by A. Giannetti
In the morning, the road swung to the west, and the company came to another bridge. It crossed the river that, up to now, had flowed south to the left of the road. A small stone building guarded the entrance to the bridge, but it appeared unoccupied to Elerian. On a steep rise of ground to the right of the bridge stood a black fortress surrounded by a high wall. Behind the wall, tall towers and turrets reared up into the night sky. Many of their windows were lit with a red light, which gleamed ominously in pale light of dawn. Gramash led his column of prisoners through the black steel gates of the fortress into a great square courtyard. Here, a crowd of Ancharians was already preparing its wagons for the day’s trek south. Among them walked companies of black clad Mordi, bands of snarling mutare, and packs of red-eyed lupins. It was no place for Men, and the column of prisoners pressed close to each other for reassurance. It was almost with a sense of relief that they entered a walled enclosure where they enjoyed at least a measure of protection from the enemies gathered outside the walls.
With the rising of the sun, the dark legions sought their rooms, caves, and dungeons. The fortress became quiet, but Elerian felt that sleepless eyes watched from every window. The power and might of the Goblin King began to weigh down his spirit. “What can anyone do against the fortresses and armies he has at his disposal?” wondered Elerian dejectedly. “Even if I escape, his armies will eventually follow me wherever I go.”
That night, the company resumed its seemingly endless journey, crossing the bridge over the dark river that flowed past the fortress. Elerian thought the water had an ill-favored appearance, for steams and vapors rose from its dark surface, as if the river were boiling.
Beyond the bridge, the company entered another narrow valley, which ran to the east between tall dark peaks. After two nights, they came to a vast fortress built of black basalt. The main road continued on west, past the fortress. A second road branched off to the south and a third to the north, climbing the side of a vast, barren mountain. After spending the day in the fortress, Elerian and the other prisoners were led onto the road running north. When they left the city, Elerian looked back and saw scores of Mordi on the walls keeping watch on the road. Gramash led the company up the side of the mountain, the road rising steadily as it cut across the sides of steep stony slopes. A constant stream of wagons passed to the left and right of the prisoners, driven by silent Ancharians and pulled by black oxen whose eyes burned like coals in the darkness. The wagons on the right ascended the mountain while the wagons on the left traveled down, towards the Goblin fortress.
“What can they all be carrying?” wondered Elerian to himself as they rumbled past on iron shod wheels.
After midnight, the company began to pass vast heaps of broken rocks and slag piled up on the slopes and drop offs to the right of the road. A foul stench filled the air, and vapors and black smoke hung over the peak of the mountain rising up before them. Elerian found it hard to breathe and a bitter tang, which dried the nose and mouth, filled the air. Smaller wagons drawn by shaggy ponies now joined the wagons driven by the Ancharians. These wagons, driven by Dwarves, were loaded with waste rock or foul smelling slag. The Dwarves were uniformly coated with gray rock dust, as were their wagons and ponies. They looked neither right nor left, and every thought and emotion appeared to have been wrung out of them, leaving their faces blank. They stopped their wagons wherever there were steep drop offs, impassively shoveling their loads over the side of the road onto the stinking heaps of waste already piled up on the slopes below.
As the column of prisoners ascended higher, Elerian saw that the road ended before a high, black cliff. A vast skull, resembling that of a mutare, had been carved out of a bulge of rock at its base. The empty eye sockets were lit by lurid red fires, and smoke issued from the wide nasal passages. Huge fangs projected downward from the grinning, upper jaw of the skull. Beneath them, the mouth was a dark hole perhaps thirty feet wide and as many feet high. Gramash and his troops turned away from the gaping mouth, gathering in an open space to the left, but the drivers urged Elerian and the other prisoners into its dark maw.
THE MINE
When Elerian walked through the gaping mouth of the stone skull and into the gloomy tunnel that lay beyond it, he was surprised to see that there were no guards by the entrance. Only an enormous likeness of a lupin, many feet tall and sitting on its haunches, occupied a large alcove on each side of the entrance. The eyes of the two statues burned like coals, and they seemed to stare directly at everyone who walked by them, as if they possessed intelligence and living eyes. When he passed the stone lupins, Elerian started, for it seemed to him that something had snapped shut behind him, like an invisible door.
Once past the skull entrance, Elerian and the other prisoners were forced to walk close to the rough-hewn right hand wall of the passageway, for its center was full of rumbling wagons, both entering and leaving the mine. Mordi drivers darted everywhere, cracking their whips to keep the traffic flowing steadily and smoothly. Dim red mage lights were set at intervals against the roof of the passageway, giving everyone and everything the appearance of being bathed in blood.
The tunnel led Elerian and his fellow prisoners deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain, running in a great spiral that slanted steadily downward. The air became warm and stifling, filled with the odors of rock dust and the fumes of the smelters and vast foundries that lay at the roots of the mountain. Many rough hewn, red-lit side tunnels led off from the main passageway, all of them filled with Goblins, Ancharians, and Dwarves going about their daily business.
Eventually, the column of prisoners reached the entrance to an enormous cavern. The likeness of a Troll, twice the height of a man, mouth agape to reveal huge fangs, was carved into the stone on either side of the entrance. The enormous green eyes of the Trolls glowed like lamps, either from some light behind them or from a hidden power within the statue. As with the stone lupins, Elerian sensed awareness in those eyes. When he walked past the faces, he felt another invisible barrier spring up behind him. “Two magical barriers between me and freedom,” he thought dispiritedly to himself.
When he entered the cavern guarded by the Trolls, Elerian was overwhelmed by the scene before him. Red mage lights on the ceiling and walls bathed hundreds of sweating, half-naked men in a lurid red glow. Their hair and beards were long and unkempt, and they were covered with a thick layer of rock dust. Thin and half-starved, their faces wore a mingled look of defeat and hopelessness.
From a large tunnel that pierced the left wall of the cavern, some of the men carried ore in buckets hung from wooden yokes set across their shoulders. Others were emptying their buckets into a monstrous rock crusher in the center of the cavern, where huge stone wheels, turned by still more men, ground up the ore. Other prisoners gathered up the crushed ore into empty buckets, carrying it out of the cavern through a tunnel in the far wall. Lines of wagons, drawn by dispirited ponies and loaded with slag and waste rock, emerged from a third tunnel in the right hand wall and disappeared through the entrance to the cavern. Hanging over all was a fog of gray rock dust. A bewildering number of sounds filled the cavern: the din of steel on steel, steel on stone, and the thunderous rumble of the crusher. Whips cracked and popped, Goblins shouted orders, and piercing screams lanced through the air, which was warm and stifling, filled with the stink of fire, hot iron, and unwashed flesh.
Elerian and the other prisoners were pushed by the impatient Goblin drivers toward a large anvil that sat to the right of the cavern entrance. A pile of chains was heaped beside it. Standing behind the anvil was a stocky Dwarf, dressed only in a dirty leather apron. Elerian could not tell the color of his long, knotted hair and beard because of the thick layer of soot and dust that covered them as well as his face and body. He stood without moving, staring expressionlessly at the anvil in front of him, his dark eyes empty. A Mordi, armed with a spear and dressed in black leather armor, stood guard over the Dwarf.
A Goblin driver pushed the first prisone
r in the line up to the anvil. After removing his manacles, the Goblin made him kneel in front of it, with the left side of his face resting on the flat top of the anvil. Expressionlessly, the Dwarf picked up a chain from the pile stacked by the anvil. It was about eight feet long and had two hinged collars attached to it. The Dwarf placed one of the collars around the prisoner’s neck. Picking up a red-hot rivet with a pair of long handled pincers from a nearby brazier, he placed it through the two holes in the open end of the collar. Ignoring the prisoner’s attempts to squirm away from the hot metal, the Dwarf stuck the rivet with a heavy hammer, flattening it at both ends so that the collar was sealed shut. As the rivet heated the collar, the stench of hot metal and burning flesh filled the air, and the prisoner began to scream. Taking his time, the Mordi driver dragged him away from the anvil, dunking his head into a tub of filthy water that stood nearby. Elerian heard the hiss of the water as it quenched the hot metal of the collar, and the screaming stopped.
One after another, the rest of the prisoners in front of Elerian were fitted with collars, two to a chain, until it was Elerian’s turn. A surge of excitement flowed through him when his manacles were removed. “I can use my mage powers again,” was his first exultant thought as he was forced to kneel down before the anvil by one of the Mordi drivers. The Dwarf, however, did not reach for a chain. Instead, he waited impassively as another guard led a second Dwarf up to the anvil. He was about five feet tall and even burlier than the first Dwarf. A tattered pair of leather pants that barely reached to his knees was his only article of clothing. His arms and legs were knotted with stringy muscles, and every rib and bone in his chest showed under his dirty skin, which was covered with small cuts and dark burn marks, overlaid by a coating of rock dust. His long, tangled hair and beard were also gray from the rock dust that covered them. Brown eyes stared expressionlessly in front of him from underneath thick, bushy eyebrows. He already had a collar around his neck. In his large, powerful hands, he carried the other collar attached to his chain.
“Worn out another one, Ascilius?” said the Goblin guarding the first Dwarf in a cheerful, sneering voice. “Well, no matter. Your turn will come, too, one of these days. The king will tire of your stubbornness, and then, you will be given to us to play with.” An evil, good humor filled the Goblin’s dark eyes as he spoke, but his words drew no reaction from the Dwarf, who continued to stare stony faced straight ahead of him.
The smith took the collar out of the newcomer’s hands, but he kept his head down, as if he was ashamed to look the other full in the face. He placed the collar around Elerian’s neck. Elerian first felt the cold iron of the collar and then, the heat of the rivet as it was placed in the holes in the collar. Next, he felt the blows of the hammer on the anvil, as it struck perilously close to his face. The rivet heated the collar almost immediately. Elerian gritted his teeth to keep from crying out at the searing pain from his burning flesh. The Goblin driver dragged him over to the tub of water and dunked his face and neck into the filthy, lukewarm liquid. He was then yanked to his feet, and the guard who had brought Ascilius to the cavern led them both across the chamber, toward the tunnel from which the ore was being brought out. They passed to the left of the great, rumbling rock crusher, and perhaps a hundred feet beyond it, Elerian saw a gaping hole in the floor of the cavern. It appeared to be a natural feature, irregular in shape, about forty feet at its widest point. He noticed that the prisoners all gave the opening a wide berth as they approached or returned from the crusher, almost as if they feared to draw too near to it.
Ascilius also kept a wary eye on the opening as he joined the line of slaves entering the tunnel. The passageway bored into the earth at a gradual downward incline, but it did not follow a straight course, branching over and over again so that Elerian soon lost track of the twists and turns they had taken. The passageway finally ended in a large, low ceilinged cavern supported by many thick, rough surfaced stone pillars. The air was thick and warm and smelled of rock dust. Red mage lights, which were set on the walls, provided the only light. Dozens of prisoners were mining the walls that formed the periphery of the cavern, and the chamber was filled with the thud of steel on stone. The guard led Ascilius and Elerian to a pile of tools, and following Ascilius’s lead, Elerian selected a pick and shovel and a hammer and chisel. The guard then set them to mining a portion of the cavern wall.
Ascilius never spoke a word or even looked at Elerian as he used his pick to mine the softer parts of the wall. When he encountered harder stone, he used his hammer and chisel to break up the rock. As a pile of ore accumulated, Elerian used his shovel to fill the buckets of other prisoners who were waiting to take the ore away. All around them, pairs of other chained prisoners were all doing the same thing.
Elerian was amazed at the ease with Ascilius tirelessly dug into the wall, which seemed to melt away in front of his tools. His ability to dig bordered almost on the magical, and Elerian finally asked him softly, “Are you using magic to dig?”
The words were barely out of his mouth before he heard the sharp crack of a whip and felt a slashing pain across his shoulders. Elerian flinched and looked back angrily over his left shoulder. The Goblin guard was standing behind him.
“Work and keep your mouth shut, you maggot!” said the Mordi angrily as he lashed Elerian across his back again.
The lash burned across his back, and Elerian’s anger flared into rage. His first impulse was to turn and slam his shovel into the Goblin’s head, but the eager look in the Mordi’s dark eyes warned him that this was what the guard wanted. He lashed Elerian again, seeking to goad him into some rash move, but with a great effort of will, Elerian turned away and resumed digging, ignoring the guard. Ascilius said nothing. Indeed, he had never stopped digging, but Elerian thought he saw a gleam of approval in his dark eyes. After that, Elerian was careful to keep an attentive eye on their guard. He discovered that the Goblin was watching a number of other prisoners and sometimes walked away. During one of these brief absences, Elerian spoke to Ascilius again.
“Have you been here long?” he asked in a barely audible voice. He received no reply. Ascilius continued to dig silently, as if he had never heard a word that Elerian said. Elerian was disappointed with his taciturn companion, but he decided to make the best of things and applied himself to the task of filling the buckets of the slaves who lined up to take away the ore Ascilius had mined out of the wall. An occasional, sidelong glance told him that, even though they were only separated by eight feet of chain, the Dwarf made it a point never to look at him, or even acknowledge that he existed.
Sometime later, Ascilius stepped away from the wall and indicated with his right hand that Elerian should take his place at the heavier task of digging. Once they had changed places, he ignored Elerian again. They worked endlessly, without stopping, and Elerian’s muscles began to ache from the constant, heavy, and unfamiliar work of digging. He longed to stop for a moment, but the watchful eye of the guard always upon them, and Elerian noted that he was quick to lash any laggards. With no way to measure the passage of time, he had no idea how long he and Ascilius mined ore. Just when it seemed to him that he could not lift his pick for another stroke, a horn brayed, echoing through the cavern. All the prisoners around Elerian stopped digging, waiting stolidly as a new group of guards entered the chamber, bringing with them a fresh group of prisoners to mine the walls.
Elerian wearily followed Ascilius and the other prisoners down a long tunnel to another cavern. Several Dwarves appeared there, offering everyone pieces of hard, black bread and tepid water from buckets. After eating and drinking, Elerian saw the other prisoners lie down and go to sleep wherever they were standing. He was tired enough to do the same, even though the cold stone floor of the cavern made a poor bed. A few feet away from him, Ascilius fell asleep as soon as he closed his eyes. Elerian fell into his usual light slumber where his body rested, but his mind remained active, wandering the paths of memory, until the sound of scrabbling claws brought h
im fully awake. He turned his head and saw a large rat freeze at the movement, within arm’s length of his head. It scurried away, only to be snatched up by another prisoner. Elerian heard a single, brief squeak and then, the unmistakable sound of tearing flesh and skin. The prisoner was greedily eating the rat raw. The disquieting image of the prisoner devouring the rat remained in Elerian’s mind, preventing him from falling asleep for a long time.
Once he did fall asleep, it seemed to Elerian that only a few moments had passed before the crack of whips and the harsh, brazen sounds of Goblin horns roused everyone for another day of hard labor. Groggily, he sat up. His head felt thick from the stale air, and he ate and drank, without appetite, the bread and water that were passed out. There was some kind of dried meat, also, but this Elerian did not touch, having no idea where it had come from. Ascilius also refused the meat, but Elerian noticed that many of their fellow prisoners were not so squeamish and greedily ate all that was handed them. More than one of them had a furtive, feral look about them and over bright eyes. Elerian suspected that their harsh captivity had driven them beyond the boundaries of sanity into madness. It was difficult to tell their races because they were all covered with a thick layer of the ever-present rock dust, but Elerian thought he saw Hesperians among them as well as Ancharians and Tarsi. Several he could not identify at all. They were shorter than Ancharians, but they had the same dark eyes. Whether their hair was also dark, he could not tell.
All too soon, the Goblins took them from the cavern and set everyone to work. Anyone who appeared slow at their task received a lashing from one of the Mordi’s black, leather whips, whose tips were split into three parts, like fingers on a hand. As an added torment, some of the Goblins tied small, ragged chunks of iron to each finger of leather so that they left both cuts and bruises on the prisoners’ backs.