The Trials of Caste (28 page)

Ki eyed her lifemate Kormach Manebrow as he broke
the mushroom head into pieces and dipped it in the rat broth she had prepared
for his second meal.  Around the table, their three sons ate noisily and
laughed and played with each other, the action of the trials stirring them up
more than usual on this most exciting of days.  Manebrow sat oblivious to them,
staring intently at his broth.  Behind him, hanging on the wall, were his
everyday crossed shoulder belts and a broad leather waist belt.  Attached to
them were his pouches and a long knife, something that he only did when
teaching the yearlings how to put their kits together.  Additionally his axe,
hanging on the wall, was shining with a new luster.  It was obvious to Ki that
her lifemate had spent a lot of time the night before getting his gear in the
best shape she had seen it in years.  This, the fact that he could not meet her
gaze, and the lack of excitement he showed toward the trials that day gave her
a deep feeling of foreboding.

“I…” she started.  Then, not wanting to broach the
subject, she quickly changed what she was going to say.  “I went to the market
today and picked up a shank of boar meat to celebrate the ending of another
year.”  She watched him intently.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to get that spit of
yours fixed.  I just kept putting it off…” his voice trailed off.  “With what
the council has rewarded me lately, I could have gotten us a small fowl
instead.”

“It’s all right,” she said, trying to smile. 
“We’ve gotten by without it for some time and haven’t missed it a bit.”  She
paused then, breathing deeply and smiling as best she could, she plunged in. 
“Kormach, how is it that you’ve gotten your equipment ready like it is?  I’ve not
seen it so since… well, for a long time.”

Manebrow dropped the piece of mushroom he was
holding.  Pursing his lips, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply.  Then with
sadness in his eyes, he met her gaze, “I’m going away.  I’ll be accompanying
the yearlings on their quest.”

Ki’s jaw trembled and tears began to form in her
eyes.  The three boys stopped their ruckus and looked at their parents,
suddenly sensing something was wrong.  “But… you’re the gen’s trainer.  They’re
not supposed to pick you to go on these quests.  It’s supposed to be the
yearlings!”  Her voice grew more desperate the more she talked.

“I know, Ki.  It was not my choice.  The council
decided that this mission warrants…” he stopped.  “Let’s just say that where
these yearlings are going, they’re going to need all the help they can get.” 
The words stung her, and he knew it.

Ki looked helplessly at her lifemate, then to
their three whelps.  Her heart was in such chaos that she didn’t know whether
to scream or cry.  After a moment of pure shock, she looked at the faces of her
three sons, each of them watching her every reaction, and she knew that she
must be strong.

“Ki… sons… I must go now.  I must be there before
the third trial starts to ensure the weapons are placed correctly.”  With that
he stood up from the table and, walking past Ki, he stooped to whisper in her
ear, “I love you, my dearest.  I will be careful.  We’ll talk more later.”

His words left little comfort in her heart as he
parted the fabric of the tent door and padded through the sand toward the great
cavern’s main exit into the rest of the cavern complex.  As his footsteps
receded into the distance, Ki fought against the sense of helplessness that was
threatening to overtake her and turned to see the disturbed faces of her three
young whelps.

T
he
stands started to fill long before the second gong rang.  From the high
embankment that lifted the steeply sloped stands far above the floor of the
arena, spectators pointed and speculated loudly as the two assistant trainers
for the day pulled a cart full of wooden weapons and pots of water and red
paint to seven points spaced evenly around where the scouting trial would be
conducted, placing an identical assortment of weapons and one pot each of red
paint and water at each of the points, then turning their attention to the
various devices in the center of the seeming tangle of obstacles and netting.

Slightly off to the left of center, closest to the
spectator stands, was the sand ring where the melee weapons trial had been
conducted.  Servant caste kobolds had worked at the beginning of second meal to
disassemble the weapons racks and haul them off into the sub-chambers of the
arena, leaving the barrel of weapons untouched in case they were needed to
break a tie.

On the far left of the cavern from the sand ring
was the ranged weapons competition area.  The orc-sized bags of sand still
dotted the length of it, slumped from the blows of the javelins and arrows.

To the right of the two other trial areas, and
stretching out to encompass the entire right half and much of the center of the
arena, was the obstacle course and maze set aside for the scouting trial.  It
was this area that dominated the bulk of the cavern, and it was here that the
greatest part of the drama would be played out.  For several weeks Lord
Karthan’s Honor Guard had spent most of their time taking the wooden
partitions, netting, and obstacles out of storage chambers and setting them up
in this portion of the arena.  Their preparations had been completed only the
night before the competition; the guards that had been in place since the first
night only standing down when Lord Karthan and the council arrived on the
morning of the competition.

The extent of their preparations was very evident
throughout the scouting trial portion of the arena.  The majority of the pieces
that made up the trial area consisted of short wooden partitions, each of which
was less than two kobolds in height.  These were arranged to form a series of
wide passageways covered with sparse netting.  Jutting out of the middle of the
wooden maze at odd intervals were several miscellaneous structures surrounded
by open area, each of which represented the great deeds of past warriors of the
gen. 

Closest to the entrance to the arena was the Orc
Guard Complex added a few years ago after the first successful counter raid
against the orcs.  Past that were the Ruined Bridge, modeled after a battle
from the underdark invasion, and the Tomb of Kor, a modicum of traps and tricks
that had long been a favorite among the spectators.  In the very center of the
scouting area rose the Tower of the Chalice where the cup that would make one
of these kobolds the winner resided, flanked by two open spaces affectionately
known among the warriors as Smoke and Brimstone.  On the far side of the
scouting area were the last three areas, their three open areas forming a
triangle among the tangled maze of passages.  These three were known as the
Crucible and consisted of one single massive wooden construction made up of
platforms, ropes, poles, bridges and such with three bases in three separate
clearings, all arranged to span the entire far right wing of the trial.

The structure where the greatest drama each year
almost always played out was the Tower of the Chalice.  Its three story tall,
open frame stood exposed to the crowd’s view, and the large chest that held the
victor’s cup, locked with eight separate locks, sat on the third story.

Standing above it all, in crows’ nests with an
eagle’s eye view, the two assistant trainers took their places.  A member of
Lord Karthan’s Honor Guard had been placed at each of the obstacles to act as a
judge.  They each looked smart in their highly polished belts, ceremonial
crossed swords over their backs, red flags and white flags in hand.

Sitting conspicuously on the balcony of the
announcer’s booth were seven short clay jugs marked in red dye with the initial
of each yearling’s name in plain view for all to see.  In a large clay pot next
to them sat enough red flags for three kills to be counted against each
yearlings.

“Where is Durik?” Manebrow asked, the surprise in
his face clearly evident.

“He had something to tell Khazak Mail Fist,”
Keryak answered sheepishly.

“He had… What?  Khazak Mail Fist?”

Gorgon looked about, the rest of the yearlings
were already lined up down the ramp from them.  They had deliberately caught
Manebrow at the top of the ramp, intent on causing as little of a stir as
possible.  Gorgon had insisted on it, as he was skeptical about the whole
insurrection thing.  It was the first he’d heard about any uprising and he
thought it more likely that Durik and Keryak were making it up.

“We found a barrel full of real weapons out on the
arena floor,” Gorgon said.  “We don’t know why it’s there, but Durik thinks
there’s an insurrection brewing, so he went to tell Khazak Mail Fist, since
he’s Lord Karthan’s chamberlain.”

A sudden chill came over Manebrow’s heart.  Stepping
back to the door, he looked out onto the arena floor.  Durik had been waiting
next to the stairs to the Lord’s Box, where he was even now talking with Khazak
Mail Fist, pointing to the barrels at or near the trainers’ stand.

“Gorgon, Keryak,” Manebrow said as he turned to the
two yearlings, a worried look on his face.  “Go get in line.  I’ll be down
shortly.”

Gorgon hadn’t expected this reaction from the
master trainer.  He’d expected skepticism, maybe outright rejection of Durik’s
actions, but not this.

Grabbing Gorgon by the arm, Keryak pulled his
surprised companion back down the ramp to the line of waiting yearlings.

In precision, the small line of seven yearlings,
led by Durik, jogged up the ramp and into the arena, stopping in unison and
turning to face the master trainer.  Upon finishing the customary inspection of
the yearlings before the main event, Manebrow walked up the stairs to where
Khazak Mail Fist, leader of the Honor Guard and Lord Karthan’s chamberlain, sat
in the Lord’s Box atop the retaining wall.  He received a rolled up parchment
with Lord Karthan’s seal.

Lord Karthan had summoned his personal bodyguard,
a handful of warriors who for some reason were wearing large cloaks, to crowd
into the Lord’s Box with him, Khazak, and his three whelps; Kiria, Karto, and
Lat.  The intent of the move was not lost on the three conspirators; Mynar the
Sorcerer, Troll of the Wolf Riders, and Kort of the Patrol Guard.  The timing
of it seemed rather strange to Khee-lar Shadow Hand, however, as he was not involved
in the conspiracy that day.  Strangely enough, the only one worrying about this
move of Lord Karthan’s was Raoros Fang, for he was not altogether behind the
conspiracy, though he’d allowed his chief elite warrior Troll the warriors he
needed to make the attempt.

Standing there in the line, Durik suddenly noticed
that Kiria was among those in the Lord’s Box.  Suddenly, the emotions from
their brief introduction, and the many thoughts he’d had of her in his spare
moments came rushing back.  Try as he might to fight them off, he was instantly
distracted.  Breathing deeply, he tried hard to regain his focus, his
discipline.  There would be other times to think about such things; not now!

The announcer, who had shifted over to an adjacent
box, took his cue from Lord Karthan and started.  “Lord Karthan’s chamberlain
has reviewed the obstacles and finds them satisfactory for the trial.  Lord
Karthan’s seal is given on the order that the results of these trials shall be
final upon the completion of this trial.  The master trainer will write upon
this scroll the names of those who place and will return it to the chamberlain
for inclusion in the records of the gen.”  The announcer paused.  Manebrow
turned and began to walk back to the yearling group, parchment in hand.  The
announcer continued.

“The winner of the scouting event is that kobold
who takes the cup from the Tower of the Chalice.  Each of the eight keys must
be brought from the eight challenge areas to the Tower of the Chalice to obtain
the cup.  By mandate of the Lord of the Gen, keys may only be kept in four
places: either at an obstacle, on a yearling’s person, dropped clearly in the
sand with the rest of a kobold’s equipment when ‘killed,’ or in the chest at
the top of the Tower of the Chalice.  In other words, a yearling may not hide a
key from his fellow competitors.

“As only one kobold may win the cup, this is also
a test of combat prowess.  Unlike the melee weapons trial, all weapons have
fresh red paint on their deadly parts.  As in the melee weapons trial, a hit to
a limb means loss of use of that limb until the yearling is either killed or until
the yearling returns to his starting point and washes the mark off.” 

The announcer looked at the crowd to ensure he was
being heard, then continued, “Each of the kobolds may suffer three kills.  Upon
the first and second time of receiving a killing blow, the kobold must
immediately drop all items and return to his starting point.  If that kobold
has a key, he must immediately drop it also.”

Down in the line, the seven yearlings had all
heard these rules a number of times, so Durik’s mind began to wander.  He
wondered if Kiria was looking at him.  Moving his eyes ever so slightly, he
suddenly met her gaze and knew that she was looking just at him.

It was an electric moment, and Kiria quickly
dropped her gaze, blushing with the realization she had been caught staring. 
Durik stood a little taller, however, as he breathed in deeply and riveted his
eyes back to the front.

The announcer cleared his voice and continued,
“Judges will hold up a red flag when a kill is scored.  Kobolds receiving a
third kill will drop all equipment and proceed immediately to the trainer’s
stand. 

“The second to last kobold to return to the
trainer’s stand takes third place.  The last one to return to the trainer’s
stand takes second place.  If the last kobold standing cannot obtain the cup
within one candle’s burning of becoming the last kobold standing, then all
kobolds shall have one flag removed from the clay jugs that record their kills,
and shall return to the competition.  In the case that there are two or more
kobolds standing besides the one who pulls the cup from the chest and thereby
ends the trial, a melee weapons trial shall decide second and third place. 
Such is the pattern of this trial.”

As the announcer finished his explanation of the
rules, Manebrow straightened and turned to face Lord Karthan, “My lord, the
yearlings are prepared.”

“Start the final trial, master judge.”

With a command from Manebrow, the yearlings turned
as one and ran in a line toward the first of seven starting points.  At the
first one, the one closest to Lord Karthan’s stand, Durik broke off and, taking
spear in hand, he stood to face the obstacles of the scouting trial.