The Game of Fates (71 page)

The
orc scouts were none too stealthy either, and Durik’s little team of volunteers
had heard them coming for some time.  Now he was sure the scouts were only a
spear throw away, just around the corner.

“Come
on, take the bait!” he muttered under his breath.  The tension was starting to
get to him.

After
several moments the sound of hobnail boots running back down the stream could
be heard and the six kobolds all breathed a sigh of relief together.  Looking
back above the heads of the almost thirty warriors that made up his half of the
contingent, up the steep slope and past the pile of brush that hid their
construction and into the eyes of Manebrow, who hid off to one side of their
secret weapon, Durik gave the signal. 

With
a nod, Manebrow turned and motioned.  In a moment a handful of warriors
appeared at the top of the slope, on either side of the mass of brush that
covered what they had built in the streambed that cut through the tall slope. 
With a quiet reminder and motioning for them to get down, soon only Manebrow
was visible again, though here and there a head popped up or the handle of a
lever shifted in and out of view.

Almost
on cue, the sound of hobnail boots running on the rock of the streambed could
be heard approaching the bend of the river.  It was only a few, but not far
behind them a lot more feet, many of them very heavy, could be heard
approaching.

The
five volunteers all looked at Durik expectantly.  With a motion to stand fast,
Durik turned slightly to keep half an eye out for the orc scouts.

“Sire!”
one of his companions whispered urgently.

“Wait
for it!” he whispered firmly.  Just off to the side of the streambed next to
the brush-covered construction his half of the wolf riders were clearly ready
to run at the slightest notice.  Many tails swished nervously, and most could
hear their hearts beating in their ears.

At
that moment the first of the ogres spotted Durik’s warriors lounging about on
the shore from around the bend in the muddy streambed.  The great beast let out
a war cry, which was all that the kobolds needed to hear. 

As
one, Durik and the five volunteers jumped into the saddle as their wolves
struggled to run, with or without them.  Behind the six warriors the first of
the orcs spilled around the corner of the streambed, axes raised and yelling a
war cry as they ran after the little team of riders.

Despite
Durik’s heavy armor, Firepaw quickly outpaced the rest of the little team of
volunteers, leaping onto the far bank in one swift jump and almost dropping
Durik in the process.  Behind them the other five riders made it up, though one
of them had to dismount to do it.  All around Durik his half of the warrior
group was up and either mounting their wolves or already prodding them toward the
slope up and out of the little bowl-like dell.

Grabbing
a warrior who had fallen down by his shoulder belt, Durik got him back on his
feet and looked behind him.  With some sense of pride, he saw that the last of
his riders were just behind him and preparing for the run up the slope and out
of the little bowl.  But not far behind them two ogres had broken out in front
of the orcs and were less than a bowshot away.

Suddenly,
with a loud crack and a groan, the brush at the top of the slope exploded
outward under a huge stream of water.  With it came several large tree trunks,
loosed just in time to break through and widen the breech that Manebrow and his
warriors had made in the makeshift dam.  With a massive groan, the entire dam
gave way, bursting outward in a cascade of water and tree trunks that made an
earth-shaking impact on the muddy streambed.

With
eyes wide open in terror, the lead pair of ogres jumped for all they were worth
toward the safety of the slope where Durik and the last couple of wolf riders
were climbing.  One of the massive brutes made it to the slope, but the other
proved too slow and was thrown aside like a rag doll when a massive tree trunk
spun through the water, taking his feet with it then churning the huge ogre
about in the froth.

Turning
back to look at the other ogre, its eyes wild with fear, Durik spun Firepaw
around and charged back.  Suddenly, from the slope above him, a bolt of fire
sped past Durik’s ear and struck the ogre in the side, causing it to recoil
slightly.  As the ogre began to turn to look at for what had attacked it, Durik
drove his spear home in the beast’s kidney, then quickly withdrew his spear. 
The excruciating pain of the blow caused the ogre to spasm.  Jerking
uncontrollably with the pain, the mighty ogre fell forward into the deluge and
became just another projectile swept along in the current.

Turning
Firepaw back toward the slope, Durik saw Kiria’s outstretched hand, a ball of
fire already forming in it.  As the ogre fell into the water, however, the fire
faded and she dropped her outstretched hands.

The
water from the burst reservoir quickly passed by as Durik stopped again and
looked downstream, leaving in its wake a much smaller, fast flowing stream. 
Smashed and half-buried under logs, a myriad of soaked and limp forms lay
strewn along the streambed, their faces contorted in shock and their limbs
twisted in all directions.  The ambush had been a success.  The orcs had taken
the bait and Durik’s trap had caught many of them.  Further down the stream the
rest of the orcs and their ogre mercenaries seemed to be quite busy helping
those who hadn’t been killed out of the water.

Turning
Firepaw away from the scene, Durik prodded him forward and up the slope.  At
the top of the slope, Kiria stood beaming with both the satisfaction of having
helped Durik slay the ogre and the pride at having been a part of such a feat
of destructive engineering.

“That
was very good, Kiria, both the dam and fire,” Durik complimented her.

Kiria
looked down, the pride beaming in her face attempting to hide behind a more
demure demeanor.  “Thank you,” she said.  “But your idea of breaking the dam
did so much to help save our gen, I just helped where I could.”

Durik
smiled at her modesty, but by Manebrow’s assessment of the team that made the
dam into a trap, the idea wouldn’t have worked without her knowledge of dwarven
engineering.  The mud that covered much of her, and the scratches in several
places on her arms and legs told the story of the effort she’d made so far, and
she had become additionally useful by her magic. 

“Will
you ride with me a while?” Durik asked.

Surprised
at the invitation, Kiria asked “Is there something else to plan?”

Durik
shook his head.  “No.  I would just appreciate your company.”

Kiria
flashed a brilliant smile that, despite the dirt and filth, was electrifying to
the young warrior leader.  In a moment she had mounted her riding dog and was
following Durik to the head of the column.

Soon
the entire Wolf Riders Warrior Group was on the move again.  Where there had
been a thousand orcs and fifty ogres, by Durik’s count there were now just shy
of two hundred less orcs, and a double handful less ogres as well.

Not
bad for a small contingent of kobold warriors
, Durik thought.  In his heart he hoped that it
would be enough to turn the course of the looming battle.  Despite their
strength and fierceness, the orcs were turning out to be easier to take on than
he had expected.  But Durik knew this was not the only threat.  No, these orcs
were but the first of their troubles.

Jominai,
who led the four hundred levies from the degenerate gens, rode up next to
Krulak, who led the Kobold Gen’s one hundred warrior contribution to the
Bloodhand Orc Tribe’s levy for this raid.  In the streambed in front of them
almost a hundred orcs and a pair of ogres lay dead, their corpses twisted and
heaped upon one another like so much dung.

The
pair of Kobold Gen leader caste sat upon their riding wolves, surveying the
scene for several moments before either of them spoke.  Finally, Krulak broke
the silence.

“All
along the way we see dead orcs and ogres.  Finally, a few dead Kales and
wolves, a double handful at most at the last ambush site.”  Krulak shook his
head.  “And now this,” he said, waving his hand at the disaster the orcs had
suffered at the broken dam.

“It’s
a good thing Drakebane doesn’t trust us enough to send us after the Kales,”
Jominai said.  “This cavalry contingent seems to be very good at what they do.”

The
two sat on their mounts in silence for a few moments.

“I
was thinking,” Jominai started in, almost too eagerly, “that if the Kales are
that good of warriors, that our alliance with the orcs might not be necessary…
if this keeps up that is.”

Krulak
nodded in agreement.  “Yes, but I do not think that one expert cavalry
commander is enough to persuade me.  Let us see what the Fates bring us before
we openly defy these orcs.”

L
ord Karthan breathed in the early
morning air.  It had been a late night and he had commanded all to get some
sleep about halfway into the second watch of the night.  Still, even with his
command, some of the workshops in his gen’s home had not gone silent at all. 
Now, as the sun finally crested Lord Krall’s mountain in the east, he looked
back down the long line of warriors that trailed away behind him like a snake.

The
eyes of those in the lead companies squinted as they topped the latest rise and
were exposed to the full brilliance of the sun’s rays.  Spear tips and shield
rims glinted in the direct rays of the sun while steam rose from their
dew-laden cloaks with the warmth it brought.

Knowing
they still had some distance to go before they arrived at the Picket Line, Lord
Karthan turned his wolf toward the rise that lay to the right side of the broad
path.  Dismounting, he led his wolf up the rise to the top, where he stood
looking back down the trail at what had to be the largest force the Kale Gen
had ever assembled.

In
the lead of the massive column, thirty companies of thirty to forty warriors
each, led by picked elite warriors, made up all the strength of what two days
ago had been called the Kale Gen; all the strength other than Durik’s Wolf
Riders and the Trade Warrior Group that is.  The thousand or so warriors looked
resplendent with their iron-rimmed rectangular shields and steel-tipped spears
glinting in the sun.  On their backs were bows with quivers full of arrows,
each of which was sharp and straight.  As each company topped the hill and came
face to face with the brilliant sunlight, they greeted their lord and commander
with enthusiastic cheers.

Behind
the thirty Kale companies came the warriors from the outcasts, each of which
had been given several javelins and a shield, as many as they could each
carry.  Though there were only a hundred or so of them, he hoped that they
would serve well as skirmishers and slow down the enemy’s advance so the
archers could get a few more volleys in.  In their front, Kale and his brother
wore grim expressions.  They both nodded at Lord Karthan as their contingent
passed.

Behind
these came the five warrior groups of the Deep Gen, as they insisted on being
called.  Lord Karthan had talked to their Lord Sennak, as he also insisted on
being called, but rather than ask to rejoin his people to the Kale Gen, he had
said that they would fight beside them, not as part of the Kale Gen.  Lord
Karthan, in response, had said that he would gladly have their strength in this
battle, and that his gen would host them until the hostilities were over, after
which this Sennak had thought to return to the underdark.  Two of the other
four warrior group leaders, Mirrik and Hemmet by name, had disagreed, but the
conversation had ended with the Deep Gen leaders deciding to not decide until
after the battle.

Whatever
the political reality was, Lord Karthan was glad to have these fellow
descendants of Kale marching with them.  Nearly eight hundred more spears,
swords, and shields on their side was nothing to scoff at.  They had almost no
bows, however, being from the small confines of the underdark.

Finally,
at the end of the long line, Lord Karthan could see the Trade Warrior Group,
which they had decided to not organize into the Kale companies, coming with
every packdog they could muster.  On the backs of these dogs were many a
mundane item, arrows, picks, and spades mostly, though extra rations and empty
water skins for filling from the nearby stream were abundant as well.

But
mundane items were not all that they brought.  Near the front of the baggage
train Lord Karthan could see that Goryon had accomplished the task he had set
himself to a couple of days ago in the loyalist enclosure.  Behind Goryon and
his team, who had been joined by his son Gorgon and his team just up from the
underdark, a pair of what looked like massive crossbows drawn by four packdogs
each rolled along on rough wooden wheels.  The members of each of their two
teams were well laden down with what looked like spears, though each had
feathers to guide it in flight.  Lord Karthan shuddered as he thought about the
destructive power of the two large weapons. 

Leading
his wolf down from the rise, Lord Karthan remounted and worked his way back
toward the head of the column, chatting with warriors along the way and
offering words of hope and encouragement.  For a force so hastily assembled,
near half of it from refugees that had arrived in scattered groups throughout
the night, they seemed of good spirits and cohesive enough marching next to kin
and life-long friends, with respected members of their own disparate
communities leading them.

The
visions Durik had shared with the leaders of the Kale Gen and with these Deep
Gen types had come true, and the confirmation of what they had only
half-believed seemed to build a particular fervor among many, with some of the
Deep Gen types calling Durik the Oracle of Kale and a paladin, terms his gen
hadn’t used since the last Lord Kale had disappeared on a quest, after which
his long-lived grandfather Karthan had taken over lordship of the gen.  Truly,
the appearance of the Kale Stone loomed large over them all this day, almost as
large as the approaching orc horde or the flood of giant ants.  He had been
seeking decisive results from the quest for the Kale Stone, and as he looked
back at the Deep Gen warriors and the skirmishers of the outcast band, he knew
he was looking at the first of whatever results the stone would bring.

Though
he didn’t know how else their gen’s stone of power would influence the events
ahead, Lord Karthan was determined to do whatever it took, to make whatever
sacrifice was necessary, to see this battle through and to ensure the survival
of his gen.

If
their stone of power helped with that, well, the more help the better.  Right
now, his gen could use all the help it could get.

Lord
Krall nudged his riding dog, the spry, strong young animal moving forward much
faster than Lord Krall could this morning.  Though the adrenaline of an
impending battle was beginning to kick in, still he felt his age much more this
morning than usual.

Turning
away from the large, shallow lake his gen’s warriors had camped next to last
night, he looked back at the flurry of activity in the camp off to his right
and saw one of his servants dismantling the wood and cloth frame that had
served as his bed last night.  Shaking his head, he cursed his lack of
attention to his campaigning gear.  He should have thought to bring a bed of
feathers or furs.  As it was, he felt stiff as a board all over and his neck
refused to turn much to the left this morning.

“Father!”
Lord Krall’s son and namesake came riding up to his right, spry as the dog he
was riding.

“What!”
Lord Krall snapped, his head ringing from his sharp reply.

Krall
was a bit taken aback by his father’s sharpness, but he’d been around him long
enough to know what it stemmed from.

“Father,”
he continued in a more subdued tone, “our scouts report that Durik and his wolf
riders have slain perhaps a hundred of the orcs and a handful or so of their
ogre mercenaries during the night.  They met a messenger that he sent out just
this morning at dawn.”

Lord
Krall nodded, grimacing with the pain of the motion.  “Good, good.  That’s less
we’ll have to face.”

“Yes,
father.  Certainly good news for our side!”

“Yes. 
Now, tell me,” Lord Krall looked Krall in the eye, “have you any report from
the contingent we sent out to seal up the mid-valley entrance to the
underdark?  Is it sealed up yet?  All of this will be meaningless if this new
ant horde decides to go after our home first.”

Krall
shook his head.  “No, father, it’s not sealed up yet, but Gormanor of the
scouts just returned to report that they reached the entrance without any
opposition, and that they had started work on sealing it.  Also, our scouts
report that the remnants of the ants we were fighting have begun to move toward
the Doorstep.  Ardan and his team from the Kale Gen have moved to seal that
entrance to the underdark, hopefully before either of the ant groups gets
there.”

Lord
Krall nodded, though more subtly than before.

“Father,
shall I send for the healer?” Krall asked.

Lord
Krall was about to snap at his son, but instead, with a resigned sigh, he
agreed.  In a moment one of the house guard was sent to fetch the old kobold
and his wondrous elixirs.

“Father,
would you mind if I went ahead to the field of battle to begin the planning
process with the Kales?” Krall asked.

“That
would be fine,” Lord Krall answered in a subdued tone.  “But don’t get too
comfortable taking charge of planning for the whole gen.  You know I’ll be back
at it soon.”

Krall
just smiled.  “I’m sure you’ll be your normal, grumpy self before long, sire.”

Lord
Krall just scowled as his son turned and rode off around the lake to where the
wooden tower from the Kale Gen’s Picket Line stood watch over the large road
between the two gens.  Soon, Krall disappeared from his father’s view.

At
the top of the long slope Lord Karthan, his chamberlain Khazak Mail Fist, Lord
Krall’s son Krall, the outcast leader Kale, and Lord Sennak of the Deep Gen all
stood at the edge of the broad crest of the hill, looking east out over the
field of battle.  Behind them to the west the low hilltop was ringed with a
mantle of trees and underbrush, the leaves of the trees just beginning to come
in as the blossoms had fallen off in these past two weeks and the underbrush
not yet having thickened to impassible here on the hilltop after a long
winter.  The large clearing in the middle of it all, on the very crown of the
rather flat-topped hill, would serve well to hide almost all of the Kale forces
if that was the plan they decided on.

From
the top of the hill where the leaders stood, a long, broad, gentle slope led
down almost a half-mile to the broad main road that ran between the two
southern gens.  The grass of spring was not yet at full height, and in fact was
just beginning to sprout in some places.  The place was as flat as an arena, as
if someone had plowed the land sometime in the distant past and purposefully
worked out the odd ripples that every piece of ground in this region seemed to
have. 

On
either side of the broad slope were arms of higher ground.  On the left of the
leaders a berm-like hill bordered the entire slope, creating a sharp northern
border that stopped abruptly at the road.  Its entire length was covered by
trees and sparse underbrush.  Where it met the hilltop a small, sharp hill made
up of one massive broken shelf of rock rose up out of the ground to dominate
the surrounding area.  Knowing the importance of that natural tower, Lord
Karthan had already ordered Goryon and Gorgon to move their Great Bows to the
top of it if they could, and when the forces arrived he thought he would put a
small group of warriors with them to serve as messengers and lookouts, and to
help their teams get the massive crossbows onto the rock.