The Trials of Caste

by Joel Babbitt

  Durik looked at Trallik. “Well, I guess we’d better not touch the tar.”

  Trallik coughed, “Ungh… yeah.”

  Keryak padded lightly around the perimeter of the obstacles toward the entrance nearest to the smoke obstacle. In one hand the young kobold held a spear, in the other a bow. Over his back was a quiver with five padded-tipped arrows in it. As he reached the entrance to the passageway, he took a couple of steps back and saw again the small plumes of smoke rising from the various holes in the hide roof that covered the smoke obstacle. He was sure this was the way that would lead him there.

  Keryak, like all the other yearlings, had intensely questioned last year’s yearling group once they returned from the proofing of their trial. Of all the descriptions of the obstacles and tactics that the previous group had mentioned, the one that stuck clearest in his mind was the description of how easy the smoke obstacle was. “Just crawl in below the level of the smoke,” Terrim, one of last year’s new warrior caste had said. “The key should be lying in the middle of the floor, unless they change it that is. Just find it, and get out without passing out. That’s it.”

  “Father always told me to work smarter, not harder,” Keryak muttered to himself as he ran lightly down the passageway toward the hide door of the smoke obstacle.

  Suddenly, from the shadows of an intersecting passageway ahead of him, Keryak spotted something moving. He stopped cold, almost tripping in the process. Moving quickly, he flattened himself against the nearest wooden panel in the passageway, disappearing behind the bend in the passageway.

  Keryak stuck his spear in the sand and leaned it against the panel. Slowly, and as quietly as he could, he drew an arrow out of the quiver on his back and nocked the arrow in his bow. At that moment, he heard footsteps in the passage ahead of him. Drawing the string back quickly, Keryak stepped out into the passageway and drew the string back to his ear. Not more than ten steps ahead of him Troka, long wooden sword grasped in both hands, was running toward him at full speed.

  Troka’s eyes grew wide as he stared at Keryak in disbelief. He quickly threw his sword to the side and lifted his arms up to shield his face. With a solid thump, Keryak’s arrow pummeled Troka square in the chest, the red dye leaving a large mark. From above, the trainer in the crows nest held up a red flag and yelled “Troka.” Leaving the sword where it lay, Troka ran out of the obstacles with his first kill against him.

  Keryak recovered his arrow, and, taking his spear in hand, continued toward the smoke obstacle, running past the intersecting passageway that Troka had just come from. He was so excited about having made his first kill that he didn’t even see Jerrig until after he felt the javelin knock the wind out of him from behind and throw him to the ground.

  For his part, Jerrig was ecstatic that he had gotten a kill, and so his place in the warrior caste was assured.

  Durik carefully leapt from one stump to the next, slowly making his way toward the door at the other end. Ahead of him, Trallik jumped and stumbled. Dropping his javelin into the tar, it was all that Trallik could do to keep himself from falling in. With a quick jump, Durik leapt to the stump next to Trallik and brought the butt of his spear around, catching Trallik in the stomach and preventing him from falling. After standing still for a second, Trallik breathed slowly and turned to Durik.

  “My thanks,” he said unconvincingly, rubbing his stomach.

  Durik winked and jumped to the next pillar. Trallik muttered under his breath and followed. Reaching the platform on the other side, Trallik and Durik examined the large solid wooden door. Both of them thought it the strangest door they’d seen. Being made of one solid sheet of thick wood, the door itself was firmly set in its doorframe. The bolts from the hinges on the other side of the door were large and obvious and there appeared to be no handle.

  “Hmm… so I guess they want us to just push it open,” Durik murmured.

  “Which is exactly why we’d better not,” Trallik answered.

  “Agreed—I don’t see any obvious traps. Hmm… Any ideas?” Durik asked.

  Trallik leaned close to where the handle should normally be on such a tall door and pulled out one of his wooden long knives. Placing it in the junction of the door and the doorjamb, he tapped the pommel a couple of times with the palm of his hand. The door opened a fraction of an inch.

  Trallik examined the doorframe carefully, letting his mind try to absorb every detail of the door, in hopes of discovering the trap he was certain existed. In an effort to examine the top portion of the door, he got on Durik’s shoulders. After a moment, he noticed something strange. “The top of the doorjamb is marked up with tar,” he observed, “strange considering that the rest of the doorjamb is untouched.” Coming down from Durik’s shoulders, Trallik stared thoughtfully at the door. “Lend me your spear and stand back.”

  Durik looked questioningly at Trallik, but handed him his spear and jumped onto a pillar near the platform, to the side of the door. Standing at the edge of the platform, Trallik hit the door twice with the butt of the spear near where the handle should have been. Cascading down from the top of the doorjamb, a green dyed liquid rained down in one quick torrent. Trallik yelped and jumped back, landing heavily on his tail on a stump behind him. Catching himself with both hands as he rolled off, then losing his grip with one hand, Trallik was left hanging from the stump by one hand, only an arm’s length from the tar-covered floor.

  As Trallik pulled himself back up onto the pillar, Durik was laughing almost hysterically. “You should have seen your eyes!” he laughed, “They were round as the moon!” Trallik rubbed his bruised rear end. He wasn’t hurt much, except for his ego. “You squealed like a girl!” Durik laughed loudly. Trallik did not share in his enthusiasm.

  In the crows nest almost next to the obstacle, the trainer was watching intently. From inside the next room, the Honor Guard warrior that was assigned as judge of this obstacle walked up to the edge of the mark made by the green dye.

  “Let me see you, Trallik” the judge said. Trallik raised his arms and turned around on the pillar. “Impressive, you didn’t get even a spot of dye on you. Neither of you are casualties—yet.”

  Trallik looked at Durik with an ‘I told you so’ look.

  The judge continued, “The ‘acid’ is now neutralized, you may continue. Oh, except for this spear.” He kicked Durik’s now green spear off the platform and onto the tar floor. “Don’t squeal too loud next time or someone will hear you.”

  Durik laughed.

  Chapter 19 – Taking Keys

  Gorgon was never one to take the easy route. Today was no exception. Straightway, Gorgon had headed for the three obstacles’ clearings that made up the Crucible. Soon he had found himself confronting a mess of bars, platforms, hanging ropes, and poles. After several moments of looking around the edge of the three obstacles, he’d figured out their structure. Each of the three obstacles stood separately and were each, in their own right, a difficult climbing test. However, at the top of all three and interconnecting them all was a platform from which hung a room-sized wooden box. It seemed obvious enough to Gorgon that that room must be where the keys to all three obstacles were located.

  As he was preparing to climb one of the three obstacles, Arbelk had taken a shot at him with a bow. Gorgon was too quick for him, however, and had hit the floor when he heard the bowstring released. Almost reflexively, Gorgon jumped to his feet and charged Arbelk, padded wooden hammer in one hand and shield in the other. To his credit, Arbelk did manage to get another arrow off, striking Gorgon’s shield, before Gorgon was upon him. With one swing of Gorgon’s hammer, Arbelk was on the floor seeing stars. It was several moments before Arbelk got up and stumbled back to his starting point, leaving his weapons on the sandy floor of the obstacle.

  “Come now, scrawny. No time to be loafing,” Gorgon chided. “You’re lucky I pull my punches or you’d be down for the count.” Arbelk grunted an incoherent reply, holding his head.

  Gorgon wasted no time
. As soon as Arbelk was back on his feet and the trainer had announced the kill, he took Arbelk’s bow, gathered the arrows, and mounted the first platform to begin climbing the rope up to the next platform. Several minutes later, after crossing a tightrope, climbing a wooden wall with rivets sticking out of it, and crossing hand over hand through a ladder obstacle, Gorgon found himself on the platform at the top of the crucible looking at a trap door that obviously led to the room that was hanging from the bottom of the platform. He could feel the eyes of the entire gen watching him from the stands.

  With a two-handed blow of his hammer and a follow-up kick the flimsy locked trapdoor gave way, falling in pieces to the floor of the box below. The crowd cheered at Gorgon’s unconventional tactic. Moments later, Gorgon had climbed down a ladder into the box, and was surveying his surroundings. Against one wall seated on a chair was the Honor Guard judge for the obstacle. Around the edges of the room were three objects; a rock about Gorgon’s size, a thick wooden pole twice Gorgon’s height and covered in grease, and a strong wooden chest with internal hinges and a complex looking lock on it.

  Gorgon laid his weapons down and, after inspecting the bottom edges of the rock, he squatted down next to it and took hold of the edge with both hands. With tremendous effort, Gorgon lifted the rock, slowly tilting it until he was able to roll it off toward the pole. The entire platform shook as the rock rolled once and stopped heavily against the pole. From the top of the pole, a metal key with a green piece of cloth on it fell to the floor. “Aha,” Gorgon exclaimed. “There’s more than one way to win this game.” Then, looking down at the ground, Gorgon saw another large metal key with a blue cloth attached to it lying where the rock had been. The judge in the corner looked surprised. He was even more surprised by Gorgon’s next move.

  After collecting both of the keys, and stuffing them in his belt, Gorgon hauled the chest up the ladder by one of its handles, grunting and sweating as he went. Upon reaching the top, he pulled the chest out and, with a mighty heave, threw it over the side of the platform onto the bottom platform far below. Again, the crowd cheered Gorgon. With a crash, the chest split into many pieces, spilling a large metal key with a purple piece of cloth tied to it onto the floor. Gorgon smiled and waved to the crowd, then went back down the ladder into the box to get his weapons. A few moments later he was back up again and looking over the side.

  He was surprised to see Arbelk walking toward the remnants of the chest. Pulling out his bow and an arrow, Gorgon took aim. “Persistent, isn’t he?” Gorgon muttered. At that moment Arbelk looked up, saw Gorgon aiming at him, and ducked underneath the nearest platform. He was not quick enough, however, as Gorgon’s arrow struck him on top of the shoulder.

  Dropping his recently acquired sword, Arbelk headed back to his starting point again. He had no points in the previous trials and had two kills against him now. He was starting to sweat, as one more kill without scoring would mean that he had failed the trials and would be a servant caste. If that happened, the embarrassment of such a spectacular failure would haunt him for decades to come.

  The Honor Guard judge, now standing atop the platform, raised his red flag and pointed. The trainer in the tower picked up the cue and again yelled, “Arbelk.” The roar of approval from the crowd was deafening.

  In the Lord’s box, Kiria turned to Lord Karthan, “Father,” she began, “is that allowed? I thought one was supposed to open the locks, not break the chests. Seems rather wasteful to me.”

  Lord Karthan looked at his young daughter. Even though she had recently reached her time of adulthood, it was obvious to him that in many ways she was still his little girl. “Many roads lead to home, my daughter. Some are longer, and some are shorter. Some are more suited to those with much patience and, clearly, some are more suited to those with much strength.” This answer seemed to please his daughter, as she went back to watching the trials.

  Several moments later, Gorgon was on the lower platform again and, after fishing the key out of the pieces of the chest and securing it in his belt, he climbed down to the ground and began jogging toward the center of the obstacles.

  “Kiria,” Lord Karthan gently spoke as he nodded toward a cloak that the chief of his personal bodyguard held up. “Don’t worry, it’s just a precaution, like we practiced.”

  “But father!” she protested, the need in her eyes clear.

  Lord Karthan smiled something of a mischievous smile, “I’ll let you know whether Durik wins or not.”

  Kiria scowled, decidedly unhappy about her father meddling in the affairs of her heart as she shot him a venomous glare. With a low growl, she scooted along the bench to put on the cloak.

  “It is time,” the strong warrior who held it up said, the staunch look on his face belying the turmoil he felt by leaving his lord at such a time as this. But duty was his watchword, and so he would guard Lord Karthan’s whelps.

  Lord Karthan’s keen gaze and approving smile eased his chief bodyguard’s conscience and stopped any further protest from his daughter. It was how it must be.

  Soon, his two boys would go as well. But Lord Karthan would wait until their hero Gorgon had slipped out of view again before giving the word to the other bodyguard who sat waiting patiently next to the little ones. He could give them that, at least, as Kiria and his chief body guard must clear the arena first for the additional movement to not raise suspicions.

  Jerrig and Troka had never been the best of friends, but they certainly weren’t enemies. One thing that their year of training had taught them was the value of working together to overcome obstacles. So it was only natural that when they came face to face with each other at the Orc Guard Complex obstacle they decided to work together to get up the wall of the windowless tower and get the key.

  It didn’t take long, working together. They decided the door had to be booby-trapped and so, since neither of them was particularly good with traps, they decided to bypass it. Taking a length of rope they found hanging in a small shack to the side, Troka, the stronger of the two by far, threw the rope over the top of the tower until it fell down the other side. Then with Troka holding his end firm, Jerrig climbed up the other side to the top of the tower. Within a couple of seconds, Jerrig had the key with the orange cloth and was holding it up for the crowd to see. The crowd roared its approval from the stands. After his moment of glory, Jerrig dropped the key with the orange cloth on it into the sand near Troka.

  “Hurry up, you glory hog!” Troka yelled. “There’s still plenty more keys to be gotten!”

  Once Jerrig made it down, they took their stances and began to battle it out for the key. Jerrig with two javelins thought he could catch Troka, but Troka proved more able than that and within a few moments the wooden sword that Troka had acquired from one of the starting points was poking Jerrig in the stomach. They grasped hands and Jerrig left for his starting point. Troka picked up the key and, tucking it into his belt, began jogging to the next obstacle, a wide smile on his snout. He had a kill, and so knew he would not be servant caste at the end of the trials.

  Keryak was never one to give up, but neither was he one to play bad odds. Having two kills against him had clearly shaken his confidence. Figuring that everyone else must have decided the smoke obstacle was the easiest to get also, he decided he’d probably better change his focus and go for something less popular. After picking up a spear and a javelin from Trallik’s starting point, he took off around the edge of the scouting area toward the ruined bridge obstacle. Though it had been several minutes, Keryak cautiously peered down the passageway that Trallik had taken then ran by quickly. Arriving at the next passageway, he peered into the shadowy corridor before entering quietly.

  Off in the distance, he heard a trainer yell “Arbelk.” Moments later he heard the same trainer call “Jerrig.” At least I know they’re on the other side, I wonder where Trallik and Troka are. Well, hope I don’t find out too soon.

  Following the partitions closely, Keryak made his way ahead toward a
well-lit opening in the nets covering the passageways. Coming up to the exit from the passageway into the open area, Keryak could see that a shallow but wide ditch had been dug from one side of the obstacle to the other side standing between him and the far end. He could also see that this was the only passageway leading into the obstacle. On both sides of the ditch, across from each other, there were two wooden platforms that were level with each other. Off to the side of both platforms were piles of stuff. On the other side of the ditch from him, Keryak could see a low stone pedestal, on top of which lay a large metal key with a yellow piece of cloth attached to it.

  “Aha! The yellow key!” Without a moment’s hesitation, Keryak took off at a run toward the ditch. He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the black tar in the bottom of the ditch and read the sign ‘bottomless pit.’ “Hmm…” he muttered. The ditch was too wide for him to jump. With the Honor Guard judge seated on a stool in the corner, there was no way he could walk through the tar. Keryak stood there for a moment, then went over to the pile of materials and began to rummage around.

  “Two boards, neither one long enough to make it to the far side, a rope that’s only a couple of kobolds tall, and a pile of square cut stones; what am I supposed to do with this?!” Keryak sat down on the platform, cupped his chin in his hands, and began to think.

  Durik and Trallik stood facing the wooden box that was the ‘sarcophagus of Kor.’ It didn’t seem to have anything unusual about it. Examining the edges of the lid, neither of them could find any tripwires, strange substances, or marks of any kind. Then, after a moment, Durik stepped back.

  “Trallik, look at this” he said, pointing to the wooden floor at the base of the sarcophagus. “Watch as I push down on the lid.” The sarcophagus seemed to sink ever so slightly into the floor.