The Game of Fates (40 page)

“Sire,
we counted five hundred and thirty orcs, but there were many more who had
passed before we got into position.  I would say the original estimate we made
from on top of the Chop of a thousand orc warriors is probably more accurate,”
Ardan was reporting.

“And
you say that all of them that you saw wore chain mail,” Durik asked.

“Yes,
sire, but it was broad-ringed.  I would imagine that our arrows, even the
broad-tipped hunting arrows, would have a good chance of passing right through
it.”

As
Durik had received Ardan’s and Keryak’s report, the entire company plus Mahtu
had gathered around the leaders.  The descriptions they’d heard of fifty ogres,
one hundred wolf-riding armored kobold cavalry, and many hundreds of orcs had
brought a mood of near despair to the group.

Manebrow
nodded his head, oblivious as yet to the mood of the rest of the company who
stood silently listening.  “And the fact that there are very few shields among
them makes me think that arrows might be our best chance against them,” he
said.

Durik
raised a brow in pleasant surprise.  “I hadn’t thought of that.  Yes, clearly
they’ve left themselves open for volleys of arrows.”

“Perhaps
our gen’s best chance is to do an ambush out in the open where our archers can
have maximum effect,” Manebrow pondered out loud.

“But
how can our gen stand against so many?” Kiria broke into the conversation.  The
despair in her voice was clearly evident.  It broke the leaders out of their
cloistered discussion.

Durik
looked over at Manebrow.  Gorgon and Ardan both straightened up, as if they
realized they had to put on brave faces for the sake of those they led. 
Looking around at the clustered members of his company, Durik could see the
fear in their eyes and knew they were looking to him to say or do something.

“My
dear friends,” he started.  “I don’t know what the next couple of days will
bring.  However, I do know this.  If that orc horde reaches our home caverns
without so much as a warning, all of our families will be enslaved…” Durik
paused, the memories of the orc raid six years before rising in his mind, “or
they’ll be slaughtered.”

Kiria
gasped, and all of them felt the weight of his words.

“If
our families and friends… indeed, if our
gen
is to have any chance of
surviving the next few days, Lord Karthan and Lord Krall, and even those who
stayed behind in our gen’s home caverns, must be warned.  And there is no one
else who can do that job but us.”

As
the shock of the reality of their situation began to recede, determination
began to show in the eyes of some.

“But
Khee-lar Shadow Hand won’t listen to us!” Troka said, his face dark with
despair.

“Whether
he listens or not is his choice,” Durik replied.  “But our duty to our families
is clear.  We must give them all the time to prepare that we can.”

“How
can we be sure he won’t just kill whoever is sent to warn him?” Kiria asked. 
“And how are we to get around the orc army, anyway?”

Durik
was quiet for a moment before he spoke.  “We can’t be sure that he won’t just
kill the messengers who take the warning to him.”

The
group moaned in despair.

“As
such,” Durik said, “I will go to warn those in our home gen.”

“Wait,
now,” Gorgon stepped forward.  “You know he’ll kill you outright.  After what
you did saving Khazak Mail Fist and Lord Karthan’s sons, and after what you did
to fight off the other conspirators in the Krall Gen, I’d imagine that he’s got
you marked for death already.”

Durik
nodded his head.  “It’s a chance I’ll have to take.  After all, our entire
company did that, not just me.  It’s not safe for any of us to return to the
gen while Khee-lar Shadow Hand is in charge.  Because of that I can’t ask any
of you to go, so I will go.”

“Then
I’ll go too,” Arbelk stepped forward.

“Aye! 
As will I!” Gorgon said, looking around as if he dared anyone to tell him he
couldn’t.

From
the rest of the group came several more voices of support.

Durik
held up his hands.  “Wait, wait!” he said, pleased by their demonstrated
bravery.  “Let’s think this one through.  We can’t all go back to our gen.”

“I,
for one, will not,” Kiria said, a haunted look in her eyes.  “He’ll do horrible
things to me.  I will go to join my father in his encampment.”

Durik
nodded his head.  “I agree.  I believe we must split the company.  There are
three groups that must be warned.  I will go back to our home caves and warn
Khee-lar and those who are left behind with him.  With any luck, he’ll not kill
me outright and we can stand with them against the orc horde.”

“You’re
not going alone, sire,” Manebrow stated, matter-of-factly.

“Very
true.  Arbelk’s the best climber we’ve got.  We made the climb up Sheerface
together right before the Trials of Caste, we’ll go by way of the underdark and
do it again, though this time we’ll take a full climbing kit with us.  Gorgon,
as he’s part of your team, I’ll take you and your team with me.” 

Gorgon
and Arbelk both nodded in grim determination, though Jerrig and Troka, the
other two members of Gorgon’s team, seemed less than enthusiastic with their
assignment.

Manebrow
shook his head.  “Sire, I’ll not leave you.  Not now.  Besides, my family is
still in the caves.  I would rather fall defending them directly.”

Durik
nodded his head.  “Alright, then.  We stand or fall together.”

“I
can take my team to warn Lord Krall and his warriors,” Ardan volunteered.  “I
think that myself, Keryak, Tohr and Kahn are ideally suited for the task of
sneaking around the orc horde and finding Lord Krall’s forces in the
wilderness.”

“Very
well,” Durik nodded.  “But I also want you to escort Terrim and the rest of the
leaders’ team past the orc horde.  You’ll be in charge of them also until
they’re safely on their way.”  He turned his attention to Terrim.  “Once you’re
past the horde, Terrim, I want you to take Kabbak, Kiria and Myaliae to Lord
Karthan’s enclosure.  You’ll be in charge of them.  Remember that they’re not
warriors.  You’ll want to avoid all contact with anything dangerous.  And since
we can’t take them through the underdark, take the packdogs and the four riding
dogs with you.  With a riding dog for each of you, you’ll make a lot better
time than the rest of us.”

Terrim
nodded his head.  Looking around at the group, Durik could sense that this was
the right thing to do.  The future held much uncertainty for them, and there
was much danger yet to be faced, but he felt confident that, if the kobold gens
of the southern valley were going to have any chance against the orcs, they
would have to be warned.

With
a word of encouragement, the three teams in the company began to split up,
divide equipment, and prepare for the tasks ahead.

W
ithout so much as a greeting, the
filthy line of mercenaries arrived at the top of the Chop and unceremoniously
flopped down in the dirt to the side of the trail outside the small stone
building.  Gormanor and Lemmekor, who had herded them here on Morigar’s orders,
guided the former kobold slaves and the few orc prisoners and the one goblin
that they’d also brought on Morigar’s orders off to the other side of the
trail.  Before any of them sat down, however, they were directed where to drop
the bags of treasure and the spears that Gormanor and Lemmekor had had them
carry.  All of them were glad for the cool air of the night that lingered in
the pre-dawn darkness of the pass.

“Sire,
we’ve brought the former slaves, the mercenary prisoners, the orcs, the
remaining packdog and all the treasure we could make them carry for us,”
Gormanor reported as he passed Minotaur’s reins over to Lemmekor.  In his own
rather unusual fashion, Minotaur the packdog looked rather non-plussed.

“Very
well.  You and Lemmekor stand off to the side and look imposing, will you?”
Morigar directed.

With
something of a confused look, Gormanor stepped away, motioning for Lemmekor to
bring the packdog and follow him.

“Ahem!”
Morigar tried to get the attention of the various groups in front of him.  A
couple of the more alert mercenaries prodded the several whose trip up the long
passage from the outpost had been absolute torture after so much orc brew. 
Eventually most of the group’s eyes were on Morigar.

“I
have decided your fates,” Morigar started without any other preamble.  “The
mercenaries I will hire.  The kobold slaves I will not release yet.”  This
announcement brought several of them to their feet in protest.  Loudest among
them were the two exotic kobolds.

“Gormanor,
Lemmekor, get over there and get the slaves back in line,” Morigar commanded. 

“Sire,
both the Scrolls of Heritage and our gen forbid enslaving other kobolds,”
Gormanor said.  “I will not enforce this order, it is unlawful.”

Morigar
nodded.  “Very well.  You!” he said pointing to the former kobold mercenary
leader.  “You are the leader of these mercenaries, is that not correct?”

The
kobold Morigar was pointing at stopped holding his head and slowly, painfully,
stood up.  “Yes.  Is leader me,” he said, trying his best to speak Sorcerer’s
Tongue despite his splitting headache. 

“Get
your mercenaries on their feet and get these slaves in line.  I don’t want any
of them escaping,” Morigar directed.

Seeing
their window of opportunity quickly closing, the two exotic kobolds quickly ran
off to the north.  Long before the mercenaries could react a handful more had
followed and all had begun the descent down the northern face of the Chop. 
None of the mercenaries felt up to chasing them down. 

Finally,
the mercenary leader got his mercenaries organized enough to begin ringing in
the rest of the kobold slaves.  With Morigar’s urging, they took spears from
the pile Gormanor and Lemmekor had had brought up from below.

Gormanor
and Lemmekor stood off to the side fuming about Morigar’s decision.

The
remaining group of kobold slaves, the one goblin and the handful of orcs were
eventually corralled up together and seated.  Seeing that the mercenaries had
finally gained control of the situation, Morigar continued.

“Now
that everyone knows their place, let me tell you what we’re going to do.” 

Though
Morigar didn’t know it, the only ones in the group who spoke Sorcerer’s Tongue
were his own two warriors and the mercenary leader.  He continued anyway.

“My
father, Lord Krall of the Krall Gen, has given me the task of taking the head
of the Bloodhand Orc Tribe’s chieftain.  He didn’t know about the entire horde
that’s coming his way, nor that the Bloodhand Orcs lead that horde, when he
gave me that task.  I was going to hire a kobold mercenary army, but it appears
that I’ll not have time to do that.  As such, I’m going to hire a much more
potent weapon that will take out the orc horde all on its own.”

Gormanor
and Lemmekor looked at each other in skeptical wonder; mostly they were
wondering what pain and suffering they’d be asked to go through for whatever
wild-eyed scheme Morigar had come up with.  The other thing they were wondering
was where Krebbekar had gone to.

“I
happen to know,” Morigar continued, “that there are two red dragons living in
the northern end of the northern valley, in the Hall of the Mountain King I do
believe.”

Gormanor’s
and Lemmekor’s reactions changed from skeptical wonder to amazement at the
stupidity of what they knew was coming next.  Even the mercenary leader
blanched through his dark, rust-red scales.

“Knowing
the infamous greed of chromatic dragons, I plan to take this treasure,” Morigar
motioned at the pile of sacks that the slaves had brought up, as well as at the
sacks still strapped to Minotaur’s back, “as payment to the dragons for them to
destroy the orc horde.”

Now
that it had been said, the entire plan felt much worse than when they had only
been anticipating it.  Gormanor turned to Lemmekor and, with only the movement
of his rather expressive brow, asked if perhaps it wouldn’t be better for them
to rejoin the Krall forces down in the valley.

“Where’s
Krebbekar gone to?” Lemmekor whispered back.

Gormanor
just shrugged.

Morigar
stood as if he were expecting cheers or some sort of adulation at least for
what he saw as a brilliant idea.  He was disappointed when the only sound he
heard was the whimpering of a few of the kobold slaves, and they hadn’t
understood anything past the exotic kobolds’ explanation to them that they were
being made slaves again.  The mercenary leader wasn’t looking forward to the
reaction he was going to get from his warriors, much less the slaves, when he
explained to them that they were going to march across the northern valley,
through the eastern reaches of it where the dragons hunted, and directly into
their lair in the Hall of the Mountain King, all with the intent of
talking
to the amazingly foul-tempered creatures in an attempt to get them to slaughter
a small orc horde for them.

It
was the mercenary leader’s opinion that they’d all be better off just vowing
loyalty to the Bloodhand Orcs rather than trying this hair-brained scheme to
try and destroy them.

After
a few moments, Morigar could see that the rest of the group wasn’t
enthusiastically embracing his plan.

“Gormanor,
Lemmekor, can you not see why we must do this?” he said, almost indignant at
their near hostile reaction.

“Where’s
Krebbekar, sire?” Gormanor almost spat the last word out.

Morigar
was taken aback by the venom in Gormanor’s question.  “Why, I sent him to warn
Lord Krall about the orc horde.”

“Did
you tell him about this plan of yours?” Lemmekor joined in.

“See
here, I have no obligation to tell my subordinates.  He had his orders, and
that should be enough,” Morigar replied haughtily.  “Now you two be kind enough
to help…” he realized he’d never asked the mercenary leader his name, “help
him,” he said pointing at the mercenary leader, “to get the slaves loaded up
with the treasure and we’ll start our journey.”

Gormanor,
speaking for both of them, stood with his arms crossed shaking his head.  “No
sire.  Since Krebbekar’s not here to rein you in, I guess I’ll have to do it. 
We’re not going to go see about hiring some dragon.  It’s a foolish idea, and
it’ll get us all killed.”

Morigar’s
ire was up.  These were his subordinates, and he was not going to take this
disobedience from them.  Even their packdog was looking at him like he was a
fool.

“You
will
do as I say, or I’ll have you punished upon our return to the gen!”
Morigar threatened.

Even
though he was the youngest son of the lord of their gen, he had consistently
screwed up every position of trust he’d been given in the past, and the two
scouts knew his threat was hollow.  Besides, they valued their own lives more
than that.  Gormanor was more than happy to have it out right here with their
‘leader’.  Lemmekor, on the other hand, wanted to keep from aggravating Lord
Krall’s son, in line for the throne or not.

“Sire,
if you’re determined to go through with this, then how about Gor and I go warn
your father about what you plan on doing,” Lemmekor pleaded.  Gormanor looked
at his companion in surprise, which quickly became frustration.

“We’re
supposed to watch over the fool!” Gormanor whispered vehemently to Lemmekor.

“His
plan will fall apart quickly without us there to make it happen for him.  After
all, look at how worthless those mercenaries are.  They’re only good for
herding defenseless slaves.  They’ll run once their leader translates for them
where they’re going.  One of us can wait at the bottom of the Chop and, when he
comes back with his tail between his legs, we’ll make sure he gets home
safely,” Lemmekor whispered back.

Neither
of them had kept their voices low enough, and Morigar had gotten the gist of
what they were saying.  With a cold, commanding voice, he said “Go then, but
leave the packdog.  Warn my father of what is to come.  I will deal with you
two upon my return.”

Gormanor
and Lemmekor looked at each other, shrugged, turned around and began walking
toward the southern side of the Chop to start the long journey down the
mountain and across the valley to warn Lord Krall of his son’s stupidity. 
Minotaur just stood there under his burden of orc gold, looking at Lord Krall’s
son in a fashion that seemed to let him know he’d rather have gone with the
pair of scouts.

Morigar
watched them go over Demon’s Bridge and up the far side, standing in stung
silence until the pair of scouts disappeared over the southern lip of the
Chop.  All the while the mercenary leader had shifted uncomfortably from one
foot to the other, eventually sitting down as his headache and the lingering
heat of the final hour or so of day stretched his endurance.

Finally,
Morigar turned back to the mercenary leader.  “Alright, then, what will it take
for you and your mercenaries to do this thing for me?” he asked.  All the high
speech was over.  There was no more need for trying to convince this rabble. 
These were mercenaries, and they were all about money.  That, at least, Morigar
thought he understood.

The
mercenary leader stood up and looked over at the bags of treasure as he chewed
his lips.  He also looked over at some of the better looking female kobold
slaves.  The thought crossed his mind that, if he didn’t do what this crazy
Krall Gen leader wanted, he’d probably lose all of this.  Of course, he did
still have several mercenaries…  He might be able to take the idiot out and
then just take the treasure with him back to his home in the Kijik Gen—if he
wasn’t a skilled warrior.

“Will
you do it for two bags of treasure, and the pick of the slaves of your choice?”
Morigar proposed.

The
mercenary leader thought about it for a moment.  Even if this crazy Krall Gen
leader did have the willpower to go all the way to the Hall of the Mountain
King, he was certain that he’d never have the courage to actually talk to the
dragons.  Besides, he and his warriors could stand outside the little mountain
and, when the Krall Gen leader went in, they’d just run away, taking the treasure
and all the slaves for themselves.  And if that didn’t work for his warriors,
they always had the option of killing him along the way…

“Yep,
we doo,” the mercenary leader finally accepted Morigar’s proposal.  With a
handshake, the pair of leaders sealed the deal.

Gormanor
and Lemmekor reached the bottom of the Chop about the same time as Krebbekar
and his riding dog.  The two young scouts had seen Krebbekar down the slope far
ahead of them, and they had run at breakneck speed down the Chop, risking turned
ankles and, at the sharp corners, possibly even death.  They had come to the
realization that Krebbekar wouldn’t take the matter of Lord Krall’s son going
off in the unsavory company of northern gen mercenaries quite as lightly as
they did.

As
the pair came bounding down the last length of the path, their legs wooden and
their feet numb from so much controlled falling, Krebbekar looked back at
them.  Instantly, the long and restful walk he’d had ended, the old familiar
stress of dealing with incompetence returned, and by the time the two scouts
had arrived he was standing there with arms folded across his chest, ready for
whatever they had to say.

“Sire,”
they both started simultaneously.  They hardly ever used such words with him,
even though he was the leader caste in charge of Lord Krall’s House Guard.