The Game of Fates (17 page)

Trallik
nodded his meager understanding.  For him, the elf’s entire point of view was a
complete paradigm shift.  He was beginning to gain a greater understanding of
the elf, but he could tell that, perhaps, he could never fully understand what
he understood.

“As
such, most elves spend the first fifty years of their lives discovering,
playing, making friendships, building a sense of allegiance… and planning,”
Arren said as he raised one black eyebrow.  “I knew, before I entered my
nation’s obligatory military service at age fifty, that I wanted to be the
leader of my nation’s warriors.  As such, I planned out a path that I felt
would lead me to gain my nation’s trust and my eventual appointment as
commander of all our war bands.

“The
first step was, of course, a decade of honorable service as a recruit, after
which I was in the process of spending the next forty years, until my one
hundredth year, cloistered away doing nothing but studying the art and sciences
of war and perfecting my skills with weapons.  However, when the kobold stone
was lost to the orcs, my studies were interrupted for a few years to fight the
Fallen Prince’s minions, though I was able to finish them later.”

The
pair of companions were now at the main passageway, and Arren paused for a few
moments to listen before entering the passage and continuing their journey up
toward the far side of the mountain.

“I
was in my twentieth year of studies at that time, and had completely mastered
my thoughts; every stray desire, every daydream, every self-defeating
attitude.  I was at one with my mission and completely focused in thought and
word.”

Trallik
had many questions.  “But how could you do that, and why would you even want
to?”

“It
is a simple progression.  As thoughts are the basis of action, and repeated
action becomes habit, and habits form one’s character, it is first and foremost
necessary to absolutely dedicate one’s self in thought and word to whatever is
to be accomplished.  Once thoughts are mastered, then actions, habits, and
character naturally follow. 

“The
pain of physical exertion and suffering is the surest crucible to drive the
dross of frivolity from one’s life.  Extreme effort, extreme trials and
challenges, and the desire to become more than you are can lead one to absolute
dedication.  This absolute dedication, or giving of one’s self entirely to a
chosen path, brings with it the reward of absolute control over one’s
thoughts.  Therefore, I spent every day for forty years learning to endure
extreme hardships and learning to push myself beyond what I thought possible.”

“But
why would you want to?  Isn’t it better to laugh, love, and live?” Trallik asked.

“It
is,” Arren answered, “but each thing in its own time.  He who completely
focuses his mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical energies on a task until
he masters that task will keep the proficiency he gains for the rest of his
life, for it becomes a true and living part of him.  He then reaps the benefit
of that dedication from that point onward.  While others who did not so
dedicate themselves find themselves constantly having to revisit and relearn
the same task.”

Trallik
was beginning to understand the elf’s perspective, and it shook his concept of
how to live a successful life to the core.  It was hard doctrine, and he was
not so sure he wanted to know more.  But if there was one thing Trallik was, it
was curious.  “What types of things did you go through in this training and
what did you learn?” he asked.

“Well,
there were several core things I did, as well as several separate events.  I
wore a heavier version of this same armor I wear now for twenty years straight
without removing it except to bathe.  Everywhere I went I carried a backpack
that I always kept something of a load in, and that I frequently filled with
rocks when climbing the highest peaks on the borders of our lands, or when
executing my hundred-mile marches.  At all times I carried my weapons.

“By
traveling so, I purified and strengthened body, mind, and spirit.  In fact,
before coming on this quest, I spent another year well burdened with heavy
gear.  Once one masters moving, fighting, and conducting life’s chores in such
a kit, doing so in a lighter kit gives one a significant advantage over others
who are not well accustomed to the weight of the trappings and tools of war.

“Every
day, and sometimes long into the night, the many students of our grand master
conducted intense exercises.  It could be said that these exercises were
bloodless battles, so intense in their design and competition that our wars
against the orcs felt more like simplistic, but bloody exercises.  They were
the true tests of how far we had each progressed.

“To
prepare for these battles, as well as for the other challenges I faced, my
master and I exercised for hours every day with my weapons, until they became
as familiar to me as my own limbs.  I learned to counter every strike and break
every defense.  I perfected my fighting style… that is, I became capable of
executing every move, every maneuver, indeed every aspect of my fighting style
as well as the greatest of grand masters of my fighting style.”  Arren ran his
hand lovingly along the length of his weapon’s handle.  “After these few
centuries, this naginata I bear,” he said, indicating the short-poled weapon
with the long blade that he carried, “is no longer a tool to me, but rather it
is an extension of my will.  I know its weight and feel as well as I know that
of my own hands.”

“What
a strange name,” Trallik said.

“What? 
Oh, naginata.  Yes, well that too has quite a history as well, though I can see
by the look on your face that I should not weary you further with the long
version of it,” he said.  “You see, in the dragon wars when the other pilgrim
races came to Dharma Kor, the elf nation who was most successful against the
dragons, and who therefore came to dominate our collective military affairs,
had very different weapons from many of the rest of our nations.  As they were
given charge of our military training and leadership for a season, their
tactics, weapons, and training became the standard.  As you can see, a naginata
is a short pole arm with a long, heavy blade.  We who hold the line against the
armored troops that form the veteran core of an orc horde’s assault use the
naginata, as it is particularly well suited to fighting both heavily armored
opponents as well as mounted opponents.”

“How
can your weapon be so old?” Trallik asked, incredulous at the elf’s stated
timeline.

“Well,
young one,” Arren started, “I spent the better part of a year forging this
particular weapon.  I completed it in time to start my training, and the magic
wards that my grand master placed on it strengthen it, preserve it, and give it
an exceptionally keen edge.

“It,
like my armor and the tips of my arrows,” Arren continued, “was forged with a
metal called bilandrium, in The Sorcerer’s Tongue that is.  It requires the
greatest of forges and the hottest of fires to be worked, but when it is folded
and tempered repeatedly, it can shatter lesser metals.”

Trallik
was impressed, and he was glad he was on the elf’s side, though with every word
Arren spoke, he became more and more aware of the great gulf of differences
that separated the two of them.  After seeing the elf in action against the
generally untrained orcs, and now having heard his explanation of his
performance, Trallik began to understand his mysterious companion.  In his
heart his respect for the almost untouchable elf had grown tremendously.

The
two companions sat silently in the small antechamber near the northern exit to
the passage complex that they had been in for some time.  In a sign of the
elf’s growing trust for him, Trallik sat watch near the entrance as the elf sat
cross-legged, transfixed by some vision that Trallik was not privy to.

Trallik
was amazed at what he saw.  It was almost as if Arren’s face was slightly
translucent, and it glowed with an ever so subtle light that would not have
been visible except for the contrast of the pitch darkness that otherwise
surrounded the pair.  After the initial few moments when the vision had opened,
the elf spoke, the words themselves seeming almost musical yet firm and strong
at the same time.  Trallik didn’t recognize any of the words, and guessed it
was Elvish.  He knew it certainly wasn’t anything spoken by kobolds or orcs.

After
a time of the communing, the amazement of it began to wear off, and Trallik
began to tire of keeping watch over the glowing elf.  Then, as suddenly as the
vision had been opened, the light disappeared and Arren stood, passing his hand
over the crystal in the handle of his naginata and speaking the command word to
cause it to give its light.  Knowing that Arren was back with him, Trallik sat
patiently waiting for an explanation.  He did not have to wait long.

“My
little friend,” Arren said as he hoisted his pack over his shoulder, “you are
of the Kale Gen, the tribe of Kobold’s second son, are you not?”

Trallik
nodded his head in confusion.  He was pretty sure he hadn’t told Arren that.

Arren
looked Trallik squarely in the eyes.  “I must let you go, little one.  Your
people will need you shortly.  Return to them.”

Arren’s
words struck Trallik like a blast of cold water.

“But
I have been exiled from them.  I can’t go back,” Trallik protested.

Arren
stepped forward and put a hand on Trallik’s bare, scaly shoulder.  “Little one,
the key I seek is not with your gen, but I believe you’ll find that your return
will be key to your gen’s survival.  Forget yourself, little one.  Go.  Return
to them.”

Trallik
looked up at the tall elf without any real understanding.

Arren
turned, walked to the entrance of the antechamber and looked up the short
distance of the tunnel to the northern exit and daylight beyond it.  After a
moment of pondering, he turned back to Trallik who was waiting expectantly.  “I
must continue my journey,” he spoke, “and you must also continue yours.”

Trallik
was crestfallen.

“The
Bloodhand Orc Tribe has decided to move south earlier than I expected.  You
will want to go back through this passageway to your southern valley before
they arrive.  Hurry now.  Goodbye Trallik of the Kale Gen.  May our paths cross
again when the Creator wills it.”

With
that, Arren walked the remaining distance up into the daylight and disappeared
into the brilliant light, leaving Trallik staring wordlessly after him.

^“
E
h!  Hoo ye?  Eh!”  The noise came
from somewhere far outside Trallik’s dream, interrupting the world he was in. 
He’d not eaten since the day before when he’d parted ways with Arren, the elf
prince, so his groggy mind had conjured up quite a feast of roast boar, fish
from the deep streams far under their gen’s home, and stewed roots, which he
had just begun to feast on.  Though the taste of it all was marvelous, even his
dream couldn’t cover up how empty he felt inside.

“Eh!! 
Hoo ye?!” the noise came again, this time much louder and more insistent than
before, and this time it was accompanied by a pain in Trallik’s side. 

Slowly,
groggily, Trallik’s weary mind made the journey to semi-wakefulness.  Turning
over and looking up from the little hollow he’d found between a tree root and a
rather large bush, Trallik’s bleary eyes blinked in the sunlight.

“Eh! 
Waken Ow!” the persistent voice said again.

Suddenly
remembering where he was, Trallik sat up with a start and looked toward the
voice, tangling his horns in the branches of the bush.  Standing on the root he
had been sleeping against was a dark-scaled kobold holding a spear.  As Trallik
blinked, pulled the wolfskin hood back and tried to rouse himself fully, the
dark-scaled kobold moved to prod him again with the butt of his spear.  Trallik
caught the spear shaft and pushed it back toward the dark-scaled kobold.  This
whole being-woken-up-by-strangers thing was getting irritating.

“I’m
awake!” he groaned.  “Who are you, and what funny language do you speak?” he
asked.  Now sitting up and much more fully awake, Trallik could see that the
kobold’s horns were thinner than his, and the very tips of his dark red scales
seemed to have a light hue to them.  His gear was rather primitive, consisting
of fur pouches tied to a rope that hung over one shoulder, though his spear was
obviously of excellent make.  The steel tip of it shone brightly in the morning
sun.

“Aha! 
Ye spik Sorcer Tong!” the kobold warrior exclaimed.  “Yoo Krall Gen, or may be
Kale Gen!”

Trallik
nodded his head.

The
kobold warrior reached out a hand, which Trallik reluctantly grasped.  “I be
Mahtu” he said as he lifted Trallik to his feet.

“I
am Trallik.”

Mahtu
stood looking at his new acquaintance as Trallik brushed the leaves from his
wolf-skin outfit.  “Yoo Kale Gen, Trah Leek?” he asked, trying too hard to
pronounce Trallik’s name right.

Trallik
grimaced.  It wasn’t a discussion he wanted to have with this stranger, at
least not yet.  “I am not Krall Gen,” he answered elusively.

“Ah,
yoo Kale Gen.  I see belts.  Belts tell me yoo Kale Gen.”

Trallik
pursed his lips as he stepped out of the small hollow he’d found the night
before after chasing a particularly frisky rabbit unsuccessfully for some
distance.  “I come from the Kale Gen.”

Mahtu
looked surprised.  “Why yoo not with others?  Yoo…” he thought for a minute
until he finally came up with the word.  “Yoo alone?”

Trallik
nodded his head and tried to change the subject.  “And what about you?  Are you
alone?”

Mahtu
shook his head from side to side.  “No.  I warrior for money.  I guard bridge
for boss warrior.”  Seeing that Trallik was intrigued by what he was saying,
Mahtu continued.  “Many friends.  Much money.”  By the look on Trallik’s face,
Mahtu could see that Trallik’s interest was more than just conversational. 
After a few moments of Trallik staring at Mahtu in wonder, Mahtu spoke.  “Um…
yoo like join us?” he asked Trallik tentatively. 

Trallik’s
mind had begun to race with the possibilities.  Friends were something he was
rather short of again, and he’d heard how the northern gens used money to trade
for other forms of wealth, such as furs, crafted goods, and food stuffs. 
Trallik’s spirit began to be lifted by the thought of having friends again and
his mind was transfixed by the promises that money might hold.

After
following Arren the elf prince for the better part of a day, and hearing him speak
of setting goals and building his life, foremost in Trallik’s mind was the
thought that perhaps loosing all his friends and being exiled from his gen
wasn’t such a bad thing after all.  Perhaps it was just the beginning of his
opportunities.  Perhaps money was the way to gain wealth and build one’s life
in the northern gens?  If so, Trallik was determined that he would gain as much
of it as he could.  Trallik couldn’t help but think that Arren would be proud
of him… if he ever saw the elf warrior again.

Though
the recent deep remorse had brought some changes to Trallik’s soul, his
character would clearly take many more defining moments to grow.  And Arren’s
last injunction to him; to return to the Kale Gen for the sake of his people,
didn’t even come to mind.  Trallik nodded enthusiastically.  “I’ll join you!”

“Yep,
then.  We go!” Mahtu said then turned to go.

Trallik
had not realized how far he had gone the night before.  Now, as he strapped on
his backpack and stretched a bit prior to following behind Mahtu, he found
himself a stand or two of trees away from the base of the mountain known as the
Chop.  Mahtu was heading directly for the path that led in a somewhat direct
fashion up the uniformly wall-like southern face of the steep mountain. 

Trallik
took a deep breath and shook his head.  He was not looking forward to that
climb.  Finishing up adjusting his pack, Trallik ran to catch up with Mahtu,
peppering him with questions about what money could be used for prior to their
breathless ascent up the mountain’s face.

Getting
to the top of what Mahtu and the northern gens called The Wall, the same
steep-sloped mountain that the southern gens called The Chop, was a long and
arduous process no matter how you took it.  The wolf riders of the Kale Gen, no
matter how strong the wolf, always had to dismount in order to make the
ascent.  The light-footed Border Guard of the Krall Gen, though they were known
for their ability to scale trees quickly, were at no more of an advantage than
any other.  And despite the year of arduous training that Trallik had
undergone, and the fact Mahtu had been living on this mountain and going up and
down it for some time, both of the kobolds were breathless and sweating like
pigs in the rays of the late morning sun as they sat on a large rock half way
up the face of it.

The
early morning mist had already begun to burn off, though patches of it clung
here and there and could be seen in small meadows between the dense stands of
trees.  As Trallik sat looking out over the expanse of the southern valley, he
thought about how large and mysterious it had always been to him, and yet from
his vantage point with it all laid out before his eyes, the valley looked so
much smaller, almost understandable.

Far
to their right, in the western portion of the valley, though he couldn’t see
the entrance to the Kale Gen’s home caves, Trallik could see a white patch
where their limestone quarry lay bare to the sun.  Tracing with his eyes the
main path that the Kale Gen’s warriors used, Trallik could see ever so faintly
in the distance the top of a tower that marked the Kale Gen’s picket line.

As
he traced the main caravan route between the two gens with his eyes, he could
see ever so clearly the low hills that were the great ants’ homes.  Feeling the
scar on the back of his neck, Trallik quickly averted his eyes.  The memories
of the horrific things that had happened to him there were too fresh in his
memory.

Not
far to their front, perhaps only a few short miles, the tall trees of the Krall
Gen stood so short from Trallik’s vantage point.  Their majesty had been much
greater when he’d been among them, rather than above them.  Even from this
vantage point, however, the trees were impressive.

As
Trallik thought about Durik’s Company… his former friends now, there among the
trees of the Krall Gen, his heart longed to be with them.  Though he’d never
enjoyed the morning drills and the constant discipline, his heart longed for it
now as the rising of the morning sun marked the time when they were most likely
completing their drills and exercises.  He had to admit that, though he’d never
enjoyed it, the training that Manebrow had forced him to endure had done much
for him.  Though he’d thought he had great skills when he started the year of
training, his skills and his abilities had increased tremendously during that
year.  In his heart Trallik felt much gratitude for his former trainer, the one
who had shown him mercy.

Though
he’d always thought himself too good for them, now there was little Trallik
wouldn’t do just to be with them again as before…

“Mahtu!”
Trallik huffed, relieved that the marker rock, as Mahtu called the rock that
stood on one end of Demon’s Bridge, was finally within view.  Their legs had
been burning for the better part of the last half of the climb, with Trallik
faring little better than his new companion.

“Mahtu!”
Trallik gasped again, looking down the path a handful of paces to where his
dark-scaled companion was struggling up the mountain.  “Marker Rock!  We’re
almost there!”

Mahtu
didn’t say anything, only nodding his head as he pushed on his knees with both
hands, using his arms to strengthen failing leg muscles.  As Mahtu reached the
small ripple in the ground where Trallik stood, he threw his body to the ground
for probably the twentieth time in the last half of the climb, panting
heavily.  Trallik sat down next to him, his breathing almost normal after
waiting for his companion to catch up.

“Where
did you get such a fine spear?” Trallik asked casually.

“Eh? 
Spir?  Oh!  I get wit money,” Mahtu answered between pants.

“How
much money?” Trallik pressed.

“Eh? 
How many money, yoo say?  Um… two gold monies.”

“Did
you buy it from someone in your gen?”

“No,
buy from Kobold Gen swapper… er, trader,” Mahtu answered.

Trallik
was a little surprised by this.  He thought everyone in the northern valley
thought of themselves as part of the Kobold Gen.  “So, what gen do you belong
to?” he asked.

“Eh? 
Gen?  Me and all us be Kijik Gen… oh, but um… three be Nipjik Gen,” Mahtu
answered.  Having regained his breath somewhat, Mahtu groaned as he pushed
himself up off the ground and looked up at Marker Rock.

This
piqued Trallik’s interest.  “So how many are in our… company?” Trallik asked,
climbing alongside his new companion.

“We
be… um… maybe twenty?” Mahtu said after several steps.

“Wow,
so many.  Why twenty to guard the bridge?  And why are we guarding the bridge?”

Mahtu
gave Trallik a look that said ‘I’ll answer you in a minute’ as he puffed and
pushed up the last short distance to Marker Rock.  Trallik quieted down and
focused on the climb as well, biting back the questions he had for Mahtu. 
After several minutes the pair of kobold warriors stood panting as they leaned
against the large boulder that stood at the very edge of the top of the mountain.

The
two of them were panting so loudly that neither of them noticed the pair of
kobold mercenaries until they poked their heads around the boulder.

“Eh! 
Mahtu!  Hoo he?” one asked, pointing to Trallik.

“Ah! 
Ye snik!  He Trallik.  He wan shiny, shiny for merk” Mahtu told them.

“Ah,
yah, yah!” they said in their yappy, northerner way of speaking, nodding to
each other.

Mahtu
stood up straight and thumped Trallik on the back.  “Yoo come now.  Meet big
boss.  He give yoo money for be warrior.”

Trallik
picked up his backpack and threw it over one shoulder, panting slightly as he
followed Mahtu and the other two warriors around the boulder.  On the other
side of the boulder the imposing sight of Demon’s Bridge stretched before them,
and beyond it lay a vast valley shrouded in mist.