The Game of Fates (19 page)

The
minister’s antics usually made Krebbekar laugh under his breath, but this time
was different.  Krebbekar was in no mood to laugh and would be hard pressed to
think of anything as funny right then.  His mood was somber and his attitude
was somewhat soured by the tasks that had been thrust upon him.  After many
years of thinking of the minister as weak for all his muttering and
complaining, Krebbekar now was tempted to mutter and complain also. 

Reaching
the minister’s personal kennel, the minister turned to Krebbekar.  “You know,
this is a rather sturdy dog.  This has got to be one of the better mine dogs,
strong as he is.  The dog keeper at the mines didn’t seem loath to give him up
though, for some reason.  Oh well, he’s yours now.”

Krebbekar’s
brow raised, “A dog?  What do I need a dog for?” he said as he followed the
minister into the kennel.  Inside the kennel Krebbekar could see the bright
gray figures of two dogs in separate cages.  The one on the right stood and
whined benignly as they entered.  Krebbekar recognized him as the minister’s
personal mount.  The other dog lay curled up in its cage, but even curled up in
the corner, Krebbekar could tell that he was much larger than a normal packdog.

The
minister turned and looked Krebbekar in the eye for a moment.  Then, walking
over to a large chest sitting outside the inner cages of the kennel, the
minister threw open the lid revealing a chest full of cold metal coins, enough
to crush an average packdog.  “There’s a bit more of this stuff than you might
have thought.”

Krebbekar
was quite surprised.  He approached the chest and shook his head in
bewilderment.  “That’s a lot of metal to be carrying,” he said.

“Hmmm…
well, yes.  So this dog, as I was saying, he’s a big one, black fur with a
golden sheen to it.  Got the black from his father, a rather large wolf as I
hear it, and the golden sheen from the poor female that had to bear this
brute.”  The minister fidgeted with the twine that held the kennel door closed. 
In a few moments he had it open and he called to the large beast within. 
“Minotaur!  Come here boy!”  Without so much as a whimper Minotaur stood and,
in a moment the calm, completely emotionless eyes of the large beast were
staring directly into Krebbekar’s.

“He’s
a tall one isn’t he!” Krebbekar said as he reached up to rub Minotaur’s nose. 
Minotaur stood completely still, not moving a muscle, not reacting in any way. 
The calm, dispassionate look in Minotaur’s eyes was unnerving.  “What’s behind
your eyes, Minotaur,” Krebbekar muttered to no one in particular.

The
minister pointed to the pack saddle and four large sacks that lay against the
wall next to the entrance.  “That’s yours too.  I hear you’re leaving before
dawn tomorrow, so don’t bother waking me to tell me you’re taking him.  Just
load him up and go.  But don’t leave the kennel door open!”

Krebbekar
nodded, still looking Minotaur in the eyes, “All right then.”

After
a couple of moments, the minister cleared his voice.  “Do you mind, I do need
to get up early to see Lord Krall off, you know.  Don’t worry, you’ll have much
time to get to know each other on the trail.”

Krebbekar
turned and looked at the minister.  “Ah yes, quite sorry.  Come Minotaur, back
inside your cage now.”  Minotaur backed into his cage without so much as a hand
motion, almost as if he had understood Krebbekar.  Surprised, Krebbekar
fastened the twine back in place and left with the minister, shaking his head
as he left.  The minister stopped at the front door to his house and waited as
Krebbekar approached.

Grasping
the minister’s hand, Krebbekar looked into his eyes, “My thanks for all you’ve
done for the house guard over the years, friend,” he said.

The
minister’s brow raised.  “You’re not thinking you’ll die out there, are you,
Krebbekar?” he asked.

“One
never knows,” he said as he released the minister’s hand and adjusted the
collar of his leather armor.  “Either way, you’ve been a friend to me, and I do
hope to see you yet again.  Goodbye for now.”  With that, Krebbekar turned and
made his way toward the house guard’s barracks, where he was due to inspect the
troops that he would be sending out to protect Lord Krall in his campaign. 

Standing
at his door, Lord Krall’s minister watched the gray figure of the old warrior
until it disappeared into the trees.

K
nowing it was their final night
in the workshops of the Krall Gen, the members of Durik’s Company ran on pure
adrenaline.  They had a clear mission, and they were nearing completion.  They
had all been excited about the prospect of making such an advanced item as
metal armor.  The advantage they felt it would give them led them onward, past
the fatigue.  The fact that they were all in it together inspired them to work
well beyond where any of them individually would have quit.  They felt they
were setting the stage for either success or failure at whatever challenges
might lie ahead of them—and they were determined to succeed.

In
the metalsmithy Gorgon and Ardan worked the forges while Manebrow directed the
show.  The larger pieces had all been cast already and had long since been
passed over to the leather working shop for assembly.  Now the entire shop was
focused on doing one thing; getting the metal from the smelter poured into the
molds they’d made for the scales, then getting the metal cooled, extracting the
scales, pounding each one thin, and filing off any rough edges, then punching
the holes in them that were needed to secure them to the leather armor
backing. 

As
the first watch of the night passed and the group finished pouring the last
batch of scales, they paused for a moment to rest and to consider their
options.  They still had a good amount of molten steel, and plenty more iron,
limestone, and such to make more. 

Durik
looked around the room at the tired, but determined faces of the warriors.  “Do
we have an appetite to make helmets?” he queried to no one in particular.  That
had been something they had tried earlier, but had not been able to do
successfully.  They’d ended up forming some nice bowls, but that was about it. 
But now that they had much more experience in working with the clay of the
molds, and much more experience in pouring the steel, Durik thought that
perhaps it was within their grasp.

Ardan
groaned.  Tohr just looked at Durik with a blank stare.  Manebrow pursed his
lips, then, grabbing his aching back, stood.  “Well, I’m for it.  What do you
say, warriors of the Kale Gen?  Shall we try one more time?”

Gorgon,
still sweating from the smelter, stood.  “I’ve never been one to let metal get
the better of me,” he said.

Ardan
also stood, “Let’s do it, I say.”

Manebrow
clapped his hands together.  “That’s the spirit.  Let’s get these scales
pulled, punctured, and pounded thin, then get them over to Jerrig so we can clear
the shop floor.  Tohr, Kahn, how about getting started on the molds?”  With
that, the final stage of armor making began.  Long into the night, past the
second watch and into the third watch, the metal shop was busy.  Though fatigue
was a real issue, these warriors saw it as a test of their strength, not only
physical strength but strength of will as well.

And
they were all in it together.

After
the last conference that he and Morigar had both attended with Lord Krall,
Morigar hadn’t wanted to talk to Krebbekar.  As such, Krebbekar had met with
Gormanor and Lemmekor, the scouts assigned to him for this mission from the
Border Guards, and had told them to meet him at the Great Hall halfway through
the third watch.  There they would fetch Minotaur and draw the other two
packdogs and the two riding dogs that Lord Krall had given them for this
journey from the lord’s kennels.  They would then prepare their equipment for
Morigar’s inspection, if Morigar would inspect them.

Now,
as Krebbekar made his way from the inspection he’d just held in the barracks of
the house guard to the Great Hall to meet with Morigar, he shook his head yet
again, something he’d been doing a lot of lately.  He just didn’t know what to
expect from the youngest son of Lord Krall.  Lord Krall was a strong,
determined leader who always sought the good of the gen, often working long and
thankless hours to resolve issues as they arose.  Because of his care the gen
loved him.  Karaba, Lord Krall’s much younger lifemate, was certainly not as
strong of a personality, but she was no slacker either.  While the minister
executed the lord’s will throughout the gen and he, Krebbekar, the captain of
the guard, ensured the well being of both the lord and his family, Lady Karaba
ran the house and all its servants.

It
was because both of his parents were made of good material that Krebbekar
wondered what had happened to Morigar.  Pouting about social arguments,
refusing to see him, treating all around him that were not of the same social
stature as somehow less than himself, ignoring the opportunity to train,
preferring to not deal with those who were not of his station, blaming others
for his mistakes and refusing to take the blame for problems he caused; these
were traits that would not help them on this quest, of that he was certain. 
They were traits that could get good warriors killed.  Though this mission was
Morigar’s to complete, in the end Krebbekar knew that much of the actual work
of it, if not almost all of it, would fall on his shoulders. 

Krebbekar
sighed.  He was getting too old for this.  He had a lifemate, children, and
even grandchildren.  In fact, he had a son who was Morigar’s age and who even
now was standing in the ranks of the house guard, ready to accompany Lord Krall
on his campaign.  Both Morigar and Krebbekar’s son had been good friends
growing up, that is until Morigar wouldn’t stop demanding that Krebbekar’s son
call him ‘sire’ and that he wait on him hand and foot.

Well,
if there was anything that would serve to tear Morigar down from his lofty
perch and help him put his feet on the ground, it was probably a life and death
quest where everyone had to rely on each other.  Unfortunately, in life and
death quests, often the ones who die so that others can learn their lessons are
not the ones who cause the problems in the first place.  Again, Krebbekar shook
his head.  He was determined to not let that happen.  No one would die if he
could help it.  Despite his resolve, however, in his heart he knew that some
things can’t be helped.

Arriving
at the side door to the great hall, Krebbekar was greeted by one of his
warriors.  He nodded to him and passed through the door to the inner hallways
of the lord’s personal chambers.  Walking down the hallway past the social
chambers, he parted the curtain that separated the bedchambers from the rest of
the chambers.  Finding Morigar’s door, he knocked lightly.  In a moment, he was
called in.

Morigar
was standing in front of the large steel mirror he had had mounted on the wall
of his room.  He was dressed in his full leather armor with all the iron guards
strapped on.  Over his back was a sheathed sword, so long it almost touched the
ground.  The hilt of it was covered with gold and the pommel of it was embossed
with the symbol of the lineage of Lord Krall; a single great tree.  Leaning
against Morigar’s desk was one of the finest hunting bows Krebbekar had seen,
and sitting next to it was a quiver of finely crafted hunting arrows.

As
Krebbekar stood staring, Morigar turned to face him.  “Well, my second, I hear
my father has decided to buy me an army!”

Krebbekar
nodded.  “He has given us a rather large packdog and enough coins to test the
dog’s strength.”

Morigar
turned back to the mirror.  “Excellent!  I will show him yet!  I’ll bring back
the head of that orc chieftain, that’s certain!”

Krebbekar just nodded.

“Well, Krebbekar. 
I’ll see you at early first meal then, at the end of
third watch,” Morigar said, indicating that that was all the conversation he
cared for at the moment.

“Sire,
your troops will be ready for inspection before first meal.  Will you inspect
them?”

Morigar
turned and looked quizzically at Krebbekar.  “That’s your job, second.  I’m
sure everything is fine.  I’ll see you at first meal.”  He then turned back to
the mirror as he played with the broach of his traveling cloak, attempting to
get it to sit just right.  “I’d like to stay to see my father lead the
companies out of the gen, but that’s not to be it would seem.  Well, we’ll see
what he has to say when I come marching back with my own victorious army with
the heads of all the Bloodhand Orcs on their spears!”

There
were no words for what Krebbekar felt at this exact moment.  As such, he merely
turned and closed the door, leaving Morigar to live in a world of his own
imagining.

Miratha
was still groggy as she stumbled in the darkness toward the front door of her
little house on the lake.  Hitting her foot on a chair as she walked through
the entryway, she whimpered a little and called out, “I’m coming.”

Moving
the chair back in place at the table, she walked to the door and opened it. 
Outside her door the bright gray figures of four kobolds stood, contrasting
sharply against the inky blackness of the pre-dawn sky.  They were covered from
head to ankle in metal armor and looked rather imposing.  The closest one
smelled very familiar to her.  Smiling, Miratha looked up into his eyes.  “To
what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

Ardan
removed the helmet that was molded to fit his head.  “Miratha, we had some
ingots of iron left over, and a couple more rolls of leather than we could
carry with us.  So, as thanks for helping us get the limestone and extra
bricks, we figured you’d want them.”

“Um…
all right.  Well, let’s see.”  She stepped outside where Tohr and Kahn were
standing with a wooden stretcher on the ground between them loaded with several
ingots and a pair of rolled skins.  “Here, I have a storage locker around the
side of the house, please just put it there.  My clerk and I will deal with it
in the morning.”

Tohr
and Kahn picked the stretcher up, struggling underneath the weight of both
their new armor and the loaded stretcher.  Gorgon helped them heft it, and then
helped steady it as they moved around to the side of the little house.

Ardan
placed his hand on Miratha’s shoulder.  “Lord Krall ordered our company to
leave before his troops leave the gen this morning at dawn.  We’ll be leaving
after first light and before the sun’s rays strike the Great Hall on the lake.”

Miratha,
who was still wiping the sleep from her eyes, blinked twice and snuggled up to
Ardan’s side, then quickly recoiled.  “Ay!  Your armor is cold!”

“Yeah,
early morning dew and metal don’t make for a warm reception.  Here, let me wrap
my cloak around you.”  He took off his cloak and wrapped Miratha in it, holding
her close when he finished.

“That’s
no good!  Why today, and so early as well?!” Miratha complained.  Ardan didn’t
answer, rather he just stood there holding her.  In a few moments, Miratha
spoke again.  “Ah, well, we didn’t have much time this time through anyway, did
we?”

Ardan’s
heart ached, and he just squeezed her harder.  “When this quest ends, Miratha,
let’s be mated.”

Miratha’s
head shot upward and she pushed away from him.  “What?!” she almost shouted,
“first you wake me up in the middle of the night, then you finally propose to
me?!”  She turned around in place, dazed, confused, but now fully awake. 
Stopping, she looked Ardan in the eyes.  “I accept!  Of course!  I will be
yours!”

Ardan
stepped forward and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her close.  At just
that moment, Gorgon stumbled on a rock as he came around the corner followed by
Tohr and Kahn.  If they noticed the pair locked in a tight embrace, Ardan
certainly didn’t notice and, for some strange reason, Miratha didn’t seem to
object now to the cold metal of Ardan’s armor either.