The Game of Fates by Joel Babbitt Page A

will
lead us to the Hall of the Mountain King.  We’ll talk more later.  For now,
let’s not get anyone upset.”
    While
Durik and Manebrow were discussing the dragons Keryak had gotten up from his
seat and, toting a boar-skin bag with something about the size of a shank of
boar meat in it, he approached Durik.  He placed the bag next to Durik’s seat
and whispered in his ear for a moment.
    “Aha! 
Thanks much, Keryak,” Durik said.
    Keryak
nodded and returned to his seat.  Leaning over, Manebrow asked quietly, “Is that
what I think it is?”
    Durik
nodded and smiled.  “We’ll save it for the right moment.”
     

     
    After
the arrival of Lord Krall and his two sons was announced throughout the hall
and all present stood in his honor, the guests were asked to take seats and
things continued much as they had up to that point.  Of course, the servants
immediately attended to their lord and his sons, as was to be expected.
    For
some time, the conversation in the Hall of Lord Krall was light.  Everyone in
Durik’s Company had been through much and seemed to enjoy the quiet in this
atmosphere of safety and trust more than the opportunity to talk about the
events of the past couple of days.  The additional factor of a hard day’s work
also served to dampen the conversation.  When they did speak, however, the
pride that they felt at having come through so much and having accomplished
much for Lord Karthan and the gen showed through.  Several of them had been
yearlings just three days prior, and it showed.  As they talked, it was obvious
who were the newest to the ranks of the Kale Gen’s warriors; they were
recounting their exploits to each other in tones loud enough for all around
them to hear.
    Durik’s
childhood friend Keryak and their company’s broadswordsman Troka were clearly
in that group, with the unlikely hero Jerrig Queen Slayer and the humble
climber Arbelk at first participating, then withdrawing as Keryak and Troka got
more and more out of touch with reality.  As the night wore on the ants they
had fought grew taller, with longer spikes on their arms, and more numerous if
that were possible.  The twins, Tohr and Kahn, and the other veteran warrior
Terrim all sat and watched, bemused by it all.  As Keryak and Troka continued
to talk, the orcs they’d encountered grew much more wicked and devious in their
stories, almost to the same degree as their own heroism had grown.  Through it
all, Manebrow was careful to not squelch their fun and revelry; it was well
deserved, though he was less careful at keeping himself from laughing under his
breath.  Among the cadre of Durik’s Company, there was less of the mirth of new
warriors, though they too took the opportunity to talk and reflect on the
events of the past couple of days. 
    Soon
the first of the servants arrived carrying a platter stacked high with sliced
shank of pig.  Behind him came a supple and well built female dressed in tight
robes of flaxen cloth and carrying a platter of vegetables.  It was all that
many of the young warriors could do to keep from staring at her as she lithely
placed the platter on the table then walked casually back to her place near the
pit.  Between the food and the view, the conversation abruptly ended.
    Turning
his attention back to his companions, Durik blushed when he noticed Kiria’s
annoyed look.  He cursed himself for letting down his guard and resolved to not
let it happen again.  He was now a leader caste, and he felt the weight of
higher expectations. 
    For
Kiria, it was simple jealousy; the chemistry between her and Durik was
noticeable, though Durik tried hard not to notice.
    It
was not until some time afterward that the dull rumble of low conversations was
broken by the loud thumping of Lord Krall’s staff on the stone of the dais.  As
the hall quieted down, Lord Krall’s clear, loud voice rang out above the
feast.  “Esteemed members of the Kale Gen, the council and I welcome you to