Into the Heart of Evil (38 page)

Durik looked down and saw that one of the bones in
each of Redar’s forearms was bent the wrong way.  He figured that Redar no
longer posed a threat to the whelps and that they would be safe enough where
they were.  Telling them to stay silent, Durik pulled a piece of bandaging cloth
from his shoulder pouch and held it to the cut on his forearm.

Holding the bandage to his arm by pressing it
against his side, Durik picked up his sword and sheathed it.  He walked through
the door that Mynar had escaped through and saw Morigar trying to prop himself
up against the wall.  He sat in a puddle of his own blood, and he looked almost
spent.

Durik walked up to him and carefully unbuckled the
hardened leather armor off of his chest and abdomen.  The blood had pooled
under the armor and came pouring out as he lifted it away.  Gathering Morigar’s
cloak from next to where he’d been sitting on the ice blocks, Durik knelt next
to Morigar and ripped off several strips to use as bandages.

Morigar, now somewhat aware of what was going on
about him, grabbed Durik by the arm.  He started to say something.  It was hard
to make out, but Durik thought he heard the words ‘pouch’ and ‘potion.’  So,
Durik opened up Morigar’s belt pouch and fished through it until he found a
metal flask.

Durik unstopped the flask and held it to his
nose.  He smelled a distinctly earthen smell coming from the liquid inside. 
Morigar motioned for him to give him the flask.  Durik passed the flask to
Morigar who greedily consumed the contents.  Immediately a feeling of power entered
the room, and the color began to return to Morigar’s scales.  He began to
breathe somewhat easier as he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Durik looked at the open flask.  After a moment,
he poured the few drops that were left onto his wound.  Before his eyes, the
muscle and tissue began to mend.  Durik flexed his hand excitedly.  He tapped
the bottle for a few more moments, but nothing more came out of it.

Throwing the flask aside, Durik climbed over the
ice blocks and through the trap door into the cold water underneath Lord
Krall’s Great Hall.  He was back on the imposter’s trail.

Terrim and the twin warriors, Tohr and Kahn, heard
the two warriors approaching long before they came into view.  With swords in
hand, the three of them ran to the side of the great hall and fanned out across
the width of the walkway.  The two Border Guard warriors stopped in their
tracks.

“Let us pass!” one of them demanded.

“No.  You will stay here with us until we know
whether you are friend or foe,” Terrim commanded firmly.

Hearing voices behind them also, the two
conspirators lunged at the three Kale Gen warriors.  Tohr knocked one of them
off to the side and into the building, causing him to lose his sword in the
process.  Kahn parried the blow from the other and followed through by tripping
his overly anxious adversary.

In a matter of moments, the two conspirators were
both on the ground with their hands held firmly behind their backs.  Collecting
up their weapons, Terrim congratulated the two brothers as Kiria, Jerrig, and
Arbelk came running up.  About that time, Khazak Mail Fist, having exited the
building through the front doors, found the six kobolds holding the two
conspirators in custody.  The younger kobolds carried on as if he were not
there.

“Ah… You stopped them!” Kiria panted.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Terrim said, puffing
out his chest.

Arbelk nodded his head.  “Yeah, good thing you
outnumbered them.”

Mynar could read thoughts through wooden walls
about as well as someone can hear what is being said through a door.  However,
if the thoughts were especially poignant, or carried deep emotions, then
generally they were ‘louder’ to him.

As he stripped off his wet clothes and rifled
through Morigar’s wardrobe for something similar to what Morigar was wearing, Mynar
‘listened’ to what was going on in the chamber next to him.

He had climbed through the trap door into the
guard’s quarters and, after drying himself somewhat with a hand towel he found
next to a wash basin there, he’d climbed the back stairs to Lord Krall’s
family’s personal chambers.  Managing to slip into Morigar’s room unnoticed, he
now knew what he must do.

The thoughts in the room next to him clearly
indicated that Krall lay dying.  As Mynar could read both Lord Krall’s and Lady
Karaba’s thoughts on this, he was pretty certain that, indeed, they were all
three in that room.  This was an opportunity he could not ignore.

In a few moments, Mynar had found clothes very
much like what Morigar was wearing, except without the leather armor, though
he’d found a cloak that could easily conceal that fact.  He looked in Morigar’s
closet and also found a Border Guard sword, which fit almost perfectly in his
own empty sheath.  Buckling his scabbard and belt pouches around his waist,
Mynar pulled the quartz ball from one of the pouches and began to focus.

After looking briefly in the ball to plan out his
next move, Mynar passed a hand over his face and up over his horns.

A moment later, Morigar opened his door and walked
down the hallway, looking for his father and mother.

Durik pushed the trap door open and pulled
himself, wet, cold and miserable, up onto the floor of what could only be a
guard’s chamber.  A small table with four chairs around it, two weapons racks,
a wash basin with various grooming accouterments, and the ubiquitous guard
roster all adorned the room.

Durik was not interested in any of these,
however.  Looking around, he saw puddles on the other side of the trap door and
knew Mynar had to have passed this way.  He saw the hand towel laying wadded up
in the corner and drips of water leading up the stairs.  He was on the hunt,
and he was determined that his prey would not escape him.

Grabbing a short fighting spear from one of the
weapons racks, Durik padded softly up the stairs.

Lord Krall held his son’s hand.  The younger
Krall’s breath was labored and painful, but Lord Krall had seen the healers of
his gen help others with even more grievous wounds recover.  Now that the
conspirators seemed to have been driven away, he was hopeful that someone would
be fetching the healers soon.

His life-mate, Karaba, or ‘Aba’ as he called her,
sat wiping Krall’s forehead and snout with a damp cloth from the washbasin in
the corner.  The stress of this assassination attempt showed on her face, but
she had fought well the fear and had trusted in her protectors to keep her
safe.  Now, as she sat next to their eldest son, Aba began to hum soothingly,
as if she had not a care in the world.  After so many years together, still she
surprised him.

As Aba stood up to dampen the cloth again, the
door swung open.  There, standing in the door, was their son Morigar.

“Mori!” his mother called. 

Lord Krall turned around in joy and disbelief. 
“We were so worried about you, son. Are you well?  They did not hurt you, did
they?”

Morigar shook his head.  “No, I’m fine.  It’s good
to see that the entire family is here.  Please, sit down.”  He motioned for his
parents to be seated.  Hearing footsteps in the hallway outside, Morigar came
into the room, closing the door behind him and dropping the bar across it. 

Lord Krall stood and looked at his son.  “Son,
we’ve chased down most of the conspirators.  There should be no one left to
worry about.  It’s probably Khazak or someone returning with the healers.  Will
you see?”

Morigar thought for a moment, then, not hearing
anything further, he turned his back on his parents and, from his pouch beneath
his cloak, he pulled something out and was looking intently at it when,
suddenly, someone slammed heavily into the door.

Morigar looked absolutely frightened as he fumbled
to return whatever it was to his pouch.  Drawing his sword, he took a step
toward Lord Krall.  At that moment, the door exploded inward.

Durik came barreling into the room and, as Morigar
began to move toward Lord Krall, he threw his spear directly at Morigar’s back,
piercing him through and sending him sprawling on the floor at Lord Krall’s
feet.

“Lord Krall, Lady Karaba, please excuse the
intrusion, but that is not Morigar!” Durik exclaimed.

Lord Krall was already on his feet with a sword in
hand.  In his eyes was a look of utter determination.

“No!  Sire, look!  Look at his face!” Durik was
pleading now.

The fact that Durik had not drawn his sword gave
Lord Krall pause.  Glancing down briefly, but keeping his attention focused on
Durik, he saw something strange.  Looking down this time, Lord Krall lowered
his sword.  Lady Karaba gasped.  The illusion was gone.  There on the floor lay
Mynar the Sorcerer.

Seeing that Lord Krall was no longer intent on
killing him, Durik knelt next to Mynar to see if he was dead yet.  In Mynar’s
eyes was a faint flicker of life.

Leaving his spear firmly thrust through Mynar’s
torso, Durik slapped him on the snout.  “Mynar!  Don’t die on me yet!  Tell
me!  What do you know of Kamuril?!” he demanded as he slapped Mynar’s snout. 
But all that Mynar could do was mouth something unintelligible.  Holding
Mynar’s head in his hands, Durik almost began to cry with frustration.