The Mercenary Code

by Emmet Moss

  Shaken, Leoric barely registered the short trek through the guard station and down the dark corridor where the cells were located. The hinges of the cage doors shrieked in protest as the rusted metal was pulled away. The cells reeked of more death and decay. They were small, barely four feet by four feet, and held no cots or other furniture.

  Benoit voided the contents of his stomach on the floor as he was thrown nearly over top of a half-eaten corpse. Rats scuttled away from the body and into the darker corners of the room. One of the new guards brandished a short wooden rod and brought it down heavily across Benoit’s shoulders. Slumping in pain, the man cried out and fell to the ground.

  Both Leoric and Angvald immediately attempted to come to their friend’s aid, but the guards dealt with them in much the same fashion. Each blow landed with a precision that bespoke of practiced cruelty. Leoric shielded Benoit as a large coarse sack was thrown into the room. Barking a series of unintelligible commands, the guards stood in the doorway and waited expectantly.

  Angvald immediately opened the sack and motioned for Leoric to begin lifting the corpse. Shaking his head in disbelief, the borderman dropped back to his knees and began pulling at the decomposing body.

  “We do this with honour, Leoric, as we would all want for ourselves,” the big man said quietly. “I fear for this man’s fate in the afterlife if his body lies here discarded on the floor, forgotten. This man’s spirit deserves better.”

  Leoric nodded solemnly. “To do anything less, Angvald, would be to become like them,” he nodded, casting a quick glance towards the waiting jailors. “I only wonder at how many souls we’ve missed.”

  “The gods will look to their wayward spirits. It’s all we can truly hope for, Leoric. The tortured souls of Shalo’k are beyond our reach now,” Angvald answered.

  “The gods left us long ago, Angvald.”

  Turning from his friend, Leoric carefully lifted the body, his fears momentarily forgotten.

  The next day brought with it a new series of horrors. Leoric, Benoit and Angvald were roused from an exhausted slumber and given a small portion of food and water. The food consisted of a piece of moldy bread with a bowl of gruel so revolting that none of the men could stomach it. The water, brackish and foul smelling, was no better. Aware that he needed to drink something, Leoric forced down a few mouthfuls of the liquid and then passed the jug to Angvald. Only Benoit refused the water, even after much pestering. Not long after, the door was thrown open, the plate and jug collected, and all three prisoners firmly pushed into the corridor. They joined a small contingent of other prisoners shambling towards the main chamber

  The other miners were extremely emaciated and many suffered from a deep cough that wracked their fragile frames. Their skin was covered in a thick film of dark soot and grime, the layers giving each man a ghastly appearance that Leoric found disconcerting. Most wore little more than fouled rags, the strips of cloth barely covering even half of their bodies. Each and every man also sported the ugly scars of torture; some of the wounds had long healed over, while some were infected, and others still were relatively new. Some men were even missing fingers or toes, while others showed clear signs of burn marks.

  But it was the dead look in their eyes that gave Leoric pause. They were devoid of all expression. There was such an emotionless despair conveyed in each lifeless stare, that it seemed as though they waited only for death.

  No one spoke as Leoric was pushed down one of the many tunnels branching from the large central chamber. Separated from Angvald, Leoric held tightly to Benoit’s arm, guiding him along. The scholarly man had yet to recover from the shock of the previous day, and Leoric was unsure of his friend’s state of mind.

  The two companions spent the next hours, each one drearier than the last, hauling chunks of raw iron ore from the depths of one of the numerous tunnels that crisscrossed the mine. Leoric found himself in a veritable maze of twisting turns, sharp inclines, and intermittent chasms. There existed, as far as he could determine, no real organization or pattern to their placement.

  In a moment of clarity, Leoric realized that the tunnels were more haphazard than planned. The goblins didn’t know what they were doing, and still might not! How was this even possible?

  For the remainder of the day, this thought was the thin thread of sanity that kept his mind focused and away from the pull of anguish and despair. It waned by the end of that same shift, but he was well aware that he had fought off the very same fears to which he was certain the long-time dwellers had tragically succumbed. Of course, it was foolish not to expect prolonged exposure to such drudgery would eventually compromise even the strongest of minds.

  Suddenly, a horn sounded, the loud pealing note echoing off the tunnel walls. The other miners, men who had said nothing throughout the entire day, the same men who did their jobs with little emotion, slowly turned and began the long shamble back towards their cells. It was what they had been conditioned to do, what their broken spirits had now resigned themselves to.

  Angvald was sitting with his back to the wall when Leoric and Benoit returned to the cell. The big man sat with his eyes closed, his dark red locks already sporting a thin layer of dust. He smiled wearily as they joined him, Benoit cringing at the sound of the door being slammed shut.

  “It’s good to see you both,” he said quietly.

  “And you,” Leoric replied.

  Angvald took a sip from a new jug of foul water and passed it along. “This place may be the end of us, Leoric,” he said.

  “They are alive, Angvald, just very close to death,” Benoit said from the shadows. They were the first words Leoric could recall the man uttering since their arrival at the mine.

  Angvald shook his head angrily. “Any spirit that ever existed within these poor souls has been so terribly crushed that to consider them among the living is a farce. They are mere shells of their former selves… shells of humanity.”

  “We can’t change what happened to them, but maybe we can alter their futures,” Leoric replied.

  “They are lost,” the Kaleenian said.

  “Stop it!” Benoit screamed. “I can’t become what they are, I can’t… Please!”

  “I have only faith in my gods, and after what I have witnessed here… I struggle,” Angvald replied. “I can see no other end to our story, Benoit.”

  “Then what can we do?” the man shuddered.

  “We keep each other alive,” Leoric responded.

  “Why bother? We will die here regardless. Would it not be better to forget how to feel, to forget who and what we once were? To become like the others…” Benoit trailed off.

  “No. We hold out hope for those who are here, because if they can’t be saved then how can we have faith in ourselves?” Leoric stated with conviction.

  They fell silent, each man lost in thought. Leoric could think only of Kieri. At his side, Benoit wept. Leoric wrapped an arm around his thin shoulders. Time held little meaning any longer, but Leoric judged that long hours passed before the quiet, soft-spoken Benoit drifted off to sleep.

  Extricating himself carefully from his slumbering friend, Leoric slipped off into his own dark corner. As he crawled past Angvald, a hand shot out from the darkness, gripping him tightly on the wrist.

  “You are right, Leoric D’Athgaran,” Angvald said. “We must fight on, if only so that those who are here can be remembered.”

  Leoric slipped his wrist from Angvald’s grasp and offered him his outstretched hand. The big man smiled and accepted the gesture of solidarity.

  Then, with a final nod, Leoric curled up into his corner and wrapped his arms around himself. Huddled on the damp floor, he attempted once more to abandon his painful thoughts of Kieri. Try as he might, he would not sleep that night.

  She has been with that monster for three full days…

  The thought consumed his every waking moment; allowi
ng him no comfort, no solace, especially in the darkest of night when sleep eluded his tired and weary mind. His failure to keep the woman safe gnawed at him, battering his already deflated spirit. Had it not been for Benoit’s desperate need for support, Leoric wondered if after three grueling days spent beneath the earth, whether he would not have already succumbed to his own deep sorrow.

  Drinking his small portion of brackish water from the cup they all shared, he vainly tried to loosen his knotted muscles and painful aches. The thick layers of dark soot and grime that covered the other slaves in the mine had now started to settle upon the three of them. Angvald looked even fiercer with his tangled beard coated with the dark dust. Long familiar with the man’s usually jovial nature, Leoric was steadily becoming concerned with the Kaleenian’s prolonged silence.

  Benoit, after his original outburst, had become quiet and brooding. He barely spoke beyond a grunt or two, acknowledging questions only when they were repeated multiple times. For such a gentle man, the rigors of the mine continued to wear away at his strength, and the resigned look of sadness that lurked behind his every stare warned of something worse. Sadly, without the will to live, Leoric knew the man would not last long.

  Scratching idly at the rough growth of his beard, the borderman stretched one last time as the jingle of keys rattled from further down the dark hallway. Gently rousing the others, he awaited the opening of the cell, content at least to be some place other than the small, claustrophobic room in which they were quartered.

  The slaves worked tirelessly. Their fear of torture spurred on even the most exhausted of men, forcing each and every one of them past the point of breaking. Twice during that morning, Leoric tragically watched some men die at their posts. The first to fall, a man thin and emaciated beyond compare, simply lifted his head to the heavens and sank to his knees, his load of ore falling from his hands. He had uttered no sound.

  Even before the goblin jailers arrived with whips in hand and lips bared in evil grins, Leoric knew the man was dead. That he had already gone to the heavens mattered little to the goblins. They flayed the man’s corpse with a zeal that quenched even Angvald’s robust spirit.

  The second casualty quietly dropped his load and simply decided it was time to die. Much like the first, the slave said nothing, acknowledged no one, and sat with his back to the wall of the tunnel where he was working. Closing his eyes and letting loose a deep sigh of relief, he had merely slumped to the side and died. The action had seemed so peaceful and tragic that Leoric fervently wished that if he were to die here, that it be much in the same way.

  He had seen enough now to know that he would surely perish within this mine. Locked in a cramped cell, overworked and terribly malnourished, he harboured no real hope that he and his friends would ever escape.

  The remainder of the day passed by in a mottled blur, his constant musings about Kieri’s fate further sapping his already dwindling strength. With no idea as to the passing of time, what with the sky far above them, Leoric was surprised when the loud horn that signaled a welcome end to a dreary day sounded. Once more accepting the meagre offerings that passed for nourishment, Leoric gratefully sank to the damp rock floor of his cell.

  At his side Benoit retched as he tried to stomach the disgusting mush. Concerned that his companion had not been able to keep anything down for the last few days, Leoric began to worry about the fate of his friend. Without the small portions of food to help sustain their flagging energy, a bout of dehydration could only speed up the inevitable.

  How much time had passed before Leoric suddenly bolted awake, he did not know, but something had stirred him from his restless slumber. It was obvious by the slumped forms of his two companions that it was not the arrival of the jailors, for they too would surely be awake.

  Shivering, Leoric cocked an ear to the cell door and strained his ears, hoping to detect that which had woken him. Try as he might, nothing to his knowledge seemed to have broken the heavy silence.

  Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Leoric suddenly worried about his own health. He had been so preoccupied watching the struggles of his two friends that he wondered if he was deteriorating quicker than he had first believed. Could I be losing my mind? Could I be jumping at shadows and hearing things because of my own fatigue?

  Gripped by a sudden shiver of fear, he almost missed the scuff of sound from beyond the doorway. Leaping immediately to his feet, he pressed an ear to the door, desperate to confirm the sound he was positive he had just detected. His sanity depended upon it.

  He heard it again; a slight scuffing sound, reminiscent of a boot hitting the ground, on the other side of the door. It was close, maybe a few cells down from his own, but without even a small opening from which to observe, Leoric cursed under his breath. Dropping to his stomach in frustration, he lay prone upon the filthy floor and tried his best to scan underneath the wooden door. With the darkness deep and profound, there was scant hope that anything could be observed, but he strained his eyes intently.

  As the sound faded and reappeared, he wondered whether it simply belonged to a small rodent scuttling about in the hopes of finding some midnight snack. And then, Leoric spotted the faintest movement scant inches from his face. Backing up in alarm, he stared at the doorway with a mix of fear and apprehension. What creatures lurk in the depths of this damned place?

  The quiet scraping of metal upon metal continued and Leoric tensed. Reaching back with one arm, he fearfully yanked on Angvald’s sleeve. As the big man groaned and struggled to rise, the door creaked and swung inward. Fearing the arrival of some new monster from the depths of the mine, Leoric cringed.

  Two figures lurked in the entryway, both paused a moment and glanced down the corridor before slowly stepping closer. Speechless, Leoric made out their dim features and shook his head in disbelief.

  “Time is short, lad,” Auric whispered urgently. The old man gripped him solidly around the shoulders and lifted him to his feet.

  “My god, I must be dreaming! But how ...?” Angvald breathed from behind Leoric, the Kaleenian’s eyes opened wide in disbelief.

  “Auric speaks the truth, Angvald; there will be time for the telling of this tale once we have won free of this cursed place. For now we must make haste,” Finn Callum added, a naked blade held comfortably in his hand. Even in the darkness, Leoric could see the dark stain on the steel, a sure sign that goblin blood had been spilled.

  Overwhelmed, the three prisoners staggered out of their cell and into the corridor. Pausing a moment before following his companions, Leoric was overcome by a sudden wave of emotion. In the fetid, stale air of the Shalo’k Mine, hope remained, and he was determined never to let that hope fade again.

  Haunted by restless spirits of old, the Vale houses the burial chambers of the most venerated Gorimm of our past. Wards have been placed to safeguard these honoured tombs. Our history must always be protected.

  —S’Aelian, Gorimm Keeper

  Chapter XXXVI

  P’haerin Vale, Aeldenwood

  As the days passed, Alessan’s body continued to gain in strength. He could find no suitable explanation for his increased endurance. Other than continuing to drink the strong herbal tea that C’Aelis brewed, he did little of note. The daily workouts with the Gorimm were now routine, as were his cold baths in the small stream. His appetite remained quite ordinary, and yet something had definitely changed…

  I apologize for disturbing your thoughts, Alessan, but I believe it is time to begin our journey. The packs are ready, and the tower is sealed, the voice sounded in his mind. Greiyfois, it seems, is more excited than we are, C’Aelis smiled.

  Looking towards the edge of the clearing, Alessan was amused as he watched the young wolf run and bark in obvious excitement, her tongue hanging comically from her mouth.

  “I wasn’t really thinking about anything important,” Alessan said aloud, stretching
as he rose to his feet. Staring back at the large tower, he felt an unexpected tinge of sadness. “You know, I’m really going to miss this place.”

  It has served us well, has it not?

  “It really has,” Alessan replied. “But who’s to say we won’t sip tea together here once again?”

  You have a way about you, Alessan. You think not unlike some of the men I once knew; you are filled with hope. It is a refreshing outlook, for my people think much differently.

  “I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” Alessan laughed.

  As you should! C’Aelis replied.

  The two men travelled light, each carrying a small backpack as well as their cloaks and blades. Alessan had fashioned a walking stick for himself that morning, and C’Aelis carried a full quiver of arrows with his beautifully crafted longbow. They were headed northeast to a place known as P’haerin Vale. C’Aelis had explained that this small valley contained magical wards that the Gorimm had fashioned long years before. When activated, the wards were a form of protection over the forest, or so the C’Aelis had inferred.

  After a short rest, the pair left the thicker underbrush and started to follow a weathered dirt path. Eventually, smooth cobblestones appeared underfoot, and the path widened into an ancient road. Parts of the roadway were cracked, the old stones having succumbed to both weather and weeds.

  It was late afternoon by the time Alessan found himself standing in front of an ancient archway, the structure no less weathered by time than the road that passed beneath it. At the edge of the old flagstone path, Greiyfois suddenly whimpered and let loose a plaintive whine. Bending down on one knee, C’Aelis gave the wolf a warm embrace while ruffling the fur of her head and whispering soothing words in her ear.