Into the Heart of Evil (30 page)

Gorgon, on the other hand, seemed to have no
problem with the news.  “I thought there was something wrong with him,” he said,
perhaps a bit louder than he should.  “I haven’t trusted him since I caught him
sabotaging the other yearlings’ equipment during the cave training portion of
our year of training.  I should have turned him in then and saved us all the
trouble.”

Manebrow looked surprised.  He’d known Trallik was
self-centered and overly ambitious, but he’d not known about his escapades with
the other yearlings, nor had he foreseen that he would turn traitor on them. 
He considered himself a better judge of character than that, and to now have it
revealed that
two
kobolds from his company had conspired against the
Lord of the Gen, first Arloch and now Trallik, made him begin to doubt his
judgment.

“You’re sure of what you saw?” Durik asked.

“Aye, as sure as I am that I’m still alive,”
Khazak Mail Fist answered.

“You weren’t delirious from the pain or loss of
blood, were you?” Durik asked but knew the answer even as he asked the
question.

Khazak Mail Fist was indignant. “Well!  Out of my
mind then, you mean!  Because you’re a fellow leader caste I’ll ignore that
remark.  I know what I saw and am completely sure that I read his intentions
correctly.”

Durik nodded. “I know.  I’m sorry.  It’s just…. 
Well, he’s my warrior.”

“Aye, young leader, that he is!  And it will soon
be your duty to decide what is to be done with him,” Khazak said as he turned
the wolf back to take his place in line.

The weight on Durik’s shoulders seemed to have
gotten so much heavier since the revelation of Trallik’s treachery.  Reminded
of his duty as leader of the company to act as judge and, if need be,
executioner, Durik almost staggered under the weight of it all.  Luckily for
him, Manebrow, veteran of many a tough situation, was at his side. 

As everyone went back to their place in the line
with their own thoughts, Manebrow began to help Durik remember the lessons he’d
taught them so long ago, back when learning about judgment and punishment was
an academic exercise, not so up close and personal like it was now. 

Eventually, as they walked along apart from the
group, the conversation changed from procedure as Durik talked through his
feelings and sought guidance from Manebrow on what he should do with Trallik.

“I know what Khazak Mail Fist would have me do,”
Durik said, “after all, the punishment for treachery is clear; he should be
executed.”  Durik shook his head.  “I’m just not sure that he deserves so harsh
a punishment.”

Manebrow walked along, pondering on what he should
say for a moment before speaking.  “The real question, sire, is not what Khazak
Mail Fist thinks should be done, but rather what you think is right in this
case.”

Durik groaned.  “I know.  I know.  But… well… Lord
Karthan will be expecting me, a new leader caste, to uphold his laws, even out
here away from our gen.  I owe him my loyalty in that respect at least.”

Manebrow listened in silence as Durik began
pouring out more of his soul.

“I mean…” He paused for a few moments.  “I don’t
know.  Perhaps it’s just that I don’t know if I could actually carry out such a
sentence.”

Manebrow waited a few more moments, then, like a
calm mountain in a swirling storm, he spoke.  “Sire, you’ve been my leader now
for almost two days.  In that time, this company has been through much.  We’ve
grown stronger by it, and much more cohesive as a unit overall.  Your actions
over the past couple of days have been nothing short of heroic, and that has
inspired all of us to step up our efforts.”

Durik smiled appreciatively at the older warrior’s
praise.

“And,” Manebrow continued, “I’m glad to see you
struggle so with this decision.  I say that because setting the example on the
battle field is only one part of what makes you a leader.  You now have to
decide what kind of a leader you will be off the battle field, and that can be
much harder than facing an armed foe.”

Manebrow had offered knowledge and guidance on
thinking about problems like this in the past, during their year of training,
and now was no different.  While Durik struggled with the problem, Manebrow
again offered his support with stories of other leaders and how they had dealt
with events like this.  But through it all, he was very careful to not assert
his personal opinion or try to sway his leader toward any particular course of
action.  For all his knowledge, Manebrow was wise enough to know that, no
matter what he did, he should not tell Durik what he should do.  When all was
said and done, the only way Durik was going to be able to deal with the
internal turmoil his decision would bring him, and the lingering doubts of
wondering if he’d done the right thing, was if he went through the
gut-wrenching, heart-shredding process of deciding what should be done in this
tough case on his own.  It was the only way.

As the company walked along in silence, Durik
struggled mightily.  He had never been in a situation even remotely close to
this.  True, he had been called upon to make life and death decisions in the
last couple of days, but they were all driven by a desperate need to keep the
members of his company alive.  Now he was being called upon to decide whether
or not one of his warriors, which he knew well and had worked with for the past
year, would live or die… by his hand! 

Looking back at the members of his company, Durik
knew that, whatever he decided, nothing would ever be the same.  It was as if
by treading this path he was coming to a point of no return.  Beyond here,
there would be no going back.  He and his relationship to those in his company
would forever be changed.

The terrain of the rolling, wooded hills the
company had been traveling through the entire morning eventually began to give
way to the gentler flatlands of the home territory of the Krall Gen.  As the
trail they were on broke free from the lesser forests of the rest of the
valley, they approached the slight ledge where the ground dropped off in a
gentle slope down toward the home of the Krall Gen.  The green of this great
valley was stunning, however the view was completely dominated by the mighty
red trunks of the great redwood trees, which rose mightily into the air in the
distance, each of them several hundreds of steps tall with trunks so wide it
took thirty or more kobolds holding hands to encircle them.  The forest floor
far below the mighty trees’ exalted canopies was shrouded in shadows, very
little sunlight filtering to the forest floor due to the thick, intertwined
upper branches.  The sight of these massive trees was daunting to all, and
especially impressive to the newest warriors who had never before seen their
grandeur.

“If you’ve never been here before, sire,” Manebrow
started, “then welcome to Lord Krall’s Forest.”

Durik was stunned by the beauty and majesty of it
all.  “I’d heard about these trees before, but seeing them is a much different
thing!”

“Yes, that it is.” Manebrow nodded.  “The Krall
Gen claims this mighty fortress of trees as their gen’s borders.  They’ve
established many watch platforms in the lower boughs, with walkways and such
between them.  They’ve made this place into a veritable bastion of defense,
when they’ve set out their warriors to defend it that is.  Usually, they only have
their scouts and a few small quick-reaction forces set out along their border
to deal with any threat that may come their way.”

Behind the pair, the rest of the company had also
stopped and were now staring at the massive trees to the front of them.  Ardan,
now a couple hundred steps in front of the rest of the company, had stopped and
was looking back at the company.  It was perhaps his hundredth time seeing the
impressive forest of the Krall Gen, but seeing the sense of wonder in the eyes
of the new warriors he paused for a moment and remembered how it had been the
first time he’d looked on them. 

Knowing they would shortly be meeting warriors
from the Krall Gen, Durik looked around at his bedraggled company with their
bandages, wounded warriors, and whelps in tow.  He was certain any effort to
clean themselves up would be in vain at this point.  They didn’t look very
impressive, and he doubted they would impress anyone in the Krall Gen, much
less Lord Krall himself, but Durik felt a deep sense of pride in his heart as
he looked at them.  Though it had been less than two days since they’d left
their gen, they had collectively been through so much, and had come together as
a team because of it.

T
he
Krall Gen was the other of the noble gens.  Having not fallen into barbarism
like the gens to the north, they were a gen of skilled herdsmen and noble
warriors.  They were the only other literate gen that the Kale Gen had regular
dealings with, taking educated scribes from the Kale Gen to train their whelps
in the written language of The Sorcerer instead of the polluted script of the
northern gens.  Of all the gens that the Kale Gen caravans had reached, these,
their closest neighbors, were most like the Kale Gen and had long been their
staunchest of allies. 

As the two gens had expanded their trade with one
another, their social relationships had strengthened.  At first they had begun
joint patrols, tracking down orc raiders and shadowing other intruders through
the southern valley to ensure they left without causing any harm.  These
relationships deepened and soured as the seasons of their rulers’ maturity
ebbed and waned, finally becoming their firmest when Lord Karthan’s older sister
became the lifemate of the current Lord Krall.  Since that day, the two gens
had become as brothers, often embroiled in sibling rivalry, but at the end of
the day coming away friends.

Over the generations, the two gens had grown quite
close economically, each of them beginning to specialize in their functions,
trading with the other for what they couldn’t produce as well by themselves. 
The meadows and forest of the Krall Gen were fertile and lush, thanks mostly to
the excellent quality of the soil and the constant nourishment provided by the
river and streams that snaked through its territory. 

At the base of the mountains where the Krall Gen
made its home, the forest ended at the edge of a great lake, stocked by fish
rushing to their spawning grounds there and upstream from them every year. 
Additionally, the mountain against which the Krall Gen made its home was rich
with iron ore.  Taking advantage of these natural resources, the Krall Gen had
specialized over the years in producing pigs, sheep, mining raw iron ore, and
fishing.

As the gen had dug deeper into the mountain, it
had begun to expand and strengthen the shafts it had sunk into the mountain,
creating homes and places of work for their miners and those who supported
them.  Similarly, as each generation of shepherds began to establish regular
patterns of grazing, and each generation of pig farmers established their
sties, they created wooden houses both in the meadows of the forest as well as
around the perimeter of the lake. 

And on the lake, the old Lord Krall, great-grandsire
of the current Lord Krall, had established a great wooden hall on a platform
that was supported in the water by the stumps of six large trunks sunk deep
into the lakebed by some magic now unknown.  On the surface of the lake, the
minor buildings that sustained Lord Krall and his government, as well as the
homes of most of the leaders of the gen, the artisans, the educators, and such
as served the people, floated on great log rafts, all linked together by
walkways and bridges.  These same bridges linked the floating part of the
community to the shore of the great lake.

Part of the defensive plan of the Krall Gen was
that they would cut the bridges to the shore if necessary to stave off an
invasion, and thereby leave themselves unassailable on an island of their own
creation in the middle of a fish-stocked, fresh water lake where they could
hold out indefinitely. 

Since its creation many years previously, they had
only had to cut the bridges twice.  Once was in the time of the current Lord
Krall’s father, when a barbaric minotaur tribe had come from the eastern
steppes bent on raiding their valley.  The other time was when the Bloodhand
Orc Tribe had first started their push to conquer both the Kale Gen and their
gen.  That day, many an orc had died in a failed attempt to either burn or lay
bridges to their outer structures.

The Krall Gen, for all their industry, was known
for their ability to produce raw materials, not for their fine craftsmanship. 
Though there was something of a resurgence occurring in the gen of the skilled
crafts that they once had practiced, the majority of the gen was more than
happy to rely on the clearly superior craftsmanship that the Kale Gen craftsmen
provided. 

Every season, tens of caravans, each with many
packdogs burdened down with raw ore and dried fish, as well as several small
herds of sheep and pigs, were dispatched to the Kale Gen.  In return, the Krall
Gen received finely crafted iron and now steel weapons and tools, leather
goods, and wooden furniture.  Additionally, the scribes that taught their
whelps were mostly Kale Gen, and the dogs they used to haul rock about in the
mines were mostly trained by the Kale Gen trainers.  Truly, the two gens
prospered because of their cooperation, and neither of them would have the
standard of living they enjoyed if it were not for the contribution of the
other.

Durik’s Company was spotted while they were still
far off from the great boughs of the mighty forest.  As they approached the
massive trunks, they saw a small contingent of Krall Gen warriors waiting to
meet the company at the edge of the forest. 

It was not often that representatives from the
Krall Gen came to the Kale Gen, but they were not unknown there.  Certainly,
the Kale Gen ran almost all of the trade caravans, and had developed far more
trade relationships than the Krall Gen, but it was not uncommon for their herd
drivers and warriors to accompany a particularly large trade of sheep or pigs
from their gen to the Kale Gen.  After all, the Kale Gen caravan drivers were
not known for their sheep and pig herding skills.

Because of this close association, the look of the
Krall Gen warriors was not unknown to the members of Durik’s Company.  Unlike
the Kale Gen warriors, with their crossed shoulder belts and their hide
outfits, the Krall Gen warriors all wore woolen or flaxen jerkins and pants,
dyed green and red to match the grass and the branches of the trees of their
forest.  Over one shoulder each of them had a bow and wooden shield slung, and
on their waist belts hung quiver and arm-length sword.

The apparent leader of this contingent stood in
the center of the path leading between two of the massive trunks at the edge of
the forest.  Though he was dressed much like the others, it was obvious he was
of a different caste; he wore a light shell of hardened leather on his torso
with the symbol of a tree emblazoned on its front.  To either side of him were
two warriors dressed in like manner.

As Durik’s company approached, the leader held his
open right hand up in a gesture of both welcome and trust.  At the head of the
column, Ardan stopped shy of the Krall contingent and waited as Durik
approached at the head of the column.  No weapons were drawn on either side,
and Durik’s Company approached in full confidence.

“Hail, warriors of the Kale Gen,” the leader of
the Krall contingent spoke as Durik stopped in front of him.  “I am Morigar and
these are warriors of the Border Guard,” he said, alluding to the group of
warriors behind him.  “What brings you to Krall Gen territory?”

“I am Durik, adventurer of the Kale Gen, on
business from my lord, Lord Karthan.  I have urgent news from Lord Karthan that
I must deliver personally to Lord Krall himself.  I would see Lord Krall as
soon as he can see us.”

Morigar nodded. “Very well, myself and my two
warriors will accompany you to the minister.  He shall receive you.  If he
deems your news worthy of it, you shall see Lord Krall soon enough.”

Behind Durik, the sound of a wolf coming forward
could be heard.  “Why, if it isn’t the younger son of Lord Krall himself! 
Morigar, my friend, out here with your personal guards again I see.” Khazak
Mail Fist was regaining his strength and his voice boomed loudly in the
stillness of the lower boughs at the edge of the wood.

Morigar’s countenance brightened. “Khazak, you old
scoundrel!  You know I had to come out here to greet you when Lord Karthan’s
messenger brought word that you were coming!”  The two kobold warriors greeted
each other with the eagerness of former comrades in arms.

“Young Morigar, you flatter me with your
kindness.  Well, in one form or another, I’ve arrived.”  Khazak’s face was
lined with the discomfort of his wound and the concern he felt for his master,
Lord Karthan.

“So tell me, what happened to you, my friend?”
Morigar asked.

“There has been an attempt on your cousins’
lives,” Khazak explained, adjusting himself in the saddle.  “Two of my Honor
Guard warriors died in their defense.”

Morigar was aghast. “Do you know who the attackers
were, or who sent them?”

Khazak nodded. “Aye, Morigar.  They were Khee-lar
Shadow Hand’s lackeys.  What’s worse, our young Durik and his band here
discovered that this group he’s got was in the process of making a treaty with
a champion from the Bloodhand Orc Tribe.”

“Ay!” Morigar cried, “will we never be rid of
their evil?!”  He shook his head.  “Khazak, your gen has been a true ally of
ours for many generations.  I’m sure my father will do what is necessary to
help Lord Karthan defeat this evil.”

Khazak reached down and put his hand on Morigar’s
shoulder. “You are a true friend, Morigar.”  Then, sitting back up in the
saddle with a grimace of pain, he continued, “With this most bold of moves
against his progeny, I worry for Lord Karthan’s life now more than ever.  However,
if I were to leave for my gen in this condition I would be more of a hindrance
to my lord than a help.  By your leave, I’ll talk to your father to see what
help he may be willing to provide.  Nonetheless, I must get word to Lord
Karthan without delay.”

Morigar nodded. “Consider it done.”  Turning to
one of the Border Guard warriors, he started to give an order.

Khazak Mail Fist interrupted the Krall Gen
leader.  “Morigar, before you go sending someone off by the normal route, I
think there’s something you should know.”  Pointing his thumb over his
shoulder, Khazak pointed to the ant queen’s burnt head still tied to the lead
packdog’s pack frame.

Morigar looked at the large head in disgust. 
“Looks like a rather large one.  Every once in a while a hill or two pops up. 
We’ve had no problems dealing with them, but I must admit that I’ve yet to see
one with a head that large.”

“Well, my young friend, I’ve got news for you. 
There’s a massive hill complex full of the things, some of them larger than you
or I.  And this one,” Khazak pointed to Jerrig, “took their queen’s head off
while rescuing one of his fellow warriors.” 

Morigar looked concerned. “Ooo.  I’m sure the rest
of them didn’t like that.”

“Aye,” Khazak began, “and that would be why we
didn’t stop to rest along the way.  The last we saw, there were a couple
hundred of them, many of them hunters, not just drones, coming after us.  Their
hill complex is a morning’s journey from here, not much past the far shore of
the river.”

“Joy!  Well, orcs, conspirators, and massive ant
colonies.  Sounds like you had a much more eventful trip than I had imagined.” 
Turning to one the Border Guard warriors who was with him, Morigar told him to
go ahead of the group to the first ring of guard posts and warn the leader of
the watch so he could muster the archers to deal with the ants from the
treetops when, or if, they arrived. 

“Oh,” he said as the warrior was about to leave,
“and have them call out his fastest messengers if ever your contingent leader
was a friend to me.  Send them back along the trail to us.  I’ll give them
their orders when they arrive, but tell them that they’ll be going to the Kale
Gen.” The warrior nodded, turned, and ran into the woods along the broad path
that led between the massive trunks toward the heart of Krall Gen territory.

“Morigar, you are a true friend.  I’m glad to have
made it through this ordeal so far that I could enjoy your hospitality yet
again!” Khazak exclaimed as he watched the messenger run into the distance.

“Well, I’m glad too.  Father has ordered a closed
feast for you and my Kale Gen cousins tonight.  That should cheer you up a
bit.”

Khazak smiled broadly and, leaning down from his
wolf, he thumped Morigar on the shoulder.  “I could certainly do with a shank
of fresh mutton and a mug of sweet bark cider about now!”  All the members of
Durik’s Company standing uncomfortably behind him were thinking the exact same
thing.

“Then you shall have it!” Morigar replied. 
“Perhaps that will clear the worries of the trail from your heart!”

“Aye, Morigar, that it would.  But before I forget
all together, there is one thing that I’ve not mentioned to you.”

“And what would that be?” Morigar queried with a
light-hearted smile on his face.

“On this treaty that we found, there was a second
name.  Tell me, do you have any word on the whereabouts of Mynar the Sorcerer?”
Khazak asked.