The Trials of Caste (14 page)

T
he
first torch had not been burning long, marking the beginning of the first watch
of the night to those charged with the safety of the gen, when Durik emerged
from Raoros Fang’s opulent quarters in the Leaders’ Grotto.  Looking longingly
at the slender waterfall pouring sparse streamlets into the pool that was the
most distinct feature of the grotto, he breathed deeply of the cool night air
that wafted down from the large opening a bowshot above the sandy floor where
he stood.

This was a peaceful place, a place of privilege
and prestige.  The very vines that trestled down from the opening above gave
the place a subtle vibrancy, while the cool moisture from the waterfall and
pool sharpened the senses.  The heavy wooden doors of the various leader caste
with their bold carvings and shaped stone arches lent a certain air of
respectability, in addition to serving as tangible symbols of power.

For several moments Durik stood looking about at
this place he had only ever heard of, having never been allowed past the guards
that stood watch here before.  Eventually, however, the sound of the guard at
the entrance gate clearing his throat caught his attention.  With a motion, the
guard made it clear that Durik’s welcome was past.  It was time for him to go.

Sighing, Durik lowered his head and began walking
toward the exit, but stopped short as he heard the gravelly voice of Troll, the
chief elite warrior from his warrior group.  He talked briefly with the guard,
who nodded in obedience and stood aside as Troll walked toward the yearling.

“Durik,” he said flatly, his lack of any sort of
charisma permeating even the simplest of interactions.

Durik stopped and nodded, looking up at the
hulking warrior as respectfully as he could.  “Yes, chief.  How may I serve?”

Troll pursed his lips and looked about.  Seeing
the guard within easy listening distance, he motioned for Durik to follow him
as he walked toward something of a gazebo set up at the edge of the pond, its
stone pillars and hewn shingle roof providing some shelter from stray droplets
and the rain which periodically poured down from above.

The yearling respectfully waited as Troll seated
himself on one of the stone benches and motioned bluntly for Durik to do the
same.  As Durik sat, he could see that Troll was in a foul mood, but was trying
to appear cordial.  The scowl on his face, and the cruel scar across his
forehead that turned red when he angered betrayed his unskilled efforts and
left Durik intimidated instead.  The effect was only made more intense by
Durik’s vision the night before, and the very public knowledge that Troll’s lifemate
had indeed disappeared under mysterious circumstances not a day before that
vision.  Rumors had run rampant, but all of them pointed to Troll.

“Durik,” Troll muttered, his teeth showing as his
tongue spat out the yearling’s name.  “I have need of some help.”

Durik looked somewhat surprised.  “Yes, chief. 
How can I be of service to you?”

Troll nodded.  “That’s right.  It’s how you can be
of service to me.  You just keep that in your head.”

Durik was getting more uncomfortable. 

“But it’s also how I can be of service to you,”
Troll said, shrugging his shoulders and sighing raggedly.  “You see,” he said,
looking about to ensure they were alone.  “I’ve done a very bad thing.”

Durik’s eyes opened wide.  Was Troll about to
confess his murder to him?

“You see,” Troll continued.  “I put my trust in
someone I shouldn’t have, and that kobold isn’t making it happen.”

Durik looked confused.

“Durik, when I ask someone to do something for me,
I expect it to get done!” he said, the frustration in his voice very evident. 
“Turns out I trusted in the wrong kobold.”  Troll shook his head.  “He’s weak!”
he muttered and spat.

“Anyway,” Troll continued, looking up at Durik, “There
is one in the Deep Guard who is trying to take over the gen.”

“How do you know that?” Durik asked, startled by
the sudden trust Troll placed in him, but wary of it as well.  The shell game
earlier that day had clearly pointed to Trelkar, so it was no surprise to the
yearling.

“You don’t need to know how,” Troll cut him off,
his countenance hardening.  After a moment, he continued.  “But what you do
need to know is that change is coming to our gen.  I didn’t believe it when I
first heard it, but now I think we can pull it off.”

“What change?” Durik asked warily.

Troll couldn’t see Durik’s distrust.  A desire
burned in Troll’s eyes, be it greed or lust for power or whatever, Durik
couldn’t tell, but it blinded Troll to Durik’s reactions.  “It is time for Lord
Karthan to go!  His laws have made the elite warriors of the gen poor.  He has
destroyed our status by giving too many privileges to the lesser warriors.”

Durik knew there had been a time of turbulence
when Lord Karthan had changed many of the laws, changing the laws of wealth to
where the common warrior caste could sell what they made instead of giving it
all to the elite warriors that were over them.  It had made a lot of elite
warriors upset, he knew, for now they had to work to support themselves or live
off only what their servant caste provided them, but that had been several
years ago now, long before Durik had cared about such things.

“The one I put my trust in has lost his courage,”
Troll continued.  “I don’t trust him anymore.  I don’t think he can do it.”

“Then how will it happen, if Trelkar can’t do it?”
Durik asked cautiously. 
And why are you telling me?

Troll’s brow raised at the mention of Trelkar’s
name, but he didn’t correct the yearling.  “There is another; a sorcerer, a
magic wielder.  He will do it.”  Troll suddenly looked at Durik.

Durik had lived all his life hearing that there
was such a thing as magic, but had never seen any evidence of it.  Was Troll
telling the truth?  He was skeptical, but if it was true…

“But change means a lot of work.  I need tasks
done.”  Troll’s steely eyes were fixed on Durik.  “And the rewards for doing
these tasks will be great.  Durik, I can make you an elite warrior once the
trials are done.  I can give you servants and a house built in the cave wall,
not just a tent dwelling.  All you have to do is whatever I ask.”

Durik was stunned.  He’d prepared hard for the
Trials of Caste, with the hopes of becoming an elite warrior, and now here was
his chief elite warrior offering it to him.  It seemed so easy, and yet
something felt so wrong.

“What do I have to do?” Durik asked tentatively. 

Troll looked about, resting his eyes on the servant
caste Kyro, who had just exited Raoros Fang’s house.  He said nothing as he
watched the lower caste kobold walk to the exit and past the guard.  Finally,
he turned back to Durik.

“Yearling, I need someone killed,” he said flatly. 
Troll’s hand slowly, almost subconsciously, went to the hilt of his sword.

Durik’s eyes narrowed.  His adrenaline started to
kick in.  He knew he should have been afraid, but at that moment there was no
fear in him.

“Chief, I…” he began.

“Look.”  Troll’s piercing eyes stared into his. 
“You don’t have a choice.  I’m your chief elite warrior, so you’ll do what I
say.”

Durik looked up at Troll, his calm gaze catching
the chief elite warrior by surprise.  He was much more used to people being
intimidated by him.

“Chief, I appreciate you thinking of me, but I
can’t do that for you,” Durik answered.

The scar on Troll’s forehead turned red as he
leaned forward and poked a thick finger into Durik’s chest.  “Listen here, you
bronze-scaled freak!  You’ll do what I say, or else!” he hissed through
clenched teeth.

Durik looked Troll calmly in the eyes.  “Chief, I
will not kill someone for you.  I’m no murderer; I’ll be a warrior tomorrow,
charged with defending the gen, not tearing it apart.  I don’t want to get
involved.  I don’t care who’s in charge of the gen.  I’m sure this whole thing
will happen with or without me.  I hope someday to be an elite warrior, but I
can’t take your offer.”

Troll was put off by Durik’s calm demeanor.  He seemed
completely un-fazed by Troll’s intimidating presence.  Wrinkling his snout, Troll
scowled and spat.  “Listen here, yearling,” he began, leaning in close to
Durik.  “You’ve got a nice family; Drok takes good care of you, and that little
sister of yours is turning out to be quite a pretty little female, almost ripe
for the picking.  If you don’t do what I say, I don’t know if Drok will survive
the insurrection… and I’ll be needing a new lifemate when this is all over…”

Durik’s eyes narrowed.  Could Troll actually
follow through on his threats?  It caught him completely off guard.

“Aha,” Troll said flatly.  “I see you might be
warming up to the idea of working for me now.”

Durik bowed his head.  “What do you want me to do,
chief?” he asked calmly, hoping to delay Troll long enough by seeming to agree
with him so he could figure out what to do.

“Look, it’s not that bad,” Troll said, almost as
if he were trying to comfort the yearling in his own twisted way.  “Lord
Karthan is weak.  The time to move is now.  All you’ve got to do is distract a
couple of his guards when the time comes.  I’ll do the real dirty work.”

Durik looked surprised.  “When?”

Troll stood up.  “You don’t need to know that…
yet.  Just be ready.”

Durik looked up at Troll as the large, brutal
looking warrior snorted in derision and turned away.  “Too easy,” Durik heard
him mumble as he walked away.

Fire burned within Durik; the fire of
indignation.  Shaking his head, he waited until Troll left, then went to find
Keryak.  He doubted Keryak would know what to do, but right now Durik felt very
alone.  After all, if Troll was involved in this conspiracy, he could only
assume that his warrior group leader at least knew what was going on.  And if
Raoros Fang knew, then he was probably complicit.  Durik’s world seemed to be
turning on its head, and he suddenly had no idea whom he could trust.

Suddenly some of Raoros’ strange answers seemed
clear to him.  He had to be involved!  Why else would he send Durik after
Spider, but pull him back when he’d found out too much?  Durik shook his head;
he wasn’t sure how involved Raoros was, but he knew he’d at least been Troll’s
pawn without knowing it, and like it or not, he was now involved.  What was he
to do?

If he got his uncle Drok involved, he knew the
answer there.  His uncle had very little subtlety to him.  He’d probably
confront Troll directly and get himself killed.  “That wouldn’t do,” Durik said
as he walked along the passageway toward his home.

Durik shook his head.  “Think!  What do I do?” he
muttered as he made his way home.

Trallik walked along warily beside the limping
former yearling who had been his friend throughout much of their whelping years. 
Spider had never talked much, and had usually been in a sour mood.  But so had
Trallik growing up, so the two of them had often spent time together griping
about their misfortunes in life.  That is, until Spider broke his leg and was
kicked out of the year of training.  After that, there had been no opportunity,
nor reason, for them to be together.

That was why Trallik had been surprised when
Spider had insisted he take him to Durik’s home in the Wolf Rider’s caverns. 
The whole way they’d spent in silence, with Spider grumbling about something
under his breath.

“There,” Trallik said, stopping a stone’s throw
from a tent set up against the wall, wedged between two others.  “That’s his
uncle Drok’s home.  His father is dead.  Now,” he said, turning to face Spider,
his hands on his hips.  “Why have you brought me here?  What are you going to
do?”

Spider scowled and pushed past Trallik.  “Nothing. 
Go home.”

Stumbling up to the tent Trallik had indicated,
Spider called out, his voice quivering with anger.  “Durik, its Spider.  I know
you’re in there.  I need to talk to you.  Come out!”

Trallik cringed with the noise.  It was well past
the third gong, and the area was quiet as the whelps had all been put to bed.

“What do you want, Spider?” a muffled voice called
from one corner of the structure.

“We need to talk, Durik,” Spider replied.  “You
have something of mine!”

In a few moments the flap parted and Durik walked
warily out of the tent, trying to size up Spider’s intentions.  In a few moments,
he stood with crossed arms in front of Spider as Trallik stood off to one side.

“And what is so important that you had to come see
me so late on the night before the Trials of Caste?” Durik asked.

Spider was full of emotion.  His face was a mask
of anger one moment, and a mask of hatred the next.  He had come this far, but
now that he stood in front of Durik, he didn’t know what to say and stood there
fuming.