The Trials of Caste

by Joel Babbitt

  Finally arriving at the clearing, he found the deepest shadows he could, hid himself among the pillars and posts at the bottom of the Tower of the Chalice, and waited. He was sure that, by now at least, someone had been to each obstacle and, though he hadn’t looked, that there were already keys placed in the chest. At this critical point of the competition he was sure that there were several keys being carried around, all needing to get to the same place, and several of his fellow yearlings not wanting anyone else to get them all together. But one thing was certain, keys were no good unless you used them, and the chest where they all fit sat two stories above his head, on the third floor of this tower.

  Arbelk had often thought that, should he get several keys, he would just hold onto them until he got all eight. After all, he’d never seen the sense in putting the keys into the chest until he held all eight, unless of course you’re sure you’re going to lose and you just want to level the playing field.

  Most of his fellow yearlings had expressed the same, as had many warriors from years past. But somehow, year after year the lure of the crowd’s approval seemed to draw most of the keys to the tower. When the crowd got to cheering, and the yearlings felt the pressure of being the center of attention, all their level-headed talk was forgotten and, one by one, the keys made their way to the chest. Arbelk doubted that this year would be any different. After all, fame seemed to have its effect on his fellow yearlings.

  Durik felt the need to hurry as he ran down the corridor toward the Tower of the Chalice. It had been some time already since the competition started and he wondered how many of the keys were already at the tower. He did feel safe in one aspect; no matter how many other keys were at the tower already, he knew that the two keys in his belt were not there. The word ‘assurance’ crossed through his consciousness. That’s just what these keys were, assurance that no one would win without him being present—unless they got a kill on him first.

  That thought reminded him to be careful. Slowing to a trot, he began focusing his senses more on the corridor ahead of him. Within moments, and much before he thought it would, the opening from this corridor into the large clearing that surrounded the tower appeared not more than twenty paces ahead of him. He stopped and stepped back into the shadows slightly behind the bend in the passageway from the tower. Peering around the corner, he surveyed the tower and the area of the clearing that he could see from where he was. Fortunately for him, he was coming from the direction of the stands, so the low fence that protected the other three levels of the tower did not inhibit his view at all.

  He wasn’t sure, but from where he was it seemed that the shadows under the bottom level of the tower were deeper in one spot than they should be. Durik knew it couldn’t be the judge for this obstacle, as the two trainers in the crows nests served jointly as judges for this obstacle. Therefore, he thought, it must be another competitor. With too much light streaming down from the hole in the ceiling for his heat vision to function properly, Durik decided to test his theory. Placing his spear against the wall, Durik pulled an arrow out of the quiver and, adjusting for distance, fired an arrow at the dark lump at the base of the tower.

  Durik’s shot went wide and hit the pole just next to the lump, and the lump all of a sudden came to life. Knowing that he’d been discovered, Arbelk jumped up and ran up the spiral staircase toward the second level, hoping that the stairway would provide him cover. Durik picked up his spear and ran to within a few paces of the opening. Placing his spear against the wall again, Durik nocked another arrow. Arbelk had taken cover behind the slender pole that formed the center of the spiral staircase. Durik released his breath slowly as he steadied his aim, slowly releasing the bowstring. The arrow flew straight and true, striking Arbelk with the red dyed tip on his left arm. Arbelk yelped in surprise and his sword went clattering down the staircase.

  Durik readied a third arrow as Arbelk went running after his sword. The situation was about to change, however. With a slight whistle, an arrow came from behind Durik. Passing a few feet from him, it clattered against the spiral staircase, missing Arbelk by an arm span. Dropping the arrow and grabbing his spear, Durik ran out of the passageway and flattened against the wall next to the opening. Surveying his surroundings to see if anyone else was around, Durik stuck his spear through his belt behind him where it hung awkwardly, threatening to trip him at every step. Seeing no one other than the now one-armed Arbelk, Durik readied his second to last arrow and moved slowly from left to right around the perimeter of the tower clearing, scanning the other entrances to the clearing as he went.

  After several moments, Durik saw someone step into the shadows at the entrance to the passageway that he had just left. Raising his bow and aiming quickly, Durik released his fourth arrow and reached for his last arrow in one fluid motion. The arrow flew straight and struck the kobold in the entrance in the stomach as he aimed his bow, causing him to fire his arrow wildly toward the tower.

  Shaking his head, Keryak stepped from the shadows of the passageway and dropped his recently found bow, quiver with one arrow left in it, a spear, and his one key in the sand in front of him. From the small platform above the tower clearing, the judge held up a red flag. The trainer in the nearest crow’s nest yelled out “Keryak.” From the stands, the announcer’s voice could be heard, “Keryak has sustained his third kill and is the first out of the scouting competition!” The murmuring in the crowd grew louder. The announcer continued, “Keryak ends his part in the competition with a final score of two points!”

  “Durik, my friend, I’m sorry to say that I’m out of this competition,” Keryak said, with some emotion in his voice. “At least I have the dignity of saying that I scored two points.”

  “Keryak, I’m sorry.” Durik started. “I didn’t know it was you! I didn’t realize you were going after Arbelk and not me…”

  “Don’t worry about it, Durik,” Keryak interrupted him. “I’d rather have lost to you than to anyone else. I hope you take the cup, my friend.” With that, Keryak turned and began the slow trot toward the trainer’s stand.

  Troka had taken a while to get over his headache. At first, as he sat there holding his head, he thought about the two kills against him, and now this splitting headache. His emotions began to spiral downwards, and the stress started to mount with it. Soon his head was aching more than ever and he began to cry softly and whimper. After several moments of sitting in the cool, dark passageway, Troka realized that building on the stress of the moment wouldn’t help any. He gradually began to take control of his emotions again, telling himself that, win or lose, the most important thing was keeping his composure in front of the others. His resolve began to strengthen and soon after the stress he was feeling began to subside. As the stress subsided, the constant ache in his head began to subside too, though it still ached quite a bit if he moved quickly.

  Troka stood and began a slow walk back toward his starting point. As he walked, his determination grew. He was not out of the competition yet. Though he knew that his chances of winning were remote at best, winning in spite of a splitting headache with two kills against him would only make the victory sweeter. And if victory was not to be his, at least he could make a good showing. At that moment, the trainer in the tower closest to him yelled “Keryak” and from the stands it was announced that Keryak was now out of the competition.

  One less competitor. One more step toward scoring, Troka thought as his pace quickened somewhat. His pace only quickened more when several moments later it was announced that Arbelk was officially out of the competition.

  No one in the stands had been able to see the kill, but not knowing how it had happened didn’t lessen the pain for Durik’s younger sister. Darya bit her lip and fought back tears at the announcement that Keryak was out of the competition. Her uncle Drok put his arm around her shoulders and tried to comfort her. Darya covered her eyes as her tender heart boiled over with the tears of lost hopes. After several moments she wiped her eyes and, stating that sh
e didn’t know what had come over her as she sniffed back the tears, she began to try to recover. The last thing she would want was for Keryak to see her crying. Besides, she still had hopes for her brother.

  Keryak himself felt the sting to his pride of being the first yearling out of the competition. As he walked back toward the stands he repeated to himself that he was one of the luckier ones. After all, he was one of only four who had scored so far. For the other three, unless they somehow placed in the scouting trial, they would end the trials being a no point warrior. Though the points didn’t officially count for anything after the trials were concluded, it was a point of pride among the younger warriors to have scored in the trials. It gave them some sense of having accomplished something, until as new warriors they actually did something of note.

  In the end, Keryak knew that being one of the seven to finish the year of training out of the thirteen that had started the year meant one thing; warrior status. His heart took hope at this thought and he began to feel relief that the trials, for him at least, were over. Now it was simply a matter of time before he took his place as a warrior in the Kale Gen. As he walked out of the obstacles into the open air of the chamber, he lifted his hand to the crowd and walked over to take his place in front of the trainer’s stand.

  Durik didn’t have long to ponder on the situation. No sooner had Keryak disappeared back into the passageway than Durik heard the twang of a bowstring from almost directly across the clearing. He immediately dropped to the ground, breaking his one remaining arrow in the process. The arrow that was meant for him cracked as it bounced off the wall to his rear. Reaching back and feeling no arrows left in his quiver, Durik released his belt and the spear hanging in it and ran as fast as he could for the quiver that Keryak had just dropped. As he ran, another arrow zinged past his head, missing him by inches.

  Reaching Keryak’s quiver, Durik drew out the remaining arrow and jumped for the cover of the passageway he’d recently left. Assessing the situation, Durik realized that he’d dropped both his keys when he’d dropped his belt and spear. Additionally, Keryak’s one key was laying a couple of arms lengths into the clearing, as was the spear he’d dropped. He knew that, whomever it was firing at him, they had already spent two arrows. At most, they probably only had three arrows left, probably less but he wasn’t betting his standing in the competition on it.

  Durik felt vulnerable and knew that, if he was to have leverage in this competition, he needed to have at least one key. Leaving his bow and arrow just inside the passageway, Durik readied himself, then ran out of the passageway, grabbing the key and spear that Keryak had recently dropped. As he ran back in, he covered his head with his hands and hunched over. Apparently the sniper in the other passageway wasn’t watching, however, as no arrow came his direction.

  Putting the bow over his shoulder and putting his last arrow and the key in his quiver, Durik took the spear in hand and headed back down the passageway to see if he couldn’t come up behind whomever it was that had been firing at him.

  Trallik was already running around to flank Durik by the time Durik made his foray out into the open to grab the key and spear. He was out of arrows, but knew that Durik didn’t know that. Perhaps, he thought, that would keep him in place long enough for Trallik to get behind him. Trallik knew that he was much quieter than the rest of the yearlings, and thought to sneak up on Durik from behind.

  As he padded softly down the cross passageway toward where he’d last seen Durik, ahead of him he could hear soft footsteps in the sand running his direction. He quickly ran back several paces to where the passageway had turned somewhat sharply. Pulling both wooden knives out, Trallik waited patiently for whomever it was to arrive. As the footsteps approached the turn in the passageway, whoever it was slowed down, approaching the turn cautiously. Trallik tried to hide himself deeper in the shadows.

  From a few paces away, Durik appeared, scoping out the passageway ahead of him. The light from the braziers reflecting off the ceiling of the cavern and the light from the hole to the surface spoiled his heat vision, but even without it, Durik had no problems spotting Trallik. Durik did not look Trallik in the eyes, nor did he let on that he’d seen him. Slinging his bow over his head, Durik took spear in hand and took another couple of steps down the passageway, not looking directly at Trallik.

  Trallik took the bait. Leaping from a crouch, Trallik jumped into the passageway toward Durik with a knife in either hand. A side step and a sweep with the spear later, Trallik was on the ground with an aching head and bruised arms, both knives a couple of paces down the passageway from him. Durik stepped forward quickly, spear tip plunging toward Trallik’s midsection. Trallik was barely quick enough to get out of the way. Rolling to his right, Trallik jumped toward his knives. With his back turned, he didn’t see Durik adjust to meet his move, charging forward a couple of steps to pin Trallik under one foot. Bringing his spear down, Durik made sure that Trallik’s back was well marked with a large stripe of red dye before reaching down to relieve Trallik of his three keys.

  From the trainer’s tower up to their left, a red flag was raised and “Trallik” was called. Durik let him up and, not turning his back on him, began to head back toward the opening he’d recently come from.

  Trallik simmered with indignant rage. None too quickly, he made his way back to his point and, taking the wet rag he found there, slowly washed the stripe from his back. Biding his time, Trallik found what he needed at the other starting points and headed silently back into the obstacles. He had been beaten this time, but he was never one to give up. The indignity of it all, however, had been more than Trallik was willing to take. If he accomplished nothing else, he would make Durik pay.

  Gorgon had acquired another padded wooden hammer and, after searching three other points and not finding a bow or quiver, decided all the bows must be in play or dropped in the obstacles. Fitting a shield to his left arm, he took a pair of javelins in his right hand along with his newly acquired hammer and took off at a slow jog into the obstacles. He deliberately chose the passageway that took him back to the three obstacles that formed the crucible. He remembered Arbelk dropping a sword there and wondered if he might find a bow in the area. As he approached the obstacle he slowed to a walk and began padding softly toward the opening to the first of the clearings.

  Gorgon looked around the area from the relative safety of the shadows. The only weapons he saw were a pair of javelins stuck in the sand as if someone was coming back for them shortly. As he began to step out to begin a sweep of the area, from atop the platform he heard a voice yelp “Got him!” The trainer in the crow’s nest near the crucible raised a red flag and yelled out “Arbelk.” Gorgon stepped back into the shadows. From the stands the announcer’s voice was heard, “Arbelk ends his part in the competition with no points, but with one kill!” The murmur of the crowd increased for a moment then died back down to a low buzz.

  Gorgon watched for a moment from the shadows before he saw Jerrig stand up and begin to dismount the obstacle. He’d slung his bow over his shoulder, along with his now empty quiver. Other than that, Jerrig had no weapons.

  Gorgon shook his head. Too easy a target, he thought, I’ll let him pick up his javelins at least before I challenge him.

  After several moments, Jerrig was not even half way down the obstacle. Gorgon was growing impatient, thinking of the keys that he’d left in the sand. Being without keys meant that he had the possibility of losing just by not being present. This didn’t sit well with Gorgon. After another moment of watching Jerrig make his way hand over hand across a tightrope, Gorgon could take it no longer.

  Leaving the shadows, Gorgon yelled out to Jerrig, “Hurry up, you sloth! I’ll deal with you at the tower!” Being defenseless, Jerrig was shaken by the encounter and hurried his descent toward his javelins as Gorgon padded away, simmering with frustration.

  Chapter 21 – The Sifting

  Gorgon arrived at the opening to the clearing of the Tower of the Chalic
e quietly and on the hunt for anyone that would stand between him and what he felt to be his rightful prize. Just inside the clearing, he spotted a belt with two keys tied to it lying on top of a spear. After surveying the area, Gorgon stepped out into the clearing and grabbed the belt, shaking the two keys free from it. Seeing no movement elsewhere in the clearing, he put down his weapons and tucked the two keys into his belt. Picking his weapons up again, he looked around one more time then began skirting the perimeter of the clearing. After reaching the closest point to the tower, he ran quickly toward its base. Once he reached it, he knelt behind his shield and faced outward, carefully studying the entrances to the clearing to see if anyone had observed him.

  Satisfied that he had not been observed, Gorgon stood up and made his way carefully up the spiral staircase. As his head came over the lip of the second floor, he saw Durik squatting against the far wall, spear leaning against his shoulder.

  “Well, what a surprise finding you here,” Gorgon said as he finished walking up the stairs. Placing his two javelins against the corner pillar, Gorgon adjusted his grip on his war hammer, swinging it slowly in one hand next to his thigh. “So, you’ve been waiting for me?” Gorgon asked.

  Durik stood, drawing his spear up and into both hands. “Waiting, yes. For you, not particularly. But you’ll do.”