The Game of Fates (48 page)

“Perhaps
it was about the orcs, for she did not know they were coming when we left her
at the gen,” Krall answered.

Lord
Krall shook his head.  “No, I wondered that myself, but the message was clearly
about ants.  I fear that there may be more ants than just those we are aware
of.  Perhaps these ants await their arrival before taking on our force.”

Krall
pursed his lips in thought.  In front of and behind his father’s entourage of
House Guard and staff marched the strength of the Krall Gen.  It was an
impressive sight to see, and it thrilled him to be here for what was the
greatest event of his life thus far.  “Well, if that’s so, there are well over
a thousand of us here.  We were more than a match for them last time.  Unless
they bring a much greater force, we should be able to beat them handily, as
long as we’ve got some time to prepare defenses.  Our scouts will see to that,
however.”

Father
and son rode along in silence for a while.  Finally, Krall decided to ask his
father a question that had been on his mind for some time.  “Father, why does
the Kale Gen seek after their stone so fervently?  From what I have seen, the
only power our stone has given our family is the ability to scry, and now this
whispered message you’ve received.  Surely that can’t be worth the lives of an
entire company of warriors?”

Lord
Krall wasn’t one to spend too much time thinking.  He’d always been one to take
action quickly.  This time, however, he didn’t answer his son immediately.  The
silence drug on for quite some time.  Lord Krall hoped his son would just
forget the question, but seeing his son look over at him several times as
though he were expecting an answer, Lord Krall finally relented.

“There
are those who say our stone did much more in days past,” he answered tersely.

Krall’s
interest was piqued.  “I’ve heard that my great-grandsire used the stone to
build the great hall on the lake.  I’ve heard other stories too, over time. 
There was a story about one of our sires using the stone to turn back a raiding
tribe of minotaurs.  Why didn’t we bring the stone with us, father?  We could
have used its power against these orcs, I would think.”

Krall
looked over and could see that his father was clearly very irritated.  He
hadn’t realized he had found such a sore spot until that moment, but he was
determined to press on.  It was a subject that he’d wondered about for several
years and about which he had never seemed to be able to get answers.

“It
chose your mother, not me,” Lord Krall said in a flat, frustrated tone.

“What?”
Krall didn’t understand.

“Just
that!” Lord Krall snapped.  “The stone needed an oracle, and it chose your
mother over me.  If it had chosen me, the Lord of the Gen, I would have had
power to build and defend.  Since it chose the Lady of the Gen, the only power
it seems to be able to produce is to let her scry and send whispered
messages.”  Lord Krall’s tone was that of a teacher explaining something to an
especially dense pupil.

Krall
knew he would infuriate his father further, but there were things he had to
know if he was ever going to take his father’s place as Lord of the Krall Gen
and have the power his forefathers had had, so he asked the final question.

“Why
didn’t it choose you, father?” Krall asked.

Lord
Krall stopped his mount and looked over at his son.  The anger in his eyes
burned like embers.  “I don’t know,” he said with a slow, menacing
deliberateness.  He then nudged his mount and turned it back to the path.

They
rode along in silence for several moments, but Krall’s occasional glances and
close presence eventually caused his father’s temper to fester again.

“I
don’t know,” he said in frustration.  “Maybe it was some of the things I did in
my youth,” he postulated.  “I’ve done well for my people, but I can’t say I’ve
always followed all the things The Sorcerer commanded each kobold to do in the
Scrolls of Heritage.”

Krall
began to look back over his own life, wondering if he were worthy of being
gifted the use of the stone when his turn came.  “What have you done, father?”
he asked, almost flinching even as he asked the question.

“I
will not share with you what things I have done, but if that’s why the Krall
Stone won’t give its power to me, then that’s something I can’t change.”  Lord
Krall was strangely resigned, almost fatalistic as he spoke.  He seemed to have
decided that he must entertain his son’s questions.  Perhaps it was the fact
that they were marching to what would likely be a pitched battle that loosened
his tongue.  “If you’d seen me in my younger days, it would be clear to you
that Morigar doesn’t get his impertinence and poor judgment from his mother. 
You and your middle brother Hemmekar, may his soul rest with the ancestors,
were always the nobler sons, Krall… but that is because you take after your
mother.”

Lord
Krall sighed.  “Perhaps if I had not done the things I did as a youth, the
power of the Krall Stone would have been mine, and would have been as great in
my hands now as it was in the days of my grandfather, who built the mighty hall
on the lake and who ended the minotaur tribe’s raid like you mentioned.  But as
it is, the considerable strength and skill of our warriors has been enough to
see us through the challenges of my day.”

When
Krall finally spoke, it was in low tones as he pondered on what his father had
revealed to him.  “Then let us hope that our warriors’ strength and skill can
carry the day once more.”

Lord
Krall said nothing further.  He was done with this conversation.  The message
Lady Karaba had given him wasn’t very clear.  She’d said something about a
great ant queen, and a coming storm.  She’d also mentioned something else about
a dragon and the orcs.  The message had been too vague, too whispered, however,
and it left Lord Krall wondering much instead of knowing much.

He’d
always trusted his own judgment more than that off his younger lifemate anyway,
whether the Krall Stone was guiding her or not.  After all, the wisdom that the
Krall Stone gave her never seemed to be actionable or wasn’t how he’d preferred
to do things.  He usually disregarded it, like he always had, even in his youth
when it had first begun reaching out to him.

A
sudden realization came over him, and Lord Krall almost stopped as he smiled to
himself at having solved the mystery: The Krall Stone had chosen his lifemate
instead of him because he’d refused to listen to its meddling suggestions for
his life. 
Well
, he thought stubbornly,
I’m not about to start bowing
to it now, not with more than six decades of life behind me
.

He’d
always relied on his own judgment, and even now deep down in his bones he could
feel that there was more to this chain of events than what was plain for him to
see.  As he rode along pondering on mysteries, the unknown of it all left him
with a deep sense of foreboding.

He
thought no more about the Krall Stone or the conversation about it with his
son, and soon it didn’t bother him in the slightest.

^“
W
hat is the meaning of this, son
of exiles?” Lord Sennak was in a foul mood already after the impertinent
comments of the Kale Gen intruders, and now, not many hours after he had thrown
them in prison, some impertinent exile had shown up at his court.

The
guard who had brought Kale was shifting nervously from foot to foot.  If he’d
known his lord would react this way, he wouldn’t have brought him.  The guard’s
warrior leader, Mirrik, stood with the rest of the half dozen warrior leaders
that were the supreme leaders of the Deep Gen, under their revered lord, of
course.  Standing foremost among them was Lord Sennak’s son, Sennak the Younger.
 They had been in meeting when he had brought Kale to his lord. 

Like
the guard, Mirrik also felt uncomfortable, for this was the second time his
warrior group had caused his lord’s temper to flare in one day.

“My
Lord Sennak the Just, Lord of my brothers of the Deep Gen,” Kale said as he
bowed low.  “I do not come on my own will, rather I come at the behest of
another.”

Lord
Sennak was sure that this kobold, who called himself Kale after his ancestor
gen’s former rulers, was most likely here on behalf of the Kale Gen’s leaders. 
It had only been hours since he had thrown their paltry party of warriors in
prison.  He was surprised.  He had been confident that the Kale Gen didn’t even
know of his gen’s existence, preferring instead to ignore all who lived in the
underdark below them, calling them outcasts and not willing themselves to see
more than that.

“Very
well,” Lord Sennak said with a sneer, “I’ll play your little game.  Who is it
that sent you?”

Kale
answered with absolute confidence and the assurance of several previous
successes among the outcasts.  “Not many generations ago the Kale Stone, the
very stone of power given to Kale directly by The Sorcerer himself…” 

Lord
Sennak cut Kale off.  “
Who
is it that sent you, exile?”

Kale’s
confidence began to shake.  He had expected a better reception.

“Lord
Sennak, I come in the name of Kamuril, the Kale Stone.  The stone of our
ancestors has commanded me to gather the descendants of Kale back to the
ancestral home of the Kale Gen.”

There
was silence for several moments as Lord Sennak’s warrior group leaders shifted
from side to side uncomfortably along with the poor guard who had long ago
accepted the obvious reality that he would be consigned to shoveling dung for
many moons after this. 

Finally,
a low chuckle came from Lord Sennak.  It grew to a laugh, until the old kobold
was guffawing with all his might, pointing his finger at Kale and slapping the
arm rests of his great throne.  Though it took several moments, eventually the
ancient kobold on the throne stopped laughing.  When he did, his eyes were cold
and hard as he looked directly at Kale.

“You
are confederate with the warriors that the Kale Gen sent.  I must admit, I did
not expect my enemies to combine against me, but now I see your not-so-subtle
plans.  My warrior leaders,” he said as he indicated the six warriors standing
off to one side that represented the entire top leadership of the Deep Gen. 
“Watch as I lay this plot bare.”  He turned his attention back to Kale.  “Let
me guess, next you’re going to warn me about some ant invasion?”  Lord Sennak
chuckled to himself.

Kale
knew this meeting was going badly, but he had faith that, if Lord Sennak would
just listen to him, the Kale Stone would change his heart and help him see that
his words were true.

“My
lord, I do not know what danger is coming, but I have been sent to give you a
warning.  Kamuril told me to gather the outcasts.  I have done so.  He told me
to gather your gen as well.  He told me that a great danger was coming, and
that we had to flee the underdark.  He sent me as a warning and a savior to
you.”

Lord
Sennak’s jaw dropped.  “Oh yes!  That’s really good!  Some ancient stone that’s
been lost for generations sent you to warn us about some unknown danger,
calling you a savior!”

By
this time, the warrior group leaders were chuckling along with their lord.  His
antics at Kale’s expense were grand and theatrical, made only more hilarious by
his very advanced age.  He had had enough of this impetuous imposter, however. 
He had not grown old on his throne by listening to raving lunatics.

“Guards,”
he turned calmly to his personal entourage of guards that stood several paces
apart down the length of his throne room.  “Take this presumptuous whelp to the
prison.  He shall die tomorrow with his Kale Gen confederates.”

Kale
stood forth with both feet planted squarely and his face directly toward Lord
Sennak.  His countenance began to glow with some power that made it hard for
Lord Sennak and his warrior leaders and guards to look at him.  The confidence
in his face did not waiver, and the look on his face was calm, serene, much
more peaceful than the circumstances should have allowed.  He opened his mouth
to speak.  Lord Sennak was silenced by the power that had entered the room and
the guards did not dare move forward to lay hands on Kale.

“Sennak,
descendant of Kale,” Kale said in a deeper, stronger tone than his normal
voice, “You were allowed to lead a part of our people in the underdark that you
might grow their strength for the day they were to be called upon to fulfill
their duty to the rightful heir of the Kale Gen.  I am that heir, and that day
has come.  Your day of power has ended.  Give up your throne and gather my
people to our ancestral home.”

Lord
Sennak growled at the apparition before him.  Grabbing a spear from a stunned
guard, he threw it at Kale.  It sailed harmlessly past him as if turned away by
an unseen hand.

With
a look of noble disappointment, Kale spoke with a voice of finality.  “So be
it, then.  You have made your choice, Sennak.  When next I hear of you, your
days will have met their end.”  With that, Kale turned to the warrior leaders. 
“When the overflowing scourge comes upon you, remember that I command you to
flee to our ancestral home.  I will wait for you at Sheerface, the entrance to
the caverns of our ancestors.”

With
that, Kale turned and left the great pillared hall, the seat of power of Lord
Sennak the Just and the Deep Gen.  When he’d left, Lord Sennak dismissed his
six sub-leaders and sat brooding for some time in silence, a foul look on his
face.  None of his guards dared look at him, and none of them made a sound
until their lord eventually stalked out of the hall to his personal chambers.

Kale
wondered at the words that had been given him, and at how the power he’d felt
come upon him had cowed the court of Lord Sennak.  As the power had passed,
however, he had left the wondering for another time and gotten himself out of
the home of the Deep Gen very quickly.  Constantly, he thought he heard
footsteps behind him, as he was sure Lord Sennak had sent guards after him to
kill him.

None
ever appeared, however.

Weighing
much more heavily on his thoughts as he crawled through yet another flue on the
pathway to his home was the fact that there were thousands of kobolds in the
Deep Gen, and if… that is when this calamity arrived, they would be destroyed
if Lord Sennak did not reconsider.  He knew he had done everything he had been
asked to do and that there was nothing more he could do for them, and though he
sorrowed for his fellow kobolds of the Deep Gen, he felt reassured by the
manifestation of power Kamuril had given them.

Eventually,
Kale made it back to the caverns where his family resided.  The familiarity of
the passageways leading to his home began to lift his spirits, so that by the
time he reached the entrance cavern his steps were light and he almost ran down
the passageway to the amphitheater.

What
greeted his eyes there was not what he had expected to see.  Though there was
much evidence of recent occupation and the scents of hundreds hung in the air,
there was only one kobold and a goat left there.  His oldest son Kale sat next
to the entrance surrounded by baggage while his goat Sable sat contentedly
munching on a piece of mushroom.

“Son,
where has everyone gone?” Kale asked.  Fears of the outcasts disbanding and
returning to their homes had seized his heart.  He deeply hoped there was a
better explanation.

“Father,
they began to get restless, and uncle offered to lead them to Sheerface.  He
left me behind to tell you, and to ensure you got this,” he said, pointing to a
rather heavy backpack and pair of sacks among the baggage that was obviously
what Kale’s lifemate had left for him to carry.

Kale
smiled and rubbed his young son’s hornless head before strapping the packsaddle
on Sable, loading it, then shouldering his own backpack and tying a sack to
each end of his spear, laying its weight across his shoulders.  Kale’s son had
already shouldered his own pack and had an armful of wooden swords, sticks for a
game of lots, and the wooden dragon his father had carved for him for his last
celebration of birth.

Together,
father and son began the journey to the home of their ancient inheritance.

Mirrik,
one of the six warrior leaders of the Deep Gen, was sweating in the cool of his
warrior group’s main cavern.  He’d felt it.  He was almost certain the other
warrior group leaders had felt it.  There was no denying that there was a
greater power at work here than what their lord would accept.  First, the Kale
Gen warriors with their prophecy of ants, then that exile Kale with his demands
that Lord Sennak give up his right to rule to him.  Both statements had been
backed up by the same almost overwhelming feeling of power.  Such power Mirrik
had never felt before.  In fact, he’d felt guilty for not immediately gathering
his warrior group and leaving the Deep Gen when the Kale warriors came, and
he’d felt guilty again for not immediately swearing allegiance to the exile
Kale when he’d come as well.

Mirrik
had always considered himself absolutely loyal to his lord, but he was having a
hard time reconciling his feelings with the actions of his lord.  Should he be
worried?  Was he the only one that had felt this power?

As
he sat there in the cool of his mud-brick house, a cool cup of mushroom brew
prepared by his lifemate sitting untouched on the table, his mind was reeling. 
His heart and mind were torn.  His heart told him that he should be gathering
his warrior group and fleeing to their ancestral home.  His mind, on the other
hand, reminded him firmly of what the penalty would be if he did so and these
new revelations were not true; Lord Sennak would have him killed, slowly, then
give his warrior group to another. 

He
thought about his lifemate, who was a granddaughter of Lord Sennak and very
loyal to him, and of their seven whelps, all of whom were playing elsewhere in
the caves.  He certainly didn’t want to leave her a widow and them as orphans. 
Then again, if what the Kale Gen warrior said was true…  He didn’t want to see
his family destroyed either.

As
he sat there pondering, a soft knock came at his door.  Answering it, he was
surprised to see his life-long friend and fellow warrior group leader.  By the
look on his face, he too was struggling with what they had recently witnessed.

“Hemmet,
come and sit, my friend,” he said as he motioned toward a chair.  “What is it
that brings you to my door today?”

Hemmet,
as big and bulky as Mirrik was, shouldered through the door and sat at the
table, taking the lone cup of brew in both hands and gulping it down before
placing the empty cup back on the table.  Mirrik barely noticed.

“Mirrik,
don’t tell me you didn’t see what happened today,” Hemmet said as he wiped the
froth from his snout.  “That exile had some power with him, didn’t he?  And
whatever it was that was stiffening his backbone… well, he was fearless in
front of the old kobold,” he said, referring to Lord Sennak.