Into the Heart of Evil (22 page)

J
errig’s
hands were trembling as he made his way down the passageway.  He wasn’t the
bravest of kobolds, but he was also determined to not be labeled a coward. 
He’d often heard the maxim that it wasn’t whether or not you felt fear that
determined how brave you were, but whether you conquered the fear or let it
conquer you.  ‘In the end, it’s all about action,’ Manebrow had told them. 
‘Either you do what you know you have to, or you let fear take away your
ability to act.’ 

‘Conquer your fears, don’t let them conquer you.’ 
Jerrig repeated these words over and over again in his mind until, after
several moments, his heart started to calm down and his breathing started to
return somewhat to normal.  Some semblance of peace began to return to Jerrig’s
fear-ridden mind.  Truly, he hoped all these trials would make him stronger.

Hoisting one javelin to shoulder height, Jerrig
made his way down the passageway.  Passing the dung strewn along the
passageway, Jerrig came eventually to the larger hovels of the ant warriors
that lined either side of the passageway.  They were mostly silent now, the
warriors themselves resting after a recent feast.  Jerrig could smell the
stench of their breath as they exhaled the smell of their feast of congealed
blood and torn flesh, and it threatened to turn his newfound courage back into
fear.

Steeling his nerves, Jerrig padded as softly as he
could past the cluster of openings, holding his breath and his tail as he
went.  Once safely on the far side, he dared to breathe again.  Looking back
one more time to ensure nothing was following him, Jerrig continued down the
passageway.  It wasn’t more than forty or fifty steps until he found himself at
the junction of three separate rooms.  All seemed silent.

From the room straight ahead of him and past the
other two passageways, Jerrig saw a slight trickle of smoke wafting up the
ceiling.  The slight flicker of a fire cast dancing shadows on the wall.  He
could detect an acrid smell lingering in the smoke.  As he approached the first
two passageways, he smelled the same stench of the recent feast coming from the
left one.  From the right room was the stench of some great beast.  Its smell
wafted up the passageway in gusts, as if its breathing stirred even the air.

Jerrig didn’t take long to decide what he was
going to do.  The welcome light of a fire beckoned to him, and he stepped
forward to make his way past the other two passageways.  It was then that he
saw it.  There, on the ground of the right passageway, was one of Trallik’s new
long knives.  It was still slightly warm from having hung close to Trallik’s
body for so long.  As he looked down the passageway, he could see arrows strewn
along it like so many breadcrumbs.  Then, as he stood there paralyzed with the
thought of what must have happened to Trallik, Jerrig heard another sound.  It
was the muffled sound of someone moaning, and it was coming from the right
passageway.

Jerrig decided he needed help.  Unfortunately for
him, he began to hear a chittering noise farther up the passageway.  As he
listened, paralyzed by fear, the chittering sound quickly grew louder until it
filled his entire consciousness.  As Jerrig turned around, he saw several
large, wolf-sized ant-like creatures emerging from the holes he’d just passed. 
On their front legs were wicked looking claws and their mandibles were large
and jagged.  As they formed up to come after Jerrig, they stood semi-erect on
their back two pairs of legs.

Snapping out of his horror, Jerrig turned and fled
immediately toward the center room, hoping against hopes that he would either
find sanctuary or escape.  As he stumbled into the fire light, he saw Khazak
Mail Fist lying on the floor, his head resting on a rock.  His eyes were closed,
and he looked almost spent.  Seated next to him on the floor, two kobold whelps
sat with eyes wide open as Jerrig burst into the room, as if they were
expecting Jerrig to be their final doom.

When they saw Jerrig, the two young kobolds stood
up with looks of hope on their faces, their whip-like tails beating the air
behind them. 

“Are you here to save us?” the older one asked.

Jerrig looked behind him then ran to the other
side of the fire where the boys were standing.  Hoisting a javelin to his
shoulder, he answered them, “Well, kind of.  Unfortunately it appears that
instead of saving you, I get to die with you.  There’s a bunch of what look
like huge warrior ants coming our way.”

The young kobolds looked up at Jerrig.  Again the
older one spoke. “Khazak said that they won’t come here as long as we keep the
fire going.”

Jerrig looked at the young kobold with a look of
disbelief.  Soon, however, his words were proven true.  As Jerrig watched, the
warrior ants approached the passageway in the darkness then retreated from the
acrid smoke of the little fire.  After watching this happen three times in
succession, Jerrig listened as the warrior ants retreated back up the
passageway.

Exhaling slowly, Jerrig lowered his javelin.  He
turned and looked down at the two young kobolds.  “Well, so be it then.  I’m
Jerrig, what are your names and whatever are you doing here?”

“My name is Karto, and my little brother’s name is
Lat,” the older one said, pointing to the smaller kobold on his right.  “We
were going to visit our daddy’s friends across the valley, but some bad people
came and we had to go really fast to get away from them.”

Jerrig looked from the whelps to Khazak Mail Fist
and back.  The realization of who they were struck him like a hammer.  “You’re
Lord Karthan’s sons!”

Karto and Lat both nodded, looking up at Jerrig
with innocent eyes.

“Oh, my.  Well, that explains a lot.”  He then
furrowed his brow. “Or perhaps it confuses things.  Either way, I think there’s
a lot more going on here than I understand.”

Karto nodded again.  Seeing his older brother
nodding, Lat too started nodding.  “I think daddy’s in trouble again.”

Jerrig rubbed Karto’s hornless head.  “You’re a
smart one, Karto.  But don’t worry, I think your father can take care of
himself.”  In his heart, however, Jerrig wasn’t so confident.

Jerrig turned and looked down at Khazak Mail Fist
with concern.  “I think that Khazak might need some help.  Let me see what I
can do for him.  I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere anytime soon.”

Karto looked up at him again. “Do you think anyone
else will come and help us?”

Jerrig knelt next to Khazak Mail Fist and lifted
the cloth bandage that covered the arrow wound in his shoulder and looked under
it, splashing drops of water on the cloth to help it come away from the wound
without causing a new flow of blood.  “I’m not sure, Karto, but I sure hope
so.  I think that, for now, we’ll have to see what we can do to save
ourselves.”

The forest had grown strangely silent as Ardan had
led his team toward the strange group of hills to the south of the trail.  Now
an eerie feeling, as if a storm was gathering, began to come over them all as
they walked through the forest.  Ardan looked around at his fellow team
members.  Tohr and Kahn were whispering in low voices to each other, looking
around at the forest with furtive, nervous glances.  The packdogs also seemed
strangely nervous.  Terrim and Kabbak were having a hard time keeping them in
line.  Ardan and the two brothers both had their bows out with arrows at the
ready.

As they walked along, they heard the noise of some
small animal moving quickly past them through the underbrush.  After another
couple of moments, another of whatever they were passed by, this time closer. 
In the distance, coming from the direction of the hill, a low noise, like the
rustling of many dead leaves, came at them.

Ardan turned back to the group. “Now!  Off to the
right.  Let’s go!  Run!”

Grabbing a hold of the reins of one of the
packdogs, Ardan led the group as they ran as fast as they could off into the
forest.  Behind them the low noise in the distance turned into the torrential
noise of the passing of thousands of feet as the group saw many hundreds of
giant ants swarming through the woods near where they’d recently been, heading
in the direction of the game trail they’d left behind.  The heat from their
bodies was mostly covered by their carapaces, escaping only at the joints
between the plates.

Ardan and his team did their best to hide as the
flood passed by to their front.  A few ant scouts, however, seemed to be
following their trail by scent.  Tohr and Kahn looked at each other in fear. 
Ardan thumped them on their shoulders to get their attention.  He held up his
bow to signal his intention to take out the scouts, indicating they should wait
for his signal before attacking. 

As the ant scouts came close with their heads down
to the ground, almost as one Ardan, Tohr, and Kahn stood up and fired, taking
out the first three scouts.  Behind them, however, were several more that
started to scatter.  The three of them ran for all they were worth to catch
them, firing almost half of their arrows before they were sure they’d gotten
them all.  Returning to where they’d left Terrim, Kabbak, and the packdogs,
they all looked relieved.

Ardan led their march again as the team now
continued toward the hills to the south, knowing that trying to follow the
trail after the passing of so many hundreds of creatures would be next to
impossible.  As they went, they collected a few of the arrows that they’d fired. 
They wanted to have all the weapons at their disposal they possibly could.

Jerrig was not the most valiant of kobolds, but
neither was he one to leave a companion in the clutches of death if there was
anything he could do about it.  He’d seen Trallik’s long knife, and he’d seen
the trail of arrows leading off into the dark chamber beyond.  Now, after
steeling his nerves for some time, he could finally let go of his fear and
accept that he might lose his life.  As he did so, a strange peace came over him,
as if he had finally arrived.  In his heart, Jerrig suddenly realized that
perhaps now he knew what it was to be a warrior.

Taking javelins in hand, Jerrig gave Karto the
task of making sure his little brother Lat stayed put and of giving water to
Khazak whenever he stirred.  Karto, with all the solemnity an eight-year-old
could muster, stood erect and accepted the task like he’d seen warriors do in
the past.  Patting him on the shoulder, Jerrig turned and walked as quietly as
he could toward the passageway.

That the group of warrior ants had left was
certain.  But Jerrig, after a year of training, was too smart to think that
they’d not left at least one guard behind.  Cautiously, he looked around the
corner of the entrance into the passageway.  The light from the fire was too
much for his heat vision, however, and he couldn’t see a thing.  Not wanting to
take any unnecessary chances, Jerrig walked back toward the fire and picked up
a piece of burning dung.  With a flick of the wrist, the flaming dung went
skittering up the passageway.  He listened carefully to hear if his efforts had
stirred anything to wakefulness.  Nothing moved.

Slowly, Jerrig made his way out into the
passageway.  The light of the burning dung, now beginning to fail, illuminated
the entrances to the two passageways.  As he waited in the stillness, the light
flickered then went out.  Left without that light, Jerrig could now see much
further with his heat vision.  To his surprise, the warrior ants had indeed
left no guard to watch.

Jerrig came up to the junction with the other two
passageways.  From the one to his right, he still could smell the gory feast that
must have taken place there.  Taking a deep breath, he walked quickly down that
hall and was soon in a large chamber.  Looking about him, he was filled with
disgust and horror.  Strewn all over the floor were the bones of countless
animals.  Littered amongst them, equal victims to the ravages of their
compatriots, were the empty carapaces of ants that had died or were wounded, having
shared the same fate as their prey; to be consumed by the colony.