by Joel Babbitt
“Match! Durik wins!” announced the trainer. “Return your weapons. Durik, to the right of the trainers’ stand. Trallik, to the left.” In the stands, Trallik’s father looked concerned. Durik’s uncle, aunt, and sister were all excited and almost the entire Wolf Guard Warrior Group was on their feet shouting and cheering their yearling on.
The two young kobolds shook hands, though Trallik was visibly upset and felt shamed by his quick loss. They retrieved their weapons, placing them back in the racks, and took their respective places. Even before they got to their places, the trainer had already announced the next match. Keryak and Arbelk ran to the racks and retrieved a spear and a short sword with shield respectively. They squared off and began the match quickly. Where Durik’s style was more aggressive and Trallik’s was quick, but not as aggressive, both Keryak and Arbelk were more cautious in their style. Their match went longer than most would that day, as both of them circled quite a bit and neither of them was in any great hurry to rush the other. It didn’t help that they were just as strong as each other and neither one was clearly faster or more skilled. Finally, after a couple of minutes of poking at each other from arm’s length, Arbelk made a rush and ended up bowling Keryak over. In the process, however, he caught a low thrust from Keryak in his abdomen and lost the match.
The last match of the first set of matches was the most exciting. As there were three left, it was decided that Gorgon, Troka and Jerrig would all fight simultaneously. Gorgon, the strongest and most aggressive of them all, chose a padded, two handed wooden-headed hammer. Troka, by far the tallest of yearlings, chose a two-handed wooden broadsword. Jerrig, who knew he was sorely outclassed, cursed his bad luck and chose a javelin with shield. Gorgon was ferocious with the hammer and neither of the other two wanted to get close to him. He was much stronger than Troka, who in turn was stronger than Jerrig. Troka’s one great advantage was his height and reach. He was easily a hand taller than Gorgon and two taller than Jerrig. Gorgon and Jerrig, however, were equally as fast, which was more than Troka could handle.
Once the match started, it was only a matter of a few seconds before Jerrig threw his javelin and scored a glancing blow on Troka, putting Troka out of that round. Then, retrieving Troka’s sword, he and Gorgon circled for a moment before Gorgon, swinging his hammer menacingly, caught Jerrig’s shield, ripping it from his grasp. Knowing that he had about three seconds to either score or face getting pushed out of the ring with Gorgon’s wide hammer sweeps, Jerrig went low for a sweep at Gorgon’s legs. He hit, but in turn Gorgon brought his wooden hammer down quickly. Following the rules of sparing, Gorgon tapped Jerrig on the back with it. Jerrig was out of the match.
The second round of the match was between only Gorgon and Troka. The two of them were very good with their respective weapons and it was a hard fought battle. Though Gorgon was the faster and stronger of the two, Troka’s long reach and equally long sword kept Gorgon from getting too close. After a couple of minutes of give and take, both Gorgon and Troka were using only one hand. Finally, with a sweep from his hammer, Gorgon knocked the sword from Troka’s grasp. Troka made a desperate jump for Jerrig’s fallen javelin, but was not fast enough with one hand to bring it to bear before Gorgon had swept his legs with his hammer and stood over him with his hammer in front of his face. The match was Gorgon’s.
Durik leaned over to Keryak, “My friend, you’ll excuse me if I beat you senseless.”
Laughing, Keryak responded, “Only if I don’t beat you senseless first!”
With all three matches decided, Gorgon, Keryak, and Durik stood to the right of the stand, while Trallik, Arbelk, Jerrig, and Troka stood to the left. The other trainer came down and replaced the trainer that had judged the first round while the yearlings took advantage of the pause to stretch a little more and prepare for the second set of matches.
“Gorgon, Keryak, and Durik stand tied in the bracket for first place.” The crowd quieted as the announcer from the Honor Guard box started. “He who first loses will be in third place. He who loses to the last yearling standing will take second. He who wins the last match is in first place.”
The trainer faced the remaining three yearlings and spoke, “Choose your weapons!” Keryak and Durik both chose spears from the rack. Gorgon again chose the two handed hammer. Durik grimaced as he looked at how lovingly Gorgon felt the weight of the wooden hammer and how gracefully he swung it about, testing its weight. Padded or not, the hammer could be a dangerous weapon if not handled with care.
“Keryak, you know the only way one of us is going to win over Gorgon is if we both go for him.” Durik observed.
“If it works out that way, then so be it.” Keryak responded. “I think I can take him on my own. Let’s not team up this time. I’d rather whichever of us wins be able to say they won it on their own.”
“You’re stubborn as a mud-lodged boulder, Keryak” Durik shook his head. “Or maybe just cocky.”
Keryak just smiled.
The three of them stood spaced evenly around the edge of the sawdust circle. The trainer stood just in front of the trainers’ stand. “Fight!” he announced, dropping his hand.
Gorgon immediately came toward Durik, swinging his hammer as he came. Keryak slowly approached the two, wanting to see how the match would go and more than willing to wait for a good opportunity. Durik held his spear at the ready and began to circle in Keryak’s direction, bringing the action closer to Keryak.
With a yell, Gorgon swung his hammer in a mighty arc downward, hoping to make Durik scramble so he could then catch him off guard. Durik was more confident in his abilities than that, however, and was able to sidestep the blow, leaving Gorgon scrambling to get out of the reach of Durik’s spear tip. Though he avoided the tip, Durik slapped Gorgon across the ribs with the butt of his spear. As Gorgon retreated, Keryak came up on Durik, hoping to break his rhythm with a sweep of the legs. Durik posted his spear on the ground, stopping the sweep with a solid crack, then, stepping forward, he caught the spear under his foot, causing Keryak to lose his grip on it and trapping it to the ground. Keryak stepped back quickly before Durik could take advantage of his disarmed opponent.
The only thing that kept Keryak from losing at that moment was Gorgon choosing to come back at Durik instead of letting Durik finish Keryak off. As he came in, swinging his hammer, Durik backpedaled quickly, leaving Keryak’s spear on the ground. Keryak followed behind Gorgon and quickly retrieved his spear. Focusing too much on Durik to his front, it was easy for Keryak to get a shot in at Gorgon’s back. Just as Keryak was thrusting, however, Gorgon brought his hammer back, knocking Keryak’s spear to one side accidentally. Keryak did, however, end up landing a glancing blow on Gorgon’s back, putting him out for the round, but not for the match. Both Keryak and Durik felt much relief.
“Durik, why does it always come down to us?” Keryak panted. “Well, for this round at least.”
Durik grunted and looked Keryak squarely in the chest, dropping into a crouch and holding his spear at the ready.
“Not talkative today, I see. Ok, to battle it is.” With that, Keryak closed quickly with Durik, directing his thrust up and toward Durik’s face. Durik tucked his spear in to his side, holding it with his left arm, while he swept his right hand in front of him, knocking the thrust off to his left while grabbing the end of Keryak’s spear just below the head. Once he realized he had Keryak’s spear firm in his grasp, he held his own spear out to the side and thrust forward violently with the tip. Though Keryak tried to dodge, Durik had him and he knew it. Durik landed the blow deep into Keryak’s stomach. Keryak buckled, trying to soften the thrust, and went down. It was a solid blow, and it took Keryak out of the match. The trainer raised one hand and pointed toward Durik.
“Keryak takes third place and gains two points toward the cup! Round one goes to Durik!” the announcer boomed. From the stands, several kobolds watched Durik admiringly. Though many of them were family and friends, one of them was Kiria, Lord Karthan’s only
daughter.
“A promising yearling, this bronze-scaled one, wouldn’t you say?” Kiria stated to her father, the memory of their meeting yesterday outside this very arena still rather fresh in her mind, the lingering taste of it appealing to her on many levels.
“Yes, I’d have to agree with you,” stated Lord Karthan, “but today will tell whether strength or presence of mind will ultimately win this.” His inference to the more obvious differences between Gorgon and Durik was not lost on Kiria, though it wasn’t her focus.
“Yes, I suppose so,” Kiria replied softly, distracted by the young bronze-scaled warrior’s unusually calm demeanor even under the gaze of the entire gen.
Keryak had limped off to the side after Durik helped him to stand, clutching his stomach and leaving his spear in the ring as Gorgon and Durik faced off on either side of the line in the center of the ring, prepared for the next round of the final match.
“Fight!” shouted the trainer.
Gorgon, a little more leery this time, came forward, swinging his hammer with one hand in broad arcs in front of him. Durik backed up a couple of steps. Having seen Gorgon do this many times, Durik knew it was only a matter of time before he was forced out of the ring unless he got in close with Gorgon.
Durik stopped retreating and started to come forward. Gorgon, not sure of what Durik was planning, brought his hammer up and to the ready. It wasn’t enough, however. As Gorgon lifted his hammer, Durik stepped forward, swinging the butt of his spear up and toward Gorgon’s left side. Gorgon instinctively moved his hammer down to block, leaving his head, shoulders and chest wide open. Durik switched momentum and brought the tip end of his spear down toward Gorgon’s head. Gorgon proved to be just fast enough, however, to avoid a solid hit. Durik’s spear grazed Gorgon’s chest as it swung downward and Gorgon stepped back quickly. The trainer raised one hand and pointed at Durik with the other.
“Round two goes to Durik also!” the announcer boomed.
Durik now was causing quite the stir in the stands. Most had seen how Gorgon had quickly taken care of Jerrig and had beat Troka down. He was clearly the most obvious one to win, and yet the smaller Durik was somehow ahead. The match was far from decided, however, as a solid hit to either kobold’s opponent could still win the match.
Durik and Gorgon lined up again on either side of the line. This time, Gorgon didn’t look quite so confident, a desperate look replacing his natural dominance. Gorgon knew he had to land a solid blow on Durik, not just a glancing blow. Since Durik already had two glancing blows on him, if he ended this series of three rounds with only one glancing blow he would lose.
Durik saw the look in Gorgon’s eye and started to worry that Gorgon might lose control of his great strength and cripple or kill him by accident.
“Fight!” yelled the trainer.
Gorgon came forward swinging wildly, harder than he had before. Durik, his fears confirmed, stepped back and watched Gorgon swing. In a second he saw his opportunity. Gorgon’s wild swings were causing him to swing further than normal, exposing his side. Durik stepped back and watched one more swing. As Gorgon swung wide, Durik stepped in to strike. Gorgon, seeing Durik stepping in, stepped forward himself and, bringing his elbow back, caught Durik across the face with a strong blow. Durik was thrown back several feet onto his tail, barely managing to hang onto his spear.
Gorgon came forward swinging his hammer in a downward arc. Durik, a little dazed, saw the impending danger and rolled back, bringing his spear up with both hands in front of him. There was a loud crack as shaft met shaft. Both the spear and the hammer broke simultaneously. Durik winced as he expected the head of the hammer to slam into his face. Instead of hitting his face, however, the padded wooden hammerhead did not break free of the shaft, bending instead on its green shaft around one half of the spear shaft.
Durik opened his eyes and realized that the head of Gorgon’s hammer and the bottom half of his spear shaft were intertwined, rendering both useless and leaving the part of the spear shaft with the tip on it untangled in his left hand. Gorgon was staring dumbly at his broken hammer and did not seem to realize the danger he was in. Quickly, before Gorgon was able to grasp the situation, Durik cocked the short spear shaft in his hand and stabbed upwards toward Gorgon’s stomach. Gorgon exhaled sharply as the wooden tip drove into his stomach. The trainer raised one hand and pointed at Durik with the other.
“Gorgon takes second place and gains four points toward the cup!” boomed the announcer. “Victory in the melee weapons trial goes to Durik, who gains six points toward the cup!” There were loud cheers from the crowd and applause. Durik, gathering his senses and getting on his feet, turned to face the crowd. The trainer grabbed his hand and raised it. The crowd erupted in cheers.
Behind Durik as the crowd began to quiet, breathing heavily and obviously frustrated, Gorgon came up and patted him on the shoulder, the rage of the moment now past. “Good job, Durik,” he complimented. “You surprise me. You handle the pressure of this thing well.”
“Thanks, Gorgon,” Durik answered. “You’re very strong. I’m glad you’re my friend. Though for a moment there I wasn’t so sure,” Durik remarked with some concern in his voice.
“Hmpf. Nothing like a good competition to get your juices flowing,” Gorgon replied grumpily and perhaps a little sheepishly, knowing that he had lost control of himself and could have possibly killed Durik if that last blow had landed as he intended.
Around them, the rest of the yearlings knew clearly where they stood; Durik, Gorgon, and Keryak had all scored, and so their place as warriors was assured, while Trallik, Arbelk, Jerrig, and Troka all had yet to score points or a kill. If they failed to do so in the remaining trials, then tradition was clear; at the end of these trials they would be relegated to the servant caste.
Manebrow stood on the trainers’ stand, observing the competition with much interest. After a year of training these young kobolds, there was rarely anything they did that surprised him. However, he was surprised at how well Durik had handled the pressures of the crowd and the competition in the face of a superior opponent, and how Gorgon had been seemingly distracted by it all. After several years of training, he had seen many a competitor fail to keep his composure and do less than he was capable of.
Gorgon, on the other hand, was no one to be trifled with and, in the scrap that was the scouting event, his strength and talent would give him a significant edge over the rest. That was, of course, only if he could keep his head about him.
No matter how the competition went, Manebrow could already see how the strengths and weaknesses exhibited this day could play out in the quest that was to come. Silently, he wished that he’d had even more time to work with these yearlings before this day. Once they made warrior caste, they would pay little heed to what he had to say. Manebrow sighed. Ever it was so. The young rarely listened to their elders once they felt that they’d achieved something on their own, that is until they’d fallen on their tails as a result of their own folly and needed tending after. Deep in his heart he knew that this learning must occur, and intensely hoped that the cost of it wouldn’t be too dear.
Chapter 16 – The Ranged Weapons Trial
The seven yearlings stood in a line facing the stands at one end of the long, clear portion of the arena on the opposite side from the trainer’s stand. A short distance in front of them stood a line of orc-sized bags of sand. Staggered at various distances behind the bags were many similar bags. Overall, there were seven lanes with six bags spaced about every twenty paces. Behind the yearlings was a large weapons rack with seven bows, seven quivers of arrows, and two large bundles of javelins.
From Lord Karthan’s box the announcer began, “The objective of the ranged weapons trial is to hit the most targets with the least projectiles. Each target has red areas and blue areas painted on it. Hitting the red part on a target is a kill. Two blue hits on the same target are equal to a kill. Each yearling can use two javelins for the first target. For the
remaining five targets, each yearling’s quiver has seven arrows. He who scores the most kills using the least ammunition wins!”
As the announcer ended, the trainer turned to the yearlings. “Get one javelin each!” he announced, followed by “From left to right, attack your first target!”
The dull murmur of the crowd on the other side of the cavern was a constant backdrop as Jerrig, the first on the left, hefted his javelin and prepared to throw. “Redemption time,” he said as he prepared to throw. Standing several paces back from the line, Jerrig seemed to be concentrating, almost focusing on the javelin rather than the target. After a couple of seconds, he ran forward to the line, throwing the javelin with all his might. He stopped, watching the javelin fly gracefully through the air.
“Not bad, Jerrig,” Trallik said. “No wobble. I’ll have to beat you, though. I do hope you understand.” The javelin that Jerrig had thrown seemed almost to accelerate toward the target. Downrange, the first target, painted alternately red at the heart, neck, and stomach and blue everywhere else, seemed almost aware of the hit it was about to take. With a solid thump, the javelin thrust deeply into a blue area of the target, just below the neck patch. The assistant trainer called the hit. The buzz in the audience remained unchanged.
Jerrig, shaking his head, grabbed a second javelin and approached the line a second time. Facing the target, Jerrig ran forward and released the second javelin with all his might. It flew through the air gracefully, but with a slight wobble. Stepping back, he watched it intensely as it flew threw the air. He lifted one hand almost as if he were trying to guide it while it flew.
