Into the Heart of Evil (3 page)

Keryak smiled wistfully and rolled his eyes, “Ever
the gracious one, aren’t we, Durik?  Ah… you’ll excuse me if I’m just a bit
jealous. But no one could deny you won the trials fairly.”

Letting Darya go and feeling that perhaps his
friend was not over the sting of losing the trials yet, Durik tried to console
him.  “Ah, Keryak, you know I wanted nothing but victory for you.  I would
gladly have given you my place as victor.”

“Aye, but from the beginning of the scouting trial
I was marked for misfortune, it seems.  I’m glad you won it,” Keryak replied
flatly, turning toward Durik and Darya.  After a moment the winsome look on his
face passed like a cloud from the face of the moon.  “Perhaps, though, with the
proofing of the trials starting tomorrow, I’m even gladder that Trallik
didn’t
win it,” Keryak finished with a smile.  

Mention of their fellow yearling, who had cheated
and taken advantage of them all during the trials, brought a grimace to Durik’s
face.  “I agree with you there,” Durik stated rather undiplomatically,
remembering the few times Manebrow had chosen Trallik to lead and the
frustration and failure he’d caused. 

“As for me, I’m hoping we find the stone quickly
and that this Palacid place is just an old ruin,” Keryak said.  “Who knows,
maybe there’s a kobold gen still there… with some really cute females in it!”

For his efforts at comedy, Keryak received a solid
slap to the back of the head.  “You!” Darya cried in only somewhat mock
annoyance.  It was well known that the two of them were as good as promised to
each other, even though Darya wouldn’t come of age for two more years.

Durik grunted his agreement.  “I guess we’ll see
where the stone truly lies… and who guards it.  Wherever it may be, I’m certain
we’ll not just walk up to it and take it.” 

With that, Durik lapsed into silence.  As he
thought about the quest ahead, doubt began to creep into his mind.  In his
heart, he wondered if he was ready to
lead
such a group.  He pondered on
the quest that would come as certain as the morning on the morrow. 

Could one stone, lost so long ago now, even be
found, and if it was found, would they even recognize it?  But in his heart, he
felt something different that he could not explain, a certainty, perhaps, akin
to the visions he had had before.  It was a certainty he knew to be quickly
perishable, yet undeniable in its power and influence when present. 

After a moment this… influence… began to take
shape again, in a way that was becoming familiar.  Suddenly a flood of light
and power overtook him as an image formed.  Durik was transfixed.  Caught by
this sudden burst of light, he was reluctant to go into it, but there was
nothing he could do to resist it.  He was unable to escape its stark yet
soothing embrace.  Suddenly, as had happened twice before the Trials of Caste,
he felt as if somehow he had been spirited away to another place. 

He found himself standing, though his feet did not
touch the ground just below him, looking out across a long stone bridge of
ancient construction in the brilliant light of day in the outer world, which
spanned a chasm that dropped off into a mist.  The light that surrounded the
place was dazzling, penetrating and almost un-endurable, yet somehow familiar
now, carrying in its undertones a calming and ennobling power that had lingered
with Durik before, as he was sure it would again.

On the far side of the bridge, almost at the edge
of the brilliant light that bounded the vision, Durik could see a small
building carved out of the stone of the mountainside.  As Durik wondered on the
scene of what was before him, he felt as if something was calling to him… ever
so faintly, from within the small stone building.  Slowly, and without any
conscious thought, he began to glide effortlessly across the bridge toward the
opening in the small stone building.  Deep within him, Durik felt that he was meant
to go through that opening into the darkness beyond.  As this vision occurred,
his heart burned within his chest, and a deep sense of power came over him. 

Then, almost as quickly as it had come, Durik’s
head snapped back as though waking with a start from a vivid dream.  The vision
disappeared from before his eyes, leaving him alone and small again, back with
his friends in the caves of his heritage.  In his heart, there lingered a
burning sense of destiny, as if the Fates had released their hold on him, as if
the ancestors had turned the Winds of Fate and opened an effectual door to him…
though what that door was, he did not know.

Durik’s eyes refocused and he looked about. 
Raoros Fang was noisily laughing and slapping the table at something a warrior
leaning over the table had said.  Keryak and Darya were in quiet conversation,
an island of silence in the middle of the noise.  Somehow no one was looking at
him.

Durik shook his head as the feeling of power began
to fade.  This was the third such vision, each of which had brought knowledge,
but none of which made sense in the moment.  And now, as he thought about the
quest ahead, he couldn’t see how this fit in either.  There was so much he just
didn’t know, and that ignorance let doubt creep in where power and surety had
recently ebbed away. 

He thought he could lead this group he’d been made
leader of, but he didn’t know where.  He didn’t even know if the location of
Palacid was known to the gen.  He was almost certain no one in the last few
generations of the gen had been back to Palacid, which legend stated was their
place of beginnings.  He had heard several stories over his lifetime about
Palacid, from legends about stones of power to nighttime stories about phantoms
that mothers used to get their whelps to stay in bed. He was equally as certain
that no one he knew had any idea about how to go about getting to Palacid, much
less what they would face when, or if, they arrived.

The crowd of kobolds now gathering to the tables
raised a shout of joy, shattering his thoughts.  From the quartermaster’s cave
entrance, a small group of warriors were leading a large boar, easily a head
taller at the shoulder than any of the warriors.  They led it slowly toward the
center of the cavern, where a large pit, lined with large leaves, had been dug and
filled with hot coals.  Behind the rope harness, the boar’s eyes were wild with
the fear of smelling so many other creatures in such close proximity.  It
squealed and grunted as it was pushed, pulled, and prodded with sharp stakes
toward the center of the pit.  As it was led in, Raoros Fang stood up and,
reaching back over one brawny shoulder to make sure his sword was still with
him, he stretched his arms a bit and walked commandingly toward the pit.

Arriving at the center of the clearing, the
warriors who were leading the great boar forward moved from the front of the
boar more toward the back, except for two who pulled up on the harness, causing
the boar to lift its head and expose its neck.  Raoros Fang approached the
beast and drew the broadsword from his back, eyeing the massive creature as it
squealed and thrashed against the bindings. 

Touching it on the nose, he cried, “Noble boar,
thank you for giving us your flesh.  May your spirit now go back to the Creator
in peace!”  With that, he grasped his sword with both hands and, backing up a
step, swung the heavy blade downward, tearing open the boar’s neck.  The head
of the mighty beast sagged, and the boar’s eyes rolled in its head as a great
splash of blood splattered the area at the edge of the pit.  With great effort,
the warriors who had brought the boar pushed its collapsing form the rest of
the way into the pit. 

Within moments, the pungent smells of boiling
blood, singed hair, and burning flesh permeated the room.  Moving quickly, the
warriors took a small pile of rocks made hot in the coals of a fire and piled
them on top of the now-still body of the boar, finishing the project by
covering the whole mess with great leaves from the pile next to the pit.  It was
not long before the entire cave was filled with the steam of boar fat and the
sweet smell of roasting meat.

As the evening passed, Darya seemed to be ever at
Keryak’s side. They talked in low voices and held each other, tails intertwined
behind their chairs.  Carma looked on in longing with an empty heart.  She had
not yet found her love, and longed for it with all the tender feelings of youth.

Durik also was painfully aware of the happiness
that his younger sister… and his best friend… had found together.  He thought
of Kiria, the Lord of the Gen’s daughter.  They had only met once, and yet in
that meeting there had been some deeper connection.  Counterintuitively to the
young kobold, now that he was leader caste and she wasn’t completely out of
reach, the infatuation he had felt the last couple of days began to temper
itself. 

He would have to get to know this Kiria; he didn’t
know anything about her, really, but tradition and nature had their influence,
and as he sat watching Keryak and Darya, his heart did indeed want to know
more.  Though he didn’t know what the future held, he hoped that the promise
and love he saw shining brightly in his sister’s eyes would be part of it.

M
anebrow
had lingered longer than he should have in the arena with his lifemate Ki and
their three sons.  Mercifully, the leader of his warrior group, a stout warrior
called Khazak Mail Fist, had given him a little time with his family before he
was to report to the leader’s grotto to receive the list of five warriors who
would be added to the quest group.  Ki had been brave; she had not cried at the
announcement of the quest and his selection to go on it.  Their three sons had
been so excited; the exuberance and naïveté of youth breaking through the layers
of protection Manebrow had built around his heart. 

For some time he sat with Ki in the arena, their
tails intertwining.  Once the crowds had gone, they walked around talking of
younger days, of times long gone and only lightly touching on the topic of
times yet to come.  As their sons ran ahead of them, hornless heads bobbing,
tails twitching, and eyes bright as they played with their wooden swords, Ki
stopped him and wrapped her arms around his waist, looking up into his eyes
with the slightest hint of tears in hers.  Ki obviously needed to feel that he
was sure he would come back to her and their sons when this quest was done. 
With all of his heart he wished he knew and could give her a firm assurance.

Finally, after several moments of silence, Manebrow
held her close and, bending down slightly, he whispered into her ear the words
she needed to hear.  “Ki, my dearest, I want you to know that I will come back
to you.” 

She pressed herself deep into his embrace, needing
to feel that what he said was true, or perhaps to feel that their love would
see them through.  The embrace lingered, but soon enough Manebrow had to go.

As Manebrow pushed away and slowly turned, in her
heart Ki could feel the hope of his promise.  Her mind resisted the temptation
of succumbing to the hopelessness the danger of this quest threatened to
bring.  As their hands parted and she watched him go, it was not until after he
was out of sight that the first tear found its way down her quivering cheek.

Walking quickly, it took Manebrow only a short
time to make it to the caverns of the Honor Guard and leader caste.  Though Ki
and his sons would be attending the celebration, Manebrow had other priorities
at the moment.  Stopping by his own humble dwelling, Manebrow traded his ceremonial
belts for his well-worn warrior belts, hefted the familiar weight of his
rucksack onto one shoulder, and grasped the leather wrapped handle of his heavy
waraxe in one hand.  Heading out horns first, he made his way through the
common chambers and continued down the corridor. 

From two chambers away, Manebrow could hear the
harps and drums and smell the cooking boar from the celebration that had
already commenced.  He was sure this would be a celebration to remember, as
Lord Karthan’s eldest child would officially be recognized as an adult this
day.  There would be story telling and much dancing, the rust-red scales of his
people reflecting in the light of a massive cooking fire.  However, tonight it
was not Manebrow’s turn to celebrate.  Tonight, there was work to be done to
prepare for the long journey and the quest at hand. 

Turning down the short corridor that led into the
sunken grotto that was the home of the council members, Manebrow nodded to the
single Honor Guard warrior who stood vigil at the gate as he passed.  The light
of the waning sun streamed down from the grotto opening far above, causing him
to squint.  At the same time, the fresh smell of water over rocks and the rich
air created by the many hanging vines and moss awakened and enlivened his
senses as he made his way quickly down the winding staircase that led to the
sandy bottom of the grotto.

Reaching the bottom, Manebrow made his way around
the perimeter of the large sunken pool that dominated one side.  All around the
other edge of the grotto were the ornate doors that led to the houses of the
council members.  Though he’d only been in a couple of the houses, he was sure
the accumulated wealth of many generations had gone into building all these
lavish and comfortable living quarters.  Orc raids some six years now past had
wrecked some of it, but much had been rebuilt, and even more had remained
untouched, as the returning patrols had driven the orcs out before they could
finish the job of looting and burning. 

Manebrow knew his place in life.  Though he could
admire the luxury and wealth that these living quarters represented, this was
not his lot… and he was comfortable with that fact.  His lot in life was to
train and protect.  That he would do.

He arrived at Khazak Mail Fist’s iron-banded
wooden door suddenly, breaking him out of his thoughts.  Checking his belts and
appearance, Manebrow knocked loudly in the center of the door.  After a few
moments, he heard footsteps on stone walking toward him from the other side of
the door.  Manebrow smiled and shook his head; despite all the wealth he had
accumulated, Khazak Mail Fist refused to put down rugs in his house.  He said
they ‘made one too soft.’  A moment later, the large door swung open, but to
Manebrow’s surprise, a familiar face other than Khazak Mail Fist’s stood to
receive him. 

“Ardan!” he exclaimed in surprise. “How are you? 
It’s been… probably a year or more since I last saw you.”

“I’m doing well, my old trainer,” replied the
kobold inside the door, the light of a fire from further inside casting shadows
in the entryway.  “They’ve had me out with the caravans for some time now,
checking the quality of iron we’re getting from the Krall Gen and acting as
guard for it as well.  But we’ll have much time to catch up, I’m sure.  Come,”
he said with a smile, “Khazak Mail Fist awaits us all inside.”

“Us all?” Manebrow asked in surprise. 

Ardan turned and began walking down the passageway
toward the entrance to the room beyond, the ivory of his horns standing in
stark contrast to his dark scales in the shadows.

Manebrow adjusted the rucksack on his shoulder and
followed.  He was surprised to see five other rucksacks and several weapons
lining the entranceway of the chamberlain’s home.  It was starting to dawn on
him that perhaps he wouldn’t be gathering the five warriors after all.  “How’s
that friend of yours doing? Arloch, if I remember correctly?  You two always
seemed inseparable during the training.”

Ardan laughed. “Ask him yourself.”

Turning to the right, Manebrow entered the large
open foyer that was the main room of the chamberlain’s quarters. The light of
the fire blazed in the hearth and several kobolds were seated in chairs and on
the large stuffed couch, all facing in a U-shape toward the fireplace at the
far end of the room.  Standing next to the hearth was Lord Karthan’s
overly-muscular chamberlain, Khazak Mail Fist.

“Welcome, Master Trainer,” boomed Khazak Mail
Fist.  Seeing that Manebrow was not fully sure what was going on, he continued,
“Perhaps I should say, welcome Elite Warrior.  Come!  Meet your team!” 

With that, the kobolds all stood up. 

Manebrow laid his rucksack and axe to one side and
stepped forward to grasp the hand of the kobold nearest to him.  “Arloch, I
thought you had to be around.  Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, it seems. 
How many years has it been?”

“Several, Manebrow.  Too many since we last saw
each other and not enough since I was one of your trainees,” Arloch laughed.

“Aye, but you’re a better warrior for it.” 
Manebrow grabbed him by the neck and shook him.

“True!  True!  But I’d not willingly undergo it
again, you know.  I’m enjoying my time with the caravans too much.”

“Good to hear,” Manebrow said as he moved to the
next pair of kobolds.

“Tohr… and Kahn!  How good to see you both!  How is
the Deep Guard treating you?” he asked as he grasped the twin brothers’ hands.

The same crooked smile crept across both kobolds’
snouts.  “A little too well, it appears.  We must be doing too well for them to
pull us out for such a mission as this,” Tohr answered.

Kahn continued, “I doubt it, I think they pulled
us out because you’re going to be needing the best climbers the Deep Guard has
to offer.”

“Still just as cocky after all these years, I
see,” laughed Manebrow.  “Well, I’m glad to see you’ll be with us, no matter
how you were chosen.”  Turning to face the last of the five kobolds, Manebrow
continued, “Terrim!  How’d they get you for this?” 

The youngest of the group, and not best of friends
with any of the rest of them, Terrim’s face lit up as his former trainer
addressed him, his tail unwrapping from his leg.  “Oh, well, you know.  They
asked for volunteers and everyone else stepped backward faster than me.”

Arloch laughed. “That’s not how it went.  You
could hardly contain yourself as they were reading the mission, you wanted to
volunteer so much.” 

Terrim gave a sheepish look as he glanced away,
his tail wrapping around his leg again protectively. 

Cuffing him on the shoulder, Manebrow remarked,
“I’m glad to have you in this group.  Your skill with that spear of yours will
come in handy, to be sure.  And I’m sure we’ll make much use of your skill with
the dogs!” 

Terrim smiled and looked at Arloch as if to say ‘I
told you so.’

“Well met, then, it is,” interrupted Khazak Mail
Fist.  “Come, the preparations will take some time, and there are celebrations
to be attended before that, so let’s be short about it.”  He had the group’s
undivided attention.  “As you can see, I took the liberty of having the five of
them gathered for you, Manebrow.  Since we’re not sure what you’ll be up
against, we picked out a team with a wide variety of skills. 

“Ardan here is still a scout, bowyer and to some
degree a weapon smith now too.  As the senior warrior, he will be your
second.”  He patted the scar in the shape of a sword on Ardan’s left breast,
the scales about it having been burnt away permanently.  “I have it on good
sources that if he performs on this quest like he has in the past, perhaps
he’ll get a banner around that sword before too long,” he said, alluding to the
further mark that every elite warrior bore on his chest. 

Grabbing Arloch by the shoulder, he continued,
“Arloch, as you know, is a leatherworker.  Both he and Ardan have been through
much of the territory you’ll be traveling through repeatedly and know the
terrain well.  Additionally, they both have spent quite a bit of time
developing their skills in wilderness lore.  I believe you’ll find them apt
guides as you make your way through the forest.”

Khazak Mail Fist pointed to the pair of brothers.
“Tohr and Kahn are two of our more skilled climbers from the Deep Guard and
have become very handy with locks and traps.  I think they’ll serve you well
where you’re going.  Who knows, if you can’t find the key to Palacid, perhaps
they can pick the lock for you.” 

At this, both Tohr and Kahn snickered and smiled
roguish smiles.

“Finally, Terrim here is one of our more skilled
dog handlers.  We’ll be sending a few packdogs with you, so his skills will be
in high demand.”

Manebrow nodded. “I thank the council for their
generosity, sire.  I’m sure this team will perform exceptionally well.” 

The chamberlain nodded in agreement. 

“I would know, however, more about where it is
that I’m taking them,” Manebrow asked cautiously.

Khazak Mail Fist nodded. “You will know all we
know shortly.  First, let’s go to the Feast of the Day of Beginnings.  I think
you will see that much has been prepared for you already, and you’ll have the
opportunity to request what more you need once the quest is made clear to you.” 
He patted Manebrow on the shoulder, as a father would his son, though the two
of them were close in age. “Now, our mates and children await us at the
celebration.  Go.  Enjoy the celebration and your families as we wait until the
council assembles in preparation for the telling of what is known about the
mission before you.”

There had been a recent attempt on the life of
Lord Karthan, Lord of the Kale Gen.  Attempt is not really the word for what
happened, however.  Insurrection is a more apt description.  For at the end of
the Trials of Caste, as the prizes of rank were given and the quest announced,
several kobolds, almost all of them elite warriors with no love for Lord
Karthan, had launched an uncoordinated attack on Lord Karthan and his body
guard.  A particularly dour kobold named Troll, from the Wolf Riders, had
launched the insurrection before his co-conspirators were ready, though his
charismatic companion Kort, from the Patrol Guard, had jumped in to try to help
him succeed anyway.  In the end, they had all been put down or captured before
they could achieve their objectives.  All of them were now securely held in
Lord Karthan’s prison; all of them, that is, except for Mynar the Sorcerer.