Dungeons of the Crooked Mountains

by Alexey Osadchuk

  “Sure, why not?” Hart rasped. “We’ve gotta sit around another few hours anyway. And as we know, time passes quicker when we talk.”

  “Yep, yep...”

  “About the old man? Alright, I’ll tell you... Not many know this, but Burdoc was born in the barony of Arundel.”

  “And where is that? I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of such a place...”

  “That’s because you’re young. And it hasn’t existed for a long time. It’s in the east. You probably know it by a different name.”

  “But the only place east of here is...”

  “Exactly. The Wastes.”

  “Old man Burdoc was born in the Wastes?” Flea asked in surprise.

  I also shuddered when I heard the familiar name. It was where my older brother died.

  “But steppe orcs control the Wastes!” Clearly learning our coachman’s origin did a lot to awaken Flea’s imagination. He was really worked up.

  “Hey, settle down, blockhead! You’re gonna wake everybody up,” Hart snapped at his younger comrade. “Yes, he was born in the Wastes! And why are you yelling? It’s no shock to me. You know how many of our brothers were born into orcish slavery? No? Well let me tell you, too many to count! Almost every family in the east has someone who spent some time enslaved by the grayskins. Some get captured in battle, others just get snatched up on a raid. Some like Burdoc were just born into it. Our pregnant women are just about the biggest prize for those steppe nomads.”

  “Why is that?” Flea asked quietly.

  By the looks of things, he hadn’t been especially focusing on the Mind branch either. Even I could see why the orcs would want pregnant women.

  “Too dim to guess?” Hart asked bitingly. “Don’t look at me like that, dolt. It isn’t the ladies they want, it’s the future people they carry in their womb. And to be even more accurate, it’s the silver tablets the Great System awards newborns.”

  “Bastards!” I could hear hate and indignation in Flea’s voice.

  And I felt solidarity. My right hand clutched the bone handle of my knife in outrage.

  “Bastards is exactly right,” Hart agreed in a calm voice. “In a word, inhuman. The shamans give sleeping potions to the mothers so they can’t quickly use the tablets on their children and they take everything the Great System grants the child. But that is not all. When the kids grow up, they are given the simplest possible gear for stats and sent out to earn tablets and essences for the tribe. That is why our Burdoc is so weak. He spent half his life working for the orcs.”

  “Hmm... well cuh-rap...” Flea drew out the word, dazed. “And how did he get here? Did he run?”

  “Run from the orcs?” Hart laughed. “From the steppes? No-ope... Not many have the strength for that.”

  “Then what?”

  “Flea, as long as I’ve known you, it’s always surprised me how daft you can be. Don’t be so stingy next time and invest a bit in Mind. Hehe... Haven’t you heard the tales of the brothers? Or didn’t your mom not tell you fairy tales when she put you to bed?”

  “Well, I uhh...” Flea burbled.

  “You’re a dolt,” Hart put it briefly. “Use your brains a little bit. How could he have gotten out here from orcish slavery? I see two options. Either the orcs sold him or the orcs were themselves enslaved. As for Burdoc, it was option two. Our Baron’s retinue broke a tribe of steppe warriors. All the slaves of the orcs became peons of the baron. Our master bought many of their debts, including Burdoc’s. And that’s the whole story.”

  Could that have been the battle in the Wastes that took my brother? I’d have to find out exactly when that battle took place. If that was so, it meant old man Burdoc was freed partially thanks to my brother. Although it was hard to call peonage freedom. It was basically the same as slavery, just a slightly shifted view. And if anyone came out most ahead it was our Baron Berence without a doubt. That was why my father didn’t like nobles. He always called them monsters who grew fat on our blood...

  The Crooked Mountains greeted us with a cold rain. Due to the huge torrents of water falling from the sky, the road among the gray cliffs gradually turned into a raging river. A few times, I got the impression the carts were about to careen into the abyss but, thanks to our driver’s mastery of his trade, not a single bag or box of provisions was lost.

  Burdoc, for the record, caught me by surprise. Despite his frailty, he displayed true marvels of cart-driving. He had probably been investing in that skill all his life. I guess he really was worth his salt.

  When we finally reached the miners’ village, we were soaked to the bone and no less tired than the horses.

  While we strolled the main street, I managed to see the living quarters of the locals. Mostly it was old barracks, but there were also some separate newer little houses. In some of the windows, I saw the faces of women and children.

  We stopped for a few minutes outside one of the homes. The doors flew open and a woman hopped out onto the street wrapped in a gray down shawl. To look at her, I would say she was fifty. To my surprise, her face looked familiar. She ran over to Kril’s cart, grabbed Tim, who was wrapped in a leather shawl and scurried back into the house. That was when I realized the woman, Kril and his little son all bore a certain resemblance to one another. It instantly dawned on me. She was Tim’s grandma!

  I distantly remembered stories of my own relatives. The Bergmans hadn’t always lived in Orchus. My father and mother were born in the western lands. And that was also where they got married. On their wedding day, two strong clans were bonded. And by the end of the year, mom said she was expecting the heir to both families. But their happiness was darkened by news of a horrible epidemic raging on the western coast. In order to prevent my expectant mother falling ill, my grandparents convinced my parents to move to Orchus for a time. To wait out the disaster. The city had already sent riders to the healers’ guild in the capital, but it wouldn’t be safe until the sickness cleared.

  And hindsight proved they made the right choice. The messengers never even reached the capital. The illness took them on the way. Then over the course of a week, the plague ate through almost the whole city. Not many survived. Among my relatives, none. The local Baron, in order to keep the infection from spreading, ordered the town burned to the ground. Along with the remaining survivors. I think that was the very moment my father began to hate nobles with such a passion...

  We rode another few minutes down the main village street and our wagon train turned right down an alley. After that, we turned again, and again... A few more turns and we finally stopped next to a large barn, which was behind a tall stockade fence and guarded by five warriors. Provisions must have been very expensive here, seeing how they were guarded so closely.

  Just then, a crowd of beggars appeared at the heavy gates holding clay bowls and mugs. It was mostly old folks, but also there were children. When they spotted us from afar, they ran out to meet us, badgering and begging us to give them a bit of food or money.

  Hart, Flea and the other two warriors who accompanied our caravan, without delay and not being especially careful, drove off the poor folks with lashes.

  When he saw me looking dazed, Hart bared his teeth and barked:

  “Look, kid. Take this as a warning! If you’re lazy, you’ll fall to the level of these unfortunate souls!”

  When the warrior turned back around, someone shook me by the sleeves. I looked down. It was a kid, eight years old. A mop of black uncombed hair. Colorless simple clothes. A pitiful gaze in hazel eyes. A grubby face.

  “Please, some bread?” he squeaked.

  I shuddered. It put me beside myself. I understood that my position was not exactly enviable, but I was feeling like a rich man compared to this little kid.

  “Sorry, boy,” I shrug my shoulders. “No bread, but I do have this here...”

  I take a little green apple from my bundle and extend it to the kid. I see his admiring gaze. The fruit disappears almost magically and the boy, without sa
ying a word, starts off for the nearest alley.

  “Pointless.”

  Hart’s raspy voice makes me shudder despite myself.

  “You’ll come to regret that very soon,” he said and walked toward the guardsmen coming our way.

  The newcomers, including me, were lined up outside despite the downpour of icy rain. Two steps from the entrance into the warm and dry barracks. On the doorstep, under a wide visor and surrounded by guards, stood Knud. He was second in command after Skorx, who was now away.

  A thin and spiteful old man with a ravenous gaze. Thin lips, rotten teeth, a nose sharp as a bird’s beak, a greasy clump of gray hair on his chin — an unsavory type. The only feature I liked was the lack of a right ear.

  He’d lost it at the hands, or more accurately teeth of one of the peons. Truth be told, it was said that Knud later arranged a “mining accident” for the sap who did it to him. Based on his spiteful rat-like face and harsh gaze — One-ear, as he was called around here, was capable of much worse than that.

  “Mark this well, I will say it only once!” Knud began our intake session unhurriedly with a monotone voice. “You are standing here up to your knees in shit because you shit the bed. The bank was so kind and generous as to lend you their hard-earned cash, and you failed to pay them back.”

  One-ear led a harsh tenacious stare over us and continued.

  “Let me warn you assholes right away. If you lose your marbles, and get it in your stupid head to do something we don’t like — our conversation will be short and sweet.”

  The old man nodded toward ten posts at the far wall of a barrack. A few of them had bloodied naked bodies tied to them. Giving us time to take in the ghastly spectacle, Knud continued:

  “Now onto the main event. How you will repay your debt to my master. All of you are peons, and that means that, other than the principal, you must pay off three percent interest each month with your labor. Believe you me, Mr. Bardan is merciful and generous. Other masters charge much higher rates.”

  After making some crude calculations in my head, I fell into a stupor. In my case, that’s about three gold per month. That means I need to somehow earn ten silver every day...

  “If you haven’t paid back your interest by the end of the month, they will add that to the principal and the rate for the next month will be calculated off that,” Knud continued beating it into us. “For one daily quota of ore, you will be given three silver coins.”

  Highway robbery. As son of a miner, I can confidently say that the minimum for one quota is generally around six coins. And if the ore is valuable, it could be even more. Probably Skorx is taking a bit off the top. Honestly, that doesn’t affect me either way. I couldn’t harvest ore anyhow.

  As if hearing my thoughts, the old man continued:

  “Other work will be judged in measure with its use. Low-skilled labor is valued at one silver per day maximum.”

  Only then did it start to reach me what a serious debt hole I’d fallen into.

  “For a bed in a barrack and food from the common pot, you’ll have to pay. You’ll pay for your tools as well. If you don’t have the money — we can loan you some for a place to sleep and food to get you started. If it takes too long to pay back... hm... Let me give you some advice. It’s in your interest to pay us back as quickly as possible. Remember, you have no rights here, like cattle. And until you can repay my master, you cannot leave this place.”

  * * *

  I suspected that Hart’s prediction would come true, but I wasn’t expecting it to come so fast...

  Now I was sitting on the floor of an old barrack. Soaked to the bone. My teeth were chattering so hard I could feel them coming loose. A fierce damp wind howled up through a gap in the rotten boards, chilling me straight to the marrow.

  When Knud finished his intake lecture, all of us in turn gave an oath promising we’d repay the debt and the Great System confirmed. Now I have only two ways out. Either on my own two feet after repaying the debt, or feet first into a pauper’s grave. Based on the conditions us peons are kept in, the latter is more likely.

  Thankfully, Burdoc gave me a thin blanket as a parting gift and now it was sheltering me from the cold, but just barely. Before he left, the old man also advised me to stay away from the northern tunnels. They were said to be the most ancient and dangerous part of the mine. Just a deadly place...

  Oooh! I want to eat so bad! My stomach is just in knots. The night before, no one had any plans of feeding us. We all had to get by on our own rations. And I had given my last apple to some street urchin out of the goodness of my heart. I had no money, so I had to get started here on an empty stomach.

  My energy supply was already not doing great, but now it had been sitting at a mere two for quite some time. Strangely, I never regretted giving away the apple... well, so far... We’ll see how I start to feel when my supply runs dry...

  Of course, at a time like this, I couldn’t help but think about a backup option. I always had one up my sleeve. Even when I was sitting on the stool in the corner of the entryway of my parents’ home and watching my family belongings be plundered, I knew it was there. I just ordered myself no matter what happened to never think about it.

  My stomach turned again and, despite myself, my gaze caught on the knife. That was my alternate way out of this shit. The artifact of the Departed. If I sold it, all my problems would be over.

  First I considered the ring or button, but I quickly decided against those options. I couldn’t get by without characteristics. I could at least live without damage.

  As soon as I started thinking about selling the artifacts, I remembered father and mother. Had all their efforts been in vain? Father spent so long hunting for each of these artifacts. He went into debt. He risked being found out or robbed. He paid tons of money for each item and all so his son could just give into weakness and sell them for a pittance? Just to fill his stomach and warm his body? Though honestly, my parents would hardly have wanted me to die here of cold and hunger either.

  But no! I won’t give in so easy! Tomorrow is another day. I’ll think of something!

  “Hey kid, you alive over there?!”

  The sound of a voice from the darkness made me shudder.

  “F-for now, yes,” I answered, my teeth chattering. My hand reached for the knife all on its own.

  A powerful figure dove out of the darkness and a joyful flaxen-haired head loomed over me. Big blue eyes, a slightly upturned snub nose. An open smile. A boy of twenty years. Level eleven. His dress was simple but sound, and clean. His face beamed kindness and inspired trust but, out of decency I frowned and shrunk.

  “Hey, hey, kid! Calm down!” he said, seeing my reaction. “Sorry I scared you. I saw you in this crap heap shivering from cold and decided hey, why not come over? I figured I’d ask if maybe you need some help.”

  “You help everyone around here?” I ask untrustingly, my voice skeptical.

  “No, of course not,” he answered seriously and immediately added pointedly:

  “Only those who are willing to help others. I saw you share an apple with Crum back there. So then, what are you doing here? It’s been a long time since anyone stayed in this barrack...”

  “No money.”

  “How about a loan? Lots of people here started out that way. Me included.”

  “Knud said I wasn’t allowed. He said I’m useless. And to let Skorx decide what to do with me.”

  “Well the Marked One won’t be back for a week.”

  “Who?”

  “The Marked One. That’s what everyone calls Skorx around here. You’ll see soon. You’ll understand.”

  “Then what should I do?”

  “First of all, get a bite to eat, warm up and get some sleep.”

  He smiled disarmingly and extended a hand:

  “By the way, I forgot to introduce myself. The name’s Frodi.”

  “Eric,” I responded, also matching his firm handshake.

  “Happy to meet
you, Eric,” Frodi said and nodded at the exit:

  “Let’s go. There’s nothing for you here.”

  “Uh, wh-where?” I asked, worried. But still I got up from the cold floor.

  “Let’s go, come on then,” my new acquaintance said in a friendly manner and then asked as if in passing:

  “You like porridge with mushrooms?”

  My stomach groaned treacherously, answering for us both. Frodi laughed loudly at my peculiar response. I looked at him. His kind open face, his tidy appearance. Listening to his endearing vocal timbre, I was sincerely confused — why did I still have doubts? My stomach gave another unintentional burble. As if to say, “what are you waiting for, master? There is warmth and mushroom porridge to be had!” And that was the final argument.