The Trials of Caste (9 page)

Though he’d made excuses and cleaned up after
himself quickly, the conversation had ended and Raoros had taken to sending
Kyro home and getting his own fermented root broth since then.

For a week now, Kyro had been in absolute turmoil,
torn between his loyalty for his master, Raoros Fang, and for the Lord of the
Gen, Lord Karthan, making excuses to the other parents for his inability to get
more information, and unable to talk to anyone about the situation.  His son,
Keryak, had noticed, but had been too tired, or had to get to practice or to
see Darya, or had been otherwise too occupied in preparing for the trials since
his return two days before to get into a serious conversation with his father.

Now, as Kyro prepared the clothing that Raoros
Fang would wear as he attended yet another of a series of late-night councils
this evening, he worried more than ever.  Leaning against the wall next to the
rest of his master’s war gear were Raoros’ axe, his broadsword, and a pair of
javelins, all of which Kyro had spent much time sharpening and polishing over
the past few days, though for what precise purpose he did not know.

Whatever it was that was about to happen could not
be far off, and the anticipation of it left Keryak’s father stewing in
indecision.

“Chief, how can we go about finding one who can
change his appearance at will?” Khazak Mail Fist put the roll of sheep’s skin
down on the table.  “He eluded us six years ago when he brought those orcs.”

“Aye, cursed be that day.”

“I would love to get my hands on that one,” Khazak
finished.

Lord Karthan’s chief elite warrior, a grizzled old
veteran of many battles and skirmishes, shrugged his shoulders.  “I don’t know,
sire,” he answered.  “But the report that this Mynar the Sorcerer stole an
artifact from the house of Lord Krall may offer something of a clue.”

“And what is that?” Khazak asked.

“Says here,” the chief elite warrior said, holding
up the sheepskin to read it again, “that he took something called Matakar.”

Khazak’s brow furrowed.  “The Krall Gen’s stone of
power?  I wasn’t aware that they still had that piece of their heritage.”

“Perhaps that’s the source of this power he has
that changes his appearance?”

Khazak thought for a moment, then shook his head. 
“If the Krall Stone is anything like our gen’s lost stone of power,” he said,
“then its power isn’t one of parlor tricks and illusions.  No, it would have
much greater power than that… if Mynar actually learns how to use it.”

“What do you suggest we do, sire?”

“Well, all the flies gather where the dung is the
freshest,” he said.  “And right now things are starting to stink in the Deep
Guard.”

The chief elite warrior laughed.  “Aye, sire.  And
watch it we shall.  Perhaps our stranger will show up there.”

“Perhaps.”

“And on the matter of Troll’s missing lifemate,
sire?” the chief elite warrior pressed.  Troll was a fellow chief elite
warrior, and so the matter came to the Lord of the Gen, and by extension to his
Chamberlain, Khazak Mail Fist.

Khazak stood and shook his head.  “Chief, you and
I both know that Troll is as guilty as the caves are dark, but there’s nothing
we can do about it.  Without a body or witnesses, we have nothing to go off
of.”

“I just wish we could get someone to talk.”  The
grizzled old warrior shook his head.  “Surely she couldn’t have disappeared
without someone seeing where he took the body.”

“Aye,” Khazak said, muscles rippling under
rust-red scales as he stretched his shoulders.  “Don’t worry, chief.  You know
things like this don’t just go away.  The Fates won’t let such an act go
unbalanced.”

The chief elite warrior nodded his head.  “Off to
the training caves, then, sire?”

Khazak swung his arms about, stretching his
shoulders a bit more vigorously.  “No, not this time,” he answered.  “This time
it’s down to the lower reaches.  Things are likely to get hot within the next
few days, and I need to loosen up a bit.”

“To the white lake, then, for a little swim?”

Khazak nodded his head.  “Some mineral water will
do me good.”

“Yes, sire.  I’ll go work on ‘the package’ then,
and pack for our little trip.”

“Aye,” Khazak said.  “Let’s do it right!  The
Fates smile more on those who prepare!”

Krobo had always considered himself a loyal
servant of Lord Karthan.  He had served the Karthan line since Lord Karthan was
a whelp, had been there through the death of Lord Karthan’s father and mother,
and had seen several court officials come and go.  Mostly, however, he had
tended to the whelps; first to Karaba and young Karthan, then as that
generation grew up and assumed their roles in life, to young Lord Karthan’s whelps;
Kiria, Karto, and Lat.  Through it all he had never complained…  Well, that
wasn’t true, actually, he complained often under his breath and seemed to be
constantly perturbed by the antics of the young ones.  He really didn’t know
why they wouldn’t just put him in charge of the kitchen or perhaps the
library… 

Yes, that was it.  He was too smart for his own
good.  And as a servant, if one has brains and isn’t from a more prominent
family, then the only natural course to pursue was to serve as tutor to the
whelps of the council.  That he’d somehow been chosen to serve the lord of the
gen’s whelps didn’t change things a bit.  Being a tutor was more about wiping
noses and putting up with nonsense than actually teaching.

Krobo sighed.  There had been a few rare instances
where the older whelps had seemed to understand and care about what he was
trying to teach them, but those were few and far between and usually occurred
shortly before they left the lord’s house to fulfill their individual
destinies.

What had stung the most over all these years,
perhaps, was that once Lord Karthan had grown and assumed leadership of the
gen, he no longer seemed to have any use for Krobo.  There had been a time,
just before young Karthan’s preparation for the Trials of Caste, when the young
lord-to-be couldn’t get enough of what Krobo would teach him.  But that time
was long gone now.  It had been years since Lord Karthan had wanted to hear
anything much from Krobo, except for the news of the household and the goings
and comings of his whelps.

It was not the life Krobo would have chosen for
himself.

It was a lonely life, made emptier now that Kiria
had begun apprenticing herself to the old Lore Master.  Since Lord Karthan’s
two young sons were too young yet for tutoring, they were constantly out playing
under the watchful eye of a new, rather cute female servant caste.  So, from
first gong to third gong all the other servants in the lord’s house were busy,
except for the old wench in charge of the kitchen.  But she was more surly and
terse than he was!  Feeling the emptiness in his life keenly, Krobo had at
first taken to wandering about the market caves, then he’d taken to hiking in
the lower caverns of the gen’s home, something he had taken quite a liking to in
his youth but hadn’t had time to do since.

It was there that he’d first met her.  And it was
there that he found himself now, long after the third gong had already sounded,
in the home of the Deep Guard Warrior Group.

“Are you always this pensive?” Jezmya asked as she
leaned over and bumped shoulders with the much older kobold.  “Or is the decade
you have on me beginning to tell?”

Krobo shook his head and blinked at her.  “Ah,
no.  Just too much late night reading, I suppose.”

“Are you sure you’re up to meeting with my chief elite
warrior?” she asked, her eyes showing concern though it was clear that she had
no intention of letting him back down from this.

“How long have we been together, my love?” Krobo
asked almost rhetorically.

Jezmya punched him in the shoulder.  “Oh, you!  Nine
moons now you’ve tortured me like this!  You’re worse than…”  She cut her
sentence short.

“Than your first lifemate,” he finished the
thought.  “Yes, I know.  And much older.”

“Krobo,” Jezmya said tenderly as she put her arm
around his shoulders and took his snout in her other hand.  “Look at me now,
Krobo.  You know I care for you.  You’re smart, you’re funny, and you’re good
for Spider.”

“Well, I’m here, that’s certain.”

“That’s a very important quality!” Jezmya added,
her big eyes looking poutingly into his.  “And as a servant of Lord Karthan,
you’re not going anywhere dangerous!”

Krobo nodded and turned to look at the ground. 
“That’s me, never a risk-taker, never in danger.”

“Is that so bad?” Jezmya asked.  “I’ve had danger
and risk… and loss.  The lifemate of my youth has been gone far longer than we
were together.  My son doesn’t even remember his father.  I don’t want any more
risk in my life… for him.”

As if on cue, Jezmya’s son parted the flaxen
curtain that led from the warrior group’s common area into the waiting chamber.

“Spider, where have you been?” Jezmya asked. 
“We’ve been waiting on you.”

“Out,” the dour-faced young kobold said,
deliberately looking at the floor as he always did.  The sullen moodiness he
had fallen into since failing the preparation for the Trials of Caste and
becoming a servant caste for the house of Trelkar, chief elite warrior for the
Deep Guard Warrior Group, left his mother longing for the little whelp she had
known.  Lately he’d taken to sulking in his room whenever he wasn’t doing
chores for Trelkar.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him
smile.

“Spider, you know Krobo and I only want the best
for you… and for us.  Won’t you at least smile on such a joyous day?”

Before he could answer, Trelkar himself parted the
leather hanging that covered the doorway into the warrior group leader’s
council chamber.  At his appearance, Spider straightened up, his defiant look
turning fearful. 

“Spider” Trelkar pronounced, “Khee-lar Shadow Hand
will see you now.”  Turning his gaze to the older pair, he continued, “And I
have need of you, Krobo.  Come, I have a task for you.”

H
aving
gained some sense of what they would be facing on the morrow, Durik, Keryak,
and Gorgon talked of the recent past and speculated much about what their
future held for them.  As was tradition and written in the Scrolls of Heritage,
each year-group was given a quest to perform as proof of their worthiness to
hold their newly attained titles, and from which they were not to return until
it was completed.  They talked much about past quests that had been given to
year-groups before theirs, and of the goings on of the guard and the leaders of
the gen.  Gorgon was of the firm belief that their quest would have to do with
the recent rumors of a new colony of giant hunter ants having been found. 
Keryak speculated about the quest being centered on the need for more wolves
for the Wolf Riders Warrior Group.  “Your skill will come in handy there,
Durik,” Keryak said, referring to the apprenticing that Durik had done with the
wolf trainers of the warrior group they both belonged to.

 Though he liked the idea, Durik’s thoughts
strayed to other things.  In his mind he thought it most likely they’d be given
a small quest like what his companions talked about.  But in his heart, he felt
something different that he could not explain.  At that moment a single
fleeting thought formed in his mind.  After a moment it began to take shape,
and then with a flood of light and power the image formed and Durik was
transfixed.  Caught by this sudden burst of light, he was surprised and
stunned, yet unable to escape its stark yet soothing embrace.  He felt as if
somehow he had been spirited away to another place. 

He found himself standing, though his feet did not
touch the ground just below him, looking out across a long natural stone bridge
which spanned a chasm that dropped off on either side of the bridge.  The light
that surrounded the place was brilliant, brighter than the sun at noon-time in
the white limestone quarry near their gen’s caves.  On the far side of the
bridge, almost at the edge of the brilliant light that bounded the vision,
Durik could see through the haze the bulky form of a muscular kobold warrior
carrying a large leather sack over his shoulder.  As Durik wondered at the
vision, slowly, and without any conscious thought on Durik’s part, he began to
glide effortlessly across the bridge toward where the warrior was looking about
furtively.  Deep within himself, Durik could feel that something evil was
occurring.  There was such a feeling of sadness within him that tears began to
form in his eyes even as he was transfixed by the vision.

Suddenly, the warrior hefted the large sack and
threw it out into the void, where the heavy leather sack dropped swiftly off
into nothingness.  In a moment of clarity, the kobold warrior’s face appeared
clearly through the mist.  Durik was taken aback as he saw the face of Troll,
the chief elite warrior of his own warrior group.  He felt a great desire for
justice begin to well up within him.  It was as if he knew that he must take
action, yet didn’t know what to do.

I will help,
Durik thought meekly,
if
you will tell me what to do.

Suddenly his heart burned within his chest, and a
deep sense of power came over the young kobold.  Suddenly he knew that there
would be much expected of him, but that much help would be given as well.  Then,
almost as quickly as it had come, the vision disappeared from before his eyes,
leaving him alone and small again, back with his friends in the caves of his
heritage.

Durik was shaken, but a remnant of that feeling of
power lingered still in his heart.  It seemed so unreal that, after a second of
silence, Durik wasn’t sure whether or not what had just happened had, in fact,
really happened or if it was just his imagination running wild.  Either way,
his friends sat looking at him strangely.  After a moment of embarrassment as
he came back to reality, Durik stated, “I do not know, my friends.  I do feel
something coming our way, however; perhaps something greater than ourselves.”

“What do you mean, Durik?” asked Keryak, a
questioning look on his face.

“I don’t know, Keryak,” he answered.  “I guess we
shall see… perhaps at the Trials.”

At that moment, Goryon entered from the forge
room.  “That you will, whether you sleep before then or not!  You’ve had enough
of root and talk.  Now is the time for rest, not talk!”

Durik and Keryak said their goodbyes and left
Gorgon’s home.  It was late and the first gong would sound sooner than they
wanted to think.  As they walked together on their way to the large common cave
of the Wolf Riders Warrior Group, they chatted a bit, but without any
enthusiasm until Keryak brought up the subject of Troll’s missing lifemate.

“So, you think Troll did it?  You know.  Do you
think he killed his lifemate?” he said off-handedly.

With much greater passion than Keryak was
expecting from him, Durik stopped and looked Keryak in the eyes.  “Yes!” 
Realizing he’s startled Keryak, Durik demurred.  “I don’t know why, but I just
know.”

Keryak raised his brows and nodded slowly. 
“Alright… I guess.”

Durik turned and continued to walk, followed
closely by his friend.  “I guess it doesn’t matter.  We’ve got nothing to do
with whether the chief killed his lifemate or not,” he muttered, mostly for
Keryak’s sake.  However, in his own heart he could feel that wasn’t true.

“Well… whatever,” Keryak answered, and the pair
walked along in silence for a while.

“So, Troll,” the non-descript Deep Guard warrior said
from the shadows of the passageway.  “I see that the rumors are true.”

Startled, Troll turned away from the chasm where
he had just thrown the heavy leather bag.  “What?  Who’s there?” he called out,
his face clearly showing the guilt even one so hardened as he could not hide
when caught in the act.  The phosphorescent minerals found in the deeper places
of their gen’s home caverns washed out his heat vision, effectively cloaking
the stranger in their shadows.

The stranger pushed away from the wall he was
leaning against and walked confidently into the light.  “Your lifemate, she was
quite a burden to carry.  Too bad she stood up to you.  Too bad you had to
kill
her.”  The stranger smiled maliciously as he stopped not far from where Troll
stood.

Troll licked his lips and straightened up.  “I
don’t know what you’re talking about,” he bluffed, poorly.

The stranger shook his head and smiled.  “You
don’t have to lie to me, Troll.  It’s me.  Remember me, Khee-lar Shadow Hand’s
friend?”  With that, the stranger passed a hand over his face, revealing the
face of Mynar the Sorcerer.

“You’re that sorcerer.”  Troll looked warily at
Mynar.  He had never known much about magic, and all he’d heard was of its
destructive power.  Stories from his whelping full of fire and lightning had
frightened him then, and had left a lingering fear in his subconscious.  “What
do you want of me?”

Mynar looked at Troll, feeling the fear emanating
from the brute.  “Well, it would appear that you and I now have a secret.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come now,” Mynar said, “don’t be coy with
me.  That is your lifemate’s body you just threw into this chasm.  Nice and
windy it is… windy enough to carry away the stench.  Ah!  And all wrapped in a
leather bag to help make her body hard to spot in the shadows down at the
bottom I see.”

Troll was sweating profusely.  The thin scales of
his face had lost much of their color as the blood left from behind them. 
“Don’t tell anyone!” Troll blurted out.  “Remember the Covenant!”  Desperately
he thought of trying to throw the sorcerer off the edge as well, even though he
was one of the founders of the Covenant, but his fear of magic kept him in
check.

“Now Troll.”  Mynar’s smile was anything but
warm.  “You may be a member of Khee-lar’s Covenant, but you also know that
Khee-lar has yet to accept you into his inner circle.  He has no obligation to
cover for you, my friend.”  This last word was almost hissed out.

“Wha… what would you have me do?” Troll fell to
his knees.  “Please, please!  I ask you as a brother of the Covenant.  Please
don’t tell anyone!”

Mynar stepped forward until he loomed over the
desperate brute.  “Will you covenant with me?”

Troll was caught like a fish in a net.  How could
he not?  “Yes, Mynar.”  He rocked back and forth.

“If you will covenant with me, then I will make
you a member of
my
inner circle,” Mynar the Sorcerer said.

All of a sudden Troll stopped rocking back and
forth.  Had he just understood… Had the sorcerer offered
him
the chance
to covenant into his inner circle… into the inner circle of a founder?  “I… I…
of course I will!”

Mynar smiled a thin-lipped smile.  “Well, then,
Troll, go ahead and swear, by your head!”

Almost exuberant with his change of fortune, Troll
rose to one knee.  “I, Troll, Chief Elite Warrior of the Wolf Riders Warrior
Group, swear by my head that I will do whatever you ask of me.”

Mynar smiled and nodded.  “Now let us discuss your
first task.”

Passing the entranceway to the common chamber of
the Trade Warrior Group, Durik and Keryak were surprised to see Jerrig sitting
in the entrance with his knees up to his chest.  The rush lights that cloaked
the area near the entrance with their smoky light threw shadows over Jerrig’s
still form.

When Durik stopped and asked what was the matter,
Jerrig did not respond immediately.  Throughout the year of training they’d
undergone together, Durik and Keryak had gotten used to this.  It was almost as
if he were struggling for some sort of inner control, which didn’t surprise
Durik.  He’d heard several stories about his cousin. 

Keryak put his hand on Durik’s arm and bade him
farewell until the morrow.  Durik nodded and came up next to Jerrig, kneeling
next to him in the cool sand of the caverns.

Presently, Jerrig looked up from where he was
staring and smiled meekly at Durik.  “Hi, Durik.  Strange finding you here at
this time of the night.  I thought you would be home already from the meeting.”

Durik smiled back, putting his hand on Jerrig’s
shoulder, “I was just going to say the same thing about you.  Come now, Jerrig,
it’s time to rest.”  Durik stood, reaching a hand out to Jerrig, the bronzed
tips of Jerrig’s otherwise rust-red scales and Durik’s completely bronze scales
showing a sign of their kinship.

Jerrig took his hand and stood slowly.  As they
came eye to eye, Jerrig spoke, “Durik,” he started.  Not waiting for a
response, he quickly continued, “I want you to know that I appreciate what
you’ve done for me this past year.”

Durik looked oblivious, “It was nothing, Jerrig. 
It’s an honor and a pleasure being your cousin, even if it did mean pushing and
pulling you on every march for the past year,” he said in a joking tone.

The appreciation in Jerrig’s eyes was clear to see
as he began counting off the ways Durik had helped him.  “Or catching me on the
cliff, or spending extra hours practicing weapon play with Arbelk and me, or
giving Troka and me your water when we ran out deep in the underdark, or
convincing the others to not give up on me.”

“Enough, enough already,” Durik cried.  “You make
it sound like more than it was.”  Durik put his hand on Jerrig’s shoulder,
“Besides, it was you who never gave up, cousin.  And soon, we will all get the
reward for our efforts of this past year.”  He paused then added, “Now, I’ve
got to get to bed, and if your father is anything like uncle Drok, and like my
father used to be,” Durik said, “then I would imagine he’s out looking for
you.”  Jerrig nodded and the two said their goodbyes as they left for their
respective homes. 

Though they were soon to face the day that many a
yearling before them had dreaded, Durik was calm and sure of his preparations. 
Putting the images of the vision out of his mind, he let the assurance of this
year’s preparations calm his soul.  Reaching the entrance to the cave where the
Wolf Guard Warrior Group his father had belonged to in life was quartered,
Durik headed toward his uncle’s tent dwelling, where he met him just as his
uncle was about to go out looking for him.  After a few brief words, Durik went
straight to bed while his uncle continued to wait more impatiently for Durik’s
little sister’s return.