by Allan Cole
I stared back, just as long and just as hard.
Then I said, "That's good enough for now. You can tell me the rest tonight."
'To the devil with you," she growled. "Believe what you want. I don't care. Get out! Find your own place. I'll have nothing further to do with you!"
"We'll talk tonight," I said again. "And then we'll see what happens next."
THE DAY THAT followed was one of the strangest in my life. It was like awakening from a nightmare and finding yourself actually living that nightmare. All sensation was familiar and alien at the same time.
To begin with, I was seeing through only one eye, which distorted reality until I became used to the loss and learned to compensate for the absence of my other eye. While I'd been in shock, I'd somehow formed a habit of letting my head flop to one side when I wanted to look at something. I kept having to jerk it up again, which made the guards nervous at first, then made them laugh at my silly antics. Their mockery was spur enough to correct that habit.
The strangeness was compounded further by the artificial hand. It was an unfeeling object hanging from the end of my left arm. The hand acted like mortal flesh, reaching for things when I willed it, gripping them and releasing them at my command. But for a time the actions lagged behind thought, as if the thoughts were fingers trailing through water. When the hand finally moved, there was a slight hesitation at first, then it would shoot forward as if my commands had just caught up with it. Sometimes I had to actually will the device to slow down so I wouldn't knock something over.
The hand was also much stronger than its mortal cousin, and I had to be careful not to crush things by mistake when I gripped them. It was also impervious to heat, and we were expected to make use of this function by plunging it into molten vats or picking up white-hot metal bars. Each time I was confronted with such tasks I had to force myself to overcome instinct. I knew it wouldn't hurt, but knowing and doing can be two different things. The guards made me suffer until I learned to overcome those natural fears.
Oddest of all was that everything I was now experiencing I'd experienced before, but I had no memory of it. Yet there was a shadowy familiarity about my surroundings, as if I'd once been a ghost in this place.
Which is what I'd been.
When the guards came to take us to our labors, those ghosdy impressions guided me and I automatically followed Zalia out into the corridor. We lined up with about thirty other slaves from our warren, which is what they called each grouping of cells. When I joined the line, I knew without thinking that Zalia would fall in behind me. Somehow I'd become accustomed to that position. I felt more comfortable with her there, although I couldn't say why I felt that way.
When I realized that it unnerved me. And I wondered how long I'd been in the mines and what else had happened to me.
Then the full realization of the violations that had been committed against me struck and my heart went crazy, slapping against my ribs like a trip-hammer, and I suddenly found it hard to breathe. I nearly blacked out, and then I felt Zalia's thick arms surround me and squeeze—pushing in, letting out, pushing in, letting out—until I could breathe normally and my heart steadied ... and the panic passed
At that moment the guards barked and cracked their whips and we all shambled into motion and marched out of our warren.
Instead of returning to the shop I'd awakened in the day before, we were marched a short distance to a huge elevator cage and were herded inside. We descended for perhaps ten minutes and then the cage groaned to a halt.
The cage door rattled up and we were prodded out into an underground yard where empty ore carts were lined up on tracks. Sledgehammers, long iron bars, and other miners' tools hung from the sides. We were split up into groups, with each group assigned an ore cart.
Zalia helped me put on a leather band that held a reflector with a single firebead mounted in the middle so the light was cast in a narrow beam. All the other slave miners were similarly equipped.
Then we were hitched to the carts and long whips snaked out to bite us and we were forced into motion, dragging the heavy carts along the rough rails.
I labored for nearly an hour, legs and shoulders aching from the load, my chest pinched so hard by the harness that every breath came as a gasp. When a halt was finally ordered, I thought I'd reached the end of my strength. But that was only where my day began.
First we had to fill the cart with gold ore.
Next we had to drag it back to the yard and unload it for the crusher.
And then the process started all over again.
Just filling the cart took an enormous effort. We had to crack away hunks of rock from the face of the tunnel using sledges and the long pointed bars. The hunks had to be broken up into smaller pieces with sledges. And the rubble had to be heaped into the cart.
Each task required all your strength—and more.
Zalia pushed one of the bars into my hands, took up a sledge, and led me to the rock face. The gold vein was plain even in the dim light of the torches and firebeads. It was a broad, glittering band about shoulder high. Zalia showed me a crevice to slip the tip of the bar into and told me to hold it steady.
I did as she said, only dimly aware of what was going to happen next. I turned my head and saw her draw back with the sledge, handling its weight in her iron fist as if it were a twig. Then I saw the sledge slam forward, aimed right at me and blurring from the speed of her blow. I had no time to react, much less jerk aside. Instead of hitting me, it slammed into the iron bar. The bar bit deep into the crevice and a big chunk of rock broke off and crashed to the floor.
Zalia grinned. "You should see your face," she said with much satisfaction. "Now you know I could've killed you anytime I'd wanted."
I licked dry lips. "Doesn't prove anything," I said.
Zalia laughed. "No. But it'll make you think. That's good enough for the moment... Now," she commanded. "Hold it steady."
And she drew back to strike again. "Don't flinch," she said. "Or there could be a most regretful accident." She swung. And I didn't flinch.
WHEN THE DAY ended, we stumbled back to the yard where we were made to stand in deep troughs while other slaves hosed us down with water so cold it seemed like it came from ice fields.
The shower wasn't for our benefit. It was to wash off the golden grime that covered us all. Our skins and faces sparkled with the stuff at day's end. Eyes and teeth gleamed eerily through the sparkle. The troughs carried the glittering grime away to shallow pools where other slaves panned it so there was no wastage.
When I finally reached our cell I was so weary that I nearly looked at it as a cheery home. I sighed with relief when I sank onto my stone bench, falling back as blissfully as if the stone were soft as a down bed. I immediately plunged into a deep sleep. I awoke much later to the smell of cooking meat and found Zalia preparing my evening meal.
Although I still didn't trust her, I took the bowl without hesitation and ate every scrap, sucking the bones dry of all nourishment. While I ate 1 studied Zalia, who was lying on her bench, eyes closed, arms folded across her big bosom. I knew she wasn't asleep. I thought, If she thinks she's softening me up, she's got a great deal more to learn about Rali Antero.
When I was done, I said, "You want to tell me your particulars now?"
She spoke, eyes still closed. "I've been here for seven months. One month longer than you. You've been in my care for three of those months."
I was stunned. "So long?"
Zalia sat up. "Yes, Rali," she said, the hostility gone from her voice. "You've been here for six months. Six months in which you were as helpless as a dim-witted child. I would have helped you sooner, but I had to learn enough about this place so I could manage it. There were rules to be bent. Favors to be done."
She waved at the cell around us. "Why, I paid a week's worth of rations to get us this palace."
"That was good of you," I said dryly.
Zalia sniffed. "If you think I'm lying, others will
bear me out. Ask anyone you like."
"You can be sure I will," I said.
"Good," she said. "You'll see." She wiped her eyes with a meaty paw.
"How did you come to be here?" I asked.
"I was captured," she said. "I was on a mission for my queen. Novari and her toy, King Magon, had been giving us much difficulty. But during my mission I was caught in a storm. I alone survived."
She wiped an eye as the recollection made tears well. At least that was the impression she wanted to convey.
"Then Magon's soldiers came on me and I was captured." "You saw Novari?" I asked. "Yes," she said. "What did she ask you?"
"She wanted to know the nature of my mission," Zalia said, "and many details about my queen." "How did you answer?" I asked.
Zalia curled a hp. "As you can see," she replied, "whatever I may have said won me no favors from Novari."
I ignored the sarcasm, pointedly staring at her, waiting for her answer.
She finally sighed and said, "I told her nothing. Novari tried to force me with magic, but my queen had placed a guardian spell on me that blocked it I was able to maintain my pose as an innocent who'd strayed into Magon's waters. In this kingdom, that sort of innocence gets you a life sentence mining the king's gold. The only bright spot is that no one lives very long in the Mines of Koronos."
I thought for a moment, searching for a means to test her. Then I said, "Tell me a lie."
Her heavy brows furrowed in puzzlement. "A lie? Whatever do you mean?"
"Novari can't lie," I said. "If you're Novari in disguise—"
Zalia broke in, "That again!"
"Yes, that again," I replied. "Foolish or not, it is a way I can test you. Now, tell me something we both know is a lie." "I can prove more by telling you a truth," she said. "Such as?"
Zalia leaned forward and said, "I was told when I met you I should mention ... the ship of silver."
That nearly bowled me off my bench. No one other than a goddess and Daciar knew that term would have any meaning to me.
"Who told you to say that?" I demanded.
"In my kingdom," she said, "we worship the Goddess
Maranonia. Before I set out on my mission, I consulted Her oracle."
She hesitated, then said, "There are some things I was forbidden to say. But I can tell you that Maranonia appeared to me. That She gave me instructions. And She predicted I would meet you. When I did, She said, I was to use the phrase 'ship of silver' to introduce myself. So that we could work together."
"For what purpose?" I asked.
"Why, to defeat Novari," Zalia said with some surprise. "What other purpose could there be?"
I almost snarled, Why didn't She tell me that? but checked myself. The goddess had given me strict instructions that I was to say nothing of Her appearance to me. But it was damned maddening to learn She'd appeared to someone else and seemed to have told them more.
Zalia said, "Maranonia appeared to you as well, didn't She?"
I shook my head. "I can't answer."
Zalia nodded. "That tells me She did. Otherwise you could've simply said no."
I pushed past that, saying, 'Tell me about the escape."
"Then you believe me?" Zalia said.
"I don't know if I do or not," I answered. "For the time being I'll lean toward belief—but with severe hesitations."
'Thanks," Zalia snarled.
"It's the best I can do," I said. "I'm sorry. I'm a suspicious woman. And I always shall be."
Zalia's angry features cleared. She wrinkled her little nose. "I suppose I can't blame you," she said. "You've suffered much."
'The escape," I pressed. "I'd rather hear a plan than pity."
"Very well," Zalia sniffed. "If it's facts you'd rather have than my sympathy, you shall have them. Although if it weren't for my pity you'd be a sorry mess, and that's for certain."
"Just tell me," I said.
"Here's how it is," she said. "Before I was captured, I knew Magon's soldiers were coming for me. So I hid my ship. If we can make it out of the mines and reach her, we can easily get away." Her tone became proud as she continued. "It's a very fast ship. Once under way, no one can catch us. Not with me at the helm."
"How far away is your ship?" I asked.
"Three days' travel," she said. "Perhaps four. We have to strike west across the lake to a group of low mountains. The sea is just beyond that range. Once we reach it, my ship is hidden nearby."
"That's all very well," I said. "But first we have to escape the mines. How do we accomplish that?"
Zalia paused, then said reluctantly, "I haven't been able to figure that out yet."
I'm afraid I sneered when she said that. "A lot of good the ship is going to do us."
Zalia's face reddened. "I've been busy keeping both of us alive," she said. She started to say more—to really blister me, I suppose—then stopped. Her anger faded and she sighed. "You're right I've wracked my brains for months and haven't come up with a single idea."
Her head dropped. "I've been starting to wonder if it might be impossible."
Her confession of doubt had the odd effect of stirring hope in me.
"There has to be a way," I said. "Anything you can get into, you can get out of... given time."
Zalia laughed. "We have plenty of that," she said.
"I'm not so certain / do," I said. "Novari could send for me at any moment. She could suddenly decide this punishment isn't enough. Or she may discover a new and interesting way to attempt to break me to her will."
"Then you'd better get busy," Zalia said sharply.
I mocked her. "What?" I said. "Where's the sympathy?"
Zalia shrugged. "You'll earn it back," she said, "the day you learn to trust me."
"That could be never," I shot back.
"It could, couldn't it?" she said with a decided lack of concern. She lay back down on her bench and closed her eyes. "From now on," she said, "you can make your own dinner."
She meant it as a final sarcastic dart before she slept, but soon as the words were spoken, she bolted up again.
"I forgot to tell you about the food," she said anxiously. "The gruel we're fed is magically enhanced. Although it's the foulest sort of swill which you wouldn't feed to hogs, it's made to taste and smell delicious. So much so that it's addictive, and those who eat it want nothing else. It makes you strong—even fat. But the food binds all prisoners to the mines. Even the thought of being without creates an uncontrollable longing that will paralyze your will."
She indicated her metal hand. "It also somehow acts on this. Making the obedience spell stronger. Unbreakable."
"So that's why you kept me from eating it," I said.
Zalia nodded. "When I took you in," she said, "you were already addicted to the stuff. I had an awful time breaking you of the habit. I think the food was responsible for making you helpless for so long. And I saw that as I gradually weaned you from it, awareness slowly returned."
"What about you?" I asked. "You eat the gruel without apparent fear."
"The spell my queen cast to guard me," she said, "keeps it from acting on me. It's a good thing, too. If both of us were on diets of rat meat, the guards would soon notice we weren't eating our food or trading it away. One person is hard enough to cover for. Two might be impossible."
She laughed. "Besides, I don't mind getting fatter. It's the strong part I want. I want to be as strong as I can possibly be when we finally make our escape."
I looked at my artificial hand with its ugly bolts jutting out of my wrist. I remembered the pain it had caused when I'd attempted a small spell. Yet Zalia was telling me that the sorcery controlling the hand, and thus me, was lessened because she'd denied me the rations all the other prisoners were required to eat.
I shuddered when I realized what might have happened if she hadn't solved the riddle of the food.
I looked at Zalia with new admiration, although still begrudged. 'Thank you," I said.
Zalia nodded,
satisfied. "That's a good enough start," she said. "And who knows, by the time we get out of here we might be friends."
"We'll see," I said.
"Yes," she said, "we will, won't we?"
With that, she turned away and fell instantly asleep. A few moments later I followed her into that darkness. For now it was the only escape offered in the Mines of Koronos.
Tomorrow I'd see if there were another way.
WHEN HATCHING AN escape plot, time can be the greatest enemy or the greatest friend.
I've interviewed Orissan prisoners of war after the army had won their release, and all swore they'd been determined to escape from the moment of capture. They said, however, as you test and ponder and test once again to come up with the perfect plan, days can become months, months can become years. Meanwhile, they said, a peculiar lethargy sets in, and with that comes confusion and lack of confidence, so every idea is dismissed too quickly.
In other words, the longer you wait to escape, the less likely you'll have the will to do it.
On the other hand, your captor is at her most wary in the early period of your imprisonment. Escapes launched within days or weeks of capture almost never succeed. Usually death results because your captor is likely to want to use you as an example to others.
Later, however, the enemy is likely to let down her guard. To be lulled into believing you're incapable of ever being a threat to her again.
This was the point I thought I was at when I awoke from my long stupor and found myself in the Mines of Koronos. Although I'd been there for months, my will to escape was still keen.
Time had been my ally in other ways. The months I'd spent as a shambling, nonthinking wreck had the odd effect of shielding me from the horrors of the mines. The emotional shock of being maimed had been cushioned because I had had no memory of the assaults. That cushion had also given me an unconscious period of mourning for my crew.
They were my friends and had died bravely in my service. I was deeply affected. But the wound had partially healed during that time of dim awareness.
I also thought I'd been handed a singular advantage. By now, I thought, Novari was certain to have dropped her guard. It was only a slim advantage, but I was determined to make the most of it.