The Trials of Caste (38 page)

“Keryak, the barrel!” Durik cried out as he
stepped in front of his unarmed lord.

Almost jumping the few steps to the other inconspicuous
barrel where they had moved the weapons they had taken from the conspirators’ barrel
under the trainer’s stand, Keryak grabbed the lip of it and pulled it over, the
bright steel swords and wicked barbed throwing darts spilling to the ground
amidst the dark wooden practice weapons.

“Swords!” Durik pointed and looked at his fellow
yearlings.  “Grab them!  To our lord!  To Lord Karthan!”

Wrenched from their surprised state by Durik’s
decisive action, all five former yearlings rushed over to Keryak who passed
each of them a sword, plus an extra for Lord Karthan.

“You heard him!” Gorgon growled as the rest of the
group stopped and milled about the spilled barrel.  “Circle around Lord
Karthan!  Move now!”

Refocused, the small knot of new warriors followed
Gorgon’s lead and surrounded Lord Karthan—all except for Trallik who continued
digging through the barrel until he had swords enough for the pseudo-servant
caste who were running toward the barrel from under the trainers stand.  The
fight between Troll and Khazak was intense, neither of them giving ground, and now
that the hiding place of their weapons had been revealed Troll’s fellow
conspirators were eager to get in the fight.

Clearly seeing that these kobolds masquerading as
servant caste were the conspirators from his vision, Durik grabbed Troka by the
shoulder and turned him back around.  “You and Arbelk, follow Keryak and go
stop those traitors!”

Troka saw the fight going on between Troll and
Khazak, he heard Durik’s command, and he saw several overly-muscular servant
caste rushing toward the barrel. 

At that moment he understood, and the surprise of
the event was behind him.

Grabbing Arbelk by the arm, Troka ran after Keryak.
 Keryak was yelling ‘Oh no you don’t!’ as he tackled Trallik and scattered the
swords and darts Trallik had been gathering. 

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong!” Trallik insisted,
it was a clear lie but Trallik could see that Keryak wanted to believe him.

Keryak looked down at him.  “Swear it!” he said,
pinning Trallik’s arms to the ground.

“I swear!” Trallik hissed. 

Keryak looked at Trallik with a skeptical eye,
wondering if Trallik was lying to get him off of him.  At the moment he thought
he had little choice but to believe him, however, so he stood and helped
Trallik to his feet.

Behind Keryak, Troka and Arbelk had a different
aim.  Running just in front of the onrushing group of traitors, Troka spun
about to confront them and brought his sword to bear in both hands.  Arbelk
next to him did the same.

“You’ll not touch those weapons!” Troka barked.

Next to him, Arbelk looked less sure.  “What he
said.”

The group stopped, the kobold at their head
suddenly taking on a very fearsome look.  It was as if his teeth had suddenly
grown as his muscles simultaneously bulged against crossed shoulder belts that
appeared from nowhere.

“Step aside,” the leader growled in a deep voice. 
Then, with one hand on a belt pouch, he swatted his hand toward Troka from
three paces away, who staggered back clutching his head as if he’d been struck.

Arbelk looked over at his dazed companion, then
with eyes wide open, he looked back at the leader of the conspirators.

“Step aside now!” the fearsome kobold growled
again.

Arbelk didn’t wait for whatever power it was that
the strange kobold wielded.  In one hand he held a dart.  Throwing it
underhanded, he broke the leader’s concentration as it sailed past his head.  Capitalizing
on the distraction, Arbelk did perhaps the most impetuous thing he’d ever done
in his life; pointing his horns at the hulking brute and holding the cold steel
of his sword in both hands, he charged.

Lord Karthan’s three remaining body guards rushed
down the stairs, leaving the top of the stairs in the hands of Kort and his
handful of conspirators.  From all about the Lord’s Box a number of Honor Guard
warriors came, an assortment of swords and long knives revealing themselves
from scabbards as they began to gather in front of Kort and his warriors.

“To Lord Karthan!” they took up the yell, and from
the stands many others, warriors and servant caste mostly, took up the call as
well, rising to their feet and beginning to make their way toward the various
exits that would eventually lead to the fight on the arena floor.

Not all in the stands who stood were for Lord
Karthan, however.  More impetuous than their lesser brethren, the elite
warriors of the gen stood as well, and among their ranks they were two-to-one
against Lord Karthan.  The memory of the privilege they had once had still
stirred many of them to action.

Most of the fighting in the stands was fists-only,
as those who were loyal to Karthan and those who were opposed to him had
generally not been hardened by wicked covenants on the one hand, or by position
and privilege bestowed by Lord Karthan on the other.  Here and there, however,
a long knife was drawn and blood was spilt.

Down on the arena floor, on the other hand, it was
a completely different situation.  Knives, swords, darts, shields, indeed any
implement of war the combatants could get their hands on was in use.

Jerrig had had the presence of mind to gather two
swords from the barrel, and now Lord Karthan gratefully took one from him. 
Casting off the scabbard, Lord Karthan turned to Durik.

“Durik, are you loyal to me?” he asked.

The question startled Durik.  “Yes, lord.  Of
course I’m loyal to you.”

Lord Karthan smiled and nodded.  “Very well.  I
will help Khazak with Troll.  You and your warriors stop those others,” he
said, pointing at the six who were dressed as servant caste and were
confronting Troka and Arbelk.

“Aye, lord,” Durik nodded.  In a sudden moment of
impetuousness, Durik quickly asked one burning question, “Sire, is your family
safe?”

“Yes, I sent them away before this started,” Lord
Karthan answered before running off.

Durik’s relief was visible, though unnoticed.  Behind
him Gorgon was already charging horns-first at the group of conspirators, while
Jerrig waited for his cousin.

Not sure of the intentions of the group of leader
caste and chief elite warriors, Manebrow stepped away and held his sword out. 
“I don’t know which of you is conspiring to kill Lord Karthan and which is a
friend to our lord.”

The small group of leaders looked at each other in
varying degrees of distrust.

“But whoever would have Karthan as lord of this
gen, come stand with me!”

Manebrow spoke with passion, and the leader caste
of the Patrol Guard, Metalsmithies, and Trade Warrior Groups all stepped
forward, drawing their swords as they came to stand beside Manebrow.

This left all of their chief elite warriors and
Raoros Fang standing in a group looking at each other.

“Brorr, why do you stand there?” the leader of the
Trade Warrior Group called to his chief elite warrior.

Brorr shifted from one foot to the other, then
shook his head and grimaced.  “Sire, this isn’t my fight.  This is a fight
among the uppers.  If they want to fight it out, then so be it.  I’ll not get
in the way of my betters.  It’s not mine to decide who’s lord of this gen.”

“Sire,” the chief elite warrior of the Patrol
Guard said confidently as he stepped forward.  “I’ve never been one to sit out
a fight.  I’ll stand with you.”

Manebrow looked at the three remaining leaders.  “Last
chance, my friends.”

Raoros shook his head.  “We’ll see how it goes,”
he said, then folded his arms and did just that.

Snorting in disgust, Manebrow hurried with those
leaders who had declared their loyalty toward Lord Karthan and the battle that
swirled on the arena floor.

Just as Arbelk charged, Gorgon flew at the leader
of the conspirators from the side, tackling the larger kobold and knocking the
wind out of him as he smashed him to the ground.  Two of the other conspirators
were knocked to the ground in the process, and the remaining three stopped cold
as Durik, Keryak, Trallik, and Jerrig all came up on either side of Arbelk, who
had stopped suddenly, barely avoiding the same fate as the leader of the
conspirators.

Sword points held toward the five conspirators in
front of them, the five new warriors looked their first real enemies in the
eyes, gauging whether or not they would make a move or if they had them.  Every
one of them meant business; they were not holding their swords up for show.

Getting up to his knees from the tackle, Gorgon
gasped as he saw he had a rather normal-looking kobold in his grasp, not the
hulking warrior he had tackled.  Not only that, but by his look he wasn’t even
Kale Gen; most likely he was from their neighboring Krall Gen.  Then, as quick
as the stranger could catch his breath, he passed his one free hand over his
face, and there was the face of the hulking warrior yet again.

Gorgon jumped up suddenly as if he’d been bit by a
cave spider.  Staggering back to the line of warriors, he couldn’t keep his
eyes off the leader of the conspirators as he stood and looked about. 

The leader and his fellow conspirators could see
the determined looks in the faces of these new warriors.  Looking about, they
saw that Lord Karthan’s bodyguards had thrown off their cloaks and three of
them were heading toward them from behind.  First one, then another, then all
of them except for the leader held up their hands in surrender as they were
surrounded by a thicket of blades.

The leader of the group stepped back into the
small knot of conspirators, and in a swift movement he was gone and there were
suddenly six conspirators dressed as servant caste standing with arms above
them in the air.

The Fates are a strange thing; Troll knew their fickle
winds blow both ways.  One moment the wind was at his back and he was certain there
was nothing that could stand in his way.  He dared to dream of taking Lord
Karthan’s bronze crown for himself; the Fates do what they will with Kort and
Mynar.  Yes, Lord Troll, Lord of the Kale Gen he would be.  Now, however, the
winds of Fate had turned against him, but he was determined that the Fates
would not determine his destiny.