“Can anyone see any withies?” said Sir Tombin.
The ledge was barely large enough to hold themselves, let alone anything else, but everybody dutifully looked around them before confirming solemnly that, no, there were no withies available.
“Then we go through the slave mines,” Sir Tombin concluded. “I would suggest this as the wiser course anyway, whatever the … ah … withies situation. If we follow the events recounted in the more optimistic of the two variants as far as is possible, perhaps we can increase the chance of it turning out to be the true version. Does everyone agree with my reasoning?”
Everyone nodded.
“What are withies, anyway?” Perima whispered to Sagandran.
“Tell you later,” he replied, trying to project a reassuring sense of omniscience.
Her eyes narrowed. “As I thought. You don’t know either.”
“Which means there’s only one question left facing us,” Sir Tombin was saying, “and it is this: Where in the world might be these slave mines?”
Cheireanna, who’d again been gazing down between her toes into the plunging ravine, looked back over her shoulder at the Frogly Knight, a small smile lighting up her mud-smeared face. She coughed to attract his attention.
She is learning to understand us, Sagandran thought.
The smile persisting, Cheireanna slowly and deliberately pointed downward.
“Oh,” said Sir Tombin.
CHAPTER 6
INTO THE SLAVE MINES
teps had been cut into the sheer face of the cliff. Whoever the trailblazers might have been, they possessed a courage Sagandran was sure he didn’t. Perima and Sir Tombin had both taken pains to stress repeatedly to him that whatever he did, he shouldn’t look down, which was rather like telling someone to on no account think of a gooseberry or poke at a sore tooth. However, not giving in to the temptation to look downward proved a lot easier than he’d anticipated. He’d tried once with a quick experimental glance, and thereafter had felt no temptation whatsoever to try again.
Samzing had been dragooned by Sir Tombin into leading the way and from somewhere beneath, Sagandran could hear the wizard’s strained breathing and occasional profanities. The targets of the curses appeared to be Flip and Memo, who were once more stowed away in Samzing’s pockets. After Samzing went Cheireanna, who seemed to regard the ladder as the biggest and best children’s climbing frame she’d ever come across. She would probably have tried doing backflips and other stunts during the descent had Sir Tombin not made it clear to her, via Memo, that any tomfoolery could jeopardize their entire venture and thereby doom her world to an eternity under the iron heel of Arkanamon. Nevertheless, Sagandran suspected Sir Tombin had been so eager to put Samzing in the lead as a way of slowing Cheireanna down. Next came Sagandran, followed by Perima – another strong inducement to turn his gaze upward rather than downward, he thought guiltily.
Finally, there was Sir Tombin. Sagandran worried about this, but tried to keep his concerns at bay by thinking of other things. Not only was the Frogly Knight carrying the saddle bag with their provisions over his shoulder and an unwieldy scabbard at his waist, but he was also clad in heavy Shadow Knight armor. What if Sir Tombin should fall? Well, his plummeting body would undoubtedly sweep the rest of them off the cliff like ninepins.
After a while, it wasn’t just Samzing’s cursing that Sagandran could hear from below. At first faint and in the distance, then progressively louder, there were the cracks of whips, shouted orders, the straining and crashing of primitive heavy machinery, screams of agony – all the noises his imagination might have associated with a slave mine, but which he’d never expected to hear in real life.
At last, he risked a second look downward and saw that, unlike before, the ground was actually visible, not lost beneath a blanket of cloud. This time the distance was merely dizzying. Some way back from the cliff, and looking bizarrely angled because of the skewed direction from which he looked at it, there stood a stout stone wall. So far as he could see, there were no guard posts on top of the wall – which was a good thing because the companions would be as obvious as flies on a window to anyone who looked in their direction. As it was, they just had to trust to luck that no one within the walled compound would glance at the cliff face.
Inside the wall, in startling contrast to the gloom of the Shadow World, he could see the flare of roaring red flames.
Now that their goal was finally in sight, their descent seemed to slow to an agonizing crawl. For most of the downward climb, fear and excitement had been sending enough adrenaline through Sagandran’s veins that he’d barely noticed the exertions of the muscles in his legs, arms and hands. Now exhaustion was leadening them, and he wondered how much longer he could hold on. It would be idiotic if he made it all the way down to within a mere fifty feet of the ground and then fell off. A mere fifty feet? Such a fall could kill him as surely as if he’d just jumped off the ledge and been done with it.
The only thing that kept him going was that both Cheireanna and Perima seemed not only to be far from exhausted, but appeared to be enjoying themselves. Looking at Perima’s rear end, he could see her legs moving with brisk ease, as if this were merely a pleasant stroll. He thanked his lucky stars that the giddying height hadn’t brought on another attack of the nausea she’d suffered when they’d been transported into the marble passageway.
As the companions moved lower and lower, Sagandran kept expecting to hear a shout of challenge from somewhere behind him – a guard raising the alarm, perhaps even one of the slaves alerting those around. But no such shout came. All he heard were the noises of torment and industry growing louder and louder until, finally, they were muffled as the wall came between them and his ears.
At last his feet touched the ground. Sagandran’s legs had turned to jello and he thought they were going to give out beneath him as, for the first time in hours, he stood on solid ground. Even so, he summoned the determination from somewhere to stay upright long enough to reach out a (completely unnecessary) hand to assist Perima down.
Samzing had already flopped. The wizard lay spread-eagled on his back and was staring up at the smoke-filled sky mumbling drivel, a snail track of drool trickling from the corner of his mouth. Behind the gray beard, his face looked dangerously pale. Cheireanna was chuckling about something. Sagandran hadn’t a clue what might have amused her, unless it was the complete depletion of the wizard.
A crash drew his attention back to the base of the long ladder of steps. Sir Tombin had arrived. The Frogly Knight staggered and his face was drawn with fatigue, but he managed a brave smile.
“I’d not like to have to turn and go straight back up that ladder again,” he said ruefully, staring up at the cliff face. From here, the chain of steps seemed to rise like a thread that reached all the way to the sky.
“Are you all right, Sir Tombin?” asked Perima anxiously.
“I’ll be fine, sweet girl,” said the Frogly Knight, “in just a few moments. It’ll take me a little while to catch my breath, that’s all. You might see how my dear old friend is though.”
Perima glanced across at the sprawled Samzing and her eyebrows rose in two expressive arches. “Give me the saddle bag. He looks as if he needs water desperately.”
“This prison compound must have a gate somewhere,” said Sir Tombin thoughtfully after the wizard was back on his feet.
Perima was skeptical. “I can’t see one. Looks like a blank wall to me.”
Sagandran followed her gaze. The high stone wall was perhaps three or four hundred yards long and seemed entirely featureless. On the other hand …
“They must get the slaves in and out somehow,” he said.
“I suspect the focus is more on getting them in.” Sir Tombin’s tones were wistful. “I don’t imagine there’s many of the poor blighters who come back out again, unless it’s feet first.” He shook his helmeted head, dismissing his own moroseness. “Whatever, we can’t just stand here. Sooner or later, s
omeone’s bound to spot us and get suspicious.”
“What do you suggest then?” said Perima. “I think Memo’s damned legend has led us to a dead end.”
“The prophecy,” contributed the memorizer, “says we go through the slave mines.”
“Does it say whether we’re alive or dead when we get to the other side?”
“Alive,” Memo retorted promptly, before realizing Perima was being sarcastic. He glared at her, but continued nevertheless. “In the version of the legend that says we’re victorious, we get to the Palace of Shadows by going through the slave mines. We could hardly be victorious if we were all dead, could we?”
But we could be victorious if some of us were dead, thought Sagandran sourly. He decided not to voice the thought. There was enough of a cloud of depression hanging around the companions already as they stared at the forbidding wall, without adding further discouragement.
Samzing had been ostentatiously not joining in with the debate. Breathing deeply in an attempt to bring the strength back to his limbs, he had been surveying the barren landscape around the mines, whistling softly between his teeth, searching for any optimistic sign.
“Look,” he said, pointing. “A track.”
Squinting, Sagandran could see a dark line crossing the terrain in the direction of the slave mines. If the wizard hadn’t pointed it out, Sagandran would never have noticed it or, if he had, he would have assumed it was just a natural feature of some kind. But Samzing was right; it was a roadway, and roadways led to places. The only place around here the track could lead to looked to be the entrance to the mines, which must be further around the perimeter.
Sir Tombin picked up the saddle bag. “Right we are then.”
“I don’t think we should go straight there,” said Flip in a small voice.
Perima spoke sharply. “Why not?”
“Because then it would be obvious where we came from. I think we should go across country until we hit the track, somewhere out of sight of the mines’ main gate, and then go to the mines that way.”
“Why? It’d only take us longer.”
“Because, Perima,” said Sir Tombin patiently, “Flip’s worked out my plan for getting us through the slave mines or, at least, into them, and you haven’t.”
Perima’s body tensed as she recognized the reproof. “Which is?”
“That, once again,” Sir Tombin tapped the side of his helmet with a glove and the metal clanged, “I’m a Shadow Knight escorting a consignment of prisoners. A wizard, two girls and a boy. I think it would be judicious if our, ah, smaller friends concealed themselves within Samzing’s robes once more. I don’t believe Shadow Knights have much interest in tiny slaves.”
“Why not?” Flip looked belligerent. “Just because we’re physically smaller doesn’t mean—”
“Yes it does,” interrupted Samzing, turning toward them from his continued surveillance of the landscape. “You have great strength of heart and soul, young Flip – yes, you as well, Memo – but what is needed in slaves is strength of limb. That worries me a little, Quackie. Sagandran looks tough enough, but myself and the two girls …”
He stopped talking when he saw the freezing fury in Perima’s eyes. Cheireanna’s stare was likewise frigid.
“Ahem,” said Sir Tombin mildly. “I’m afraid my dear old fellow trooper, Samzo, is right, but we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it. Now, let’s be on our way.”
Samzo? thought Sagandran gleefully. Pays him back for all those “Quackies,” I guess. Better even than “Fishface!” Oh, boy. Later …
As they took a diagonal course across the blighted countryside to join the distant track, Sir Tombin and Samzing, the two longstanding friends, led the way. Sagandran, following with Perima and Cheireanna, could hear snatches of their conversation drifting back.
“I think it’s cross you mean, dear old sponge, not burn.”
“Eh? What the blue blazes are you talking about, old chump?”
“You said we’d burn the bridge when we came to it. What you meant was that we’d cross it. Oh, and by the way, Tombo old bean, don’t call me ‘Samzo’ again, all right?”
Sir Tombin chuckled. “If we find a bridge, dear boy, you may do whatever you wish with it.”
From behind, Sagandran couldn’t tell whether this mollified the wizard, but the two walked onward amicably enough. That’s what their friendship’s all about, he reflected. Arguing like crazy and loving each other all the more for it. He turned and grinned at Perima. I guess I know what that’s all about.
The gate, when they drew near a couple of hours later, proved to be both imposing and anti-climactic at the same time. It was as if whoever built it wanted it to be awe-inspiring and had made architectural plans for a huge and mighty construction, then someone else had pointed out that a vast gateway was perhaps not ideal for a place where occupants would do their utmost to escape. But the designer, reluctant to get rid of all those laboriously conceived pillars, porticoes and stone flourishes, shrank everything down in scale while leaving the original concept as it was. The result, the companions could see, looked like a gateway created for the largest, most important and most revered building in a model village. It seemed even more like a miniature by the size of the vast wall in which it was set.
Sagandran was reminded of the frontage of one of those great buildings of Classical times – the Pantheon, perhaps, or the Parthenon – which were reconstructed in loving detail on a tiny scale, so that parents could take their icecream sucking kids around it when it rained in the holidays. He half-expected to see a Lego man standing in some cockeyed pose.
The two guards standing by the gate were real enough, though. They obviously ranked far below the Shadow Knights, because they stiffened to attention when they saw Sir Tombin approaching with his ill-assorted party of prisoners. Because the gate was so much smaller than it should have been, the leather-armored men seemed to be veritable titans beside it – an illusion that persisted until the companions were close enough to be within speaking distance. The sentries bore crossbows across their muscular arms and expressions of casual brutality on their faces. If it hadn’t been for the fact that one of them had an infectious-looking black eyepatch, Sagandran would have been hard put to tell the two apart.
“Who goes there?” called Eyepatch.
“A loyal servant of our great master, Arkanamon,” replied Sir Tombin, sounding bored, as if he’d done this a thousand times before. “I bring further human fodder for his mines, praised be his name.”
The two-eyed guard seemed inclined to accept this, and turned dutifully toward the gate preparing to opening it, but Eyepatch was still suspicious.
“This is all very unorthodox. Why are there so few of them? Where’s your horse? Where’s the rest of your troop?” he demanded of Sir Tombin.
Sagandran could almost hear the cogs whirring inside Sir Tombin’s metal helmet.
“Who are you to challenge me, man?”
“Another loyal servant of Arkanamon,” retorted Eyepatch. “Our master has set me to guard this gate, and it is my duty to satisfy myself about all who would seek entrance.”
“You get many volunteer slaves, hm?”
It was the wrong thing for Sir Tombin to say. Shadow Knights obviously didn’t joke about matters like service to their master. Eyepatch’s crossbow rose until it was not quite aimed at Sir Tombin’s armored chest, but not far short. Even the other guard, who’d been manipulating the gate’s massive wooden crossbar, stopped and turned, his eyes suddenly questioning.
It was time for Sir Tombin to improvise something that sounded good. Sagandran hoped those cogs had not been turning in vain.
“I have been on a solitary mission,” said the Frogly Knight, after a pause that might or might not have been short enough to allay suspicion. “I cannot go into all the details. They’re secret, and must remain so until I report them to Arkanamon, but I can tell you that my task involved inspecting the portal that leads to the accursed Saga
ria. Our main onslaught begins soon, as you must know.”
The two guards nodded. Sagandran was glad to notice that Eyepatch’s crossbow was lowering again.
“My horse fell lame upon the road,” Sir Tombin continued, “so I left it and continued on foot. A while later, I came across these scum traveling together. They’re rebels or they’re not, but either way, they’ll make good slaves for our master’s purposes – so long as they might last, anyway. I shouldn’t think the old graybeard’s got many weeks left in him, but the boy seems sturdy and, ahem, I’m sure we can find other … ah, uses for the girls.”
Eyepatch’s solitary visible eye became a slit as he surveyed Cheireanna and Perima calculatingly. “Hm. The one with the mucky face is nubile enough, but the other,” he shrugged, “well, everyone to their own tastes, I suppose.”
Sagandran almost felt it as every muscle in Perima’s body tightened. He tried to beam a thought at her. Keep it in. You’re a downtrodden peasant, resigned to being a slave.
Whether she heard the thought or not, her lips remained closed.
“Now,” said Sir Tombin, his voice perfectly imitating the sinister lightness that Shadow Knights affected, “pleasant though it is chattering with you two fine stalwarts of our master, I have many things to do after I dump these vermin, so would you be so good as to …?”
The guards turned busily back to the crossbar, though Sagandran sensed Eyepatch still wasn’t entirely convinced that everything was above board. We’d better watch out in case he has second thoughts and sounds the alarm. I hope Sir Tombin realizes this as well.
The height and thickness of the solid stone wall had muffled most of the din of the slave mines. As soon as the gate was opened, the companions were assailed by all the cacophony they’d heard before – only from a distance – while climbing down the cliff. Sagandran flinched at the sudden assault of noise. Even more oppressive was the foul, odorous waft that puffed into their faces from the open gateway. It was a reek of blood and fear and death and cruelty, all intermingled with the stink of human excretions and rotting flesh. Sagandran found his feet were frozen to the ground by the place’s aura of evil.
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