by Joel Babbitt
“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 D
urik 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.
“Well, Spider?” Durik prompted. “I’ve already had enough trouble because of you today. What do you want now?”
“You! You were there! I saw you and Keryak following my mother! You took the bag from my mother’s house!” he accused, suddenly aware that Trallik had no knowledge of the poison, and therefore not wanting to say more.
Durik slowly nodded. “Yes, I did. In fact, Keryak and I both did.”
Spider stumbled up to Durik and poked him in the chest. “You stole the poison!” he hissed through clenched teeth, trying to keep his voice low enough that Trallik wouldn’t hear.
“Poison? What poison?” Trallik asked, taking a step forward.
Spider looked back at Trallik fearfully. “Nothing! Go away!” he snapped, his voice a harsh whisper.
Durik shook his head. “No we didn’t, Spider,” he said, his face set with determination. “We followed you to the cavern where the Fang Cap grows and watched you harvest it. But the bag your mother had was full of harmless spiced shelf fungus, not Fang Cap spores.”
Spider looked at Durik without understanding.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing,” Durik continued, “but whatever you’ve done with the poison, it will be found and you will be caught.”
Spider slowly shook his head. How could this be?
Walking back to the doorway of his house, Durik reached inside and picked up a small bag. Turning back to Spider, he flung it at his feet. “Here. Here’s your bag.”
Spider picked it up woodenly and slowly opened it. Spongy crumbs of spiced shelf fungus, the same sort that the lower castes of the gen added to their food, spilled out over his hand and onto the ground. In despair, Spider fell to his knees and tore the bag open as he began to sob. Crumbs of the fungus scattered on the ground in front of him.
“Why would you be gathering poison?” Trallik asked in a subdued voice.
“I don’t know,” Durik answered instead, “but I’m thinking it’s Trelkar of the Deep Guard, or maybe Khee-lar Shadow Hand he’s working for.” Turning to look at Trallik, he continued. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you, Trallik?”
“No, I…” Trallik said. “I’m in their warrior group… What’s going on?”
Durik shook his head. “You’re always one to get into trouble. But I wouldn’t get involved in this if I were you, Trallik. In fact,” he said, “I’m done with this myself. It’s time to get some rest before the trials tomorrow. Good night, both of you.” With that, Durik turned and retreated back through the door of his house.
Spider just knelt there mumbling to himself. “There’s not time to make the trip to the cavern again. Trelkar will be upset with me unless… can I get more before…?” In a few moments, Spider got to his feet and went stumbling off toward the passageway, muttering to himself, leaving Trallik alone to ponder on the events of the night.
Chapter 10 – Infiltrating the Lord’s House
Durik tossed and turned on his bed. Everything about what was going on was wrong; Raoros pointing the conspiracy toward Khazak when it was clear now that Trelkar and Troll were the real conspirators, Raoros’ seeming involvement, Troll confronting him and asking him to murder for him. Things were spinning out of control around him, and he didn’t know what to do about it.
Sitting up in the dark, Durik held his head in his hands. After a few moments, he got out of bed and stood up. Summoning up what courage he had, Durik knew he had to act. If he, knowing what was wrong, did nothing about it, he knew he could blame no one but himself for not stopping it. No matter what Khazak Mail Fist did, or anyone else did for that matter, and whether or not Raoros Fang was involved or not, Durik decided that he would do what he could to stop the plot that was afoot. Though he didn’t know how, he felt better already, more sure, and determined to face whatever lay ahead.
With a new focus showing in his eyes, Durik walked out of his room. Grabbing one of his uncle’s knives and tucking it into his belt, the young kobold padded quietly out of the tent-dwelling that was his home. Making his way quickly toward the Leaders’ Grotto, determined to talk to Khazak Mail Fist, Durik heard voices around the next corner and stopped.
“Spider said he lost a bag of poison,” a voice that he was sure was Trallik’s was saying.
“Very good. Now, for your loyalty, I will tell you that I took it from him. Does that surprise you?” a second voice asked.
There was silence for a moment before Trallik answered, his voice a hushed whisper. “No. What are you going to do with it?”
“I gave Spider’s bag to Khazak Mail Fist to gain his trust, though I have another bag of it. See how much I trust you? Now, tell me, what did Spider say he was going to do?” the other voice changed the subject.
“He had an idea for getting more poison. He didn’t say how, but I followed him,” Trallik answered, by the tone of his voice he was clearly getting excited.
“And where did he go?”
“He took the long route toward the caves of the Deep Guard, the one that goes by way of the Patrol Guard’s caverns, and passes through the grotto of the Herb Master.”
“The Herb Master, you say? Perhaps he will find his poison there. Why did you leave him?” the second voice asked.
“He did mutter something about the Herb Master,” Trallik answered. “I tried to follow him. He seemed like he might be heading for trouble.”
“But why are you here, so near the home of the Honor Guard, when he’s heading back to the Deep Guard?”
“Khazak Mail Fist and some of the Honor Guard are onto him, I think. They have guards posted all over the place… from the Honor Guard Warrior Group. I almost got caught by one of their patrols and ran this way to avoid them.”
“Khazak is out?”
“Yes, I just saw him and some others rushing past. They’re taking the long route to the Deep Guard’s caverns as well. If Spider stops at the Herb Master’s house, they’ll catch up to him quickly.”
The other kobold immediately began walking away down a side passage. “Good work! Go to the marketplace of the Honor Guard. Either Spider or I will meet you there. Find whatever tools you can for opening locks and be prepared to follow immediately upon our arrival. The time for your task is almost at hand, and if you do it well, in a few days you’ll be an elite warrior.”
“I won’t let you down,” Trallik answered. “And I have my tools here with me. I’m ready.”
“Remember, either Spider or myself will come for you shortly.”
The sound of footsteps faded quickly into the distance.
Durik was surprised to come face to face with Trallik as he came around the corner and found Durik standing there, listening.
“What… why are you still out?” Trallik stammered.
“Why are you out?” Durik countered.
“You know why,” Trallik growled. “The same reason you’re out. Spider was trying to poison someone. I’m just trying to find out what’s going on.”
“Who was that you were talking to?” Durik pressed.
“No one!” Trallik snapped, frustrated at Durik’s questions.
“It’s Lord Karthan and his family,” Durik said.
“What?”
“That’s who Spider is trying to poison.”
Trallik was shocked and silent.
“I’m telling you, Trallik, don’t get involved in this. Nothing good can come of it.”
Trallik scoffed as he turned to go, his eyes wide with surprise. “I’ll be fine,” he s
tammered.
Durik shook his head as he watched him go.
Krobo was shaken, but more than anything he was shocked at what he had agreed to do. As he walked through the main passageways that led back to the upper areas of the gen from the lower reaches, he could not help but play back in his mind what had happened. How had he fallen in with such evil? Was this what Trelkar had planned all along… to kill Lord Karthan?
Shaking his head, he looked down at the dagger in his hands in disbelief. He couldn’t believe he had actually agreed to do this thing. But then, if he didn’t…
“Krobo,” a familiar voice cut through his stupor and he stopped in place, looking up from the dagger in his hand. It was Spider, a strange look of adrenaline on his face, yet Krobo was oblivious to it. “I have more of the sleeping dust. Here, take it for the stew! I’ll go tell Trelkar that the plan is back on track!”
Krobo shook his head. “I can’t. But they are going to kill… they have your mother…”
Not for years had Spider bothered caring about other people. Even his feelings for his mother were mostly gone; despite his recent failure he didn’t feel the need to run to her. All he really cared about at the moment was that he had been able to correct his mistake, thanks to a small stockage of rat poison the Herb Master kept on hand. Now he just needed to figure out how to get Krobo to use the poison.
Spider looked about the subterranean cavern the pair were standing in. There was a drop off to one side of the walkway, but the rest of the cavern was open. No one seemed to be around. “What do you mean? What are they making you do?” he began to try to talk with Krobo; the beginnings of an attempt to persuade him to take the poison and finish the deed.
Krobo had a hard time bringing himself to say it. After a couple of deep breaths, he finally stammered, “Trelkar wants me to kill Lord Karthan.”
“Or what?” Spider pressed.
“Or they will kill Jezmya!”
As Spider watched Krobo, the anguish on the old kobold’s face awakened some long-suppressed sentiment for his mother. “They can’t do that,” he mumbled to himself. “What is happening here?” Being beaten by Trelkar was one thing; some elite warriors did that with their servant caste when they made mistakes. But holding his mother hostage… he had never expected such an act. If they would kill his mother, what would stop them from killing him? All of a sudden Spider began to doubt.
