Into the Heart of Evil (15 page)

But her sentience had also left her vulnerable to
Mynar’s manipulations, for mindless minions and the more awake were but tools,
but they were the queen’s tools, and by manipulating her Mynar would bring
destruction to Khee-lar Shadow Hand’s lackeys, and to the entire Kale Gen in
time.

Truly, Mynar’s allies were legion; his power was
endless, and soon Khee-lar and all the Kale Gen would feel his wrath.

Reaching out with his mind, Mynar blasted the
queen, stirring her from her rest to a state of sudden alertness.  As he
projected a feeling of impending danger on her primal consciousness, the queen
reacted, orders were given, and the awesome power of the horde began to stir.

T
he
afternoon had long since turned to evening, and dusk had arrived.  With it came
the hazy red glow of the setting sun, and the shadows that crept into the world
as the sun’s light began to wane.  The company marched far that evening,
breathing in the cool air, heavy with the dust of the trail and the thick
pollen of the broomweed.  As the shadows grew longer, their imaginations began
to see much more than their eyes, and every once in a while Durik saw them
whispering among themselves and pointing.  Perhaps it was just the paranoia
that warriors feel after battle.  Durik’s own father had woken up loudly in the
night after his time on patrol from time to time afterwards.  The memory of
more traumatic experiences seemed to fade none too quickly. 

Then, as they were walking, he too thought he saw
something off in the woods to their right.  Peering off into the distance he
saw movement; a tail, or perhaps something else.  Not sure of whether or not
he’d actually seen anything, he paused briefly then continued leading Firepaw
down the trail.

In front of him, he could see both of the scouts. 
Looking back over his shoulder, he saw Gorgon’s team in one tight line.  The
fatigue of the march showed on most of their faces and in their bowed heads and
limp tails, though Gorgon looked fresh still. The memory of their recent orc
encounter kept the new warriors bunched together.  Behind them, Manebrow and
his team walked, Manebrow in the lead with the two Deep Guard brothers, Tohr
and Kahn, behind him, and Terrim with the four packdogs behind them.  Far to
the rear of them, Trallik walked along as if deep in some daydream.  It seemed
to him that he, Gorgon, and Manebrow were the only ones currently watching
their surroundings.

They were in a more open area, where there was
much broomweed, interrupted from time to time by small thickets of thorn bushes
and trees.  Looking about, Durik began to get a better sense of the terrain and
the lay of the land.  They were still in the flatlands, but far off to their
right foothills were already appearing, gentle at first, eventually leading
into deep forest as the hills grew sharper.  The hills led up to the base of
the mountain range that formed the southern wall of the valley.  The main
caravan route they followed wound its way between the thickets and through the
middle of the flatlands.  Before too much longer, the thickets and broomweed
their path wound through would start to fail as the southern hills and their
covering forest came north.  Not much farther down the path, the trail they
were on turned gradually, disappearing into the wood line.

As they walked, Durik watched the woods far off to
his right, where he thought he might have seen something.  As he watched, he
thought he saw a figure in the shadows of the tree line, walking quickly.  By
the shape of it, and the fact it appeared to be walking on two legs, he was
certain it was no animal.  He stopped sharply and turned to get eye contact
with Manebrow.  By one silent hand signal, within moments the company had
stopped and were brought out of the doldrums of the march to a wary alertness. 
Four more figures appeared in a line well behind the first.  Durik now saw that
they were cloaked.  In fact, as he focused on them, they seemed to be wearing
wolfskin cloaks with their hoods up.  Durik wondered at this, as his gen was
the only group he knew of that used such coverings.  At least one of them,
possibly two, had bows over their backs, their quivers poking out from
underneath their cloaks.

Manebrow and Gorgon both approached Durik,
watching as they came. 

“What do you make of that?” Gorgon asked.  “They’re
a little far off, but I’d say they’re kobolds, from the look of them.  From our
gen, I’d wager.”

Manebrow smiled. “Well, sire, you’d mentioned the
Honor Guard, did you not?  Perhaps that would be them.  Certainly, these would
be better tidings than the orcs we ran across.”

Durik thought for a moment.  “I agree, but I doubt
that these are the warriors we seek.  Lord Karthan had mentioned a pair of
packdogs, heavily laden, that we were to ensure made it to Lord Krall himself. 
Besides, he mentioned three Honor Guard, not five.”  Durik pursed his lips as
he stared off into the distance where the line of cloaked figures were soon to
disappear into the wood line.  “It is obvious that these are not one of our
convoys; not only are there no packdogs with them, but they’re not even
following one of our convoy routes.  They cannot be members of the Wolf Riders,
as they would certainly not be this far from the gen without their wolves.”

In the meantime, Arloch and Ardan had noticed that
the rest of the group had stopped and now came walking up to Durik to see why. 
Durik pointed to the line of five cloaked figures in the wood line to the south
of them.  As they stood there watching, the third from the last in the line
stopped and pointed in their direction.  It was obvious to all in Durik’s
company that they’d been spotted.  As they watched, the last three hurried into
the wood line, disappearing into the shadows.

Manebrow turned to Durik. “That does not bode
well.”

Durik nodded. “A group from our gen that does not
want us to see them.  Hmm…  I would imagine that, whatever they’re doing, it
cannot be good.”

Arloch chimed in, “Whatever it is, I would say it
is probably best to leave them alone.  Who knows what the council has going on
that we’re not privy to.”

Ardan looked at Arloch with surprise. “I’m amazed
by your sudden lack of curiosity.”

Arloch looked frustrated. “I’m just a simple
warrior.  I try to keep out of the affairs of the leaders of the gen.  I doubt
it should be our responsibility to put our snouts where they don’t belong.”

Durik breathed deeply then turned back to face the
rest of them.  “I can’t say I agree with you, Arloch.” 

Ardan elbowed Arloch as if to say ‘told you so.’ 

Durik turned to Manebrow. “I’m thinking we should
follow them.  What say you, second?”

“Aye, sire.” Manebrow nodded.  “Whatever their
mission, they’re headed in the same direction as we are.  To me, that sounds
like knowing about it is our responsibility.  I don’t like surprises.”

Gorgon nodded his agreement. “I’ve never trusted
skulking slinkers.  I’ll not start now.”

“So be it,” Durik said.  “Since we’re moving into
the woods, I think it’s important that we bring the packdogs into the center of
the group.  We will keep the scouts out to the front and rear as before. 
Manebrow, your team will follow me.  Gorgon, your group brings up the rear. 
Tell the warriors to keep their melee weapons handy, in case we get ambushed in
there.”

“All right, you two,” Manebrow said as he turned
to Arloch and Ardan, “you saw where they went.  Lead on, but keep it tight.”

A slight evening breeze had begun to blow down
from the mountains that surrounded their valley, and Durik raised his snout to
breathe the cool air, wondering what the Fates would bring them this night.

As the two scouts moved out, the company began to
unbunch itself.  Durik’s decision to go after the mysterious figures gave them
purpose, at least for the last few hours of march before they came to the first
night’s resting place.  They all hoped that, solve the mystery or not, they
would stop to sleep once they got there.  They had been on the march since
before the sun had come up, and it appeared that they would not complete their
march until long after the sun had gone down.  It had been a long morning, an
even longer afternoon, and now it was shaping up to be a long evening on the
trail and everyone was feeling it.

Physically, Gorgon was more than a match for
anyone in this company.  Perhaps that was why he liked this part of the day the
best.  While the other warriors were walking along with drooping heads and
dragging feet, Gorgon’s exceptional stamina and endurance shined through.  He
walked with a lively step and head held high.  The recent memory of his loss…
win… whatever it was, was still fresh in his mind, but a long day on the trail
had helped push it all to the back of his mind.  Additionally, the memory of
his confrontation with Durik, and his subsequent humbling, was now firmly
suppressed.  None of his fellow yearlings… his warriors that is, had dared to
mention it. 

Breathing deeply, Gorgon smiled widely.  A company
of warriors, a mission, a finely crafted warhammer in his hand, a pack on his
back, and a fine wolf as well; truly it didn’t get much better than this.  It
didn’t matter that their mission was to go find some long lost stone that no
one was certain could be found.  The doing was perhaps as much of a pleasure as
the achieving.  And for one so fit, this march was no challenge.

The time he had spent banging away at the forge
with his father had done much for him.  It had given him an iron grip, and the
ability to deal quite a blow.  While the muscles of most of the other warriors
bulged slightly and grew taut, built mostly for endurance, Gorgon’s time at the
forge had given him bulging shoulder and arm muscles, thicker scales,
endurance, and a hardened attitude.  Like the steel he forged, his was a body
forged for battle.

Durik left Firepaw in the care of Kabbak.  He
moved up to where Arloch and Ardan were carefully studying the trail.  Tracking
was not something he had learned much of during their year of training and he
was not going to pass up this opportunity to learn.  He listened intently as
the two experienced trackers discussed the footprints. 

“I’d guess they’re orc tracks,” Arloch said
flatly.

“What?” Ardan protested. “These are clearly too
small for orc.  You saw them, too.  They were not dressed as orcs normally do. 
Besides, orcs wear boots.  These marks were clearly made by bare feet.  And
here’s a print that clearly shows the toes; four of them.  We’re the only
things around here that have four toes.”

“That track isn’t that clear.  Here’s one that
looks more like an orc’s foot to me.  Besides, that track could be an old
track,” Arloch contended.  “Look, already I see ant trails through it.”

“Arloch, these are bare feet, and you’re making
much of shadows.  There are no ant trails, only the impressions of scales. 
Look, the edges of the track are clear and sharp.  Put your snout to them if
you’ve any doubt left, there’s no smell of orc there, only kobold.”  Ardan was
obviously getting frustrated with Arloch.  The long march seemed to be wearing
down Arloch’s normally sharp eye, as it also seemed to be wearing on their
normally steadfast friendship.

Durik looked up from where the two scouts
continued discussing various marks in the trail.  He lifted his snout and
breathed in the still evening air.  It was already cold on his nose, the
promise of a cold night ahead of them.  The light of the waning sun was
beginning to give out.  Soon it would be dark, and it would be much more
difficult to follow the tracks before the moon rose later in the night.  As
useful as the kobold heat vision was, it was still very hard to differentiate
between cold ground with a print and cold ground without a print. 

Durik pondered on what they should do.  He did not
feel comfortable announcing their presence to the entire forest by lighting a
torch, yet he doubted they could track well enough without it.  Looking back at
the company, he saw that their motions were slow and deliberate; the fatigue of
a long day’s march was beginning to weigh on them.  Manebrow must have ordered
them to put on their wolfskins to ward off the breeze that was turning cold
with the arrival of night as several were clumsily trying to poke arms, legs,
and tails into the furry outfits. 

As he watched them, he thought of the map Raoros Fang
had given him, and how this trail seemed to be leading in the direction of the
spot marked
danger
.  Finally, he thought of Lord Karthan’s charge to
meet the Honor Guard warriors at the first night’s resting place.