The Trials of Caste Read Free Page A

Jerrig, Troka, and Keryak, their three weakest climbers, this far up
the cliff. 
    There was no going back, either.  The small group
of yearlings with their master trainer had been chased here by an armed band of
those same outcasts, who would now be waiting to see if they would come back
down or not.  He felt like a fox, chased into a hole with little hope of escape
by the route they’d come in, but this hole was thirty paces wide and went
straight up.
    Manebrow shook his head.  He saw clearly that he
could send only a pair of climbers up the shaft for help, for that was all the
equipment they had.  Looking into their eyes, Manebrow knew that Jerrig, Troka,
and Keryak would be of no help in this circumstance.  Arbelk was by far their
best climber, but for this feat he would need someone to help him make the
climb, not hinder him.  For Trallik’s part, though he was lithe and skilled,
over this past year Manebrow had grown to not trust him to help others, which
was more necessary now than at any point in their year of training together.  That
left only his two best; Durik the most level-headed of his yearlings or the
much stronger Gorgon to belay Arbelk on this climb. 
    If he sent Gorgon, he reasoned to himself, and both
Gorgon and Arbelk fell, then he knew he’d never be able to get the weaker
climbers up.  If Durik went, however, leaving Gorgon with the weaker climbers
and himself, they might still have a chance if things went wrong.  It was cold,
practical thinking, but he believed it was the only option he had left.  Besides,
this past year it seemed as if the Fates had smiled more on Durik, and that
certainly wasn’t a bad thing.
    “Durik,” Manebrow ordered, “take the remaining
equipment and go up with Arbelk.  Arbelk will lead the climb.  You provide
anchor and belay him in case he falls.”
    Both Trallik and Gorgon looked surprised, and
almost slighted by the Master Trainer’s choice, but while Trallik sulked on his
ledge, Gorgon quickly went about the task of gathering the climbing equipment
into one kit for Durik to take with him on the climb.  It didn’t take more than
a moment. 
    Steeling himself for the life and death challenge
that lay ahead, Durik began the arduous climb up to meet Arbelk.
     

     
    Word of the yearlings’ return spread like wildfire
through the gen.  Even more titillating and worrisome was the word that only two
of them had returned, leaving the rest of them trapped down Sheerface in the
underdark and in need of help.  When Lord Karthan’s chief elite warrior ran
into the council chamber and broke the news to the gen’s council all of them,
warrior group leaders and functional leaders alike, got up as one and rushed to
see for themselves. 
    Not last among them was the Lord of the Kale Gen, a
kobold named Karthan whose sharp countenance and reserved manner were
complemented well by his above average height and erect bearing.  More
companion than servant, his chamberlain Khazak Mail Fist, an unusually muscular
kobold with broad shoulders and powerful arms, tightened the straps about his
wrists and adjusted his metal gauntlets as they walked.  Walking only a step
behind his lord, and sometimes at his side, Khazak’s eyes were set deep in a chiseled
face that had seen more than its share of duty and danger.  His presence was
deliberately menacing, though to those who knew him well they knew the look was
actually one of sheer determination, worn as a mask to shield an otherwise playful
heart.
    Upon reaching the small cavern which sat squarely
at the top of Sheerface, Khazak Mail Fist’s voice boomed out.   “Make way for
the Lord of the Gen!”  At that pronouncement many of the curious onlookers who
had gathered to see the spectacle filed out of the small chamber, spurred along
by Khazak’s constant urging and directing; his presence was intimidating and
instantly commanded obedience from those who were not inured to him.
    Once the way had been cleared, Lord