by Alex Janaway
The gate opened and the crowd filed through and on to the parade square. Cade took her time. Having been outside all day meant her vision would need to adjust; not so those in the mine shafts. The gloom of the cavern was luxury compared to the single flickering candle flames they were used to working by. Everyone moved quickly, drilled and practiced over many months. Cade took her assigned place, a piece of unremarkable ground as familiar to her as her own bed space. She felt that familiar little knot of tension growing in her stomach. In the silence, the creaking sound of the gate opening once more seemed overly loud. She flinched despite herself. It was in these moments that she felt most vulnerable, most exposed. She tracked the arrival of the Accounters, three of them, and six guards. She recognised Geir, back from whatever errand he’d been sent on. And then the dwarves disappeared, moving quietly among the assembled crowd, making marks in ledgers. Her hand drifted to her arm and traced a finger over the brand that marked her as one of Vidar’s. Not that it made much difference these days, Vidar had taken them all on to his ledger. In fact she was one of the lucky ones: she hadn’t had to endure a second branding like those belonging to other owners. One was quite enough. She quickly dropped her hand as Geir and two of the guards appeared at the end of her line. She stood a little straighter, kept her eyes fixed forwards. The older dwarf stopped, looked her up and down, inspecting her for any injuries or signs of sickness that might make her a liability, then made a downward stroke on his ledger and moved on. She squeezed her eyes shut and took several long breathes. A few minutes later she heard the gate creak shut and felt a tangible release of the crowd’s shared tension. None had been singled out. No deaths this day. A single horn sounded one long note and the gathering splintered. Cade made straight for the long upward curving path carved into the cavern walls towards the area known as the Heights. Around her several others fell into step, an honour guard of sorts, all members of her crew, all living in the caves that led off from the path.
‘So, what are you thinking about?’ asked Meghan, sidling up close.
‘Just had some news from the boss. He’s planning on expanding again.’
‘There’s a surprise,’ Meghan muttered.
‘It’s an opportunity.’
A queue of folks was forming at the water cave; pots, buckets and sundry other containers were in their hands. Issar was already in place controlling the flow. The thin-framed Erebeshi waved as they passed.
‘They better hurry up – I need a piss,’ said Cade.
They reached a cave entrance half-way up and ducked inside. She went straight to her pile of blankets at the rear of the cave, checking to see if anything had been disturbed. Satisfied that all was in order she settled down and watched Meghan busy herself by the firepit, where she made a noise and lifted something off the ground, it dangled from between her fingers. Cade leaned forward. A rat? No doubt one of the guys had found it and dropped it off. ‘Who’s cooking tonight?’ she asked.
‘You.’
‘Are Devlin and Issar coming round?’
‘You want Issar to cook?’
‘He’s good at it.’
‘So are you.’
‘Yes, but I’m lazy.’
‘Ain’t that the truth.’
Cade stretched and lay down on the blankets, putting her hands behind her head. She watched as, unbidden, Meghan began to build a fire. That was Meghan, far too giving for her own good.
‘You said something about an opportunity?’ Meghan prompted.
‘Uh-huh. Vidar wants me to act as his, I don’t know, go-between? Turns out that I was right, there are a whole lot more mines out there using humans as a workforce. Vidar has a mind to offer up his services as a manager for the whole damn mountain range.’
‘And how do you figure?’
‘Wants me to organise any other groups whose owners take him up on the offer. Get them cooperating, get them working, sort out any artisans, get others trained up.’
‘Overseer.’
‘What?’
‘Overseer. That’s the name you are looking for. The title.’
‘Oh, right. Sounds good. I could work with that.’
Meghan stood up and came to lie next to her, propped up on her elbows.
‘Means you’ll need Devlin and the others to step up.’
‘It’s not like Devlin doesn’t run the show already. I’m more like the figurehead, you know, the acceptable face of cooperation with our oppressors.’
Meghan bit her lip and nodded.
‘And that’s what I worry about. Everyone here knows you, knows what you did.’
‘And things are better, right? Everyone gets to use the water, nobody has to pay for it. And hardly anyone gets beaten to death now.’
‘Yes, Cade. Things are better. But you start becoming the mouthpiece of the dwarves, folk aren’t gonna take it well.’
‘Sweet Emperor on his privileged arse, Meghan! I’m doing them a solid! Can’t they get that?’
‘Yeah, everyone here does, and you have our crew. We’ll all back you. But no one outside of here knows you.’
‘Look, I get it. I’ll just be real charming, like always. People’ll figure it out. The more work that we can take off our masters means less of them around and a chance of a better quality of life. Everybody wins.’
‘Preaching to the converted, Cade.’
‘Thanks.’
Meghan reached out and played with Cade’s topknot.
‘You know, we’ve been working topside for a while now.’
Oh, I know what’s coming. ‘Yes?’
‘Just think it might be good if we took a turn down below.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, we don’t want people to get resentful or think that you are making favourites of your crew.’
‘Even though I am?’ Still, Cade felt indignant, it was true she had moved those of Vidar’s branding mark who had supported her up into the Heights, but not exclusively, there were still plenty of groups she’d let stay.
‘Yes. Like it or not, you are in charge up here, but you took the role by force. It would do no harm to show you are no better than any of them.’
But I am.
‘Fine! Okay. I’ll speak to Devlin.’
Meghan leaned across and kissed her cheek.
Cade closed her eyes. She wanted to speak to Devlin anyway, they had some planning to do. If they worked this right, Cade could see a rosy future. One in which they could start living topside, at least herself at any rate. Maybe Meghan and a few others. Hells below, she couldn’t save everyone, right? Saving herself sounded like an excellent start.
CHAPTER FIVE – KILLEN
Killen was so pleased to be away from his camel, he was willing to suffer the pain four hard days riding was giving him. He raised his arse off the saddle and tried to stretch his muscles.
‘How are you doing?’ asked the Highlander, Larsen.
Killen whistled. ‘Not going to lie, my sores have got sores.’
The older man grinned. ‘You and me both.’
‘I thought you were the horse master,’ said Killen, gently settling back into the seat.
‘Not really, I’m just one of the few who actually knows how to manage them,’ said Larsen, leaning forward and rubbing the neck of his animal. ‘Most of us have never owned a horse let alone ridden one. I was lucky, my father lived in one of the lower valleys, he kept a few and taught me how to ride and take care of them.’
‘I suppose you all owned eagles,’ said Killen staring into the distance.
‘Hah!’ barked Larsen, breaking into a laugh.
‘What?’
‘Is that what you think? We all got birds?’
Killen shrugged. ‘I thought that’s what you did.’
‘And everyone in the Riverlands owns a vineyard, right?’
The man had a point. ‘Alright, if you put it like that.’
‘Most of us don’t own eagles, either,’ Larsen explained. ‘That’s reserved for the Ride
rs. Don’t get me wrong. I’m damned proud of them. But you can keep all that flying shit. It terrifies me.’
Killen had to agree with him. He was perfectly content to be on the ground and away from the smell of camel. His unit were making their own slow way towards the Highlands. The camels would find far more sustenance as they reached the borders but they’d still go at their own Emperor-cursed pace. He leaned forward and patted the neck of his mount, a grey mare with a gentle disposition. They were covering ground at a speed the camels could never match, over territory far more suited to horses. This wasn’t the Jebel or the sands of Erebesh, this was the foothills of the southwest Highlands and the lowlands of Celtebaria. Damn but it was good to see green again. He leaned back and gathered a skin, taking a sip of water. He replaced the skin and sat back.
‘How much farther do you think?’ he asked.
Larsen pulled at his ear and made a face.
‘Depends. They were looking at hitting a gnome camp somewhere west of here before I headed out to find you. Most of our folk are on foot apart from the Riders. Might be the gnomes have moved on. The lad will find them.’ He looked up and Killen followed his gaze. High above them an eagle described a wide circle. Damn but the kid must have some cast iron balls to do that. Apparently, he was Gifted to boot.
Killen thought again about the Eagle Rider who led these folk. This Owen lad had asked to meet with him, and Killen was happy to oblige, but he didn’t really understand the urgency. Larsen was an affable companion but didn’t have much to offer in the way of explanation. The best he could fathom was this bunch of Highlanders were conducting minor raids to protect their borders. That seemed like a risky undertaking, it drew attention to their existence, though Larsen claimed the gnomes couldn’t be credited with over-thinking these things. Even so, he would counsel caution, they were in no fit state for any kind of military operations. Best to do what he and his were doing; hunker down for a few years and let the storm pass.
Four days later Killen realised maybe the storm wasn’t going away. Jussi had spotted the columns of smoke first and had put down to point them in the right direction. As they made their way through the rolling wooded landscape, the scale of the skirmish started to worry him. Those smoke columns were mighty large. And a perfect marker for anyone who might want to investigate further.
‘Looks like a scrap,’ he commented, as he rode next to Larsen.
‘Maybe,’ agreed Larsen. ‘Owen’s probably burning the bodies. Might be one of their hunting camps, that means their shacks and such will be going up too.’
Killen shook his head. He had thought they were killing small parties of gnome hunters. Numbers that could be explained away or at least not provoke a significant response.
‘How many gnomes in one of these camps?’ he asked.
‘Oh, depends. Usually twenty, thirty. Think there was one with fifty we hit a while back.’
Fifty? ‘That’s … audacious,’ Killen commented.
‘Audacious? Fancy word. Does it mean having big balls?’
Killen raised his hands. ‘It just seems a bigger target than mere hunting parties.’
‘Ah, the gnomes are vicious bastards, I give them that. But they spook easy too. We hit them hard and they tend to run. As long as you don’t give them a chance to regroup. And the trick o’course is making sure none of them get away.’
Killen did not respond. This was definitely not what he had expected. This was a campaign. ‘How many fighters did you say you’ve got on the ground?’ he asked.
Larsen looked up and thought. ‘About thirty of us. Depends on who is free, who we need back home, hunting parties and so on. We’ve pushed out a long way from the Rest and it takes a while to backtrack. And it depends on how many eagles we got with us. Owen’s got them flying all hours and days. If they’re not fighting with us they are scouting for camps or going further, looking for survivors. Like you.’
Thirty. If this crew have been doing this for a while, chances are they must be competent. Or very lucky.
‘Casualties?’ Killen asked.
‘We’ve had a few. More than we can spare, less than we might have expected.’
Killen thought that an interesting perspective. ‘And do you agree with the plan?’ He kept his tone light, conversational. It was a leading question, but he needed to know what he was riding into.
‘You want to know if we are a bunch of lunatics, right?’
Killen turned and saw Larsen looking right back at him with a wry smile. Obviously he was not as subtle as he thought. Might as well play it a little straighter then.
‘The Highlands are that way,’ he said, pointing. ‘This is border country at best. For all I know we are in Celtebaria. It’s a long way to go to keep your country safe.’
Larsen nodded.
‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Owen’s got us out on a limb. But it’s working and it ain’t nothing we aren’t willing to do. He’s kept us together. Given everyone a sense o’purpose. He’s just a little more driven than others.’
‘I’m concerned you are over extending. If you stray too far from home, you might never make it back,’ he advised.
‘I reckon you lot might be able to help with that.’
‘The war’s over,’ Killen stated.
‘That depends on who you ask.’
Killen figured he already knew what the answer would be with these people. So be it. He would keep his counsel for the moment and see how the land lay.
They rode on in silence towards the smoke. He spotted circling birds just over the site, yet something struck him as odd. They were describing a very wide arc, some distance beyond the smoke. And their size … eagles then.
‘Looking for survivors?’ he asked.
‘On the hunt. Could take a while. We have to be sure.’
Killen was pleased to hear it. Overhead Jussi passed by, keeping low. He raised a hand in greeting before he sped onwards.
The hunting camp, or what was left of it, was set amidst a cleared area just on the edge of a stand of trees. Killen spied three separate smouldering piles describing a crude triangle upon ground that was trampled, bare of earth and smoking in patches. One, the smallest, was a cookfire, with stones encircling the smoking embers. The second, the remains of a far larger fire, looked like a structure that had collapsed in on itself. The final was large again, lumps were piled upon each other and flames flicked over the shapes, struggling to maintain a constant burn even as black smoke curled upwards.
‘Wind’s a little fitful today,’ said Larsen.
On cue, a gust blew against Killen. Gods. The smell! It was the scent of burnt meat, but merged with a sickly, disgusting odour like vomit.
‘Not sure they smell better or worse when they are dead,’ observed Larsen. He climbed off his horse and Killen followed suit. He stretched his back and sighed. Why did everything ache so much?
Two figures, two humans, appeared from the edge of the treeline and walked towards the fire. One, a female carried an unstrung bow in one hand. The other, a man, carried a gnome over his shoulder. Killen thought it looked like an adolescent child, its arms dangling freely behind the man’s back: thin, a dirty mottled brown in colour and bearing several crude bracelets. The man, broad-shouldered and wild-haired, nodded at Larsen as he passed and unceremoniously dumped the gnome on top of its equally dead brothers. At least, Killen presumed it was dead.
‘Alright, Larsen?’ the man asked.
‘Yeah. Not too bad, Skeet.’
The woman, perhaps in her mid to late twenties, stooped down and held the arrow head into the flames, only allowing its head to be kissed by the heat.
‘Don’t want their filthy blood staining my arrows,’ she said defensively, noticing Killen watching her. She stood and tilted her head. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Nice to see you too, Breege. New recruit,’ said Larsen. ‘Proper military man.’
Breege turned and spat into the flames. ‘Didn’t do too well in the war, though,
did you?’ She blew on the arrow and stuck it back into a bag hanging off her belt.
‘Be nice. They had it as bad as the rest of us,’ replied Larsen.
Killen had nothing else to add. He was not in a position to judge.
Breege gestured behind her. ‘The others are still out hunting. They shouldn’t be long.’
‘Anyone hurt?’ asked Larsen, dismounting.
‘No. Another good day. Got a score of eighteen. A few more to come maybe.’
‘Smaller group than usual,’ observed Larsen.
‘Maybe they’re getting the message,’ grinned Skeet.
‘A good haul, then?’ inquired Larsen.
Skeet, pointed towards a small group of pack animals and the piles of furs and a number of skinned and cured carcasses piled next to them. ‘We were stacking these up when that one made a run for it. Thought we’d got them all.’
‘Spoils of war,’ said Larsen, indicating the goods. ‘We’ll take that back, always helps. We are growing after all.’
Killen watched the two men get to work loading their spoils. He imagined it would be a long trek.
‘Hey, you want to sort your horse out?’ Larsen asked Killen.
Killen looked over to where the man was unsaddling his mount. ‘Oh. Yes, of course.’ He got to work on releasing the cinches and straps and was dumping the saddle when his mare snorted, her head picking up as she took a few steps back.
He stood up and looked around. About fifty yards away an eagle was coming into land, taloned feet extending, and wings stretched wide as it touched down. He stepped close to his horse, placing a hand on its flank to try and calm it.
‘She’ll be alright,’ advised Larsen. ‘They are getting used to the fact the eagles aren’t hunting them.’