The Trials of Caste

by Joel Babbitt

  “I see,” Trallik said. “It seems the sarcophagus is on a separate platform. Well, I guess we’ll have to see if we can open it without shifting the weight of it.” With one on each end of the lid, they rotated it on top of the sarcophagus being careful to keep the weight of it on the sarcophagus. Once they had moved it perpendicular to the sarcophagus, they stopped. Durik came up to the edge of the sarcophagus and peered in. Inside was a large metal key with a black piece of cloth on it. Trallik also saw the key and, holding his breath, reached down with both hands and placed one of his daggers on the bottom of the sarcophagus at the same time he picked up the key. Nothing happened. Trallik stood back, key in hand, with a triumphant look on his face. Moments later the two yearlings were headed back toward the door.

  Going back the way they’d come was easy enough. Both of them were agile enough to make it past the stumps without much difficulty. The door on the other side stood open still and they both approached it cautiously, not knowing if anyone else was around. Trallik poked his head out the door and said, “all clear, Durik.” Then, standing back, he let Durik go ahead of him.

  As Durik passed him, Trallik brought his remaining wooden long knife out and stabbed Durik squarely in the back. Above them, the trainer in the crows nest yelled “Durik!” In disbelief, Durik turned and stared at Trallik.

  “What did you do that for?! We had a deal!” Durik blurted out in frustration.

  Trallik stepped past him and headed for the entranceway, leaving a stunned Durik behind him. “You’re right, we did. I got the key. And you…” Trallik exhaled sharply as a padded arrow struck him dead in the stomach. Standing in the passageway ahead of him, Arbelk pulled out another arrow and brought his bow up again, not quite connecting the fact that Durik had just gotten a kill on himself. Before Arbelk could get a good aim, Durik escaped through a separate passageway and was on his way back to his starting point.

  From the top of the stands, Durik’s family had seen the entire thing and were stunned and outraged at such an underhanded maneuver, while seated not far down in the same row of benches, Trallik’s father had been too involved in breaking up a fight between his older whelps to notice. The female he had taken as a lifemate when Trallik’s mother had died noticed, but it only reinforced her already dim view of her adopted son.

  For Arbelk, who held the field as his two competitors ran off to the start points, there was nothing but elation. Though he didn’t know it at the time, he was the last of the no-points yearlings to get a kill. All he knew was that he had a kill, and so would not be relegated to the servant caste at the end of the trials. As he went to pick up the black key, all he knew was life was good.

  In a moment of sheer inspiration, Keryak could see in his mind what needed to be done. Taking the two boards, he laid them end-to-end with the ends overlapping by an arm’s length or so. He then lashed them together by wrapping them with the rope as many times as it would go, finishing off the lashing with a hitch. Picking up this now much longer board, he carried it over to the platform and set it on its end. Hoping it wouldn’t break on him, Keryak lowered the boards as slowly as he could toward the platform across the ditch from him. Halfway down, the boards were more than he could handle and Keryak had to let go. The makeshift bridge came crashing down on the far side and it was all Keryak could do to hold the near end of the boards in place to keep them from falling into the ditch.

  When the dust settled, the makeshift bridge was in place and more or less secure. Keryak smiled at his effort and set about placing square stones on the near end of the bridge to keep it in place and to help it hold his weight. In a few minutes, he was satisfied with his effort and slowly began to cross the bridge. Halfway across, as Keryak made his way over the joint of the two boards, the bridge began to bend more than he thought it should. Keryak stood still… it still seemed to be bending. As quickly as he could, Keryak scrambled across the boards toward the other end.

  Feeling the bridge begin to slip, Keryak threw his javelin and spear toward the far platform and jumped for it, catching the edge of it with both hands as the boards fell into the ditch. Eyes wide open, Keryak pulled himself up to the platform and looked back at the boards, stones and rope that now lay in the ditch. With Trallik’s and Jerrig’s kills on him already, he knew that one wrong move and he’d be out of the competition. Shaking his head, he walked over to the pedestal with the yellow key on it and secured it in his belt. Turning back toward the ditch, he walked over to the pile of materials on this side and began to rummage through them.

  “Great! Another puzzle. Let’s see… a ladder that’s too short, a skinny pole three kobolds long, a pile of bricks, and a boar’s hide.” After a minute of looking at the various items, he picked up the pole and tried to bend it. To his surprise, it seemed quite flexible, yet strong at the same time. Thinking back to one of the events that Manebrow had used during this past year to weed those who would be servant caste out of the yearling group, Keryak decided to try pole-vaulting across the ditch. Examining the platform, Keryak noticed with chagrin that there was a divot a little bigger than the tip of the pole in the wood near the edge of the platform. Looking around at his surroundings, he noticed how the ground sloped gently down from the pedestal to the platform.

  Grabbing his spear and walking up to the pedestal area, Keryak dug a small hole in the firm dirt around the pedestal, about the same size as the divot in the platform. He threw his spear off to the side, grabbed the pole and walked back to one of the side walls with a pensive look on his face. Measuring the distance in his mind for his practice run, he took the pole in both hands and suddenly sprinted forward. As he came up on the divot next to the pedestal, he placed the tip of the pole in it and leapt into the air.

  The crowd let out a collective gasp as Keryak appeared flying almost straight up into the air on the far side of the obstacles from them. Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, Keryak fell head first toward the earth and disappeared again down into the obstacles. The entire crowd let out a gasp followed by looks of pain and sympathy. For several moments, there was much murmuring and pointing in the crowd.

  After several more moments, Keryak again appeared, rising above the obstacles. This time, however, he seemed to be going not so much straight up as away from the crowd. Additionally, he seemed to have come down feet first this time. This only caused more speculation among the masses of the gen. Finally, only a minute or two later, Keryak again appeared in the air, this time going in a different direction. This time, the crowd was expecting it and they cheered as he flew through the air.

  Though Keryak’s father and mother could be heard cheering loudly above the din of the crowd, Durik’s sister Darya seated not two rows away from them was just as proud of him and watched with perhaps more anxious anticipation. The excitement of watching her first love work toward accomplishing what he’d been training an entire year to accomplish shone brightly in her young eyes.

  Safe, though somewhat bruised, and now on the other side of the ditch, Keryak collected the spear and javelin that he’d thrown over before his pole vault and headed toward the entrance to the obstacle. With one key down, but much wasted time, he wondered if the rest of the keys had been found yet. Not wanting to be last to the Tower of the Chalice, Keryak turned left upon reaching the perimeter of the obstacle complex and looked for the fastest route to the center of the obstacles.

  Durik wasted no time getting back to his starting point. After picking up a bow and a quiver of five arrows, he ran over to Gorgon’s starting point and picked up the spear that Gorgon had not taken. With spear in hand and bow and quiver slung over his back, Durik took off at a dead run into the nearest corridor.

  After passing two intersecting corridors, he crept quietly toward the opening to the obstacle ahead. The stench of sulfur was detectable from far down the corridor as he approached what he knew must be the Brimstone Obstacle.

  The Brimstone Obstacle was one of the most controversial obstacles in the trials. It was really
quite a simple obstacle. Basically, it was just an empty room with log walls and a log roof. The cracks between the logs had all been sealed up with tar, and large smoking pots of sulfur dust had been placed in each of the four corners. The task itself was simple; the key was usually on a high shelf above a tapestry on the wall. However, there were twelve tapestries and twelve shelves, and with the smoke as thick in there as it was, one had to climb several tapestries to find the key. While an encounter with a particularly nasty stench may not have seemed a menacing obstacle to anyone else, kobolds with their heightened sense of smell had a particular vulnerability to such acrid odors.

  The controversy surrounding the obstacle was two-fold. First of all, it stank. It smelled like rotten eggs and the hole in the roof that sucked out the cryweed smoke from the Smoke Obstacle and the sulfur smoke from this obstacle didn’t clear the air completely, so that the crowd actually got a smell of it from time to time. The smell seemed to linger for some time, usually being slightly detectable even after several moons in the area of the arena where the obstacle had been.

  The second point of controversy surrounding the obstacle was that it took away a kobold’s sense of smell for several days thereafter, sometimes up to a week or more. Though many kobolds rarely relied on their sense of smell, it was considered essential for scouts and critical for small patrols. For that matter, many of the Deep Guard, as well as several from the Trade Warrior Group, had trained their noses to the point that they could track by scent alone. Everyone knew that, whatever the quest may be, every future warrior would need to be at their best for it and taking away a warrior’s sense of smell for a week could hamper the mission.

  Though he was certainly no skilled tracker, it was mostly because of this second reason that Durik was less than enthused about trying to get the key from this obstacle. But, as he had reasoned with himself, someone had to do it, and at the moment he was in need of a key.

  Reaching the entrance, Durik looked around cautiously. Across the center of the clearing was a wall as tall as the surrounding walls. In the center of it was a kobold-size door. As he watched, the door opened slightly. Durik put his spear against the wall and took a step back into the shadows, drawing his bow and an arrow while keeping his eyes on the door. After a moment, the door opened the rest of the way and Troka came running out snorting and sneezing, headed for a passageway off to Durik’s left.

  “Troka!” Durik yelled.

  Troka turned and assumed a defensive stance with his wooden broadsword in both hands. Durik stepped forward, bow at the ready.

  “I’ll put my bow down and we can go at it in hand to hand if you’d like,” Durik called. Durik thought it a more than fair offer, considering the fact that Troka was much taller and perhaps a bit stronger than him.

  Troka thought for a moment. In his eyes was the fear of not wanting to chance loss. Durik saw it and opened his mouth to talk.

  All of a sudden, Troka turned and bolted for the opening of a nearby passageway. In one smooth motion, Durik pulled the string of his bow back, brought the bow up and released the arrow. Troka stumbled, dropping his sword, and fell into the corner of the wall as the arrow struck him unintentionally on the side of his head.

  The Honor Guard judge, which had followed Troka out of the obstacle, held up a red flag and pointed at Troka. From the nearest crows nest, the trainer called the kill.

  Durik winced. He looked around to make sure he and Troka were the only yearlings there, looking up at the crows nest as well to see if the judges were tracking anyone near him, then ran up to Troka.

  “What did you shoot me in the head for?!” Troka yelped in a hurt voice as he stumbled to his feet.

  “Sorry about that. I was aiming for your back, actually.” Durik helped Troka to his feet and looked him in the eyes to make sure nothing was physically wrong.

  “Lousy shot, I’d say,” Troka remarked grimacing. He handed Durik his two keys, they grasped hands, and Durik was on his way to the next obstacle. Troka stumbled off toward his starting point, holding his head with both hands to try to contain the splitting headache he had not so much from the arrow as from hitting the wall headfirst at a run.

  Trallik, infuriated at Arbelk’s surprise attack, was on the warpath. He’d acquired another pair of long knives from Keryak’s point, as well as a bow and a quiver of arrows. After carefully making his way back to the Tomb of Kor, he kept his snout close to the ground and tried testing for Arbelk’s scent as he went. As he suspected, however, the passage of so many kobolds over the last several days had pretty much eliminated any hope Trallik could have had of tracking anyone in this small group by scent. So, Trallik looked for Arbelk’s tracks in the sand. He was able to follow them for some time, but soon his tracks crossed with someone else’s and it was impossible to determine whether he’d headed toward the center or toward the perimeter.

  After a moment of examining the tracks in the sand, Trallik decided it was best to head for the center of the obstacles. Quite some time had passed already, and he was sure that several of the keys were already in someone’s possession. Certainly, he’d heard the crowd cheering a number of times.

  Trallik padded stealthily down the corridor, looking for any indication ahead of him, or behind, that any of the other yearlings was around. As he approached a junction with a side corridor, Trallik thought he heard footsteps in the sand. He sank further back into the shadows of the corridor and waited. The footsteps got closer until Gorgon appeared around the corner, turning to head toward the center also.

  Trallik grinned, took aim and fired, bouncing an arrow off of Gorgon’s shoulder blade. The trainer in the tower just next to them shouted “Gorgon.” Trallik ran forward to see if Gorgon had any keys.

  “Cheap shot, Trallik,” Gorgon said angrily as Trallik approached.

  “A kill’s a kill, Gorgon. You know that,” Trallik answered with a smirk as he reached for the three keys tucked into Gorgon’s belt. Gorgon caught his hand and, twisting his arm, pulled Trallik’s face close to his.

  “You’re a whining little whelp and I’ll be the one to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget if you don’t watch it.” Then, shoving him away, he said “Now get going before I swat you.”

  Trallik growled, lifted the three keys from Gorgon’s belt, and ran off toward the center of the obstacles, tail swishing furtively. Gorgon watched him go, letting his anger simmer as Trallik disappeared around a bend in the corridor.

  Quickly he turned and started to make his way out of the obstacle complex.

  Chapter 20 – The Tower of the Chalice

  The Tower of the Chalice loomed three stories high, jutting out of the mass of obstacles that was collectively known as the scouting trial. All three floors were open wooden platforms with a large wooden spiral staircase running through the middle of them. The staircase ended at the final level known as ‘the finish line,’ so named because that’s where the cup was located that would determine who would win this competition. All three levels had a low fence made of wood and net, just the height of a kobold, set to protect competitors from arrow fire from outside the tower. The side closest to the stands didn’t have this protection, however, so as to not inhibit the crowd’s view.

  Plain for all to see on the top level of the tower was a great wooden chest, nearly as tall as a kobold, with eight large locks and a handle on it. Inside the chest this year, as it had been every year, would be the cup that would gain enough points for one of these yearlings to put him above his peers and win him a better standing in the gen. As the competition wore on, and more kills had been announced, the speculation and murmuring in the crowd grew louder. Looking up from time to time, the yearlings each began to notice how restless the crowd was becoming. All of them took it as a sure sign that most, if not all, of the keys had been found. Each of the yearlings began to think about what they should be doing in the last part of the scouting trial.

  Arbelk had no great strategy, nor had he been keeping tabs on who had how many kil
ls against them. He was mostly using his instincts, or perhaps keeping true to a style developed over the past year of training to determine what he should be doing.

  Knowing that Trallik would be on the warpath after the kill he’d gotten on him, he was stealthily making his way toward the Tower of the Chalice at the center of the entire maze. Not being a handy target was all he was trying to do; he wasn’t particularly hunting. He was quite unlike Trallik, who firmly believed the maxims taught to all the Deep Guard; that stealth was better than open confrontation and that an arrow that strikes unseen is an arrow best used.

  The fact that he hadn’t placed in either of the first two competitions didn’t bother Arbelk. He was too humble for that. If not being the best at melee weapons and ranged weapons, or for that matter not even placing in the top three out of the seven yearlings, was his lot in life then that was no problem with him. In this world where everyone seemed better than him, he understood his place. However, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t take what opportunity threw his way. And, to take best advantage of what opportunity threw his way, he found it useful to do more hiding and less confronting.

  Arbelk looked up at the crowd in the benches, and at the announcer perched in his booth. Next to the announcer the seven short clay jugs labeled with the initial of each yearling’s name were in plain view for all to see. Arbelk looked down the line of pots to size up where he fit in the competition. Gorgon’s, Durik’s, Jerrig’s, and Trallik’s pots each had one red flag in them, signifying that each one had one kill against them. The remainder each had two red flags, including his own. Since no one had three flags in their pot, no one had been put out of the competition quite yet, though he was sure that would change soon.

  One of the bridge team members he’d been working with in the Deep Guard had a saying, which was a variation of a more common one. A bird in the hand is stupider than the two hiding in the bush. Arbelk laughed to himself, as the saying seemed to apply to him so clearly now that he had two flags against him. If he was not able to make a name for himself in this trial by fighting everyone he found, then perhaps he would use his patience to his advantage.