Into the Heart of Evil (5 page)

Torgal looked a little frustrated by Durik’s
obvious lack of understanding.  “Young leader, this lesson you must learn; do
not judge by appearance, for the things of greatest power seldom show
themselves for what they truly are at first glance.  Few would have guessed
that you, so much less forbidding in appearance than that other young whelp,
would have won the trials.  I could see it in you, however.  So it is with
these bracers. They are much more than they appear.”  Taking one of them in
hand, he clasped it around Durik’s right wrist, then taking the other, he
clasped it around Durik’s left wrist.

As soon as the second bracer was placed on his
wrist, a feeling of great strength flooded through Durik’s body, starting at
his wrists and flowing through his arms and chest, down his body into his legs
and feet.  Wide-eyed and mouth agape, Durik turned to look at Torgal.  The old
warrior’s eyes beamed with pride.

“My young one, the Bracers of Kale are now yours. 
May you use the strength they give you to do good.”  Torgal took Durik’s hands
and, for a moment, an old fire began to flicker in his eyes and his jaw began
to set.  With steel in his gaze, he looked Durik squarely in the eyes, “But
know this… as is the case with all the artifacts The Sorcerer forged for His
servants, the moment these bracers are used for evil, they will turn against
their wearer… so be careful.  Wear them well, young Durik, and when the time
comes, pass on this legacy that the Kale Gen may never fail!”

Kiria sat on her bed, recovering from the great
feast and the much dancing and games that had followed it for the last few
hours until eventually her father had called her to prepare for the gen council
meeting that was shortly to occur.  She sat, as she had many times over the
last couple of days since she’d made her decision, pondering on the many things
that were in her heart, wondering yet again if the course of action she had
decided upon was the right one. 

She was on the threshold of a major life change
and was trying to see into the misty future that awaited her.  There were
things that made her decision easier, or at least one thing; the newest leader
caste in the gen, Durik.  She knew what her heart held for him, especially now
that he was not just another yearling.  Shaking her head to clear it a bit from
the constant throbbing of her heart, Kiria knew she couldn’t just lean on him
in what was to come.  No, she would have to be able to stand on what she knew,
and that was where her uncertainty came from.

Strewn across her bed in piles were many of the
implements of the incomplete training she had received at the knee of her
mother in a time that now seemed so distant.  The ancient tomes, small bags of
powder, and several small wooden boxes full of the miscellaneous tokens of the
craft of magic reminded Kiria of her mother now more than ever, on this, the
day of her coming of age.  Leafing through the pages of her book of arcane
power, Kiria ran her fingers over the flowing script her mother had written;
the first spells she was taught when she had been but nine years old.  Now,
almost six years later, she still struggled with these most basic of spells.

As eldest, and only, daughter of the Lord of the
Gen, upon her mother’s death it had fallen upon her young shoulders to keep the
arcane books and scrolls of the gen.  From Lady to Lady, the lifemate of the
Lord of the Gen had been keeper of the deepest secrets and the most arcane of
lore.  All this had been passed from generation to generation, becoming a
legacy that had diminished with each passing generation until, finally, her
mother had died before passing most of it on, long before her younger brothers
even reached the age at which they would take lifemates.  As such, it was her
task to struggle to keep the arcane arts alive until the next Lady of the Gen
was ready to assume the task.

In her heart, she wondered why she was so
determined to carry this burden.  Certainly there were other things she could
focus on.  Was it the guilt she felt at having hid while her mother was killed
outside their home?  Perhaps.  Was it guilt at having played too much and spent
too little time with her mother before she was taken from her?  Kiria shook her
head.  During this whole process she had finally come to realize that the
arcane powers had not saved her mother, when all was said and done. 

Leaning back against one of her elaborately carved
bedposts, Kiria reflected on why she had maintained the arcane arts at all,
instead of simply letting them stagnate and eventually die within her.  Perhaps
it was a desire to uphold tradition.  It certainly wasn’t out of a desire to
increase her stature with the rest of the leader caste.  For several
generations now this had all been kept secret, rarely leaving the chambers in the
rear of the Lord’s dwellings; chambers of alchemical implements and parts of
strange animals preserved in some unknown liquid, some of them hundreds of
years dead now.

No, the thought resonated in her heart, this was
not about her mother; this was about her.  This was not about her desire to
bring a piece of her mother back to life; this was about becoming an adult. 
This was about shouldering her destiny. 

With a renewed sense of resolve, Kiria stood up,
taking in one hand the leather case that held the small collection of books,
scrolls, and such she had compiled out of the much larger collection on her
bed.

At that moment, a knock on her door broke the
silence.  From outside the door one of the male servants spoke, “My lady, it is
time.” 

Opening the door and stepping through, she thanked
the servant and closed the door behind her, locking both locks.

“My, my!  So secretive are we?” the servant
continued.

Her father’s voice carried from down the hall,
“Come now, Norborib, being a young female is hard enough without others prying
into your closest held secrets.  Why the next thing you know, we’ll be catching
you reading her journal.”  Lord Karthan appeared around the corner from his
personal quarters, resplendent in the shining steel shoulder plates and dark
red cloak he wore for more formal occasions.  On his head the thin bronze crown
of his position sat surrounding his horns.

Norborib stuttered, flustered at Lord Karthan’s
words.  “My Lord!” he exclaimed.

“Oh come now, Norborib.  Don’t take it so harshly. 
Can’t a Lord tell a joke without it being taken wrong?”

Norborib, still flustered, blurted out, “You have
a strange sense of humor, sire!  I must admit, I’d much prefer it if you could
find someone
else
to joke about.”

Lord Karthan grabbed the much smaller Norborib
around the shoulders. “But why?  I have you for that,” he said.  “Come now, my
daughter.  The time has come for the details of the quest.  Are you ready?”

Kiria bowed her head. “Yes, Father.”

“Come then,” Lord Karthan said. “Let us put on a
performance that will inspire these new warriors and instill in them a deeper
sense of purpose.”  Leaving the servant behind, Lord Karthan took his daughter
by the shoulders and the two of them walked toward the large double doors at
the end of the entry hall to their home. 

As they walked, Lord Karthan turned his head and
spoke in low tones,  “Are you sure you want to do this, Kiria?”

“Yes, Father, now more than ever,” she replied
earnestly.

“Well, I trust that Durik will take care of you,”
he said.

Kiria’s eyes shot open.  Had he noticed her
interest in Durik?  “Yes, like all his warriors,” she said, uncomfortably
dodging what she thought was his true intent.  She had suppressed her feelings;
she couldn’t do this thing acting like a naïve young whelp pining away for the
leader of this expedition.  This was a serious commitment, and she would have
to stand on her own merits.

“Well, I think enough has been said, then.  If
you’re determined, then you have my support,” her father said, seemingly
oblivious to the subtle underplay Kiria thought he was introducing.

Kiria smiled up at her father in relief. “Thank
you, Father. And don’t worry so much about me.  You yourself said you picked
the finest for this mission.  I know it won’t be easy, but they’ll watch out
for me.  I’ll be fine.”

Much older and wiser in the ways of the world
outside the gen, Lord Karthan grimaced and held his daughter closer.  He had
chosen the best; that much was true.  Fighting the fear of letting go, he
desperately hoped they would be enough.  Knowing in his heart why he had
started down this path, he hoped that he, too, would be up to the tasks that
soon awaited him.

 
T
he
council hall was filled to capacity with the combined might of all the elite warriors
from the various warrior groups as well as all the leader caste of the Kale Gen
when Lord Karthan and Kiria arrived at the entrance.  After waiting for Khazak
Mail Fist to give the command and for the room to fall silent, Lord Karthan
stepped into the chamber.  The assembled elite warriors and council members all
rose at his entrance.  Behind him, Kiria waited until the warriors were on
their feet and focused on her father before walking inconspicuously to the Lore
Master’s minions’ table. 

Lord Karthan reached his large stone seat and sat
down.  Next to his throne, Khazak Mail Fist’s voice boomed, “Take seats!”  
Almost as one, everyone in the chamber sat down.  Nodding to Lord Karthan, the
chamberlain also sat, an imposing look on his face as a warning to all to not
speak out of turn.

Lord Karthan’s throne sat on a large stone stand. 
On either side of it, the two quarter-circle tables where the twenty and four
council members sat spread out like arms to encompass the center of the floor. 
On Lord Karthan’s left were the warrior council members, current and former
leaders of the warrior groups of the gen.  On his right were the functional
council members, each of them having a different and highly specialized
function.  Closest to him on his right was the Keeper of the Treasury, and next
to him was the oldest of them all, the Lore Master, followed by the Chief of
the Ambassadors.  Down the table from them in succession were the lesser
councilors; the Keeper of the Caverns of Instruction, the Chief of Medicines
and Surgeries, the Herb Master, and such.  In the center of the floor, just in
front of the line of former yearlings, a large brazier full of red-hot coals
had been placed.  Stuck deep into the coals were three long branding irons.

“Welcome, leaders of the gen,” Lord Karthan
started in a loud, commanding voice.  “We are gathered here today to witness
the Branding Ceremony for these, the newest warriors of our gen,” Lord Karthan
indicated the group of young kobolds standing in a line in front of him, “and
to prepare them with what they will need from the council.”  Throughout the
hall, his voice echoed as he paused to survey the crowd.  The discipline of
this group was complete.  Not even the occasional cough or whisper could be
perceived.

“I trust that all is in order,” Lord Karthan
asked, looking down at the chamberlain.  Khazak Mail Fist nodded his head. 
“Then I shall begin the branding ceremony.”

Lord Karthan stood and walked down past the line
of kobolds to the brazier.  Choosing one of the branding irons out of the fire,
Lord Karthan turned and faced the assembled crowd.  “Since the beginning, our
males have born the marks of the gen upon their chests, both as symbols of
pride and as a token in battle, that friend might know friend from foe.  Today,
with this branding iron, I continue this tradition.  Durik,” he said, turning
to face the newest leader caste, “receive now the Mark of the Leader Caste.”

Durik looked his lord straight in the eyes as Lord
Karthan grabbed him by the shoulder with one hand and pressed the red-hot
branding iron against Durik’s chest, rolling it a bit both upwards and
downwards to burn away the roots of the uniquely bronze scales that made Durik
different from all other kobolds in this gen.  Durik struggled desperately to
not scream from the excruciating pain. 

After a couple of seconds of smelling burning
flesh and seeing smoke, Lord Karthan removed the branding iron and Durik could
breathe again.  Looking down, and almost staggering in the process, Durik saw
the small symbol of an eye atop a tower – the mark of the leader caste – burned
into his left breast.

After looking Durik in the eye for a second, as if
to gauge his strength, Lord Karthan nodded to the leader of the Metal Smithies
who would follow him, then turned and returned the hot iron to the red coals in
the brazier and walked back up the stairs to his throne.

Walking up to take Lord Karthan’s place, the
leader of the Metal Smithies Warrior Group stepped forward and pulled both the
second and the third branding irons from the fire and turned to face Gorgon
Hammer.  Grabbing him quickly, he pressed the first branding iron to Gorgon’s
left breast and pulled it away, leaving a deep welter in the shape of the sword
of the Warrior Caste Mark emblazoned in the rust-red scales of his chest. 
Gorgon looked at him with absolutely no emotion in his eyes: cold, calm, and
completely unaffected. 

Switching to the other iron, the leader of the
Metal Smithies carefully placed the red-hot form of the banner over the sword
mark and held it.  After a few seconds of watching the smoke curl up from
Gorgon’s chest, the leader caste pulled the branding iron free of the seared
flesh and, after checking the new Elite Warrior Caste Marking on Gorgon’s
chest, held Gorgon’s gaze for a second and nodded in approval.  He turned
quickly and returned the branding irons to the coals.  Gorgon looked steadily
to the front, not even glancing down at the small, new wound in the shape of a
sword on a standard that now adorned his chest.

One by one, the leader caste in charge of the
various warrior groups came forward and branded the warriors from their warrior
groups with the sword mark of the Warrior Caste.  To their credit, one and all
of them held their peace.  Though some of them gave the impression they might
fall over from the intense pain, and Jerrig’s eyes even began to roll, in the
end all of them held strong enough. 

As the last warrior group leader returned to his
seat at the table to Lord Karthan’s left, Lord Karthan nodded his approval.  This
was perhaps the first year that no one had cried out with the touch of the hot
iron.  Truly, this was an exceptional group of kobolds.  He was surer now than
he had been before that his judgment on whether this group could handle this
quest had been correct.

Lord Karthan stood and addressed the line of
kobolds in front of him.  “Warriors,” he started, addressing the five kobolds
on the right side of the line, “today you take your places as protectors of the
gen.  May your swords be ever bright in our defense.”

Turning his view to Gorgon, he continued, “Elite
Warrior, know this.  Your mark is not only a rank of proficiency with arms and
effectiveness in battle, it is a mark of responsibility.  This day, you become
a leader among your peers.  Whether they live or die is much dependent on the
decisions you make from this day forward.  On your shoulders lies the
responsibility for their growth and discipline.  May you uphold the standards
you have learned at the hand of the Master Trainer this past year, and by your
sword shape the destiny of this gen.”

Finally, turning his head to look down at Durik,
Lord Karthan paused for a moment before speaking.  “Young Durik, on your
shoulders I place both the responsibilities of this great mission and these
warriors.  To execute this quest, I give you all power over your contingent. 
Be it known that from this day forward, until your quest is ended, you are
fully responsible for the warriors I place under your command.  I make you
judge, jury, and if need be, executioner.  On your word, they shall live or
die.  All that they have and everything they will get will come from you.  In
truth and in deed, they are in your hands.  May the accomplishment of your
mission be foremost in your mind, and may you consider always the welfare of
your warriors.”  Looking Durik in the eyes, he said, “Bear well the symbols of
eternal vigilance and unassailable strength that adorn your chest, and may your
vigil be constant and your strength in defense of the gen never failing.”

Lord Karthan faced the entire assembly. “Let us
form the group which will go forward.”  Beckoning with one hand, Lord Karthan
spoke to Manebrow and the five warriors who sat with him on the floor just
behind the line of kobolds, “Kormach Manebrow, are your warriors ready?”

Jumping to his feet, Manebrow said, “Yes, Sire.”

“Come!  Stand with your new leader caste.” 

Manebrow and his five warriors got to their feet
and formed a rough line behind Durik’s line.  Lord Karthan raised his hands
above his head and lifted his gaze to sweep across the assembled mass of elite
warriors.  “Assembled leaders of the Kale Gen, as I have alluded, tonight we do
more than make warriors of so many yearlings.  Tonight, we make an adventuring
group—Durik’s Company as it shall be called—to stand as such until there is a
vacancy in the council.  Already they are many,” he observed, waving his hand
in the direction of the five warriors who stood with Manebrow.  “However, it is
clear to me that still they are lacking.  Tonight, in order to help Durik’s
Company accomplish the quest that they’ve been given, I call upon the council
to add one more to their roster.”

The eyes of all the council members instantly
riveted on Lord Karthan, most of them bracing for a fight with Lord Karthan
over who they would let go and who they would not.

Noticing their gazes, Lord Karthan continued, “I
do not speak of warriors, however; of strength in battle I think they shall not
have want.”  Many of the defensive looks on the faces of the warrior group
leaders turned quizzical as Lord Karthan turned his gaze to the functional
leaders on his right.  “I speak instead of a capability that they will sorely
need, that we have not as yet provided them.  In this quest, they will have
much need of access to the most ancient of lore that our gen possesses. 
Indeed, I expect that without it, their quest would fail.”

This comment spawned much discussion among the
council members, especially the warrior group leaders.  It was well known that,
of the warrior groups, generally the Deep Guard were the best trained and
educated in the ancient lore of the gen.  Khee-lar Shadow Hand did not look
pleased, but instead of blurting out his disagreement, he sat back, waiting for
Lord Karthan to make his next move.  Raoros Fang and the majority of the other
warrior group leaders were silent, as they knew that none of their warriors
were knowledgeable enough to tap for this duty.  The functional leaders on Lord
Karthan’s right were all looking nervous, however, as they had little power to
defend their positions, and mostly very small staffs to carry out their
functions.

Lord Karthan had paused his arguments for a
moment, waiting for all to fall silent.  “For this purpose,” he continued, “to
act as an advisor in the most arcane of lore, which they are sure to encounter,
I propose that we send one who is well studied in these things.  Lore Master!”
he called in a loud voice.  At the table to his right sat the most ancient
kobold in the room.  His horns had curved forward on themselves and had started
back again, and his scales had begun to flake, having already turned a light, translucent
bronze with his advanced age.  The Lore Master, upon hearing his title, sat up
as if he’d been sleeping, and raised the large, hollow horn that he used to aid
his failing ears.

“Yes, my Lord?” he stammered. 

As all turned their attention to the old kobold,
Durik noticed for the first time that Kiria sat among his apprentices at a
table off to the side.  He suddenly realized that he had slouched a bit after
the branding, so he breathed in deeply, sticking his chest out as he tried to
push the lingering pain away.

“Lore Master,” Lord Karthan continued. “In
considering whom we should send with Durik’s Company to act as an advisor in
ancient Lore, what do you see as the knowledge requirements for this quest?  In
other words, what must the advisor know?”

The Lore Master looked bewildered for a second,
then, after Lord Karthan nudged him with a stare, he started, “Well, I suppose
there are several things such an advisor should know.”  He paused, gathering
his thoughts.  “First and foremost, he must have an in-depth knowledge of the
lore surrounding the Kale Stone as well as our ancient home of Palacid.” 

All the warrior group leaders nodded in agreement,
as this pretty well eliminated all of their warriors; it would have to be a
specialist then. 

At the table where the Lore Master’s apprentices
all sat, each of them except Kiria was looking clearly uncomfortable; they all
knew where this discussion was going.  The older ones in the small group were
sons of leader caste who had apprenticed with the Lore Master before Lord
Karthan had made all in the gen undergo the trials; the two younger ones were
warriors who had been wounded before, one was lame and the other had only one
arm.  Neither of them was particularly smart, but both of them were more
willing than their older counterparts.

The Lore Master continued, completely oblivious to
the dynamics of the table behind him.  “He should also have a command of the
lore concerning the Mountain King… and, for that matter, to be able to decipher
the ancient scripts…  He should also know how to write the Dwarven language.” 
After a moment more of rubbing the flaking scales of his chin, the Lore Master
raised a finger. “The last thing would be at least a basic command of the other
written languages; Draconic and Elvish.”

Khee-lar Shadow Hand stood. “Sire,” he began,
addressing Lord Karthan.  “There is none in this gen, save the old Lore Master
himself, who knows all these things.  It would take two or three scholars at
best to perform these functions!  Would you have the company be burdened down
with so many academics?  Is this an adventuring company or a research party?”

Lord Karthan stood still, not saying a word. 
There was much discussion throughout the room, the scared looks of the Lore
Master’s own apprentices silently adding the loudest voices to the chorus of
nay-sayers. 

Suddenly, from the Lore Master’s apprentices’
table, Kiria stood and the room fell silent.  “I will go!” she exclaimed in a
loud, clear voice.