The Trials of Caste (33 page)

No one in the stands had been able to see the
kill, but not knowing how it had happened didn’t lessen the pain for Durik’s
younger sister.  Darya bit her lip and fought back tears at the announcement
that Keryak was out of the competition.  Her uncle Drok put his arm around her
shoulders and tried to comfort her.  Darya covered her eyes as her tender heart
boiled over with the tears of lost hopes.  After several moments she wiped her
eyes and, stating that she didn’t know what had come over her as she sniffed
back the tears, she began to try to recover.  The last thing she would want was
for Keryak to see her crying.  Besides, she still had hopes for her brother. 

Keryak himself felt the sting to his pride of
being the first yearling out of the competition.  As he walked back toward the
stands he repeated to himself that he was one of the luckier ones.  After all,
he was one of only four who had scored so far.  For the other three, unless
they somehow placed in the scouting trial, they would end the trials being a no
point warrior.  Though the points didn’t officially count for anything after
the trials were concluded, it was a point of pride among the younger warriors
to have scored in the trials.  It gave them some sense of having accomplished
something, until as new warriors they actually did something of note.

In the end, Keryak knew that being one of the
seven to finish the year of training out of the thirteen that had started the
year meant one thing; warrior status.  His heart took hope at this thought and
he began to feel relief that the trials, for him at least, were over.  Now it
was simply a matter of time before he took his place as a warrior in the Kale
Gen.  As he walked out of the obstacles into the open air of the chamber, he
lifted his hand to the crowd and walked over to take his place in front of the
trainer’s stand. 

Durik didn’t have long to ponder on the
situation.  No sooner had Keryak disappeared back into the passageway than
Durik heard the twang of a bowstring from almost directly across the clearing. 
He immediately dropped to the ground, breaking his one remaining arrow in the
process.  The arrow that was meant for him cracked as it bounced off the wall
to his rear.  Reaching back and feeling no arrows left in his quiver, Durik
released his belt and the spear hanging in it and ran as fast as he could for
the quiver that Keryak had just dropped.  As he ran, another arrow zinged past
his head, missing him by inches.

Reaching Keryak’s quiver, Durik drew out the
remaining arrow and jumped for the cover of the passageway he’d recently left. 
Assessing the situation, Durik realized that he’d dropped both his keys when
he’d dropped his belt and spear.  Additionally, Keryak’s one key was laying a
couple of arms lengths into the clearing, as was the spear he’d dropped.  He
knew that, whomever it was firing at him, they had already spent two arrows.  At
most, they probably only had three arrows left, probably less but he wasn’t
betting his standing in the competition on it.

Durik felt vulnerable and knew that, if he was to
have leverage in this competition, he needed to have at least one key.  Leaving
his bow and arrow just inside the passageway, Durik readied himself, then ran
out of the passageway, grabbing the key and spear that Keryak had recently
dropped.  As he ran back in, he covered his head with his hands and hunched
over.  Apparently the sniper in the other passageway wasn’t watching, however,
as no arrow came his direction.

Putting the bow over his shoulder and putting his
last arrow and the key in his quiver, Durik took the spear in hand and headed
back down the passageway to see if he couldn’t come up behind whomever it was
that had been firing at him.

Trallik was already running around to flank Durik
by the time Durik made his foray out into the open to grab the key and spear. 
He was out of arrows, but knew that Durik didn’t know that.  Perhaps, he
thought, that would keep him in place long enough for Trallik to get behind
him.  Trallik knew that he was much quieter than the rest of the yearlings, and
thought to sneak up on Durik from behind.

As he padded softly down the cross passageway toward
where he’d last seen Durik, ahead of him he could hear soft footsteps in the
sand running his direction.  He quickly ran back several paces to where the
passageway had turned somewhat sharply.  Pulling both wooden knives out,
Trallik waited patiently for whomever it was to arrive.  As the footsteps
approached the turn in the passageway, whoever it was slowed down, approaching
the turn cautiously.  Trallik tried to hide himself deeper in the shadows.

From a few paces away, Durik appeared, scoping out
the passageway ahead of him.  The light from the braziers reflecting off the
ceiling of the cavern and the light from the hole to the surface spoiled his
heat vision, but even without it, Durik had no problems spotting Trallik. 
Durik did not look Trallik in the eyes, nor did he let on that he’d seen him. 
Slinging his bow over his head, Durik took spear in hand and took another
couple of steps down the passageway, not looking directly at Trallik.

Trallik took the bait.  Leaping from a crouch,
Trallik jumped into the passageway toward Durik with a knife in either hand.  A
side step and a sweep with the spear later, Trallik was on the ground with an
aching head and bruised arms, both knives a couple of paces down the passageway
from him.  Durik stepped forward quickly, spear tip plunging toward Trallik’s
midsection.  Trallik was barely quick enough to get out of the way.  Rolling to
his right, Trallik jumped toward his knives.  With his back turned, he didn’t
see Durik adjust to meet his move, charging forward a couple of steps to pin
Trallik under one foot.  Bringing his spear down, Durik made sure that
Trallik’s back was well marked with a large stripe of red dye before reaching
down to relieve Trallik of his three keys.

From the trainer’s tower up to their left, a red
flag was raised and “Trallik” was called.  Durik let him up and, not turning
his back on him, began to head back toward the opening he’d recently come from.

Trallik simmered with indignant rage.  None too
quickly, he made his way back to his point and, taking the wet rag he found
there, slowly washed the stripe from his back.  Biding his time, Trallik found
what he needed at the other starting points and headed silently back into the
obstacles.  He had been beaten this time, but he was never one to give up.  The
indignity of it all, however, had been more than Trallik was willing to take. 
If he accomplished nothing else, he would make Durik pay.

Gorgon had acquired another padded wooden hammer
and, after searching three other points and not finding a bow or quiver,
decided all the bows must be in play or dropped in the obstacles.  Fitting a
shield to his left arm, he took a pair of javelins in his right hand along with
his newly acquired hammer and took off at a slow jog into the obstacles.  He
deliberately chose the passageway that took him back to the three obstacles
that formed the crucible.  He remembered Arbelk dropping a sword there and
wondered if he might find a bow in the area.  As he approached the obstacle he
slowed to a walk and began padding softly toward the opening to the first of
the clearings.

Gorgon looked around the area from the relative
safety of the shadows.  The only weapons he saw were a pair of javelins stuck
in the sand as if someone was coming back for them shortly.  As he began to
step out to begin a sweep of the area, from atop the platform he heard a voice
yelp “Got him!”  The trainer in the crow’s nest near the crucible raised a red
flag and yelled out “Arbelk.”  Gorgon stepped back into the shadows.  From the
stands the announcer’s voice was heard, “Arbelk ends his part in the
competition with no points, but with one kill!”  The murmur of the crowd
increased for a moment then died back down to a low buzz.

Gorgon watched for a moment from the shadows
before he saw Jerrig stand up and begin to dismount the obstacle.  He’d slung
his bow over his shoulder, along with his now empty quiver.  Other than that,
Jerrig had no weapons. 

Gorgon shook his head. 
Too easy a target,
he thought,
I’ll let him pick up his javelins at least before I challenge
him.

After several moments, Jerrig was not even half
way down the obstacle.  Gorgon was growing impatient, thinking of the keys that
he’d left in the sand.  Being without keys meant that he had the possibility of
losing just by not being present.  This didn’t sit well with Gorgon.  After
another moment of watching Jerrig make his way hand over hand across a
tightrope, Gorgon could take it no longer.

Leaving the shadows, Gorgon yelled out to Jerrig,
“Hurry up, you sloth!  I’ll deal with you at the tower!”  Being defenseless,
Jerrig was shaken by the encounter and hurried his descent toward his javelins
as Gorgon padded away, simmering with frustration.

G
orgon
arrived at the opening to the clearing of the Tower of the Chalice quietly and
on the hunt for anyone that would stand between him and what he felt to be his
rightful prize.  Just inside the clearing, he spotted a belt with two keys tied
to it lying on top of a spear.  After surveying the area, Gorgon stepped out
into the clearing and grabbed the belt, shaking the two keys free from it. 
Seeing no movement elsewhere in the clearing, he put down his weapons and
tucked the two keys into his belt.  Picking his weapons up again, he looked
around one more time then began skirting the perimeter of the clearing.  After
reaching the closest point to the tower, he ran quickly toward its base.  Once
he reached it, he knelt behind his shield and faced outward, carefully studying
the entrances to the clearing to see if anyone had observed him.

Satisfied that he had not been observed, Gorgon
stood up and made his way carefully up the spiral staircase.  As his head came
over the lip of the second floor, he saw Durik squatting against the far wall,
spear leaning against his shoulder.

“Well, what a surprise finding you here,” Gorgon
said as he finished walking up the stairs.  Placing his two javelins against
the corner pillar, Gorgon adjusted his grip on his war hammer, swinging it
slowly in one hand next to his thigh.  “So, you’ve been waiting for me?” Gorgon
asked.

Durik stood, drawing his spear up and into both
hands.  “Waiting, yes.  For you, not particularly.  But you’ll do.”

“Well!  A bit confident, are we not?  Let’s have
at it then; after all you’re the one with enough points to stand in my way for
the cup.  It’s time to get you out of the way,” Gorgon said matter-of-factly.

Without hesitation, Gorgon rushed forward, hoping
to bowl Durik over with his shield, but Durik was too quick for that.  Easily jumping
aside, Durik tried to bring his spear around for a strike.  Gorgon adjusted to
Durik’s move readily enough however and bashed Durik with his shield, knocking
him back several paces to the low wall surrounding the three sides of the
second floor.

Durik regained his balance and ran toward the
other side of the tower, hoping to buy time to get back in control of the
situation.  Gorgon followed him, charging around to exploit his shield bash
with a solid hammer strike.  Gorgon swung his hammer from the side as he charged,
but Durik handily deflected the blow and, bringing the butt of his spear up,
rapped Gorgon across the back of his head.  Gorgon roared as he stumbled into
the side railing.  Before Durik could strike, Gorgon was turned around with
shield at the ready to deflect any blow.  Durik stood back, spear also at the
ready, waiting for Gorgon to decide on his next move.

From across the tower, Gorgon eyed Durik.  At this
point, he’d had very little success fighting Durik, and that frustrated him. 
Then he got an idea.  Coming forward warily, Gorgon swung his hammer in a wide
arc toward Durik’s left.  Durik brought his spear up to block.  Snapping his
wrist, Gorgon changed the direction of his hammer and brought it down as hard
as he could in a glancing blow along the length of the spear.  Durik cried out
as the shaft of Gorgon’s hammer rapped across the fingers of both of his hands.

As Durik’s spear clattered to the ground, Gorgon
jumped in for the kill.  Despite the pain, Durik sidestepped and ran for the
edge of the platform.  Turning to look, Durik jumped over the edge and rolled
as he landed in the sand below.  Getting quickly to his feet, Durik grabbed the
sword that Arbelk had dropped nearby and, after looking around briefly, ran
quickly for the nearest passageway.

In the stands, Gorgon’s father yelled his approval
while, several benches away, Durik’s family watched anxiously.

Gorgon watched Durik go, then turned and ascended
the stairs to the top of the tower.  Once there Gorgon looked at the great
chest and found, to his surprise, that the three keys he’d obtained from the
crucible were already in the locks and had been turned, making them impossible
to extract.  Additionally, the black-ribboned key from the Tomb of Kor was
already in place.  Gorgon stood there thinking for a moment, then placed the
key from the Orc Guard Complex Obstacle into its lock and turned it. 

He looked the chest over to see if there was any
other way he could get the chalice out without having to get the other keys. 
The chest itself was huge, about as tall as Gorgon was.  Additionally, it was
made of thick oak logs that had been burnt to a hardness that would make it
nearly impossible to break without the right tools.  Gorgon tried pushing the
chest and found that it was firmly bolted to the floor of the platform. 
Looking over the edge of the platform to the ceiling of the level below, Gorgon
saw several large iron links someone had taken the pain to run up through the
floor and into the bottom of the chest, making the chest virtually impossible
to move.  Gorgon stood up and sighed.

“Time to do it the hard way,” he mumbled to
himself.

Patting the remaining key on his belt, which was
from the Brimstone Obstacle according to the color, Gorgon waived to the crowd
and descended the tower.  By his figuring, the only keys left to obtain were
Smoke and the Ruined Bridge Obstacle.  He hadn’t seen any keys on Durik, in
fact he figured Durik must have been the one to drop his belt with the two keys
on it that he’d found.  Gorgon picked up his javelins as he descended and
headed toward the Ruined Bridge Obstacle.

Trallik had to go through several points to
eventually find a bow and quiver with arrows, and even then they weren’t at a
point, but rather were dropped near one of the entrances.  The knives he
favored were easier to find, but he knew that if he was to maintain any sort of
edge in this competition, he needed the ability to reach out and touch
someone.  His previous two losses had brought him face to face with the
possibility that he may not win this competition.  This was very unsettling to
him, as he was certain he was the best at scouting and could outperform any of
the others in games of stealth like this.  It was the randomness of hand-to-hand
encounters that had turned the tables on him.  His failure with Durik was a
serious sting to his pride. 

Though he had been taught to be disciplined
throughout the year of training, Trallik had always felt himself slightly above
the role of a common warrior.  Perhaps it was because he thought himself so
much smarter than the rest.  While the others struggled with lessons of
academics, Trallik excelled.  He was far superior to the rest of the yearlings
with locks and devices.  No other yearling was better than him at getting into
and out of tight situations. 

It seemed only right to him that he should be the
one to be chosen to lead the group.  The fact that no one ever
chose
him
to lead had nothing to do with it.  That, to him, was because the others just
failed to see how leadership ought to be.  He knew that if he could win this
competition, he could make the others see how leadership really should be.  It
was his right, after all.  No one was better prepared to lead.

With a renewed zeal, Trallik made his way back toward
the center of the obstacles.

Reality is a cold, harsh, impartial thing.  Quite
frequently it sneaks up and catches one by surprise.  The ability to see
reality before it hits one in the face is a rare quality.  Optimism and
pessimism are both tainted views of reality.  Perhaps the best way Durik could
describe them was to call them tools, just like windows through which one looks. 

While Durik did his best to maintain a pretty even
view of things, he found that he worked better if he maintained a sense of
optimism.  Similarly, he had seen Manebrow use a pessimistic view on things
from time to time in the past in order to bring someone back to the ground when
they were obviously thinking about things that would work solely in their
minds, and not in reality. 

Durik had caught onto this technique early and had
begun to use it himself.  He did this not to crush anyone’s spirits, but rather
to help them understand that even though one hopes for the best, you still have
to be prepared for the worst.  He understood Manebrow’s reasoning for using
this technique once he discovered that if he and others were optimistic, but
faced reality before going into a situation, they performed much better than if
they were off in their own imagination.  This was just one of the things that
he’d learned, and continued to learn, from the master trainer.

Over the past year, he and Keryak had worked well
together.  In most everything they seemed to complement one another.  When one
of them was overly optimistic, the other seemed to be more grounded.  When one
of them was discouraged, the other was always able to cheer them up.  When one
had a good idea, but didn’t know how to make it happen, the other always seemed
to come through with the details.  This last year had taught Durik much. 

Between all the combat training, the physical
training, and learning to deal with the problems of others and to help them
overcome obstacles, Durik felt he’d learned much.  But perhaps the greatest
thing he’d learned was how to accomplish more with someone else than both of
them could do separately.  Keryak had been a true friend that entire time. 
Perhaps it was because of that that his kill on Keryak, which took Keryak out
of the competition, hurt him so much.  In his heart, however, Durik knew that
his friend would forgive him.  As he squatted against the wall in the
passageway rubbing the feeling back into his knuckles, Durik felt peace in his
heart and felt that it would all work out for the best in the end.

Knowing which keys Gorgon had, as they’d been his
not long before, and knowing which keys were already in the chest in the Tower
of the Chalice, Durik grabbed his sword and came out of the side passageway where
he’d been recovering.  After listening for a moment, he began to head toward
the Smoke Obstacle with Arbelk’s one key wrapped in the ties of his loincloth.

If luck could take sides, a strong case could be
made that it had sided against Troka.  After acquiring a long sword, he headed
back toward the center, but shortly after passing the first obstacle, he and
Gorgon met in the passageway that lead from the Tower of the Chalice and
connected to the perimeter and the Smoke Obstacle.  Gorgon saw that Troka was
not at his best, but knowing he didn’t have time to delay and let Troka
recover, he came at him anyway.  Troka did his best to defend.  Being taller
than almost all other kobolds in the gen, and stronger than all the other
yearlings in the group other than Gorgon, he was nothing to be trifled with. 
Gorgon made short work of him, however, and within a few heartbeats, Troka’s
name was announced and he was out of the competition.

Troka stood watching Gorgon as he turned and
headed down the passage toward the perimeter on his way to the Ruined Bridge
Obstacle, then, holding his head all the higher to counterbalance his sunken
heart, he walked back to the trainer’s stand.  He would have to be content with
what would soon be his lot; that of a common warrior in the gen.