by Joel Babbitt
“Until the morrow,” Troka said as he grasped hands with Gorgon. His lips quivered; the consensus of the elite warriors that Gorgon would win tomorrow had shaken his unfounded confidence.
“I’m surprised your father wasn’t here tonight, Troka,” Gorgon remarked, not seeming to notice the other was troubled. “After all, it may be long ago now, but he won the trials in his day.”
Troka shook his head. “They wouldn’t let him near the arena, not with a son undergoing the trials.”
“Ah, yes, well until tomorrow then,” Gorgon forced a smile as Troka left.
“Yeah, that.” Arbelk nodded to the rest as he left just behind Troka.
Gorgon turned and saw that Durik and Keryak were still seated. “Oh, yes, the Wallaya root!” He grabbed the now cool bowl from the counter and walked out to the forge, where his father kept their hot water pot simmering off to the side. Carefully refilling the bowl, he slowly walked back into the inner chamber and set the bowl down. The three young kobolds began to converse as Gorgon took his seat around the nearly vacant table.
The placid aroma of Wallaya root began to fill the room, and the three friends immediately set to the task of examining and re-examining the few clues scrawled on the roll of soft leather. After some time, and much thinking about descriptions of obstacles they’d gotten by talking to warriors from previous years, the three of them agreed that the ‘three obstacles that were one’ must be what was called The Crucible; a huge mess of platforms, ladders, and walkways that spanned three clearings in the tangle of netting and passageways that was the scouting trial area. Neither Durik nor Keryak were particularly good with locks, and during the trials this past year they’d seen that the keys were inside locked chests somewhere down inside the crucible. Locks didn’t worry Gorgon, however. “I can deal with locked chests,” he stated matter-of-factly.
The obstacle with a tower and rope they were pretty certain was the Orc Guard Tower obstacle, which was straight forward enough. One simply had to open a locked door, avoid a couple of traps, climb to the top of a tower and retrieve a key. The lock there was simple enough to bypass, as the hinges of the door had been on the outside in years past.
The home of a being long dead they decided could be none other than the Tomb of Kor obstacle, built to celebrate the exploits of a young kobold who had gotten past a myriad of traps to pilfer a sarcophagus. The walls had always been too high to see much from where the crowd sat, however, and the honor guard had changed aspects of this obstacle every year, so the three yearlings could only speculate what they would have to face there.
The ‘two obstacles that came from the depths of the earth’ the yearlings were not certain about. There was a huge climbing wall that the honor guard had used in trials past that mimicked the climb up the toughest portion of Sheerface, the cliff they had climbed up to get out of the underdark. That couldn’t be it alone, they thought. Durik then brought up the Smoke and Brimstone obstacles. Both of them consisted of tents with smelly, tear producing smokes that made it particularly hard to find their keys. They all hoped it was something less distasteful.
“Well, that only leaves the pole and jump obstacle, whatever that may be,” Keryak observed. “That would be the new one, then.”
Simultaneous with the efforts to prepare for the Trials of Caste were the preparations being made for the Proofing of the Trials, which is what the quest that was given to each year-group to complete at the end of the Trials of Caste was formally called. Though several aspects of the preparation and timeline for the quest were specified in the Scrolls of Heritage, the final selection of the quest to serve as the Proofing of the Trials was always the Lord of the Gen’s alone to decide.
The quest, announced the night before the Trials of Caste to the gen’s council, was held in utmost secrecy until announced by Lord Karthan to the gen’s populace at the conclusion of the trials. However, there were several factors that the more alert of the gen had found were common in every quest Lord Karthan had chosen in the past. First, every quest took the year-group far from the gen through unfamiliar and at least somewhat dangerous territory. Second, every quest was in line with the council’s long-term goals for the future of the gen, and so was seen as a statement of the direction the gen was taking. Third, every quest had a way of validating that it had been successful. After all, the Scrolls of Heritage stated clearly that the new warriors were not to return until they had either accomplished their quest, proved that it could not be accomplished, or gained release from the quest from the lord of the gen or his chamberlain, which had not happened in more than a generation.
Many years ago, the quests had been focused on building the gen. Wolf puppies were captured and eventually trained, the leader of that quest eventually becoming the leader of a new wolf-riding guard force. The orc blacksmith Grimgnaw, now living with the Kale Gen as something of a slave, was captured with his tools and had been persuaded to teach the craft of forging steel out of iron to several of the gen’s elite warriors; now the gen had steel weapons and tools. Trade routes and economic partnerships had been first strengthened with the Krall Gen to the east of them, then established with other estranged gens across the mountains to the north of them as well as far to their west near the coast. An incursion into the untamed, lower reaches of their training caves by a race of dark, crouched, primitive humanoid creatures had been stopped by finding their entrance and bringing down an avalanche of hundreds of tons of rock to seal it.
In the last few years, however, the quests had mostly focused on the Bloodhand Orc Tribe; a ferocious group of orcs who, in league with the evil kobold Mynar the Sorcerer, had raided the outer caves of the gen some six years back, killing many before being driven out. Each year a new year-group was sent to conduct a raid on that tribe’s outposts, to set fire to their living areas, or to ambush one of their slave caravans, which had been a source of good will with a couple of the gens in the northern valley. It was said that this tribe was now occupied by a war with another orc tribe in the Great Forest far to the north. As such, their raiding parties had rarely been seen this far south over the past year, preferring easier, less organized targets such as the kobold gens in the northern valley.
In the conversations of the council members, it could be felt that it was time for a new focus, and all the gen was buzzing with rumors of what that focus might be. The fact that the yearling group had recently returned from the final portion of their training had served to renew and reemphasize the speculation.
Weaponsmiths had been forging swords, spears, and other weapons to meet the needs of the soon-to-be-warriors. Leather workers had been sewing backpacks and making belts. Spinners and skinners had been making warm clothing for weeks now. Blacksmiths had been making cooking implements and pots, as well as a myriad of other tools and pieces of equipment. And among the parents of the yearlings there had been quite a bit of effort spent on trying to find out what the quest would be.
Though none of the yearling’s parents were of any significant social standing, Keryak’s father, Kyro, was an insider to the goings on of the councils. Kyro was a servant caste for the leader caste in charge of the Wolf Rider’s Warrior Group; Raoros Fang. From his perspective, his master was a rather large, muscular, but not too bright kobold who had risen to his rank mostly by his skill in taming wolves, an idea of Lord Karthan’s that had added much to the gen.
While his son Keryak and the rest of the yearlings had been in the underdark these last two moons, Kyro had been paying close attention to the idle words Raoros had let slip from time to time. His efforts were aided by the fact that after particularly stressful council meetings Raoros liked to wet his tongue with fermented Wallaya root broth. Raoros normally kept a very guarded tongue, but he had recently started inviting other council members over to sample his fermented root broth, and after a while of drinking it he tended to speak loudly and without restraint. So Kyro had taken to lingering late at his master’s house, just out of view, then making the rounds of t
he other parents’ houses.
He’d learned of several proposed quests this way. One of the council members that had come to visit had very forcefully tried to gain Raoros’ support to have the yearlings investigate reports of giant hunter ants building nests in the forest. Kyro didn’t like that one so much. When he’d shared it with the other yearlings’ parents, all of them had shared his sentiment except for Goryon, Gorgon’s father, who stated ‘That’ll give them a taste of blood!’ Kyro had heard stories of these hunter ants when he had been in the service of another council member, and he wasn’t so sure it would be the ants’ blood that would be spilt.
A day after that visitor, however, another council member had come wanting Raoros to back his recommendation of having the yearlings try to establish trade with a mountain gen that lived in the northern part of the ring of mountains that surrounded the Northern Valley, saying something about the roots and herbs they had to offer. Kyro liked this recommendation much better. It didn’t sound so dangerous. He knew it didn’t make any difference, but all the other parents liked this suggestion, including Goryon who was a member of the Metalsmithies Warrior Group and was sure to profit from such an endeavor.
There had even been talk lately of a group of outcasts forming themselves into a gen deep in the underdark, but all reports of such things had been sketchy at best. Raoros didn’t support the idea of sending a scouting party to confirm the reports, and neither did Kyro. After all, the deeper parts of the underdark were rumored to be full of nasty things, and he was against anything that put his son in much danger.
Keryak’s father had learned about more than he had expected, however, when not more than a week before the trials Trelkar, Chief Elite Warrior of the Deep Guard Warrior Group had come to talk with his master. Much of what they had talked about at first Kyro had not been able to hear. However, he had ensured there was a full skin of fermented broth and, before long, the two of them were speaking with much less caution.
Though he had hoped to hear details of some of whatever quest Trelkar was going to propose to Lord Karthan, what he heard instead troubled him deeply. Trelkar had mentioned plans to ‘deal with Lord Karthan’s failed leadership and put one with a closer bloodline to the last Lord Kale on the throne.’ As Kyro had listened in astonishment, Trelkar had pressed his master to pledge his axe, and the weapons of his warriors to ‘claim the throne’ for ‘his master and those loyal to the Kale bloodline’ when the time came. Thankfully, Raoros had declined, but had taken an oath of secrecy instead. There had also been talk of a ‘token of the right to rule,’ which Trelkar had said was ‘the Kale Stone.’ Kyro had been so stunned by this talk of insurrection that he’d dropped the cup he’d been holding.
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?”
