by Duncan Pile
They’d seen the signs of course – the pathways widening, large piles of rubble dotted around the landscape, but Zlekic had said that this was old mining territory, the veins of ore dried up decades ago. Sure enough, the piles of rubble were overgrown with weeds, and old mining carts lay rusting on broken rails, so they’d assumed they were simply seeing the relics of a bygone time. But when they topped a steep rise and looked up at the looming walls of a fortified stronghold, hunkered down beneath the bulk of the first true mountain of the Broken Ranges, they knew they had made a bad mistake.
“Get back!” Voltan hissed, wheeling his horse around, but a shout sounded from the walls of the fastness, echoed by other, urgent cries. “No, hold!” the warrior mage said, changing his mind. It was hopeless to run. The large, oak and iron gates were already swinging open, and dozens of armed men were spilling out of them. They came forward in a ragtag formation, advancing around a stout figure, striding through their midst. Grey-bearded and squat, he nevertheless carried himself with an air of authority – a man unquestioningly in charge of everyone around him. Gaspi nudged his horse close to Emmy, determined to protect her if things got bad. Taurnil similarly rode in front of Lydia, his staff held tightly before him. Gaspi glanced around, looking for the elementals, but they were nowhere in sight. Relieved they wouldn’t have to explain the presence of the spirits, he looked back towards the grey-bearded figure, who paced up to them and stopped short. He folded his arms across his thickly muscled chest, small black eyes flicking from person to person before settling on Voltan.
“What do we have here?” he asked.
“Just some travellers passing through,” Voltan said. “We must be on our way.”
The grey-bearded man smiled. “Now come on, friend. Don’t be put off by the weapons. This is a rough land, and we must be ready to defend ourselves. You are well-armed yourself, wouldn’t you say?” he asked with a wink.
“That we are,” Voltan responded. Gaspi heard the mute threat in the warrior mage’s words, but the stout man seemed to take it as agreement.
“We seldom have the privilege of visitors,” he said, smiling broadly and opening his arms wide. “I insist that you share home and hearth with us tonight!”
Gaspi could almost hear Voltan’s mind working, and he was pretty sure the warrior mage was thinking the same thing he was. They would prefer to avoid placing themselves at this man’s mercy, but if they refused his hospitality and his intentions were bad, they’d be forced to fight. They were outnumbered, worn out, and neither Emmy, Lydia nor Rimulth were battle trained. In the end there was little choice.
“We will gratefully accept your hospitality,” Voltan said, acting for all the world as if the invite was well-intentioned.
The stout man stepped forward and offered his hand. “They call me the Foreman.”
“Voltan,” the warrior mage said, reaching down from his mount to shake the offered hand.
The Foreman stepped to the side, gesturing broadly to encompass the entirety of the stronghold behind him. “My friends, welcome to Ironhall.”
…
Gaspi led his mount into Ironhall with a feeling of nervous uncertainty. What were they getting themselves into? He looked up at the massive gates as they passed through. They were made of stout oak beams that must have been cut from the largest and most ancient of trees. Each beam was two feet thick, and the whole thing was held together with heavy iron bands. The gates were thirty feet tall – the same height as the outer wall of the fortress, presenting a formidable barrier to anyone approaching.
“We’ll look after your horses,” the Foreman said as several of his men approached. “We’ll tie them up over yonder where there’s fodder.”
Voltan hesitated once more, but the time to pick a fight had passed. They could have made a stand when they were still mounted outside the walls, but there was no choice but to go along with it now. “As you say,” the warrior mage said, passing the reins to one of the awaiting men. They each followed his example, though Taurnil took longer to do so than anyone else. He’d become attached to Arthur, and was reluctant to let him out of his sight, but even he ended up doing as the Foreman said.
“Look after him,” he said menacingly to the man who took the reins, who led Arthur away without responding.
Gaspi looked around at what lay within Ironhall’s towering wall – single story buildings made of rough-hewn timber, scattered about in no obvious order. There must have been fifty buildings in all, only two of which stood taller than the others – a functional-looking meeting hall to his left and, dead ahead, a two-story house built on a much larger scale than those around it. Gaspi guessed that the larger house belonged to the Foreman, but even though it was built to different dimensions, it was still finished roughly – broad wooden beams with massive iron spikes driven into them, holding the whole thing together. The town looked solid but functional, a working community hidden behind impressive defences. Old mine shafts disappeared into the side of the mountain, surrounded by clear signs of recent excavation. Fresh piles of dark shale gleamed on either side of the tracks, and a large winch stood in front of each shaft. Ropes trailed from the winches, disappearing into the open shafts. Two men were working one of the winches, turning heavy looking handles affixed to either side. The rope extending from the winch was pulled taut, and even as Gaspi watched, a shale-laden cart emerged from the shaft. When it was well clear, the winch-men secured the rope and walked to the cart. It opened up on one side and the shale poured out, piling on the ground with the rest.
“As you can see, this is a mining town,” the Foreman said proudly, gesturing towards the cart, and the two men who were already raking through the shale, looking for any valuable substance that may have been missed by the miners below.
“I thought the old mines were all dried up,” Zlekic said.
“So did I,” the Foreman said. “Most of the men here were trappers, didn’t know anything about mining. I was the same, but one day I stopped to take a drink in a stream, just over yonder,” he said gesturing outside the walls of Ironhall, and I found a nugget of gold right there in the water.” He strolled slowly, talking as he went, leading them towards the larger communal building. “So I changed my trade, right there and then. Here we are,” he said. They’d reached the entrance to the large hall - broad double doors, each made from a single piece of wood. He pushed them open and held them as they filed in. “We build houses as we need’em so there’s nowhere else to sleep except here.”
“Better than what we’ve ’ad for the las’ week!” Baard said.
“We’ll get you some straw and blankets,” the Foreman said. “You should be comfortable enough.”
“Sounds good ter me!” Baard said, swinging his pack off his back with a grin.
“Not there!” the Foreman said. “That’s where the tables will go. Put your stuff off to the side.”
“Tables?” Baard asked, a note of anticipation in his voice.
“For supper of course,” the Foreman said. “I’ll be going now, but I’ll be back in a while with the food.”
“What’re we ’avin’?” Baard asked, but the Foreman was already on his way out the door and didn’t respond.
Voltan held a hand up for silence, waiting for the footsteps to fade into the distance. “Right everyone. We’re stuck here at least for tonight. We have no idea what this man’s intentions are, so play it safe. We stick together. If he comes back and offers other accommodation we say no. If we are attacked we fight our way out, but he’s left us our weapons so hopefully it won’t come to that.”
“At leas’ we get supper out of it,” Baard said.
Gaspi expected Voltan to berate Baard for having his mind on his stomach as usual, but the warrior mage surprised him. “Quite right,” he said. “We’re all pretty run down. If we have to fight our way out of here, we’ll be better off after a good meal.”
“Er…yeah, that’s what I meant,” Baard said. Gaspi suppressed a smile. If Volta
n believed that he’d believe anything.
“Emea, when the food comes, can you check for poison, or if it is drugged? If it’s safe, just nod. We’ll know it’s okay to eat.”
“Sure,” Emmy answered. She was outstanding at exactly that type of magic - the kind that took very little power and relied on subtlety and delicacy of touch.
They put their packs and weapons against the wall and waited uneasily for the Foreman to return. He did so within half an hour, accompanied by five men. Two were manoeuvring a large trestle table, one clasped several loaves of strong, dark bread to his chest, and the last two carried a heavy iron pot between them, brimming with some sort of broth. At the Foreman’s direction, the table was put in place first, the broth was placed in the centre of the table, and the loaves deposited next to it.
“Go fetch some chairs, bowls, lard, spoons and watered wine,” he said, and the five men departed on their errands. “Won’t be a moment,” he said, addressing Voltan. Baard leant in and sniffed at the broth.
“Don’t sniff the food Baard,” Sabu said with a wry smile. “It’s not polite.”
The Foreman chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Sniff away, my large friend.” Baard grinned, but he didn’t take another sniff. If anything, Gaspi thought the broth smelled bland. From the look of it, at least two types of game had been used to make it, chunks of what might be rabbit and pigeon floating on its steaming surface, but it lacked the aroma of Heath’s or Hephistole’s cooking. There was no evidence of herbs being used to balance the flavour, and no obvious smell of vegetables. The broth itself looked thin and a little grey. Maybe the food in Ironhall was as functional as the rest of it. It kept you alive but didn’t do much more.
Soon enough the Foreman’s men were back, carrying stacks of wooden stools, along with some rudimentary bowls and spoons. They also brought a lump of lard, wrapped in a greasy looking cloth with a knife sticking out of it, and three large flasks of watered wine. One thing Gaspi knew for certain – he wasn’t having any of the lard!
Stools were separated from the stack and they all took a seat, including the Foreman, who was apparently going to eat with them. “Come on then, eat up,” he said. They all hesitated a moment, some of them glancing at Emmy surreptitiously. She gave a tiny nod, and within moments everyone was reaching for the food. Broth was spooned into bowls, loaves of bread ripped up and divided between them and, for those who wanted it, lard was available to scrape onto their bread. As Gaspi suspected, the broth was pretty tasteless, but it had big hunks of potato and onion in it along with the meat, so he ate as much as he could, washing it down with the heavily watered wine. With wine that weak, the Foreman clearly wasn’t trying to get them drunk. He hadn’t taken their weapons from them, and their food wasn’t drugged or poisoned. On top of that, he was talking affably throughout the meal, asking them lots of questions, but nothing that was in any way sinister. Gaspi found himself starting to relax. Perhaps their stay in Ironhall was exactly what the Foreman had stated – an act of hospitality. When they left on the morrow, they would do so after a good night’s sleep and with full stomachs. Gaspi concerns about the Foreman melted away, distant thoughts that barely niggled at him at all. They’d all been through a lot on the journey so far, and although it was sensible to be cautious, he began to feel the dangers they’d been through might have made them overly suspicious of strangers.
After the meal, the Foreman had his men clear everything away and bring them some blankets and straw bedding. Before he left for the night, he showed them the nearest privy in case they needed it during the night. It was out through the communal hall’s back door and across a short stretch of ground – not too far at all. He left them after that, wishing them a good night’s sleep and promising breakfast in the morning. Voltan had them bed down as quickly as possible, and before long they were dropping off to sleep, exhausted after a long day’s climb. As Gaspi drifted off, the last thing he heard was the musical interplay of Baard’s and Taurnil’s snores.
Nineteen
“So you went to find Trask?” the Wrench said.
Jonn tried not to look away from the henchman’s merciless gaze, bright with the light of a keen and cruel intelligence. “That’s right,” he answered, desperately hoping that his lie would hold up to scrutiny.
“Despite my clear warning that you were not to branch out on your own?”
“Yes,” Jonn answered, trying to look and sound embarrassed.
“Did you not believe me when I said we would help you get your revenge?”
Jonn pulled a pained expression. “It’s been eating me up,” he lied. “I knew I had a bit of time before the delivery. I didn’t think anyone would notice.”
The Wrench looked at him evenly, weighing him up. “I can’t allow anyone to go against my orders,” he said at last. “In an organisation like this one, people obey me because they fear me. Can you see the problem you’ve given me Tarek?”
“Yes,” Jonn said warily. Was he about to die? If so, he wasn’t going alone. He wasn’t carrying a weapon, but his hands would easily fit around that neck!
“On the other hand, you did save my life,” the Wrench said. He tilted his head to the side and squinted, as if trying to see the man opposite him from another angle. Jonn stayed tense, ready to fight. “A man in my position cannot afford to show mercy,” the Wrench continued. “I’m not inclined to kill you Tarek, which is what some will be expecting, but I must do something.”
Jonn relaxed fractionally. It looked like he wasn’t about to fight for his life after all. A small part of him was disappointed, but however much he wanted to snuff the Wrench’s life out, his desire to save Adela was much stronger.
“I wish you hadn’t done this Tarek,” the Wrench said, and strangely, Jonn could have sworn the murderous henchman was sincerely disappointed in him. “If you ever do anything like this again, I’ll have no choice but to kill you, so don’t put me in that position.”
“I won’t,” Jonn answered.
The Wrench sat up decisively. “The cages need cleaning,” he said. “There’s at least one corpse in there and the floors are covered in filth.”
Jonn’s heart started thudding in his chest. When Belash wanted to punish one of his girls, he had her caged in a large room in the basement. It was entirely possible Adela was in there. Trying not to reveal his excitement, Jonn cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
The Wrench mistook Jonn’s reaction for reluctance. “It’s unpleasant, but you shouldn’t have taken it into your head to go looking for Trask.”
“You’ve been more than fair,” Jonn responded, finding his voice at last.
“You start tomorrow morning. It’s a mess in there – you’ll be at it for several days.” Jonn nodded, not trusting himself to speak again. “Okay, get out of here!”
Jonn practically sprang out of the chair and exited the hut. He left the docks at an unseemly pace, eating up the ground with long strides. Was this it? Was he finally going to see Adela? Everyone knew the cages were horrible, but if he found her, her misery would be near its end. She wouldn’t recognise him of course, but that was a good thing, or she’d probably give the game away. Buoyed up by hope, Jonn practically bounced down the street, but then the Wrench’s words came back to him, sending a chill down his spine – there’s at least one corpse in there. What if it was her? What if he entered the basement room to find her lifeless eyes staring back at him? Furiously, he shoved the image aside. It won’t be her! He repeated it like a mantra as he walked: It won’t be her, it won’t be her, it won’t be her! He tried not to entertain any other option, because if it was her, then his life may as well be over too, but not until he’d found Belash and made him pay for every indignity he’d forced upon her.
…
After a night of fevered sleep, Jonn threw off his blanket and rose from his bed. He rubbed his eyes, cast off his nightclothes and went about his morning ablutions. He didn’t notice the coarseness of the
flannel, or the chill touch of the water against his skin, intent on only what was to come. He wrestled with himself about what he was going to do if he found Adela. He briefly flirted with the idea of fighting his way out, but he quickly dismissed the notion. You couldn’t carry a weapon inside headquarters unless specifically given permission to do so, and there he couldn’t claim he needed a sword to clean out the cages. Reprimanding himself, he put all thoughts of fighting aside. If he found Adela, he’d stick to the plan and find a way to reach Hephistole. Jonn’s job was to find out where she was being held – it was up to Hephistole and Trask to work out the details of her rescue.
When he was dressed, he stepped out of the door and made his way to the kitchens. He had to keep up the appearance of normality. People would expect him to eat, so he ate. He barely spoke to anyone as he did so, but that was how he normally behaved, so it didn’t arouse any suspicion. He detected a difference in the tone of the conversation around him. People were talking in hushed murmurs that he couldn’t quite make out, which probably meant it was about him. It wasn’t often that someone went against the Wrench’s orders and lived to tell the tale. Jonn really didn’t care what they were talking about. In a few short minutes he might find Adela - nothing else mattered in that moment. He barely had any appetite at all, but he mechanically shoved his food down anyway. He finished his drink, stacked his plates with the others and left the room.
Pacing along the corridor, he felt his heart rate quicken. Every step took him nearer to her, but that wasn’t quick enough. It took all he had not to break into a run. Finally, he reached the stairs that led down to the basement and took them two at a time. Reaching the bottom he moved through the adjoining storage room and entered the wide basement corridor that led to the cells. The only time he’d been down there before was when Stephanos had reached his messy end. Along the left side of the corridor were several doors leading to smaller cells, but on the right was a single door leading to the large room that housed the cages. There was a guard outside that door – a young lad called Daryl who’d only recently joined the Rats. Daryl was leaning against the wall, tired after a long, boring night shift. He straightened up as Jonn approached.