Into the Heart of Evil (8 page)

Lord Karthan leaned forward. “The insurrection
today did not clean out all the dissidents in our gen.  There are elements
within this gen who violently disagree with the changes I have made.  Every
change I have made they have resisted and grown to resent.  Today was just
another example of this.”  Lord Karthan paused, looking for understanding in
Durik’s eyes. “It is a remote chance, but the possibility does exist that soon
another of my enemies will make an attempt to kill me and take the gen,
possibly while you’re gone on your quest, in fact.  If that should happen,
though I’m almost certain it won’t, and upon your return to the gen you find
that things are not as they should be, don’t bring my daughter back here into
danger.  Go and see Lord Krall instead.  He will know what to do.” 

Lord Karthan looked into his eyes.  “Durik,” he
said with a sense of finality, “know that I am entrusting you with secrets that
are not to be shared with anyone, especially not my daughter.  It was her idea
to accompany you.  I do not want her to worry about what may or may not be
happening back here.”

“Yes, sire,” Durik said, trying to understand the
entire picture Lord Karthan was painting.

“Now, young Durik,” Lord Karthan concluded, “if an
attempt were made on my life, and it were to not succeed, then you, of course,
would take the traitor’s council seat once his head had been taken by my
guards’ broadswords.  So, young Durik, succeed in your quest and you’ll not
only keep your leader caste standing, but you may just have a place waiting for
you on the council when you return!”

“Yes, sire,” was all Durik could think to say. 
Deep down he had the distinct feeling that Lord Karthan was not telling him
everything, or perhaps he was clearly understating the dangers.  Was this what
being a leader caste was all about, secrets and intrigue?  Veiled threats mixed
with promises in the night?

Lord Karthan saw Durik to the door, thanking him
again for his role in the insurrection today.  As he walked away, the culture
shock of being elevated to such a high position in the gen certainly did not
compare to the culture shock of being involved in the intricacies of court
intrigue.  Durik would do his job, but after this initial taste of politics, he
wasn’t sure he would ever take to it.  Straight forward, open with no hidden
agenda or secrets, that was how he preferred to be.  Blowing out pent up air as
he walked away, the new leader caste shook his head in wonder.

Durik knew that his party must be gone before the
first gong sounded in the morning.  Not only was it mandated by the Scrolls of
Heritage, but now he must meet Lord Karthan’s Honor Guard warriors at the first
night’s stop between his gen and the Krall Gen.  If they were to make it there
by the end of a day’s journey and get adequate rest for the second day of the
journey, they would have to leave early and tolerate no delay.

As he returned from his discussion with Lord
Karthan, he met Manebrow, who was locking up the staging cave, and got a brief
report about the preparations his company had just completed.  Querying him
about the departure time he’d told the rest of the company, Durik was pleased
to hear the order had been given to assemble at the beginning of the last watch
of the night, so they could leave before the first gong sounded.  Durik knew it
wasn’t Manebrow who had read his mind, rather it was Durik who had come to
understand and embrace Manebrow’s way of doing business over the past year. 
Though Manebrow now called him ‘sire,’ something that Durik had the hardest
time getting used to, the reality of it was that Durik had not yet fully made
the mental transition to the leader mindset.

He felt his inadequacy and the distance he had
left to go in making the transition as Manebrow briefed him on the status of
the equipment and the plan for the morning.  Much of what Manebrow had done was
his work, and he determined to broaden his shoulders and take the yoke of
leadership fully, as quickly as he was able.

Manebrow, on the other hand, through the iron
discipline of his many years of training, had forced himself to mentally make
the change.  Though he knew that Durik had not yet fully taken the yoke, and he
knew that he could take advantage of this young one and seize whatever power
within this group that he wanted, he was too much of a professional for that. 
No, instead he would do everything in his power to hold the group together
until Durik was able to fill the leadership vacuum fully.  He would be there to
ensure Durik didn’t fall, but he would not carry him.

If there was one thing that Manebrow had learned
in his many years of training, it was that no one learned to lead by watching
others lead.  Surely that was helpful, but the only way to truly learn how to
lead was to be put repeatedly in situations where you were called upon to lead. 
There was no other way.  There was also no other way to discover your true
strengths and weaknesses.  There was an old saying he had inherited from the
trainer he had replaced, and had used for many years now as his mantra for
judging yearlings’ characters: the same fire that melts the dross away will
purify and forge iron.  After spending a year with Durik, Manebrow was
confident he would come out of this like pure, hardened steel.

Though Durik had wanted to stay and browse through
the front of the Journal and look over the map, Manebrow had recommended
otherwise.  Soon, Durik was headed toward the house of his uncle, the place he
still called home, to rest for a few hours until the changing of the last watch
of the night.

Manebrow tried not to make any noise as he crept
quietly through the main room of his house.  The tent door had been a simple
enough obstacle to negotiate, but finding his way through the play swords and
wheeled toys that his sons had left strewn about the floor was not the task the
kobold race’s unique gift of heat vision was designed to help with.  Cursing as
he stepped on yet another toy, he almost tripped and hit his head on the
table.  Steadying himself, Manebrow heard the stirrings of his mate in their
bed through the thin curtain doors of his home.  As silently as he could, he
entered their room and took off his belts, slipping into bed next to the bright
gray form of his mate.

In the cool of the cavern, Ki cuddled up to her
mate, rubbing his strong arm and snuggling her cheek against his chest.  “I
hoped you’d wake me when you returned,” she whispered in the dark.

“I’m sorry.  I tried to arrive earlier.  Kiria,
Lord Karthan’s daughter doesn’t un—”

Ki pressed a finger against his lips.  Nuzzling
his chest, she wrapped her tail around his leg, urging his body closer to
hers.  Soon, their bodies were intertwined.  Their motions were deliberate and
caring.  For quite some time they were together in the dark, neither one
wanting the intimacy of this, their last night together, to end.  As the
passion of the moment began to ebb, they lay together in each other’s arms,
their love once again made new, and their commitment to each other
strengthened.

If there was one commitment Manebrow felt right
now, it was this: he would do all he could to come back to her, and bring every
one of his warriors back to the ones who loved them too.  As they lay there in
the stillness, soon Manebrow fell into a light, almost alert slumber, half
listening for the approach of the watch warrior who would be coming to awaken
him long before dawn.

Ki lay there for quite some time also, unable to
sleep.  Finally, she arose and went to stand in the door of their sons’ room,
not parting the curtain but rather just listening to them breathe.  After much
time of being alone with her thoughts, Ki went back to bed and eventually fell
asleep in the arms of her love.

Trallik returned as quickly as he could to his
humble dwelling in the caverns of his warrior group, cursing this day and how
it had turned out for him.  He was only too eager to be given a dwelling of his
own and to not have to live in the sparse quarters of his servant caste
father.  Though he was happy with the kit that he and the others in his group
had been given, as he walked he dreamed of glory and wealth, hopefully to be
gained on the quest ahead.  Truly, he swore to himself, if he was not to be
leader caste or at least an elite warrior yet, he would surely make himself one
of the wealthiest warriors in his warrior group.  He would let nothing stand in
his way.

It was precisely in this mood that he arrived at
the entrance to his warrior group’s caverns, where Trelkar, Khee-lar Shadow
Hand’s chief elite warrior, stood waiting in the shadows.  As he approached,
tired as he was, he didn’t notice Trelkar until he was almost on top of him.

“Good evening, warrior Trallik,” Trelkar greeted
the new warrior.

“Good evening to you,” Trallik said after he got
past the surprise appearance, as Trelkar had not been at the Trials of Caste
and talk was that he had left the gen.  Not knowing what to say, Trallik bowed
his head and made as if to pass by.

Trelkar put his arm out and caught Trallik by the
shoulder, stopping him.  Trallik looked Trelkar in the eyes.  “Young one,
someone would like to see you.  Come with me.” 

With a questioning look, Trallik followed as
Trelkar grabbed a torch from a bracket on the wall and led him away from the
main living chambers of his warrior group down through the lower caverns that
the Deep Guard used to practice their climbing and combat skills, and finally
through a door into a little-used storage area. 

Inside the door, another kobold Trallik thought he
recognized as one of the packdog drivers from the Trade Warrior Group talked
briefly with Trelkar, then turned and ran toward the back of the cavern.  After
a few moments, Trelkar motioned for Trallik to follow and started walking
toward the back of the cavern.  Nervously, Trallik walked behind Trelkar
through the piles of rope, stacks of crates, and shelves full of tools and
equipment until finally Trelkar stopped outside a simple wooden door.  Taking a
key from a belt pouch, Trelkar opened the door and motioned for Trallik to
enter.

The first thing Trallik noticed as he entered the
door was the pair of tallow candles burning orange in the musty air of the deep
cavern.  They sat on a table in the center of the room providing just enough
light to spoil his heat vision and leave deep shadows throughout most of the
room.  Laying in the center of the table was a sheepskin parchment and a small
pot of ink with a feather laying next to it. 

As his eyes adjusted to the candlelight in the
room, he noticed several kobolds sitting in chairs around the edges of the
room.  All of them wore masks over their faces.  Standing in front of the wall
directly in front of him, on the far side of the table, was another masked
kobold. 

After a moment, this kobold spoke.  “Trallik,
welcome.”

Trallik was nervous and unsure of what was going on. 
As the door closed noisily behind him, he jumped.  With a low grating noise,
the locking mechanism sealed off his only known means of escape.  Licking his
lips, Trallik said, “Um, thank you.”