Into the Heart of Evil (34 page)

“Morigar, you flatter me again, but unfortunately
I must decline.  My company is here, and so my place is here,” she answered
him.

Morigar looked genuinely shocked. “Well then, suit
yourself.  But if these quarters become unbearable, we’ve got much better ones,
in my father’s hall on the lake.”

Behind Kiria, Manebrow smiled to himself; perhaps
there was more to Lord Karthan’s daughter than he had guessed.  As he watched
her slender frame struggle with the tack and saddle that had formerly been a
part of Starshine’s kit, as well as the large saddlebags she’d brought along,
he saw the determination in her eyes and his heart softened a little toward
her.  While it was obvious she was no warrior, hardened by a year of intense
training, it was equally obvious that she was determined to pull her own
weight.  As Manebrow continued to clean his equipment on the porch of the
quarters, he nodded to himself. 
She’ll be all right
.

T
he
fever that came with the festering wound in Jerrig’s leg was a strange thing. 
Some moments he felt as if he was on fire and he writhed with the pain.  Other
moments he was as lucid as he had ever been, feeling only the extreme fatigue
that this ordeal had brought upon him and a dull throbbing in his leg.

Seated on the porch of the caravan drivers’
quarters while he waited for Kahn to prepare a bed for him, Jerrig sat with his
leg outstretched, a clear, lucid look in his eyes.  The pain had subsided for
the moment, and he was glad for the temporary reprieve.

He had seen the rest of the group set to the tasks
Manebrow had given them, and he longed to be able to join them.  Now, as he sat
on the porch, he thought back to the perils he’d been through.  That he’d known
living a warrior’s life was not going to be easy was true enough, but to a
young mind perhaps nothing less than living the life itself could give one a
true picture of what being a warrior was all about.  In his moments of pain, he
seriously considered trading it all in for the servant caste, assuming he lived
long enough to have that opportunity of course.

It was in this frame of mind that Jerrig looked up
to see Durik standing above him.  “Jerrig.” Durik peered intently into his eyes.
“Are you well enough to listen for a moment?”  Behind him on the porch steps
stood Khazak Mail Fist.

Jerrig was curious.  “I suppose, though this pain
comes and goes without so much as a ‘by your leave’.” 

Durik laughed and patted Jerrig on the shoulder. 
“It’s good to see that after all you’ve been through, your sense of humor is
still intact.”

“I never had much of one, but what little I ever
had is still there,” Jerrig muttered.  “What is it, cousin…  I mean, sire?”

“Khazak Mail Fist has something he wants to give
you.  Wait a minute.  We’ll gather the rest of the company.”

Durik left Jerrig in suspense for several moments
as he and Manebrow gathered the entire company from their various tasks.  It
wasn’t long before the motley collection of bruised, scraped, cut, and bandaged
kobolds that collectively were Durik’s Company were gathered on the porch of
the caravan drivers’ quarters.  Jerrig pulled himself up to a more erect
sitting position as Khazak Mail Fist held up his hands for silence.

“Brave warriors of the Kale Gen,” Khazak started,
“if possible, I will be departing for our gen very shortly after leaving Lord
Karthan’s sons in the care of our host, Lord Krall.  However, before I go, I
wanted to commend you for your determination, dedication, and loyalty to our
great gen.”  The warriors assembled in front of him stood a little taller.  “I
can see that our gen’s former Master Trainer,” he said, alluding to Manebrow’s
former position, “has taught you the true way of a warrior.  Today, however, I
will say that you have taught each other what that truly means.” 

Khazak Mail Fist looked from Durik to Ardan. 
“Braving almost certain death, you would not leave your companions, or me, for
that matter, to die.” 

Looking at Gorgon, he nodded in approval.  “You
have brought honor to your company and your gen by discovering the tactics that
made your company successful in battle against the great ants.

“Durik was made leader over this company, and it
is obvious that Durik has given himself completely to the task, asking nothing
in return.  Neither does he seek for the privileges which are his due.”  He
paused for a moment, “In fact, I think I’ve ridden his wolf more than he has!” 
There was a low chuckle among the group.

By now the group felt the warmth of knowing that
their efforts had not gone unnoticed.

Khazak looked kindly on Arbelk.  “Although Arbelk
is a member of Khee-lar Shadow Hand’s Deep Guard, he did not partake in their
evil, nor would he let Arloch perpetrate his evil.”

“And you,” he said, turning to stare into the eyes
of Jerrig, the unlikely hero.  “Rarely have I ever seen a kobold muster such
courage as to throw himself at almost certain death, all to save the life of a
fellow warrior.  That was the type of act that I cannot help but recognize and
remember.”

Khazak turned to face the group and spoke once
more.  “You have all shown what it is to be a warrior.  Indeed, you have passed
through much more than many other warriors in the gen, and the tale of these
acts will not soon be forgotten.”  Khazak Mail Fist then turned to Jerrig.  “In
recognition of one act that stands out above the rest, I give you, Jerrig, an
honor name.”

Jerrig was stunned.  It was normal for an elite
warrior to be given an honor name, but him, a lowly warrior caste?

“From this day forward,” Khazak continued, “you
shall be known as Jerrig Queen Slayer.”

After a moment of stunned silence, Durik moved
forward and grasped hands with his cousin, speaking words of congratulations to
him and calling him by his full new name.  One by one, the rest of the members
of the company followed suit.  As the last of them moved back to take his
place, Khazak cleared his throat again, signaling that he was not yet
finished.  All eyes turned to him once more.  In his eyes was a torn look, but
one of decision.

“There is something else I need to say,” he
began.  “You are good, loyal warriors who have proven yourselves as true
defenders of the gen.  In but two days your company has done much greater deeds
than most warriors do in several years.”  He transfixed Durik and then Manebrow
with his gaze.  “Indeed, you succeeded in saving the Lord of the Gen’s whelps,
and my sorry hide as well,” he said with a gentle, thankful smile before
hardening his countenance yet again.  “And in the process of doing that, you
launched a raid into the very heart of the ant colony, taking their queen’s
head and destroying her royal guard while at the same time discovering the true
nature of this new threat.

“In recognition of your deeds, by the authority
given to the position of Chamberlain in the Scrolls of Heritage, and since you
cannot return to the gen until it is so, let it be known that the Proofing of
the Trials is complete, and that means the end of your quest for the Kale
Stone.”

No one really knew what to think.  They’d not
really thought much about the actual object of their quest in the past two
days, but everyone knew that it was not generally considered a good thing to
have a quest ended without being completed.

Manebrow looked around and saw the unhappy looks
on the faces of six former yearlings who would have the dubious distinction of
having to say that they’d never actually achieved the object of their quest,
but that the quest had been called off.  Unfolding his arms, he spoke up. 
“Sire… may I ask… why?”

Khazak could see that the impact of his ending of the
quest was more than he had thought it would be for the seven former yearlings. 
He steeled himself for what had to be done.  “There is clearly an attempt to
overthrow Lord Karthan in the works back at our gen.  As such, every
stout-hearted and loyal warrior is needed to defend him.  The time to seek
after ancient artifacts is done.  It is now time to look to the stability and
peace of our gen.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as many of the
warriors looked about uncomfortably or unhappily.  Khazak Mail Fist pressed
forward.  “As the only leader caste without a place on the council of our gen,
in a few days the Lord of the Gen will need you to take the place of the
Khee-lar Shadow Hand, the traitor in our gen, and as such it will fall on your
shoulders to rebuild the Deep Guard Warrior Group as its new leader.  Tomorrow
at noon, we will depart for our gen.  Durik, ensure your company is ready.” 
With that, Khazak turned to depart for Lord Krall’s Great Hall on the lake.

Across the courtyard from the group, Morigar and
Kethor were conversing.  Morigar was impatient for the group to move out and
complete the journey to the great hall.  Kethor, on the other hand, stood with
his arms crossed, a stoic look on his face.

Almost immediately the Border Guard warriors as
well as Durik, Khazak Mail Fist, Morigar, and Lord Karthan’s two sons departed from
the caravan drivers’ quarters.  Very soon thereafter a young female kobold
dressed in earthen-colored robes of fine cloth approached the porch as Manebrow
was exiting the building to check on the animals in the kennel.  Stopping
abruptly when he noticed her, the robed female raised a hand and hailed him.

“Welcome to our gen, master of warriors,” she
greeted him as she climbed the steps.

“Thank you,” Manebrow replied, “we certainly do
feel welcome.  So, who are you?”

“My name is Myaliae,” she replied, “and I am a
servant of the land.  I have come to serve you this day as a healer.”

Manebrow had heard of the healers who had served
the Krall Gen with their almost magical abilities.  In some circles, among the
caravan drivers especially, their elixirs and potions were reputed to have
magical qualities.   Raising one of his signature furry eyebrows, Manebrow
grasped her hand as she topped the stairs of the porch.  “A healer’s skill is
certainly something that we are in need of.”

Myaliae nodded. “Show me to your wounded.”

Manebrow led Myaliae through the entrance of the
quarters and down the left hallway where Kahn tended to Jerrig and Trallik. 
Spread out on furs with their gear stowed for them on shelves, the red swelling
around the deep wound in Jerrig’s leg left him moaning and uncomfortable while
Trallik lay facedown on his mound of furs, motionless except for the slight
rise and fall of his ribs as he breathed, with the deep sting wound exposed.

As Myaliae entered, Kahn stood up and moved off to
one side of the room.  Taking a small wooden flask from a pocket in a fold of
her robe, Myaliae knelt gracefully next to Jerrig as she unstopped the flask. 
Jerrig had become aware of her presence as the cool air from the hallway blew
over his face.  Looking up with feverish eyes, Jerrig moaned and muttered an
almost unintelligible request for more of the cool air.

Placing her hand on Jerrig’s forehead, then gently
laying his head back on the pillow of rolled up fur, Myaliae motioned for Kahn
to come over and hold Jerrig down.  Once Kahn was in place, Myaliae pulled a
small knife from her belt and, holding Jerrig’s leg still between her knees,
she began cutting the few crude stitches Ardan had put in.  Then she poured a
few drops of the liquid into Jerrig’s wound. 

Jerrig’s eyes shot open as he cried out.  Smoke
wisped up from his leg and the wound reopened completely as Kahn and Myaliae
struggled to hold him.  Out of the corner of his eye, Manebrow thought he saw
Trallik move ever so slightly.  Several moments later, Jerrig lay back again,
breathing easier.

Myaliae breathed a little easier herself and
capped the flask in her hand, placing it back in one of the folds of her robe. 
Picking a clear vial of thick, red liquid out of her robe, Myaliae whispered
something under her breath as she whetted her fingers with the contents of the
vial.  Placing her fingers inside the wound, she coated the inside with the
liquid, all the while speaking syllables and sounds under her breath.  Her
voice crescendoed as she spoke the unknown tongue until, as she covered the
wound with her hand, a sense of almost palpable power echoed instantaneously
through the room, and then was gone as quickly as it had come.

As Kahn and Manebrow reoriented their senses, they
saw Myaliae holding her hand over Jerrig’s leg then, as they watched, she
slowly uncovered the wound.  Where once had been a wound, now there was only a
puckered, white scar.  It was as if the healing process had been dramatically
accelerated.  What should have taken days, if not weeks to fully heal, had
healed in a matter of moments.

Kahn stood back in amazement, and Jerrig,
clear-eyed and now fully in charge of his faculties, sat up, staring at her in
amazement.  Manebrow, on the other hand, had seen much of magic in the past
couple of days and was beginning to react more as a humble student observing a
teacher than with amazement.

With a nod to Jerrig, Myaliae moved over to
Trallik and repeated the ritual.  For the first time since seeing him laying
there stung in the ant queen’s lair, Manebrow saw Trallik move.  He thrashed
around a bit, his sharp cry turning to a wail and a moan at the administration
of the fiery painkiller then he immediately subsided back into a semi-catatonic
state.  Myaliae only nodded her head knowingly when told about the ant queen’s
sting, and administered the healing liquid as before.  In a moment, the same
flash of power swept through the room and the puncture wound in the back of
Trallik’s neck was healed, though he still did not stir.

Standing, Myaliae nodded to Kahn and Manebrow and
turned to leave.  Manebrow stood and followed her out of the room.  At
Manebrow’s urging, they did not talk about Trallik and her thoughts on his
immobility immediately, waiting for more private circumstances.  Rather,
Manebrow lined up the troops outside of the quarters and, one by one, she
attended to their various minor wounds.  Using her powerful elixirs, soon there
was no further need of bandaging.