Assassin's Rise

by CJ Whrite

“It’s enough,” said Roland, pocketing the remaining loaf under his grimy shirt.

  “We’re not exactly at the peak of our health, old horse, in case you haven’t noticed,” said Jeklor, pointing to the large knot he had tied in the front of his trousers to keep them from falling down.

  Andros caught Roland’s eye and he and Dragon started shuffling over. Roland shook his head slowly, his dark eyes warning them. They saw his expression and sat back down, Dragon’s smile faltering.

  “You’re not very good at making friends, are you?” sniffed Jeklor who had watched the exchange.

  “It’s for their own safety, and for ours.”

  “So what have you learned so far?” asked Jeklor, avoiding looking at Dragon’s pitiful face. “Which tunnel leads outside?’

  “I don’t care about that anymore,” said Roland to Jeklor’s great surprise. “How can I put this ... We will be escorted outside instead ...”

  Jeklor snorted and dug his finger into the dirt, flicking away small pebbles.

  Roland cuffed the brooding Jeklor around the shoulder, surprising him with a broad smile and said, “Trust me. Next week this time we will be eating under the open sky, old horse!”

  Chapter 10

  The next few days saw the same routine: Digging, filling empty carts with loose dirt, fighting for food, sharing food with Andros and Dragon, sleeping in the cold ... the only difference was that Roland had taken an exceptional interest in the carts.

  And then, the worst happened: as Jeklor pulled back on his pickaxe, the clump of earth falling away revealed a black reef sparkling with silver.

  “Cover it up,” said Roland, an edge of panic to his voice. Using the clammy loose earth at their feet, they pressed it over the black rock, camouflaging the bit of reef.

  “It will dry out and fall off. We’re out of time,” said Jeklor, fearfully looking over his shoulder and back down the tunnel, as if he expected the guards to swoop down at them any moment now.

  “Luck is still on our side,” said Roland grimly. “You did not strike the rock so there was no sound to give us away.”

  Roland pressed his hand against his forehead, his eyes squinted shut. Jeklor was pale-faced, jumping as a small piece of earth fell from the reef, and his hands trembled as he covered it back up.

  “Right,” said Roland and opened his eyes. “I wanted more time to convince Andros and Dragon, but we’ll have to escape tomorrow. Let’s fill up this cart so I can warn them.”

  “Tomorrow! Fill up the cart! We can’t dig anymore, Roland. What if we strike the reef ... and never mind tomorrow! By tonight the whole thing will be exposed as the dirt dries out!”

  “I know. Let’s just hope the guards does not come by and inspect tonight. And we can’t escape without Andros and Dragon’s help. They are essential to the plan.”

  “Essential? What do you think will happen if the guards find out they’d helped us? I want to escape just as much as you do, old horse, but I don’t want to carry their deaths on my shoulders.” Jeklor was stone-faced, the usual mirth shining in his eyes replaced by distaste. Roland did not mind. In fact, he was glad for the change in Jeklor’s expression. “I have that part covered,” said Roland kindly. “Trust me. Now let’s fill this cart.”

  “With what?” snapped Jeklor. He wanted to trust Roland, but he was running out of patience. He seemed to have forgotten that it was his idea to accompany Roland in the first place.

  “If the guards find out we’re hiding the reef we are dead anyway. Let’s dig in the floor, the side of the tunnel ... anywhere so long as we can fill the cart with dirt.”

  As Roland said it, he hammered his pickaxe into the tunnel floor between his legs, scooped the loose dirt up with the wooden shovel and dropped it into the empty cart. Jeklor opened his mouth but then bit his words back. He swung his pickaxe into the side of the tunnel, making sure that he kept well clear of the silver reef.

  They worked in silence, only the dull thuds of iron cleaving earth sounding down the tunnel and into the cavern, and the occasional grunt as a stubborn, loose rock was lifted out of the way. Filling the cart took a long time, as they had to pick their digging spots with care. Roland was finally satisfied that the cart was completely filled, and he tugged on the rope trailing back into the cavern. The rope grew taut and the cart started moving, disappearing into the dark as it passed by the flickering candle light.

  Roland wrung his hands. “Sorry, Jeklor, but you will have to continue on your own from now on – we’ll still need enough dirt to fill one cart. Keep the sounds going while I’m busy.”

  “Right,” said Jeklor, swinging his pickaxe at random spots.

  *

  Andros and Dragon pushed the empty cart up the tunnel, eagerly looking forward to the promised food. Not a day had passed by without the fierce youth handing them bread.

  Andros could feel his strength returning bit by bit, and Dragon’s face had a bit more life to it. He looked at Dragon and smiled, wondering how old the moon-faced man really was. Andros was entering his tenth year at the mine, and he was proud of it. A man rarely lasted more than three or four. Since the start he had kept his head down, doing his work without complaining, taking his punishment with a smile. He had dreamed – oh, how he had dreamed of freedom ... of taking revenge – but he had soon realised that clinging to life, no matter how degrading it was, was the only way forward. He was only a bit over forty summers (he could not remember his true age), but he had an idea of how old he appeared to the other prisoners. His hair had fallen out in clumps, he had lost all his teeth within the first two years, and his body was a mere whisper of his former self.

  He recognised the same hope he had used to harbour inside the dark-haired youth. The time would come when that feverent faith burning in his eyes would turn to dull despair; the realisation that drawing another breath was enough gained; but Andros would not be the one to tell him that. As long as the youth remained hopeful (however misplaced it was), he and Dragon would be fed.

  Dragon stumbled and Andros reached out, helping the man upright. The day Dragon had arrived at the mine, he had put up such a scene, crying and shouting and biting and spitting, that the guards had tied him down and cut his tongue out. He only had a little stump left in the back of his mouth, and the sounds he made when trying to speak was guttural noises, sounding like a man choking in too much wine. Andros had never found out his real name, for Dragon was slow minded, struggling to communicate the most basic of things. Hunger and thirst meant that he screwed his face up and rocked back and forth. At times Andros hated Dragon for being such a helpless partner, but the honest adoration his face showed whenever Andros helped him was usually enough to fill him with guilt. Why he had named him ‘Dragon’ in the first place he could not remember; it was probably a cruel joke from his side.

  Andros halted sharply as he saw the state at the end of the tunnel. Shallow holes covered the floor and sides, and the dark-haired youth stood with a wooden board in his hands, his piercing eyes boring into him and Dragon.

  Dragon opened his mouth and gave dry heaves – Andros took it meant he was laughing at the haphazard digging.

  He and Dragon pushed the cart to the end of the tunnel, Andros avoiding looking into Roland’s eyes. The fair-haired one was ignoring them, seeming to attack the tunnel in every-which-way with his pickaxe. Something had changed in the atmosphere, and Andros was sure it meant trouble. He turned around and made to leave – not caring about the food – but a surprisingly strong hand clamped on his shoulder and swung him around.

  Roland pushed his face into Andros’s and started whispering, his eyes burning with resolution. To Andros’s surprise Dragon was nodding along as Roland spoke, his eyes shining just as brightly as Roland’s.

  *

  Roland watched the two men disappearing down the tunnel and then he lifted the wooden board over the empty cart. The poles accompanying the board he had left back down in the tunnel; they had not progressed much further since the roof had
almost caved in, and he definitely did not intend on digging any further from now on.

  “Come a bit closer, I need more room to move in,” he told Jeklor.

  Jeklor went and stood next to the cart, thumping his pickaxe repeatedly into the floor, while Roland measured the width of the board against the cart, drawing a line on the board with a small stone. He lowered the board and placed it on the floor, lifting his pickaxe.

  “I need to time my blows with yours,” he said, eyeing Jeklor’s hand blurring up and down through the air. Jeklor slowed down, the rhythmic thumps of his pickaxe drowning out the sounds of Roland striking the board along the line he had drawn. Three more times he struck before the board split in two. Roland lifted one piece of the board and dropped it into the cart where it got stuck halfway down. Roland thumbed his fist down on the flat surface of the board, but it held tight. The edges of the cart were constructed at an angle, the opening far wider than the bottom. At the rope-end of the cart, Roland forced the end of his pickaxe behind the bottommost plank and started pulling. The iron nails holding the plank to the frame screeched as he forced the plank away and he stopped.

  “Dig as though your life depends on it – for it does,” Roland said.

  Jeklor did not need to be told a second time and he hammered the pickaxe all around him with all his might – he now had a good idea of what Roland was planning.

  With a final wrench Roland pulled the plank away, convinced that the guards must have heard the unusual sound, but no alarm was raised. He manoeuvred himself through the hole and into the cart feet first, Jeklor moving closer to him as the slack was taken up in the chain. He completely disappeared inside the cart, and then wormed himself forward again, reaching up with his hand and touching the rope hanging above his head. He then crawled from the cart and stood up, dusting his hands.

  Not even the grime and sweat could disguise the look of expectation mingled with fear on Jeklor’s face. “Is there enough space for two?” he asked, the pickaxe still blurring up and down.

  “More than enough,” grinned Roland. He hooked the curved end of his pickaxe around the edge of the wooden board stuck inside the cart and lifted it out, replacing it with the other piece of board laid next to him. Both pieces fitted.

  Roland took the shovel and started throwing dirt on top of the stuck board, slowly filling the cart. The board shifted a bit as it took on the extra weight, but not by much.

  “I wonder where they dump the dirt outside?” said Jeklor as he watched Roland filling the cart.

  Roland did not answer him. That was one thing he could not plan for.

  Chapter 11

  The rope stretched out as it pulled against the weight of the cart, fibres singing as it cut, rock-hard, through the air, and then the cart started moving, the small wooden wheels leaving clefts behind in the soil.

  Candle light flickered over the heap of earth that filled the cart, almost spilling over the edges so full it was, the cart’s shadow silently following behind on the tunnel wall.

  A few guards milled around in the cavern, keeping an eye on the three prisoners as they strained turning a large, upright wooden wheel, each turn of the wheel bringing the filled cart closer to the cavern. As the cart rolled into the cavern, one of the prisoners let go of the wheel and waited for the rope to slacken before he unhooked it from the cart, while another urged a mule into position behind the cart.

  A leather harness covered the mule’s chest and shoulders. Two short ropes were attached to the harness, ending in a hook similar to the one on the rope now wrapped around the wooden wheel. The prisoner swung the contraption over the mule’s head and back, and slipped the hook through the iron ring connected to the cart. He slapped the mule on the rump and the mule strained until motion carried the cart forward, the mule’s hooves muffled by the sounds of banging and clanging coming from the many tunnels. The mule knew his route well, and he aimed for a tunnel where a guard was leaning against his spear. The guard took the mule by its harness and led it into the tunnel.

  Andros and Dragon watched as the cart disappeared, Dragon with a big, idiotic grin on his face. Andros nudged him hard in the ribs to wipe the smile from his face, and then he hooked the now free rope onto an empty cart. Together they pushed the fresh cart back up the tunnel to replace the transferred one, the rope snaking out behind them.

  “It’s our turn now, Dragon. We’ll have to be quick,” whispered Andros, sweating and looking pale through his grime-streaked face.

  *

  The tunnel the guard led the mule down was well lit, torches flaring brightly at regular intervals. The surface was smooth and hard from years of hooves and heavy carts rolling up and down the floor. The guard whistled a nameless tune as he walked, the sound strangely amplified in the hollowed stillness, the clopping of hooves echoing along the walls.

  On and on the tunnel stretched, sometimes turning, sometimes sloping and finally the guard emerged from a hole in the side of the mountain, the mule snorting as it smelled fresh air.

  Directly next to the guard was a small mound of black ore waiting to be shipped, silver glinting in the twilight sun – but he passed it by. Further on was a wooden barracks, the laughter of drunken men sounding through the windows, swords and spears carelessly left by the front door.

  The guard passed it by.

  On the guard walked, leading the mule by its harness, until he stopped by a small wooden platform build at an angle on the edge of a deep ravine, the sound of running water drifting up to him from the bottom. The guard leaned over the edge, watching the river as it ran its course, and then he stepped back and gave a sharp whistle.

  The mule immediately walked up and over the platform so that the cart was perched on top, leaning a bit to the side. A heavy looking pole, twice the length of a man, was connected to the platform on a swivel. The guard lifted the pole and pushed it upwards, so that the cart tipped over and onto its side, where it came to rest against a sloping, anvil-shaped stone. He did this with apparent ease, and he pushed the pole up even higher to make sure that the cart would be completely emptied.

  Satisfied, he dropped the pole and the cart tipped back with a thud, empty, its contents spilled down the ravine. He took the mule by its harness and aimed for the mine, planning to stop by the barracks on his way there – he could do with a drink first.

  *

  Hands groped along the riverbank, searching for a hold. Fingers curled around root and plant, and Roland and Jeklor coughed and spluttered as they dragged themselves from the water and unto the soggy, muddy edge. They rolled onto their backs, breath whistling from their sunken chests.

  They rested for a moment, staring at the open sky, dragging in huge lungs full of fresh air, the failing sunlight revealing great smiles on their faces.

  Jeklor lifted a trembling hand, pointed at the wooden platform barely visible on top of the almost vertical rock edge of the ravine and simply said, “We made it.” He dropped his arm next to him, holding his hand out.

  Roland clasped Jeklor’s hand, squeezing it, his voice hoarse as he said, “Thank you.”

  Jeklor grunted. As they had fallen from the cart, the river rushing up to them, the wooden board that had hidden them underneath the loose earth had almost decapitated Roland. Jeklor had kicked out with his free leg, pushing the board away, resulting in him striking the water at an awkward angle, breath exploding from his lungs. The chain tying them together had immediately dragged them under the rushing water, and if not for Roland’s heroic struggle keeping the winded Jeklor’s head above water, they would have both drowned.

  “And you, my good man,” said Jeklor, and chuckled. “Escaping The Tomb by flying-from-chasm has never crossed my mind, you know?”

  “Let’s move to dryer ground,” said Roland and stood up, holding his hand out to help Jeklor to his feet.

  Before them, the ravine opened up into dense woods and they aimed for the edge of the trees. Where the chain bounding them was merely uncomfortable in the mines, he
re it was a nightmare. It snagged on shrubs, bushes and rocks, forcing them to walk in single file. They sat against a tree trunk, facing toward the wooden platform high on the ravine edge. The sun had already set, and the last bit of light was dwindling quickly – it would be dark soon.

  Although they had successfully escaped, they were still tense. Not until the mine was far behind their backs would they relax, but they still owed a debt and they waited in rigid-silence.

  “What’s taking them so long?” said Jeklor, concern in his voice.

  “They’ll be here soon,” said Roland forcefully, ignoring the counter arguments welling up in is mind – there was a multitude of things that could have gone wrong.

  The last bit of light waned, and the woods came alive with the sounds of nightlife: crickets sung their song and a fox called to its mate; the sudden whoosh of spreading wings as an owl took flight was a testament to life and freedom. After the months in the dark spend with echoes of metal striking rock and whip peeling flesh, this was the most beautiful music Roland had ever heard in his life. His eyes turned moist and he could hear Jeklor biting back a sob next to him.

  It did not matter, there was nothing to be ashamed of – they were free.

  *

  A large splash in the river had them jumping to their feet, and Roland and Jeklor rushed toward the water, the rattling chain between them drowning out the nightlife sounds.

  “Andros! Dragon!” called Roland, squinting his eyes. After the months in the mine he could see surprisingly well in the dark. There was no answer, but a spluttering told him that they were still alive. Roland could make out a shape in the water, and saw that it was Dragon, floating on his back, Andros pressed to his chest.

  “Come,” said Roland and ran into the river, Jeklor at his side. They waded for a few steps before the ground disappeared, and the heavy chain pulled them downward. Arms flailing they edged toward Dragon, and Roland and Jeklor grabbed a shoulder each. Andros was lying limp across Dragon, the side of his face covered in blood.