The Trials of Caste (21 page)

“I know the counsel that some of you would give. 
I know that many of you, rather than break tradition, would break the yearlings
against tradition,” he started.  “I say that it shall not be so.  The yearlings
will take this quest, and they will command more than is traditionally theirs
to command.  With them I will send Manebrow, who shall be a leader of five seasoned
warriors to be chosen from the warrior groups.”  There were many shouts of
dissent and disbelief among the assembled leaders.

“And when shall they lead themselves if Manebrow
leads them?!” shouted one.

“And what warriors will you take?!” shouted
another.

“Adding in warriors, not just yearlings, in such
numbers now means an Adventurer Class must be chosen from the leader caste!  Would
you send a warrior group leader to lead them as well?”

“Nay, I will make a leader caste for this purpose,”
Lord Karthan shook his head in the midst of the confusion.

“This cannot be!  We have no vacancies in the
counsel!” 

“You lead this gen further and further away from
doing the will of The Sorcerer, Karthan!”  This last voice was Khee-lar Shadow
Hand’s.  “Too long has your line been on the throne.” 

Only the family loyalty Lord Karthan had clung to,
a legacy of the love he had for his long departed lifemate, kept Lord Karthan
from acting decisively against Khee-lar, her brother.  Khazak Mail Fist knew
this, but he could still clearly see the open insurrection in Khee-lar’s eyes
and would have nothing of it.  “Lord Karthan, is this not proof enough?” he
said, pointing a hand at Khee-lar.  “Tonight that imposter Mynar the Sorcerer from
the Krall Gen has tried to poison you and all your household.  Also tonight
Khee-lar’s chief elite warrior Trelkar sends an assassin to kill you in your
sleep.”  Khazak spoke plainly for all to understand.  “Where there are two
conspirators, surely there are three.  Are Khee-lar’s words not proof enough
that he is truly part of this conspiracy?”

An audible gasp was shared by all.  No one other
than Khazak and Lord Karthan had heard that the poison attempt had actually
happened nor about Trelkar’s would-be assassin.  From the door of the council
chamber the leader of the contingent of Honor Guard warriors appeared with
drawn sword in hand, the remainder of his warriors appearing several paces
behind him.  Suddenly, there were several council members, functional leaders
mostly, whose faces went pale as their consciences convicted them, the thought
that they might be next silencing them immediately.

Lord Karthan shook his head and stood up.  “Please,
please.”  He held a hand up to calm the reaction of the group as he waved off
the Honor Guard warriors.  “Yes, there was an attempt on my life tonight; two
in fact!  But one of the would-be assassins will be caught shortly and the
other is in our prison even now.”  The more loyal members of the council seemed
relieved, while those who were part of the covenant began to worry that they
might somehow be implicated; the shine of steel in the torchlight reminding them
too clearly of their vulnerability.

“There has been fiery rhetoric tonight, that is
certain,” Lord Karthan continued, “but I do not think that fiery rhetoric will
be calmed with more fiery rhetoric,” he said, putting his hand on Khazak Mail
Fist’s shoulder as the brawny warrior stood fiercely staring at any who could
not meet his gaze with clear conscience.  Then, looking straight at Khee-lar
Shadow Hand, Lord Karthan held out his hand.  “Can we not have peace?  Are we
not all brothers and members of this great family of Kale?  Can we not treat
each other as brothers, rather than fighting and quarrelling among ourselves?”

The hate in Khee-lar’s heart smoldered, but did
not show like the fear in the eyes of many of the other council members; he was
too adept for that.  He’d known that Krobo had been found out, but he was
surprised to learn that Mynar the Sorcerer had actually attempted to
assassinate Lord Karthan as well.  How careless of him!  If he were to be
caught, they would surely torture the rest of the names of the Covenant out of
him!  The thought of Mynar’s carelessness compromising what he had spent so
much time and treasure building infuriated him, as did the fear he saw in the
eyes of the few functional leaders on the other side of the tables that were
part of his covenant, yet who now looked anything but ready to overthrow
Karthan.

Lord Karthan took Khee-lar’s pensive demeanor as
concurrence and was falsely placated.  “Khee-lar, I am sorry for the loss of
Trelkar your second, but I am sure you will be able to find a more moderate
elite warrior to serve as chief for the Deep Guard elite warriors.  Now, where
were we, Khazak?” he asked as he sat down again.

Khazak was under no such delusions, and his eyes
didn’t leave Khee-lar until his lord called him by name.  “Lord, it was in
reference to the need for an adventurer class in the yearling group.  There are
thirteen in the yearling group with the inclusion of Manebrow and five others
from the warrior caste.  Including seasoned warriors, not just yearlings, means
that a leader caste must lead them, yet there is no vacancy in the gen’s
council, as the number is now twenty-four as dictated by The Sorcerer himself
in the Scrolls of Heritage.  Help us understand your reasoning.”

“I would remind all that in the Chronicles of the
Sorcerer,” Lord Karthan began, “there is mention made of one Gilborn, a lord
among the elves.  As the Chronicles state, he was a mighty warrior, and a loyal
servant of The Sorcerer.  He was not a member of the council, but he was given
charge during a dire time of famine to find what had staunched the flow of a
mighty river.  Upon his victorious return, he maintained the calling, but did
not join the council until the Lord Sheb-Rand withdrew.”

“If you’re not going to choose a current leader
caste for this, then who, Lord, would you choose for such a task?” Khee-lar
Shadow Hand asked in an exasperated tone, “the Trainer?”  Manebrow’s head was
already swimming.  This was almost too much for him.

“No, Khee-lar.  To him that takes the cup tomorrow
I will give the title of Adventurer Class and give him the Leader Caste
Marking.”  There was much loud murmuring among the members of the council. 
“And to him whom he defeats in the trials I will give an Elite Warrior Marking,
that he may lead the remaining yearlings.”

There were shouts of disbelief and dismay.

“Many years do most work for such an honor.  Yet
you give it away so freely!”  “An adventurer class chosen from the ranks of a
yearling group?  There is no precedence!”  “You have too much faith in this
group of yearlings, my lord!”  All these objections and more came from the
assembled council members.  As the shouts began to die down, Lord Karthan
raised his hand for silence.

“There is a method to this seeming madness, my
council members,” stated Lord Karthan.  “This quest is really two-fold.  For, if
the interpretations of the writings collected by the last Lord Kale are correct
and the stone is at Palacid, in order to enter that great stronghold and
thereby retrieve the Kale Stone, one must have the key to the entrance.”  He
paused, surveying the council members.  “From what I’ve read, as well as from
what was passed down to me from our fathers, the key that opens the mighty door
to the lower levels of Palacid must have been lost in the Hall of the Mountain
King in the valley to the north of here, perhaps when the dread wyrms came from
the Great Divide.  Therefore, in order to gain entrance to Palacid, they must
first find the key.”

“Assuming that the Kale Stone is at Palacid as you
have said, and assuming Palacid is not in ruins, and that the ancient powers
still keep and preserve it, then this truly is a mighty task you place upon
such inexperienced shoulders, my lord,” spoke Khazak Mail Fist, expressing a
rare doubt in his leader’s choices.  “Would it not be right to choose a more
experienced leader to take this quest?”

“No, I think not.  Though I doubt not the
sincerity and devotion of any of you, yet I think it wiser in this choice to
choose one from among those that have the most to prove, and the most to gain
by completing this quest.  In this choice, I trust to heart rather than to
experience, and to desire rather than competence.”  Lord Karthan paused. 
“Tomorrow we shall see whose quest this is.  May he hold to it with all his might.”

“
T
relkar seems to
have eluded us,” Lord Karthan’s chief elite warrior reported as Lord Karthan
and Khazak Mail Fist retreated from a subdued council chamber.  “He and some of
his warriors disappeared through some chute to the surface, or maybe through
the underdark.  We have conflicting reports.”

“Walk with me, Chief,” Lord Karthan said.  Once
they were clearly out of earshot of the council chamber, he continued.  “Then I’m
not worried about Trelkar.  If he wants to exile himself, he poses no further
threat to us,” Lord Karthan said, yet even as he said it somehow it just didn’t
feel true.  He brushed aside his feelings and continued.  “Now, what of the
rest?  What of the infiltrator… what of Mynar?”

“Sire, we’ve not found him yet, and I don’t think
we will anytime soon either.”

Lord Karthan stopped and looked at him.  The
grizzled veteran warrior’s features told what had happened without another word
being said.  “How did he escape us?” Lord Karthan asked.

“Sire, we have a report that Bait left your house
about the time the council started.  However, not long ago we found him out
cold in a side closet with quite a lump on his head.  He was hit from behind,
and doesn’t know who did it.”

Lord Karthan shook his head.  “So it had to be
Mynar the Sorcerer, then?  I would love to get my hands on that murderer.”  The
leadership of the gen was very aware that Mynar the Sorcerer had been involved
in the Bloodhand Orc raid six years ago now; the raid that had killed Lord
Karthan’s lifemate.  Lord Karthan was surprised by the pain that began to
resurge within his heart.  “Are the door guards sure that the kobold who left
looked
just like Bait?” Lord Karthan probed.

Standing behind Lord Karthan, Khazak Mail Fist was
not receiving the news well.  It was his warrior group that provided the guards
for the Lord’s House, and therefore it was his fault that Mynar had escaped.

“Chief,” Khazak said, his face a mask of
frustration, “how did he know the password?  Please tell me the guards didn’t
just let the imposter out without challenging him!”

“No, sire.  They both report that they did their
duty.  He said ‘yearling’ in a sentence, just as if he knew the password.  He
must have heard someone else saying it before he got to the front gate and guessed
what was happening.”

“Where do we think the imposter went, Chief?” Lord
Karthan asked.

“We don’t know, sire, but there has been a good
amount of traffic in and out of the main entrance.  Though I wouldn’t count on
it, he could have easily left the gen.”

Lord Karthan shook his head.  After a moment of
silence he looked Khazak in the eyes.  “Make sure that the house is searched
top to bottom, and especially check the supplies.  I know Chief stopped him as
he was going into the cold storage, but what’s to say he hadn’t already
poisoned some spice jar in the kitchens or stirred it into a cask in the ready
supplies?”

Khazak nodded.  “Yes, sire.  We will question the
guards thoroughly where there were guards posted, and wherever there might have
been any type of compromise or wherever there weren’t any guards, we’ll either
throw out the supplies or test them.”

“Who gets that duty?” Lord Karthan asked in
surprise, glad for the distraction from his own thoughts.

“No, lord,” Khazak replied.  “We’ll test them on a
dog.  Our warriors won’t be sampling anything… at least not until a dog has
tried it first.”

The two leaders laughed over Lord Karthan’s
misunderstanding as they walked back toward the Lord’s House.  Behind them,
however, Chief wasn’t laughing.  He’d spent too much time training pack dogs to
dismiss the risk to them so lightly.

The dour-faced brute known as Troll looked at the
charismatic young sub-chief to the Patrol Guard’s chief elite warrior.  Kort
had risen quickly through the ranks, too quickly for Troll’s taste.  He’d heard
his words, high and haughty as they were, but still Troll doubted Kort had the
tenacity to follow through with his promises.

For Kort’s part, he read the dull look on Troll’s
face as clear evidence that there wasn’t much going on behind those eyes.  He
wondered if he could trust Troll’s report that he had twenty warriors ready to
strike.  Certainly he had the handful of elite warriors who were already part
of the Covenant, but how did he convince so many others so quickly to join
their cause?

Trelkar could see the doubt on both of their faces
and would have nothing of it.  Looking from one to the other, he shook his
head.

“Listen up, both of you,” he said sternly.  “I
don’t have time for this petty bickering.  Tonight I leave with a handful of
others to ambush Lord Karthan’s ‘package.’  That means the two of you are going
to have to do this together, and I won’t be here to make sure it happens.  Now,
do you think the two of you can work together and pull this off?”

For his part, Kort resented Trelkar’s
condescending tone, but he knew better than to show frustration to the kobold
who ran the operations of the Covenant.  Death had been the outcome in the past
for any who did not follow Trelkar’s commands… long, slow, painful death.  Kort
nodded and looked down submissively.

Troll, on the other hand, had only recently been
brought into the Covenant and didn’t know the leverage Trelkar could bring to
bear.  “I don’t trust him,” Troll muttered, then turned on Trelkar.  “And why
are you wanting to strike now all of a sudden?  I thought you and Khee-lar
wanted to wait?”

Trelkar’s eyes had a fire in them and his voice
had a steel edge as he swiftly drew his blade and thrust it under Troll’s chin
in one fluid motion, just barely breaking the skin beneath tender scales.  From
around the corner of the passageway a pair of Trelkar’s companions appeared,
swords already drawn.  Grabbing Troll by the crossed shoulder belts, Trelkar
slammed the brute against the wall, all the while his blade was dangerously
close to slitting Troll’s throat.

“Because I said so.”  Trelkar punctuated each
syllable with his sword point.  “Now listen to me.  You
will
work with
Kort.  You
will
do as I say, or, if Karthan is still on the throne when
I return, Khazak Mail Fist will conveniently find out where you hid the body of
your lifemate and all of a sudden a couple of witnesses will appear, ready to
testify against you.  Is that clear?”

Troll was sweating, which was abundantly clear to
everyone in the pitch darkness, their heat vision showing the drama quite clearly. 
“Yes, Trelkar,” Troll said, trying his best to mimic Kort’s submissive
attitude.

Trelkar stared at Troll until the brutish warrior
closed his eyes.  Slamming him into the wall one more time, Trelkar stepped
back and sheathed his blade.  Behind him, Mynar the Sorcerer stood and folded
his arms over his chest.  His recent escape from the home of Lord Karthan had
shaken him, but he had regained his composure and was enjoying watching Trelkar
inflict a bit of pain on this insolent newcomer to the Covenant.

“Troll, Troll, Troll.  Now you know what I meant
when I said absolute obedience,” Mynar said then smiled a cruel smile.  “I hope
you don’t have to learn what the price of disobedience is.”

“Yes, sire,” Troll said.  His words were
submissive enough, but his tail swished with pent up anger behind him.

“Now get me the warriors I’ve asked for, and have
your people ready to strike with Kort’s warriors like we’ve planned.  And don’t
worry about Khee-lar…” Mynar said.

Trelkar shook his head in disgust.  “Aye, Khee-lar
wants to wait, but I’ll not be left out in the woods waiting on him.  The time
for action has come.  Khee-lar will see that, especially when we deliver him
the throne.”

“Like I said,” Mynar continued, “don’t worry about
what Khee-lar Shadow Hand wants.  Tonight
we
covenant.  Tomorrow we will
end the Karthan line once and for all.”

Manebrow was not young.  His ivory horns clearly
showed his age.  Unlike the yearlings’ short horns that stuck out like thick
fingers, his horns had already begun to bend forward in the eventual curve of
age.  He was in his thirtieth year and was feeling his age, especially in the
mornings.  That night as he returned to his tent in the cave of his warrior
group, Manebrow could not face his lifemate, Ki.  He reasoned that she would
not understand and that it would be best for Lord Karthan to let her know by
his announcement upon the ending of the trials tomorrow.  He knew it was not
the right thing to do, but he could not bring himself to tell her of the
dangerous quest that he’d been called to perform.

Her questions about why most of the other Honor
Guard warriors were on alert fell on still-stunned ears as well.  Lord Karthan
always kept a small contingent of Honor Guard on ready alert whenever he held
council, in memory of a past insurrection, but his uncanny knack for alerting
the entire Honor Guard right before attempted insurrections in the past only
served to increase the worry and tension in the homes of the Honor Guard warriors
this night as so many of the warriors were called out to stand guard. 

Finally, as she placed a bowl of red mushroom broth
before him, he muttered “I have no role to play for this insurrection.  My lot
lies elsewhere.”  To her credit, Ki could see that she should not press her
mate.  As he ate third meal, Ki saw Manebrow as reserved, lost in thought.  In
reality, however, he was beginning to make the changes inside himself that
would get him through whatever the future held.

The whelps had already been asleep when he arrived;
three strong young males.  She had brought them great hopes with these young. 
He loved her for that, but more than that, he loved her for how much she
understood him and cared for what he was and what he stood for.  It had been
twelve years now that they had been together, all of which he’d been a
trainer.  The endless hours and constant strain of outperforming these
yearlings, which seemed to get younger every year, took their toll on his
body.  The only thing that helped him make it through was her constant
support.  Now, amidst the rumors of insurrection, he would have to tell her
that he was to go on a long quest, one from which he did not know if he would
ever return.  The only relief for his conscience came from the orders that all
the council and himself followed, of not revealing the quest decided upon until
after the Trials of Caste.

That night Manebrow could not sleep.  After a long
time of staring at the warm figure of his mate in the blackness of the room, he
finally got up and set about looking over his equipment, checking his kit,
packing his rucksack, adjusting his belts to hold more belt pouches and his
fighting knife again after so long on the trail as a trainer, and finally
sharpening the battle axe that was as familiar to him almost as was his own
arm. 

As he ran the stone across the long, curved edge
of the blade, his mind reflected on his first few years as a warrior, when he
had spent weeks and months hunting and being hunted by the warriors of the
Bloodhand Orc Tribe.  His attitude hardened as the images of the orc-flesh it
had sundered and of the dark blood that had often stained its blade in his
first few years as a warrior came flooding back to him.  His jaw began to set
as he steeled his emotions for the battles that would lie ahead.  In his heart
he began to make the change from loving mate and devoted trainer to cold,
hardened killer.  His mind was ready, his hands prepared.  Though he did not
relish the tasks of war, he would execute them.

This was the way of a warrior, and anyone who
thought that this was just another journey did not know what the world held for
them.  Thinking back to the companions of his youth who had died by orc hands,
Manebrow knew that, if this group was to escape the same fate, they would come
to depend heavily on each other, and on him.