Lord Karthan would approve of it.”

  Durik nodded his head in understanding.

  Hearing a gong sound out in the great chamber, Lord Krall seemed roused somewhat from his dismal mood, “It would seem that the feast is almost prepared. Shall we go, my friends?” Durik, Khazak, and Krall stood up from their chairs and began to make their way to the door.

  Lady Karaba could neither face her lifemate nor think of food after the events of the last several moments. Silently, she made her way back up the stairs toward their bedchamber.

  As Durik approached the door, Lord Krall spoke again. “And if it so be that you decide to help him in this task, or if he decides to accompany you on the remainder of your quest, then so be it.”

  One by one, the warriors filed silently out of the room into the council chamber, and from there to the great chamber beyond. Khazak Mail Fist was last of the Kale Gen to leave, behind him Krall, Lord Krall’s eldest son, waited. As he reached the door, Khazak turned to Lord Krall. “If it is any comfort to you, sire, I’ll tell you that this is the best group of yearlings I’ve seen come through the trials, and Manebrow who is Durik’s second, well… you just couldn’t ask for a more level-headed warrior. He’s as smart as he is skilled. Lord Karthan trusted them with his only daughter, and that’s saying something.”

  Lord Krall grimaced at Khazak’s final statement. “Lord Karthan’s daughter is still determined to continue on this quest, then.” He shook his head, “Poor Durik will have his hands full, that’s certain.”

  Khazak thought for a moment then changed the subject. “I wonder if it wouldn’t be wiser to put Morigar under him, rather than leave them as companions as they head north.”

  Lord Krall looked at Khazak skeptically. His son Krall scoffed in open derision at the suggestion.

  Khazak, seeing that Lord Krall was not in agreement, tried to strengthen his case, though it ended up being a feeble attempt, “I remember several years ago there was a two-headed lamb born here in your gen while I was visiting. The shepherd was more than willing to show the thing. It looked healthy enough for a while, but soon died…”

  Lord Krall raised his hand. “Enough said, my friend. That young Durik seems an accepting enough type anyway. I’m sure that the two of them will be able to work out some sort of agreement on how things are to be done.”

  Khazak nodded his head and walked past him to the door, his argument having fallen on deaf ears.

  Krall seemed to have something urgent to discuss with his father, and the two of them stood discussing it for several moments. Finally, Lord Krall nodded his agreement and the discussion ended. The two of them walked stiffly through the council chamber into the great chamber and were greeted by the light, sounds, and smells of the feast.

  Chapter 4 – The Elf Prince

  A crackling noise slowly began to pierce Trallik’s groggy mind. For several moments he successfully ignored it, not wanting to be roused from his somewhat uncomfortable slumber. He imagined that it was his mother fixing first meal, and that she would soon come to rouse him. Somewhere in his groggy mind, however, he wondered why he felt cold. After all, the caves of the Deep Guard Warrior Group were near the fiery crack that heated his gen’s home caverns, the better to grow the fungus that much of the gen depended on for their food.

  After a few more moments of groggy half-wakefulness, the memory of where he was and what had happened came rushing back at him in an instant of sudden awareness. He sat up with a start and, with eyes wide open, looked around himself.

  Seated on a log in front of a small cooking fire not ten paces from him was a most strange looking creature. It was tall like an orc and had no scales, but unlike orcs its skin was very light and seemed to radiate health, youth, and vigor. Its ears were pointed like a kobold’s horns, but its head was covered in long, dark hair that fell about its shoulders. It was dressed in dark green robes mostly covered by finely crafted armor made of overlapping bands of a silverish metal he did not recognize and had on a thick, dark green cloak the same color as its robes. Beside it on the log sat a full helm made of the same strange silverish metal, designed to cover its entire head with a T-shaped opening crafted into its front to allow for sight, smell, and speech. Protruding from the helmet’s top was a shank of long, course black hair. In its hands the strange creature had a small me
tal pan… and it seemed to be offering the freshly cooked contents of it to him.

  Trallik looked at the… human? He cast his blanket to one side, stood up, and threw back the hood of his wolfskin outfit. On his belt he could feel both of the hilts of his long knives. He was still armed… how strange.

  In response to Trallik feeling for his knives, the stranger gave Trallik a knowing glance as, with his empty hand, he lifted a long pole-like weapon with a long, slightly curved blade up from where it lay against the log on the other side of it. Trallik realized what the creature was implying and immediately took his hands away from his knives. The creature in turn lowered its weapon back into place against the log.

  The creature… human… or whatever it was silently offered Trallik the food in the metal pan again. Trallik took a couple of steps toward the food. He could see a pair of eggs, fried, and a decent sized portion of meat, deer meat it appeared, well cooked and seasoned as well. Trallik’s mouth began to water. He didn’t necessarily trust this creature, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that his list of friends was rather short at the moment and that he probably should take a chance on this creature.

  Trallik walked tentatively forward and took a seat next to the fire, and within reach of the creature’s long arms. He gladly accepted the metal pan with the eggs and meat and immediately began to eat voraciously. The creature sat watching him with some interest. After a few moments it spoke.

  “Hoor ye?” it said.

  Trallik looked at it strangely. He wasn’t quite sure, but he thought the creature might be speaking the corrupted dialect of the northern gens. He had only rarely seen any of their traders, and he’d only heard their strange manner of speaking from actual northern gen kobolds once that he could remember. Though all whelps in his gen were taught a few basic phrases, much of it was in the pronunciation.

  “Ah ye hoo gen?” it asked.

  Trallik shook his head. If it was speaking northern gen dialect, then its flat face and small mouth certainly were getting in the way of its pronunciation. Trallik didn’t know much northern gen dialect anyway, so he decided to find out if, perhaps, it might know Sorcerer’s Tongue.

  “Do you speak my language?” he asked.

  The creature’s furry eyebrows raised in surprise. “What? You speak The Sorcerer’s Tongue? How is that so?” it said in somewhat of a thick, though surprisingly gentle, accent.

  Trallik’s scaled brow also rose. “What do you mean ‘how is that so?’ It is the only language my gen speaks. It is the pure language passed down to us from of old.”

  The creature nodded its head. “Very well, then. I am Arren e-Arnor of the Elven Nations which lie in the northern part of the Great Forest. Who, may I ask, are you?”

  Trallik looked at him strangely. “You are… an elf?”

  “Yes, my little scaly friend,” the elf nodded slowly as he smiled a most disarming smile.

  Trallik began to feel somewhat more comfortable with the tall… elf. As his fight or flight instincts began to subside, the emotional turmoil of the night before came back fresh and strong as ever. “I am no one’s friend,” Trallik said with his head bowed.

  The elf looked down at Trallik for a moment before speaking. “I can see that you run from something. Your equipment is not at its best, though it is obvious that you were recently in someone’s hire, as it is of good make.”

  Trallik winced as the elf hit so close to the mark.

  “You are no scout, for you would not be found traveling alone,” Arren continued. “I would imagine that no one camps for leisure here along the orc infiltration routes. And you are not lost, for there are too many landmarks in this small valley to get lost.”

  “I…” Trallik cut him off, unable to bear his guessing. “I am an exile, though I would give anything to not be. Now that I have lost my friends, I truly miss them. I valued their friendship too little… and thought of power too much.” Then, with a note of finality, he bowed his head as tears again began to roll down his cheeks. “I am guilty of being a conspirator against the lord of my gen. For this, I am cast off.”

  The elf looked steadily at Trallik for several moments as Trallik struggled to regain his composure. After a few moments of quiet in the forest, broken only by the flittering song of a small songbird somewhere in the trees above them, the elf spoke.

  “In my lands, young kobold, we have a saying; ‘If you correct the flow of a river when it is still a tiny stream, it will change the course of the mighty river it eventually becomes.’ In other words, though you may be in this situation because of what you have done wrong, if you decide to correct your course you can change who you will become. In my land, young elves make many mistakes, but when they have corrected their course, we accept the change and forget the fault. Perhaps with you and your people it can be the same.”

  Trallik looked up at the stranger. It seemed a strange and foreign thought to Trallik that perhaps he was not permanently marred by his treachery… that perhaps he could someday recover some honor. Certainly, he would not have forgiven himself. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Trallik brushed the grease on his hand into the dirt that covered his wolf-skin outfit then extended his hand to the elf. “My name is Trallik, and I was a warrior of the Kale Gen, which lies about a day and a half’s journey west of here.”

  “Well met, Trallik,” the elf said as he took Trallik’s hand in the traditional grasp. To Trallik’s surprise, the elf shook his hand up and down a couple of times before releasing it, something not done among the members of his gen.

  Trallik looked up at the elf. “What are you doing here in kobold lands… um… what was your name again?”

  “Arren,” he answered. “I am here on a quest. I seek something that was lost some time ago, and I think I might know where it lies. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to get there.”

  Trallik started eating the elf’s… Arren’s food again. “Where…” he swallowed to clear his throat, “Where are you trying to get to?” he asked as he began to think of what he might be able to get out of Arren.

  Arren looked Trallik straight in the eyes. “Have you ever heard of the Hall of the Mountain King?”

  Trallik stopped chewing. After a moment, he realized he must look terribly surprised and he tried to pass off his reaction as something else. “Um… well, yes. Of course I have. After all, everyone around here has heard of that place,” he lied. He remembered getting a brief glimpse of the map Raoros Fang had given to Durik, and he remembered that it was on the other side of the great mountain known as the Chop, but past there he was not so sure. He remembered something about it being in a low, flat topped mountain. He hoped that would be enough to get them there.

  “Hmm, is that so? Well, then what would you say to guiding me there?” Arren asked.

  Trallik looked Arren in the eyes, then he looked down at the egg he was about to pop into his mouth. “What’s in it for me?” he asked. Last night’s change of heart had been deep, but it would be a lengthy process to completely replace his old ways of behaving with something more noble.

  “I am prepared to take care of your needs. Food, protection, and such,” Arren answered.

  “That’s it? Can’t you do better than that?” Trallik pressed him.

  “Well, then. If everyone around here knows where it is, then perhaps I should be finding someone that is going that way,” Arren said sternly.

  Trallik bowed his head. “I’ll take you. I’ve nothing better to do anyway.”

  Arren smiled again. “Very well. Once you’ve finished your breakfast, we’ll start.”

  Trallik stared at Arren for a moment. He’d not heard the word breakfast before and wondered at how strange it sounded. He did not normally eat as much at first meal as this elf had prepared, but Trallik was in need of comfort, and tasty, solid food seemed to provide a good measure of that. So Trallik ate it all.

  While Trallik was finishing up his food, Arren stood and gathered his gear. Trallik watched him with mu
ch curiosity. Besides the pole-like weapon with the long blade, which was quite a bit longer than a kobold is tall, Arren also carried a bow of about the same height. It was a strange bow, however, as it had curves in its length unlike any bow he had ever seen. Down the length of the bow, as well as carved into the face of the pole weapon’s blade, were a number of silver inlaid letters, all in a language that Trallik did not recognize.

  These weapons were masterfully crafted and appeared to have ornaments on them, gems of some sort perhaps. The pommel of the bladed pole-weapon was a clear crystal or gem, set firmly in a metal base that resembled a cup of some sort. On the front of the bow, just above the handle, another clear stone was set in similar fashion. Trallik wondered on this and the rest of the elf’s strange gear. As he looked on, he noticed Arren’s backpack. It was made of plain leather and appeared of somewhat more normal workmanship. That, at least, was understandable and easily acceptable to Trallik.

  Handing the pan back to Arren, Trallik stood up and took off his wolf-skin outfit. He rolled it and his blanket up and strapped them down to his own backpack. Stretching sore muscles, he looked around him. Though he had not noticed it during the night, there was something of a trail not a stone’s throw to the east of where they stood. He turned to Arren, who was putting out the fire, and asked him about it. “You mentioned orc infiltration routes. Would this be one of them?” he asked, pointing to the trail.

  Arren looked up from the ashes of the fire. “Yes, little one. The orcs have found a way through the mountains to the north. They travel these valleys freely it would appear.” Arren looked behind him to the north. Looming behind him was the Chop, the massive wall of flat mountainside that separated the northern and southern valleys. “In my wandering about, I came across the tracks of an orc band headed into your valley and followed their trail backwards. It plunged into a cave not far to the north of here. An initial examination showed no signs of habitation, which leads me to believe that it’s a pass through this big mountain range to the north.”