Apprentice

by Nicholas Hale

  It hadn't pleased the guards too much, but Azrael decided it was necessary as much as it was humane. The slaves would cower under a foreman's whip, but Azrael could see the discontentment and rage hidden behind the mask of meekness. The slaves outnumbered the Aegeans at least twenty to one. Back on the Deckan plains, Azrael had primarily fought against tribes that were composed of farmers and herdsmen. Yet he had seen what simple weapons fashioned from wood could do to a human being—and what simple men could do when cornered and faced with death. A horde of angry slaves with pickaxes could take the fortress in an hour if they were pushed to the brink. Several of the slaves such as Brock were strong enough to overpower two Aegean guards with their physical strength alone.

  Naturally, Yvain had opposed the schedule. Quite vehemently. It had gone on for a few weeks until Gerzahn approached Azrael with a technicality pointing out that, while the day-to-day operations of the mines fell under the purview of the overseer, the guards themselves, being a military entity answered only to military authorities. In this case, the regional governor, Rennar. As such, scheduling of patrols was not Azrael's decision but rather Yvain's. Azrael could, however, petition Governor Rennar, who Gerzahn said, was the highest military authority in Bren.

  It had incensed Azrael, but after some reading himself, he found an interesting solution. He pointed out to Yvain and Gerzahn that the mining equipment was still very much under his own purview. If the guards weren't going to protect the miners, then the miners would protect themselves. Azrael could indeed deem basic weapons 'necessary mining equipment'. With the help of Brock, Azrael had handpicked some of the slaves and armed them with some very basic weapons.

  This wasn't a decision he had made lightly. While Azrael was sympathetic to the plight of the slaves, he knew they wouldn't look upon him as some kind savior from the isles. If the fortress fell, he had no doubt he would be strung up along with the rest of the guards. Yet, he knew that arming them was the safest decision he could take. More miners went missing by the day, and it appeared the attacks were steadily moving upward. After speaking to some of the slaves he found out that the earliest attacks only happened in the deepest reaches of the second level, but more lately, some miners were being attacked even on the first level.

  Add to that the food problems. If there were no concessions made, then Azrael's fears of a revolt would come true. Marduk would fall, after which Rennar's soldiers would attack the fortress, killing everyone inside. A needless bloodbath.

  Azrael walked into his chambers and saw both the men waiting. Neither had bothered taking a seat.

  "You said a hundred. I thought we had an agreement!" burst out Yvain before Azrael could even get behind his desk.

  The damn spears.

  "We decided on arming one in twenty, did we not?" asked Azrael, calmly taking his seat.

  "Which is a hundred spears!" he shouted.

  "For two thousand men. Yet I find the number of slaves here is far greater than that..."

  Gerzahn spoke,

  "I assure you, m'lord, you can look at the food rations and—"

  "You point to the food, but I point to the pickaxes. The number we have ordered from the treasurer measures closer to three thousand, does it not?"

  When Azrael had requested a proper count of the number of slaves, Gerzahn had come back to him with two thousand. But Azrael knew the number was severely under reported. Gerzahn was doing this on purpose. One, to cover up Rennar's personal mining operation in the secret third level. Second, so that the number of armed slaves would be much lesser than what they should be. Azrael never thought that taking a count of the number of slaves would be this complicated. He had to no desire to go in and count every slave on his own, but every number being reported to him seemed unsatisfactory.

  When Azrael had expressed concerns over the accuracy of the numbers, Gerzahn pointed out to the food rations from which they could estimate the number of miners. This, too, was flawed, because they were ordering only as much food as needed by two thousand. This meant a lot of the slaves were getting much lesser than they could survive on.

  Yet, Azrael had found the answer in the numbers. The miners turned in their pickaxes at the end of their shifts. Rennar could starve the miners and under report their real numbers, but he couldn't make them dig with their hands. When Azrael looked at the tally of the number of pickaxes, it numbered near two thousand and eight hundred.

  Gerzahn had tried passing off the extra equipment as spare, but Azrael knew better. These days, when iron—especially good iron that could mine the ores of Bren—was scarce, there was no way any one would keep close to a thousand spare pickaxes. Yvain had tried making an excuse saying that when the miners died, their weapons too would be lost. But this had worked against him, since he himself had conveniently failed to report any of deaths in the mines related to the creature attacks.

  All in all, Azrael had decided that there would be a hundred and fifty spears passed out to the miners, and that was final.

  "Even if that was true, do you realize how dangerous this is? We had two more attacks yesterday! My guards had to put down the bastards. Three of them this time!"

  The attacks Yvain was referring to were no doubt attacks on his own men by the miners. Yvain claimed that having weapons made them brazen and bolder, but Azrael knew better. There was always violence in the mines. If anything, the weapons would empower the few miners who were armed and bring them over to the side of the guards. It was ironic, but they were less likely to use them against the guards.

  Conditions in the mines were horrible, and the few slaves who got better treatment would be glad for it.

  It was the same tactic Emperor Thyurin had used when arming the nomads. All of Ryga had been torn apart by Naxannor, and the nomads, like the tribes were being pushed to extinction. When Thyurin had armed them, they lost no time in slaughtering their fellow Rygans. Why was Yvain too stupid to see that?

  "Well, I'm afraid you have to train your soldiers better then. Doesn't that fall under your purview?" asked Azrael sarcastically.

  He was tired of this argument. Neither of these men would be able to convince him that he made the wrong decision. Or reduce the number of spears that would be passed about.

  Yvain had turned red at that, but before he could speak, Azrael spoke up. He was fed up trying to make the men see reason.

  "A hundred and fifty spears. Not one less. If you have nothing else to discuss, you will leave now."

  Yvain tried speaking again, but Gerzahn placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. With one last hateful look from Yvain, the men departed.

  This wasn't good. If Doyen had been right, Gerzahn had the ear of Rennar personally. Especially since he was taking care of Rennar's private operation. Doyen had warned Azrael that there would be no room for sympathy at the mines if they were to dispose of Rennar. If Azrael wanted to gather evidence against the governor, he would have to make allies of the foremen and seem every bit as corrupt as them.

  The original plan had been for Azrael to express interest in making more gold and somehow get cut into the secret mining operation. Yet that was slipping further and further away from his grasp. Other than showing some favoritism towards Olaf and Brie, Azrael hadn't really done anything to show himself a sympathizer for the slaves. His decision to arm the slaves was a practical one, yet these fools couldn't see it. He only hoped that Rennar would see the practicality in it. A few spears would do nothing against armored Aegean soldiers. Even the drunken lot at Marduk.

  Azrael was wondering if the two men would express any concerns to Rennar when Brock entered the room.

  "The captain doesn't seem too pleased with you," he said.

  "Did they see you?"

  "I hid in the next corridor till I heard them leave."

  Good, thought Azrael. The last thing he needed was them seeing a slave walking right into his office. Brock was more than glad to put the punch behind him and become Azrael's man. He knew very little about Azrael's
real motives, but when Azrael apologized in private, stating that he had saved his life by punching him, Brock readily accepted. Brock had mentioned that the old man—Mekel—who was the spokesman for the slaves, had said the exact same thing while chiding him for raising his voice against the governor.

  "He said Khamis would have cut my throat if you hadn't punched me first," said Brock later that day with a wide grin on his face.

  After that, Azrael had spoken to him a few times and found that he was indeed trustworthy. The young man was one of the newer slaves at Marduk, and he had taken to protecting the rest of the slaves early on. He was something of a hero among the miners because he had killed two of the creatures. In the group that he mined with, nearly all of them spoke well of him.

  It didn't take too long for Brock to begin trusting that Azrael wanted to genuinely improve conditions at the mine. It was only very recently that Azrael had asked him to look into the secret third level. It was astounding, but many of the slaves too did not know that there existed a third level. Some of them suspected it, because the guards used it as a threat to make them more obedient. There were rumors floating around too that, impossibly, even this deep inside their hell, there was a place far worse. Slaves sent there never returned. There was also talk that if you walked close to some of the walls in the second level, you could hear muffled screams from inside them. Brock had agreed to investigate on the matter. He hadn't found out much in the past two weeks, but yesterday, he had sent word through Jamaal that he urgently needed to speak with Azrael.

  "Well? Jamaal indicated that you had some very good news to share?"

  "You were right. There is a third level."

  Finally, some good news, thought Azrael.

  "How did you find it?" asked Azrael.

  "There's this one corner that we don't visit because of a cave-in that happened a year ago. Much before I arrived here, about a hundred slaves disappeared on the second level. The guards told us that there had been a cave in, but the old man suspected otherwise. There was no noise that night, and the people that disappeared were mostly ones the guards considered troublemakers. They blocked off that section entirely and none of us ever went there because it was too dark and we were afraid. We have it bad enough with the creatures attacking us, without going around looking for trouble. When I was talking with the old man, he told me I should look there. They never saw any bodies, so he said it was likely that the hundred slaves who first disappeared were either killed...or taken away to work in the secret level. The cave in was just a story to hide the truth."

  "He's quite insightful, this man Mekel," said Azrael. admiring the man's skill in deduction. "So, you went there?"

  "Yes. It was really dark, but I did pass through and there was this stairway leading down. Quite long, but when I did reach its end; I found the third level."

  That was stupid thought Azrael. Brock should have come to him immediately instead of wandering in. But for now, he was glad that nothing happened.

  "There are no guards there. Just the slavers," said Brock.

  "The slavers? Inside the mine?"

  "Yes. Looks like that level is run entirely by them."

  "How many slaves do they have in there?"

  "I couldn't get an idea, but it's huge."

  "This is good," said Azrael, thinking.

  "What do we do next?"

  "They have to be moving the iron out of there. That's our next goal. We need to find out where they're taking it."

  "I did see some tracks in there for mining carts..."

  Azrael was astonished at this.

  "How far in did you go?"

  "The level is pretty big, but the slavers don't guard it too much. The miners didn't look like they cared about escaping at all. It appeared to me all they wanted to do was lie down and die."

  The slavers were probably confident enough to the point of arrogance.

  "I don't think the carts move every day. They seem to be loading them up for a single shipment," said Brock.

  "Did you get a chance to see how full they were?"

  "Not really. But I think there's a good spot I can watch them from."

  "There has to be a buyer they're selling it to."

  "Or they could be moving it to the slaver port..."

  "No," said Azrael. Doyen had informed him that he had spies in slaver port. Iron ore wasn't something you could hide too easily. "It has to be someone else."

  "I could try and find out," said Brock.

  "Find out when they're moving the cart and let me know. I'll come with you as well."

  Brock nodded.

  "Did you hear back from your mage?" asked Brock.

  "Not yet," replied Azrael. "You know how mages are—always taking their own sweet time."

  "Never met one, but I'll take your word for it."

  Azrael had put one of the dead white creatures into a sack and had it sent to Norvind with one of the guards. If anyone here would know anything about the creatures, it would have to be the mages of Norvind.

  He had only seen Lorian once, but he was sure the young mage would remember him. And their friendly spar. He sent a note addressed to Lorian with some pleasantries, and asked him if he knew what the hell the creature was. Hopefully, Lorian would reply back with some details on what it was called, what it was probably after, and more importantly, how they could kill it easily. On that train of thought, he began wondering what Lorian might be doing right now. Hopefully, after that incident with the guards at the market square, he hadn't gotten himself into more trouble.

  Chapter 50

  Lorian was walking down a long, entwining staircase.

  It was almost time.

  Orcus had just mentioned that Amadeus had finished his preparations. Lorian exited the staircase and found himself in the holding area. Ever since Orcus had cast the mind-protection spell, he had lost all contact with the Azhurai. But he could still remember the dark energy emanating from behind the cell door when he was first brought here. Familiar feelings began to return as he walked toward the cell door.

  He had spent the last three days cooped up in the library working out Amadeus's spells for the infusion. He had worked out the final parts through a haze of weariness and a lack of sleep. He did not yet know if the spells would work as he cast them. Considering how much time Lorian had spent on the spell itself, he was wondering if it was a mistake to leave the most important part for the very end.

  All the spells that Lorian had worked out relied on one core assumption. The cooperation of the Azhurai. If he could not get it to willingly enter the infusion chamber...

  Lorian shook his head to clear out such thoughts. There was very little time left. He had spent half a valuable day trying to come up with a convincing way to trick the Azhurai. It didn't take him too long to realize that mortals couldn't compare to demons in games of deception.

  There was only one way he could do this.

  He removed from his robes the key that Orcus had provided him. It was a bronze triangular piece of runed metal. Lorian placed it in a slot in the cell door and heard a loud rumbling. Orcus had ensured that none of Amadeus's minions were in the holding area. Normally there was always at least one lich patrolling, but apparently Orcus had it within his power to order around the skeletal mages. Or rather he could relay orders from Amadeus in the form of a projection.

  The rumbling stopped and the cell opened.

  The stench. Lorian had expected many things when he opened the door, but the stench was definitely not one of them. It was unbearable. He reeled and took a few steps backward while covering his nose with his robe sleeve.

  "The traitorous whelp finally arrives."

  Lorian looked up while holding back his vomit. He could see the Azhurai emerge from the darkness of the cell. It seemed ephemeral like the essences he had seen when he first entered the simulacrum with Gawain. But while most the essences in the simulacrum had been formless, the Azhurai's essence seemed to have some degree of structure. He could
make out a reptilian body with bat-like wings. The most distinctive features were the claws. They were abnormally long. Each finger would measure at least a foot with the nail being half a foot. The face was obscured, but Lorian could make out teeth like thin spikes.

  "Releasing me was a mistake, fool."

  Lorian knew this would happen and had prepared for it. He removed a medallion from his robes and pointed it towards the Azhurai as it spread its wings, ready to escape. He squeezed the medallion while intoning the binding spell. Purple lines traced themselves in the air and wrapped around the Azhurai. freezing it in its tracks.

  "It seems you're not as stupid as I thought."

  Lorian's stupidity seemed a very common topic among Orcus and the Azhurai. He was beginning to get sick of it.

  "You're not going anywhere. You need to listen to me."

  "And why would I want to hear the words of a mortal without honor? The word has little meaning in the abyss, but in the higher planes, oath breakers are considered scum. I would at least have to hold you the standards of your own kind."

  "I haven't broken any word. If I did, I wouldn't be here."

  "And can you tell me why I should trust you? After what you did?"

  "You claim to know of the higher planes. Well, then you should know that trust in the mortal planes begins with a leap of faith. If you could read every thought in my mind, then it would hardly be called trust. And besides, it was the oracle that cast the spell on me against my will."

  "And I am to believe that you had no means of breaking the spell?" asked the Azhurai. Lorian could see the leering mouth and the forked tongue lick its lips.

  Before Lorian could answer, the Azhurai spread its wings and its claws. It roared. Even though it was mere essence, Lorian could feel the terror that roar would have once inspired on the lower planes. The Azhurai spoke.

  "I can smell you, human. Even formless as I am now, I can smell you."

  Lorian knew the Azhurai could. In fact, he was counting on it. He had time to go through many of the research notes that Amadeus kept regarding the Azhurai itself. Amadeus had tried several approaches to breaking it, and all had failed.