The Game of Fates (2 page)

T
rallik
had considered himself to be superior, better than the other kobolds in his
year-group; kobolds like Durik, the new leader caste who just days ago had been
his peer, and Gorgon, the new elite warrior who had been another of his peers. 
He had seen the invitation from Khee-lar Shadow Hand to join in the overthrow
of the Kale Gen as a recognition of his obviously superior abilities.  He had
felt that it was only natural that he should be chosen out of the many others,
eventually to become a leader over them; of that he had been certain.  But now
as Trallik stumbled through the great trees of the neighboring Krall Gen with
his tail hanging listlessly behind him, exiled for siding with an evil group of
usurpers, he felt weak, inferior and alone. 

His mind reflected back on the events
of the past couple of days and how he’d come to be exiled from the only home
he’d ever known; the caves of his gen, the Kale Gen.  After building what he
had thought was a life of subtle strength and domination, he had found that his
actions instead had left him hollow and caused him to lose everything that he’d
longed for.  As he walked along in the dark beneath the canopy of the great
trees Trallik stopped and, bending over a large root, the young kobold wretched
until he sat back, sobbing bitter tears that moistened the rust red scales of
his trembling snout as the realization of how he’d ended up here flooded
through his consciousness.

Trallik
had ruthlessly manipulated circumstances during the entire year of training
prior to their final test, the Trials of Caste.  To ensure that nothing
accidentally happened to take him out of the running, he had carefully
eliminated as many of his fellow yearlings from the year of training as
possible.  An accidental fall resulting in a broken ankle that hadn’t been
accidental at all, but which had put that particular competitor out of the
competition until the next year, had been his first treacherous act. 
Unsophisticated, straight forward, not exactly his style, but it had been
effective nonetheless. 

His
second target was a bit more work, but he’d fallen in the end; nothing like
sabotaging someone else’s equipment and planting evidence on another yearling
to get that yearling out of the running.  Manebrow, the veteran elite warrior
who helped lead their expedition and who had served as their trainer for the
past year, had never tolerated violations of the honor code.

Inspections
had been a good opportunity to deal with one particularly troublesome type.  He
still remembered the look on Manebrow’s face when, for the fifth week in a row,
he found one too many gigs in Trallik’s partner’s kit.  What had made Trallik
even more proud at the time, and what caused him deeper anguish now, was that
his partner had never even suspected he was being set up.

Now
as Trallik sat sobbing against the trunk of that mighty tree, his conscience,
too long suppressed and dormant, was pierced with the pain of a tormented
soul.  The suppressed teachings and examples of his parents and those who had
loved him and nurtured him in his younger years had been waiting for a
significant emotional event like this to come thundering back. 

And
come back they did.

For
quite some time Trallik struggled with his emotions.  His conscience, what
little was left of it, was pricked, yet… he also felt the temptation to simply
justify his actions and think of himself as being right. 

With
a sigh Trallik shook his head.  Somewhere deep within his heart he knew he
could not give in to that temptation.  No, if he’d learned anything from being
exiled, it was that he would have to tread the more bitter path of accepting
that what he had done was wrong. 

In
his heart a seed of responsibility began to take shape.  As the feeling that he
should take responsibility for the consequences of his actions began to grow
within him, he did not squelch it with denial; he let it grow instead.  Though
he did not know it then, this decision was the most critical step he would make
in his life; to live a life of taking responsibility instead of a life of
blaming others for his shortcomings.

The
second major realization that came to Trallik as he wallowed in misery, was
that he may not be the most, indeed the only, important kobold in existence. 
Since his mother’s death, his thinking about those who had repeatedly tried to
teach him that he should not lie, cheat, steal, or hurt others, and in general
that he should treat others as he wanted to be treated, was that they were
simple, stupid kobolds, not forward looking, aggressive, nor smart.  Since not
long after his mother had died, his ambition had changed him to look on others
as somehow less than himself, as stepping stones to get where he wanted to go,
or as hindrances to his plans.  That view of the world, however, had been
challenged by his loss in the Trials of Caste.  Then, a few hours ago, it had
been utterly shattered when he had been caught trying to escape by Manebrow…
who had shown him mercy.

Trallik
had convinced himself, as he lay semi-conscious horns over tail, strapped
across the back of a wolf during their journey here, that Manebrow would have
talked Durik into having Trallik executed for his treachery.  He had been
certain that they would quickly try him, then mercilessly execute him.  He had
seen in his mind’s eye the look he thought they would have on their faces;
arrogant, dispassionate, uncaring.

Instead
of being tried and executed by an emotionless leader, however, Trallik had been
confronted by a leader of character, something he felt particularly short of at
the moment.  He had seen the look on Manebrow’s face.  Though his words were
firm, it was obvious that he was disappointed at Trallik’s treachery, that
perhaps Trallik had let him down. 

What
surprised him most was that Manebrow, certainly with Durik’s consent, had
spared his life.  He had been so certain that they would not have… been
merciful.  In fact, the thought had never even occurred to him that they might
let him live.

As
the mists of night settled over Lord Krall’s forest, and the realization that
he’d been given a second chance at life began to settle in, in his heart he
began to feel that he should try to repair the damage he had done.  As time
passed and the first inklings of character began to grow within him, this
feeling grew to a passionate resolve.  Though he did not know how, Trallik
vowed to make right what he had made wrong.

With
a hope of redemption in his heart, Trallik stood and shook with the chill of
the night.  Pulling his tattered wolfskin outfit from his backpack, Trallik
hurriedly wrapped it around his shoulders and began his journey.

The
details of that long night in Lord Krall’s forest would fade with time, but the
impact of the events that had put him there would stay with Trallik for the
rest of his life.  It was something of a watershed experience for Trallik, and
in fact one could say that he grew more that night than he had grown over the
last few years of his life.

Perhaps it was because of the severe
emotions, or more likely because of the severe fatigue, that Trallik was not as
careful as he might otherwise have been.  He had made it to the edge of Lord
Krall’s forest before deciding to rest for what was left of the night, however
he did not keep an adequate watch as he made his way out of the valley.

Trallik,
in near exhaustion, had left the protective shelter of the massive redwood
trees, each as thick as a house and hundreds of steps tall, that shadowed out
any lesser trees from Lord Krall’s forest.  He slipped on the wolfskin outfit
from his pack to ward off the chill of an early spring night and made his way
up the gentle slope toward the rolling hills that marked the edge of the wild
lands.  Having found a small thicket of broomweed not a stone’s throw from the
edge of the top of the rise, he threw himself to the ground and immediately
slept.

That
night, however, was the night that another usurper called Mynar the Sorcerer
and his band of conspirators made their attempt on Lord Krall’s life.  Because
of that, and even more so because of the news Durik, the leader of the
expedition, had brought of the impending great ant invasion, the Border Guard
was at a much higher state of alert than normal, so the glimpses of a warm body
lying among the broomweed near the perimeter drew quite a bit of attention from
the normally uncurious warriors of the Border Guard.

Pretty
soon a team had been dispatched to investigate, while the rest of the group
watched anxiously from their walkways and platforms in the lower branches of
the trees.  Some speculated that it ‘must be one of those ant scouts’ while
others speculated that ‘maybe it’s a conspirator that escaped.’  A few of them,
the older ones, were a bit less speculative, thinking it was probably a deer or
something not so exciting.  The one with the best eyes among them thought it
had the look of a wolf, but that its skin just didn’t fit quite right.

After
a short walk out of the trees and up the slope, the small detachment of
warriors, only five of them in all, drew arrows and approached the sleeping
creature as quietly as they could.  Reaching the top of the rise, the
contingent stopped and got down on one knee, their tails swishing nervously
behind them.  The leader of the little group was a cautious elite warrior who
had achieved his rank through his many years of service.  He had survived
several years on patrol by not taking unnecessary chances, and tonight, despite
the eyes of all of his companions being on him, he was not about to rush this
little scouting foray either.

He
motioned for one of his warriors to come up next to him so he could whisper in
his ear.  He grabbed the younger warrior by one horn and pulled his ear close
to his snout, then silently, like the wind, he breathed his instructions into
the much younger warrior’s ear.  The younger warrior grabbed a fellow warrior
and began to head off at an angle, circling around the sleeping creature.

The
older warrior waited for several moments, then he openly and obviously put his
bow over his shoulder and put his arrow back into its quiver.  The two warriors
who were still with him followed suit.  He slowly and silently unsheathed his
sword and held it low, so as to not reflect the light of the recently risen
moon.  He waited as his two companions drew swords that shone in bright
contrast to the dark scales of their arms and backs, then he slowly stood to a
crouching position.

The
three warriors were exceptionally alert as they moved forward ever so slowly,
tails swishing slowly as they went forward in a crouch.  While the leader was
focused on the still form in front of them, the pair of warriors with him
looked to either side, keeping an eye out for any potential companions this
creature might have, their toned muscles tensed and ready.

Arriving
at the thicket, the leader knelt down and began to get down on his hands and
knees to look between the broomweed roots at the creature.  As he did so, the
warrior to his right tripped and made a loud clanging sound with his sword
against a rock as he tried to catch himself. 

In
front of them, the creature stirred.  The leader had not wanted to engage the
creature, but it seemed like the only option at the moment; to capture it now
before it was fully roused.

Leaping
through the broomweed, the leader of the small contingent came face to face
with a very scared, and suddenly very alert, Trallik.  He yelled at Trallik to
put his hands where he could see them, but all Trallik noticed was the sword in
the elite warrior’s hand, and two more armed warriors coming through the bush.

The
training that Manebrow had put him through during this past year took over
immediately.  He grabbed the strap of his pack and swung it hard, knocking the
sword from the leader’s grasp.  Seeing the other two warriors struggling
through the broomweed, Trallik then turned and began to run for all he was
worth. 

Not
twenty steps through the broomweed, two more kobolds appeared in front of him
with bows drawn.  Trallik didn’t even hear them yelling for him to stop.  He
immediately took off at a right angle to them and began to run through the
stands of broomweed.  A year of training and a severe burst of adrenaline had
done much for Trallik.  Try as they might, none of the five warriors were able
to catch up to the young exile.  Soon, Trallik was far ahead of them in the
bush.  Calling a halt to the chase, the leader of the small contingent stood
with his hands on his knees and watched as the bright form of the mysterious
kobold disappeared into the stand of oak trees to the north.

Trallik’s
adrenaline carried him far that night, farther than he had thought it could. 
But his adrenaline was mixed with fear, and fear is a potent drug, able to push
a person well beyond what they might otherwise think are their limits.