The Game of Fates (82 page)

With
one last, desperate surge, Mananthiél ignored the pain and, summoning what
little courage of his own he had, he ran forward toward the little group of
kobolds.

Suddenly,
from somewhere off to his left, a large arrow slammed into his head, driving
partway into his neck where it met his skull before breaking off and leaving a
burning pain running throughout his body.

As
Mananthiél found himself standing up yet again, this time a little more
disoriented and seeing double, he shook his head about and blinked.  The fire
of his fury had dampened, giving way to a deep, sickening pain that weakened
him to the core.

Suddenly,
he saw a blazing light approaching him.  Trying to focus his eyes, he thought
he saw a kobold with a sword ablaze with pure light running at him.  Unable to
turn away in time, he screamed out in pain as the kobold plunged his sword
through the impossibly-hard thick red scales that covered his chest.

Stunned
and unable to breath, Mananthiél fell over to his side, his eyes focusing and
unfocusing in the dazzling light of the sun.  Finally, after involuntarily
trying to gasp several times, the shock of the blow wore off enough that he
could force a small amount of air into one of his cavernous lungs; the other
lung was pierced and had collapsed on him, causing a deep, excruciating pain
that wracked his body.

As
he writhed about on his back in pain, he turned his head toward the kobolds to
speak, but the only sound that came from his throat was a gurgling sound as he
coughed up blood.  Coming toward him yet again he could feel, more than see,
the light.  It was at that moment that Mananthiél, red dragon of barely a
century of age, a descendant of the ancient and original inhabitants of Dharma
Kor, a creature of great power and a wielder of the power of this world, knew
that his time on this world would soon be over.

As
the light of Morgra’s power drove Durik’s sword up through the dragon’s jaw and
into its brain, the spirit of the great beast was released from its mortal
frame, to rejoin the powers of the Creator that had originally spawned it.

For
several moments, the entire clearing and all around it was as silent as a
tomb.  Then, as kobolds felt the dragonfear die away, they returned to the
clearing, stopping at the edge and staring in disbelief at the small cluster of
kobolds in the center of the clearing standing next to the massive body of the
dragon.

Slowly
at first, and then with gathering intensity, a cheer could be heard from the
perimeter of the clearing.  Soon several more voices could be heard joining in
the excitement as kobolds came streaming back into the clearing, shaking
weapons over their heads and yelling exuberantly.  Eventually, the entire
strength of the Kale and Krall Gens was dancing on or around the corpse of the
dragon, while Durik, Kale, and their small handful of brave companions stood
looking on, tears streaming from their faces as the joy of the moment was more
than they could express.

I
t would be decades before the
valley of the Kale and Krall Gens was the same, if it ever truly would be.  The
conflagration that the dragon’s fire had started burned almost every bit of
scrub, grass, and smaller tree, as well as many of the older, larger trees. 
What it hadn’t been able to burn, however, were the massive trees of Lord
Krall’s forest, many of which were several hundreds of years old.  Yes, the fire
had passed through the boughs and the underbrush in many places, hungrily
eating up every bit of fuel it could find, but the trees themselves were
fireproof when alive.  In fact, unforeseen by almost all the Kralls was the
amazing event that occurred next; seeds that had lain dormant in the ground
throughout Lord Krall’s forest since before any of the current inhabitants had
been born began to sprout, bringing new life to the barren, ash-swept floor of
the outer forest.

The
body of the dragon survived the ravages of the fire without the slightest
change to it.  In fact, in the days that came, once the kobolds of the southern
valley had recovered from the initial shock of the battle and the fire, a great
effort was made to preserve and store the meat, though its thick armor skin was
taken in as large of chunks as possible and much work was put into making every
bit of it useful by the Metalsmithies and Trade Warrior Groups of the Kale
Gen.  And forever more, the skull of a young red dragon could be found hanging
like a trophy in the halls of the Kale Gen’s leadership.

Dragon
Bone Hill, as the long-sloped hill where the battle was fought soon came to be
known, was but a short run from the broad, shallow lake that sat at the Picket
Line.  When the fire swept over the entire battlefield immediately after the
death of the dragon, the entire force of kobolds had run to the lake that day
and, like apples bobbing in a barrel, they took shelter in the shallow water
until the fire passed. 

That
lake, which had born several names in the millennia that the Kale Gen had lived
near it, gained another name that day; the Saving Waters.  For generations to
come, caravans and travelers from the gens would stop to draw water there, both
for the sweetness of the natural spring water that fed it, as well as for the
blessing of the Creator, whom they revered only more for having put it there to
save their people from the last fury of the dragon.

And
as for companions who stood against the dragon, and the warriors who stood with
them against the hordes of orcs, ogres, and ants, they were seen as the heroes
of that generation, and forever more their stories were told to motivate,
inspire, and instruct the rising generations of defenders of their gens.

Kiria’s
heart felt as if it would burst within her, there was so much joy in her
heart.  It had happened just today.  Lady Kamia, the new Lady of the Kale Gen,
had asked her to teach her Covenant Magic to her and her children, and to be a
part of the council of the gen with her own staff who would learn magic from
her and teach it to other aspiring students.  But that was only the least of
her reasons to be happy at the moment. 

She
was to be mated! 

Durik
had asked her just last night, as they rode back to the caverns of the Kale Gen
together.  She had enthusiastically agreed, of course, and even now she was
looking for her lifemate-to-be among the crowd, aching to just
be
with
him, to share her joy with him on this, the first day of the rest of their
lives.

“Your
future lifemate,” Arren, the tall elf whose shot had disoriented the dragon and
helped slay the ant queen, was talking with her love, who had his back turned
to her.

“Ah,
Kiria!” Durik smiled as he turned about, taking her in his arms as the two
embraced, pausing in each others arms long enough that Arren began to feel a
bit awkward.

“Uhm,”
the elf prince cleared his throat.  After a moment more, he did it again.

“Ah,
yes, sorry,” Durik said, a bit embarrassed as he turned to face Arren again,
Kiria still firmly pressed against his side.  “What were we talking about?”

“Your
calling as Paladin of Morgra,” Arren chided the little kobold, though he was
inwardly quite happy for the pair.

“Aye,”
Durik nodded.  “So what did you need from me?”

“Well,
first of all, my thanks again for the use of your workshops to reset my
collection of arrows.  The second thing is perhaps less pleasant.”  Arren
pulled a small bundle out of a belt pouch and handed it to Durik.  “Morigar of
the Krall Gen stole this from the dragon’s lair,” he said.

Upon
hearing the name Morigar again, Durik looked up at Arren skeptically, even as
he began to unwrap the package.  As the final fold of the cloth fell away, both
he and Kiria gasped.  It was yet another stone of power, and in fact it looked
identical to the Krall and Kale Stones.

“What…”
Durik looked at Arren in confusion.  For all he knew, Kale had the Kale Stone,
and Lady Karaba of the Krall Gen had the Krall Stone.

“It
is not what you think,” Arren said, seeing his confusion.  “This is the Krech
Stone, Takamak by name, the stone of the fourth of the five original kobold
gens.”

“But
where are they?  We have no knowledge of the Krech Gen,” Durik said.

Arren
shook his head.  “I do not know, but this I do know.  I am a prince of the
elven nations and a member of the Watchers, an old organization by kobold
standards that The Sorcerer himself established to protect the stones of power
he gifted to the races.”

Durik
was taken aback.  He’d never heard of such a thing, but Kiria, next to him,
had.

“My
father found the journal of a paladin who was of your order!” she said.  “He
died down in these valleys, questing for a stone of power I think.”

Arren
nodded.  “Yes, I know of whom you speak.  But that was before Morgra, the
Keeper of the Covenant, had called a paladin among her children.”  The elf
knelt down and placed a hand on Durik’s shoulder.  “You are clearly her
paladin, young Durik,” the elf said.  “And as such the right place for that
stone is with you.”

Durik
nodded.  The power of another stone lay dormant in his hands.  “But what am I
to do with it?” he asked as the elf stood up and gathered his backpack and
weapons to leave.

“You
will know when the time comes,” Arren said, looking down at the pair of
heroes.  “After all, you are Morgra’s paladin.  She will make her will clear to
you… in time.”

With
that, the elf turned and walked out of the sunken grotto that was the home of
the leader caste of this gen.  He had not found what he was searching for, but
had found something much better instead.  The will of The Sorcerer often was
fulfilled in mysterious ways.

“All
rise!” Khazak Mail Fist, Chamberlain of the Kale Gen, yelled out in a
commanding voice that echoed throughout the huge arena.  As one, thousands of
kobolds rose to their feet, ‘all the members of the Kale Gen’ as Kale himself
had instructed, and the thousand or so Krall Gen warriors who had not yet been
able to depart due to the fire.  Among the crowd were the original members of
the Kale Gen, warriors with their crossed belts and servant caste without, but
all of them with their lifemates and children.  Standing side by side with them
were the refugees from the Deep Gen, survivors of the battle with the orc horde
and the ant horde, and proud defenders of their chosen lord; Kale of the
outcasts.

The
room was noisy as, from the bowels of the arena, Kale and an entire entourage
of kobolds walked out onto the floor of the arena.  For the veterans of
yesterday’s battle, and all who had counted themselves lucky to be there when
the dragon was slain, the names of their lord-to-be Kale and his younger
brother, as well as Durik the paladin, Kiria the mage, and Kormach Manebrow
would forever be known among them as ‘The Companions.’  For they were those who
had stood against the dragon.  And even now, they walked together at the head
of the entourage into the middle of the arena.

Standing
in the very middle of the arena with ribs wrapped in bandages still, Lord
Karthan held his bronze crown in his hands.  He had seen this day coming, but
had not wanted to see it come.  But now, as he stood there alone, watching Kale
and the others approach, in his heart he knew it was the right thing to do. 
For long he and his fathers had reigned, for the better part of a century, most
of it marked by dissention and strife.  Of this he was sure; the advent of the
Kale Stone and the heir of the lost Lord Kale would put an end to that.

Kale
halted his entourage several steps in front of Karthan, then he himself took
several steps forward flanked by his lifemate.  Arriving in front of Karthan,
he knelt in front of Karthan while his lifemate stood silently by his side. 
For a moment, Karthan looked down at the crown, then at the head of he who had
come to claim it.  Then with resolve he held up the crown for all to see, and
meeting the gaze of the united Kale Gen that filled the arena to capacity
Karthan took the crown in both hands and placed it carefully around Kale’s
horns.  The entire arena erupted spontaneously into cheers as Lord Kale stood
up and looked at the crowd, the Kale Stone gleaming in his left hand. 

After
several moments, Lord Kale turned to Karthan.  “Karthan,” he said, “You will
continue to serve this gen, will you not?”

Karthan
nodded.  “However you would have me serve, sire,” he said meekly.

“Would
you continue to serve our people as my minister?” Lord Kale looked Karthan in
the eye.

Karthan
smiled warmly and nodded his acceptance.

Turning
back to the cheering crowd, Lord Kale held up his hand to silence the crowd. 
Eventually, as the crowd settled down, he spoke.

“My
fellow kobolds and heirs of the Kale Gen,” he started.  “And also our guests
from the Krall Gen whose hearts are with your families on the other side of the
fire.”  The Krall Gen’s warrior host was silent and mostly tense.

“I
thank you for your acceptance of me and my house.  But while that is important,
I do not wish to speak of that, because yesterday… yesterday was a day of great
sacrifice.”  All around him the exuberance of the group became a bit more
solemn.  “Yesterday, my fellow Kales, over three thousand Kales, Kralls, and
Kobolds stood first against the combined might of the Bloodhand Orc Tribe and
its ogre allies, then against the might of perhaps the largest horde of great
ants this world has ever seen.  Finally, despite great losses, and in the face of
certain death, our warriors stood against the fearsome red dragon, and by the
power of The Sorcerer we overcame even that!”

Brought
from the depths of their sorrow to the light of their accomplishments, the
crowd cheered, while many deep-throated yells came from the hundreds of
survivors of the battle.  After several moments, Lord Kale raised his hand to
silence the crowd.