The Game of Fates (7 page)

“From
what we’ve seen, all the smaller ants only act in unison when they’ve got an
ant commander there to coordinate them.  I don’t know how they communicate, but
it’s like as if the commander is speaking to their minds.  Once that commander
is killed, the smaller ants mill about like they don’t know what to do.

“The
hunter ants, on the other hand, are independently intelligent.  They go
scouting about and will fight on their own.  Oh, and the queen’s warrior
guards, whatever may be left of them, will also act mostly independently.  So,
really, the only ants you have to worry about are the hunters, perhaps a small
number of queen’s guards, and the ant commanders.

“Since
their ant commanders are probably tied up with the process of making a new
queen, now might be the time to go to the colony and take out their hunters. 
Once their hunters are taken out, the colony is essentially blind.  Then find
high, defensible places that overlook the colony, like their hilltops, and wait
for the rest to come.  Once the ant commanders are in sight kill them
immediately with volleys of arrows.  Then once there’s no more commanders left,
clean up the rest of the confused and disorganized workers.”

Krall
slowly nodded his agreement.  “Durik of the Kale Gen, your vision in this
matter is rather clear.  I will take your advice into consideration.”  He then
turned his attention back to the council.  “What forces will you commit, my
brothers in arms?  What will you commit to secure our future?”

After
a short time Krall got the warrior contingent leaders to commit themselves and
fifty warriors each to his war party.  The atmosphere in the hall was one of
courage and confidence that they would easily defeat the ant threat.  After
deciding on a time for the warrior leaders and himself to meet the next day to
continue the planning, Krall stood in thought for a moment.  Finally, content
with the results of his speech and the reaction to it, Krall turned the floor
over to his brother.

Acting
with all the confidence he could muster, Morigar stood before the council and
talked about their old enemies, the Bloodhand Orc Tribe, and how it was
important that they not be given the opportunity to encroach into their lands
yet again.  He mentioned how the Kale Gen had graciously volunteered to provide
much of the combat troops, but that the Krall gen must not turn a blind eye to
this threat.  “As such,” Morigar concluded, “I will lead a group on this
dangerous task and I ask to take a contingent from the ranks of this gen with
me.”

The
council was much less enthusiastic when Morigar spoke.  Perhaps it was the fact
that he was not immediately in line for the throne, or perhaps it was their
history together.  Durik wasn’t sure.  Whatever it was, when Morigar also asked
for a healer to be sent with his group he was met with cautious, but open,
rejection from each council member who had one.  Turning to his father for
support, Morigar received only a blank stare.  It was obvious to him that he
had no support there.  As such, Morigar began to bargain, not ask.  As the
council members sensed Lord Krall’s lack of support they were like wolves
attacking a wounded buck until, finally, Lord Krall interceded.

“Morigar…”
he started then waited for the voices to die down.  “Morigar shall take the two
veteran scouts, Gormanor and Lemmekor of the Border Guard, and Krebbekar from
my house guard shall be his second.  Three shall be sufficient to accompany you
on this mission.”  Krebbekar, the leader of his house guard, hearing his name
called, choked on the contents of his mug and spat liquid all over those around
him.  With a very surprised look he began to pay more attention to what Lord
Krall was saying.

It
was obvious to all present that the real intent Lord Krall had in naming those
three was that they would accomplish the mission and bring his son back to him,
no matter what his son’s actions were.  At the end of Morigar’s turn he sat
down, trying to keep some of his composure after such a railing.  It was
equally obvious by the look on Morigar’s face that he had not fully realized
before this point exactly how little credibility he had left with the other
leaders of the Krall Gen.

Durik
looked on with an ache in his heart for the younger son of Lord Krall.  He did
not know what Morigar had done… or not done, to break the trust of the leadership
of his gen, but whatever it was, it was obvious to Durik that Morigar had not
realized before now how heavy the price would be. 

Durik
was not the greatest judge of character, but to him Morigar had the look of
someone that had spent his credibility on frivolous things.  And now, after
stepping forward to take a place he thought rightfully his, he seemed shocked
to find his credibility gone, and the trust of all withdrawn.

The
rest of the feast passed mostly uneventfully.  It was not long after the speeches
that Lord Krall, seeing most of Durik’s company slumping in their seats, still
hung over from the extreme effort of the day before, spared them any further
pain and stood up to leave the hall.  Everyone else got the cue and stood
shortly after him as he addressed the group.  “Again, Durik’s Company and my
old friend Khazak Mail Fist, welcome to our gen.  Please feel free to use the
resources of our gen.  May your quest be successful.”

With
that, Lord Krall turned and walked through the door in the rear of the great
hall and was gone.  Not long after, almost the entire company was back in the
quarters and most were sound asleep.  The worries of the past few days set
aside for a time with the hope of a new day ahead of them and the security of a
community of warriors to rely on.

K
iria knocked lightly on the inner
door of her aunt’s residence.  The guards, knowing her well from her many
visits to their gen over the years, had let her through without more than a
‘good evening, Kiria.’  Now, as she stood in the conference room waiting for
the servant to answer the knock, she wondered if she should have come.

Magic
was a topic that Kiria had never discussed with anyone but her parents before
this quest.  It had always been something hidden, something not shared, a
family secret she decided.  This thought brightened her up somewhat. 
She is
my father’s sister, after all, if I’m ever going to take my knowledge further,
I have to talk to someone, and she’s family.

She
heard footsteps coming from the other side of the door, and the familiar face
of Lady Karaba’s footman appeared as he opened the door.

“My
little lady,” he intoned with a particular fondness, the type that only old
kobolds who knew her since birth would have used.  His squinty eyes and heavy
brows, mixed with his lack of teeth and wrinkled gums gave him the look of one
whose face needed a bit of stretching out.

“Hi,
Jartor, it’s good to see you again,” she answered.

“And
it’s good to see you, as well.  Quite the excitement yesterday, wasn’t it?  I’m
sorry I missed it,” the old kobold lied demurely.  Changing to a more sincere
tone, he continued.  “But I’m very glad you made it through none the worse for
wear.  And with a shiny new trinket to show for it as well,” he said, tapping
her shiny gold belt buckle, a gift from Lord Krall given to the members of
Durik’s Company as a thanks for saving his life and the lives of his family
members.

Kiria
smiled.  “Yes, I am well.  Jartor, is my aunt in?”

Jartor’s
squinty eyes opened up a bit wider, “Oh, well, come to stay with us for a bit,
then?  I was hoping you would.  It’s been so long since we’ve had whelps in the
house.”

Kiria
smiled at the old kobold, feeling no slight at his words.  “No, Jartor.  I’m
staying with my warrior group, I’m not a whelp anymore, you know.”

“Oh!” 
Jartor exclaimed again, “well, how many summers have you now?  Is it fifteen
already?”

Kiria
smiled and shook her head, “You old joker!  You know it is!  I’m an adult
already!”

Jartor
smiled and nodded his head, a twinkle in his aged eye.  “Aye, and a fine lady
you’ve grown up to be.  I’d imagine you’ll be chasing after one of those young
strapping warriors you’re traveling with.  Every young lady dreams of a noble
lifemate; their leader caste perhaps?  What was his name?  Durik, I think.”

Kiria’s
face flushed with barely concealed embarrassment.  Her patience with the old
kobold was running thin.  “Jartor!  Will you please just get my aunt?”

From
behind Jartor on the steps up to their personal chambers Lady Karaba arrived in
time to hear his needling.

“That’s
quite enough, Jartor.  Come now.  Go pick on someone your own age,” Lady Karaba
gently chided the old servant.

Turning
stiffly, Jartor threw up his hands in mock surrender.  “Ah, you’ve caught me,
my lady.  Though I dare say there aren’t many kobolds my age to choose from,
and all of them are likely in bed already.”

“The
minister is almost your age.  Perhaps you can see to his needs for a time,” she
commanded.

“Yes,
my lady,” Jartor said, adjusting various items on his way out of the room, a
life-habit of cleanliness that his lady’s dismissal certainly wouldn’t break.

When
the two of them were finally alone, Kiria sat in front of her aunt almost
unwilling to talk at first.

“What
is it my dear?” Lady Karaba asked her niece.

“Well,
Aba,” she paused, trying to think of how to broach the subject.  “Was there a
library and workshop in the lady’s quarters when you lived in the gen?”

Lady
Karaba looked at Kiria as if she were seeing her for the first time.

“Your
father has shared with you your heritage, then, I see,” Lady Karaba stated
simply.

Kiria
nodded.

“And
what have you learned?” she probed.

“When
I was much younger, before my mother died, she taught me a few simple spells. 
She taught me perhaps only the most basic bits of magic, which were not much
less than she knew.  Apparently your mother didn’t teach her much.”

Lady
Karaba smiled.  It was interesting to her to see how history changed depending
on who was doing the telling.

“Well,
it’s not that my mother didn’t teach your mother much.  It’s more that she
never had much of an interest in it,” Lady Karaba corrected her.  “Your mother
was always more interested in the goings on of the gen than in the greater
powers of her station.”

Kiria
was a bit taken aback.  In her mind her mother was perfect, frozen in time to
when Kiria was nine.  Though she’d imagined that her mother had faults, still
it was a bit of a shock to hear someone talk about them.  She promptly decided
to get the conversation back on track.

“What
she did teach me I’ve used.  But I am finding that the little powers that I
have aren’t much help, except through the odd twist of the Fates.”

“Ah,”
Lady Karaba’s eyes lit up a bit, “you’ve come seeking greater powers?”

“Yes,
Aba.  Do you have more that you could share with me?”

Lady
Karaba nodded her head.  “Your mother gave me her mother’s book of spells
shortly after her mother’s death.  She said she thought she’d never have a use
for it.”  Lady Karaba shook her head as she stood and walked over to the
bookshelf.  “I always thought you would eventually come looking for it.”

Grabbing
a large book, one with a cover of formed leather, died blue and edged in golden
relief, she thumbed through it, a thin smile on her face.  After a few moments,
she brought the book over to her young niece.

“This
is the spell book your mother gave me.  It belonged to the lady of the gen
before her, and it is your duty to pass it on to whomever becomes Karto’s
lifemate,” she said, referring to the older of Kiria’s little brothers.

Kiria
stood and took the tome from her aunt.  “Oh thank you, Aba,” she said, giving
her a hug.  “Thank you for this piece of my heritage!  I will study it
thoroughly!”

“And?”
Lady Karaba prompted her.

“And
I will pass it on to whomever becomes lady of the gen,” she said dutifully.

The
wistful look in Lady Karaba’s eyes passed unseen before the excited young
female.

As
Kiria left the chambers of her aunt and uncle, dreams of the magic that she
would uncover within the pages of her grandmother’s spell book swept her back
to her room in the caravan drivers quarters.  Though it was difficult, she did
eventually get to sleep that night.

That
night the dreams of the members of Durik’s Company were not as peaceful as they
might have wished.  Though the caravan drivers quarters were mostly peaceful,
the noise of tossing and turning warriors could be heard throughout the night,
punctuated by the occasional cry of imagined alarm or remembered strife. 

At
one point Jerrig Queen Slayer sat up with a defiant scream, the events in the
ant queen’s chambers replaying in his head.  His hands were focused in front of
him in the shape of a triangle and a searing point of light filled the room as
a bolt of intense fire formed between his upheld hands and shot across the
room, cracking the log of the outer wall of their quarters. 

As
his mind stopped wondering where the ant queen had gone, and the realization of
where he was slowly dawned on his awakening mind, he stopped looking around
desperately and instead got very quiet.  The log he had cracked was directly
above Arbelk’s still sleeping form.  On the pile of furs across the room Keryak
lay rubbing his eyes.  Jerrig lay back down hurriedly, in case by some strange
chance Keryak hadn’t noticed the whole episode.

Seemingly
in answer to Jerrig’s whispered prayers to the Creator, Keryak didn’t notice
the warm spot on the logs above Arbelk, and after a couple of moments he laid
back down and rolled over.  The utter exhaustion of the last several days had
saved Jerrig the embarrassment.  He very much hoped that no one would notice
the new charred spot the next day on the blackened log wall.

No
one did.

The
next day would reveal on their faces the extent of their suffering that night,
but for now the anonymous mask of darkness hid their collective nightmares.

Ardan,
formerly a weapon smith, bowyer and fletcher, caravan guide and now a scout for
Durik’s Company, was by no means the oldest member of the company; Manebrow
claimed that title by a handful of years.  He was, however, an experienced and
skilled warrior in his own right.  After so many years on the trail escorting
the trade caravans he had learned well the lay of the land and had come to know
the Krall Gen as well as he knew his own gen.  One of their number, in particular,
he had come to know much better than the rest.

Her
name was Miratha and, like Ardan, she had been left behind in the rush of life,
not having found a lifemate in the furtive days of youth.  Now in his
twenty-fifth year, Ardan was established among the warriors of the gen, and had
begun to think more and more about his future.  Despite how miserable his own
childhood had been, he now felt that he had overcome such things and was
finally warming up to the idea of having children of his own. 

This
love he had found with Miratha, and the realization that he didn’t want to
spend the rest of his life alone, had eventually brought Ardan to reluctantly
begin to trust Miratha with his heart.  It had been a long process so far, and
was by no means complete, but over the course of the last twenty or so visits
he’d made to the Krall Gen, he’d grown comfortable with her, to the point where
he was now looking forward to seeing her again.

Miratha,
on the other hand, was more than willing, in fact it could be said she was
eager to bond with Ardan.  Slightly less than a year younger than Ardan, she
had begun to feel the toll of the years on her body, and wanted to enjoy the
fruits of love, children to be precise, in her old age.  When Ardan had begun
to pay her more attention than the other workers at the Hall of Commerce, her
heart had quickly opened to him.  All this time it was mostly her driving the
relationship, which was fine with Ardan.  He was more than happy to sit back
and let her lead such things.  In matters of the heart he was no master.  After
so many years on the trail focusing on his duties, love and relationships were
foreign to him.

Now
as he sat in the very heart of the Krall Gen, Ardan could almost smell the
sweet scent of her.  Knowing he was only a bowshot from where she made her home
on the southern shores of the lake, Ardan’s spirits lifted in anticipation of
seeing her.