Into the Heart of Evil (24 page)

“He breathes still,” Gorgon pronounced.

“Where there’s life, there’s hope,” Jerrig said in
a low voice.

In Jerrig’s eyes were a newfound courage and a
strength that Gorgon had not seen before.  His equipment was a mess, however. 
One of his shoulder belts had been cut and hung loose, swinging about his
knees.  Half the pouches on the other belt were shorn away.  All over his back
and legs were deep scrapes where the scales had been torn away; some of the
cuts had run deep enough to draw trickles of blood.  It looked much like he’d
wrestled a pack of wolverines.

“Jerrig, you look like you’ve had quite a time of
it,” Gorgon said with a tone perhaps less arrogant than before.  “Tell me, was
Khazak Mail Fist responsible for the large ant’s death?”

Jerrig pulled out his long knife, still red with
the blood of the ant queen.  “No, he was like this when I found him.  I killed
the queen of the ants, and her two helpers.  That’s where I found Trallik.”

Gorgon looked at Jerrig again.  “Well… so be it
then,” he said as he nodded with approval.

Ardan made his way to the front of the group and
knelt next to where Keryak and Troka had laid Trallik, at Khazak Mail Fist’s
feet.  Quickly, he inspected the stinger wound in the base of Trallik’s neck. 
It was swollen and gray at the edges.

“This is not good,” Ardan said none too quietly.

All eyes turned to him as he opened Trallik’s eyes
and looked at the pupils.  After a moment, he put his hand above Trallik’s
nostrils to see if he could feel any breath.  It took some time, but eventually
he looked up.

“Trallik is breathing also,” Ardan pronounced. 
“This wound he has, I think it was poison of some type, probably a paralysis
type, since they probably wanted him fresh for food… and he’s still breathing.”

Gorgon looked first in the eyes of the warriors
assembled about him then at the chamber they found themselves in.  A look of
severe fatigue was evident in everyone’s eyes.  Looking at their hunched
shoulders and limp tails, then down at the two kobolds laying almost lifeless
before him, Gorgon knew what decision he must now make.  Despite the fact that
the company was not yet whole, as five members were still missing out there in
the woods somewhere, Gorgon knew that to go after them would court disaster. 
For now, he would have to leave them to the Fates.

Turning around to the assembled warriors, Gorgon said,
“We make camp here for what’s left of this night.  In the morning, we will
search for our lost companions.  Until then, let’s get some sleep.  Keryak and
Troka, you two take first watch.”  As the group began to disperse to go about
the process of bedding down for the night, Gorgon grabbed Ardan by the arm.
“I’m going to look for Durik and the rest of them.”

Ardan’s eyes widened in surprise.  “Then I’m
coming with you.”

Gorgon shook his head. “No need risking two of
us.  Besides, this group will need someone to lead them.”

“Nice try, Gorgon, but I know you’re no tracker,”
Ardan countered.  “I’m the best option we’ve got left in that category.”  Then,
pointing to Jerrig, who was seated against the far wall thinking over the
events of the last many hours, Ardan continued, “Besides, I think that we found
ourselves someone with the courage to do the right thing while we’re gone.”

Gorgon looked at who Ardan was pointing at and,
out of habit, was about to voice dissent.  He opened his mouth then slowly
closed it again.  Slowly, Gorgon nodded his agreement.

Ardan continued looking after the two casualties. 
As he changed Khazak Mail Fist’s bandage, he found a poultice of healing herbs
underneath it that Jerrig must have applied.  Lifting Khazak’s head and opening
his snout, he forced small quantities of water down his throat before he began
to gag on it.

Turning his attention to Trallik, Ardan inspected
him from horns to tail.  Still clinging to his body were the remnants of what
appeared to be a strong silk-like rope, probably used to ensure that he didn’t
escape once the poison wore off.  The only other mark on his body was the sting
wound at the base of his neck.  Ardan carefully inspected that.  Though it was
deep, it appeared to be very narrow.  As he looked closer, he could see that
the angle it had been driven in at showed that it had most probably pierced the
spine.  This was a very potent strike indeed.  If this was poison, Ardan
doubted that Trallik would be able to move on his own for some time, if ever.

Once Ardan was finished looking over the wounded,
the two of them gathered up their equipment, then waited until they saw that
the group was settled down.  Taking torches in one hand and slinging a dung bag
each over their shoulders, the pair stood up.

Ardan called softly to Tohr, who sat up and walked
over toward him.  “Watch carefully over these two,” Ardan said.  “I think that
water, and food as soon as either of them is able to take it, is best for now. 
They both appear to be recovering, thanks to Jerrig’s efforts.”

Once Ardan was finished with his instructions,
Gorgon cleared his throat as if to make an announcement.  “Listen up for a
moment.”  All the warriors who were able turned to look at him.  “Ardan and I
are going to look for the others.  None of you are to follow us.  While we’re
gone, Jerrig is going to be in charge.” 

Jerrig was too tired to look very surprised. 

Gorgon continued, “Keryak, I want you to be his
second.”

Keryak looked surprised, but nodded his head.

Turning, the pair began to walk out.  As they stopped
in the entrance to the center chamber, Gorgon spoke to Jerrig across the room. 
“Jerrig, if we don’t come back by the time you’re ready to leave, then don’t
wait for us.  Assume that we’ll meet you either on the main trail on the way to
the Krall Gen or, if all else fails, at the Krall Gen.”

With that, Gorgon and Ardan left the chamber. 
There were very few looks cast at Jerrig that night.  That he had been
appointed to lead had not gone unnoticed; it was just that everyone was too
tired to care at the moment.  Within moments after Gorgon and Ardan left, the
only sounds that could be heard in the chamber were the soft breathing of the
sleeping and the pacing of the guards as they struggled to stay awake for the
duration of their watch.

A
s
the four kobolds, leading three wolves, retraced their steps back toward where
their path had diverged from that of the Honor Guard warrior’s, none of them
felt particularly like talking.  It had been a long day’s march, followed by a
long night. 

Durik’s tired mind reflected on how his life had
changed.  The events of the past two days seemed absolutely incredible to him. 
He was amazed by not only what had happened to him, but to his company since it
was formed. 

Some things leave marks on a person’s soul, and
the image of Kiria telling him about Arloch’s treachery as Arloch’s body lay
there with an arrow through his skull would never leave Durik’s mind.  Though
Arloch had only served under him for one day, it would be some time before
Durik’s heart would fully recover from Arloch’s treachery.  After all, to the
best of his knowledge, Arloch was the first of his warriors, and hopefully the
last, to die under his command.

Now as they found themselves walking through the
forests of their home valley, Durik found his thoughts dwelling on the rest of
the company.  His greatest desire was that they would be found all right,
having found the Honor Guard warrior and Lord Karthan’s two sons.  There had
been enough excitement to last for several days, and he hoped that his company
would make it to the Krall Gen without further incident.

Manebrow too walked along in thought, but his mind
dwelt on other things.  The incident at the boar, where Durik had healed him,
still sat squarely in his consciousness.  Though his function in life was to a
great degree physical, Manebrow had never ceased to develop his mind.  Perhaps
it was an insatiable curiosity, or perhaps it was a simple desire to know more
about the world around him.  Whatever the source of Manebrow’s curiosity, it
had led him, over the years, to study much about the great figures in kobold
history.  Besides serving as great bedtime stories for his three young sons,
the reasoning behind what was done in each story served as an illustration of
good decision making for the several groups of yearlings who had passed through
his caves.

He could remember many of the lessons he had
taught the yearlings—lessons about kobold warriors in tight spots, and how they
turned a bad situation to their advantage, or lessons about the tactics used in
a particular battle, or lessons about material management and the manner of
leading among their gen.  Through all these lessons, he couched his advice in
terms that the yearlings could understand.  Now, as he found himself face to
face with great powers that he did not yet understand, it was only natural for
him to fall back on those same stories and lessons.

As he pondered, Manebrow remembered a story
written on the bound, silver plates that contained the histories of the
earliest Lords of the Gen, right after the first Kale, which he’d been
privileged to read a part of once, during his time of preparation for the
trials of adulthood.  The author of that particular part of the book had
written of a time before the gens in the northern valleys had fallen into such
a state of anarchy.  The story he’d read was an account of a great kobold lord
who, in his lust for power and dominion, had rallied many of the now-broken
northern gens and launched an attack on an unsuspecting group of orc tribes
that had come to live near them.  The kobold lord was described as ‘the
inheritor of the power of the First Sire, both to hurt and to heal.’  It went
on to describe this kobold lord as a ‘dreamer of dreams’ and a ‘seer of truth.’ 

In Manebrow’s limited reading, this was the only
instance he could remember that referenced such awesome power as what Durik now
seemed to possess.  This power or something like it had come from the depths of
antiquity and manifested itself again in Durik, though he knew not why.

As for the kobold lord from the story, who in the
height of his arrogance led his forces first against these somewhat-peaceful
tribes, then northward against the orcish hordes of the Great Forest, he and
the power he had wielded had been lost to legend for many generations now.  The
attempt at conquest was a failure; the northern gens were left desolate and
bereft of their strength, as most of the forces that had marched into the Great
Forest never returned, including the kobold lord himself. 

The historian had concluded his account by stating
that the source of this power was lost among the orcs, having been lost until
such time as the race of kobolds was ready for it again.  As the thought of
that last caveat echoed through his mind, Manebrow thought about the ambush
that had been staged to kill Lord Karthan’s heirs and wondered if, truly, even
his gen, the most advanced of all the gens he knew of, would ever be ready.

Arbelk was no master of words.  Nor did he feel
comfortable dealing with things outside of his little world.  He liked this new
life of a warrior.  After all, it was the same life as what he’d been living
since he’d begun to apprentice with the climbers group of the Deep Guard, and
all through his year of training for the Trials of Caste.  It might be less
than sophisticated, but no one had ever accused Arbelk of being sophisticated,
and he hoped they never would.

Perhaps it was this comfort he felt with his life,
and his reluctance to expand his horizons to encompass other’s points of view
and other’s opinions, that made Kiria’s incessant chatter as they walked along
particularly grating, though he had to admit she was much nicer to look at than
his fellow warriors.  Arbelk was beginning to see that being assigned as
Kiria’s guard was a two-edged sword.

At first he’d answered her questions; how are you,
what warrior group are you from, what did you think of the trials, and such. 
But after a little while of this, he doubted he could take much more.  He
wasn’t here to recite his life history; he was here to kill things!

This lack of sociability, and Arbelk’s subsequent
annoyance with her, didn’t go unnoticed by Kiria.  After about her fifth
question, followed by yet another extremely short answer, Kiria could tell why
Durik had mentioned that Arbelk’s nickname amongst the other yearlings had been
‘unsociable troll.’  She could see that her efforts to take her mind off her
brothers’ perils weren’t working, at least not with Arbelk.

Looking around at Durik and Manebrow, the other
two members of their small party, Kiria was envious yet one more time of the
bond she saw evidenced there.  It was obvious to her that the shared trials of
the past year had served to form strong bonds not only amongst the group of
former yearlings, but with their trainer as well.  The challenges of this past
day had only served to strengthen this bond as the relationship between Durik
and Manebrow had changed.  Kiria wished with all the fervor of her young heart
to be accepted among this group, and she was afraid her rash maneuver, taking
off like she had, had ruined her chances of being accepted any time soon.

Kiria bit her lip.  She had no one she felt close
to.  In this group, she would be hard pressed to find a close friend.  Even
Durik, who she found very alluring, had become decidedly more distant.  And
despite all his geniality, Kabbak just didn’t fit that need.  After all, it was
hard to open up to a person who always called you ‘my lady’.  Perhaps it would
be best to follow Arbelk’s advice and save what was left of her energy for
whatever lay ahead.  After all, she was tired from the day’s ride, though her
short nap had served to revive her somewhat.

After some time on the trail trying to put these
concerns out of her mind, the slow, rhythmic pace of their march had helped
somewhat to calm her troubled mind and soothe her upset heart.  At least for
now, to some degree, Kiria would rest from these cares.

Ardan and Gorgon ran quickly past the holes where
the warrior ants were housed, wanting to give themselves the maximum amount of
time to get out of the area before the scent of the burning dung weakened too
much to contain the warrior ants.  They reached the top in short order and
looked out over the barren landscape.  Nothing seemed to be moving, so they
hurried down the path in the bright moonlight, wanting to make it to the pass
before anything that might have been watching them could do anything about it.

As they walked up the pass, they saw the forest
floor not a hundred steps to their front flowing with a steady stream of ants
heading in their direction.  Running quickly back the way they had come, the
pair of kobolds ran off in the opposite direction of the queen’s hive, hoping
to find shelter around the bend of the hill.

They reached the far side of the hill about the
same time as the first of the ants came through the pass.  Climbing the side of
it, they looked down on the steady stream of insects.  Each one had a chunk of
something in their mandibles.  As they watched, the tenth ant broke ranks from
the others and walked up the path toward the hill the pair of kobolds had just
come from.  Ten ants later, another ant peeled off.  So it went until finally,
almost last of them all, an ant commander like Keryak had killed just a while
before came with the last several ants in tow.  The ant commander passed by the
queen’s hill with its head bowed, as if in reverence or subservience.  After
several moments, the ants that had been up to the queen’s nest returned with
empty mandibles and continued into the heart of the hills after their
comrades.  Again, the little valley was empty and the night was deathly silent.

Gorgon stood up. “Well, I guess that’s it then. 
Those little ones seemed to not have noticed anything wrong in the queen’s lair,
or at least they don’t seem to be determined to go for help.”

“I’d wager they probably didn’t go in far enough,
or possibly they took their tribute into that feeding room,” Ardan theorized. 
“Hmm… of course that would mean that they were not averse to the stench of the
smoke.”  Ardan pondered on this for a moment.

“Well, whatever the truth may be, we need to be
moving out smartly.”  Gorgon started down the side of the hill.

Ardan turned and followed him down the hill.

A short while later, the pair of warriors were on
their way back toward the place where they’d turned off from the game trail. 
Their exact path was now completely lost due to the ant stampede, but they made
it to the trail easily enough.

Ardan began moving down the trail, back the way
they had come.  He figured that, since none of the wolves had come this far,
his best chances of determining if the others had passed by and were on their
way to the Krall Gen was to find evidence of the passing of one of the wolves. 
Combing the entire trail until they reached the point where the party had
originally broken onto it, Ardan found no evidence of wolves.  He was now
reasonably sure that at least Durik, Manebrow, Arbelk, and Kiria had not passed
this way yet, though about Arloch he had no idea.  Of all the frustrations of
this night, the one that weighed heaviest on Ardan was Arloch’s disobedience. 
He had never had any problems with Arloch before, at least nothing like this,
but if there was not a good reason for it, he would recommend punishment to
Manebrow.

The pair entered the forest and began retracing
the steps of the rest of their company when, from up ahead of them through the
forest, they heard footsteps.  Quickly, they jumped into the underbrush off to
one side of the trail, adjusting the plants to hide to the best of their
ability.

Moments later, the footsteps of several creatures
could be heard coming through the forest.  As they approached, Gorgon and Ardan
both adjusted the underbrush slightly to allow them to see.  In front of them
were the very kobolds they had been searching for.  Standing up with their
hands in plain view, Gorgon and Ardan hailed the group.

Durik, who was in front, initially had stopped and
readied what was left of his spear then, seeing that it was Gorgon and Ardan, he
lowered it and walked forward to meet them.  They hugged as long lost
brothers.  Little did each know of what had passed to the other that night, but
to all life had become that much more fragile.